Socially Awkward

Chapter Ten

CW: Contains Smut

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They ignore it, as well as each other.

"I'm a fucking idiot," Wriothesley grouses, head in his hands. "Clorinde, you have no idea—"

"Oh, trust me, I have an idea."

Wriothesley lifts his face and shoots her a narrowed look. "Personal experience?" It's a low jab, but he's not in a particularly good mood. It's easier to overlook how badly he's fucked up by picking and pulling at Clorinde's sordid past with Navia. It stings, he knows, but it makes him feel better, and it's worth her temporary ire.

Clorinde chews on her words, her mouth tight. "This isn't about that," she eventually says. "One thing that I do know is that all you need to do is tell him that you love him too."

Wriothesley freezes. They haven't had this talk, he hasn't mentioned that to her, or that his feelings are feelings, not just warm fluffies in his chest. He certainly didn't tell her that's what the problem is either, that Neuvillette slipped him those three words. He told her it was an argument. Just an argument. How'd she fucking know?

(Clorinde knows because she knows him better than he knows himself. She's a master at reading between his lines, and despite how he tries to hide, Wriothesley's an open book to her.)

He pulls his fingers across his face. Groans softly because what the fuck, Clorinde?

"That's..." Wriothesley swallows. "That is like calling the kettle black. You and Navia should—"

"This isn't about us, this is about you, and getting your head out of your ass."

"It could be about you," he pushes. "I know that you're a lonely, miserable person Clorinde, but you don't have to be. You haven't seen Navia. She... Well, I guess you did see her. Neuvillette told me—"

"She looks good," cuts in Clorinde, her voice small. Quiet. She lets out a shaky breath that melts into a pitiful chuckle. "Gods, it was like stepping back in time. She hasn't changed at all, and I..." Wriothesley watches Clorinde's throat bob as she swallows. "I'll tell you what. If you talk to Neuvillette, I'll talk to Navia."

Wriothesley blinks. "I—" But then he considers this, thinks about it really hard, but the thought of making the first move feels like a greasy, oily mess in his gut. "It isn't so simple as that."

Clorinde does something he never would have expected—she laughs. Loud, and raucous, it fills the space of her kitchen. "Simple," she muses, but there's a bitter edge to her words. "Love is the most fucking complicated thing to exist."

Right. That. Clorinde would definitely know, wouldn't she? Wriothesley always thought she and Navia would be it, the poster-children for romance until you're wrinkled and gray. He knows they still love each other, that they never stopped, but bad communication breeds... well, what happened between them.

"I want this," replies Wriothesley. "Neuvillette, he... Clorinde, this is the happiest I think that I've ever been. It's effortless. Like, I know it's wild, and that we just fell into it, but fuck, this is real, right? Like, it feels real, it feels like..." Wriothesley swallows. "I just don't want it to be too late to fix it."

Clorinde sighs, rubbing her face. "So, you called me a pot, but I think you're in a unique position here, Wriothesley. I think that Neuvillette is dying to hear from you. I think that he's waiting for you to make the first move."

She is probably right. He asked Wriothesley out first, but only because Navia goaded him into it. Alone, Neuvillette is more reserved, more hesitant to make snap decisions. But if Neuvillette thinks that Wriothesley loves him, he would be practical enough to give him space, right?