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Neuvillette wonders if he even has a right to be here. To stand in front of her door months after everything has come to pass and the nation has settled enough for him to find his way to her; back to her. His palm is flat against her door as life moves around him. It is late enough at night for no one but a few mech-guards to notice his presence. He prefers this, knowing she currently craves anonymity after her departure. He wonders if Furina is even home. Her light is on yet no sound seems to pass through the window she leaves open on the second floor. Worry nags at his gut. That... level of trust in the safety of their nation, why would she risk herself?
Her door cracks open anyway, and the dual-colored eyes he has grown fond of stare back at him. “Are you going to stand there like a stalker all night?” The noise that comes out of his mouth is inelegant and in no need of being repeated.
“P-pardon me?”
“Did you think someone such as I would not notice a terrifyingly large and looming shadow through my windows?” He knows she says it in jest but the barb of hurt that she possibly thinks he is terrifying follows anyway.
“May I come in?” He watches as she makes a show of thinking before she shrugs. “Since I am feeling gracious~ You may.”
He leaves his cane in her foyer as he follows her deeper into the house. It…bothers him, the sparseness of this space. It is something they discuss frequently. She deserves more than this, for the 500 years she gave. It is a point of contention between them, but what Furina wants, she would get, for her will and tenacity are unmatched. She is an arm's length away but feels further than she has ever been. The words he had practiced all day seem useless now as he takes the seat she offers at her dining table.
“I’ll make us some tea,” and she is gone before he can turn down the offer. He pretends he did not reach for her.
Neuvillette feels it in his bones. The same nagging urges that only grew since he attained his sovereignty. It's a selfish feeling, the innate desire to monopolize, to take, to conquer. It is a baseless, non-human, part of him that grates against his carefully curated humanity and adherence to laws. If he could have his way, he would bring her back, lock her up in that old apartment of hers. But he loves and respects her too much for that. So all he can do is make sure the nation she loves doesn't fall into ruin or ever have a need to EVER require her sacrifice once more. To preserve that small blooming smile of hers. It would be enough, it had been enough until time eroded at his own will. But because he is not Furina. His mettle is not tempered like hers. The loneliness creeps in. Settles in his soul. He no longer hears the tap of her heels within the palace halls nor finds the remnants of her scent on any of his office sofas.
Here in her home though, sitting on a chair that is a tad too short, he feels a little less fractured, a little less brittle. He knows he is being utterly selfish, and greedy even, as he soaks everything in. His finger twitches against his thigh. His gaze tracks her when she moves, the anxious shifting of her feet not lost to him even if the lack of heels makes it all the more mute. From where he sits, he can see her bustling in her kitchen, just barely touching the cup just out of her reach. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he should adjust the building code to require lower cabinetry. The thought is enough to make the corner of his lips twitch. The seconds tick by, and he finds his eyes drifting close in the melodic rhythm of her work.
This is a balm over his soul and the exhaustion that he staves off hits him at once. It is sheer will that keeps him awake. He could not squander this. Could not, for another second, waste what little time she would allow him. So he takes it all in. The way she hums as she pours hot water into mugs and dumps tea into it without ceremony. He watches the way she hums, softly, a familiar musical tune. It was one she liked two years ago; she had sung it then. He knows she is nervous, and can see it in the way her spine is held straight and from the way her fingers drum against the countertop. He knows he is unsettling her in his quiet but like this, he can pretend just a bit longer. That the prophecy had not taken its toll on her and they were back in his office, and she was pouring herself another cup of tea to match her dessert. That she was humming not because she was nervous but because she was still enthralled in whatever opera they just watched together the day before.
His memories are broken by a cough, and when he focuses once more, his line of sight is blocked by a mug decorated with seahorses and lumitoles. His heart squeezes at the familiarity. He takes the mug.
Furina peers at him from behind her own mug decorated with pink jellyfish. She can’t say his sudden appearance is unwelcomed but no amount of pep-talk had prepared her for what it feels to be in the same space at Neuvillette once more. Alone, at that. She still remembers the lost look on his face as he had spied her bags. Remembers the way his voice shook when he told her the truth, of her, of divine her. Maybe she should have been resentful back then, but had she not done the same thing? She takes a sip as she tries not to wince at the bitterness of over-steeped black tea. The faraway look on his face has yet to give way. She knows him well enough to let him take his time to come back. The chair scrapes against the floor as she settles across from him.
In the quiet, Furina finds the part of this…of them she misses. Watching him has been a pastime of sorts, the myriad of faces he makes when he thinks too deep is a secret she keeps close to her heart. Like now. She wonders if he knows the corner of his lips is up in the smallest smile. The furrow that seemed to haunt the bridge of his nose is gone, and he looks more relaxed than he had been, standing as still as a statue against her door. A part of her, one that has always been there, wants to reach over to tap him on the nose, just to see what kind of expression he would make. Her heart twists; that would be improper now, right? She takes another sip of her tea and decides that it is the best cup she has made so far. Humans…truly were skilled if they could somehow perfect the art of waiting for leaves to bloom.
The silence between them grows, but she finds herself comforted by it. It is familiar. She could almost hear the rustling of document pages and the scritches caused by his pen. If she closed her eyes, she could remember those sounds weaving in with the ones of their citizens below, the toot of the horn of an aquabus, and the laughter from the workers just outside his door. It drags her back to the past, to parts of it that she finds herself missing now that it is gone. Furina’s smile is bittersweet as she sinks deeper into those cherished memories. And then, as he becomes too frustrated in a certain case, she would make sure to distract him, be it with a cup of tea, or her own advice. But what made her happiest, was the way he would soften, as if the burden had been lifted from his shoulders if only for a moment. Looking back now, perhaps not everything had been an act. At the very least, it did not feel like it, and perhaps…
The mischief she feels building inside her turns shy as her gaze locks back onto his. The clarity is back alongside a tinge of knowing. Just as she could read him, he could, for the most part, understand her. There is an undercurrent of smugness and so she does it anyways. Kicks him beneath the table and watches as amusement spreads across his face.
“And what was that for La-” her cross look has Neuvillette clearing his throat, “Furina.”
“You dare lose your focus while in my grand presence? What a horrible audience member you are,” she teases in mock grandeur, her words blending with a giggle. Her heart aches with warmth as he chuckles in response.
“Ah, my deepest apology, how may I make it up to you?” Her eyes seemed to twinkle. This, them; they were a tapestry of shared memories and unspoken emotions. Oh, how she missed this.
But…
“My de…” His heart clenches as she corrects herself.
“Perhaps you can start by telling me why you were…ah, observing my door with much intensity?” She knows he can tell she is deflecting, just a bit… “Are you stalking me again?”
He does not have the capacity to look sheepish at that fact. Old habits were hard to break and all–
“I…” There was so much he wanted to tell her. Of how much he misses her, how much he thinks of her, how worried he is. That all he wants is for her to come home, to come back at all.. what leaves his mouth is only a fraction of that intensity. “I…wondered how you were doing.” There is a break in their silence, of words they never asked each other since that day.
Neuvillete watches her expression waver and feels as if this table between them created far too much distance. So his chair rattles when he stands, and he resolutely ignores her sudden confusion to stand next to her. Her breath hitches in her throat as he lowers himself. She can feel his gaze on her face. Feel the warmth of his proximity. “What are you doing…”
“How have you been?” Furina's heart stutters.
Oh…oh…
Furina feels the moment the veneer she wears cracks. She scrambles to piece it back together but is stopped by the feeling of warmth against her cheek.
“Furina?” He turns her head and drops his hand to hold hers. Mismatched-colored eyes meet amethyst-hued ones. It is then that she realizes he is kneeling on her floor. She feels the wetness on her cheek, feels her breath quicken. It is like he has taken a hammer to the glass wall of the aquarium that held her feelings. It leaks through the cracks until it finally breaks through, unable to be held back anymore. When was the last time anyone asked her this? Asked her and meant it.
How was she? Neuvillette watches as she shatters.
Furina does not know when it happens, but by the time her tears subside, she is curled against Neuvillette on the linoleum. His shirt is stained, and she would feel mortification if she was not so exhausted. Her shoulder shook from the aftermath of her crying. Her sniffles were wet, and she was sure she looked absolutely wretched. Her throat ached from it all, and in the quieting of her own thoughts, she heard him. A repeatedly muttered apology.
“W-why are you, saying sorry…I.” She rubs her face and pretends she did not lean back into the hand that is stroking her head. “I made a mess. ” They both know she is not talking about his shirt. Furina does not understand the sound that rumbles in his chest.
“This apology is the least of what I owe you…of what Fontaine owes you.” For 500 years she had endured. Doing this, he believes, is the bare minimum of what she is owed. He had been upset at some point, of her supposed deception and her lack of trust in him, but that did not mean he did not understand. Like he knew her, she knew him, and perhaps she too knew he would have never accepted her sacrifice.
And then he trapped her.
“I never…apologize for what I did either.” Recrimination causes him to still. “I am sorry for that too. For putting you through that. For the trap, for the trial, and for forcing your hand.” Even if at that time it had felt justified. Now, though, with the truth revealed, he felt like a monster . If she had come to hate him, it was well within her right too…yet she had not.
“I am sorry, Furina.” He does not say anything when she smacks her fist against his chest.
“You were so mean, so horrible.” She still remembers the fear she felt on that seat, of watching as the one person she truly had turned away. Each thump against his chest was followed by a colorful insult. He held her through it, the top of his chin resting against the crown of her head as he rocked them.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”
By the time the clock on the far wall chimed twelve times, the rain outside was pouring steadily.
“You’re a stupid dragon,” Furina muttered, having run out of insults. Neuvillette was inclined to agree with her. “A weird…little…worm?” His huff ruffles her hair.
“I am…a strange worm.” This time his agreement was verbal, and he was rewarded with a watery laugh. “Then I shall forgive this worm.”
A silence fell over them, the ticking of the clock supplemented their heartbeat.
“I…will be alright.” She would never admit out loud how good it felt to be held just a bit tighter in the moment after her admittance. “So…hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.”
Neuvillette thinks Fontaine can suffer his tears a little bit longer if it means she would pat his cheek a bit more. Eventually, the rain peters off into a haze. His gaze long since pulled away from the underside of her table - one he needs to replace - to the vision that hangs prettily on the hook by her coat. Furina seems to notice the direction of his curiosity as she gives his cheek a reprimanding tap.
“That was you, wasn’t it.” He could not find it in himself to be ashamed.
Furina’s eyes narrow. She's no fool. It takes one look at her vision, another at Clorinde and Lynette, to know that hers is…different. Very different. Toothy, she would say.
“You deserved it.”
“Mhmm–” His tone is one she's not too familiar with, but the once-Archon has a feeling prodding this topic would get her nowhere. Her fingers find themselves twirling a strand of his loosened hair.
“So tell me, esteemed Iudex, how is your tea?” Neuvillette snorts.
He is sure she can read past his stone-faced mask. “It is…passable.”
“Don't lie to me! I can see it on your face!” Her pout makes him smile.
“Furina, you used tap water,” and he would drink cup after cup of horribly brewed tea if it meant she would continue to look in his direction.
The conversation lulls once more, and she finds herself drifting. Crying, she knows, drains her. She feels light and realizes the reason why when the ceiling seems closer than before.
“W-what put me down, Neuvillette!” She's ignored as he begins to move, head peeking through open doors of her home until she realizes what he is looking for. “Hey, you!”
“Sleep, Furina, you are tired.” She has enough energy to roll her eyes. She snuggles into her bed, glad to have changed before she mustered enough courage to open the door for him. The exhaustion pulls at her limbs. She feels him shift, and before her mind can catch up to her body, his hand is held by her own.
“Stay. Please.” Perhaps she would be mortified if she had not been so tired. Perhaps, she muses, they both are tired. For why else would he press his lips against the hand that had held him back?
Or…or…
Neuvillette wonders if she realizes it, the way she looks at him with tentative hope. Hope he would no longer waste.
“Alright then.” He sheds his coat as she scoots over in a bed he knows will be too small for him. Perhaps…he needs to suggest a new home for her. One that is much closer to his office would suffice. He settles across the sheet only to blink as she huffs and tosses the blanket over him. He would never admit how soothing he finds her scent when it surrounds him like this. He curls against her when she takes his hand. Fingertip pressed against fingertips as she blinked sleepily.
They should talk about this , about them , but…there is always tomorrow.
Though sometimes, the best understanding is the one unspoken.