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The summons came stamped with the Iudex’s seal, formal enough to make Wriothesly pause mid-glove. Office of the Iudex. After hours. No stated cause. No legal framing. That alone was unsettling… Neuvillette did nothing without reason, and certainly nothing without structure.
As Wriothesley made his way through the Palais, he turned the possibilities over in his mind. A ruling gone wrong. A favor wrapped in formality. Something political and unpleasant. None of them explained the timing. Or the quiet insistence in the wording.
Wriothesley knocked once and stepped inside at the Iudex’s permission. Neuvillette stood near the window, his hands folded behind his back, gaze fixed on the darkened lamplit city below. He did not turn immediately. That, more than anything, set Wriothesly on edge.
”Thank you for coming, Duke Wriothesley,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”
Wriothesley did as instructed, settling into the chair without leaning back, posture alert, eyes never leaving him. “You called?”
”Yes.” Neuvillette clasped his hands together. “This meeting is not disciplinary in nature, nor does it concern an ongoing case,” he took a breath, slow and shaky. Wriothesly watched the way his fingers tightened, the way his shoulders barely lifted with the breath he took. Neuvilette continued. “I required your presence for… consultation.”
Wriothesley straightened his posture and asked, “For what kind of consultation?"
Neuvillette hesitated, just barely. “Personal conduct,” he said, tone even. “Or rather, the consequences of it.”
Silence followed. The kind meant to invite elaboration.
Wriothesley didn’t rush it. He waited, gaze steady, giving Neuvillette the space to continue.
“I have fulfilled my responsibilities as Iudex without fault,” Neuvilette said, voice even, practiced. “The court functions efficiently. Fontaine remains stable. By all observable standards, my life is… adequate.”
He paused, eyes lowering to the desk.
Wriothesley shifted slightly, one arm resting against the chair’s edge, attentive but unintrusive.
”And yet,” he continued, more slowly, “There is a monotony to it that I find increasingly difficult to ignore.” His hands shifted, fingers loosening their careful clasp. “Each day follows the last with little variation. I rise. I preside. I return home. Time passes.”
Another pause. This one longer.
Wriothesley’s brow furrowed, not interrupting, but clearly following every word.
”I once believed that consistency was enough,” Neuvillette said at last. “When one lives long enough, routine becomes… reassuring. Years blur. Centuries follow the same patterns.” His voice was still composed, but softer now, less exact. “I told myself that this was peace.”
His fingers shifted against the desk, no longer perfectly still.
Wriothesley noticed and leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
”But lately,” he continued, “The days feel weightless. As though they pass through me without leaving a trace.” He frowned slightly, as if the feeling itself unsettled him. “I have watched eras end. I have seen people come and go. I thought that, by now, I would be accustomed to the quiet that follows.”
He paused, eyes lifting briefly to Wriothesley.
Wriothesley met his gaze immediately, never looking away.
”And then there are moments when that stillness breaks.”
He looked away again, as if grounding himself.
Wriothesley stayed exactly where he was. Present. Waiting.
”Conversations that are unscripted. Someone who speaks to me without expectation.” His voice softened further, losing its careful shape. “Time feels different then. Shorter. Sharper.”
Another breath. This one was not steady.
Wriothesley’s hands curled slightly, restrained, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.
’I find myself… aware,” Neuvillette said. “Present in a way I am not during the rest of my days.” His jaw tightened. “And when those moments end, the quiet returns. Heavier than before.”
He went silent, then added, almost reluctantly:
”You are one of the few things that make my life feel less distant.”
The words barely had time to settle before Wriothesley spoke.
”Hey,” he said quietly.
Neuvillette looked at him, startled, as if he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.
Wriothesly didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. He stayed leaning forward, elbows on his knees, gaze steady and warm. “I hear you,” he said. “All of it.”
Neuvillette’s hands tightened again, instinctively reaching for composure. “It’s not meant as a burden,” he began.
“I know,” Wriothesley said gently, cutting in without raising his voice. “You’re not complaining. You’re just… tired of being alone with it.”
That made Neuvillette pause.
Wriothesley stood then, slow enough to give him time to retreat. When he stepped closer, Neuvillette didn’t move away. Wriothesley reached out, one hand settling at his side. Firm and grounding, drawing him just a little closer.
“You’ve lived a long time,” he said. “Long enough for quiet to stop feeling peaceful and start feeling empty.” His tone stayed soft, grounded. “Anyone would feel like that. Even you.”
Neuvillette swallowed. “I am uncertain what I am meant to do with these feelings.”
”You don’t have to know,” Wriothesley replied. “You don’t have to fix it tonight.” A small breath. “You just have to let someone sit with you while you say it.”
He held Neuvillette’s gaze, unwavering.
”I’m here,” Wriothesley said simply. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension didn’t disappear but it eased, just enough to breathe.
Neuvillette leaned into the contact before he could stop himself.
Wriothesley kissed him.
It was gentle, brief, and more reassurance than anything else. When he pulled back, he stayed close, watching Neuvillette carefully.
Neuvillette didn’t step away.
So Wriothesley kissed him again. This time it lingered. Still soft, still restrained, but sure. His hand remained at Neuvillette’s side, steady, holding him there until teh tension finally eased into something warm and real.
Neuvilette’s breath was uneven when they parted. “This changes things,’ he said quietly.
Wriothesley nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “I know.”
And neither of them moved.
When Wriothesley finally pulled back, it was a little too quick.
He cleared his throat and looked away, hand dropping from Neuvillette’s side like he’d only just realized where it was. “I-“ He stopped, then huffed quietly. “I did not mean to do that twice.”
Neuvillette blinked. Once.
”…Twice?” he echoed.
Wriothesley’s ears had gone faintly red. “The second one,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was… listen, I don’t usually misjudge situations like that.”
For a moment, Neuvillete simply stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was soft at first, almost startled, like the sound had surprised him as much as anyone else. He lifted a hand to his mouth, eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been before. “I believe,” he said, still faintly amused, “That you judged the situation quite accurately.”
Wriothesley looked back at him, caught off guard. “You’re laughing.”
”Yes,” Neuvillette said. The word came easier than most. “I am.”
The silence that followed felt different now. Lighter. Less oppressive.
”I think,” Neuvillette added, after a moment, “That my life may not be as dull as I believed.” His gaze settled on Wriothesley, warm and thoughtful. “At least… not when you are involved.”
Wriothesley snorted softly. “High praise, coming from you.”
Neuvillette’s smile was small, genuine, unmistakable. And for the first time in a very long while, the thought of tomorrow didn’t feel so empty.
Wriothesley let out a short breath and straightened, clearly regaining his composure by force. “Right,” he said, a little too briskly. “Well. That was… certainly not on the agenda.”
Neuvillette’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it lingered, soft and almost fond.
”I should clarify,” Wriothesley continued, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “That I do not make a habit of kissing the Iudex in his own office. Twice. That was an anomaly.”
”An anomaly,” Neuvillette repeated, amused.
Wriothesley shot him a look. “Don’t start.”
That only made Neuvillette smile more. He turned back toward the window, but this time he didn’t retreat into himself. His shoulders were relaxed, posture easy in a way it hadn’t been before.
”I find it… comforting,” he said lightly, “That even anomalies can be instructive.”
Wriothesley scoffed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” Neuvillette admitted. Then, quieter, honest without the weight, “I had forgotten what it felt like to laugh.”
The words weren’t heavy this time. Just true.
Wriothesley’s expression softened despite himself. “Anytime you feel like life’s getting dull,” he said, “Apparently all it takes is one poorly planned emotional confession and a couple of kisses.”
Neuvillette laughed again, soft and warm, and for the first time, it didn’t fade right away.
”I believe,” he said, glancing back at him, eyes bright, “That I would like to test that theory.”
Wriothesley froze. “…You’re impossible.”
Neuvilette only smiled.
And for the first time in a long while, the quiet of his life felt less heavy.