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If asked why he has this kind of arrangement with his Iudex, considering the kinds of secrets he keeps, Furina might laugh and say the whims of the divine are simply fickle.
Or he might smile and say something about keeping your friends close enough that they think they can't get any closer.
Or (realistically, assuming someone ever does ask) he might gasp in outrage—how dare you even suggest something so outrageous and improper and—and intimate, about him and the Iudex—the nerve—!
(And, sure, the tabloids will be abuzz with speculation over that sort of reaction, but in every article they'll still name him as Hydro Archon. That's the important part.)
Anyways, it's nothing so complicated. Or public—Neuvillette doesn't like that sort of thing. Just another case of Furina reinventing himself again according to audience reaction. What Neuvillette wants is someone behind the act? Well, it can sometimes be necessary to meet the audience halfway. You can't compromise on the artistic vision, of course, can't lose sight of the entire reason the piece exists in the first place, but you can compromise a little on the presentation to help the audience understand better.
So. Here: the concession that, yes, perhaps the Hydro Archon puts on a bit of an act. Congratulations on seeing the man behind the curtain, how clever of them—here, they may join him in bed if they'd like. No, he's not still wearing a mask. Who wears a mask to bed? Do they see any masks here? Obviously not. Just close your eyes and be quiet and enjoy the show.
Besides, aren't they honored? They've been granted the exceedingly rare privilege of knowing that the Hydro Archon is, in fact, a man, though he can't very well present such a drastic change to the public now. The privilege of knowing how red his face gets when he gets flustered before he orders them to stop looking so intently.
(The privilege of falling asleep under his gaze before he slips away.)
Even if they have the audacity to seem more amused by this Furina-behind-the-curtain than anything. Really. They've taken to calling him Lord Furina sometimes—Furina huffs and rolls his eyes even as something in him preens at the words and their tone which almost sounds teasing, which is almost fond, which is almost too close, which is, of course, dangerous.
So. Only ever in private. Only ever in the dark, when he can't see his body or his own face, and in fact he can barely see Neuvillette, so for a moment they're—not Iudex and Archon. Just a person and an approximation of one, or something like that.
(Something like friends? How silly. Who would want to be friends with him? That's the whole point, isn't it?)
And it's quiet. It's—stress relief. A sleep aid. An indulgence. Just another mask. Another way to prove—hey, what are they even looking for? There's nothing worthwhile to see here, nothing else. They're professionals, they know how to compartmentalize and keep the personal separate.
(Afterwards, his mind is too quiet for even despair, and he can fall asleep almost immediately. No tears staining the pillow even when he's in his own bed again.)
And Neuvillette doesn't ask, which is convenient. It seems to soothe away that troubled look in their eyes, for a while. If it somewhat endears him to them a little more then anticipated, well, it's in convenient ways.
Everyone gets what they want. Everyone's content. Everyone applaud another masterful performance.
Then one night—with their head in his lap, eyes still open even as he strokes their hair—they peer up at him and ask "What does this mean to you?"
Possibilities fractal out before Furina's eyes. Neuvillette's brows are only lightly furrowed, just an idle curiosity and not a serious probing.
(What do you even mean by that / Whatever you want it to mean, of course / I don't know / I'm so lonely, Neuvillette / Well, what does this mean to you)
He settles for resting a hand on their forehead, fingers drifting down to gently close and cover their eyes. A small sound of protest, discontent, but he shushes them.
Mildly disgruntled: "You are avoiding the question."
Furina snorts, stroking their hair as he lowers his voice. "Go to sleep, Neuvillette."
And so they do, because he asked and because they're exhausted. See? Convenient. Questions waved away with a soft tone and soothing touch, then surely forgotten by the morning.
(When Neuvillette's breath goes quiet and even, Furina looks away and whispers Nothing, nothing at all. It's important to rehearse even when there's no audience, after all.)