Chapter Text
Clorinde stood there in silence as the entire backstage was in chaos. She was a government spy, Clorinde was used to dangerous missions where she had to take multiple enemies alone or how she'll save Fontaine's national security from fugitives who threaten the safety and peace of their nation. However when she was assigned here by Neuvillette, her commanding officer, she had no choice but to comply.
She was tasked to look over an Inazuman diplomat's daughter who was a renowned fashion designer all over Teyvat. Recently she had received death threats, asking to stop her show if she did not want to be hurt but it was the Chioriya Brand's first launch of their lingeries. The famed fashion designer, Chiori, had poured her heart and soul to her creations, canceling her big day would be an unhealing wound that will constantly remind her that she let her competitors win.
Chiori continued to pace, rubbing her temple in distress. “I cannot believe that they would stoop that low and hurt one of my models tonight.” she groaned in frustration before suddenly pausing and looking at Clorinde. "You!" Chiori exclaimed, pointing at her. "You look about the same size as our missing model.”
Clorinde's eyes widened slightly in surprise. She was a trained government spy, not a model! But before she could protest, Chiori was already walking towards her, looking her up and down assessingly.
"Come with me," Chiori said, taking hold of Clorinde's arm and leading her towards the changing area. "We don't have much time. The show starts in less than an hour.”
Clorinde stumbled a bit, not fully ready for this sudden turn of events. "Wait, what?" she protested, trying to free herself from Chiori's tight grip. "I'm not a model!”
"I don't care," Chiori said briskly, pulling her into the changing room. "I need someone who can fit into our garments, and you seem to be the right size. And we don't have the luxury of being picky. Now, strip.”
Clorinde froze, her heart pounding in her chest from the shock of the moment. Being a government spy, she was no stranger to unexpected situations, but being told to get undressed and model lingerie for a fashion show was a new one for her.
But before she could say anything, Chiori was already pulling out a lacy set of lingerie from the rack. "Hurry it up, time's ticking," she urged, pushing Clorinde towards the changing room.
Clorinde, feeling a mix of disbelief and resignation, reluctantly started to undress. She was never one to shy away from a challenge, but she couldn't help voicing her doubts. "Are you sure there's no one else we can call?" she asked, removing her clothes piece by piece.
Chiori shrugged as she rummaged through a rack of shimmering, barely-there pieces, selecting one she thought would match Clorinde's figure. "Who else could we call on such short notice?" she replied, her tone rushed. "It's either you or we do the show a model short.”
Clorinde finished stripping and stood there, feeling the cold air hit her skin. She took the set of lingerie Chiori handed her, feeling the soft, delicate material of the piece. "This feels very… revealing," she observed, her voice quieter now, her cheeks burning a little.
Chori smirked, her eyes roaming over Clorinde's figure. "That's the point, honey," she quipped. "The entire collection is designed to be revealing and luxurious, accentuating a woman's curves.”
Clorinde swallowed, trying to keep her embarrassment in check. She had been in more dangerous situations before, but this was entirely uncharted territory. She slowly put on the lingerie, the lacy material feeling foreign against her skin. It left very little to the imagination, barely covering her.
Once she was dressed, Chori stepped back to look, giving a nod of approval. "Not bad," she commented, looking Clorinde up and down. "You fit into the piece like it was made for you. The audience is definitely going to appreciate you walking down that runway tonight.”
"Clorinde, where are you? We're supposed to meet at our rendezvous point." she was startled when her handler spoke on her earpiece.
Clorinde instinctively covered her earpiece with her palm, a panicked expression on her face. "Damn," she cursed under her breath. "Not now." She looked around, unsure of what to do.
She was supposed to be protecting the Chiori, but now she was standing in a backstage area with barely-there lingerie on, being prepared for a fashion show. If her handler found out, she'd never hear the end of it.
"Clorinde, are you there?" Wriothesley asked. "You're not responding.”
Clorinde winced, her mind in turmoil. There was no way she could answer Wriothesley at this moment, not while she was in this predicament. She whispered into her concealed earpiece, her voice a hushed hiss. "I'm sort of... indisposed, at the moment.”
"What do you mean you have to go?" Wriothesley's voice was firmer now, his concern clear even over the earpiece. "Where are you going? You're supposed to be with Chiori.”
"Well I am with her at the moment, so nothing to worry about that.”
Wriothesley's tone was skeptical. "And yet I get the feeling you're about to do something you're not supposed to be doing.”
"You're not actually wrong with that one.”
Wriothesley could practically hear her hesitation and uneasiness. "Clorinde, what's happening?" his voice was filled with worry. "You need to tell me exactly where you are and what you're doing right now.”
"You'll see it for yourself. Clorinde out." she says right into her earpiece then turned it off.
"Clorinde, wait—" Wriothesley's protest cut off as she shut off her earpiece. He leaned back in his chair, frustration and worry mounting. "Damn it, what is going on?”
It was a blur that how slowly she had found herself fond of her beloved handler. They were always at odds and often clashed with one another during missions yet she completely trusted her life to him. So somehow she had this little crush on him, because he's a caring handler. He'd always make sure she'd eat properly and kept checking on her even after missions.
In the chaos of the backstage, Clorinde's thoughts were a whirlwind of anxious anticipation and the realization of her growing feelings for Wriothesley. She had never expected to develop a crush on her handler, but there was something about his care and concern for her that tugged at her heartstrings. Yet he never acted on those feelings. They were colleagues, partners, each with their own life and responsibilities. It wasn't the time or place for such sentiment.
When Clorinde finally stepped onto the runway, the bright spotlights hit her. She felt a wave of panic mixed with a strange rush of adrenaline. The audience, filled with high-profile guests, looked at her in awe.
Clorinde, now fully embracing her impromptu role, walked the catwalk with a mixture of grace and trepidation. The lingerie accentuated her curves, the intricate lace and delicate fabrics gleaming under the lights.
She had kept a stoic face as instructed by Chiori, because fashion critics were supposed to focus on the lingerie, not on her. However amidst the crowd, there was a certain man who couldn't stop staring at her.
She caught sight of Wriothesley sitting amongst the audience. His eyes widened as he saw her on the runway, stunned by the sight of her in such risqué attire. For a moment, he forgot to even breathe. She was a sight to behold, her confident stride, the way the lace clung to her skin, it was captivating.
As their gazes meet, there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, mixed with a hint of vulnerability hidden behind her usual stoicism. She held his gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary, a hint of playfulness in the way she carried herself on the runway. It was a silent challenge, as if she was asking him, "What do you think of this?" but also a hint of unease that betrayed her current predicament.
Wriothesley's eyes locked onto hers, a strange mix of surprise and desire in his gaze. He had never seen her like this, so boldly yet sensually revealing. But there was unmistakable tension in her expression, and he could sense the unease beneath her confident persona. Was she enjoying this, or was she uncomfortable? His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts.
But he couldn't help but appreciate the sight before him, the way the lingerie hugged her curves, the way she carried herself with a graceful yet almost defiant air. He had always seen her as a capable agent, a tough fighter, but now she was also a vision of raw femininity that took his breath away.
He leaned forward in his seat, unable to look away from her. The other guests faded into the background, the rest of the show all but forgotten. His eyes were glued to her, drinking in every step, every sway of her hips as she walked past him.
But the question still nagged him - was this a display meant solely for the audience, or was it a silent message just for him? The uncertainty, the doubt in her eyes, made him wonder if there was more to her showing than it appeared. Yet, he couldn't deny the stirring that seeing her like this provoked in him.
The lights, the music, the applause, all faded into the background. At that moment, there was only her — a woman he had come to admire and respect for her strength and independence, now presenting herself as an object of desire and vulnerability.
The way she met his gaze, holding it just a bit longer than necessary, only added to the growing tension between them. He had always kept his own feelings for her hidden, believing they belonged solely in the realm of wishful thinking and stolen glances. But now, seeing her like this, that belief was wavering.
As her walk finally ended and she disappeared backstage, Wriothesley sat back in his seat, his heart racing and his mind tangled. Was she just playing the part, or was this a deliberate show for him? He couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye.
The show went on, and the rest of the models walked the runway, but Wriothesley's thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the image of her in that lingerie, her eyes locked onto his. It was a sight that was burned into his mind, one that he knew he'd never forget.
The applause filled the air as the models took their final bows on the runway. Backstage, Clorinde was quickly changing out of the revealing lingerie into a more comfortable outfit, her breath still a bit ragged from the adrenaline and the unexpected turn of events.
"Hey, you should keep that lingerie." Chiori says while handing her a paperbag
Clorinde, who was just finishing getting dressed, looked at Chiori with surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, taking the paper bag.
"Well for starters, I dragged you into something you did not sign up for. You were supposed to be protecting me but you ended up being a model at the same time.”
Clorinde let out a sigh, still feeling a bit stunned by the whole situation. "That's one way to put it," she muttered, stuffing the lacy set of lingerie into the paperbag. "But I don't understand why you want me to keep this.”
"I'm not blind, darling. When you walked onto that runway, you demanded his attention.”
At that Clorinde blushed furiously, caught off guard by Chiori's astute observation. She had been trained to keep a cool headed demeanor under pressure but Chiori's words hit home harder than she'd like to admit.
"I–" She stumbled over her words for a moment, trying to come up with a believable response. But deep down, she knew Chiori was right. She wanted Wriothesley to see her in a different light, for him to notice her not just as an agent, not just as a colleague, but as a woman. "It was... just part of the act," Clorinde finally managed to say, her voice quieter than usual. "The role I was playing demanded a certain level of confidence and allure.”
Chiori merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh darling, come now," she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I've seen countless women walking that runway, and none of them demanded the attention quite like you did. You were not just playing a part, you were making a statement.”
Clorinde was silent for a moment, her thoughts racing. She knew Chiori was right and she'd be lying to deny it. "Perhaps," she said finally, her voice quiet. "But it doesn't matter now, the show is over. I'm back to being... just me.”
"Oh honey, you're not just anything," Chiori asserted with a wink, patting her shoulder. "You're a remarkable woman, both as an agent and as a woman. If he doesn't see that after what he just witnessed, then he's an idiot.”
"Thank you, Chiori. I suppose it's time for me to head home.”
"Of course darling," Chiori said, her smile warm. "And remember, keep that outfit. You never know, it might come in handy someday.”
"I don't know what to say about that one.”
Chiori chuckled. "Just saying, darling. Trust me, sometimes, the unexpected can lead to some pretty interesting outcomes.”
With a final wave, Clorinde turned to leave the backstage area. Her mind was still swimming with thoughts, trying to process what had just happened. But one thought kept recurring: she couldn't wait to crash into her bed.
As Clorinde exited the backstage area, she was stopped by a man in a sharp business suit. He had flashed a warm smile and held out his hand.
"Excuse me, Miss," he began, "I don't mean to intrude, but I'm with a modeling agency. I couldn't help but notice your performance on the runway today. You were absolutely captivating. We've never seen a newcomer perform like that before, it was truly mesmerizing.”
Clorinde was taken aback. She had not expected to be approached by a modeling agency, especially after the unusual circumstances under which she just modeled for Chiori. "Uh, thank you," she managed to say. "But I'm not a model, I was just helping a friend out today.”
The man's smile did not waver. He seemed unfazed by her statement. "I understand," he said, his tone professional yet eager. "But I truly believe you have a unique potential. Your confidence, your grace, they're all qualities we value very highly in the agency. Would you be open to discussing a potential collaboration?”
"Sorry, but I'm afraid she already has a handler."
They both turned to see Wriothesley emerge from backstage, a serious expression on his face. He stepped closer to Clorinde, a protective stance that was hard to miss. The man from the agency regarded him for a moment, clearly not expecting this twist.
"I see," the recruiter said, his smile still polite but a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He withdrew his hand and turned back to Clorinde. "Miss, if you change your mind, I'll leave you my business card." he handed her a small card, which she took out of politeness more than anything else.
Wriothesley waited until the man had left before speaking. His eyes were fixed on Clorinde, a mixture of concern and something else she couldn't quite identify. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice holding a soft note of worry that Clorinde wasn't used to hearing from him.
"I'm fine," she finally managed to say, stuffing the business card into her pocket. "Just a bit surprised at the offer, that's all.”
Wriothesley's gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if he wanted to say more but held back. After a moment, he simply responded, "Well, it's certainly not a common occurrence. You did good out there, though.”
There was a slight pause, an awkward silence between them. Clorinde could feel his eyes on her, studying her, as if he was trying to figure something out. "Thanks," she said finally, breaking the silence. "But can we just... get out of here please?”
"Yeah, of course," he replied, the tone in his voice suddenly softer. He turned and gestured towards the exit, a silent invitation for her to lead the way. But as they started walking, Clorinde couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something unsaid between them, something more than just the unexpected modeling job.
They walked out into the cool night, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the pavement. Despite the late hour, the city was still buzzing with life. The street lights cast a golden glow over the surroundings, creating a strange contrast between the brightness of the city and the uncertain tension between them.
"You haven't eaten anything for dinner, have you?”
Clorinde was surprised by the sudden question, but the mention of food made her realize she hadn't eaten anything since lunch. "No," she admitted. "I was too focused on the show, I didn't even think about it.”
"I thought so," Wriothesley said, a hint of concern in his voice. "You need to eat something, especially after the day you had. We can't have our best agent on an empty stomach now, can we?”
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corners of Clorinde's mouth. "Since when are you worried about my eating habits?”
"The moment I became your handler. Here I thought my only concern was keeping you alive at missions but it seems like I was wrong.”
Clorinde chuckled at his response, enjoying the bantering tone between them. "Looks like you've got an expanded job description now. 'Keep Clorinde alive' becomes 'Keep Clorinde fed and alive'. Quite the upgrade, don't you think?”
Wriothesley chuckled as well, the slight tension from earlier easing up. "Indeed," he replied, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Adding 'chef' to my long list of credentials. But for you only, it seems.”
Clorinde raised an eyebrow at his words. "For me only, huh? I must feel so special," she said, a hint of tease in her voice. Despite herself, she found herself appreciating this more relaxed and caring side of him. It was nice.
"Consider yourself lucky," Wriothesley responded, feigning nonchalance. "I don't cook for just anyone, you know." But there was a hint of fondness in his tone, a subtle shift from his usual professional demeanor.
"My place isn't far from here, we can buy something from the convenience store and cook something.”
Wriothesley nodded in agreement. The idea of taking a break from the events of the day and enjoying a home cooked meal, even if it was just something simple from the convenience store, sounded appealing. "Lead the way then," he said, gesturing for her to take the lead.
The two continued walking, the soft click of their footsteps on the sidewalk the only sound in the quiet street. Their shoulders nearly brushed as they walked, a small but noticeable proximity. Despite herself, Clorinde was aware of his presence beside her, the subtle warmth of his body heat, the way his gaze would occasionally flicker over to her and then away.
"You know," Wriothesley said after a few minutes of silent walking. "I never got to tell you how good you looked out there." His voice was almost a whisper, as if he was afraid the words would carry farther than he wanted.
The compliment took Clorinde by surprise. She turned to look at him. "You really think so?" she asked, half-disbelieving. She had expected many reactions from him but a compliment was not one of them.
Wriothesley nodded, his gaze holding hers. "Yes," he said, his voice firm and sincere. "You were captivating." He paused for a moment, his eyes tracing her features in the soft glow of the streetlights. "You always are, but tonight… Tonight you were exceptional.”
The compliment sent a shiver down Clorinde's spine. The way he was looking at her, the way he uttered those words—it was intense, almost intimate. She had never seen this side of him before, this vulnerable, gentle side that seemed reserved solely for her at this moment.
"Thanks," she managed to respond, her voice quieter than usual. The simple words didn’t seem sufficient enough to express the mix of feelings his compliment had stirred in her. She was suddenly acutely aware of their proximity, the way his arm brushed against hers as they walked, the way his gaze never left hers.
As they entered the convenience store, Wriothesley strolled down the aisles, casually inspecting items before dropping them into the cart. Clorinde followed behind, her eyes wide when she realized he was not choosing the cheapest items, but instead selecting high-quality ingredients.
The cart soon filled up with a variety of ingredients, including some expensive looking cuts of meat and gourmet sauces. Clorinde couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the extravagance, silently wondering if he had lost all sense of budgeting.
She watched as he added a pack of high-quality pork ribs, the kind you'd expect to find in a high-end restaurant, to the cart. She wanted to comment on the price, but his nonchalant demeanor made it clear he wasn't worried about the cost.
"You're not exactly shopping on a budget, are you?" she finally quipped, the words escaping her mouth before she could stop them. "Though we might be government workers, our salary isn't high either, especially since we have rent and other miscellaneous bills to pay.”
Wriothesley just shrugged, the casual gesture further emphasizing his nonchalance. He continued adding items to the cart, not even sparing a glance towards the price tag. "Well, I'm financially stable enough that I can buy anything without looking at the price tag.”
"Lucky you," Clorinde commented dryly. The expensive items piling up in the cart were making her a bit uncomfortable. She was used to being frugal, even when buying groceries. Wriothesley's shopping habits seemed extravagant, almost decadent.
"Actually I have never gone to buy groceries before. I have someone back at home to help around, so this is a first for me.”
Clorinde turned to look at him, surprised by his confession. "You mean you always have someone do the shopping for you?" the question slipped out, the notion sounding absurd to her.
"Well, yes.”
"And it never occurred to you to do your own shopping? To, I don't know, learn how much things actually cost in a grocery store?" Clorinde was getting more and more surprised, not just by his extravagant spending, but by his apparently spoiled upbringing.
"I never really needed to until now," Wriothesley admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his usually confident demeanor. "I've always had people take care of most things for me, so I never really paid attention to the prices.”
"Wriothesley, just who the hell are you?”
"I'm just a simple government worker like you, believe me." he said while pushing the cart.
The cryptic response only served to deepen the mystery in Clorinde's mind. "You're not 'just a simple government worker'," she retorted, her eyes narrowed as she pushed the cart along with him. "A government employee doesn't get paid that good enough unless you're embezzling funds like any corrupt politician would do. And you have people doing things for you at home? Who are you, the offspring of some rich company owner or something?”
Wriothesley chuckled at her speculation. "That would make for an exciting backstory, wouldn't it? But no, I'm not the son of a corporate magnate." He paused for a moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. "Let's just say I come from a privileged background.”
"Privileged background," Clorinde repeated, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Well, that much is obvious. It must be nice, having everything handed to you on a silver platter.”
"Not exactly, not when you're forced to eat what's served in front of you.”
Clorinde paused, his words taking her by surprise. There was an underlying tone of bitterness in his voice, a hidden depth that contrasted with his usual casual demeanor. "What do you mean?" she asked, her curiosity now mixed with a sense of concern.
Wriothesley sighed, his grip on the cart handle tightening slightly. "I mean... when you come from a wealthy family, there's a certain level of pressure, let's say. Expectations are high, there's an image to maintain. You can't just do whatever you want whenever you want.”
Clorinde was quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. She had always seen him as carefree, unbound by rules or norms. But underneath it all, there seemed to be layers of pressures she was only now beginning to understand. "Sounds stressful," she ventured, genuinely sympathetic.
Wriothesley shrugged again, but his usual nonchalance was tinged with a hint of weariness. "It can be," he admitted. "When you feel like you're always under a microscope, constantly being judged and evaluated. It's not exactly a freeing feeling, you know?”
Clorinde nodded, her expression softening. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to grow up in a world where every decision you made was scrutinized so closely, where your life was plotted out for you from birth. No wonder he seemed to crave freedom and spontaneousness so much.
"I guess it's the reason why you're always so... spontaneous," she said slowly, trying to make sense of his personality now in hindsight. "Why you always push boundaries, why you're never fazed by anything. You're rebelling against all that pressure, aren't you?”
Wriothesley looked at her, a flicker of surprise and admiration in his eyes. "Perceptive as always, Clorinde," he replied, a hint of wry humor in his tone. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. I'm just trying to taste a bit of freedom for myself.”
"Freedom that you didn't get to experience growing up," Clorinde said softly, more as a statement than a question. She was starting to see Wriothesley in a new light now, as not just a carefree colleague, but a man who was fighting his own battles beneath the surface.
Wriothesley's gaze flickered down to the cart in front of them, his expression turning pensive. "We should pay for this and head to your apartment.”
Clorinde caught the subtle hint to change the subject, but she nodded in agreement. As they proceeded to the checkout counter, she couldn't help but cast a few more glances at Wriothesley, her thoughts now filled with a mix of curiosity and newfound understanding.
They paid for the groceries, the total coming up to a shockingly high amount. Clorinde had to suppress a wince as she saw the numbers. Wriothesley, on the other hand, didn't seem to bat an eye as he handed over his card.
As they left the store, bags of groceries in hand, Clorinde couldn't help but quip, "You're really going all out for a simple dinner, aren't you?" She was trying to lighten the mood, to mask the fact that his extravagance still felt a little overwhelming to her.
Wriothesley chuckled again, the hint of amusement back in his voice. "I guess I just have expensive taste," he replied, giving her a sideways glance. "Besides, I figured you deserved something better than takeout.”
Clorinde couldn't argue with that. The thought of a home-cooked meal after the day she had was quite appealing. But she still teased him, "And here I thought you were trying to impress me with your cooking skills.”
"Maybe that, too," Wriothesley admitted, a hint of smugness in his tone. "Can't have my colleague thinking I'm just a pretty face, can I?”
Clorinde smiled at that, the earlier seriousness in their conversation replaced by light-hearted banter. "And here I was, thinking you had no talent besides being a nuisance," she quipped, a playful edge to her voice.
"Are you telling me that my hacking skills that aids you every mission is useless?”
Clorinde chuckled, rolling her eyes at his dramatic huff. "Okay, okay, you do have some useful skills," she conceded. "But don't let that ego of yours get any bigger.”
Wriothesley feigned a wounded look. "Too late, the ego is already inflated. You’re stuck with it now.”
"Lucky me," Clorinde replied dryly, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone. They continued their walk, the atmosphere between them lighter now, their usual banter and witty exchanges replacing the earlier serious conversation.
The moment they entered Clorinde's apartment, Wriothesley set the bags of groceries down on the kitchen counter with a satisfied thump. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing toned forearms, and began unloading the contents, spreading out all the ingredients they bought.
Clorinde observed him for a moment, a little surprised by how comfortable he seemed in her space. The man who was always so in control and confident looked right at home in her kitchen, sorting through vegetables and meats.
Wriothesley noticed her gaze lingering on his arms, on the array of faint but visible scars that peppered his skin. He glanced down at them, his expression showing a hint of regret but also a kind of resignation. He didn’t make an effort to hide them, the scars were a part of him, a proof of his past struggles. So he continued to handle the ingredients, letting her look if she wanted to. He could feel her eyes tracing the patterns on his skin, a silent question in the air.
Clorinde’s eyes remained on his arms for a moment longer, taking in every faded line, every reminder of the pain he must have endured. She had always known he had a difficult past, but the physical evidence of it was still a shock.
She had the urge to ask about them, to know the stories behind each line, but held herself back. If he wanted to share, he would. For now, she just watched him in silence, her eyes betraying the curiosity burning inside her.
"Those scars are my constant reminder that I am in a much better place than before.”
Wriothesley’s voice broke the silence, his nonchalant tone masking the weight of his words. He continued working with the ingredients, his hands moving with a grace that contrasted with the severity of the topic.
Clorinde was a bit taken aback by his comment. It was the most personal thing he had ever shared with her, a glimpse into his emotional landscape. She listened quietly, waiting for him to continue, if he so wished.
He took a moment, his hands pausing momentarily on the cutting board. "Every scar," he continued, running a finger lightly over one particularly pronounced line on his forearm, "Every ache, every bruise... they're all reminders of how far I've come.” Wriothesley looked up then, meeting her eyes across the kitchen counter. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a sort of vulnerability that he rarely showed. "I know you’ve been curious about them," he said, a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lips. "Go ahead, ask.”
Clorinde was stunned into silence for a moment, not expecting his invitation. She was used to his cryptic and playful manner, not his moments of open honesty. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before finally speaking. "How did you... get them?" she asked, her voice soft, unsure if she was stepping into a sensitive territory.
Wriothesley's hands resumed their work, chopping vegetables with a practiced ease. "Most of them are from missions, you could say," he began, his voice nonchalant again despite the heavy subject. "Scrapes, cuts, bullet grazes... the usual job hazards.”
"You mean to tell me you have been shot before?" Clorinde asked, her eyes widening with surprise. She knew their job was dangerous, but she had never really thought about the possibility of him being wounded, let alone shot.
Wriothesley chuckled, the sound humorless. "More times than I'd like to count," he admitted, his tone casual as if he was talking about a minor inconvenience. "Comes with the line of work, unfortunately. You're no stranger to that yourself.”
Clorinde had to concede the point. She had gotten her fair share of injuries and scars due to their line of work. "And the others?" she pressed on, gesturing to a few more scars on his forearms.
Wriothesley's hands paused on the cutting board again, his fingers tracing over the scars she pointed out. "These..." His voice trailed off for a moment, and there was a hint of pain in his eyes before he continued. "These are from... less savory parts of my past.”
Clorinde held her breath, sensing the weight behind his words. She wanted to ask more, to understand what he meant, but she was also afraid of pushing him too far. The line between concern and prying was thin, and she didn’t want to cross it.
For a few moments, the only sound in the kitchen was the rhythmic chopping as Wriothesley continued preparing the ingredients, his shoulders tense. "That's all I can share.”
Clorinde nodded, understanding. She could tell these scars, these memories, were more than just battle scars. They held a deeper history, one that he wasn't ready or willing to share yet.
She decided to change the subject, not wanting to dig any further. "What are you making anyway?" she asked, trying to return to their previous lighthearted atmosphere.
"Hope you're in mood for barbecue ribs.”
"I'm always in the mood for meat," Clorinde replied with a smile, glad for the change in topic. She leaned against the counter, watching as Wriothesley began the process of marinating the ribs.
"You know," she said, "when you said you could cook, I assumed you'd be making something a bit fancier.”
Wriothesley shot a glance at her from the corner of his eye, his hands still covered in marinade. "I could if I wanted to but that would take hours.”
"Since when do you have patience for hours?" Clorinde quipped, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought you're all about instant gratification.”
"You make it sound like I'm a child.”
"Well, you do act like one sometimes," she retorted, her tone light and teasing. "Impatient, reckless... I could go on.”
Wriothesley snorted, shaking his head. "And here I was, cooking a meal for you, and this is the thanks I get?" his tone was laced with sarcasm.
"Should I be swooning over you because you're cooking?" Clorinde teased, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Should I be praising you just for doing a basic life skill?”
"Basic life skill," Wriothesley repeated, feigning offense. "You make it sound like I'm just boiling some pasta." He placed the marinated ribs in a tray, before setting it aside. "Give me some credit, I'm making barbecue ribs from scratch, you know.”
"And what, do you want a medal for it?" Clorinde joked, a smirk on her face. But on the inside, she was secretly impressed. She had never seen him cook before, and the fact that he was taking the time to make a full meal was touching, in a strange way.
"A medal would be nice, actually," Wriothesley replied, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "But I can settle for a compliment or two." He began to preheat the oven, preparing it for the ribs to be roasted.
"Compliments are earned, not demanded," Clorinde shot back, enjoying the banter. "Let's see how the food turns out first, then I'll consider giving you some. If it's not completely inedible, that is.”
Wriothesley feigned injury at her comment. "You have such little faith in my cooking skills. You'll eat those words, I guarantee it." He continued to prepare the oven, setting the temperature just right for the ribs.
Once the oven had finally preheated, Wriothesley placed the tray of marinated ribs into the oven, setting a timer. "There," he said, shutting the oven door with a satisfying thunk. "Now we wait.”
With the ribs in the oven, the apartment fell into a comfortable silence. Clorinde was a bit lost, unsure of what to do now that the dinner preparations were done. Wriothesley seemed to be having the same thoughts, as he leaned against the counter, drumming his fingers on the surface, as if he was waiting for her to suggest something.
An hour passed as the meal cooked, the aroma of the barbecue ribs filling the apartment. Wriothesley and Clorinde chatted idly, going through various topics, ranging from work to personal anecdotes.
Finally, the timer dinged, signaling the ribs were ready. Wriothesley pulled the tray out of the oven, the ribs sizzling and aromatic. He set them on the counter, their mouths watering at the sight.
"Well, here goes," Wriothesley announced, grabbing a pair of tongs. He carefully picked up a rib, the meat falling off the bone in a satisfying way. He handed the rib to Clorinde, his expression almost eager for her reaction.
Clorinde took the rib, her eyes widening at the sight and smell of it. Taking a bite, her face lit up with genuine surprise and pleasure. "This... is really good," she admitted, after swallowing the mouthful.
Wriothesley smiled, feeling oddly proud of himself. "See. I told you I can cook.”
"Alright, you get your points for that," Clorinde conceded, taking another bite of the rib. The succulent meat melted in her mouth, the perfect blend of flavors making her hum in satisfaction. "This is really, really good. You do have hidden talents, after all.”
"I have a lot of hidden talents," Wriothesley replied, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "You just haven't discovered them all yet."
He took a rib for himself, taking a bite. Even he, who had cooked the meal, seemed pleased with the taste.
The pair continued to enjoy the meal, eating the rest of the ribs and chatting in between bites. The tension of the day had all but vanished, replaced by a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere. Clorinde found herself enjoying Wriothesley's company more than she cared to admit.
As they finished the last rib, Clorinde sat back in her chair, feeling pleasantly full. "I have to admit, I was skeptical, but you did well," she said, giving him a nod of approval.
Wriothesley grinned, a satisfied look on his face. "I told you. I'm a man of many talents.”
"I'll never doubt your cooking skills again," she replied, a hint of humor in her voice.
A comfortable silence fell over them for a moment, the satisfaction of a good meal settling in. Wriothesley leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on her for a second too long, a hint of something in his eyes that she couldn't quite decipher.
The silence between them felt comfortable, intimate in a strange way. Clorinde was acutely aware of Wriothesley's gaze, the way his eyes lingered on her a few moments longer than usual. There was something in the air, a hint of tension that she couldn't ignore.
She shifted a little in her seat, a bit uncomfortable but also intrigued. "Is there something on my face?" she asked finally, her voice cutting through the silence.
Wriothesley seemed to snap out of his thoughts at her question, his gaze sharpening as it met hers. He gave a slight shake of his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, nothing on your face," he said, his voice a little huskier than usual.
There was a pause, and Wriothesley seemed to regard her for a moment, as if he was weighing something in his mind.
"You've been staring at me for the past five minutes," Clorinde pointed out, trying to keep her voice casual but feeling a flutter in her chest. The man was more difficult to read than ever, and it unsettled her slightly, this side of him that she wasn't used to.
Wriothesley chuckled, an almost nervous sound. "I have, haven't I?" he admitted, not even trying to deny it. He leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on his hand. "Let's just say I'm tired from our mission and I should get going.”
"Oh," Clorinde said, the disappointment in her voice surprising her more than him. She had grown accustomed to his presence, the easy banter and the comfortable silence. But she quickly masked her feelings, reverting back to her normal aloof demeanor.
"Sure, it's late anyway," she said, standing up and gathering the empty plates. "I'll see you around, I guess.”
Wriothesley lingered for a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. But he seemed to think better of it, standing up and giving her a nod. "Yeah, I'll see you around," he said, his voice returning to its usual nonchalant tone.
He collected his coat from the back of the chair, pausing for a moment to look back at her. For a brief moment, their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them. Then, with a final smile, he turned and walked towards the door.
Clorinde watched him go, a strange feeling in her chest. There was something in that glance that he'd given her, something that made her heart thump a little harder in her chest. She shook her head, dismissing the feeling as nonsensical. Wriothesley was a colleague, a partner, nothing more.
But as she cleaned up the kitchen, the feeling lingered, gnawing at her, making her question things she'd rather not.
The apartment suddenly felt a lot larger, a lot emptier. Clorinde found herself missing his presence, something she'd never thought she'd feel. She berated herself for it. The man was a reckless, annoying, and at times, a pain in the ass. She shouldn't miss him.
But she did. Sitting in the now quieter kitchen, she found herself replaying the interactions of the night over in her head. The way he'd smiled, the way his voice deepened when he spoke, the way his gaze lingered on her. It was all too much and all too confusing.
“What is this feeling?” she curses under her breath.
Wriothesley tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets twisted and tangled. Despite being physically tired, his mind was too active, kept replaying the night's events on loop. The dinner, the banter, her smile, her voice. He found he couldn't shake off the memory of her, no matter how hard he tried.
He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to relax. But every time he did, he saw her face in his mind, her purple eyes and her expression of bemused patience.
He couldn't understand why she was occupying his thoughts so fiercely. She was a colleague, nothing more. He'd spent time with her before, so why was this time any different?
He then reached for his phone, somehow to distract him. Wriothesley opened his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the darkness of the room. He navigated to his social media app, where Chiori's fashion show was dominating the feeds.
Pictures and videos of the show filled his screen, showcasing Chiori's designs and the vibrant event. The comments section was buzzing with praise and excitement, the success clear for all to see.
As he continued to scroll, a particular picture caught his attention. It was a picture of Clorinde on the runway, wearing the black lingerie.
She looked stunning, the lace and silk hugging her curves in all the right places. She had a fierce look straight into the camera. Wriothesley's breath hitched as he looked at it, a mix of surprise and something else, stirring in his gut.
He found himself staring at the picture, unable to look away. His gaze trailed over the details, the smoothness of the black lace, the firmness of her body. He felt a pang of... something, something he couldn't quite put a name to.
He quickly dismissed it, trying to shake off the feeling. She was a colleague, a friend. He shouldn't be staring at her like that. And yet he couldn't pull his eyes away.
The picture was a stark contrast to the usual way she dressed. It was revealing, almost daring, not like the professional and serious persona she usually projected. He found himself unable to tear his eyes from the image, from the way the lingerie enhanced her body.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to suppress the stirring sensation in his chest. Why was he reacting this way? It was just Clorinde. Colleague. Partner. Friend.
He tried to rationalize his thoughts. It was just natural to admire her looks. She was an attractive woman. It didn't mean anything special.
But as he continued to stare at the picture, he found himself wondering what it would be like, to see her wearing that in person, to touch her and feel the lace under his fingers. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he immediately squashed it, feeling guilty for even thinking it.
Wriothesley sat up suddenly in his bed, frustration and tension etched on his face. This was ridiculous. He was getting worked up over a picture, for Archon's sake. He was never this affected before, by anyone.
He placed the phone down, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't deny the desire that was coursing through him, the way the picture had ignited something deep within him. But he also knew it was wrong, that he was treading into dangerous territory.
"What's wrong with me?” Wriothesley muttered to himself, still trying to process the intensity of his feelings. The image of Clorinde in the lingerie was seared into his mind, and the more he tried to dismiss it, the more it replayed in his head.
He felt restless, a turmoil of emotions and desires he couldn't control. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and it was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. It seems like he won't be getting enough sleep tonight if a certain person is on his mind.
Wriothesley, who had momentarily placed his phone down, picked it up again as it buzzed with a new notification. When he looked at the screen, he saw that Clorinde had uploaded something to her story. Curious, he clicked on her story, his heart thudding a little harder in his chest.
His heart missed a beat as he saw the picture. It was of her, still in the same black lingerie, sitting on a windowsill, the city lights of Fontaine as the backdrop. Her hair was tousled and loose, her expression half-lidded and sultry.
The picture was a stark contrast to her usual stern, professional demeanor. She looked captivating, almost seductively inviting. He found himself staring, unable to look away. "Archons, she'll be the death of me."