——————–

Executor would argue, the first catalyst for change in him - was you.

Since the signing of his contract with Rhodes Island, of course, a multitude of other catalysts have kindled the amassing change. His appointing as Saint had taught him faith, every death at the Sanctilaminium Ambrosii had taught him perspective, his pursuit of Arturia in Zwillingstürme had taught him patience, and the blue hue of the sky taught him solace.

The resulting changes of these were utterly irrefutable, so much so that everyone who watched or spoke with Federico now would have all confidence in stating that His Beatitude, Saint Federico Giallo could no longer be synonymous with the Notarial Hall Executor, Federico Giallo. His heart had only begun to stir, his brain had only begun to stray from logic, since his title of Saint, they would argue.

Federico, however, argued otherwise.

No; not his new role, not the unexplainable lives lost on the Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, not his long-awaited confrontation with his soror, not even that day at the Art Gallery. While he would not say these had no piece in the growth of his heart, it was you, and it had always been you, whom touched it very first.

After all - you had taught him love.

…

Previously, many would joke that Executor was your lover only in title, because they never would witness proof of any loving; seeing the both of you on dates or outings was a rarity that rivaled a cloudy day in Laterano, his public displays of affection were never more than handholding hidden under the loose sleeves of his old uniform or a brush of his lips against your temple, and any warmth ever in his expression when he turned to face you was simply too miniscule for anyone to notice but you.

“Hey…don’t tell anyone I asked, but…Is Federico really dating the Doctor? Or, did he just make that up to get those people from the R.I Engineering Department to stop asking him on dates?”

“I know, right?! I mean, I’ve never even seen the two of them kiss!”

“Who’d wanna date that hardass, anyway? Besides the looks, what could possibly be the win there?”

“Maybe he’s really good in bed?”

“Him?!”

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when, one afternoon when you were hurrying down the hall towards your office with Amiya at your side and a stack of paperwork in your hands, the ever-stoic Saint paused his stride in the opposite direction upon seeing you. He halted you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaned down to close the difference in height - and unceremoniously, wordlessly, expression unchanging, pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before continuing along.

Suddenly, where there was only a brush of lips when he had ascertained nobody was looking, is now a forehead kiss whenever he might see you. The kisses were not the limit of it, either.

Soon came dessert boxes containing your favourite sweet just in time for lunch; “Love, please accept this. It aligns 91% with your preferences, and I also noticed you viewing similar desserts from the menu of Rhodes Island’s cafeteria. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Then he took your paperwork upon himself, double how much he already used to; “I have taken care of your paperwork as of last night. I organized the recruitment reports alphabetically by candidate surname, categorized the Operation summary reports by completion status, and sorted all letter mail addressed to you by sender, and date sent. Hm? Why?” He’d tilt his head, halo catching a glint of the lights overhead, “Should I have an exact reason for performing favours for my significant other?”

And, incredulous as it was, compliments began from him, albeit as best as someone as plainly-spoken as Federico Giallo could manage; “You look as nice as always, love.”

The whispers lingered in the hallways for days, somehow even squirming their way into the cubicles of the Notarial Hall offices. Had he been put under the hex or spell of someone’s Originium Arts? Had he grown sick of people not believing your relationship?

Federico cared not at all, as was expected. His explanation came only to you, and only when you ask.

…

You piped up one evening in your office, head pillowed in Federico’s lap after he had insisted you rest after hours of paperwork, “Federico?” Affection melted the ice hue of his irises to an azure blue when his eyes flick to yours peering up at him, and his fingers squeezed yours ever-gently where both your hands were intertwined over your tummy, “Yes, love?”

The Sankta had always softened around you, toward you; however, it had only ever been visible in the inch of tension his shoulders lost, in the slight dilation of his pupils, in the way his brows and jaw untightened by a hair. Now, adoration touched upon each of his facial features, he allowed it with no protest or restraint. Your head tilted slightly as you blinked up at him, eyes rounded like a curious doe, earning a tiny quirk of one platinum white brow from your lover.

Restraint — restraint is what Federico is suddenly devoid of, you realize.

The Federico Giallo who had never seen value in understanding, in considering, in allowing his emotions to wander, maintained a vice-like grip on his heart and commanded all actions by order of his systematic, logical brain. No physical contact, as it was too distracting to his duties; no time spent on determining the destructive effect of his chosen method to execute his task, if it proved to be the most efficient one; no attention spared toward anything not regarding a mission or his duties, because there was no benefit in such. Many had assumed such was only possible, either because he was a robot or he was devoid of any and all emotion.

You understood, however. It was never that Executor was unfeeling, instead that he had leashed, handcuffed, and tied up his emotions into inescapable bounds to be never loosened. It was logical, you supposed; emotion would do little to benefit the Sankta with the black-ringed halo, the ever-set jaw, and pale blue eyes fixed onto his mission.

Yet now, the Federico Giallo who’s lap you rested your head on tonight - the Sankta with the black-ringed halo, head always finding itself in a contemplative tilt, and wandering eyes that notice too much - had loosened the aforementioned restraints.

When you snapped back from your thoughts, a smile crawled slowly upon your lips when you noticed Federico had allowed his affection to linger on his face for so long, it was tangible; his softened facial features now made him akin to a vanilla gelato scoop from one of the Lateran ice cream carts.

You finally disturbed the silence, beating Federico to it before he could open his lips to ask why you’re staring, “What’s up with all the…you know?’ Your free hand lifted to gesture vaguely to your desk, occupied by stacks of Federico-organized paperwork and a now-empty sweet box from one of Laterano’s dessert carts, “You loving me extra lately?” When his eyebrows knitted together slightly at your wording, you added in a rush, “Not that I’m complaining! It’s just…”

He allowed you to trail off completely before he replied, “You are referring to the sudden increase in my acts of affection.” His gaze shifted away from yours to flick between the paperwork, the dessert box, then to the spot on your forehead he’d designated as the receiving area for his kisses. A nod from you followed, “Yes. I didn’t…say something that made you feel forced to…be more affectionate, did I?” The possibility of this caused uncertainty to waver your tone now, and a concerned frown replaced your smile, “Federico, you don’t have to be more ‘lovey’, I love how you ar--” “No, you did not.” As if to apologize for cutting you off, Federico tightened his hold on your hand once more, “Please do not misunderstand…this was not incited by anything you have said. Simply, I…”

The Sankta paused, lips closing and eyes casting off to the side before he lifted the hand not holding yours to cradle his chin; a gesture you’ve now learned meant he was considering his words. He never used to do that before.

“His Holiness advised me to ponder my actions more thoroughly. To wonder my reason for doing something, and the reasons others might perceive. To take further action even if it is unnecessary for my mission or duties.” Formality cooled his tone again upon the mention of the Pope, yet affection lingered on his words like sugar stuck on his tongue, “...recently, after completing a book I had purchased in hopes to gain further understanding, I had come to realize that you will struggle to perceive my affection in its whole unless I express it through multiple outlets.” His hand lowered from his chin to return to his side, not without brushing his fingers over the ends of your hair in a motion you question the coincidence of, “After concluding this, I determined the only solution was to begin to display the affection I hold for you in various ways.”

Your heart melted into liquid within your ribcage at that, and you stammered out in an attempt to distract him from the rosy hue rising to your cheeks - though, considering it was Federico, he had undoubtedly noticed already -, “Wait, wait, what was the book about?”

“Love languages.” The steadiness he explained this in could convince someone this was an academic topic, “In particular, the book described the giving of gifts, physical touch, words of affirmation, and acts of service.”

Your eyes widened and your lips fell agape with a noise of realization, “Oooh. I see now…that’s where all that came from. You learned it from the book!” In a swift motion, you rose to sit up and lean your body against Federico’s shoulder, curling up much like a kitten to a furnace. No tension stiffened his body upon the contact - and his arm slid around your waist with protective weight, to press you oh-slightly-closer. “Yes.”

His confirmation was paired with a nod, a miniscule movement as to not disturb your comfortable position as you tucked your face against his throat, “The book had explained as well, that as a partner, I utilize the ‘love language’ you most prefer. As I did not know which was your preference…I decided the most beneficial course of action was to trial each one until I could determine which you were most receptive to.” His voice quieted as he trails off, murmuring to himself against your hairline, a new habit you had noticed more frequently these days, “However…I am concerned I lack proficiency in the method of ‘words of affirmation’...I have referred to your appearance as ‘nice’ seven times consecutively now…”

Heat blazed on your cheeks now, and you were unsure if it was from embarrassment, upon the realization that Federico had been scrutinizing each and every of your reactions to his new acts of affection, or if it was from delight, buzzing around your heart at the fact that he had planned so elaborately only to find the best method to love you. Your head ducked further under his chin to nuzzle your face against his chest, cheek pressed just over his heartbeat before your voice left muffled against the fabric of his uniform, “Federico…you didn’t have to do all that. I really, really liked it, but that was a lot of hassle for you. You could’ve just asked…”

While his arm remained where it was draped around your waist, the other lifted in a slow movement until his hand was cradling your nape; his fingers were expectedly cool, and yet yet his touch is oh-so-warm in contrast, and you did not fail to notice how hands that used to hesitate over your skin settle with more ease now, “Yes, perhaps. However, the book had advised against such, as it would be…unromantic.”

You snorted before you could catch it, head whipping from his chest to tilt your face upward at him, “Mmph-- Why are you worrying about that? Federico, I’m not with you because you’re romantic.” The slight furrow between his eyebrows returned again, this time paired with the tiniest downward tugs of the corners of his lips, and you jolted when your poor wording settled on you, “No, no, I mean…”

A stutter, before you exhaled with a sheepish grin. Instead of words first, your hand rose to tuck stray platinum hair away from his eyes, the stubborn bits along one side of his face where he’d grown it longer, to allow time for your flusteredness to fade and your words to find you again. Federico’s head tilted towards your touch, his cheek catching a brush of your fingers.

“I mean…” You began again, hushed this time; his eyes were rapt on you yet rounding at the edges once more until it seemed like his pupils were melting, and you forced yourself to swallow the hitch that threatened to disturb your words at the sight, “I don’t love you any different for any reason…much less the ‘love language’ you ‘speak’ to me with. I love you because…you’re Federico.”

For a moment, by the slight tilt of his head and downward of his eyes, you were unsure if he would understand; too vague, too rooted in emotions he has not become acquainted with yet, too cheesy. You opened your mouth to elaborate, though your words paused on your tongue when you swear you notice the corners of his lips tilted upward by millimeters. Instead of questions - though he seemed full of them lately -, his reply came as a nod against your hand and a word softened to a murmur, “...I understand.”

Federico leaned in to close the space between you, tilting your head with the hand he still had resting on your nap; a breath, then his lips pressed an air-light kiss to the particular spot on your forehead. He lingered for one moment, two moments, three, before he retracted enough to find your eyes again, “I too, love you as you are, and as you will be.” A pause, hesitance, however restraint no longer surged forth to halt him and strangle his affection, “...and I no longer see a beneficial reason to hesitate in expressing this.”

Your hands tightened slightly where they’d slid to rest on his chest in some nonsensical worry he would pull away, shoulders perking up with a held breath as your heartbeat suddenly thud-thud-thudded in your ears. In your few moments of wide-eyed silence, you wondered if Federico would decide what he has said is too far and renege on it.

No; his softened gaze remained fixed to yours, his arm remained around your waist, his hand remained cradling the base of your head, and his lips remained shut. Even his halo and wings seemed to still completely. Not a single semblance of his previous restraint tugged at even the corner of his sleeve.

A second thud-thud-thud became unmistakable under one of your palms, and for a moment you were sure Federico had caused your heart to swell so much it had duplicated, before your eyes flicked down and you realized. Under where one of your palms was placed upon his chest, his own heartbeat is hurried, loud - and full.

The twitch in his jaw was telltale that Federico considered words, though aware as he was that they rarely favour him well, he instead moved. A gentle hand lifted; one too gentle to be the same one that operated a shotgun that had taken more lives than he had lived years, too gentle to be the same one that had pulled the trigger to send bullets between eyes or into chests with finality, too gentle to be the same one that has torn the heart clean out of an Originium beast.

It raised to rest over your own and pressed it firmer against his heartbeat.

“Love.” The term of endearment left his lips more of a breath rather than a word, “This is acceptable?”

You chimed with mirth, hand pressing closer in order to catch the stutter of his heart when you do, “More than acceptable, Federico.”

Undoubtedly, this was not the same Sankta whose certificate you had received that very first day. This Sankta wore a new title, wore a different uniform, and had a heart grown too large. And yet, undoubtedly, this Sankta - with the same blue eyes, platinum locks, and obsidian halo and wings - was still Executor. You could never doubt the softened hue of Federico’s eyes, like the sky on a sunny day, when they settle upon yours.

And likewise, Federico now found it was impossible to deny that his heart - the one he understands he swore in oath only to Laterano, the one he should be discarding if he is to serve the Law as expected of him, the the once racing so freely beneath your palm now - has ever belonged to anyone or anything but you.