Chapter Text
When she informs him of her intent to move out of the Palais, he has the urge to ask her to stay, a little longer, where he could ensure she was safe. It's ironic that, now of all times, when Furina is leaving, Neuvillette seeks her presence.
There is an injustice here, an imbalance he must correct. He doesn't have the slightest idea where he should start.
"I suppose this is farewell," Furina says, suitcase in hand.
Neuvillette nods. "If you should ever need anything," he says. "Please, do not hesitate to ask."
Then he stops there, throat tightening, because it strikes him how woefully inadequate those words feel, how empty they sound. He tries to wrestle his emotions and intent into something coherent, but they turn meaningless in the late afternoon light. Far too simple, too weightless, easily misconstrued, taken as empty platitudes.
But Furina is smiling weakly and already turning away, and it is too late.
Something tells him to call after her, to ask her to stay within reach, where he can ensure she's still there. But that is unreasonable to ask of her. She deserves her rest, her space. And even if she were still nearby, he has already failed to keep her from harm once, and countless times over.
So he stays silent, and watches her disappear.
-
Before he can turn to step out of her apartment and leave, Furina catches his sleeve.
"... can you stay?" she asks, quiet and hesitant, and what can Neuvillette do but acquiesce?
Furina's bed is barely big enough for the two of them—his feet will dangle off the edge if he stretches out.
"Sorry," Furina mutters, lying next to him. Her eyes glimmer faintly in the dark. "The furniture came with the apartment."
"It's quite alright." And he means it.
"I really should get a bigger bed." Furina pauses, and Neuvillette cannot see her expression. "If this is to become a common occurence..."
"Do you wish it to be?"
"... I don't want to trouble you."
"I do not mind, truly."
"... If you say so."
Tentatively, he puts his arms around Furina. She stiffens, but before he can withdraw she's already pressing closer to him, an arm coming up to wrap around him.
He rests his chin over Furina's head. She sighs, heavy and shuddering, and he tightens his grip around her. He is here. He knows no other way to comfort her, to ease whatever doubts she still holds and will not tell him.
Neuvillette indulges himself in this—the desire to envelop Furina in his arms and keep her safe, safe, here, tangible and solid against him. To curl around what is his and shield her from the world. For this moment, at least.