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Three days later, Furina’s relationship with the Duke has evened out into something friendlier once more - though still balanced precariously on that edge created when both started pushing at the other. There was something between them, a kind of understanding, and they both knew it but neither dared to allow the other to approach it.
Therefore, Furina walks downstairs and sees Wriothesley sitting at his desk, awake, and doesn’t mention how she saw him awake in this same position late last night, with no intention of going to bed at the time she was. Or how this routine repeated the night before, or how she found him in his little kitchenette the night before that at three in the morning.
Wriothesley was far from a bad roommate - he was incredible, actually, way up on the spectrum of men she’d prefer to live with and men she wouldn’t be seen in a hundred foot radius of - but he had concerning habits. Things suggesting he wasn’t taking proper care of himself, things that Furina brought up once ( You’re still awake at this hour? ) and was promptly shut down ( You are as well) .
Maybe someday. For now, Furina didn’t care to press. She had all of her own problems to deal with.
“Heading to the surface?” Wriothesley asks, glancing up from his papers.
She shakes her head, stopping by his desk. “No. I wanted to make friends with some of the prisoners, seeing how I’m going to be living here and all.”
Wriothesley sets the paper he’s holding down, meeting her gaze. “You should be careful, Furina. I run a mostly-pleasant ship, but that ship’s employees are still convicts , and you are the former Archon of the nation that convicted them. They don’t know your story, and in my opinion friendships are best formed when there’s not a conflict of interests.”
She sighs. “So- what? I don’t make friends with anyone here? I walk around with a guard all of the time?”
“If that keeps you safe,” he answers dryly.
“Ugh.” She drops down into the seat by his desk. “The point of me becoming human was so that I didn’t have to walk around with a guard all of the time!”
Wriothesley’s lips curl in a slight smirk. “That may require not moving in with the administrator of a prison.”
“Fuck off,” she mutters, crossing her arms petulantly. “You love my company.”
A deliberately considering hum, and Wriothesley fends off a pen thrown at his face with an amused laugh, Furina’s offended expression behind it.
He picks up the pen from where it fell on the floor, returning it to the desk, before glancing back down at the paper he was reading before. “You could accompany me to deal with an issue arising among some of the prisoners. It could turn dangerous, though.”
Furina follows his eyes down to the paper he’s holding. “Hm? What’s the issue?”
He turns the paper towards her, sliding it across the desk. “A group of convicts have started a smuggling ring of firearms. They’ve only gotten less than twenty in here, but firearms aren’t allowed in the Fortress for convicts and it’s a dangerous enough situation that I should personally deal with it.”
She skims the report before sitting back in her chair, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll go with you, because otherwise I’m going to be bored all day.”
“Are you alright with the potential dangers of the situation?”
“Yes, yes. I can defend against some gunshots. Especially with you there. I just couldn’t defend against the Fatui because there were three of them and they all had elemental weapons.”
Wriothesley nods. “In that case, can you be ready in ten minutes?”
She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the stares.
Even with Wriothesley walking beside her - perhaps especially with the Duke walking beside her - the prisoners stare almost openly. Her real story may not be public, but by now the fact she isn’t a government figure is, and therefore the convicts feel empowered to be even more bold. The stares and whispers aren’t even subtle at this point.
She folds her hands in front of herself, and Wriothesley’s fingers lightly brush her arm.
He’s unwilling to compromise his reputation in front of so many people, she understands that, and so his form of quiet reassurance is that light touch. She isn’t spared a glance or a word, nor another movement, but the simple touch reminds her that she isn’t alone here. He is truly on her side.
A little voice in Furina’s head still finds that difficult to trust after the experiences she’s had.
In any case, there isn’t much for her to lose now. She’s human, she’s a mess both mentally and emotionally, and all of her possessions can fit in under ten boxes. There’s nothing anyone would want from her now.
That thought isn’t nearly as comforting as it should be.
When Wriothesley starts speaking, his voice is low, keeping the convicts from eavesdropping while they walk to their destination. “Normally, I would handle issues like this with more subtlety given the delicate nature, but I simply don’t feel like putting in that effort right now. Clorinde provided a report with names and evidence; there’s nothing they can hide and I doubt they’ll be able to do much to me.”
“So… we’re just going to walk up to the leader?” Furina frowns. Even to her, that seems like leaving far too many variables open.
“No,” he answers, and Furina can hear the amusement in his tone - sharpened at the edges. Like a predator on the hunt. “We’re going to invite him to dinner.”
As it happens, the man’s face goes white as a sheet when Wriothesley asks if he’d like to sit down for a meal. He barely stutters out his acceptance.
Furina wishes she could make a comment to Wriothesley on how bad of an actor he is, but given the almost entertained indulgence in his tone interacting with the man, she guesses he already knows.
Most of the conversation blurs out for her. Furina recognizes the dissociation coming on only moments before it happens, as Wriothesley’s voice filters in and out of her ears with the other man’s and her footsteps feel surreal, and she lets it happen. She doesn’t have the energy to fight it off - not now.
Most days, she finds that she’s exhausted before she even gets up from bed.
Maybe she should’ve paid more attention, though, because she’s jerked back into herself when her name is said, and-
They’re standing in one of the back hallways of the Fortress. Wriothesley is next to her, and the man he invited to dinner is standing a few feet away in front of them.
She runs through her head the past- twenty minutes? Dinner… conversation… some threats? Wriothesley showed his hand, at least, and of course the man got defensive being found out.
Gods, she doesn’t even know his name.
Now he’s gearing for a fight, but why was she brought into it-
“Why is a princess like you down here?” the man spits. Oh. It makes sense now. “First, you get out of your trial, then you come down here anyway just to flaunt your privilege in front of all of us?”
Wriothesley’s presence shifts next to her, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing hers. His tone is frigid, several degrees colder than he’d ever talked to her. “I suggest you watch your words .”
Furina orients herself back in her body, runs through the situation, and blurts out with a warning tone she doesn’t entirely intend to be there- “Wriothesley.”
She doesn’t think he’ll listen. After all, he is the Duke, and she only tagged along to cure her boredom ( look how well that worked) .
But his form next to her leans back, shoe tapping with a single step back. Now he’s closer to just by her shoulder rather than next to her, and Furina is having a bit of an issue dealing with these two entirely separate situations.
This man is currently threatening her.
The Duke of Meropide listened to her warning to back off.
That is something she will absolutely be bringing up later.
Before she can focus on the man, though, he interrupts her - this time, his vitriol is aimed at Wriothesley. “Yeah, keep your dog on a leash. Clearly he’s only there to give you whatever you want.”
Maybe it’s the fact that Wriothesley listened to her once, and maybe it’s the fact she came back from dissociation straight into being threatened, or maybe it’s the fact that Wriothesley is being insulted now-
Before Wriothesley can say a word beside her, though he does move a step, Furina snaps without entirely thinking through it, “It would do you well to keep in mind that I’m the one holding the leash.”
Archons. Why did she say that?
She blinks, a little bewildered at herself, but carries on her momentum. Wriothesley is entirely still and quiet beside her. She refuses to look at him.
“I would suggest,” she continues, slower and more careful but with no less of a knife’s edge, honed from years of being the Archon, “that you watch yourself, or I will give him permission to do whatever he likes to you.”
The man stares. He almost seems as if he’s going to back down.
“Well-“ he starts, and Furina watches the glare ignite back in his eyes, features twisting into rage again as he glances between the two of them, “-you’re just proving my point! Are you really going to listen to her?” Now he’s looking at Wriothesley. “She’s not even the Archon anymore! If anything, she should be a prisoner like the rest of us.”
Furina can’t see Wriothesley, but she can feel the calm, lethal ice radiating off of him. His voice is low, level in the way a lake is before the monster bursts out from underneath the surface. “What happens to Furina is none of your business,” he answers.
The man is only incensed at that. “See! You’re just her dog. Doing whatever she likes- the Fortress is separate from Fontaine my ass-“
Furina’s hands are shaking. “ Quiet him, Wriothesley,” she snaps. She isn’t entirely thinking about what she’s doing or what she’s saying, and the order slips out without her consent.
She sees the flash of a smile, all teeth, as Wriothesley strides past her, lunging and catching the man by the wrist. Abruptly, the air is filled with the man’s pained yell instead, as Wriothesley flips him onto his stomach, arm pulled behind him, and without hesitation knocks him out against the wall.
The man slumps to the ground as Wriothesley lets go. Furina stares at him - still refusing to look at Wriothesley, who’s gaze she can feel on her.
Her hands fidget. Her surroundings are unfamiliar - she doesn’t know where in the Fortress she is, and Wriothesley just took a man out for her-
“Take me back,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. “To the office.”
Wriothesley stares. He’s silent for a few moments, but eventually he walks forward to lead the way. “Okay,” he says gently. She barely notices his gestures and low conversation with nearby guards, who move in to retrieve the unconscious man.
Furina follows him in silence. He doesn’t say anything, and she’s absolutely not offering anything of her own. Rather, she’d prefer neither of them ever bring up what just happened again.
By the time they make it back to Wriothesley’s office, she’s calmed down more - and by “calming down” she means “successfully tried to forget about what just happened and got it in her head that Wriothesley will forget too.”
As soon as they make it inside and Wriothesley closes the door behind him, he speaks up, smirk on his face and in his tone. “‘The one holding the leash,’ hm?”
Furina’s face heats. She knows she’s bright red and she ignores him, facing away and pulling out tea from where she knows he keeps it in his drawers. “Not a word,” she bites back.
He doesn’t say anything. Furina lasts for about a solid minute before she turns to him and crosses her arms over herself, half-glaring, face red. “I didn’t mean it like that - it just slipped out! I promise, I know you’re the Duke and I’m not the Archon anymore and I don’t have any power over you-“
“Hey.” Wriothesley interrupts - and his tone seems gentle, but there’s still a teasing smirk on his face and the taunt is laced underneath his words. “I don’t just let anyone order me around like that, you know. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have. Simple as that.”
Her mouth drops open. Wriothesley walks past her to continue her abandoned task of making tea, almost blatantly ignoring her stunned stare at him.
Her hands curl into fists and she blurts out her next words, trying to sort through this tangle of emotion - Wriothesley’s teasing and near disregard of her own embarrassment and apology, with her own shame and frustration and- and more. That she isn’t acknowledging or putting a name to, thank you very much.
“Then- then you want to take orders from me?”
Oh no.
Wriothesley’s laughter starts as a quiet breath, and then turns into a louder, more drawn-out thing, and then he fully has to pause making tea in order to laugh at her properly . And Furina’s face gets redder. She’s pretty sure she’s sweating at this point, and she wipes her hands on her dress.
“Fuck off!” she snaps. “You tease me just so this happens and I say stupid things!”
He grins, glancing at her. “It really is very fun sometimes,” he says, to which he then interrupts her deeply offended face- “And, Furina,” he meets her gaze, “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t mind-“
She clicks her jaw shut. No more saying stupid things, she chides herself, and turns away from Wriothesley’s gaze, waiting for her to figure out his implication.
“Well,” she eventually says, forcing her voice steady and her face to return to a normal color, for Archons’ sake, “here’s an order. No more teasing me.”
“Is that right?” He doesn’t sound at all like he’s going to obey it. “Really?”
She spins on her heel to face him, and- oh, she’s suddenly fighting a grin, seeing his own smirk, raised eyebrow, and amusement dancing in blue eyes. “Yes, really,” she says, very unconvincingly, and Wriothesley continues looking very unconvinced.
He nods seriously. “Mhm. I’ll be sure to get right on that.”
Furina bursts out laughing.
Her hand raises to cover her mouth as she dissolves into giggles, doubling over at the waist. Wriothesley is so unserious about it, and the grin on Furina’s face is entirely genuine. The laughter erupting from her isn’t loud or pitching obnoxiously up and down with drama - it’s something quieter, nearly involuntary and lacking an ounce of performance.
The warmth and happiness that spreads through her is real, too, as her face heats for an entirely different reason and she has to pause for several long moments to catch her breath.
She drops her hand from her mouth, still unable to tamp down her grin as she says, breathless, “Who knew the Duke of Meropide was so funny?”
Wriothesley shrugs. “I don’t exactly go around handing out interviews.”
She groans, rolling her eyes. “I am well aware,” she answers, flashing back - or rather, remembering nightmares - to reporters hounding her for information on the Duke, or if she could pull a few strings, or if pretty please could he make a public appearance just once?
Wriothesley breathes a laugh. “That bad?”
Furina straightens, fixing him with a steady almost-glare. “Duke of Meropide, you’re an incredibly mysterious figure on the surface! Do you know how many reporters I had asking me for an interview? At least twice a month- ‘ My Lady, could you call him up just once?’ ‘Surely you can pull a few strings? Think of the story! The news!’”
He smiles. “Was there one perhaps by the name of Charlotte? Pink hair, overly energetic-“
“Yes,” Furina hisses, and something in her expression makes Wriothesley laugh again, the smile widening to a mischievous grin as he watches her flash back to truly traumatic memories.
“Well,” he starts, and she squints at him, not liking the tone, “I’ll just have to gift you more tea as an apology, won’t I-“
“Tea is not a gods-damned apology, Wriothesley!” Furina snaps, and he fends off the box of teabags thrown at his head with hands up and a grin on his face.
She huffs and grabs the mug of tea he’d finished several minutes ago, taking a sip and mock-glaring at him. The expression is barely effective - the only effectiveness it may have is the fact drinking the tea prevents her from smiling through the glare. “ Ugh. You’re insufferable.”
Wriothesley’s grin fades to something more serious, though no less mischievous. “If it makes you laugh like that , I will gladly continue to be so.”
This time, when Furina’s face heats, it’s something softer and hotter, seeing the sincerity in his gaze despite the teasing on his lips. She stares at him for a couple moments, struggling for words, before eventually turning back to take another frustrated sip of her tea.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” she mutters, shifting in her seat.
Wriothesley doesn’t say anything, but she can feel his gaze on her for a moment longer before he picks up his own mug of tea.
He sits down at his chair, and there’s a few blessed moments of silence-
“So… about you being ‘the one holding the leash,’ you certainly ran with that-“
“Wriothesley!”