Chapter Text
The early hours of a Sunday on Fontaine’s early September feel the eeriest: The sky is covered in clouds of all shades of grey, hiding the sun from view, and the streets are empty except for the occasional pedestrian. The music that comes out of the car’s radio is on half of its usual volume, and Sigewinne has fallen asleep behind Clorinde’s seat, her head bobbing to the side as she clutches her plushie in the shape of an otter. Clorinde keeps her eyes on the road always, while Wriothesley can afford to look around and let his thoughts wander.
He has questioned this decision ever since the moment he started considering it. He’s used to uprooting his whole life by now, and changing houses isn’t even that radical by his standards, but that crowded apartment was everything Sigewinne has known up to this point. She was excited once she saw the photos of both the house and her new school, and Wriothesley likes to think that she's honest with him, but she’s also a very good kid with a deeper understanding of their struggles than she should at her age. Would she tell him, if she didn’t like it, if she felt anxious about the change? If she doesn’t, then has he failed?
All those thoughts simmer in his head as the car stops at a red light, and Clorinde clears her throat. ‘Having doubts already, Wriothesley?’
He huffs. He's had doubts for a long time, over a long list of things. ‘Just tired. This is my first free Sunday in weeks, you know. And it’s not like I can afford doubting myself at this point – the contract is signed.’
She hums. ‘It’s odd, though.’ Wriothesley turns his head to her. ‘I know it’s an old house, and not very centric, so it's going to be cheaper. But this is a way better neighbourhood than the previous one. And you said the rent wasn’t that much more expensive?’
‘Not really. Just like fifty extra mora.’ Fifty mora that he is more than willing to pay for stuff like a small garden, a wider kitchen, a proper living room and, most importantly, two bedrooms. Sigewinne might not feel like she needs it now, but Wriothesley is already feeling overwhelmed by the lack of personal space for both of them. ‘I think someone died there once, and that drives people away and lowers prices.’
‘I guess most people find it unsettling.’
‘Yeah. Well, I don’t really care.’ Ghosts aren’t a thing anyway. ‘And if anything, Sigewinne would love to see a ghost, so it’s a plus for her.’
‘Sounds about right.’ The car turns and enters a wide street framed by trees. Most of the houses here are remains of the upper-middle nobility of Fontaine’s past, now subdivided into two or three units, depending on the size. Wriothesley checks the address once more in his telephone notes app.
‘Number 23,’ he tells Clorinde, ‘right… over there.’
They find a good parking spot only a few doors away from the house, and Wriothesley stretches his legs and arms with a grunt before walking around Clorinde’s car, opening the door to Sigewinne’s seat. She stares at him with half-lidded eyes, still somewhat asleep.
‘We’re here, buddy,’ he says, unclasping her seatbelt as she yawns, covering her mouth with her hands. ‘Also button up your jacket. It’s chilly out here.’
‘M'kay,’ she mumbles, getting out of the car. Clorinde is already taking their suitcases out of the trunk: A grand total of three. Most people wouldn’t be able to squeeze their whole life into a single trip like this, but, as Clorinde’s girlfriend said once, it’s a minimalist vibe . Way better than just saying they are poor.
He drags two of the suitcases towards their new home, taking a good look at it. It really did look like a haunted house, with its elaborate metal entrance, stone walls around it, overgrown front garden, and mermaid symbols all over. Probably the emblem of the family that once lived there, centuries ago.
Their half of the house should be the ground floor, but Wriothesley still takes a look at the top half, noticing a shadow on one of the windows. It seems to be a man with a teacup in his hand, staring longingly at the overcast sky. Wriothesley wasn’t told they had neighbours, but if they enjoy tea, well… They’ll most likely get along.
A ray of sunlight sneaks in between clouds and falls on Wriothesley’s eyes, forcing him to look away for a moment. When he looks again, the window in question is deserted.
‘Do you have the keys?’ Clorinde asks behind him.
‘Ah, yeah.’ He pulls them out of his leather jacket’s inner pocket, and shoots Sigewinne a side smile. ‘What do you think? Does it look better in person?’
Sigewinne stares at the home, tilting her head. ‘Hm, it looks scary! It’s great. Do we still get half of it?’
Wriothesley looks at Clorinde then, a smirk on his lips. Told you so . ‘One half of it, yes. Would you like to do the honours?’
She nods vigorously, and he hands her the keys. There are three doors in total: One for the metal door that makes the first entrance, another for the main door to the house proper, and a third for their specific half of the home. With her otter in one hand and the keys in the other, Sigewinne guides them through the small garden and into the house, eyes wide with elation.
Looking at that, maybe Wriothesley has made the right choice for once.
The second door opens into a reception decorated like it belongs to the last century: white and blue floral wallpaper, gold-framed mirrors over old furniture decorated with a flower pot, many carpets with intricate designs, and an ominous-looking stairway leading towards the second floor. Wriothesley assumes that’s where the mysterious neighbour he saw before resides. Perhaps he’ll say hi a little later.
Meanwhile, their half of the house has what they need, nothing more and nothing less: A decently sized living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. Wriothesley lets Sigewinne claim the bigger one for herself, sighing in overplayed resignation under Clorinde’s amused gaze.
‘Alright then, we can organise everything later. Clorinde, would you at least let me offer a cup of tea for your troubles?’
She shrugs. ‘I could use some, sure.’
‘How about you, Sigewinne?’
Her head peeks from the frame of her bedroom door. ‘I want tea as well.’
‘That’s my girl,’ he says, chest swollen with pride, before leaving for the kitchen.
One thing that was a must to bring is his collection of tea leaves, one of the few hobbies he allows himself to have, though Clorinde would call it an obsession. Wriothesley has never enjoyed the derogatory tone of the word, especially considering the many wonderful qualities of tea and its many variants. This time, he is preparing Tianheng Bohea, reserved only for the most special of occasions, and also fitting for a child to drink.
Another must is his kettle, even if the house already comes with one. As he waits for the water to boil, he wipes the dust off one of the cupboards and puts away his tea collection. They brought some of the leftover food from the previous house, but he will still need to get some groceries soon…
But that’s a worry left for after the move itself is done, he decides, and washes three teacups before serving the tea on them. He takes them to the living room, where Sigewinne has already turned an old TV on. ‘Here you go, ladies, but let it sit for a minute for the perfect taste. Give me just a moment and I’ll bring the pastries.’
‘Thank you,’ Clorinde says, while Sigewinne just nods, too focused on figuring out all the functionalities of their new remote control. Wriothesley brings the half-open bag of pastries and pours them on a plate, sitting next to Clorinde to take a sip of his tea.
Ah, delicious. Just as rich as Tianheng Bohea is meant to be.
‘I’ll never understand how excited you get about drinking tea,’ Clorinde comments, taking a sip of her own. Meanwhile, Sigewinne is still fiddling with the remote, changing the TV screen every few seconds.
‘I still hope that, one day, you will understand.’ That hope is getting thinner with every cup of tea she gives little thought to, though. ‘Sigewinne, you should drink yours before it gets cold.’
‘Okay,’ she says, leaving the TV on some sports program.
There’s a few minutes of pleasant silence, except for the background noise of the television and the munching and drinking. The sunlight has gotten stronger, though not enough to fully break through the darkening clouds above, and so the living room is enveloped in dimness, too. Autumn is still yet to arrive in theory, but it feels like an early October day, instead of September.
Eventually, the cups run out of tea, and the only thing left of the pastries is crumbs. Sigewinne takes all the crockery to the kitchen, while Clorinde gets up and fetches her coat.
‘Thanks for your help. It would have been a hassle to carry it all here on the bus.’
Clorinde hums, and Wriothesley walks her to the second door. ‘It looks like a decent house. Better than your previous apartment.’
‘Right?’
‘I’m still surprised it’s so cheap, though. It’s a little suspicious, even with the murder rumours…’ She sighs. ‘If you have any trouble, feel free to tell me. Me or Navia might be able to help.’
Oh, right. Her mysterious girlfriend, whose occupation is unknown to Wriothesley, and perhaps even to Clorinde, as she never mentions it. His personal theory is that she’s part of some underground mafia, but he has better sense than to joke about such things around Clorinde. ‘Thanks, but we'll be fine. Anyway… Sigewinne! Come say bye to Clorinde, will you?’
‘I’m going!’ She rushes from the kitchen to the reception, jumping to hug Clorinde. ‘Bye, Clorinde! Thanks for helping!’
Clorinde smiles, stroking her hair. ‘It’s nothing. See you soon.’
With that, she leaves, and Wriothesley puts his hands on his hips, taking a comprehensive look at their new home. There’s still so much to do, and now there are only two of them to get it done. ‘Alright, time to clean and put everything in its place.’ Oh, Sigewinne is wearing her socks. They’re going to get dirty, with how dusty the house is… ‘Where did we put your bunny slippers… Oh, we also should say hi to the neighbour later,’ Wriothesley comments.
‘We have a neighbour?’
‘Yeah, on the top floor. I saw him by the window earlier.’
‘What did he look like?’
Now that Sigewinne is asking, he doesn’t remember it very well. ‘I don’t know, he was there for just a second… I think he was drinking tea?’
‘Oh…’
‘Why do you sound so disappointed…? Ah, no matter. Let’s get to work, the earlier we start the sooner we’ll be done.’
He’s going to do most of the work, sure, but Sigewinne does want to help: in the time it takes for Wriothesley to wipe all the dust off shelves, nightstands and the like, she has taken all the clothes out of the suitcases and left them neatly on their respective beds. He lets her organise her wardrobe and toys as she pleases, and her otter plushie observes them work from the comfort of her pillow.
Then Wriothesley’s bedroom follows, then the bathroom and the kitchen, and it’s time to pause for lunch. As he boils some cartoon-shaped pasta, he wonders if cleaning the reception also falls on them, as it is on their floor, or if it's a shared duty they’re supposed to take turns on with their neighbour. Well, there’s only one way to know.
By the time they’re done with the living room, they both collapse on the sofa with a synchronised huff. The sun is shining brighter than it has all day, even though the weather forecast on TV claims it’ll rain heavily this evening. Well, stranger things have happened.
‘Dad,’ Sigewinne murmurs, splayed on the sofa. ‘You stink.’
‘Sure do, buddy. It’s the smell of hard work.’ He stretches, feeling at least three places crack within his body. Gods, he's getting old, and he isn't even 35 yet.‘How about we each take a shower, and go say hi?’
The idea makes her perk up. ‘Hm! We can give the neighbour the leftover pastries.’
‘Excellent.’
After a small incident with a spider being drowned to death in the shower, they’re ready to show themselves to their mysterious tea-drinking neighbour. Sigewinne gets the plate of pastries ready, placing them so they resemble a flower, and as Wriothesley’s knuckles hover over the door, he prays that this guy won’t be one of the annoying variety.
He knocks on the door thrice and waits, but is only met with silence. Not even a slight noise is heard inside the apartment, and Wriothesley knocks a second time to no avail.
‘They must have gone outside while we were cleaning.’ Wriothesley shrugs, and Sigewinne looks up at him with a little pout. ‘It’s fine, we can say hi later.’
‘I guess…’ With those words, she walks down the stairs and goes back into their half of the house.
The rest of the day is spent preparing for tomorrow: Wriothesley needs to know exactly how long it takes from this new address to his work, and how to get Sigewinne to her new school, which also reminds him of the fact he needs to figure out their WiFi situation. Once that is sorted, she is left to prepare her backpack – insisting that she doesn’t need help for something like this, though Wriothesley will revise it later – while he prepares dinner. Though “preparing” might be an overstatement, considering it’s a frozen pizza with canned tuna on top. A little treat for the end of an exhausting day.
Halfway through dinner, the background noise of that one TV program Sigewinne enjoys is followed by the gentle pit pattering of the rain against the windows, and Wriothesley grins when he sees the first big yawn out of his daughter. ‘Sleepy, hm? Too much for one last slice?’
‘Not at all,’ she says, reaching for said last slice immediately.
‘If you don’t want it, I don’t mind taking it.’ He leans forward on his chair, laughing when Sigewinne rolls her eyes. ‘Do go to sleep after you've digested it, alright? You need all the energy you can get for tomorrow.’
‘Yeah. But I’m not nervous.’ She takes a bite out of it, chewing pensively. ‘Maybe a little. But I’m not tummy-ache-level nervous.’
‘That’s good to know.’
Once she’s done eating, she rushes to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and Wriothesley cleans up after them both. As he scrubs the plates clean, his thoughts go back to the neighbour, their hazy figure by the window, looking as if the sight of the overcast sky was the greatest of woes. The stairs had creaked plenty when he and Sigewinne walked up to greet them, yet he didn’t hear a thing…
Wriothesley shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. Once that is done, he goes to Sigewinne’s bedroom, finding the light of her nightstand still on. There are a bunch of folded clothes piled on a chair next to her backpack and her favourite pair of shoes, and Wriothesley smiles.
‘Good night, buddy. See you tomorrow.’
She hums back, her voice low and sleepy. ‘Night.’
With that, the light of the nightstand goes out.
He should be going to sleep too, being completely honest, but the space between this moment and when he collapses on his new bed is the only hour of the day he’s had fully to himself. So he decides to treasure it by getting some chamomile, laying on the sofa, and turning the TV back on at a low volume. The news channel is always too grim, and a documentary will knock him out cold, so he settles for a repeat of a hockey game that took place yesterday.
He always thought he’d be good at hockey, had he gotten the chance to try it, but watching it is close enough.
The rain, though, is making him terribly drowsy, and the infusion remaining on his cup has gone cold, so he might as well just get some rest. There will be more nights to get some hours to himself…
But the day still has some unexpected surprises for him. One, specifically: He’s about to get his pyjamas when he notices a figure outside his bedroom window, standing directly under that very same rain, which is growing heavier by the second. They have their back turned to Wriothesley and are staring into the sky, completely still as to pass for a statue.
Wait, couldn’t that be…
Wriothesley grabs the keys and an umbrella, walking out of the house and into the garden. The wind is terribly chilly, and he puts the umbrella over the person standing outside, covering them both.
‘Hey–’ He starts, and this strange man blinks, turning his head to face him.
Droplets of water fall from his face, sticking strands of long, white hair to his unblemished skin. His eyes are pools of lavender framed by many black eyelashes, and his thin lips open slightly upon noticing Wriothesley there.
Wriothesley swallows, feeling his throat go dry for no reason. This ethereal man takes a sharp breath, and asks, ‘...have we met before?’
The question catches Wriothesley off guard, until he realises they have, sort of. He must have seen him too, when he was up there by the window. ‘I just moved here,’ Wriothesley explains, ‘with my daughter. I saw you getting drenched out here, so I thought...’ I thought I'd believe myself to be in some sort of romcom and share an umbrella with a handsome stranger, Wriothesley thinks to himself.
‘Ah.’ The man looks down, nodding. Why does he sound disappointed? ‘My apologies for bothering you. I’m afraid I was… distracted.’ Wriothesley raises his eyebrows. Distracted is putting it lightly, to not notice such a precipitation because one is lost in his thoughts.
But that’s none of his business. ‘The name’s Wriothesley.’ He extends him a hand, expecting to hear the usual comments on his peculiar name, or questions on how to spell it. But his neighbour stares at his hand instead, as if he’s trying to decipher some sort of complicated puzzle within this very standard social interaction.
In the end, he figures it out, and takes Wriothesley’s hand. His squeeze is gentle, and his leather gloves are freezing cold on Wriothesley’s ever warm skin. Maybe that’s why he shivers a little. ‘Neuvillette, if you please.’
An elegant sounding name if he's ever heard one. He’ll have to tell Sigewinne about it later. ‘You know, my daughter prepared some pastries for you earlier. Would you still like them?’
Neuvillette’s eyes widen as if he’s been offered a precious heirloom. ‘Oh, I’d be most honoured.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Wriothesley laughs, ‘otherwise they would’ve gone stale. And they’re very good pastries, I’ll let you know that much.’
They go back inside, and only when they’re standing under the yellow warmth of the reception lightbulb does Wriothesley notice how utterly soaked his neighbour is. His clothes are dripping droplet after droplet, not to even speak of his hair, which looks like he just walked out of a shower. And yet, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by this.
He’s also terribly attractive, whic no one has the right to be under such atrocious lighting, but Wriothesley banishes the thought as soon as it pops up again. ‘Wait here just a moment.’
‘Very well.’
He doesn’t know why he’s in such a rush – perhaps because he wants to go to sleep despite not being tired anymore, perhaps because he doesn’t want his neighbour to catch the worst pneumonia known to man – but he is out of the door with the plate of pastries in one hand and a towel on the other not even a minute after he stepped into the house. Neuvillette’s eyes light up when he sees him again, taking both objects when Wriothesley hands them to him. ‘They go well with tea, especially Tianheng Bohea tea.’
Neuvillette nods. ‘I will take your advice into deep consideration, Monsieur Wriothesley.’
He winces. No one besides Sigewinne’s teachers has ever used an honorific with him. ‘Ah, just Wriothesley is fine.’
Neuvillette frowns, but ultimately nods in agreement, starting to dry his hair with the towel. ‘Understood, hm, Wriothesley. It has been a pleasure. Do thank your daughter for such sweet delights.’
‘Will do.’
Neuvillette smiles, and a pair of crow’s feet appear at the corners of his eyes. The expression vanishes from his face soon after, but it remains seared in the back of Wriothesley’s mind, even as they go back to their respective halves of the home and Wriothesley changes and gets into bed, mentally going over tomorrow’s planned itinerary.
It’s going to be an arduously long day.