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One day, when Neuvillette visits the Duke in his office below the depth of the sea, Wriothesley is in the middle of making tea – but the cheapest kind.
He couldn’t expect the Judge and just finished pouring hot water over a few tea bags when Neuvillette arrived. The smell is not bad, per se, but it lacks the richness of the aroma that usually fills up the round office of the Administrator of Meropide.
As Neuvillette walks to the low coffee table where the Duke covers the teapot to let the bags sink, he greets him while observing Wriothesley’s deft fingers as he packs away the rest of the bags. “I apologise for coming without an invitation, good evening to you.”
Wriothesley looks up with a strange expression, a half-smile on his lips that somehow feels distant for Neuvillette. It’s also rare for him to not be the first to say greetings before Neuvillette would even have a chance to speak.
“You’re always welcome here, Chief Justice. How can I be of your help tonight?”
Standing up, Wriothesley turns his full attention to his guest, closing the distance between them with a few steps. He looks extremely professional – almost painfully so. It crosses Neuvillette’s mind if he has said or done something to get his reaction, but the last time they parted ways, a few days ago, the Duke left after leaving a kiss on Neuvillette’s lips and giving him one last, warm hug.
The reason why he decided to descend to the Fortress could explain Wriothesley’s reaction – so Neuvillette answers the question of his impromptu visit.
“It’s been some days since we discussed those files.” The ‘I missed you’ floats between them and the Judge stops for a moment before he continues.
“I’ve had a few trials in the past days that involved…” Neuvillette averts his eyes. Even if he has only done his job to the best of his abilities, even if he worked by the books and laws, he despises the judgements he had to bring upon those who were nothing but innocents and the victims of Fontaine’s outdated systems.
Swallowing, his lilac gaze finds Wriothesley’s blue one as Neuvillette says the rest – Wriothesley deserves that he looks him in the eye while he takes responsibility. “I sentenced homeless children to prison.” He could, but he doesn’t start finding excuses. “They came down this morning so you must know about them.”
Wriothesley studies him for a moment before he exhales with a small noise and steps to his desk to pick up a few files. It’s four, to be exact. He waves them lightly towards Neuvillette before he leans back to his desk and crosses his arms in front of his body. His position looks defensive and it’s unlike him, Neuvillette notes to himself.
“I welcomed them today. I just read through their files once before I decided to make tea.” Wriothesley licks his upper lip, hesitating.
It’s not often that Neuvillette feels he is being translucent, not even in front of Wriothesley. But when the icy gaze finds his own again, the rather badly hidden melancholic expression of his turns into the one that Neuvillette knows oh-so-well: one of care.
Pushing himself away from his desk, Wriothesley walks to him and gently touches his shoulder. “You’re not blaming yourself, aren’t you?”
The question is simple and it almost feels rhetorical – of course, Neuvillette blames himself. He’s here because he missed his beloved, and also because he would like to apologise and know that Wriothesley is alright after he had to welcome multiple kids in the prison that held him around this age as well.
He only has to blink once and he’s not even sure what else of his expression answers in his place, but Wriothesley understands all his reasons. Sometimes, Neuvillette wonders how a human can be so pure-hearted as the one he loves: while he should apologise and be here to comfort his love, it’s him who’s getting a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder as Wriothesley says:
“This is not your fault.”
The statement floats between them before the Duke continues. “You’re doing your job by the book but you’re not writing the books. Anyone who has eyes in Fontaine can see this.”
Neuvillette is given a kind smile that he feels unworthy of; he’d like to still say an apology but Wriothesley is not letting him:
“I won’t ask you to stop thinking it’s your responsibility but you can’t make me stop repeating this. And please, don’t apologise. Especially not when you’re here because you care. Of the children, of me.”
So blunt honesty about how Wriothesley perceives him is rare, and it sits heavily between them.
“Am I this shallow that you know all my reasons?”
Neuvillette’s question is genuine but it makes Wriothesley chuckle lightly as he drops all formalities between them and hugs him lightly. They are standing almost in the middle of the office, the fan above them spinning the shadow over their figures.
“No, Love,” Wriothesley whispers into Neuvillette’s hair. “You just love me enough that I can see these clearly.”
Sometimes, Neuvillette thinks that he fails to reciprocate Wriothesley’s devotion – hearing that he succeeded makes his chest feel fuzzy with warmth. He hugs him back, his gloved hands slowly sliding up under Wriothesley’s coat, over only the thin fabric of his button-up shirt hiding the strong muscles that he can feel.
As Neuvillette completes their hug, Wriothesley truly holds onto him now. It’s not just comfort but desperation, as if the Duke would be standing in a current and Neuvillette would be the pillar that is not letting him be swept away by the waves that are too strong for his soul to bear.
Neuvillette’s left hand easily dodges the coat on the Duke’s right shoulder as he raises it to his nape, gently placing it over the short hairs and tender skin. Wriothesley sighs, raggedly, slowly letting air out of his lungs.
“Are you alright, Beloved?”
Humming softly, Wriothesley nods into Neuvillette’s hair before he sighs again. “I will be, soon.”
Pulling him closer after his words, Neuvillette holds him still, his right hand lightly moving up and down on the Duke’s back. He has learnt while being on Wriothesley’s side, that wordless comfort can mean a lot; on countless occasions, being present was enough for both of them to restore the inner peace that got lost.
Neuvillette allows Wriothesley to take his time but after not much more than a minute, he pulls away from him, his blue gaze finding the Judge’s lilac ones. “Thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, along with a light smile.
Mirroring his expression, Neuvillette nods a little. He wishes he could stay the night but he’s sure he has been seen by a few inmates during his walk to the Duke’s office and he wouldn’t like to cause trouble for Wriothesley.
But as if his thoughts would be heard, before he could say anything, a question is spoken - one that is almost like a tradition now:
“Will you stay for a cup of tea?”
Resigning, Neuvillette is unable to deny, not this time. But again, his beloved reads him like a book and to his biggest surprise, Wriothesley adds, “Or for a glass of water. The tea I brewed this time is not something I should offer to any guest.”
“And why is that?”
As they’ve been speaking, they have pulled apart and now Wriothesley lets him go fully. He turns towards the coffee table with the lightly steaming teapot on top of it, and he asks, his face hidden away, “Can you guess why I like tea this much?”
It’s not that Neuvillette never thought about this but they never spoke of the topic either. “You like the warmth of it.”
They both know that at this point Wriothesley is most likely to be considered as an addict to the taste and to caffeine as well, but Neuvillette can see many reasons why he would prefer the hotness of it, his Cryo Vision only being one of them. Neuvillette doesn’t mention how his throat under his scars may hurt, or how Wriothesley told him once that love should feel warm – and maybe tea reminds him of the nicer times.
“I do.” He pauses for a moment before he says the rest, “You know, those kids probably have better chances to survive the winter here inside than they would have outside on the streets.”
Time stops; air gets stuck in Neuvillette’s lungs as his attention is fine-tuned on Wriothesley’s words. His voice is kind but the content of his speech feels like shards of ice that pierce his heart with the injustice that their nation so easily overlooks.
“Once, when otherwise maybe I would have died of the cold, a Melusine offered me hot soup. On many other occasions, I got a cup of hot tea from them or from a citizen who didn’t look through me as if I’d be part of the pavement at the side of the street.”
Wriothesley speaks in a neutral tone: he’s stating facts. Neuvillette noticed he always does this when it comes to telling about hurtful things.
“So,” Wriothesley claps his hands and turns back to Neuvillette, “from time to time, I drink the same, cheap tea that got me through a few cold nights.” He smiles but it looks forced, as if there wouldn’t be any other expression that Wriothesley could control on his features – of those that match the depth of his words.
Neuvillette finally exhales, slowly, and steps closer to the Duke and the said tea. It has a faint, citric smell but not much more – it’s interesting compared to the usual rich fragrance of Wriothesley’s tea collection. He doesn’t have to say when he takes this tea out; and Neuvillette is sure he will remember this smell when he declares the next homeless child guilty – even if it’s not his fault.
Stopping for a moment, Wriothesley closes his eyes and inhales deeply. With a slight tilt of his head, he lets his forced smile turn into a grimace before he sighs and lets the expression go. When he looks back up, he seems like his usual himself, the demons of his past back behind their fences. “I have bottled water for you, I will fetch–”
“Please, don’t,” Neuvillette interrupts him, apologetic for his rudeness. “I would like to try the tea you brewed today.”
Chuckling, Wriothesley has to look up at the ceiling as he blinks quickly a few times before daring to gaze back at him.
“Be my guest,” he gestures at the couch, and Neuvillette takes a seat as instructed.
While drinking the least flavourful tea of his five hundred years of life – and maybe he even likes it because it reminds him of water – Neuvillette listens as Wriothesley talks about anything and everything but the newest inmates or the reason why they drink this ‘special’ tea today.
Thinking that he made a good decision to come and visit, Neuvillette lets himself forget about why he shouldn’t be present down here and enjoy half an hour with Wriothesley. Smiling and chuckling lightly at the jokes he makes, the best kind of tea in his hands – the one that saves the lives of children, the one that saved the life of the man he loves.