Socially Awkward

Chapter 8

Warning: Contains Smut

--

"So, I might very well have a problem."

Navia stills at the hesitant sound of Neuvillette's voice. He watches as her face contorts, brow furrowing as she drops the files currently nestled into her arms. She twists until she's leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over her chest as she frowns. "A problem? With work?"

"No, not..."

Neuvillette has no idea how to approach this. He is not the anxious type. Cautious, yes. Distant, certainly, but these last few weeks spent in Wriothesley's company has shown him that the adage of wisdom coming with age is a bald-faced lie. He doesn't feel wise at the moment, he feels young and restless, entirely unsure with himself.

He steels himself. Brushes his fingers along the smooth mahogany wood of his desk, and says, "Wriothesley."

And then, stupidly, he doesn't continue. Wriothesley's name just hangs on his tongue long enough to sour in his mouth.

Navia waits politely, dropping her hand to rap her fingertips against her knee. "Wriothesley," she repeats, prompting him to continue.

"I..."

"He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Neuvillette blinks. "What? No."

"Are you sure? Cause you know that I know a guy, and I've already threatened bodily harm if he so much looks at you in the wrong way."

He chuckles, hiding the sound behind his fist. Not that he was worried about Navia's protective drive, but her candidness does wonders to ease him, at least.

"It's nothing of the sort. I just—well, this is a little awkward. I've caught feelings, and I—"

Navia bursts into laughter, the sort of laughter that's one half choking, the other half snorting. Then she clears her throat, trying to be polite—only Neuvillette knows her, and braces himself for whatever truth she's about to throw his way.

"So," she begins, "are you just now figuring this out? Because if you are, you're the last one to the dinner table."

Oh, this is embarrassing.

"Miss Navia, I do not appreciate—"

"Whatever," she cuts in. "I don't care. What's the issue here?"

Neuvillette's mouth falls open, but no answer comes. Realistically, he knows that there isn't a problem with this. It's fast—perhaps too fast—but sometimes things just work, and it's clear that he and Wriothesley fit together perfectly. It's been effortless, even as they learn more about each other. Every moment apart is a little bit of torture, and every new thing that Neuvillette learns just makes him fall harder, and—

"Oh, that look," says Navia quietly. "Neuvillette, I've never seen that look on your face."

Neuvillette meets her gaze, realizing that he'd been lost in his thoughts. Navia's expression is soft, cradled in the same sort of warmth that pulls at Neuvillette's being. She's always been insufferably patient with him throughout the years, but there's something about her expression that just makes everything feel... easier.

"I know that I, perhaps, am over thinking things, but you must forgive this old fish. I am merely unused to this. Being wanted. Wriothesley, he..." Neuvillette pulls at his face. "It isn't so much a worry that it isn't real. I just fear that something will... outweigh all of that. Eventually."

Navia nods, offering him a soft sigh. "I understand. Relationships are hard, and you're such a solitary man that it's..." She gestures vaguely. "Honestly, if it was any other man, I'd be concerned."