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Neuvillette thinks Furina could be a singer.
She had a lulling, saccharine voice; as if always singing deep within ocean ravines-- calm, sweet, yet with a haunting resonance. Her smile was persistent-- in a way that entranced him who had not fully realized the scope of his emotions to smile as well. And her eyes, he could only sigh; they twinkled so bright, all the translucence of water and the reflection of the sun against it.
He wonders if Furina knows what he feels without him having to say it. They had been together for hundreds of years. He’d have imagined she’d memorized every crevice of his mind.
Neuvillette loved it when Furina sang, however discreetly she did. He had memorized the tune of her mindless humming. And some days, when he is alone in his office, he’d replicate it.
Furina probably knew this; her mischievous grin was telltale.
And so, Neuvillette wonders why she wouldn’t fill their shared silences with a song, just as she did with the citizens of Fontaine. At times, he’d look at her expectantly, watch her shift around in her leather shoes– anything– she stayed quiet.
Neuvillette doesn’t pry. Furina was fond of drama– if she wished to sing, she would. So he stays content, sitting, as he always did, a foot apart, at reach, but never close.
Today, they are the same. In Neuvillette’s office, Furina is splayed on his couch, her eyes fixed on a novel, her feet hanging off the cushions. Neuvillette reads reports, stacks and stacks of papers that should have been depleted hours ago, had he not spent minutes at a time staring at the way the light falls against Furina’s hair when she sways her head and bounces in glee.
“Monsieur Neuvillette,” Furina calls, and he shoots his eyes back to the paragraph he was reading, “If we were just normal people, what do you reckon you’d be?”
Neuvillette sets down the report and gets hold of another one, “A judge, still, perhaps on a lower scale.”
“Of course you would!” Furina exclaims, then she stands up, puts a hand on her hip, and raises her chin, “And what would I be?”
Neuvillette looks up at her, and the corners of his lips involuntarily twitch upwards. He doesn’t skip a beat or mull it over; he’d thought of it multiple times, “A singer.”
Uncharacteristically, Furina turns red, and she furrows her brows together, “Really? You answer so quickly.”
Neuvillette doesn’t wait, doesn’t think, just smiles, “I love hearing you sing.”
Furina averts her gaze. Neuvillette wonders why she is shy. Perhaps she’ll sing more often when they’re alone now that he’s asserted his appreciation. He hadn’t done it before.
“Will you not ask me what I think you’d be?” She asks, suddenly lively, smiling.
Neuvillette looks into her eyes, then he cracks a bigger smile, “Indulge me.”
“You’d be a pianist,” Furina says proudly, Neuvillette raises a brow, “If we’re normal people, I’d still want to meet you somehow. If you were a judge and I was a singer, I’d have to do a crime before I meet you!”
“Couldn’t I be a fan?”
Furina giggles, “I do think I’d meet you, still. A handsome face in a crowd sticks out like a sore thumb.”
Neuvilette’s heart skips a beat and jumps out of his chest into a chuckle.
“I’ll do my best to meet you. At night, I’ll be your pianist.”
–
They see themselves in Neuvilette’s office, come the next day. Neuvilette stays on his desk, and Furina’s body is plastered on the window. Her palms are pressed against the glass, her eyes fixated underneath. He would ask her what she was looking at, but he was hesitant. She would tell him on her terms.
But when he is in his last report, and the mechanical whirr of the clock turns into a chime, he is forced to be curious. So he stands up, goes, and looks at Furina’s face.
“What are you looking at, Lady Furina?”
She immediately turns her head and cracks a big smile. It is so lovely. Neuvillette’s eyes stay, and he thinks– he was blessed with a long life if only to see her smile.
“Neuvillette. They’re hosting a concert. I let them. Look!” she points at a set gazebo, grinning, “How generous of me! I love it.”
Neuvilette lights up at the word ‘concert’ and, perhaps a bit too agitated, asks, “Will you be singing?”
Furina raises a brow, “Would you like me to?”
The pace of his heartbeat quickens, and he feels a knot in his throat. Neuvillette blinks, once, twice, thrice, ‘Yes, of course.”
He doesn’t know why he regrets agreeing so hastily.
Furina flips her hair and smirks, “Ah! So smitten by my voice, I see?” she teases, “Let them have their spotlight. The people of Fontaine would only come for their dear archon. I’d rather just watch.”
Neuvilette looks at the gazebo decorated by blue and white fairy lights, accents reminiscent of Furina herself, “The stage is perfect for you, Furina.”
He feels her presence closer, and then she sticks to his sleeve, “I’d rather you ask me in private if you are so adamant, my Iudex?”
Upon instinct, or perhaps divine retribution, he pulls her closer, his hand firm on her waist. He looks at her, then memorizes the curl of her eyelashes, and lets out a soft laugh, “Wouldn’t you sing if you wanted to?”
Furina’s pale skin turns into a bright scarlet, and her eyes train themselves south into her shaky knees, “P-Perhaps I want to hear you yearn for my voice more!”
Then, uncharacteristically, “I’d love for you to sing for me every day then, Lady Furina.”
Furina’s eyes shoot back to his face, then her brows furrow, and then her lips protrude to a pout, “How come you’ve only just said it now then?!”
Curiously, Neuvillette raises a brow, “Didn’t you already know?”
“No?! You’d never said anything that adhered to the idea!” Furina scoffs and slaps his hand away from her waist, “Never said anything about my voice until yesterday, too! Liar!”
“I’d rather just agree to your whims than ask for mine,” Neuvilette replies, confused, “I don’t want to be selfish, Lady Furina.”
“Then I require you to!” she yells, stomping her foot, “Go on! Ask!”
Neuvilette looks at her quizzically. She was angry, but she was also adorable. She was taunting him, yes, but formally, he was to oblige due to authority– so her taunts were none less than empty. He reckons he’d have to ask for something he wanted, something apart from a song. Or perhaps, a personal question that existed between them. Something he'd wondered for years on end.
“In the five hundred years we’ve been together,” he takes a step closer to her, “Why haven’t we kissed yet, Furina?”