Headache || Wriothesley

19

The soft, rhythmic hum of the new lab equipment that Y/n loved so much was abruptly interrupted by a gentle rap at the door. 

Y/n, engrossed in her work, glanced up from her microscope, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Yes?"

The door creaked open, revealing the familiar silhouette of Wriothesley. His dark hair was tousled, and a mischievous grin played on his lips. 

"I've received a report that you've been overworking yourself... again," he announced, stepping into the room with an air of mock seriousness. "I let you off with a warning last time, but it seems my leniency has been taken for granted. I'm afraid I must resort to more drastic measures. You're under arrest, Miss L/n."

Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at his theatrics. She swiveled in her chair to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh? And what are these 'drastic measures' you speak of, Officer Wriothesley? Are you going to handcuff me to my desk? Or perhaps you plan to lock me in the break room with nothing but stale donuts and lukewarm tea for sustenance?"

Wriothesley's grin widened. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms to mirror her stance. "Well, I was thinking more along the lines of a mandatory break. Perhaps a walk in the Court of Fontaine, or a dinner at the Café Lucerne. You know, something truly horrifying."

Y/n laughed as her eyes sweeped over the piles of papers and half-finished inventions scattered across her desk. "Well..." Her gaze landed on a half-assembled contraption, wires poking out like an abstract metal porcupine. "I suppose the fate of the world can wait for a few hours."

She pushed herself away from the desk, the chair rolling back with a soft squeak. Standing up, she stretched, her back popping in protest. The h/c haired girl groaned and slapped her cheeks with her palms to wake herself up.

"But I warn you, Wriothesley," she said, pointing a stern finger at him, "If I find a single stale donut or a lukewarm cup of tea, you'll be the one handcuffed to my desk."

Wriothesley laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Duly noted, Miss L/n. I wouldn't dream of subjecting you to such a cruel and unusual punishment."

Y/n loved it when he laughed, especially when she was the cause of his amusement.

"How does the Café Lucerne sound first?" he suggested. "I haven't been in a while."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/n replied with a smile. "I'm sure you've missed the place."

"You have no idea."

With a shared smile, the pair made their way up and out of the fortress and into the busy streets of Fontaine. The streets were alive with activity, the air filled with the chatter of people and the distant hum of Gardemeks. The city lights reflected off the buildings, casting a warm glow on the pair as they made their way through the crowd.

As they walked, Wriothesley's hand brushed against Y/n's, drawing her attention to the simple silver band on his ring finger that Y/n had given him in what felt like years ago. The ring caught the city lights, its surface gleaming softly. 

"I like your ring," Y/n commented, her eyes following his gaze. "I wonder where you got it from."

A soft smile tugged at Wriothesley's lips as he remembered the day Y/n had "given" him the ring. "Yeah, geez, I wonder," he teased. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with an idea. "Hey, why don't we-"

"No," Y/n cut him off.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"You're going to suggest we get matching rings."