Oh, never this whelming east wind swells

But it seems like the sea’s return

To the ancient lands where it left the shells

Before the age of the fern;

And it seems like the time when after doubt

Our love came back amain.

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout

And be my love in the rain.

Robert Frost, from A Line Storm Song

I

The first time Neuvillette tries to tell the Duke of Meropide the true nature of his being, he is most gently rebuffed.

“Wait! Don’t tell me.” His Grace looks almost alarmed at the near-admission that sits heavy on Neuvillette’s lips. He sits straight and lifts a teacup to his mouth, tipping it back so far Neuvillette has to wonder if the volume of it will burn the Duke’s mouth.

Neuvillette takes a small sip from his own cup, which is just water, contemplating his next words.

Wriothesley clears his throat apologetically. “My apologies. I’d rather wait.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Neuvillette manages to force out, lowering his eyes to Wriothesley’s desk. It is well-organized - pristine, even. He pretends to understand as he so often does around humans. “Forgive me for presuming.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wriothesley says with a shrug and a small grin.

He does not explain. Neuvillette feels it would be improper to ask.

When he emerges back into the overworld, a light rain falling on his shoulders and newly signed documents tucked under his arm, Neuvillette wonders if Wriothesley could guess.

Most of Fontaine knows that Neuvillette has been the Iudex longer than five mortal lifespans, let alone one. Half of Fontaine has asked themselves how that could be. Neuvillette has told no one, aside from that little blonde traveler from beyond the stars.

The decision to inform Wriothesley was born more out of guilt than logic. Perhaps, he muses, Wriothesley is correct - perhaps it is inappropriate of him to subject Wriothesley to the knowledge.

II

Neuvillette doesn’t have the opportunity to meet with the Duke for nearly a month after that. Now that Furina has - retired - the nation tends to look most improperly towards the Iudex for guidance. There are protocols established, of course, and governmental bodies that propose and approve policies and laws and what-have-you. Neuvillette, though, is involved in some way or another in almost all of those groups and meetings, and has an even heavier hand when one considers that almost every governmental employee comes to him for guidance at least once a month on one matter or another.

The point is, Neuvillette is rather busy. He hardly has a moment to spare to think about the Duke, or whether or not he should tell the man the secret he’s been keeping for centuries.

He is in the middle of reviewing evidence for a case that he is not even presiding over when His Grace pokes his head in the door. He makes eye contact with Neuvillette for only a second before he opens the door fully and lets himself in, closing it behind him quietly.

“Sedene told me you were busy, but let me in anyways.” Wriothesley shrugs off his coat as he comes to stand in front of Neuvillette’s desk, looking just slightly damp from the weather. “So I figure you’re probably overworking yourself again.”

“I am not ‘overworking’ myself,” Neuvillette objects. “I am simply working, as all able-bodied and able-minded people are expected to do in a productive society.”

“Oh yeah?” Wriothesley challenges. He juts his chin out just-so, gesturing to the file in Neuvillette’s hands. “Whose case is that?”

“Mine,” Neuvillette lies. He closes it and sets it on the desk.

“It’s not.” Wriothesley points to the front cover of the file. “Anything coming to you has that fancy official seal on it. This one’s plain.”

Neuvillette knows better than to double down, so he diverts instead. “Oh? I had no idea you paid such attention to my documents, your grace.”

“Whose case is it then?”

Neuvillette cannot help but let a resigned heave of breath escape his chest, but he does not answer.

Wriothesley looks over Neuvillette’s shoulder pointedly. “It’s raining.”

“Is it?” Neuvillette asks blandly. “I didn’t notice.”

Neuvillette, of course, isn’t the sole cause of each and every rainfall that happens over Fontaine and its residents. He has, though, been feeling a bit - if you’ll forgive the metaphor- wrung out. To be frank, the Iudex isn’t entirely sure if the slow drizzle that had begun early that same week is due to his weakening grip on a calm disposition or not, and he isn’t sure that he cares.

“Let’s take a walk.” Wriothesley does not even wait for Neuvillette’s response before he is grabbing Neuvillette’s coat from where it hangs and is holding it out for the man to step into. “Come on, I promise I won’t even touch my umbrella.”

Quite honestly - Neuvillette is touched. He nearly grabs at his own chest for how hard it spasms. He’s not sure he’s ever heard anyone offer to walk in the rain with him. The shock is enough for him to stand and put both arms into his coat as Wriothesley guides it onto his shoulders before he can even think to argue.

He’s buttoning up the front when he finally says, “I do have work to be getting to, you know.”

The Duke has the audacity to laugh at him. “You’ve already put on your coat, Monsieur. Surely you won’t deny me the pleasure of your company now?”

Neuvillette has to agree that the idea is rather foolish.

After exiting the Palais Mermonia, Wriothesley leads them around the building, towards the quieter overlook in the back where gestionnaires tend to take their smoke breaks. Neuvillette rarely visits because of this, but no one is hanging around polluting the air today, with the rain being as consistent as it is and there being no convenient place to hide from it.

They come to a stop somewhere deep in a corner, looking out over Fontaine’s countryside. Wriothesley turns and leans back against the railing, tilting his head up to the sky to let the rain drops fall onto his lips. His hair is already soaked, half heartedly curling in clumps on his forehead and around his ears. There’s a blush in his face, where the spring cold has kissed his cheeks and nose.

Neuvillette is not too proper to admit to himself that it is a good view.

“Why do you like it?” Wriothesley asks. “The rain, I mean.”

“I… have a certain disposition for it, I suppose,” Neuvillette replies with a shrug. “Rain carries emotions, memories… it’s a reflection on Fontaine and its people.”

“Huh.” Wriothesley tilts even further back, and closes his eyes. Neuvillette watches as raindrops catch in his eyelashes and run down his throat, towards his exposed chest. “I guess Fontaine must be feeling a little melancholy, then?”

Despite all of Neuvillette’s self-control, there is crash of thunder somewhere in the distance.

“Maybe frustrated, then,” Wriothesley amends with a sly grin.

Neuvillette clears his throat, searching for the right words, but nothing elegant quite comes to mind. “You must be getting cold,” he says instead, stepping forward to button the top of Wriothesley’s coat. It is probably improper to do so - probably, it is trampling right over the boundaries of good and polite. However, if Neuvillette watches one more raindrop drip down Wriothesley’s collar bone, he really isn’t sure what he would do, other than that it definitely wouldn’t be polite.

“Relax,” Wriothesley says, and if he finds the proximity of Neuvillette unnerving, he does not make mention of it. “I spend all my time underground. Do you have any idea how damp it is down there?”

Neuvillette steps back. “If you find your accommodations uncomfortable, I’m sure we can reallocate some funding -“

“Neuvillette,” Wriothesley interrupts. “Relax.”

Neuvillette is finding it increasingly difficult to do so.

Wriothesley must see it on his face. “Come on, let’s keep walking. I’ll tell you about this past week in the Fortress; it’s been crazy down there lately.”

“How so?” Neuvillette asks.

“Oh, the usual. The typical crowd is starting to act up again. Nothing I can’t handle, but I’d thought you’d find this interesting…”

By the time Wriothesley is finished with the tale, they’ve wound their way to the aquabus station, and the rain has slowed to nothing more than a half-hearted trickle.

“Guess Fontaine is cheering up a little,” Wriothesley comments, eyeing the sun just barely beginning to peek through the clouds, and it seems to Neuvillette that this might be the perfect moment to tell Wriothesley the Truth he is holding on to.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette begins, bravely, “You must realize - I’m certain by now that you see some correlation -“

“Excuse me, Monsieur," Wriothesley interrupts, and gestures behind him. “But the aquabus is here. And it is probably past time I let you return to your work.”

Neuvillette sighs, cursing the inopportune timing. “I suppose it is, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley grins. “We’ll get there,” he promises, and Neuvillette doesn’t know what he is referring to, but feels hopeful nonetheless.

Wriothesley turns, but Neuvillette dares to catch him by the elbow just before he can completely slip away.

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette attempts to convey his sincerity with a meaningful look. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Wriothesley says. “Really.”

That afternoon, standing at the window in his office, Neuvillette notices that the clouds have entirely disappeared. He wonders if Wriothesley was able to see the sky clear before he returned to the underworld.

III

Of course, the work drags on for both of them. They have a regular logistics meeting, and then two, wherein there is no inappropriate discussion on the matter of the Grand Justice’s mortality (or lack thereof).

Wriothesley doesn’t show up for the third.

Neuvillette has been staring at the teapot he’d brought out in anticipation of Wriothesley’s arrival for forty minutes when Sedene comes to give him a note, passed to her by another Melusine, who got it directly from Sigewinne’s hand.

Wriothesley has been injured in an attempted uprising, according to the note. The Duke is okay, and the Fortress of Meropide is back under control, but Wriothesley will not make it to their meeting today.

Neuvillette stands at his desk halfway through reading. He walks halfway across the room, his hand even reaching out for the door, before he stops himself to ask what he is doing.

He reads the note again, half-frozen in the middle of his office. Wriothesley is okay. There is no immediate danger. Sigewinne will take good care of him. He wonders, for a moment, if rushing to his side is a cross over the boundaries they have laid down around their friendship.

Neuvillette decides he does not care. Wriothesley is hurt, and Neuvillette must see him.

They are not expecting him when he arrives at the Fortress of Meropide’s front desk, but they are not particularly surprised to see him, either. Neuvillette avoids imposing his presence upon the Fortress as much as possible; he does not want to cause disturbances amongst the citizens there, who often hold grudges against him. However, he does visit Wriothesley occasionally enough that he is well-received on the rare chance he visits without an appointment.

He is escorted almost immediately to Wriothesley’s rooms, nearly colliding into Sigewinne as soon as he steps inside.

“Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Sigewinne tilts her head at him curiously. “You came all the way down here to check on him?”

Neuvillette can’t think of any reasonable excuse, so he just nods.

“Well, I’ve just gotten him settled,” Sigewinne says with a sigh. “It was hard to get him up those steps and get him to stop trying to get up- please don’t undo all my hard work, alright?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Neuvillette vows. She smiles in a way that Neuvillette can tell is exhausted, and leaves without another word.

He turns to walk upstairs, heart pounding for reasons beyond Neuvillette’s comprehension. When he finally rounds the final corner, he catches sight of Wriothesley sprawled out on his couch, looking more frail than Neuvillette had ever seen him, even all those years ago at their first meeting, when Wriothesley had been sentenced for murder.

“Neuv,” Wriothesley greets, and Neuvillette has to blink away his surprise at the nickname. "Are you here for our meeting?"

He is certain that, throughout her tenure, Furina had called him something similar, but no one else had ever dared. He is certain he would be uncomfortable with most using any type of moniker in regards to him, but when it is Wriothesley… he finds he does not mind.

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says warmly as he steps closer to the man. “Don't worry about the meeting. How are you feeling?”

Neuvillette studies the man closely. Wriothesley’s left leg is bandaged, and propped up on a pillow. He is also a little bruised, particularly on his arms and face.

Wriothesley wiggles his exposed toes just slightly. “Good, ‘m good. Just a broken leg.”

He grins as though that is not a serious injury. His words are slurred, just barely edging out of the polite tone Wriothesley typically takes with him. Neuvillette cannot help but despair how fragile humans can be. He strides forward, stopping just short of the couch and kneeling beside the man.

“What happened?”

“Got pushed off the upper level.” Wriothesley flinches as if reliving the memory. “Fell two stories right onto my leg. Got lucky I didn’t break the arm, or my ribs too.”

Neuvillette does not have much practice in healing, but he waves a hand experimentally over Wriothesley anyways. Complete control over hydro, after all, should mean that he could potentially boost blood flow and hydration, perhaps soothing some of the Duke’s discomfort.

It does seem to do something, Neuvillette muses, as Wriothesley visibly relaxes under the touch and lets out just a whisper of a groan.

“I can’t mend the broken leg, I’m afraid,” Neuvillette says when Wriothesley says nothing. “But I hope that eased the pain a little.”

Wriothesley grins again, crooked and toothy. “Completely got rid of my headache. You’re amazing, Neuv. How’d you do it?”

Neuvillette glances at him, searching his face for hesitance. “I - if you must know…”

He stops himself, unsure, pursing his lips. He glares lightly at Wriothesley, who looks unabashedly amused. “Why ask me when I know you will not let me answer?”

“Seigewinne gave me good drugs to help with the pain,” Wriothesley answers, shrugging. “And you came rushing to my side over a broken leg. I probably would let you tell me right now.”

Neuvillette shakes his head, disapproving. That explains the slurring, and the nickname. “This is certainly a conversation for a more sober state of mind.”

“I’m perfectly sober,” Wriothesley objects. “Actually, I feel amazing. Let me prove it to you."

Wriothesley pushes his hands underneath him as if to rise from the couch. Neuvillette quickly presses a hand against his chest, holding him in place. Wriothesley resists for a moment, but is no match for Neuvillette's strength.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Neuvillette says dryly. "If there is anything you need, I'm happy to retrieve it for you."

"Why are you so strong?" Wriothesley complains. At the sight of Neuvillette's raised eyebrow, he continues, "No, don't actually tell me. You're right. We should have a real conversation about it."

Neuvillette nods, and leaves his hand against Wriothesley's chest, pressing hard enough he thinks he may be able to feel the man's heartbeat pressing up against his palm. Too much time passes before he finally pulls away, enough that Wriothesley's eyes have become half-lidded in exhaustion, and his breathing has slowed.

"Maybe it's best you not know," Neuvillette muses, so quiet he is not certain that Wriothesley hears it.

"Want to know," Wriothesley mutters, surprising Neuvillette enough that he withdraws his hand further. Wriothesley catches it before he can bring it back to his side, though, grasping it in his own. "Next time we meet, tell me. And I'll tell you."

"Tell me what?" Neuvillette asks, breathless.

"That I'm in love," Wriothesley says, just loud enough that Neuvillette can just barely hear it. He closes his eyes, and Neuvillette feels his heart freeze over.

Wriothesley does not stir again, and Neuvillette takes his leave shortly thereafter, seeking the fresh air above Fontaine's waters.

IV

Neuvillette does not visit Wriothesley again uninvited in the coming months, and he is informed that His Grace is unable to climb the steps out the Fortress while he recovers.

Others come to their meetings in his stead, bringing correspondence with Wriothesley’s rough handwriting lining the pages. Neuvillette does not press the issue; does not insist on a meeting down in the Fortress; does not demand to be allowed back into Wriothesley’s presence.

It rains near constantly for three months. Neuvillette thinks of Wriothesley walking with him in the rain, and stays inside.

He does not know why Wriothesley will not see him, and he can only reason that he must have mistepped somehow. He ran to Wriothesley's side when he should not have, when Wriothesley is in love with another.

With who? Neuvillette wonders.

It is a thought that has plagued him from the very moment that the admission slipped from the Duke's lips.

He and Wriothesley have only ever been colleagues - or, friends, as Neuvillette likes to believe. Wriothesley is a good-looking man, and Neuvillette would have to be blind not to notice how he caught the eye of the many Fontainians surrounding him, criminals and nobles alike. It would be foolish to believe that Wriothesley would remain as he was, set in stone, single and unattached.

Still, it had been easy to pretend that it was so; that he and Wriothesley would be the companions most dear to each other for the rest of Wriothesley's lifespan, and perhaps, even beyond.

And that is the heart of the matter: Wriothesley has made an impression on Neuvillette that he knows will echo through his soul for the rest of his years. Wriothesley is quick to action, and steadfast, secure in his convictions in all the ways that Neuvillette wishes he could be. Wriothesley is the certainty to Neuvillette's doubt, and the ingenuity to his routine.

And now, Wriothesley is in love with somebody else.

Neuvillette knows that he has no claim on the man, but he also cannot run from his own heart's wants that he has ignored for so long. Wriothesley should not be with anyone else - Wriothesley should be his.

It is impossible, and inappropriate, and Neuvillette knows it cannot be so, and yet his heart longs anyways, and the dragon within him gnashes its possessive teeth, and he cannot tether it.

He must see him, and he knows he cannot. Each day that passes Neuvillette finds it more difficult to contain the storm growing inside him, and it manifests violently in the weather. Raindrops fall from the heavens with such velocity and fervor that the Steambird releases an issue claiming that a second flood is coming, and panic hits the streets of Fontaine, and Sedene clears Neuvillette's schedule and sends him home.

He sits in an armchair with a book and rereads the same sentence twenty times before he gives up and makes for the front door again. He is not sure where he even intends to go, only knows that he cannot sit still and let his mind wander to all the things Wriothesley might be doing with someone else.

He barely steps outside before he spots him, leaning against the front wall of Neuvillette's home just under the overhang, a cigarette held up to his lips.

"Your Grace," Neuvillette says, closing the door behind him, and Wriothesley jerks, and hits his head against the brick behind him.

Neuvillette takes and abandons a step forward, hand already half-outreached to drag Wriothesley away from whatever might harm him, even if it is just a brick wall. He remembers himself, barely, and draws himself back in.

"You're smoking," is what Neuvillette says instead, gesturing to the cigarette dangling in Wriothesley's hand. "And walking," he adds after a moment's hesitation.

He eyes Wriothesley's left leg, though it is hidden beneath Wriothesley's coat and trousers. He is wet, generally, soaking from head to toe from the rain. Wriothesley's coat is uncharacteristically buttoned up, and his hair is slicked back, a few unruly tendrils curling down across his forehead.

"Yes," Wriothesley agrees, awkwardly, shuffling his feet and rubbing his head. Neuvillette does not see any blood, and surmises the Wriothesley is unharmed by the accident. "Smoking and walking. That's me."

They stare at each other, silent, and to Neuvillette it feels as though a thousand unsaid words are hanging in the air between them.

"It's raining." Wriothesley gestures with his cigarette to the sky. "According to several sources it has been for ninety-eight days."

"Why are you smoking?"

Wriothesley laughs dryly. "I did grow up in a prison, you know. I don't do it often."

"You shouldn't do it at all," Neuvillette says, surprising even himself with the ferocity in his voice. "It'll send you to an early grave."

Wriothesley sighs with frustration and throws the offending cigarette on the ground to stamp it out. Neuvillette, stricken by the act of littering, does not bother to hide an outraged gasp.

Perhaps realizing what he has done, Wriothesley curses and leans down to pick it up again, gathering what he can of the remains and resolutely straightening. He searches for the nearest trash can and walks through the rain nearly twenty feet to throw it away.

"I am sorry," he says when he has returned. "This isn't going like I planned."

"You didn't plan on loitering outside of my house and stamping cigarette ash into my sidewalk?" Neuvillette asks, though he knows it is unfair.

"Of course not!" Wriothesley says, voice teeming with exasperation. "I came to ask why it's been raining for ninety eight days straight!"

"How would I know?" Neuvillette asks blandly.

"Look," Wriothesley says, and he steps closer to Neuvillette now, and Neuvillette can see the steam of his breath rising out of his mouth. "I'm sorry for what I said. I get that you don't feel the same way, and that's okay."

Neuvillette deflates. He shakes his head. "You have nothing to apologize for. I am sorry for imposing myself on you."

"Imposing? I imposed myself on you," Wriothesley objects. "And now I turned up on your doorstep unannounced, smoking and littering, and… I'm sorry, alright? There's no reason we can't forget about all of this and go back to the way things were."

"I can't forget about it," Neuvillette says. The rain falls impossibly harder. "I'm not sure you should even be here, Wriothesley. Whoever it is you love, they're very lucky. You should go back to them."

"What do you mean, whoever it is I love?" Wriothesley's voice is loud amongst the sound of droplets hitting the roof of Neuvillette's house. "I told you three months ago that I'm in love with you!"

The rain freezes mid-air. An unnatural quiet spreads out between them.

"And clearly, you know that, because you've been avoiding me for three months," Wriothesley continues, and Neuvillette surmises that he has not noticed the way the world has stopped around them. "And I've been too embarrassed to show my face to you, and I get it, all right? Why would a guy like you be interested in a glorified criminal like me?"

"Wriothesley - " Neuvillette begins.

"Let me say this, alright?" Wriothesley interrupts. "I'm done being embarrassed. You're amazing, Neuvillette, and I'm not ashamed to say that I admire you more than any man I've ever met. And whatever way you let me into your life - even if it's just a professional relationship - is what I'll take. Just don't shut me out, alright? I can't take that anymore. And if this rain keeps going any longer Meropide's going to flood, so we've got to come to some kind of agreement."

"Wriothesley," Neuvillette says again, more insistent this time, and Wriothesley stops himself at last, gazing around him when he notices at last the water droplets hovering in the air around them.

"Are you doing that?" Wriothesley asks.

"Of course not," Neuvillette says, and waves his hand, and the raindrops ascend back into the clouds. "I think you'd better come inside."

V

They are both soaking wet when Neuvillette closes the front door behind them, and Wriothesley reeks of cigarette even more now that they are in an enclosed space. Neuvillette goes about pulling the moisture out of his clothes and hair, doing the same for Wriothesley once he receives a short nod of permission.

"You really shouldn't smoke," Neuvillette chides, brushing off the last few drops of water from Wriothesley's shoulders. "I'm assuming you know it's bad for your health."

"Yes, I've heard the lecture from Sigewinne before," Wriothesley says. "I really don't usually. I came looking for you at the Palais, and Sedene told me you'd gone home for the day. By the time I got here I'd lost my nerve."

"And that's why you were lurking outside my door," Neuvillette muses.

"Yes," Wriothesley admits. His face reddens just slightly. Neuvillette lets himself enjoy the sight.

"Sit," Neuvillette invites, gesturing to the sofa and chairs that decorate his living room. "I owe you an explanation. Can I make you some tea?"

Wriothesley hovers nervously at the doorway. "I'm confused about what's going on here."

"Sit down, Wriothesley," Neuvillette says, and he is not too afraid anymore to lay a guiding hand on Wriothesley's back, pushing him gently towards the sofa. He feels strangely giddy, now that he knows that he is the subject of Wriothesley's affections.

When Neuvillette returns with a cup of tea for Wriothesley and a glass of imported Mondstat water for himself, Wriothesley looks more bewildered than Neuvillette has ever seen him. Neuvillette sits across from him, folding his hands tightly in his lap.

"You did not tell me you were in love with me three months ago," Neuvillette begins, hardly managing to suppress a grin. "You told me that you were in love."

"Yes," Wriothesley says. "With you."

"No," Neuvillette corrects. "Just 'in love.'"

Wriothesley stares at him uncomprehendingly for several long minutes. Neuvillette takes a drink from his glass of water and waits.

"Surely," Wriothesley says slowly, "surely you know I couldn't possibly love anyone other than you?"

Neuvillette's heart seizes in his chest. His mouth doesn't seem to be working, so he just shakes his head.

"So you thought I was saying I was in love with someone else?" Wriothesley guesses. He stops to take a drink of his tea, face contemplative. "But then why have you been avoiding me for three months? And… the rain…"

Neuvillette follows Wriothesley's eyes to the window. The sun is just beginning to show from behind the clouds.

"I was incredibly upset," Neuvillette admits, "because I believed you were telling me someone other than me held your affections."

Understanding seems to blooms across Wriothesley's face. Neuvillette watches as he sets down his teacup. He leans forward. The corner of his mouth twitches. He looks, Neuvillette thinks, vaguely incredulous, which is fitting, because it is mirrored on his own face.

Because Neuvillette must be clear, and he does not want any further misunderstanding between them, he clears his throat and says, "Your feelings are, in fact, not unrequited. I'm very fond of you, Wriothesley. I want you for myself. I don't find myself interested in sharing you."

"Then don't," Wriothesley urges, with finality. He stands abruptly and crosses the room, hauling Neuvillette to his feet so that they are standing eye to eye. Wriothesley is close; his hand is holding Neuvillette's. Neuvillette cannot look away; he is pinned under Wriothesley's honest devotion. "Neuvillette, I - I am in love with you, and no one else."

"Are you quite certain?" Neuvillette has to ask. His voice, despite himself, wavers. "Because I'm not - I'm not human, Wriothesley. There are things you do not know about me."

"I know enough," Wriothesley says, and he is surging forward, and the world erupts into water and ice.

Wriothesley's lips are cold. He had been in the rain too long, Neuvillette thinks, and also thinks about how he has never kissed before, and the sweet press of body heat between them. He hears the sound of the glass he'd been drinking out of falling to the ground, shattering, and thinks of how he could not possibly recover from this moment; he thinks of how his life will heretofore be split into before and after.

Neuvillette feels the tide rising within him. He is certain that somewhere off the coasts of Mont Esus he is causing waves to crash into rocks, pelting rain and thunder, stirring the sea in perfect time with the stirring in his own self.

He is stopped only by Wriothesley's gentle hands on his shoulders, an inexplicable push against the wild waves of the ocean - yet, Neuvillette yields immediately under his grasp.

"Neuv," Wriothesley says, and he is flushed and beautiful and just on the edge of panting. "It's raining again. Inside."

Neuvillette realizes the rug beneath them is soggy from precipitation and that rain drops have begun to litter Wriothesley's face.

"Ah. So it is." Neuvillette waves his hand and banishes the rain and the water that has pooled around the room. "My apologies."

"Don't apologize." Wriothesley puts a wet hand against Neuvillette's cheek. "You're amazing. How did you do that?"

Neuvillette opens his mouth to spill his secrets and finally tell all, but it seems to him so unimportant now, like a single grain of sand washed up onto a gargantuan shore.

"Next time," he promises. "Kiss me again, and I'll hold back the rain."

"Don't bother," Wriothesley says, and kisses him, and a rain that meets ice turns gently to snow just before it comes to rest at their feet.

+1

The next time it rains, Wriothesley notices long before Neuvillette.

The Duke is there waiting at the Opera Epiclese when the Iudex is just beginning to gather his belongings for the trek home. Neuvillette nearly walks past him, deep in his thoughts as he is, and Wriothesley has to catch him by the shoulder so as to not lose the man in the crowd entirely.

"It's raining," Wriothesley says by way of greeting, when Neuvillette says nothing but raises a brow. "You can hear it, down in the Fortress, if you listen closely."

"Is it?" Neuvillette asks, genuinely. He feels a raindrop land on his cheek just a moment later.

"I thought you might want to take a walk." Wriothesley shrugs, so casually, as if he has not left his work and hiked up to the surface just because he heard a raindrop or two, and Neuvillette loves him.

"Let's get dinner," Neuvillette suggests. "Perhaps it will stop raining by the time we reach Hotel Debord."

They don't quite hold hands - they don't want a media frenzy, after all, though Neuvillette feels it looming on the horizon. Still, they walk closer now than before, hands brushing and fingers catching in the subtlest caresses.

"I think Sigewinne has caught on to me," Wriothesley says, as if he is catching on to Neuvillette's line of thought. "She caught me on the way out the door today, and asked who I was going to see."

"Hmm." Neuvillette peers at the darkening clouds above them. "I suppose if she figures it out, the rest of the melusines won't be far behind."

"Sedene surely already suspects." Wriothesley bumps his shoulder conspiratorially.

"Yes, well, Sedene isn't a gossip," Neuvillette responds, in a hushed tone, and Wriothesley laughs.

The aquabus station is abandoned when they get there, except for Elphane, of course, who stands steadfastly at the helm despite the rain which only seems to be worsening.

"Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette!" she greets as they come on board. "And Monsieur Wriothesley," she adds, as a bit of an afterthought.

"How are you, miss Elphane?" Neuvillette waves a hand to banish the accumulated water on the bench so that he and Wriothesley may sit down without getting too wet.

"I'm fine, Monsieur," Elphane says. Her eyes linger on Wriothesley curiously. "Are you taking Monsieur Wriothesley on a date?"

If Neuvillette had taken a drink of water, he may have spit it out at the question. "Oh - well, I -"

"Yes," Wriothesley answers, patting Neuvillette on the back as he sputters. "He is taking me on a date."

Neuvillette swallows down his protest and shakes his head. "That was a bit faster than I expected."

Wriothesley shrugs good-naturedly. "Elphane won't tell anyone, right?"

Elphane nods solemnly. Neuvillette knows that by the end of the next week all of Merusea village will know.

The spring flooding had been quite beneficial to the Fontaine foliage, even now as summer is beginning to reach its peak, and Neuvillette enjoys the ride even more than usual with Wriothesley by his side and a nice rain to enjoy as they go. Still, though, when they disembark the aquabus in the Court of Fontaine proper, it is raining hard enough that pools of water are beginning to gather on the low points of the streets, and Neuvillette has to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of it all.

Though Neuvillette quite enjoys the experience of it all, he is glad for Wriothesley's sake that the walk to Hotel Debord is relatively short. Still, they are soaked by the time they get there, and hardly presentable for such a nice restaurant, with water dripping off of Neuvillette's hair and Wriothesley's coat.

Wisely, though, and perhaps because the two of them are some of the most powerful people in Fontaine, the host mentions nothing when the enter, seating them upstairs near a window where they can look out and watch the rain fall.

"It's not me, in case you were wondering," Neuvillette volunteers while they are waiting for a server. "Sometimes it just rains."

"I thought it never had anything to do with you?" Wriothesley teases, and Neuvillette does so love the way he smirks and raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, of course," Neuvillette agrees, schooling his face into something serious. "The rain that lasted three months had nothing to do with me, either, of course."

"Just as it had nothing to do with me." Wriothesley puts down his menu and stares at Neuvillette across the table, as though searching for something, though Neuvillette isn't sure what.

"Will you tell me?" Wriothesley asks. "I'm ready to know, now."

"Yes," Neuvillette agrees. "I will."

Wriothesley orders Duck Confit and Neuvillette gets the consommé, and they look out at the world together, and laugh and talk and share stories, and the rain only gets louder and heavier as the evening goes on.

Neuvillette knows that tomorrow is uncertain, and that their lives and happiness and love all hang in a careful balance that can be disrupted at any moment. He knows love and loss and grief and contentment all at once. Neuvillette will not hold himself back for fear of being improper, or for fear of loss, any longer.

"You may as well get out your umbrella," Neuvillette says as they reemerge into the city streets. The lampposts are just beginning to blink to light in the twilight. "There's no reason for you to get wet again."

"I like walking in the rain with you," Wriothesley says, shrugging. "I hope I walk in the rain with you the rest of my life."

"I hope you walk in the rain with me the rest of my life," Neuvillette says, hope and longing and anticipatory grief bursting through his chest and through his body. Because Neuvillette knows that he will outlive Wriothesley, knows that their time is precious and fleeting and will come to its own melancholy end as all things do, but he cannot help but hope.

"If it's possible," Wriothesley says with a shrug, "I think we could find a way. I don't see why not."

There is much to discuss. There is a whole night ahead of them full of truth and hope and theory and discussion. Probably, they will come to no conclusions tonight.

For now, they walk in the rain, and Neuvillette tips his head back and tastes it. To him, it tastes like love.