You weren’t really sure how it kept happening.

Every visit—whether it had been a week or two since the last—always started innocently enough. You’d step into his office, that same cool air meeting you as he looked up from his paperwork with that familiar glint in his eyes. It wasn’t always planned, not even expected… but gods, Wriothesley lit up the moment he saw you.

Not outwardly, of course. No, he played it off with his usual calm charm, offering you tea, pretending like he could carry a normal conversation.

But you knew better. You saw it in the way he shifted in his seat, in the way his eyes lingered on you just a moment too long. You could practically feel the tension in the room coiling the moment you stepped inside.

And somehow—every single time—you found yourself pressed against the cool walls of his office, or tangled in his arms on the edge of his desk, lips crashing into each other like it had been months apart instead of days.

He always mumbled something afterward, something low like, “You do something to me…” while brushing your hair back, voice hoarse, breath heavy.

And you? You just rolled your eyes and told him to blame himself next time he kisses you like he hasn’t tasted air in days.

But between kisses and laughter, you both knew the truth: whatever this was between you two, it was magnetic. Heated. Inevitable.

And Wriothesley? He wasn’t about to let go of the one person who made him forget just how cold his fortress could be.