Work Text:
“Sweetheart, do you believe in soulmates?”
Wriothesley asks this as they share an early lunch at Café Lutece, like they do every Wednesday. His fingers are curled around a cup of steaming black tea. His gaze is soft, inquiring as he spoons a little sugar into it, and then a dash of cream from the small pitcher resting on a plate.
The question catches Neuvillette off guard. He’s in the middle of cutting apart a pastry, his fork and knife pausing. “I… I don’t think that I’ve thought much of it? Not seriously, at least. I know that it is a popular trope in books, and you know that I enjoy my fair share of romance, but when it comes to a practical, real-life application, I’ve never—” A pause. “What’s with that look?”
Wriothesley's face is scrunched up with affection. He hides a chuckle behind his palm, artfully disguising it as a soft couch. “No look,” he replies. “Please, go on.”
Oh. Neuvillette feels his cheeks burn slightly as he places his fork and knife down with a clink against porcelain. Trades them for his napkin, which he shakes out before spreading it across his lap. “I was merely saying that outside of books, it seems to be only a lofty dream.”
“It does?”
Neuvillette gives Wriothesley an appraising look. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I was thinking about stuff, and that led me to wondering.”
Neuvillette blinks at him. “Stuff,” he repeats. “Are you worried about us—”
Wriothesley laughs, this time not hiding it. “Of course, not. I’m stupidly happy, Neuvillette. I love you. You love me. This, by all accounts, should’ve been a nightmare, considering how we met. Instead, we fell in deeply, we’re married, and we’re just…” He waves vaguely. “Maybe the universe thought we deserved something. Deserved each other.”
It’s a nice thought, a wonderful thought—and, truth be told, Neuvillette has considered such a thing, because when it came to Wriothesley, he made many, many ill-advised decisions that he normally would not have. But there was a feeling, and inkling; whatever this was in the beginning, was something not to be ignored.
“Miss Navia,” says Neuvillette, reaching to pour himself his own cup of tea, “mentioned once that our coming together was very…neat. As if everything just fell right into place.”
“So, fate, then.” Wriothesley grins widely, the skin around his eyes creasing in the most adorable way. “I could definitely be saddled with a worse fate.”
Neuvillette snorts softly. “The jury might still be out on that one. You claim that my eccentricities are perfectly manageable, but it has yet to be a year, beloved. Are you sure that you are ready to be saddled with me for the rest of our lives?”
Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. That grin on his face tilts slightly, smoothing into something heady, even lustful. “I think you, of all people, would know that being saddled is no issue for me, particularly if you are the one riding—”
“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s arm snaps out, across the table, and he shoves a hand against Wriothesley's mouth. How absurd. Wildly inappropriate. Neuvillette’s gaze snaps to each table around them, but thankfully, blessedly, no one seems to have heard.
Laughter warms his palm. Wriothesley kisses it, chapped lips catching against Neuvillette’s skin. “I’ll stop teasing. Promise.”
Neuvillette gives him a cool look, but pulls his hand away. “Really, beloved. Here?”
“No one is paying us attention, and even if they were, they wouldn’t care.”
He isn’t entirely wrong, but they do often turn heads when they’re out and about, which always sets Neuvillette on edge. Being a man with such a public profile due to his job, he draws attention no matter how much he tries to stay low.
“To your earlier question—”
“Redirecting so soon?” Wriothesley says this with mirth, always ready to make job-related quips at Neuvillette’s expense.
“—I like the idea of it,” continues Neuvillette, giving him an exasperated look. “Soulmates, I mean. It is romantic, isn’t it?” Neuvillette’s forgotten about his pastry and tea, considering this topic; the implications of it, the warmth that floods through his chest at the idea that they were fated to be.
What sort of man wouldn’t want that to be the case? Doesn’t every person hope that their chosen partner is the one? With Wriothesley, it was easy, so stupidly easy that there was cause for concern. And even now, married, that heat hasn’t faded. Neuvillette still wakes in the morning thinking of Wriothesley. He goes to sleep pressed close, his husband the last thing he sees before dozing off, and—
“Now you’re the one with a look.” Wriothesley chuckles, cutting through Neuvillette’s thoughts. “Sweetheart, maybe this will shock you—”
(Neuvillette doubts it. He already knows where Wriothesley's going with this, why he even started the entire conversation to begin with.)
“—but I think we’re soulmates. Navia was right, we’re definitely meant to be.”
Affection swells in Neuvillette’s chest, prickly and warm. Wriothesley reaches out for his hand, taking hold of it, his arm resting against the small table. He thumbs over Neuvillette’s knuckles, taking count of each one. The white gold band on his ring finger glints in the mid-morning sun, and oh, yes, this is perfect. This moment feels so perfect that Wriothesley must be right, that the universe must’ve meant for this, them.
Then, Wriothesley's mouth tilts up at one end. He lifts his teacup with his free hand in a mock salute, and before taking a sip, he says: “Besides, who else is going to put up with your rather…stiff disposition.”
Neuvillette’s sighs, annoyed that he walked so easily into another one of Wriothesley's teasing double entedres.
But, if the universe was indeed involved, it must’ve known that he’d love those too, despite his exasperation.