Espresseleine oneshots 🍂

Uncertainty 🍂

Type:
Sickfic (kinda. Espresso is physically injured).

And also
Fluff / a little hurt comfort / denial of feelings / love confessions

Warnings:
Mentions of past child verbal abuse
Description of stabbing

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Madeleine was repulsive.

Madeleine was narcissistic.

Madeleine was intoxicating.

Madeleine was an obsession.

Anything but good was derived from Madeleine.

Espresso knew this. Espresso knew this very, very well.

Yet somehow had ended up saddled with conflicting feelings towards the man.

Espresso stood in his office, though far astray from his work desk. Rather, he took to gazing out the window, watching the knight in question gallivant about the kingdom. This activity became no stranger to him, and he despised it yet still found himself unable to pry his eyes off the window.

From afar, he hopelessly imagined himself beside Madeleine. He pondered what it would be like going on one of his little walks, perhaps linking arms, maybe even smiling at each other. The mere concept of such an act sent pleasant shivers through him. Of course, Espresso constantly protested against Madeleine acting as his savior, yes, but internally he could not deny the itching warmth inside him when he imagined Madeleine protecting him.

How ironic it was that he so desperately wished to be beside Madeleine yet pushed the other away any moment he neared. Espresso couldn't help it, really, for it simply wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that his pulse went haywire whenever he saw that elegant, blonde hair. It wasn't his fault that the man's boisterous tone made his brain have a meltdown. And it certainly wasn't his fault that the man's touch was enough to make him become reduced to a flustered mess.

And Espresso could never, not ever, lose his cool in front of Madeleine. That would be preposterous. Embarrassing. A stain on his dignity.

That is why he must remain far, far away, like a magnet repelling from its affinity.

Deny, deny, deny.

All he could do was deny.

He hates Madeleine.

Yet when had hatred morphed to butterflies in his stomach?

(Never, he scolded himself. He doesn't love him).

In his wildest calculations, he had never solved this question. Espresso had thought again and again, yet all he could do was slam his head against the desk in anguish as his thoughts trailed towards Madeleine for the millionth time.

The thoughts were always bittersweet, sickening. He enjoyed the thoughts and yet, didn't want them. They were a nuisance; it was something holding him back. All Espresso desired was to get back to work, to quit wasting precious time. Every minute which ticked away as he stood near the window was another minute rendered useless.

Espresso smiled helplessly while leaning against the window, his mind still adrift.

A scenario had begun to play in his head once again. It was an image of Madeleine reaching forth to caress his cheek. Madeleine would lean forward, pressing soft kisses to Espresso's forehead and murmuring gentle praises. Such affectionate intimacy it was—an intimacy that Espresso would struggle with in reality. After a few moments of basking in Madeleine's love, Madeleine would use his tall frame to press Espresso against the wall and-

Espresso shook his head. Now wasn't the time! Not at all! He must focus on his work. That should be top priority. He felt shameful dilly-dallying in such a humiliating manner. Yet it was so hard to concentrate on his work when Madeleine plagued his mind and made his palms sweat.