A very tired Wriothesley retires at the end of the day and rests his face on Neuvillette's lap.

--

Wriothesley prides himself on being a man of considerable fortitude, but even he has his limits. Today, he has hit it. Today, he is exhausted, pulled thin and taut, keyed up until his alpha rumbles in his chest with agitation.

He's better than this. He tends to have good control of his instincts, but Wriothesley finds himself on the precipice of snapping someone's head off.

From unruly inmates to wayward children exploring in hallways they shouldn't be—Wriothesley drags a hand down his face, letting loose an exhausted sound of annoyance.

"You know, stress is the number-one killer of men your age."

Wriothesley cringes and resists the urge to roll his as. "Sigewinne," he says, "you aren't helping one bit."

"With the reminder or my request?"

"Both."

Sigewinne hums, tinkering around at her desk. "Well, can't do much without bandages," she says dryly. "One minute I'm using my last roll and the next I'm having to cut off shirts to make do."

She's cut off shirts to treat less, but Wriothesley isn't in the mood to pick a fight with her.

"And painkillers," she continues. "Needles—surely you don't want me to reuse them. Sterilization can only do so much, and that's assuming that I have the proper chemicals—"

"Okay, okay, I hear you. Monsieur Neuvillette will have to approve the order since we're dealing with the new budget allowances, but I can settle that quickly." A pause. "You can last for the next day or so, yes?"

Sigewinne snorts, sorting out bits and baubles. "I'll make it work."

Which means yes. Thank Celestia. Wriothesley doesn't want to deal with the headache of a genuine emergency.

"Your Grace—" He still laughs when she uses his proper title. "—for all my teasing about your stress levels, my concern is genuine. Have you been sleeping lately?"

A little. Enough to get by. No. Wriothesley knows that he can't hide the truth from her, so he just opts to say nothing, remaining entirely quiet.

Sigewinne looks up and frowns. "Eight hours," she reminds him. "Humans function best on a minimum of eights hours of sleep daily."

"I can give you about four, maybe five if I sleep in."

Sigewinne clicks her tongue. He watches her reach for a prescription pad, something that goes rarely used unless there's specialty medication for a Garde to procure above ground. Wriothesley's mouth twitches as she jots something down.

"Wow, you're stooping to the point of medicating me?"

"I'll remind you that I'm the one person in this place that holds power over you."

True. Sigewinne loves to remind him of that a lot lately, but in her defense, Wriothesley's health habits haven't been the best. Even his alpha is tired, lurking in his breast; even the sweeter, softer smells that soothe him only bring annoyance.

Gods, he's wound tight.

Sigewinne crosses the room and, with a dramatic flourish, rips the prescription from her pad, and slaps it against his chest. "Once a day for the next week will suffice, though more doses certainly won't kill you."

Wriothesley looks and immediately regrets it, his face turning bright red. "Sigewinne."

"I don't want to hear it," she chides. "Doctor's orders."

One heaping dose of Monsieur Neuvillette, daily, says the prescription. Apply physically, as needed.

"I'm busy," he says. "I don't have time to go up to the surface—"

"You do now. I'm forcing you onto bed rest for the next two days. I don't want to see you come back down here until those circles under yours eyes are gone, your skin is glowing, and you smell more like Monsieur Neuvillette than you do yourself."

Wriothesley refuses to talk to her about this. Refuses.

But Sigewinne offers him no room to hide, shooting him another glance. "What are you waiting for?" she hisses. "Scoot!"

Wriothesley scoots because forceps are dangerous in her hands, and he has no desire to push her buttons. "Yeah, I—Okay, I hear you. But I'm showing him this, and you get to answer for it later."

Judging by her knowing smile, Sigewinne welcomes whatever price she'll have to pay.

#

The worst part is that Sigewinne is always right.

Wriothesley is a simple man. He's exhausted and he pines. It's been a week since he last saw Neuvillette, and though he tries to come upside more often as of late, it's just been too busy to justify even a minor break.

But Archons, he misses him. His alpha crawls underneath his skin, agitated. Wriothesley's bed has lost all hint of Neuvillette's scent, sending him into a spiral. Even his clothes don't carry it, driving Wriothesley mad.

Sigewinne knows that, though, and even if she hadn't demanded it, Wriothesley would've lost sleep if it meant sneaking even an hour of Neuvillette's time. But Neuvillette—he's busy too, and so the both of them have been left bereft and frustrated as a result. Wriothesley snarls at the thought of it, at—

Wriothesley is getting worked up. He looks at the prescription in his palm and sighs, pulling at his face. Two days off. A nightmare and a blessing. So much can go wrong at Meropide, but... they'll be fine. And he needs some damn sleep.

He folds the slip of paper and pockets it. At the very least, he'll just shove his face into Neuvillette's neck and soak up his scent. It'll help, it always does, and Wriothesley will be able to focus again. Hopefully. Maybe.

Once at the Palais Mermonia, he strides towards Neuvillette's office. "He retired early," says Sedene without even looking up from her desk. She flips a page in her report. "Or... well, not retired, but he decided to finish out his work day at his personal quarters. Lately, he's been... off."

Wriothesley pauses, leaning a hip against the corner of his desk. "Sigewinne beat me to you, didn't she?"

Sedene finally looks up and gives Wriothesley a sweet smile. "It's good to see you, though, Your Grace. I know that Monsieur Neuvillette's day will fare better if you go meet with him."

"The two of you," he groans, dragging a hand down his face, "conspiring against us. Let me guess—you were the one who talked him into leaving the office?" Sedene neither confirms nor denies this, just turns back to her paperwork and waves a paw. "Right. Well. It was good to see you, too."

"I told him to take tomorrow off," she says the moment his back is turned.

Of course, she did, and Sigewinne probably demanded it of him, which Neuvillette isn't likely to ignore if only to appease her. Wriothesley pulls at his face. "Got it," he tells her. "I'll do my best to distract him."

Sedene doesn't look up, but she just chuckles, just a soft whisper of a sound.

#

Wriothesley uses his key to Neuvillette's home and lets himself in quietly. Kicks off his shoes. Pulls off his coat and hangs it up on the rack by the door. It's strange, dressing down—he doesn't even do that back at the Fortress much.

But here... there's something about Neuvillette's space that just washes a calmness across his being. Wriothesley is comfortable here. His alpha heels, relaxed in this space, even though it belongs to another alpha. Neuvillette is, and always has been, different.

Mate, he reminds himself. This is his space too, now, and when Wriothesley steps through the threshold, he comes home.

Neuvillette is in his parlor, settled onto the couch with a handful of case files. He jerks at the sound of Wriothesley shuffling through the halls, but immediately relaxes at the sight of him.

"I should've sent a message," says Wriothesley, slipping into the room.

"Nonsense. You have a key for a reason. You never need to warn me." Neuvillette sets his work aside for a moment and holds out a hand.

Wriothesley cross the room and takes it, pulling it to his mouth for a soft kiss against the knuckles. Then he rubs his face all over the expanse of his hand and wrist. Better. Celestia above, that's so much better. Wriothesley feels the tension slough right off of him.

"Still," continues Neuvillette, "with as busy as we've been, I must wonder why you are here?"

"Ah, that's just it—we've been busy, and I miss you."

Neuvillette's nostrils flare. He smells it, no doubt, the slightly sour and acrid tinge of Wriothesley's tired scent. Neuvillette is polite enough to not mention it, but Wriothesley wishes he would. His alpha would be annoyed, but then it'd be soothed, and fuck, he'd just feel better.

"Come here," says Neuvillette, pulling at him. "Rest. I still have some work, but—"

"No," cuts in Wriothesley. "That's exactly what I need." The couch sinks underneath his weight, and Wriothesley lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh. The fabric is steeped with Neuvillette's ocean scent. If Neuvillette wasn't working, he'd tilt closer and mouth at his neck, but—

He has patience. Later, thinks Wriothesley. For now, he shifts, laying across the length of the couch, settling his face against Neuvillette's thigh.

Neuvillette stills, a hand held above Wriothesley's ear as he watches him writhe about. "Wriothesley, are you alright?" There is no judgment in his voice, just concern.

"I had a shit day. Actually, no, a shit week, really. It's a slog at the Fortress. I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork. Sigewinne—" Wriothesley snorts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out that piece of paper. "Sige wrote me a prescription that I think you'll enjoy."

"Me?" Wriothesley doesn't mind the confusion in his voice. Neuvillette plucks the slip from his fingers, the parchment crinkling as he reads it. A soft huff. "A heaping dose of myself, I see."

"Applied liberally, which I plan to do just that."

Neuvillette's hand drops, fingers curling into Wriothesley's hair. "Has it truly been that bad?" he asks, petting over it.

"The worst. I'm isolated. Annoyed. Nothing in my room smells like you anymore, so I'm just keyed up. I miss you, and there's nothing that can remedy it except—"

"Coming here. Well. I'm not complaining. I do have some work to finish, but afterward—"

"The liberal application of your being can begin?"

Neuvillette laughs. "Truthfully, I have been in a similar state. I feel restless. Needy. I may have tried to schedule an appointment with you, if only to share tea."

"Ah, yes, I got the budget meeting request. Sorry, it had to be denied."

Neuvillette makes a soft trilling sound. "It's alright. I understand more than most. This season is... there are many things to be handled, and most of it between just the two of us."

Wriothesley sighs against his lap, tilting his face, pressing his nose into the meat of his thigh. His scent is strong there. Wriothesley soaks it up, and just like that, he feels better. His alpha settles, less restless in his chest. Near-instant relief. Gods, he's whipped.

"It's the bond, isn't it?" It's still fresh, still newish. Wriothesley didn't mean to sink his teeth into Neuvillette with such intent the last time they were together, but you know what they say about love, and getting lost in the moment.

Wriothesley definitely got fucking lost in the moment, not that Neuvillette complained. And it isn't permanent, this isn't a mating bite, but the temporary bond has been enough to make Wriothesley squirm in his absence.

Neuvillette hums, still petting his hair. "I know that there wasn't much of an adjustment period for us."

Wriothesley read somewhere that while alphas can bond, it rarely takes well. For them, though, it's been nothing but comfort. It snapped right into place, meant to be there, and it's only strengthened what they both already know.

Mate, he thinks again. Gods, he's always thinking that.

"I think that Sedene and Sigewinne are conspiring against us."

"Against us? Or for us?"

"Semantics." Wriothesley knows that Neuvillette must be smiling.

"Let them plot. We'll reap the benefits as a result."

"You're off tomorrow." Neuvillette stills, about to retort, and Wriothesley sinks his claws into his thigh. "Nope, don't give me that. I promised Sedene I'd distract you. Plus, I've been prescribed a heaping dose of you. Might as well do what the doctor says."

"I... alright."

It falls quiet again. Neuvillette still pets Wriothesley's hair, claws raking across his scalp gently, sending tingles down his spine. He picks up his work again and begins to read. Dozing will be easy like this. When was the last time he slept well? Weeks ago. The last time he stayed with Neuvillette, curled around him in the sheets.

It's hard, being like this. Wriothesley knows that it'll work out, but it's the getting there that's a tiring journey. But at the end of the tunnel is Neuvillette, which makes it worth it.

Wriothesley inhales deeply, purring at the smell and the feel of him underneath his cheek. And there's a small undercurrent of annoyance, a barely-there knee-jerk of his alpha in response to Neuvillette's pheromones. All of that is drowned out by the comfort that sinks into his bones.

Neuvillette's lap is soft. He strokes Wriothesley's hair and hums softly as he reads, and Wriothesley wishes that he could come home to this every single day.