He took courting you far more seriously than he ever admitted.

Every day, without fail, he climbed from the Fortress of Meropide to the surface of Fontaine, crossed half the city, waited outside your workplace, and walked you home. It didn’t matter if he was exhausted, late, or had a stack of reports waiting for him — he always showed up.

Because it was you.

Tonight the air was sharp and cold, so cold that every breath came out in a pale cloud. You rubbed your hands together as you stepped inside your home — warm, safe, familiar. He should’ve left then. He always waited until your door closed behind you before heading back to the underwater fortress.

But you turned around, halfway through closing the door, calling—

“Wriothesl—”

A misstep. Your heel slipped.

And before you could even gasp, he’d caught you.

One arm braced behind your back, the other steadying your waist with a firm, protective grip. The world stilled. You were pressed against him, breath caught in your throat, heart thundering louder than your fall.

He looked at you like he had truly gotten scared.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and a little shaken. “You alright?”

You nodded, fingers instinctively tightening on his shoulder to steady yourself… which only pulled you closer. Your noses nearly brushed. His coat was cold; his body was warm.

And then you saw it.

The look. The one he never let anyone see. The one he tried so hard to hide.

His eyes flicked down to your lips.

Quick. Subtle. But undeniable.

Your heart whispered recklessly: and if we…?

So you made the choice for him.

Your arms slid slowly around his neck, pulling yourself up on your toes, closing every inch of space the cold air had left between you. Your warm breath ghosted across his mouth, tiny clouds mixing together in the winter chill.

He exhaled once — soft, almost disbelieving.

His hand moved from your back to your waist, fingers spreading gently, deliberately. Pulling you in.

And then he kissed you.

Slow. Sweet. Warm in a way that melted the cold right off your skin.

No rush. No hesitation. Just the feeling of him finally letting go of restraint he’d been holding for far too long.

When he pulled back, he stayed close, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours in small puffs of white. His cheeks were slightly pink from the cold — or maybe from you.

You whispered goodnight.

He watched you step fully inside, watched the door close.

And when he finally turned away…

He was smiling.

Not his usual teasing smirk. Not the polite smile. But something honest, gentle, foolishly happy.

Back in the Fortress of Meropide, guards stared as their Duke walked past — smiling like a man who’d finally gotten something he never thought he’d deserve.

The next day, he was still smiling. Not subtly. Not by accident. Completely and absolutely unable to stop.

Because of you. Because of that kiss.

Because Wriothesley, the man who always kept himself composed, had fallen — completely, utterly, sincerely — and had never felt so warm in his life.