by the strange pull

The Way of Trust

Wriothesley gives Neuvillette an unexpected gift.

--

Neuvillette thumbs over the box delicately, considering its heft in his palm.

Wriothesley fidgets. He wrings his fingers with a sort of nervousness rarely seen from him. "I—well. Sedene told me that today is your birthday, which must not be public knowledge. I bet if the city knew, it'd be a holiday."

Neuvillette cracks a soft grin at the thought. "Not everyone is as prone to theatrics when it comes to one's day of birth as, perhaps, Lady Furina is. I, in particular, have never really celebrated it."

"No?" Wriothesley blinks, tilting his head slightly. He smells—well, as he always does; leather, machine oil, and citrus. Quiet comfort like the tea and cream he enjoys at most hours of the day. Relaxed, he's so relaxed. Wriothesley sits with his back to the door because he trusts Neuvillette.

And now, he's brought him a gift. Warmth bleeds through his chest as his alpha squirms in delight.

"Ah, maybe that shouldn't be a surprise. I know that you don't really—" Wriothesley gestures vaguely. "In any case, there isn't a need to think much of it—"

"Why not?"

Wriothesley blinks. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Well... I mean. Do you want to?"

What an absurd question. Neuvillette finally looks at him and finds that Wriothesley's face is pink with embarrassment. Endearing. Sweet. Not for the first time Neuvillette thinks, what a perfect ma—

"Are you not my beloved?" asks Neuvillette, cutting that thought short. "Am I to not enjoy a gift from my partner?"

Mate, his hindbrain corrects, the alpha in his blood annoyed by the strict line that's been drawn. Wriothesley would be receptive. Wriothesley would crave it too, but there are too many things they haven't discussed, and ignoring it is the best for Neuvillette's sanity.

But, Wriothesley brought him a gift, and that is something that makes his alpha purr deep in his chest. Sublime. Everything about this is sublime, from the messy wrapping of the box to the ill-hidden adoration that wracks Wriothesley's being.

Neuvillette is... comforted. At first, it'd been mere interest, then it'd been an experiment. And now they complement each other in a way that cannot be described. There is a strange pull between them, like the moon tugging at the tide. Effortless, even when they bicker. Just right, even when they struggle with their instincts.

He thumbs over the crumpled edge of the wrapping paper where it's hastily taped. "I'm no artist," mutters Wriothesley as Neuvillette inspects it.

"Precisely why I love this. It reminds me of your—"

"Yeah, I'm a mess."

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. "I was going to say mildly unrefined nature."

"Oh, that's definitely better."

"It is what I enjoy most about you."

Wriothesley looks away shyly. "I—look, are you going to open it?"

"After I finish enjoying the painstaking craftsmanship of the wrapping—"

"Fuck's sake, enough of the teasing." Wriothesley groans, dragging a hand down his face. "And don't give me that look!"

Neuvillette's expression is merely amused, his mouth curled into a grin. "A birthday gift," he muses, slipping his finger into the paper to pull it open. "As I said earlier, my birthday is something of little consequence, merely a day that I picked out of convenience."

Wriothesley stills at that. "Wait, it's not really..."

"I know next to nothing about my beginnings, and while I'm curious about many things related, the day of my birth isn't one of them."

"I—" Wriothesley's throat bobs. "So, that's something we share, then."

Neuvillette quirks an eyebrow, pausing in his efforts to open the box.

Wriothesley rubs his neck, suddenly put on the spot. "No, no, it's... After my trial, I threw it all away, which you know. When filling out the paperwork for Meropide, I gave my admittance day as my birthday. Fresh start and all that." He pauses, his face wrinkling—and suddenly, Wriothesley looks his age, a little weary and worn. So handsome. "Wow, this topic is a little ironic considering the gift."

Neuvillette cannot fathom what that means but interest pricks his brain. And really, he'd rather comfort Wriothesley whose scent has been fouled by the acrid tang of anxiety. Neuvillette's alpha begs for him to slip close and drown in his scent, but first—

He tugs the box free from its wrappings and pulls the lid away. Inside sits a card, and underneath that, a beautiful brush with a mother-of-pearl handle, and bristles of soft horsehair. The card is simple. Penned inside are sweet nothings that Neuvillette traces with the tips of his claws.

And then he notices the signature.

"This is—"

"Yeah, don't say that aloud. Please." There's that nervousness, that anxiety again, souring the air.

"Wriothesley—"

"It's my name. My—well. I don't prefer it. I'll never prefer it, but I felt that you should at least... know."

Neuvillette has never known. When Wriothesley was questioned at the hospital in his youth, he'd given his current name for trial paperwork. And Neuvillette has never asked, he's never—he swallows around the lump in his throat. "This is... the gift," he says quietly. Suddenly, the box in his hand feels quite heavy.

"The brush is a nice bonus."

Neuvillette reaches out, fingers curling around Wriothesley's wrist. He leans close, thankful that Wriothesley took the seat next to his. "Beloved," he says, "you've given me..."

"I trust you." Wriothesley smells solid. Whatever anxiety he had has melted away and the only thing left is the unfettered, divine scent of his adoration. "I trust you, and to what extent is hard to articulate."

Neuvillette thinks, as he has a thousand times, that he loves this man. And when he sweeps close to kiss him, Wriothesley is quick to reciprocate. It is sweet and searching. Their alphas heel, far too pleased at the moment to worry about their differences. Oh, how they work together, perfectly paired as their lips meld into one and their tongues brush.

When they part, Wriothesley asks, "Later, I want to brush your hair. We can sit out on the balcony and listen to the sounds of the city as I work out those tangles, and you can drink whatever fancy water Sedene gives you, and you can pretend to enjoy that cake Furina's assistant picked out, and—"

Neuvillette leans close, his mouth near Wriothesley's ear. He murmurs something softly—so softly that no one else would hear, even if they weren't alone.

Wriothesley's breath hitches. "That's—"

Neuvillette's name; his first name, his given name that not even their Archon knows, whispered so sweetly against Wriothesley's temple. "Be careful how you use it," he says, pressing a kiss there.

It is not often that Neuvillette acts on impulse. His actions are, typically, carefully calculated. But with Wriothesley, he indulges, allowing himself to be guided by instinct and want.

And oh, he wants this, whatever this is, this feeling in his chest that is warm and soft, and that comforts him on the cold nights. That makes his chest ache when they are too busy to see each other, and that compels him to not just take, but to give and give and give.

"A braid," he says then, thumbing over Wriothesley's mouth as he does his best not to make a mess of it. "I would like for you to braid my hair, later."

Neuvillette thinks that the warm smile Wriothesley gives him is the best gift of all.