(a)stray

"Why not?" Nijimura came to stand by his side with a grin Akashi sensed through his words, spared from straining his neck to look. "It suits you."

Akashi blew out a soft sigh and sent an immediate warning glance before Nijimura's large hand could ruffle the top of his head. "Alright, alright," came Nijimura's amused mutter, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. "Want me to show you how?"

A smile graced Akashi's lips, slow and nearly imperceptible. He said, "if Nijimura-san's willing to indulge me, how could I say no?"

"I'll teach you the proper way. Not like those idiots," Nijimura said, crouching down and rummaging through stones. The idiots he was referring to, Aomine and Kise (with Kuroko caught at the scene of the crime), were squabbling as much as they were competing earlier that day.

"You'll want to find one with a flat edge, see. Like this one. And you gotta get the right angle, so lean down a little. The technique is in the wrist, so if you hold it like this... oi. You listening?"

"Of course."

Nijimura gestured him closer by crooking his finger, and Akashi bent at the knees, bracing his hands atop. Like this, they weren't so different in height. "You got it?"

Akashi's stone counted to a total of nine skips and skidding to a dribble at the end - to Nijimura's measly six.

Nijimura watched the affair with crossed arms, and spoke only a moment after Akashi's stone breached the surface and disappeared.

"Yep," he said, the sound was drawn out, the exaggerated pop of his lips drawing out the 'p'. "That checks out."

Akashi allowed the harassment of his hair this time.

ii. (rakuzan!niji)

"Hey," Nijimura said when Akashi opened the door. "Sorry. Thought you might be awake. Uh. My roommate brought a girl over and locked me out."

Akashi stared. "It's a long walk from your dormitory to mine. If you need a place to stay, there are surely better candidates on campus. Reo, for example."

"Actually," Nijimura scratched his cheek, the neutral scowl of his face enhanced with the situation, "I was going to ask you to help mediate stuff with the supervisor after I've put my foot through the door. Since I'll most likely break it."

Akashi blinked slowly.

"...since you're, you know, good with that kind of thing."

"I see." Akashi said. After a beat, he swung the door the rest of the way and stepped back, allowing Nijimura passage.

"Oh, it's fine. I didn't want to inconvenience you more."

"Come," Akashi said, neither a suggestion nor a demand, and rather a third, more absolute thing. The circumstance had tickled Akashi somehow, he could tell, despite the unerringness of mismatched eyes.

Nijimura paused, hand on the door frame as he frowned down at him.

Akashi smiled. "It would be my folly as captain to merely observe the overexertion of one of our star players." Nijimura had learned fast that if there was amusement, excitement - rather, any stimulation, it would show in the intensifying of Akashi's gaze rather than the cold curl of his lips. "There will be no need for violence tonight."

"Aye aye, captain." Nijimura muttered underneath his top lip, sliding past Akashi into a room that was double the size of his own, and with half a mind to flick his junior-in-middle-school-now-irritatingly-grown-up-and-in-high-school's forehead to prove him wrong. Just as soon as he stopped being ridiculously frightening.

iii.

"You used to be cute." Nijimura told him over lunch at a cafe Mibuchi insisted on to celebrate Sei-chan's graduation but deemed themselves too unwell to attend.

"Used to?" Akashi replied, interested.

"Yeah, when you followed me around like a little duckling." Nijimura leaned back with an expression of mourning. "Now you're a menace."

Akashi raised an eyebrow.

"Devil incarnate." Nijimura rectified.

Akashi placed the teacup between his lips and took a sip, seemingly appeased. "We can revert to that, if you like."

"No way." The smirk was concealed by the rim of Akashi's cup and his brand of propriety, but Nijimura caught it all the same. 

"Why not? It seems to be what you prefer," Akashi quipped. Nijimura steeled himself in stone-faced despair, caught into a snare of his own making. Akashi's lips were pale pink and soft and tended to part and curl meticulously around words for clear and precise enunciation, "Senpai."

Nijimura angrily sipped his own tea as though it would alleviate the heat rising in his ears.

iv.

"Ironically, you seem to become cuter as you age." Akashi said thoughtfully, "it's no easy feat to surpass me. I must commend you, Senpai."

"Oh, shut up."

a. ( that one au )

"You're here again," Nijimura says. Blurts out. Behind him somewhere, someone snickers (a mental note to have Tatsuya in a headlock as soon as the cafe closes and no one is there to report him to authorities).

"You make it sound like a bad thing," Redhead says lightly (mental note to somehow kick himself in the ass even later after Tatsuya has left). "I apologise if my presence is unsavory to you."

"It's not. Of course not." Nijimura says in a stilted voice. He places the menu on the table before the man, and averts his eyes when he realises he's been staring too long at the protrusion of collarbones and the shadows that dip below the fabric of a neckline. "Here."

A small smile forms on Redhead's lips. "In that case, I am flattered to have made some kind of impression on you."

"I think you'd have that effect on anyone you come across." It comes out before Nijimura's brain could activate and review, and immediately flushes. "You've got," he makes some helpless gesture, "bright red hair and - shit, I'm just gonna stop talking."

A chuckle. "Please. Continue. I'm listening."

"No." He said, mortified. "I'm done."

"A shame. You are also exceptionally memorable, though I am certain you know this already."

"...Oh. Yeah. The tatts." Nijimura mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He tries his best to hide them; the manager's complaints are a ceaseless cover up, you idiot, you're scaring all my customers away and do you ever stop glaring and what are you, a delinquent? Simply put, it's not good for business.

"Well, no," Redhead said. "It's because you are quite handsome."

Every customer service platitude dies on Nijimura's tongue. Any semblance of coherency escapes his brain. He is an unbreathing, immobile, useless mass and this man calmly scans through the menu and then slides it back into Nijimura's stiff grasp.

"Today's special looks delightful. I'll have that." Redhead smiles, "and your number, if you please."

Nijimura's jaw goes slack, and he strangles out some sort of reply and manages some parody of a nod before he beelines to the kitchen.

Later, when he has cooled and checked to confirm that yes, he is no longer red everywhere, he brings the man's order to him. When expectant eyes follow, he exhales, digs into his pocket and offers the sticky note to the man.

The eye contact they share is too long for him to regain his bearings and he feels the blush crawling back with fervour, but forces himself not to look away. He waits in agony for the man to take his offering, but he does not, and is thus subject to further observation. Two striking red irises pierce into his gaze, dangerous and tender.

"I can't win, can I." He groans.

"I wasn't aware we were playing a game." Redhead takes the note and pockets it, radiating a satisfaction similar to that of a cat rich with cream.

"Yes," Nijimura says dryly, "you were."

He grins instead, a sharp, elegant thing. "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Nijimura-san. My name is Akashi. May I ask if you are free this evening?"

b. ( senpai sandwich sandwich but nijimura is the filling )

"I cannot concentrate with this abhorrent noise. If you are insistent on such juvenile hobbies, perhaps you may find the bedroom amenable."

"Hey." Mayuzumi clicked his fingers in the direction of Nijimura. "You can tell ojousama over there that the communal area is what...? Oh yeah. A communal area."

Nijimura sighed long and bone-deep, as the quarreling continued over his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Chihiro, really. Although your childishness knows no bounds, this is unbecoming of even you."

"Tell ojousama that if he has a problem then maybe for once in his life, he can move to the bedroom."

As soon as the fight escalated to Mayuzumi rising from the couch to hurl insults, his rhythm game seemingly forgotten, and Akashi responding with retorts to further incense than pacify, glacial grin growing with each word, Nijimura grabbed the back of Mayuzumi's shirt and yanked him down, in the same fashion, whipped his head around to shoot Akashi a dark look.

They both froze.

"Do I need to spank you both?" Nijimura snapped. "Is that it? Because it sounds to me like two annoying little brats are asking for it. Or am I mistaken? Won't someone," The glare he leveled bore the legend of diminishing better men in multitudes, "kindly tell me."

There was silence. Peace, even. For a brief moment.

"Why am I not surprised you're into that?" Mayuzumi rearranged himself on the couch. "It's got your name written all over it."

"Nijimura-san," Akashi tapped the tip of his pen to his lips. "is an organic case. He has been this way since middle school."

"Gross." Mayuzumi remarked. "You were playing into each other's kinks since before puberty."

"That's enough. If Nijimura-san would like to try something, it is only fair that we afford him the same safe space we have generously provided for you and your range of deviancy."

"Well, let's hear it then." Mayuzumi nudged Nijimura with his foot, "don't be shy."

Nijimura found the bedroom was indeed amenable, especially when locked.

(a). a throwback, altered

“They’re staring.”

“For a completely different reason to what you’re thinking, I would say.”

“You should have told me we’d be dining at a place like this.”

“Won’t it then ruin the surprise?” Akashi had his eyes closed, a picture of serenity. The same indifference he used for everything, the bastard. “You’re not too under dressed that anyone here would judge you nor take note of it. You are worrying too much, Nijimura-san.”

“Okay, look. I get it, it’s... nice, but could you at least call me by my first name on a date?” Nijimura said, flushed. He started when a blur of black and gold whirred past the credit card terminal on the counter. “What did you just do.”

“This way,” a smiling cashier gestured to the booth on the far end, the lavish placement more window than wall.

“No Sei, what did you do.” Nijimura followed the nuisance to the table, brows tightly knitted, as what happened when one was on the brink of throwing a fit but had the restraint of an adult. Or something. “Did you just pay for the whole night, you little-”

“It's not a problem for me.”

“The hell does that matter?” Nijimura scowled. It was Akashi's scene, sure, but he in turn had only ever heard of places like this. At any moment, his voice was at risk of being drowned out by the musician by the grand piano on stage. Before they had even entered the restaurant, impeccably dressed staff had gathered the doors for them.

Akashi sighed and folded a napkin over his lap, taking a seat. “As I said, it really is no problem for someone like me. I wish you'd would let me spoil you a little, Shuzo.”

“The thought’s nice, but it’s just…a little overboard? Like this, okay, what the hell,” Nijimura shoved the menu forward. “Orange juice is 1500 yen. Orange juice.”

“I apologise if I've misjudged the situation, I simply remembered your wish for more outings.” Akashi, delicately amused, took the menu from his unimpressed partner and set it down. “Are you truly unable to enjoy yourself here...?”

“No, no, no. It's not like that.” Nijimura rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I guess I'm just... a little overwhelmed. Sorry. I mean, look, you know I appreciate it, right? You're thoughtful and I get that. It's just sometimes there's a lot going on up here," he tapped his temple, "and it takes a second to catch up. I'm not quick like you."

He met Akashi's eyes, steady now, the edge of a smile tugging his mouth. "Thank you for this. I mean it." And then added quickly, "but just once in a while, okay?”

“You’re welcome.” Akashi smiled and Nijimura’s heart skipped a beat.

“I just feel bad, you know,” he sighed. “You do a lot for me.”

“You spoil me plenty.”

Nijimura arched his brow. Other than general support, head pats and other shows of physical affection, he couldn't recall much. He would cook for Akashi often, massage him when he's tense and things like that, but it was repaid in kind and through a narrower frame of free time. It came naturally to him too, habits he was never encouraged to curb and which to Akashi were seemingly alien.

“For example?”

Akashi hummed. “For example…”

Nijimura almost choked on a gasp as the other leaned over the table in one sharp movement, Akashi’s face now hovering above his shoulder. Immobile and irritably perplexed, he could only watch as Akashi turned his head slightly and felt soft breath on his ear. He shuddered.

“You smell really nice. I like this cologne on you.”

A beat.

"Hello," Neuvillette stepped forward like a haze, slow and uninterrupted. 

“Hello?" Wriothesley smiled, clearly pleased, "make no mistake, I welcome you with open arms, I just can't help but notice there was no prior notice of your arrival.” He set his teacup down, “aren’t you usually very proper with such things?”

He slots his fingers in the space between Neuvillette’s neck and jaw, cold like ice, smooth like leather, and watches the way his head tilts back against Wriothesley’s shoulder in consequence. Silence. It makes the roaring in his ears sound like discomforted static and his own breathing, laboured, rolls out in sharp intervals. 

He feels Neuvillette’s heartbeat, slow, stilted, irregular, through the membrane of his own.  

“I apologise. My arrival was sudden, even to me." Neuvillette said, his voice at once cutting and balming, “I do recognise the disruption my presence here may entail. My stay won't be long.” Not a single hair out of place. Noble, and immaculate.

“Nonsense. My doors are always open to you. As a matter of fact, I feel as though I’m always asking you to stay, only to meet with your insistent departures. Please,” he gestured to the seat by his desk. “Really though, this is quite peculiar. Have you come to chide me?”

“I cannot imagine what for.”

The quiet stretched and Wriothesley replied with a mildly amused, “neither can I.”

"...In truth, my duties required me nearby, though matters were resolved quite… efficiently, to say the least. I daresay my presence was not needed.”

“Ah, the reconstitution meetings, is it?  You had to oversee that?”

Neuvillette nodded. 

“The council is ruthless.” Wriothesley chuckled despite himself. By natural inclination, Neuvillette remained the highest authority of Fontaine but the nobility would always be the first to bow to it and simultaneously undermine it.

“If I had known the gravity of their cases, I would have scheduled our times accordingly. I’m not suggesting their concerns should be disregarded, however I believe Imena to be capable on her lonesome for the time being.” He paused, as though reliving the brunt of insipid chatter, but whatever bitterness Wriothesley was searching for showed no trace. “Nevertheless, I had a great deal of time on my hands, and since my visit to Qiaoying Village, I confess I’ve made a habit of, as one would say, ‘loitering.’ As of late.”

“Oh?”

So the observer has abdicated.

“Before I knew it,” Neuvillette added, “I found myself here.”

Neuvillette’s eyes are hidden behind grey tresses but Wriothesley imagines the slits dilating, darkening. Then he imagines hardly anything. The column of Neuvillette’s neck is submerged by a faint red, giving the appearance of having drunk too much liquor. It's a hard catch in the dark yet drastic on Neuvillette's flesh; he finds it brings him down to physicality, and further into Wriothesley's handling.

He grabs Neuvillette’s wrists, holds them up and the colour travels to his ears. Wriothesley traces it with fervour. 

“Aha, how quaint. I imagine it is nothing short of a spectacle for the folk to see you out and about.”

Neuvillette looked hesitant, but Wriothesley was patient. “Regardless, I wished to ask: does your invitation for tea have an expiration date?”

“Course not, Monsieur Neuvillette.” The smile on Wriothesley’s face was unreserved, stretching easy on his face. “Way ahead of you.”

The room is warm, warm - his steel ice office has never been so humid. Neuvillette’s skin is jumping under his touch, pulling him in: teasing him out.

The tea he poured was a hearty homage to Neuvillette’s new ventures. Liyue’s specialty was herbal and demure, best suited for night, just as one was on his last ream of paperwork. Wriothesley watched with no obstacle as the mug pressed red into Neuvillette’s white palms. 

“I am not disrupting your duties, am I?”

“No no, you came at the perfect time. ” Wriothesley waved, “what is this I’m hearing about loitering?”

“Well, it is still quite rare that I do. My duties occupy me for the majority of the day, and I have a sense that my workload will double in the near future. However,” Neuvillette said, a semblance of a frown twisting the corner of his lips, “it has come to my attention that it may prove worthwhile.”

“And what are your findings?”

“That remains to be seen, I’m afraid.” The corners of his eyes and lips rounded, becoming softer, more malleable. Those features were best blessed under the night sky, and Wriothesley’s office was kept dim for a reason.

He is clinically, accurately precise when he wants to be, but finds that its never what he wants, with Neuvillette. He can’t help but shove him into book cases, bend him over desks, pin him against limestone. Now, to the thrum of frenzy, his palm splayed on the small of Neuvillette’s back forces an arch too bowed to be painless.

For a brief moment, the intensity of his own stare was not known to him and when he came to, he almost startled. He considered winding up the gramophone but stopped himself; Neuvillette at his most serene was in the quiet. 

“It’s a good look on you.” He said, voice ahead of mind.

“Do you think so?”

Wriothesley cast his eyes away and to the far corner of his office, on a cabinet closest to the doors. It was crowned by a legal codex. He jerked his thumb in the direction of it.

“How else would this trophy of mine get to me?”

Neuvillette took a long sip of his tea, staring at the structure with bemusement. “Is it wise to have it on display like this?”

“Absolutely,” Wriothesley said, “not.” He flashed the Iudex a smile. “Its home is in the storage room, as promised. I just like taking it out sometimes.”

“That is peculiar. For what reason?”

“Of course, it reminds me…

His hunger feels like it will never be quelled. It’s been there since his creation, merely dormant. Suppressed. Deactivated. A sigh escapes Neuvillette, quiet and like a song, and Wriothesley reconsiders.

“…of my appreciation of you. Our connection if you will,”

Some part of him knows his touch is audacious, that he's treating Neuvillette too lightly, as if he were an object. As if he were a thing Wriothesley owns. But his hands are made to be on Neuvillette’s body, and he grips his shoulder, his hip, and Neuvillette stills under it. Neuvillette stays where Wriothesley puts him.

“-and the code that I must dutifully live by.”

Wriothesley clenches his jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he reminds himself: be gentle, be gentle. He shapes his consciousness back into its automated material and concentrates, until he doesn’t, and then he does what he likes. He grips Neuvillette’s hardened thigh, the tips of his fingers tracing the thin skin of the inside.

Neuvillette stared.

“And, of course, I had to have Clorinde bear witness to my earnings.”

Neuvillette gave a slow nod. “I hope it satisfied her expectations.” 

“Oh, she was very impressed by the craftsmanship.” Wriothesley rose from his seat, and moved towards the slab of stone. He picked it up with tenderness, stroked a thumb over the engraving with a fond eye. “In fact, I, myself, have started to segue into a great fondness for the arts. Finally, a fitting citizen of this country, no?”

“I highly doubt it deserves this calibre of praise." Neuvillette disagreed. "Please remember, it was conceived merely in jest.”

“Even your jokes are pristine, then.”

“I do not know what to say to that.”

Wriothesley chuckled. 

Once more, he reassessed the situation; Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine, sitting in his office, finally having some tea. He would appreciate the absurdity of it all if the man himself weren’t such a distracting contrast amongst his belongings. Timeless and stoic, unbound by teacups and velvet settees.

“Now, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Wriothesley crossed his arms, lax against his chair. “I must say, I do not hate engaging in pleasantries with you. However, it also stands that I have not yet known you to involve yourself and it makes me uneasy on how to proceed.”

“I... apologise. You are right; I was, and am, unfamiliar to the need. This a first attempt of sorts.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of those recently. Oh, let me refill that. ‘Scuse me.” 

Neuvillette reached out for the pot but Wriothesley, steeled by reflex, grabbed his wrist before he could intervene. Not unkindly. A beat, and Neuvillette’s arm went lax in Wriothesley's hold, and he grabbed the pot himself. The kettle on his worktable was the only household appliance in his office, filling the office with a muted hum.

Neuvillette is sturdy, solid and damp, and letting out a breath as a strong grip claws the meat of his breast. The curve of Neuvillette’s neck lies bare as his hair slips before his shoulders, and his steady exhales become the symphony of the evening.

Neuvillette holds himself up where Wriothesley places him, always. Idle where Wriothesley mouths at the mound of his neck and shoulder, going easily when shoved. Wriothesley pushes in and there’s a solid thump of a fist, green veins protruding from Neuvillette's pale forearms. 

He pulls him closer, pushes him back. He guides the ancient entity forward so his forearms presses into book spines as Wriothesley violates him again and again.

Wriothesley places a grip on the back of Neuvillette’s neck, perhaps to tame if he thrashes, but he is still, so still. A monument that stands solid through the passage of time, purely and painfully ornamental.

Neuvillette eventually said, “it seems to have become a curiosity of mine.”

“Very well, then.” Wriothesley smiled and switched the kettle on, “take the reins.”

Neuvillette’s lips worked around words that were silent, and then stopped moving altogether.

The articulation of those lips had been embedded in Wriothesley’s wiring the moment they delivered his verdict. When he spoke, motion was minimum, the cadence of his voice a soft imprint against ego: at once, nullifying and devastating. But if Neuvillette was careless, then call Wriothesley naive. The entity’s biggest crimes were his scarcity and fortitude.

“The process of reconstruction has posed significant challenges.” Neuvillette said after pause. The same low timbre from twenty years ago. “As you know, the termination of the Oratrice means the ease of this transition is my priority. I would like to know where you stand in all of this.”

Wriothesley laughed, “Ah, it has become work-related again. But that’s okay. I won’t be surprised when the shock dissipates and we find ourselves swamped down here too. People have already started to notice the state we’re in. You’ve read my reports, haven’t you? We are at the cusp of an interim.”

“I indeed have. It provided great clarification.”

Neuvillette's warmth all around him, a suffocation and a vice that promises to sever but Wriothesley yanks the tail of his coat out of the way and kicks his legs apart. And then takes him again. Raises him higher, higher, until Neuvillette is searching for better purchase. A grunt leaves his throat, thrust out with how hard Wriothesley’s muscles flex and then strain, and further ripples through his skin.

“And I’ve read your proposal. I stand by it.”

“I am grateful to hear that,” Neuvillette said, though the corner of his lips creased. “Fontaine has never been without an Archon. It seems I’ve misunderstood the effects of such a phenomenon.”

“This is not really a commonplace thing, though...”

“That much is irrefutable. As it stands, I have been faced with a series of novelties I may not be equipped to deal with.”

“You’re worried?”

“I would only like to enact what is best for Fontaine,” Neuvillette explained, and Wriothesley was once again reminded of a sorrowful form of a man barred of its features, staring down at him from a high throne. “It is not my capability per se, but my status that may destabilise the prospect of moderation. I am not asking for reassurance, rather, it is in that line of thinking that calls for perspectives outside of my own.”

Wriothesley hummed, pouring the tea with mechanical tenderness. “So that’s what this is about. You’ve seen the movement, haven’t you?” I thought I took care of that.

“It would be arrogant to assume there would not be any to resent my state of being.”

“Sure,” Wriothesley said, “If you ask me, it’ll be some time before it becomes an issue. Any semblance of visibility or violence right now is scoured by the loss of Focalors, and those who carry these sentiments lack the manpower and the influence. Trust me on this.”

Neuvillette spent a long time digging into his irises. Then he placed his tea back on the table. “I see now that it was reckless of me to have left.”

“You, reckless? Why, that’s not in your dictionary,” Wriothesley’s grim smile was concealed by his teacup, but Neuvillette caught onto details far faster than formalities anyway. “I actually think it best to lay low just as you are. Have a full-blown holiday, even. No one is better suited for this than you.”

His other hand plants over Neuvillette’s stomach as he forces the man back against him, the muscles tensing hard under his palm, and a shaky inhale wanes as soon as it starts. Neuvillette’s hands find Wriothesley’s wrists; all else is insufficient in holding him up. Neuvillette is — cold and tight and addictive. 

He peels back layer by layer, smoothing hands over skin, until he finds him raw and pink and ripened.

“Why do you say that?”

“The people here have grown accustomed to its idols. They are used to performance and machinations. I’m assuming you don’t intend to pick up where Miss Furina left off?”

Neuvillette blinked. “Of course not.”

“I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds with this, however you, as a public figure, are not defined by archaic concepts such as ‘justice,’” Wriothesley jerked his chin, “but duty. In you, people see the vision already, and they will see that things will not be returning to the status quo. In fact, your transparency is what the nation needs right now, so give them that as you are.” He paused, and shrugged, “or don’t. They’ve already had their sweethearts.”

“I see your point, Your Grace.” Neuvillette murmured, chin in hand. “I… will not pretend to comprehend the dynamics of human relations. Despite my efforts to understand, each time I feel I’ve gained insight, a new facet eludes me." He looked troubled. "I’d initially hoped to salvage this with contributions. Gifts. Though it appears that those around me have emphasized the significance of my departure, instead. Needless to say, your advice has been highly valuable."

His palms drag heavy over Neuvillette’s hips to the back of a firm, thick thigh. He can feel Neuvillette brace himself when he forces his leg up in a firm hold, and the closeness presses him deeper inside. He’s a machine running on the fumes of Neuvillette’s wreckage. He’s a nexus of unstable energy contained by the wet clasp of Neuvillette, who remains untainted by mortal devices. 

The thick expanse of a shoulder so regal, so close to him, and Wriothesley sinks his teeth into it as his vision spots. 

“You do better than you think.” Wriothesley said with a small smirk, “and you’ll have to tell me more about Liyue some time.”

“Very well.” Neuvillette said. “I’ll have a detailed review for you at a later date. Perhaps I’ll squeeze in another visit before we next meet.”

"You do that." Wriothesley hummed, scratching the side of his head, “still, though. To think a day would come where the overworld and the underworld would find a middle ground.” 

The tendency to believe punishment started in Meriopode will never stop being a point of focus for him. It was as deeply amusing as Neuvillette's antics. There was a short pause where Neuvillette studied his face.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Wriothesley smiled. He grabbed Neuvillette’s cup, refilling it. “Up there resembles down here with each passing day, is all I’m saying.”

The wrinkles that appeared when Neuvillette furrowed his brow were also decorative, an adaptation of warm blood. His scrutiny never failed to thrill Wriothesley because it reduced the entity into somewhat of a reflection, laying the groundwork to be scrutinised in the same manner. Here, it wouldn’t surprise him had Neuvillette taken his leave, appeased with their exchange. Instead, Neuvillette followed him. 

“No more performances, I believe, is what you mean?”

“Everything is a performance,” Wriothesley said, offering Neuvillette’s teacup when the man leaned in close. He let the cold air stagnate around him, hindered only by Neuvillette’s breath. Except you. He let go of the cup. Neuvillette lingered, fingers secured around it. 

He watched Neuvillette indulge himself in another sip, exhaling, and the sound sliced the silence into thick slivers. It encased the room like fog, like condensation, and Wriothesley’s palms tingled and his throat went dry.

Wriothesley forces parts of himself deep inside him. They shudder in unison, Wriothesley gasping, chasing for breath. He folds Neuvillette over, draping over him like second skin with his forehead pressed against the damp back of a strong, noble shoulder.

“It’s good,” Neuvillette murmured, and the world started spinning again.

It rushes into a geyser of a memory; nails against skin, the pulse of his throat, the feeling like hurtling liberation and abandonment, before Neuvillette can button himself back up and wash it away. A phantom of the fragment of solidity Wriothesley can mould him into, when he was under his hands.

“Now that is a compliment indeed, coming from you.”

“Please. Your discernment in matters of tea far surpasses mine. When you brew it…” Neuvillette trailed off, perhaps scanning Wriothesley in his entirety. It was always a breathless thing to have the Iudex’s full attention. “When you are the one brewing it, I have complete confidence in its quality.”

“Is that a fact?” Wriothesley said, pleased as day.

"Do you know me as one to lie?”

“Point taken. Have you lied once in the past millennium?”

“I must have, statistically, but put on the spot like that, it is a challenge to recall.”

“Doesn’t count." He pointed out, "omission doesn’t count, either. Oh, and that was a rhetorical question, by the way.”

“I… see. In that case,” Neuvillette cast him an unreadable look, “the amount of lies you’ve told is sufficient for both our lifetimes.”

"Why, Iudex Neuvillette!" Wriothesley grasped his own chest. “You’re really getting the hang of things, aren’t you?”

The gentle clink of fine china, the notes of Neuvillette’s quiet tones, the submergence of a glass bottle under the sea. The tea was starting to grow cold. The better part of an hour he had kept the Chief Justice locked in his hollow underwater. A free spirit made tangible, like picking up water with the sole equipment of one’s hands. The sentiment settled into his palms and fingers like a desperate ache.

“This was pleasant, Duke Wriothesley. You have my thanks in accommodating me tonight.” Neuvillette folded his hands atop his knee. “As a token of my appreciation, please allow for our next meeting to be in my office. Though I do not hold a candle to your tea-making, it would be my honour to prepare the refreshments."

“Well, if you insist! Perhaps I shall.”

He waits for Neuvillette to say something. Anything.

The doors were too loud when they screeched open. Wriothesley had half a mind to fix that later. “Our next tea party aside, might one hope for your presence more often down here, considering the circumstances?”

Neuvillette fixed his eyes on him. “That may be a likelier thing. Nevertheless, this was an unusual deviation that I do not foresee becoming a regular occurrence. My responsibilities remain unchanged.”

“Unchanged,” Wriothesley echoed, pausing. “That’s an interesting word to use in this climate of events. To think you may inspire unrest among the people here; would you not consider my own appearances to yield the same result? This place is my foundation, but this does not mean anything to new faces.”

He said quietly, "Wriothesley."

And there were a lot of new faces, though the number was not privy to Neuvillette. Wriothesley’s eyes were intent, and he took care not to slip a bit of himself outside, “it is the next chapter, dear Iudex. I am but an authority, just like you.”

Neuvillette’s face remained unchanged, though a long sigh escaped silently through the nose. His fingers twitched, imperceptible if Wriothesley was not so attuned to his movements. “Yes, I… you are not wrong. I will take it into consideration." And then short and swift, "I bid you goodnight.”

Nothing. Everything.

The door swung closed with an echo that resonated deep within his chambers. Wriothesley settled back in his seat, his fingers coiling together as he rested his chin.

“Why should I decipher all of the things you do?” Alhaitham flicked the rim of the discarded glass. “You are more unintelligible than the way of the stars.”

“Are you kidding me? That should be my line.”

“Of course the intelligible will be seen as the opposite to their correlative.”

“You piece of work…” snapped Kaveh. “I will engage in this childish squabble no more.”

Alhaitham reached over Kaveh’s body to grab the last remaining bottle of alcohol and emptied it into the cup. He ignored the various protests of “that’s mine” and “wait, where did you jump down from? What were you doing in that tree?” and “hey” opting instead to drink in commemoration of the night sky. 

“I’m talking to you-”

“Look at the stars.”

“What… oh, I know what you’re doing,” scoffed Kaveh. “You’re averting the subject because you think it’s too bothersome a talk for the O Great One, aren’t you?”

Alhaitham sighed, “I’m facilitating the conversation so we get to the point but sure, if you want me to humor your mindless endeavors.” 

“Bullshit! I know you enjoy them,” Kaveh’s face wrinkled into a frown, fixing his eyes on his roommate. “And what point? If you want to say something to me, just say it. When have you ever let something hold you back?”

“Excuse me for sparing the energy when you can’t go two seconds without slurring your words.” Alhaitham crossed his arms, “then don’t look.”

Kaveh hmph’d and focused once more on the great basin of stars. 

“So?” asked Alhaitham. He watched the contours of Kaveh’s face shift as his mien changed from indignant to sullen; in the same state he found him.

“It’s funny, they used to console me in the way clouds and rain and sun don’t, because they could touch only in abstracts.” Kaveh let out a huff of annoyance, rising gingerly to rest his elbow on a knee, “now they’re just… mocking me from afar.”

“Mocking you how, exactly?” Alhaitham raised a brow. With his grand purpose lifted and wallet emptied, Alhaitham signified a state of limbo in Kaveh’s life - that much, he knew. An unceasing nexus of stress and uncertainty, yet his roommate had seen better days in that house. “Do you really believe these asteroidal bodies several light years away are pivoting in their orbits to look at you alone?” 

“Ugh, why am I even bothering to explain this to you? That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!”

“What else has your altruism achieved, aside from blinding you to your own self-absorption?” 

“You know, you-!” Kaveh bit his tongue, seething. The fire dropped into silence, still blazing but dulled by the severance of mind to mouth. Still, it’s short-lived, as his glare lowered from Alhaitham to his own trembling palms. Alhaitham watched them too, for a moment. 

He dully remarked, “this is usually when you start draining another bottle.” 

“Don’t-” Kaveh thrashed like a fish out of water, once again falling back and shielding his eyes. “Do not even show me a single drop, I swear to gods, I’ll be sick if you do. Just leave me alone.”

“This is a new low for you,” said Alhaitham with interest. 

“Yeah, yeah. If you came here to gloat then take your fill and leave.”

“You are inebriated. Immensely.”

“So?”

“So you need to get off the roof, or you'll fall like an idiot and injure yourself.”

Kaveh huffed, “what do you care?”

“Well, how will you pay your rent with a broken leg?” Alhaitham's patience was wearing thin.

“Hm,” Kaveh nodded, and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, “yeah, fuck you.”

“Now who’s being childish?”

“I’m getting down, damn you. Just give me a minute.”

Alhaitham considered it, and then didn’t. 

“Hey- put me down! Right now!”

It was more of a challenge carrying a grown man slung over his shoulder down the roof, but less than what he anticipated. Kaveh had squirmed violently for about five seconds before gagging pathetically, bracing himself against the shoulder digging into his unsteady gut. 

They passed the threshold of the house with considerable ease, just as Kaveh succeeded into curling into as much of a ball as humanly possible.  

“I don’t feel good,” he groaned. 

Alhaitham had only been privy to the sight of Kaveh’s room a couple of times but he was sure he’d been able to walk at least two paces without trampling over papers and books and crumpled plans. They would have to pass through short towers of books and ink-strewn blueprints to reach the bed, an oil lamp flickering to the side in gloomy desperation. A flash of irritation wore his face before he turned, Kaveh's limp body swaying in check, and stepped towards the opposite end of the hall.

“I said I don’t feel good.” It was huffed out far weaker than intended, holding on by a string.

“If you vomit in my room, I’m doubling the cost of this month.” 

“I hate you.” Kaveh grumbled through the bile rising up his throat. 

“That's mutual.” Alhaitham heaved the man onto his own bed and shut the lights before it could contribute to Kaveh’s nausea. An answering groan resounded as the impact had bounced Kaveh's body and his eyes shut tight, trying his best to maintain the throbbing in his head. The action had Alhaitham hovering closer, and smoothing the back of his hand over Kaveh’s forehead. The heat transferred from his fingers down to his palm and he stepped back with a frown.

“Sleep this off,” he said. Moonlight encased the room but Kaveh’s complexion blanched further in its sheath, a touch more gaunt than Alhaitham’s liking. 

“There’s... too many things to do, still. I have to…”

“What is your intention, Kaveh?” asked Alhaitham quietly. “Do you really think you can rebuild the Palace?”

“No.” Kaveh agreed with a bitter scoff. He returned Alhaitham’s gaze and the air shifted. The flippancy that had been the one constant he’d come to expect in Kaveh’s otherwise volatile temperament now carried a certain desertion, “but I can tear it down.”

Alhaitham paused. Neither one of them spoke, even as Alhaitham dropped the blanket over Kaveh’s shoulders. He nudged a clay pot closer to the side of the bed near Kaveh’s face as an afterthought, and the silence held. Alhaitham’s bed was his own, and his troubles were always planned, catered and designed. 

“You can’t do that either. Unless you want to add both demolition and vandalism costs to the interminable debt you’ve already racked up. I’m already overextending the bounds of my generosity with you, but I will not house a convict.” When he received naught but nonsensical mumbling, leaned close to Kaveh’s face and once more the scent of sweat wafted through the air. “Do you hear me, Kaveh?” 

“Ugh, you’re so noisy.” Kaveh turned away, pressing his face into the pillow. 

“Quite the special thing to hear, coming from you.”

The next moment is filled with nothing but Kaveh’s premature snores and light rummaging as Alhaitham sifted through his clothes. A moment that was quickly disrupted, however, by a dip in the bed that made Kaveh’s eyes snap open. “What are you doing.”

“I am lying in my bed. Is there a problem?” 

“What do you mean is there a problem! I am clearly here already!”

“And?”

“You little… your body better not cross over an inch to my side or so help me, I will maul you in your sleep.”

“How interesting,” Alhaitham grabbed the other side of the blanket, tucked it under his chin, “you are the unwelcome intruder in my bed, reeking of alcohol and sweat, effectively soiling my sheets, and with a high chance of becoming sick throughout the night, and I have to avoid your side.”

“You are the one who manhandled me here.” Kaveh grumbled. 

“Where else was I to put you?” 

“Don't put me anywhere, I'm not an inanimate object." Kaveh snarled, "I’d have been fine wherever I was!”

“How sure are you about that?” Alhaitham faced him and was met with a short second of silence. 

“It’s not even like you to get involved.” Kaveh continued miserably, “of all people…”

“Would you have preferred an innocent passerby?” 

“No, I - oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kaveh huffed and rolled to the side, away from him. “The more you keep me talking, the more the bile rises.”

“Touché.” Alhaitham shifted onto his back, eyes slipping closed. “Goodnight, Kaveh.”

.

The morning that found them next was one of relief, a cast of light that stank less of staleness, and more of milk and glabrous beans. 

“Don’t tell me you’re constructing your next magnum opus on that.” Alhaitham remarked. Kaveh jumped like ice had been poured down his back— an absurd reaction, thought Alhaitham— nearly dropping the ball of dough in his hands. 

“Hmph!” It took a moment for Kaveh to regain his bearings, “You just don’t appreciate beauty. In fact, I would go so far as to say you have a severe allergy to it.” 

At least he seemed to be back to his usual spirits. With faint satisfaction on his mind, Alhaitham made his way towards the lounge, earpieces in hand. 

“Hey, don’t ignore me!” Kaveh followed him, furiously wringing the dough, “I’m making breakfast, you can’t leave without trying my fatteh. Your senior has been up all morning making it, be grateful.”

“Unfortunately my presence at the Akademiya is needed today,” -as well as several appointments that he had to oversee, but he was nothing if not flexible to firstly himself. “Are you suggesting I stay in?”

“No no, absolutely not. I meant that you should eat and then leave as soon as possible. Obviously.”

“I have five minutes,” Alhaitham said, and promptly ignored Kaveh’s squawk and doubled speed as the man darted through drawers. 

“You should have told me!” Once Kaveh stopped his rummaging, he pushed a neat box with his safely packaged creation inside across the counter.

Alhaitham tucked the box under his armpit, “By the way, I’ll be expecting a guest later.”

“Wait what? Don’t tell me I have to entertain them for you again.”

“You do things of your own accord and then blame me for the aftermath.” 

“We can’t just leave a guest to their own devices,” Kaveh urged. “We’ll be bad hosts.”

“Then host them.” He leveled a glance at Kaveh who was now seething in place. “Are you fine?” 

Kaveh froze. “Huh? Yeah, I’m… yeah, of course.” His voice was thinner than a reed. 

Alhaitham nodded before closing the door behind him, decidedly oblivious to the way Kaveh’s eyes glistened. 

.

The morning that followed was uneventful and as tedious as Alhaitham had anticipated, however this was, of course, a blessing in many ways. His only qualm was the Traveler and their big inquisitive eyes following his every move as he unlocked the front door. He traveled swiftly through the buzz that was Kaveh’s cries of complaint and Paimon’s incessant chirping, heading towards his quarters with a half-baked wave tossed behind his shoulder. 

It would be easy to deny Aether and Paimon’s request to invade his refuge and rummage through his personal records in whatever new investigation they were partaking in. It was easier to humor them now and escape the surety of being bombarded at a later date. He didn’t make a habit of underestimating, or overestimating for that matter, but even he dared not test their persistence. 

At least Kaveh was home.

A peel of cocky laughter rang through the hallway and Alhaitham leaned back on his chair, replacing his earpieces with a slight smile. 

.

And the night came as seamless as silk, courtesy of the thick novel in his hands. He placed it down in time to hear the knock on his door. Alhaitham blinked when the door opened to reveal a weary-looking Kaveh, hair down and in loose-fitting garments. 

“Hey, uh…” Kaveh scratched his side, and proceeded to fidget more as Alhaitham stared on. Eventually the waiting wore him down. “Would you say something?” 

“You are the one who entered my room,” Alhaitham said, crossing his arms. He scrutinized him once more, enjoying Kaveh’s clear discomfort. “Did you have fun playing with your friends?” 

“More than you’d ever know! Just imagine if you could rise above your arrogance and fulfill a social obligation that for once transcends personal gain, truly benefiting those around you. I’d like to see it!” Kaveh snapped back, his face flushing a fiery red. However, it seemed to wane within the next few moments of Alhaitham raising an eyebrow.

“Anyway, I…”

“Yes?” 

“Never mind.” 

Alhaitham shrugged. “The door is that way.”

“Okay, okay,” Kaveh stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “My bedroom is occupied socanIsleephere.”

“I didn’t catch that last part.”

“Can I,” Kaveh grit his teeth, “sleep here.”

“I believe there’s a word people use when asking for favors.” 

“Listen.” Kaveh placed his hands on his hips. “I am very, very tired from having a full day of entertaining of your guests.”

Alhaitham drummed his fingers on his arm, torn between annoyance and amusement. “Like I said, I never demanded you entertain them. I merely brought company here, everything you did up until now is of your volition.”

“You knew this would happen before they even came!”

“Am I holding holding a weapon to your neck and forcing you to do things?”

“You may as well be.” Kaveh shot back, shaking with adrenaline reminiscent of a startled wet dog. 

“I see there’s no use in pointing out the obvious to you,” Alhaitham said. “Should I ask you why your bedroom is occupied, or shall I take a guess?” 

Kaveh suddenly looked exhausted.

“I’ll take that guess then.”

“Please.” Kaveh groaned. “There, I said it. Are you happy now?”

“Are you?” Alhaitham hummed in deliberation. “There are couches outside for you to sleep on just fine, and yet you come here. This is the second night in a row that you’re in my bed. One can only assume that you prefer sleeping here, which is… tolerable, however we may have a bit of a dilemma on our hands.”

“No no no no, shut up, I’m just…!” Kaveh’s cheeks were red to the point of smoking, and Alhaitham wouldn’t be surprised if the heat was frying the man’s brain. “I’m.”

“Go on.” 

Kaveh sighed out a blast of hot air, and averted his eyes, “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time, until yesterday.”

“I see…” Alhaitham nodded sagely. “So it aids you to have a figurative teddy bear of sorts.”

“Are you calling yourself a teddy bear?” Kaveh snapped. “Because you are far too pointy and big and unpleasant and rude to be one! I swear, I ought to…” 

“I said figurative,” Alhaitham’s eyebrow raised, his hands at his hips. “We can’t rule out that a real one may be insufficient for you.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Kaveh seized the duvet landing in a heap on the bed and draping it around himself in an attempt to escape the sight of Alhaitham’s smirk, but to no avail. 

“Goodnight, Kaveh.”

“Goodnight, asshole.”

.

Alhaitham woke up to the sensation of digits wedged into the junction between his hips and waist, his entire backside effectively warmed. The solid source of heat behind him sighed quietly before plastering Alhaitham to its chest with considerable strength, ignoring Alhaitham’s grunt. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, but that did little to quell the sensation of Kaveh pressing him deep into his skin, a snore muffled against his nape.

Once more the moonlight draped his room in muted blues and grays, but before he could survey his companion, the vice grip around him constricted further. 

“Figurative indeed,” Alhaitham muttered as hand pressed into his sternum protectively.