#kaevillette

"While I'm happy that you're happy, my love, I am not pleased with the... new addition to our household."

Neuvillette's voice rang throughout the room, the tone much different from its usual soothing lilt.

"Oh, come on. It's a kitten. And besides, I get lonely when you work long hours." You told him, holding the kitten up to his face.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, but the kitten is your responsibility." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The first week was a nightmare for him. The kitten, which you'd called 'soufflé', ("ridiculous," he'd said when you told him, but his tone lacked any heat), would do nothing but dig its tiny claws into his coat, his furniture — anything.

It was frustrating until he saw the soft smile on your face as you laid out on your shared bed, head balanced on your hand with the other playing with the kitten.

Suddenly, he didn't hate the kitten so much. That isn't to say he was fond of it, but... he was accepting of its presence in the house.

Then, the seemingly impossible happened.

At some point, Soufflé stopped following you around, instead choosing to follow Neuvillette. The man got more and more comfortable with the cat until—

"What, in Furina's name, is this?" You ask one cloudy evening.

There he is. Neuvillette, in all his glory, lounging with Soufflé laid across his chest.

"I think he likes me. He's very sweet, actually."

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It's raining again. You can hear it tapping away at your window, the dark clouds obscuring any moonlight you may have had. It's gentle. Some may even call it beautiful, peaceful, and calming.

The man in your lap may say otherwise.

You've heard the rumours. 'It rains when the hydro dragon weeps.'

At first, you thought they were silly, with no rhyme or reason for their existence. It wasn't until he told you who he was that you even remembered them.

'It rains when the hydro dragon weeps.'

He doesn't weep. He cries. It's a painful thing to watch, and yet he comes to you when everything gets too much for him to handle. Your warmth brings him comfort, your grip gentle and yet firm enough to remind him that he isn't alone.

'It rains when the hydro dragon weeps.'

Oh, how you wish you could take his pain away. But it's not your pain to take.

So, in your lap, he remains, tucked into your embrace as if he's trying to merge your bodies into one. He's comforted by the way your hand smooths down his shuddering shoulders, touch gentle.

And he's comforted by the way you press kisses to the crown of his head, muttering unintelligible praises and phrases into his hair.

After all, there's isn't much more you can do but wish for sunnier days.

He's there at every show. He makes sure to get a seat that's not too close to the stage, but not so far away that he can't see your expressions. It's one of his favourite pastimes, if anyone were to ask.

He particularly enjoyed the last time your company performed Swan Lake, and although you weren't Odette, you still had a pretty important role as Odile.

He's always captivated by the way your limbs move, so... gracefully. The way you glide across the stage as if you were born for it. Perhaps you were. Perhaps this was your calling. Just as his was in the courtroom, yours is on that stage, performing to the masses.

His hands grip gently at the bouquet as he makes his way down to where your dressing room is. The staff always let him.

And yet, toe to toe with your door for what seems like the hundredth time, his heart falters. He couldn't possibly hand them to you in person.

His confidence wavers, and like every other time, he leaves the bouquet on the floor, his hands knocking gently before turning away.

You don't see his face when you finally open the door to look. Only catching a glimpse of his coat tails as he turns the corner.

And yet, you smile. The bouquet never changes, and the blue and white ensemble of flowers warms your heart. 'N', as the card reads, thanks you for your wonderful performance. He thanks you for making his day just a little bit brighter, his heart a little lighter.

And as always, on the back of the card is a note. 'The show must go on,' it says. And for your mysterious 'N', it will. You're sure of it.

Neuvillette is thorough. He's dedicated to his health, to staying fit. His sleep schedule, despite others' speculation, is constant and rigid. He's a man of routine. So when you, his lover, fall ill, he's confused.

You sleep at the same time as him. He takes care of your health just as he does with his own, so how can you possibly be sick? What happened? Did you stay out in the rain too long, perhaps? Take a dip in the fountain on a cold day by accident? He's not sure.

Nevertheless, his rigid routine falls. He's there by your side, brushing your hair back with his hand to check your temperature, his brow furrowed as you cough into your hand. He's not afraid of sickness, unlike so many others. Neuvillette's by your side, regardless of how many times you tell him that you'll be fine if he goes to work. He can't bear to leave you alone, not while you look so... pitiful laid in bed.

It's just a cold. It's not even life threatening, and he knows that. He's aware of how mundane the sickness is. 'It's just human nature,' you murmur softly. 'We're bound to get sick sometimes.'

Still. He's content to take a week off work to spend it with you, no matter how boring it must be for him, as you say.

"It can't be boring," He murmurs one evening as you sip slowly at the soup he's made. "I'm with the person I love the most. After all, I vowed in sickness and in health."

"Sir, we have your paperwork ready." The assistant called through the crack in the door.

"Yes, I shall be out in a moment." Neuvillette called back, his eyes trained on his desk.

It isn't the smell that wakes you. It isn't his shuffling out of bed at 7 am. that wakes you either. It's not even the sunlight dancing across your face as he draws back the apartment curtains to slip the balcony door open.

No, what wakes you is his gentle humming as he rolls a fresh cigarette. Dressed in nothing but his silk pyjamas, his hair tied up in a loose messy bun, the epitome of peace and tranquillity.

You thought you'd hate the smell of burning tobacco. When you went on your first date, and he pulled out his tin, you almost called the whole thing off. But these days, he's switched to a different blend of tobacco and herbs, and you've come to find comfort in the smell.

You don't partake yourself. No, you told him that you wouldn't, and he respects that.

But you can't help but admire him from your bed as he rolls a fresh cigarette. You admire the way his fingers work, tucking the papers around the filter. The way his tongue glides over the sheet to seal it.

You stare as his hand cups around the open flame of the match, and the way he relaxes after that first inhale.

With his hand just crossing the threshold of the balcony door, his eyes glide over to your figure on the bed. They soften ever so slightly, a smile dancing on his lips.

"Good morning, my love." He murmurs. "I hope you slept well."

Your back is pressed against his chest, the cuffs clinking as they're snapped onto your wrists. Your chest is flush against the wall; if it werent for the fact that you're being arrested, bystanders might assume that you're a couple who just couldn't wait until you reached your home.

His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, voice low as to not allow members of the public to hear. He might be handling you a little rough, but he's not heartless.

"There are better ways to get my attention, love." He murmurs, smirk evident on his lips. He's teasing, of course. He enjoys this little cat and mouse routine you find yourself in. "Perhaps you could try a way that doesn't involve putting you in cuffs."

Your scoff doesn't sound very convincing. There's no bite in your tone, and it's almost as teasing as his was a moment ago. "Yes, but Officer Wriothesley, I thought that was how you liked me? Changed your mind, then?"

The smirk is back on his lips as he drags you away from the wall, hand gripping around both of your wrists, despite the metal that constricts them. "'Course not, love." He whispers in your ear. "In fact, the fun is only just beginning."

©Kaevillette, ©vidyaddhara - Do Not Copy, Redistribute, Steal, or Translate

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Yes, I absolutely can do that! Putting my law degree to work, YESSSS.

"You know, we really have to stop meeting like this." You murmured, your hands lifting slightly to emphasise the cuffs around your wrists.

Neuvillette rolled his eyes; an action that he usually would not even dare to act.