Work Text:
Wriothesley had paced the empty hall of Opera Epiclese for so long, he was sure he could recreate the intricate patterns on the floor in his dreams. While being a Duke had its perks, it unfortunately still didn’t allow him access to an exclusive magic show without a ticket. Though it wasn’t so much the show itself he was here for, but the person currently running it.
Just as Wriothesley fought the urge to check his pocket watch for the umpteenth time, the walls shook with the cresting wave of applause that signalled the curtain call. A few minutes later the Opera staff pushed open the doors, and an enthusiastically raving crowd poured from the theater hall. Wriothesley easily slipped past the mass of people, weaving through the rows of emptying chairs until he found the backstage area.
Lyney was shaking hands with his backstage assistants, thanking them for their invaluable help. As he turned to duck into the dressing room, his gaze passed over Wriothesley, and surprise flashed in his eyes.
“Your Grace,” Lyney greeted as Wriothesley approached, with that strange mix of lighthearted teasing and genuine respect in his tone that Wriothesley’s been hearing more and more often lately. “Did you catch the show? I didn’t see you in the audience just now.”
“No, I just missed it, I’m afraid,” Wriothesley lied smoothly. “But I’m not here for magic tricks— well, not that kind, anyway. I have a favour to ask.”
Lyney’s eyebrows quirked up, as did the corners of his lips. “A favour? Those don’t exactly come cheap, I’ll have you know.”
He paused, waiting for Wriothesley to elaborate. Wriothesley had to wrestle back a smile. A few months back, he would’ve been met by a hard refusal or a sceptical ‘depends on what it is’.
After their clash in the Fortress, Wriothesley had done his best to fix the damage his scheme had caused (even if he’d been right to pull it—Lyney had been the intruding force, after all). First he figured Lyney would be a good ally to have, not to mention a direct line of contact with the Knave. After a while, though, he’d found he actually enjoyed Lyney’s company, even if it was just Fatui-Fortress talk or business related to the rebuilding of Fontaine after the flood. It was fun to poke and prod at Lyney’s dignified facade, and even more fun when Lyney started teasing him back.
What began as a rocky start had slowly morphed into genuine companionship built on mutual respect, and the way Wriothesley saw no trace of distrust or suspicion in Lyney’s face kind of made his heart swell.
“I’m assuming you’ve also received an invitation to Lady Furina’s masquerade party?” Wriothesley asked, his tone turning the question into something better resembling a statement.
Lyney put a hand on his hips. “Naturally.”
“And I’m assuming you will be attending.”
“Of course. What, do you need a date? Because you need to try a lot harder if you’re aiming to woo me.”
For a heartbeat, Wriothesley considered the scenario. Then he snorted and shook his head.
“No, that’s not it. You see, I’m not very familiar with events such as these, and I’ve been informed that there will be…” He cleared his throat. “...Ballroom dancing involved. As the Duke of Meropide, surely I’ll be expected to make an appearance on the dance floor.”
“And you don’t know how to dance,” Lyney guessed, cocking his head to the side and giving Wriothesley a knowing little smile.
Well, at least Wriothesley didn’t have to admit it out loud now. “Regrettably, the Fortress didn’t exactly offer dancing classes for the inmates back in my day.” Nor do they now , he added in his mind. Should they be offering dancing classes?
“So you want me to teach you how to dance in the two weeks we’ve got until the event?” said Lyney, hitting the nail on the head yet again.
An awkward chuckle escaped Wriothesley. “That is, if you’re familiar with the required repertoire.”
Lyney’s face scrunched up in mock offense. “Wriothesley, I’m a performer. Of course I know how to dance.”
“Sure, sure, just checking if your credentials are sound.”
Lyney rolled his eyes, then squeezed them closed and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. It was clear from the slope of his shoulders and the way he shifted from foot to foot that Lyney was eager to wrap up this day. “Honestly, Wriothesley… That’s quite a tall order. I still have two shows to run and rehearse for, and work for the House to take care of… I’m not sure I’ll have the time–”
“I only need one lesson,” insisted Wriothesley with way more confidence than he actually had. But he couldn’t burden Lyney more than strictly necessary when he was already looking worn down. “I’ll practice by myself after that. I’m a quick study.”
Lyney sighed, thinking it over. At last he met Wriothesley’s eyes and set his shoulders. “Meet me here tomorrow evening. I should have an hour or two available after rehearsals.”
Wriothesley wasn’t prepared for the wave of relief that smashed into him—and even less so for the way his stomach immediately itched with nerves. Or excitement. He had trouble telling the two apart sometimes.
“Thank you so much,” he said, with every ounce of gratitude he had. “I’ll make it up to you one way or another, I promise.”
Lyney looked like he wanted to ask Wriothesley if he was sound of mind, but seemed to decide against it. “Yeah, yeah,” he waved him off, a glint of amusement showing through his exhaustion. “Now go, I’m aching to get out of my corset and remove my make-up.”
He turned to his dressing room, then shot a look at Wriothesley over his shoulder. “Oh, and wear lighter shoes. I don’t fancy getting my toes broken because of those ridiculous boots of yours.”
***
The stage had already been cleared by the time Wriothesley stepped foot into the theater the next evening. He immediately spotted Lyney sitting on the edge of the stage, idly swinging his feet as he leaned back on his hands and gazed at something on the ceiling. Their eyes met when the double doors slammed closed behind Wriothesley, and Lyney jumped off the stage.
“It’s strange to see you without your signature boots and business suit,” Lyney remarked when Wriothesley was comfortably within earshot. “You seem like a completely different person.”
Wriothesley had opted for a simple white button-down and black dress pants, and he’d dug up a pair of old loafers from the dark and dusty corners of his wardrobe. He’d purchased them several years back for the rare moments he needed to make an impression other than ‘prison warden’, but they were so unlike him that he shuddered every time he so much as thought about wearing them. They were ideal for this specific purpose, though.
“So do you,” Wriothesley knocked back. Lyney was in what Wriothesley assumed was his rehearsal attire: loosely fitted pants tucked into worn ankle-height boots, a ruffled shirt with sleeves firmly rolled up to above his elbows, and a hairband keeping his bangs away from his face. When Wriothesley stepped closer, he noticed a dusting of freckles spread over Lyney’s nose and cheeks. Had he always had those? “You’re so… unpolished.”
Lyney flashed him a smile that almost seemed awkward. Wriothesley knew Lyney to be many things, but insecure wasn’t one of them. It kind of made something in him go soft. “Yeah, well… Not many people have the privilege of seeing the Great Magician like this, so consider yourself lucky.”
Trust me, I am , Wriothesley thought as he followed Lyney onto the stage. Lyney found an old gramophone and selected a record from the box sitting beside it. Within seconds the room filled up with the tinny sound of some orchestral piece. Lyney walked back to the middle of the stage and wagged a finger to get Wriothesley to join him. (Maybe it should concern Wriothesley that Lyney could get him to follow his command so easily.)
“Before I teach you the actual dances, you need to know how to properly open one,” Lyney explained, his voice taking on a tone that was both reassuring and authoritative. Wriothesley suspected this was his ‘big brother’ voice. “Now, give me your most graceful bow.”
Wriothesley fumbled for a bit, eventually resting his hand on his chest and leaning forward. Before he’d even had a chance to right himself, he heard Lyney failing to hold back a laugh.
“You look like a scarecrow with heartburn,” he giggled. “Is that what you call graceful?”
Wriothesley tried not to splutter. “Expecting a prison warden to be graceful is like expecting a dog to lay eggs.”
“Thank the Archons you have me,” Lyney said. “So, if you were to properly greet your partner—likely female, because both dances and etiquette are still very gendered—you would wait until she’s dropped into a curtsy, like so–”
Lyney demonstrated, his hands flaring up just so, pretending to lift his nonexistent skirts just a smidge. “–and then you offer her your left hand.” He waited until Wriothesley did as he was told, then lightly put his right hand in Wriothesley’s.
“Good. Once you have her hand, you move your other hand behind your back and bow gently, bringing the lady’s hand to your lips. Don’t actually kiss it—people consider that improper. Just pretend to kiss it.”
“That’s an awful lot of rules for something we haven’t even started yet,” Wriothesley grumbled. He followed Lyney’s instructions, tucking his free hand away and bowing lightly at the waist. He was so focused on keeping proper posture that he slightly overshot, and his lips accidentally connected with the back of Lyney’s hand.
“I said, don’t actually kiss it,” Lyney chastised him. When Wriothesley straightened, he spotted the slightest flush on Lyney’s cheeks, even in the theater’s dim lighting. “But that was decent, I guess. Just practice in front of a mirror a few times.”
Wriothesley couldn’t resist smirking at Lyney. Oh, he definitely still hated praising or complimenting Wriothesley in any capacity.
“Stop grinning, that’s improper.” Lyney’s boot connected with Wriothesley’s shin, gently enough not to hurt but hard enough to know he meant business. Wriothesley pressed his lip together and made an exaggerated serious face. Lyney pointedly ignored it.
“Once you’ve straightened,” he continued, “do not let go of the lady’s hand. Instead, after meeting her eyes, you interlace your fingers with hers—” Lyney shifted his fingers so he and Wriothesley were now properly intertwined “—and move your other hand to her waist.”
Wriothesley’s hand drifted to Lyney’s side, resting lightly, hesitantly, on that slim little waist.
“She’s not made of glass, Wriothesley,” Lyney chided. “Grip it properly. You’re supposed to be leading the dance, and you can’t lead if you’re afraid to touch her.”
Lyney pressed Wriothesley’s hand down on his side with his own, demonstrating the strength of a man’s proper grip. “And you’re dancing, not appraising her dress. Pull her close, for Archon’s sake.” He stepped forward, pressing his chest against Wriothesley and moving his free hand to Wriothesley’s shoulder, looking up at him expectantly.
Wriothesley swallowed and looked away as he pulled Lyney tighter against him. He felt his face grow hot, and he instinctively reached for his reserve of Cryo energy to bring down his body temperature. Whether only Lyney had this effect on him or he just turned out to be a prude, Wriothesley wasn’t quite certain.
Two fingers appeared on his cheek, angling his face back to Lyney. “Eyes on your partner, Your Grace,” Lyney said, though his voice had grown softer to match their proximity. Wriothesley’s face flamed even hotter.
“And watch your posture,” Lyney added. “Back straight, even if your partner is half your size. Don’t let that left arm sag.”
Wriothesley adjusted his stance and found himself desperately checking Lyney’s face for approval. He gave Wriothesley a quick once-over before he nodded. “Decent.. Now do the opening again.”
He stepped back, and Wriothesley felt like he could breathe again for the first time in two minutes. They went through the motions once more, and when Lyney was in his arms again, he sighed, “good enough. Let’s move on to the actual dances now, I don’t have all night.”
Lyney was a strict teacher, though Wriothesley had an inkling it was only him Lyney was strict with. The first dance was simple enough, but Wriothesley had corrections hurled at him constantly. Stop looking at your feet. My face is up here, Your Grace. You’re off tempo, match the music. Keep up that arm. Don’t drift away. Take smaller steps. Take bigger steps. Eyes on me, Wriothesley.
He supposed Lyney took pleasure in being able to order Wriothesley around for once. Wriothesley would too, if it were him.
In the beginning Lyney seemed content lugging Wriothesley through the steps, but at some point he stopped forcing it and expected Wriothesley to pick up the slack and properly lead him. That’s when he was especially glad for the lighter shoes.
There was so much to keep track of that Wriothesley barely registered the tingle in his stomach of holding someone so close. Wriothesley completely lost track of time as he was forced to try again, again, and again, and just when he felt he was getting the hang of it, a janitor popped up from backstage and yelled at them that the Opera was about to close.
Dragged from his trance, Wriothesley backed away and dropped Lyney’s hand as if it were made of hot coals. He reached up to loosen his tie, then realised he hadn’t been wearing a tie to begin with.
Lyney was difficult to read through the exhaustion obviously weighing down his bones. Wriothesley suspected the last few times they stumbled over each other was because of Lyney losing his footing, but he’d never admit to that, and Wriothesley wouldn’t add to his suffering by pointing it out.
The silence between them lasted for a few more moments before Lyney asked wearily, “are you sure you don’t need another lesson?”
Wriothesley blew out a breath. Honestly? Not in the slightest, but that was the deal he had made. No going back on that now.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said. “Can’t be taking up even more of your precious time, after all.”
“I might have another hour somewhere–”
“It’s okay, Lyney.” He rested a hand on Lyney’s shoulder for emphasis (and also to make sure he wouldn’t fall over in the next five seconds). He had to resist the urge to cradle Lyney’s cheek, make him look at Wriothesley the way Wriothesley had been made to look at him during the dance. “Use that hour to rest. You look exhausted.”
Lyney’s eyes flicked up at Wriothesley, then flicked away again, a tiny smile tugging up his lips. “Okay.”
They made their way to the staff exit of the Opera, and barely a second after they got to breathe in the cool night air, the janitor popped into existence to lock the door behind them. Wriothesley wanted to ask if he could walk Lyney home, then remembered Lyney lived down in the Court while the official entrance to the Fortress was just around the corner.
“Thank you once again for your help,” Wriothesley said. “If there’s anything I can do to return the favour, let me know.” He paused, then added, “as long as it doesn’t require breaking the law.”
Lyney snorted. “And here I was, about to ask you to help me bury some bodies.”
“I’m sure they deserved it.”
A laugh burst from Lyney, the sound echoing through the empty plaza. Wriothesley didn’t think he’d heard Lyney laugh like that before.
“Good night, Wriothesley,” Lyney said. He didn’t wait for Wriothesley to respond before descending the stairs and making his way to Marcotte Station. Did aquabuses still make the trip to the Court at this hour? Maybe Wriothesley should’ve walked him home after all.
Wriothesley watched Lyney walk until his silhouette was a mere speck gliding over the paved streets.
***
Lady Furina’s masquerade ball took place in a mansion tucked away in the Fontainian mountains, far away from the majority of civilization. The waterways could only take you so far, so Lady Furina had arranged for an army of horsedrawn carriages to ferry the attendees to the location of the party.
As soon as Lyney had received the invitation, he’d rushed to Father’s office to discuss the situation. Father had studied the letter from her large, intimidating chair behind her large, intimidating desk, then given it back to Lyney without so much as a second of consideration.
“This sounds like an amazing honour. Just make sure you hand over your tasks for that evening to one of your siblings before you go.”
Lyney had frowned. “You… don’t need me to gather intel? Spy on some rich noble? I’m guessing all the highly important Fontainians will attend. It’s an unique opportunity–”
A simple hand gesture from Father had silenced Lyney immediately. Father heaved a little sigh, and a shiver crept up Lyney’s spine.
“For a Fatuus, that would indeed be an excellent opportunity. However, you have been invited as The Great Magician. So I would like you to attend the party as such.”
“...Father?”
The Knave had leaned forward and perched her chin on the palm of her hand, a gesture Lyney knew was anything but casual. “In your position, chances to enjoy yourself without burden are exceedingly rare, Lyney. It would do you good to take those chances when they arise.”
She had given Lyney a long look. “Of course it would be prudent to keep your eyes and ears open, as I would expect from all my children. But I’m not attaching strings to this outing of yours. Intel of this kind will present itself some other day.”
A strange feeling had settled in Lyney’s stomach after that, one he still found hard to shake as he wandered through the expensive gardens surrounding the estate. They’d arrived a little earlier than planned, and with some time to kill before the masquerade ball was officially opened, Lyney found himself restless. It wasn’t often that he had nothing to do. He always kept busy with one thing or another, whether it was his siblings or missions or his magic shows or Tabletop Troupe sessions. Now that he had to take a party as it was—not an intelligence gathering mission, not an opportunity to impress people, not another scripted play—the things he’d made a habit of running from were catching up to him.
Picking up roles came easy to Lyney. They had clear rules to follow, and they had a purpose. For as long as he could remember, all Lyney had done was switch between different roles depending on the situation; big brother, protector, provider, performer, Fatuus. Compartmentalising was how Lyney dealt the cards, dealt with the hand he was given. But as his past grew more distant and his future solidified, the roles (and all the corresponding rules and codes of conduct) blurred and merged together. He had to be so many things at once, had to keep up with all the lies he spun, stories he fabricated to distract or protect or evade. It was only in moments like this, when he was forced to stand still and return to his own center, that he found he had no clue what it looked like.
He spent so much time muffling himself away for the sake of his family and his goals that he wouldn’t recognise his ‘real’ self even if he stood right in front of him.
“Brother,” a soft voice whispered from behind him. Even after all these years, Lyney still startled whenever Lynette crept up on him like that. (In fact, he could’ve sworn Lynette had made herself quieter exactly for this purpose.) “The party is starting.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he told her. He waited until he couldn’t sense her presence anymore before he began the arduous task of stitching himself back together. He backtracked to a little pond to fix his hair and check the fit of his mask in the reflection of the water. Somehow it was a comfort to struggle to discern his own eyes from behind the two slits in the fabric. If he couldn’t be his true self, whatever that was, then at least for tonight he could choose to be someone else.
Until people recognised him, that was.
The ballroom was one of the grandest rooms Lyney had ever been in. High arched ceilings painted with underwater scenery, deep blue curtains framing the tall stained windows, so many chandeliers that the space might actually be a tad too bright. A group of about a dozen musicians drew a lively waltz from their instruments, and the guests were chatting merrily among one another. Lyney saw masks with lace, feathers, bows, fur, even gems, the next even more extravagant than the last. Men strutted around in elaborate embroidered waistcoats and ruffled shirts, women wore dresses wider than they were tall. It all screamed of riches and opulence the likes of which Lyney could only dream of.
Lyney caught a flute of champagne from one of the staff floating through the masses, and managed to exchange a few friendly hellos with strangers before Lady Furina, instantly recognisable despite her mask, politely asked for the attendees’ attention. She made a show of thanking everyone who accepted her invitation, and acknowledged the baroness that allowed her to use this mansion for tonight’s festivities, as well as the staff for their hard work and Chiori for designing and sewing the gown she was wearing. This masquerade was in celebration of Fontaine’s mostly successful rebuilding after the flood, which took place almost a year ago that day, and to thank those who were invited for their efforts and tireless dedication to their nation.
“And now,” Furina wrapped up her speech, in her usual overly enthusiastic drawl, “I would like to officially open this masquerade by inviting the Iudex himself to accompany me on tonight’s first dance.”
A confused but polite wave of applause rumbled through the crowd as Neuvillette stepped out from the circle of people surrounding Furina. A mask that seemed to have been made of iridescent serpentine scales covered the upper part of his face, yet his long white hair and tall frame immediately gave him away.
The guests retreated to the edges of the ballroom to give the pair some space. Neuvillette had left his usual robes back in the Maison Gardennage and instead wore an impeccably tailored suit in the same shade of indigo as Furina’s dress. The small orchestra started up a piece that bordered on sappy, and with a tender shared look, the two most famous people in all of Fontaine started dancing.
They moved like water, fluid and graceful, effortlessly gliding over the marble floors. A murmur fluttered through the crowd as they watched the spectacle, but Lyney didn’t catch a word. His eyes were glued to the faces of the dancing couple, how they radiated delight as they wove a little pocket of the world only meant for the two of them. It tugged at Lyney’s heartstrings—whether they were just long-time companions or something else, Lyney thought it must be nice to have someone move so perfectly in sync with you in more ways than one.
“I never expected the Iudex of all people to pull off such moves,” a familiar voice piped up behind him as Neuvillette guided Furina into a smooth dip. “I wonder where that man found the time to practice, considering his workload.”
Lyney turned to see a tall, broadchested man. If his voice hadn’t already given away his identity, the black-and-grey mop of hair peeking up from behind his mask would have. Wriothesley was dressed in black from head to toe, save for his burgundy tie and the greys and whites of his wolf-like mask. The flute of champagne looked exceedingly fragile in his big gloved hand.
Lyney directed his attention back at the dancing pair. “He is rumoured to be several centuries old. Surely that expands his opportunities somewhat.”
“Guess it’s a good thing they barred the press from entering. Imagine what the general public would think if they saw the Chief of Justice twirling on the dance floor.”
Lyney snorted. “I figure the tabloids would go even more insane about a certain elusive Duke showing his– well, not quite his face.”
The couple’s dance came to an end, and Lyney and Wriothesley joined in on the glorious applause that followed. Then the volume of the crowd increased as Furina merged with it and people started pairing up now that the dance floor was open to the guests.
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice,” Wriothesley responded to Lyney’s earlier quip.
“Why, because you made me teach you how to dance?”
“No, because Clorinde literally dragged me out of the Fortress. After threatening to shoot me if I didn’t change into something more suitable.”
“Wonders never cease,” Lyney said with a smile. “I’m surprised you found me so quickly.”
“You wound me,” Wriothesley gasped. “I would recognise that petite yet strong frame and bold androgynous style anywhere.”
Lyney spotted Wriothesley giving his outfit for the night an appreciative glance. He’d chosen a white blouse with ruffled sleeves and a heart-shaped cutout on the chest that was decorated with red glass beads and gems to create a sort of bleeding effect. His dark red corset emphasised the dip of his waist and merged into a similarly coloured pair of shorts, with an additional piece of flowy fabric attached to the right side of the garment, reaching past his knees to create a kind of half-skirt.
Lyney hummed, nosing at his champagne glass. “So it wasn’t the cat mask?”
“No, that actually kind of threw me off initially. You’re masking yourself so much already that wearing another seemed superfluous.”
Lyney scoffed and looked out over the dance floor. Several couples floated along with the leisurely waltz coating the room, some more skilled than others but never lacking in joy. Lyney sipped on his champagne, finding a strange comfort in the presence of the man next to him and the alcohol slowly warming his stomach. They spent a long moment like this, nursing their drinks and watching the guests prance around in a world neither of them truly fit into.
Just when Lyney considered going outside to get some fresh air, Wriothesley nudged him with his elbow. “May I have this dance, oh Great Magician?”
Lyney realised the previous song had ended, and the dancing pairs from earlier trickled back into the meat of the crowd. He raised an eyebrow at Wriothesley.
“Not afraid to make a fool out of yourself, then?”
“I gotta show off the work I put into practicing the steps you so diligently taught me, don’t I?” Wriothesley smiled, but it was a more timid smile than usual. He held out his hand, waiting to see if Lyney would take it with an expectant, almost hopeful glint in his eyes.
With a sigh, Lyney put his hand in Wriothesley’s. “Fine,” he said as Wriothesley started tugging him towards the center of the ballroom. “Only because my lesson would go to waste otherwise.”
“I’m sure it would’ve come in handy regardless,” Wriothesley remarked. “There might be a day where I’m held at gunpoint and the only way to save my skin is to perform a perfect waltz.”
They came to a halt, Wriothesley positioning himself opposite Lyney the way Lyney had taught him. Lyney dropped into a curtsy, which Wriothesley followed up with an effortless bow, lifting Lyney’s hand to his face and pressing his lips into the back of it firmly enough that Lyney felt it even through his glove. There was a defiant spark in Wriothesley’s gaze, telling Lyney that he knew he wasn’t following protocol and daring Lyney to say anything about it.
Lyney was glad his masks covered his quickly heating cheeks.
Wriothesley grabbed him firmly by the waist and pulled him closer, interlacing their fingers as Lyney reached to lay his other hand on Wriothesley’s shoulder. Wriothesley’s icy blue eyes drilled into his, stripping him bare without a word, without a touch. Then he felt the slightest nudge at his side, and Wriothesley swept him along into the dance.
The difference between Wriothesley now and the Wriothesley Lyney taught two weeks ago was like night and day. During their lesson he had been stiff, insecure, hesitant. Now a confidence radiated from him that was not dissimilar from the way he carried himself in the boxing ring, moving through the steps as if they were second nature. He guided Lyney with a steady hand, yet moved so airily Lyney almost felt like they were floating. And all the while, Wriothesley’s gaze was on him, holding him hostage, breaking him free.
“How am I doing, Professor Lyney?” Wriothesley asked, noting Lyney’s perplexity and aiming to rub it in.
“You… weren’t wrong about being a quick study,” Lyney forced out, balancing the knife’s edge between wanting to punch Wriothesley in the face and, surprisingly, wanting to bridge the distance between their mouths. “How did you improve so fast?”
“My impeccable memory,” Wriothesley said drily, letting go of Lyney’s wait to twirl him effortlessly before pulling him closer again. He added in a lower voice, “also a miserable session with Clorinde, an in-depth study of the Icewind Suite, and many broken Gardemeks.”
Lyney couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up his throat, light and sparkling like champagne. “And was it worth it?”
Wriothesley chose that moment to dip Lyney so low his body must have been perpendicular with the floor. He dug his nails into Wriothesley’s dress jacket to keep himself from falling, but Wriothesley’s arm kept him perfectly secure. For a moment suspended in time, Lyney was truly weightless.
“You tell me,” Wriothesley murmured, so low it was barely audible over the music.
Archons, the desire to kiss this insufferable man was gaining ground so rapidly it made Lyney dizzy. Or perhaps it was the alcohol, or the way Wriothesley kept looking at him like he was something precious. At some point he dropped Lyney’s hand to grab hold of Lyney’s waist and lift him into the air, spinning him around leisurely and then setting him back down so gently it made Lyney’s knees go weak.
Before Lyney knew it the song had wrapped up, and they were surrounded by applause. Somehow the majority of the crowd had stopped whatever it was they had been doing to watch him and Wriothesley dance, and judging from their response, they’d put up a hell of a show.
“As expected of Fontaine’s Great Magician,” someone remarked. Lyney scanned his surprise audience, bewildered, and found Navia and Clorinde, Furina and Neuvillette, Lynette and Freminet, even the Traveler and Paimon, all clapping and cheering.
Years of experience from being on stage kicked into gear, and then Lyney was all smiles and waves and blown kisses. Wriothesley stood still at his side, clearly out of his depth, so Lyney took his hand and pulled him into a joint bow. Rule number one of public appearances: always pretend everything you do is intentional.
As Lyney dragged the both of them away from the center of attention, it dawned on him that Wriothesley wasn’t nearly as easily recognisable as he was, especially with his mask. All around him there were whispers wondering about the mysterious gentleman Lyney had been dancing with. Lyney wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of rumours would spawn from this public display.
Wriothesley seemed perfectly fine being dragged into the first quiet corner Lyney stumbled across. Once Lyney was sure no one was around to hear them, he asked, “Why did you do it?”
“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that, I’m afraid.”
Lyney blew out an impatient huff. “Why ask me to teach you to dance?” he elaborated. “Dancing is far from an obligation. You could’ve just found a corner to lurk from and not be spared another glance. Why go through all the trouble?”
Wriothesley was quiet for a long moment. “Do you want the smooth, distanced answer or the awkward, genuine answer?”
Lyney just crossed his arms and waited.
Wriothesley rubbed at his neck, knocking his mask askew in the process. He then decided to just remove it entirely, granting Lyney full access to his facial expressions.
“I wanted to impress you,” he said softly, not meeting Lyney’s gaze. His gloved fingers smoothed down the fur on his wolf mask. “And I wanted to spend time with you. Outside of lousy meetings or joint missions. I wanted to see the Lyney I saw that day in my office, when you demanded I release your siblings.”
Lyney stilled. Somehow Wriothesley’s words refused to truly sink in, stubborn like separated layers of oil and water. “You wanted to see me full of panic and rage?”
“I wanted to see you passionate. Uncensored. Unmasked. Real .” Wriothesley reached out and traced the edge of Lyney’s mask with a fingertip. “And somehow wearing a physical mask makes you act more true to yourself than you would otherwise. Like you don’t have to hide from yourself anymore.”
A humourless laugh escaped Lyney. He removed the mask from his face and looked down at it, as if the eyeholes would reveal some new information that changed everything. “I don’t even know what my true self looks like. It feels like I lost my connection to that person long ago, and ever since then I’ve been an empty husk of a person pretending to be one.”
When Lyney peeked up at Wriothesley to gauge his reaction, he saw that his gaze had softened. “Oh, I’m certain he’s still in there,” he said. “He’s just taken a bit of a different form. But you can see him if you look closely.”
For some reason Lyney’s cheeks heated, and his heart clenched in his chest, as if it were being squeezed by an unrelenting fist. “What do you see?” he whispered.
“I see…” Wriothesley ran his fingers through Lyney’s bangs, brushing them away from Lyney’s eyes. “I see his courage and steadfastness, his appreciation for the ordinary and his search for the extraordinary. His dedication and his loyalty. His drive to improve, to be better, to right wrongs.”
Wriothesley’s fingertips trailed down Lyney’s cheeks in a touch so featherlight it made Lyney shiver. “Sure, he’s prone to holding grudges, has a silver tongue—for better or for worse— and asks so much of himself sometimes that he agrees to teach an old man how to dance instead of taking that time to rest, but… everyone has flaws, right?”
Lyney bit his lip, both to muffle away his smile and fight the tears burning behind his eyes. Wriothesley tipped Lyney’s head upward with his knuckles, returning his gaze back to Wriothesley, refusing to let him hide.
“These are things that shine though no matter what you do or who you pretend to be, Lyney, and are things you can’t fake into existence even if you wanted to. That shining core is what really draws people in, what makes people root for you, fight for you, want to impress you with silly dance steps and even sillier etiquette.”
Lyney breathed a laugh as tears spilled down his cheeks. Wriothesley gently brushed them away with his thumb, cradling Lyney’s cheek with a tenderness he didn’t know Wriothesley had in him.
“Oh dear, I made the Knave’s heir cry,” he murmured. “She’s going to kill me now, isn’t she?”
Lyney giggled, then sniffed wetly. “For sure.”
“I hope she at least lets me try this new batch of exotic teas I just received before she slices my head off. Would be a shame to let those go to waste.”
Lyney wiped at his eyes, feeling the fist around his heart dissolve, along with the restless itch that had been plaguing him the past few days. A sense of rightness settled within the cage of his ribs now, a seed planted there by the man in front of him.
“I might actually get you first if you don’t kiss me right now,” Lyney said.
Wriothesley raised a suave eyebrow, though there was no mistaking the surprise in his eyes. “Calling in that favour I owe you already? That’s a pretty shitty deal, you know.”
“The one you got wasn’t much better,” Lyney said, tugging at Wriothesley’s tie to get him to lean down. His mask dropped from his hands, completely forgotten, and Wriothesley’s soon followed.
“Sure, but look where it got me,” Wriothesley shot back, and then his lips finally closed around Lyney’s.