Work Text:
Before the Beret Society debacle, you and Wriothesley were on amicable terms. Not quite friends yet, but there was a mutual interest. He’d strike up a conversation when he saw you sitting at the cafeteria or when you ran into him in the halls. He had even invited you for tea once — something that turned out to be a common interest.
Then you joined the Beret Society, and it alienated you from the rest of the Fortress — including Wriothesley, your friend in the making. You wanted to talk to him, everyone in the Society wanted to talk to him in some sense, but no one had the guts or the clarity of mind. Telling the Duke everything that was going on was obviously the rational thing to do, but humans aren't as rational as they'd like to believe. A plethora of emotions is more often the root cause of actions they do or do not take. In this case, the prime emotion was fear. If the pay-off seems uncertain, and the price for failure seems infinitely steep, it is a scary thing to even consider taking that necessary action. And so everyone kept silent. You kept silent and kept your distance.
But now, Wriothesley has finally solved the case. You sit in his office. Every victim of Dougier was invited individually. Not for a stern lecture, but for comfort and apologies. From those who had gone to his office before you, you have already heard that there would even be financial compensation for Wriothesley's "lapse in delivering justice swiftly".
One by one, everyone was called to his office. It had taken a long time before your name was called. In fact, to your surprise, you had been the very last. Does he not want to see you? He may be hurt by your sudden distancing when you joined the Society, you fretted. And once you sat down inside, your worrying didn’t stop. Thoughts still whirl inside your head.
Despite the couch's comfort, your body is tense. You don't lean back against the sofa; instead, you sit upright, hands on your knees, legs close together. As if trying to take up as little space as possible; as if the very room is pressing down upon you. Wriothesley had turned on some music earlier, but even the soft tones of the piano resounding through the office don't manage to put you at ease.
"What kind of tea do you want?" His voice pulls you from your reverie.
It takes a moment for the question to register, and then another moment before you start stuttering and mumbling "I-I don't k-know, whatever you w-want."
From the corner of your eye, you see him turn around and frown.
"I'll just make you that oolong tea from Liyue that seemed to be your favorite when we were..." — he seems to weigh his words carefully — "... talking more often."
He puts a teapot warmer on the table in front of you, lights the candle below it and places the pot on top. "Now, let's let it steep for a couple of minutes." He finally sits down next to you on the sofa, but still at a respectable distance.
"Let's talk.” He takes a deep breath. “I'd like to sincerely apologize for not recognizing sooner what kind of place the Beret Society was. It has done immeasurable harm to people, and as warden of this fortress, it is my duty to prevent such things from happening. I failed. I am sorry."
You can’t find a single word to say. What is this? You knew he'd apologize, but now that it's actually happening, a flurry of unexpected emotions overtakes you. Relief and confusion, fear and happiness.
"If you want to talk about what happened, I'm here to listen. It’s the least I can do."
It’s the straw that breaks the Sumpter Beast's back. You cry. Not prettily; you bawl. The tension, built up over months, comes out all at once. You hide your face in your hands, trying to somewhat lessen the sound of your sobs, but it's to little avail. Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Wriothesley’s hand seems hesitant, as if he's afraid to touch you. But his voice is soft and comforting: "You can cry as much as you like. It's okay. I'll be your shoulder to cry on."
You bridge the distance between you and him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. After a moment, he wraps his arms around you.
"It's okay, I'm here now. Everything is going to be alright."
You let the tears come. For several minutes, you sit like this, his warm arms wrapped around you. Then, finally, you untangle yourself from his embrace. "It was terrible." Your voice is soft and shaky, but the words come out. Wriothesley listens attentively while he pours tea and hands you a cup.
"To have that stuff injected, it's just... the worst possible nightmare."
"Mm-mm."
"And even when it's over, it's not really over. The memories are there and the fear still runs through my veins, like my whole body is riddled with it, like my whole body isn't my own, like it's possessed by an evil spirit that—" You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears.
Wriothesley's arm wraps around your shoulders again. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner. But I'm here now. You're safe. I'll do whatever I can to make you feel safe again. You won't live those nightmares again."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I took my distance from you, I just—"
"Hey." He places a finger on your lips. "None of this is your fault. Don't apologize."
"But I must've hurt you!" Your voice is barely more than a whisper, but your heart seems to scream it out.
"Well, I can't deny that I was a little disappointed to see you take your distance. But I didn't want to force you to hang out with me, so I just let it be. But that last time we spoke, even though you seemed glad about your membership in the Society, I thought I saw a glimpse of fear flit behind your eyes. In truth, that's what brought me to investigate. To make sure you really were in a good place."
You stay quiet for a moment. Wriothesley did that... for you?
"In that sense, you were instrumental in solving this case. I wouldn't have been on the trail otherwise."
“Thank you.” Your voice is barely audible.
“It’s my duty and my pleasure to take care of you. It’s my job as the warden of the Fortress to make sure everyone is safe, but it’s my desire to see to your safety specifically. I’m fond of you.” He softly squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”
You want to speak but are a little nervous. Wriothesley notices. “Whatever it is that’s on your mind, just speak.” His tone is almost commanding, but not unpleasantly so. It’s just the push you need to speak.
“If possible…” You swallow and gather the courage to continue the sentence. “Can we stay like this a little longer? I felt so lonely for so long… I need to feel someone's warmth beside me.”
Wriothesley grins. “Why did you think you were the last person I called to my office? I have no other things to take care of today, so you can stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” you murmur and snuggle next to him, careful not to spill the tea you’re holding. You take a sip. It’s as good as you remember, and you close your eyes in relaxation. Wriothesley knows how to make tea the right way.
“You really do have good taste,” he says softly. You open your eyes and find him, too, sipping from his own cup. “Oolong is a tea I don’t often have by myself, but maybe I should.”
“Right?” Some amusement creeps back into your voice. It’s been a long time since that last happened. “It’s such a unique taste. It’s simultaneously delicate and strong.”
“Like you, then.” He smiles.
“I—… What?” You look at him in shock, while his smile turns into a genuinely joyful laugh.
“It’s good to see you flustered like this! I like it! But” — his tone turns more serious — “it’s also true. I know you’re hurt. What you went through is horrible. Unspeakable, in more than one sense of the word. But I have full faith that you’ll get back up. You’re strong like that.”
“Am I, though?” you whisper to yourself without thinking.
Despite speaking so softly, Wriothesley still catches your words. “I believe you are.” His words are simple, but he speaks it with such certainty and authority that you are tempted to believe him. “And if you ever feel like you can’t take it anymore, I’ll be here for you. You don’t have to walk the path to recovery alone.”
Instead of speaking, you rest your head against him and close your eyes. You’re tired. You hadn’t realized it earlier, but speaking with Wriothesley, crying against him, shaking, letting go of all the tension… You’re exhausted. And he’s so comfortable. His arm is still wrapped around you. It makes you feel warm and safe.
“Tired, huh? Rest as much as you need.”
The scent of the tea, the soft fabric of the sofa, the piano piece on the gramophone, Wriothesley’s strong arm around you, and the warmth he emanates — they all lull you into the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in months.
***
As you fall asleep, Wriothesley carefully takes the cup from your hands, still half full. He looks at you with a smile. They’re so cute. For a long time, he gazes at your sleeping form leaning against him. Then, with his free hand, he grabs a book that is, fortunately, within arm’s reach. He’s willing to stay here for a few more hours if it helps you rest, body and soul.