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scoots-boots · 8 months

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When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame.

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude.

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze.

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again.

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out.

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window.

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!”

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown.

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you.

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen.

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now.

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.”

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug.

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up.

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.”

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths.

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more.

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume.

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his.

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response.

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud.

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?”

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path.

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide.

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other.

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered.

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.

“My name is Carole!” She chirps.

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily.

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now.

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’.

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained.

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times.

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him.

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed.

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours.

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes.

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of.

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.”

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped.

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?”

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes.

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?”

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office.

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of.

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.”

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud.

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness.

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.”

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner.

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment.

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.

“Are there any regrets you hold?”

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow.

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.”

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.”

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle.

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips.

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.”

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade.

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale.

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began.

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh.

Before he could formulate a response, you continued.

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now?

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud.

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop.

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of.

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain.

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.

Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name.

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.

~Fin

2K notes · View notes

scoots-boots · 11 months

Text

Unconditional

Pairing: Al Haitham x female reader

Synopsis: In the depths of Al Haitham's stoic demeanor, you found solace and love as his wife. Yet, an uncertainty lingered within you regarding his connection with your daughter. While he fulfilled his fatherly duties instinctively, his aloofness and lack of affection left you questioning if his love for her was genuine or merely a sense of responsibility. Amidst doubts and longing for affirmation, you sought to unravel the enigmatic connection between Al Haitham and your daughter.

Word count: 7374 words

AN: This fic was my brainrot inspired from reading @ryutaria 's fiction - Tears and Hearts (do check it out. It's pretty cute!!). I kept thinking about this after I read her fiction. Also, one of the incidents mentioned in this one shot is inspired from Hasan Minhaj's stand up - King's Jester (on Netflix). Ever since I saw that special, what he described there stuck with me and I wanted to write it in some form.

CW: Mentions of unplanned pregnancy, implied marital relationship, angst, insecurity, self doubt, child endangerment, hospitals, needles, fluff, swearing, 2nd person POV

You found yourself strolling through the bustling streets of the grand bazaar, your toddler daughter in your arms as she unleashed her tiny tantrums. The chaotic atmosphere seemed to fuel her restlessness, and you couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed. It was during these moments that you longed for Al Haitham's calm presence, his rationality a steady anchor in the chaos. Just as you were starting to feel the weight of the situation, a familiar figure emerged from the crowd. Al Haitham's stoic expression softened ever so slightly as he approached, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that words could never convey.

"May I?" he offered, extending his arms to take your daughter from you.

Relief washed over you as you carefully handed her over, observing the seamless transition of responsibility. Your daughter squirmed in his arms, her cries gradually subsiding as Al Haitham's gentle yet firm touch comforted her. "Patience, little one," he murmured, his voice cold but carrying a soothing tone.

You watched in awe as Al Haitham effortlessly navigated the bustling marketplace, his demeanor unwavering amidst the cacophony of voices and colorful displays. It was as if he possessed an innate ability to shield himself from the distractions, focusing solely on the task at hand—taking care of your overwhelmed daughter and getting the two of you out of the busy bazar.

As Al Haitham expertly maneuvered through the chaotic grand bazaar, your mind wandered to the intricate dynamics of your relationship. You had no doubt about his love for you, but when it came to your daughter, you couldn't help but harbor a lingering sense of insecurity and doubt. Was she merely an obligation to him, or did he truly care for her in the same way he cared for you?

Lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but steal glances at Al Haitham as he held your daughter in his arms. His face remained stoic, his demeanor unchanged, and yet, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he cradled her against his chest. The way his fingers gently brushed against her tiny hand, providing comfort and assurance, spoke volumes.

"Thank you for taking her," you finally spoke up, unable to contain the nagging doubts any longer. "I know she can be a handful at times. Off late she’s been fussy about going outside and she rather stay at home.” You explain. “I am trying to acclimatize her to the outside world.”

Al Haitham nodded in understanding as you explained your daughter's recent aversion to going outside. "It is to be expected of a child her age, Jaan" he responded, his voice calm and measured.

His words offered a semblance of reassurance, yet the doubts continued to linger in your mind. You watched as he gently handed your daughter back to you, his stoic demeanor unchanged. As you cradled her in your arms, your eyes met his, searching for answers that only he could provide.

"I need to get back to the bazaar," Al Haitham spoke up, breaking the silence. "I have some supplies to acquire for my new research. Will you be alright on your own to head back home?"

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy with uncertainty. "Of course, we'll be fine. See you at home," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of unease. As he turned to leave, you couldn't help but wonder if your daughter held the same place in his heart as she did in yours.

Al Haitham's footsteps echoed faintly in the bustling streets as he disappeared into the grand bazaar once again. Left alone with your daughter, your mind starts to race again. You knew Al Haitham fulfilled his responsibilities as a parent, providing for her needs and offering his steady presence, but his emotional connection with her remained a mystery. As you walked through the streets of Sumeru with your daughter in your arms, you observed the interactions between other parents and their children. The playful laughter, the tender exchanges—it was a stark contrast to the stoicism you had come to associate with Al Haitham.

In the midst of your contemplation, you found yourself passing by a vibrant stall filled with colorful toys. Intrigued, you paused, hoping to distract your daughter from her fussiness. You selected a small, intricately crafted wooden toy and handed it to her, a hopeful smile on your lips.

"I know your father may not show it the same way, but he cares for you deeply, my darling," you whispered. And I believe, in time, you will come to see and understand his affection."

As your daughter's tiny fingers explored the toy, her eyes lighting up with curiosity, and you couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Her eyes were the same as his but much more expressive. She was just a little older than a year but she had the same acumen and brilliance as that of her father.

As you walked towards home, your daughter cradled in your arms, thoughts of Al Haitham consumed your mind. You couldn't shake off the lingering insecurity and doubt that gnawed at your heart. It wasn't that he neglected your daughter or treated her poorly, but rather the enigmatic nature of his affection that left you wondering. Al Haitham treated her as he would treat anyone—respectfully, equitably, and with a sense of rationality. He never infantilized her or showered her with overt displays of emotion. But she was just a child and children needed to be exposed to affection, attention and validation from their parents. The two of you had embarked on the journey of parenthood together, even though it had not been a part of your original plan. Al Haitham's kindness and devotion during your pregnancy had filled you with hope and reassurance. Yet, as your daughter grew, you couldn't help but wonder if she was merely an obligation, a responsibility that Al Haitham fulfilled dutifully.

Entering the peaceful sanctuary of your home, you gently placed your daughter on the floor, watching as she eagerly explored her surroundings. You couldn't help but marvel at her curiosity and brilliance, traits she undoubtedly inherited from her father. With a heavy sigh, you settled onto the couch, your mind still grappling with the complexities of your emotions.

"Al Haitham fulfills his responsibilities as a parent, there is no denying that," you whispered, the words a faint acknowledgment of your insecurities. Your thoughts drifted back to the countless nights when your daughter had cried inconsolably, keeping you awake and weary. It was during those sleepless nights that Al Haitham would rise from his slumber, taking over the role of caretaker with a stoic determination. He would walk back and forth with her in his arms, soothing her with his calming presence. You remembered how he would insist that you get some rest, understanding the toll it took on you as a mother.

And during the day, when you were overwhelmed by household tasks or urgent matters that demanded your attention, he would take your daughter off your hands, occupying her with his logical explanations and games. He never indulged in infantile cooing or coddling, instead relying on his calm, aloof voice to guide her through moments of fussiness or refusal to eat. You recalled an incident when he tried to feed her, patiently coaxing her to eat her meal. But when she adamantly refused, he simply stopped, his rationality dictating that she would eat when she was truly hungry. Though it left you slightly frustrated at the time, you realized that Al Haitham's approach was rooted in his belief in autonomy and self-regulation. It was an approach that left you conflicted—did it reflect his unyielding rationality or his disinterest?

As you observed their interactions, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in your approaches. You showered your daughter with words of adoration, constantly affirming her cuteness and adorableness, as if to compensate for Al Haitham's lack of verbal affection. It felt as if you were standing at opposite ends of a spectrum—your emotions overflowing, while his remained contained within the confines of logic. In the midst of your doubts and insecurities, a mix of frustration and longing welled up inside you. You yearned for Al Haitham to express his love for your daughter openly, to shower her with the affection she deserved. But it seemed as though he remained closed off, shielded by his stoic demeanor, unable or unwilling to bridge the emotional gap between them.

As you watched your daughter play, her innocent laughter filling the room, a sense of acceptance washed over you. You couldn't change Al Haitham's nature, nor should you try. Instead, you would focus on nurturing the bond between father and daughter, cherishing the moments when his hidden tenderness broke through, even if they were few and far between.

A few days later, you found yourself entertaining a few of your friends at your house. Laughter and conversation filled the air as you all gathered around the dining table, enjoying a pleasant evening. But as the night progressed and dinner came to an end, your daughter's meltdowns began to surface. She grew increasingly fussy, her cries reverberating through the room and testing your patience. You scrambled to calm her down, offering her an array of toys and trinkets, desperately trying to find something that would bring her solace. Your friends, Kaveh and Nilou, joined in, making funny, childish faces and attempting to lighten your daughter's mood. But despite all your efforts, nothing seemed to quell her distress.

Amidst the chaos, Al Haitham sat on the couch with Cyno and Tighnari, observing the scene unfolding before him. His expression remained stoic, his eyes piercing through the commotion. Your daughter's wails reached a crescendo, piercing through the room, and you caught a flicker of discomfort in Al Haitham's eyes. It was a momentary lapse in his typically composed demeanor.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed aside the frustration and annoyance that had welled up inside you, and focused solely on your daughter. Why was she acting like this? The intensity of her cries, her flushed face—it all seemed to overwhelm her.

“Jaan, Let me.” He said as Al Haitham approached you the moment you picked her up, cradling her in your arms. The turmoil within you mingled with the vulnerability of the situation, and you found yourself refusing his offer. Confusion flickered across Al Haitham's face, but he respected your decision without pushing further. As you held your daughter, her cries gradually transformed into sobs, her small frame shaking against your chest. Al Haitham's mere presence seemed to have a calming effect on her, her tears subsiding to a steady stream. You stroked your daughter's back, whispering soothing words, and slowly but surely, her sobs faded. You swayed gently, humming a lullaby, as she rested her chin against your shoulder, finding solace in the comfort of your embrace. The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of your insecurities and doubts momentarily pushed aside.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration toward Al Haitham. Why did he remain closed off from his daughter, unable or unwilling to bridge the emotional gap? The longing for him to connect with her, to share in the intimate moments of parenthood, grew stronger within you.

As your daughter fell asleep in your arms, her breaths growing soft and steady, you gently excused yourself from the company of your friends. Tighnari assured you that they would handle the rest of the evening and urged you to focus on your little girl. With gratitude in your eyes, you made your way to the bedroom, cradling your precious bundle in your arms.

The room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow on your daughter's cherubic face. You carefully placed her in the cradle, tucking her in with tenderness. As you tucked the blankets around her, you couldn't help but be taken aback by her beauty. The soft, ashen hue of her hair was illuminated in the fading light of the room and a wave of immense love swept through you. Your gaze lingered on your daughter for a few moments before you turned away, closing the drapes to keep out any unnecessary light. You made sure that she was comfortable and safe before making your way back out into the living room.

The conversation had shifted to lighter topics as Nilou asked Al Haitham, “So, what’s it like being a parent?”

Al Haitham shrugged, “It hasn’t been that big of a change. It hasn’t really changed my life much. I do what I can for her but it isn't that difficult.”

You grit your teeth as you heard more of the conversation, feeling indignation swell inside you. It hadn't been a big of a change? He was indifferent to the massive emotional impacts and challenges that being a parent entailed? You struggled to remain silent as Nilou moved on with the conversation. Kaveh stepped in, his kind voice a soft balm against your frustration. “Well, I’m glad I can be like an uncle figure to such a cute little girl. I just hope she doesn’t turn out anything like her annoying little father.”

You suppressed the urge to snort and instead let out a small chuckle at Kaveh's comment. “I am sorry about the chaos but she’s asleep now.” You join in the conversation and take a seat beside Nilou.

“Don’t apologize, (y/n).” Cyno says. “She’s little and you’re doing a good job with her.”

“Thanks, Cyno. How has work been for you these days? I heard that the Matras have been extremely busy these days.”

“Hmm… yes…” Cyno nods. “A group of scholars got involved with an eremite group for their research. Al Haitham had rejected their proposal a few weeks ago so they joined the eremites to continue their research. It borders on human rights violation and we are trying to put a stop to it but it is difficult as we do not know how big their network is.”

“Ah… so it is sort of similar to the hivemind case.” You deduce.

“Yeah, but I heard that the way Al Haitham rejected their proposal was brutal.” Kaveh speaks as he swirls his glass of wine. “My apprentice said that they did not look pleased as they left the premises.”

Al Haitham shrugs “How scholars deal with rejections is none of my concern. I simply do my job without worrying about the consequences. It is their job to worry about it when they present the work to me.” He says, his voice calm yet firm.

You knew his words had merit but you couldn't help but speak up, worried about it affecting him adversely. “But Haitham, I'm worried that this might be detrimental to your reputation or safety in some way. It's only natural for people to feel dejected when their plans don't go as intended, especially if it's something they've spent a lot of time and effort on.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “I am more than capable of defending myself if push comes to shove," he says confidently before taking a sip from his glass of wine.

You sigh in defeat knowing that he was right. The dinner passes by peacefully with pleasant conversations and laughter. As time passes, it seems that the night is coming to an end as Kaveh, Nilou, Tighnari and Cyno bid their goodbyes. As they leave you with Al Haitham in the dining hall, you can't help but feel a slight hint of loneliness after the lively evening. You give them a wave before turning towards Al Haitham.

"Well," you say softly, "It looks like we'll be sleeping early tonight."

Al Haitham nods in agreement as he moves towards the foyer to lock up for the night. “Is everything okay, (y/n). You seemed… off earlier.”

You shrug your shoulders slightly, not wanting to let him know your insecurities as you reply "I'm just tired". With a tired smile on your face, you both make your way upstairs to retire for the night.

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” he says before walking into your room. You follow him and check on your daughter, who is fast asleep in her cradle, before turning to Al Haitham. You take a deep breath and walk towards the bed with a heavy heart. You see him lying down on the bed reading one of his books quietly. You take off your shoes and lie down beside him on the bed and wish him goodnight. He simply nods in response without looking away from the book in his hands; an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Your mind begins to wander as you watch him read; thoughts of insecurity creeping back up slowly as you contemplate whether or not he truly had a special bond with his daughter or if it was merely an act out of politeness and respect for you. You don't know what to do or say, so you decide to remain silent and stare at the ceiling.

Minutes pass by, and just when you think you can't take the silence any longer, Al Haitham closes his book and places it on the nightstand. He turns to you and stares into your eyes, causing your heart to skip a beat. His gaze is intense, and you can feel his energy pulsating through you. Without saying a word, he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your lips. You're taken aback by the sudden gesture, but you quickly give in and reciprocate. It was a familiar feeling that comforted you. His soft lips, his hair tickling your skin, his warmth grounded you. “Whatever it is, you can worry about it tomorrow, Jaan. Rest for now.”

‘Jaan’ you think. He always called you that affectionately. It came so easily to him you thought. But where was this affection when it came to your daughter? You sigh and nod knowing for now, he was right. He switches off the night light and the room is enveloped in darkness. You close your eyes and drift off to sleep. As you do, you take in Al Haitham’s presence, feeling safe and secure in his arms. You accept that this is how it would be and you needed to accept it, so you welcome the peace of the night with open arms.

Nothing changed after that night, and deep down, you hadn't truly expected it to. It had been a few weeks since that evening, and the Akademiya was embroiled in a flurry of activity. Eremites and rogue scholars schemed and conspired, vying for resources and access to forbidden knowledge. Amidst it all, you couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at your heart—concern for Al Haitham's safety. Most of the forbidden knowledge capsules were stored in the Scribe's archives, and with the rising tension, the threat loomed larger than ever.

Lost in your thoughts, you walked through the bustling streets of Treasure's street in Sumeru, your daughter nestled in your arms. Her once-fussy demeanor had transformed, and she now eagerly took in the sights and sounds of the outside world. Pointing to objects of interest—a colorful balloon, a scurrying mouse—she attempted to voice her excitement, the words stumbling out in adorable toddler gibberish. You laughed, your heart swelling with pride at her progress. “Maa…poodin.” She said pointing to a sweet vendor selling Padisarah pudding. “Yes, pumpkin. Pudding. Do you want some?” You ask.

She nods earnestly and you make your way to the stall, before you can reach the stall, you were suddenly interrupted by a man who approached you, asking for directions to the Akademiya. His appearance was somewhat disheveled, and he seemed on edge, constantly glancing around and hesitating to make eye contact.

You regarded him with caution, but still, your scholarly nature couldn't resist helping someone in need. "The Akademiya is up the street," you replied, pointing in the direction he needed to go. "If you follow this path, you should reach the entrance."

The man thanked you with a half-hearted smile. His gaze shifted towards your daughter, then back to you, before a flash of something suspicious crossed his face. In an instant, he threw something towards your daughter, and before you could react, your heart skipped a beat.

"NO!" you screamed, your voice filled with terror and protectiveness. But it was too late. Your daughter was covered in a cloud of suspicious dust, and you felt a surge of panic consume you. Frantically, you cradled your daughter closer to your chest, shielding her from any potential harm. The world seemed to slow down as you took in the situation unfolding before you. Panic and anger welled up inside you, your mind racing to comprehend the motives behind such an attack. "What have you done?" you cried out, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.

You searched the man's eyes, but all you could see was a cold, detached stare. “Consider it as a present for the Grand Scribe!” He sneered and vanished into the crowd, leaving you to tend to your daughter and the uncertain aftermath of this sudden assault.

Frantic panic gripped your every fiber as you clutched your daughter tightly, sensing that something was terribly wrong with the dust that had been thrown upon her. Without a second thought, your feet moved before your mind could catch up, propelling you in a desperate sprint towards Bimarstan—the hospital. Your daughter clung to you, her confusion palpable, yet she remained eerily silent, as if mirroring the intensity of your unease.

As you burst through the doors of the hospital, your heart pounding in your chest. Spotting an Amurta scholar, you rushed towards them, your voice trembling with urgency. "Please! I need help! Something has happened to my daughter!"

"What’s wrong?" the scholar inquired; their voice steady yet filled with concern.

In a panicked ramble, you recounted the incident—the man, the dust, the uncertainty that now clouded your daughter's well-being. The scholar's expression grew increasingly grave as they listened, understanding the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, they called for their fellow scholars, urgency ringing in their voice.

Within moments, a group of scholars converged around you and your daughter, their focused urgency enveloping you both. They swiftly took charge, snatching your daughter from your arms and whisking her away to a separate room. Their hands moved with precision, removing her clothes to assess the extent of the damage caused by the suspicious dust. Tears streamed down your face as your daughter disappeared from your sight, and you found yourself led to a different room by a compassionate scholar. Their voice was soothing as they instructed you to remove your own garments, their urgency matching your own.

Anxiety and fear coursed through your veins as you complied with their instructions, your trembling hands unfastening buttons and shedding clothing. Several scholars attended to you, their touch gentle yet hurried, as they worked diligently to address the potential harm inflicted upon you by the ominous substance. Through the whirlwind of emotions and the haze of panic, your thoughts remained fixated on your daughter. Each passing second felt like an eternity, and you yearned for any update on her condition.

"Please... how is my daughter? Is she alright?" you pleaded, your voice filled with desperation, as if hoping for reassurance that would calm the storm raging within you.

The scholars around you exchanged concerned glances, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. "We are doing everything we can to determine the nature of the substance and its potential effects," one of the scholars replied, their voice conveying caution. "She is in good hands, and we will provide you with updates as soon as we have them."

Their words, while comforting in their intent, failed to pacify the tumultuous storm that raged inside you. The weight of uncertainty pressed down upon your chest. In the sterile confines of the examination room, the scholars wasted no time in assessing the potential harm inflicted upon you by the insidious dust. Their gloved hands moved swiftly, inspecting your skin, your eyes, your ears, and your hands, where the suspicious particles had landed. Anxiety coiled tightly within you as you watched their every move, your heart aching at the thought of what your daughter might also endure. A vial was produced, and with a swift, precise motion, they drew out a sample of your blood. Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined a similar scene playing out for your daughter, her innocence violated by the necessity of such testing.

As you silently endured the examination, a sudden knock on the door disrupted the sterile atmosphere. A Corp of thirty mercenaries entered, their commanding presence filling the room. Their leader, a stern-faced man with eyes that mirrored his hardened resolve, stepped forward, his gaze piercing.

"I was told there has been an incident," he stated, his voice low and authoritative. "Please, provide me with the details."

You relayed the harrowing events all over again, your voice shaky yet determined. The description of the man spilled forth from your lips, every detail etched firmly in your memory. The mercenaries listened attentively, their expressions growing increasingly serious as they absorbed the gravity of the situation.

One of the scholars tending to you recognized the need for immediate action. "Call for the Grand Scribe," they urged the mercenary leader. "He is the emergency contact for (y/n) and should be informed of what has transpired."

You nodded, your heart racing as the gravity of the situation deepened. Isolation settled upon you as the scholars needed to test the dust further before proceeding with any treatment. Alone in the room, your thoughts grew dark, clouded with worry and the unknown fate that awaited your daughter. You were a rational scholar much like your husband. But with your daughter’s safety at stake, you clung to faith, whispering prayers to every Archon, beseeching their protection and hoping for your daughter's well-being. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon your shoulders, and all you could do was endure the agonizing wait, hoping and praying for a positive outcome. Minutes turned into hours, and each passing moment felt like an eternity as your mind spun with worst-case scenarios. Time seemed to lose all meaning, suspended in the uncertainty that enveloped you. Every second that ticked by carried with it a sense of fear, anguish, and an unyielding determination to see your daughter restored to health.

After what felt like an eternity, the door to your room creaked open, and a scholar entered, holding a robe in their hands. Their expression was unreadable as they approached you. "We are still awaiting the test results, but based on our observations, your daughter seems to be doing fine," they informed you, their voice laced with a glimmer of hope. "However, she is crying for her maa."

You let out a sigh of both relief and anguish, taking the robe from the scholar's outstretched hands. Slipping it on, you felt its soft fabric wrap around you, offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos that had unfolded. The scholar continued, their words carrying a touch of reassurance. "It shouldn't be a problem for you to be waiting for her near her room as the effects of the dust have been concluded not to be contagious."

Gratitude welled up within you as you thanked the scholar, your voice filled with relief and eagerness. "Please, lead the way," you requested, your pace quickening as you followed closely behind. As you approached the room where your daughter was being cared for, your eyes met Al Haitham, who leaned against the wall. His expression remained unreadable, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. A turbulent mix of emotions churned within you—fear, anger, and a profound sense of failure. How could you have let this happen to your daughter? And what role did he play in all of this?

This wasn't the time or place for such a confrontation, you decided. Instead, you would find solace and clarity in the comfort of your home, where you could express your frustrations and seek answers. For now, your priority was your daughter's well-being.

The two of you stood outside the room in a tense silence, waiting anxiously for the test results that would determine the next steps. Time seemed to drag on, every passing second feeling like an eternity as your heart pounded in your chest. Al Haitham sighed in relief, his eyes scanning your face, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Your thoughts were consumed by the images of your daughter, the vulnerability of her tiny form plagued by an act of malicious intent.

Anticipation gripped your every fiber as an Amurta scholar made her way to the room where your daughter was being cared for. Your heart pounded in your chest, your entire being yearning for a positive outcome. Time seemed to stretch out before you, each passing second laden with an unbearable weight of uncertainty. Minutes felt like hours, and finally, the door swung open, revealing the scholar emerging from the room. She cradled your daughter in her arms, a reassuring smile on her face. Relief washed over you, mingled with a profound gratitude for the news she was about to share.

The scholar approached you, her voice carrying reassurance. "The dust that was thrown upon your daughter was identified as Crystalline Cyst Dust from a floating anemo fungus, colored differently to deceive. You and your daughter are incredibly lucky, as the perpetrator was most likely scammed when he bought this. Else the consequences for the both of you might have been lethal."

The realization that your daughter had narrowly escaped a potentially fatal fate coursed through your veins. Before you could reach out to take your daughter into your arms, Al Haitham swiftly stepped forward, his eyes brimming with an overwhelming mix of relief, tenderness, and protectiveness. He scooped your daughter up from the scholar's arms, cradling her tightly against his chest. A tremor ran through his body, betraying the depth of his emotions. He pressed a fervent kiss to the top of your daughter's head, his voice filled with a blend of relief and devotion as she cooed, "baba." The sight before you left you in awe, your heart swelling with a blend of emotions.

Al Haitham's distant and aloof demeanor seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by a raw display of affection and vulnerability. His fingers tenderly brushed against your daughter's cheek as she playfully tugged at the earpiece hanging around his neck. You watched in stunned disbelief as he whispered reassurances, his voice filled with a sense of fear, "You're okay, you're fine, you'll be safe with baba."

The transformation in his demeanor and the depth of his affection took your breath away. In that moment, you realized the depths of his love for your daughter, hidden beneath the layers of his stoicism. Tears welled in your eyes as you witnessed this poignant display of paternal affection, an unspoken bond between father and child. Overwhelmed with emotion, you stepped forward, reaching out to touch your daughter's soft cheek. She turned her head towards you, her eyes reflecting innocence and resilience. In this shared moment, a silent understanding passed between you and Al Haitham. “Let’s go home.” You whispered.

He nodded in agreement; his expression softened. With a gentle movement, Al Haitham removed his cape and draped it around your daughter, enveloping her in its protective embrace. He then reached out, his hand interlocking tightly with yours, providing a reassuring anchor amidst the lingering tension.

As you made your way out of the hospital, the walk back home was filled with a palpable sense of unease. Your senses were heightened, and your eyes scanned the surroundings, vigilant for any signs of danger or suspicion. Al Haitham's grip on your hand tightened, conveying his silent vow to protect you and your daughter. Each step carried with it a sense of urgency; the weight of recent events still heavy upon your shoulders.

Upon arriving home, the familiar sanctuary of your living room greeted you, offering a respite from the turmoil that had engulfed your lives. Your daughter remained sound asleep in Al Haitham's arms, her peaceful slumber providing a much-needed balm to your frayed nerves. Carefully, he settled onto the sofa, his face inscrutable, yet his gaze fixed intently upon your daughter. The love and protectiveness emanating from him were palpable.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the tranquility that had settled in the room, causing your heart to skip a beat. With hesitation, you opened the door, revealing Cyno standing on the threshold. His concerned expression mirrored your own, and you silently beckoned him inside. Cyno stepped into the room, his eyes darting between you and Al Haitham, clearly aware that something significant had occurred. You gestured for him to sit, and as he took a seat, Al Haitham handed your sleeping daughter to you. “Please put her to her bed.”

You walked silently into your shared room, cradling your sleeping daughter in your arms. Her small form seemed even more delicate as you gently laid her down in her bed, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Al Haitham's cape still draped around her, serving as a protective cocoon. You brushed a stray strand of grey hair, reminiscent of her father's, away from her forehead, your fingers lingering on her soft skin. Whispers escaped your lips, promises made in hushed tones, as if making a sacred pact with your daughter. "I'm so sorry, my precious girl," you murmured, your voice filled with both regret and determination. "I will do better, protect you with all that I am. I will never let anything harm you again." A sense of vulnerability washed over you, mingling with a profound love that defied words. In that shared moment, an exchange of unspoken promises passed between you and your daughter, forging an unbreakable bond that would endure through any adversity.

As you made your way back to the living room, a sudden outburst shattered the quietude that had settled upon the space. Al Haitham's voice echoed through the room, filled with rage and defiance. "I don't give a fuck about what the new sages have to say!" he exclaimed; his words laced with venom. "These rogue scholars attacked my baby, and it has become personal. I will personally see to it that their operations are burnt to the ground!"

Cyno, ever the voice of reason, interjected, his tone calm but firm. "Al Haitham, we need to approach this with caution. We don't know the full extent of their plans, and acting rashly might put (y/n) and your daughter in further danger."

You entered the room just as the tension reached its peak, your presence a grounding force amidst the storm of emotions. Al Haitham's eyes blazed with fury, his voice dripping with menace as he spoke of revenge. "That attacker today better pray that I don't catch sight of him, because I will fucking kill him for even thinking to hurt my precious daughter!"

Your hand gently pressed against Al Haitham's heart, seeking to calm the torrent of anger that surged through him. "Listen to Cyno, my love," you implored. "We need to approach this with reason and strategy. Acting out of vengeance won't solve anything. Our priority is our daughter's safety."

Amidst the tempest of emotions, you marveled at the transformation unfolding before you. The calm, aloof, and collected Grand Scribe, renowned for his intellect and rationality, had been pushed to the brink, his emotions running wild in defense of your daughter. It was in this moment that you realized the depth of his love, the unwavering bond that surpassed even what he had offered you. Al Haitham's anger still simmered beneath the surface, his intellect sharpened by the fury that coursed through his veins. "You're right," he conceded, his voice tempered but filled with resolve. "We will approach this with reason, but mark my words, those responsible will face the consequences."

Cyno and Al Haitham engaged in a serious discussion, their voices hushed but laden with purpose. They weighed the next steps carefully, deliberating the best course of action to ensure the safety of your family. Al Haitham's anger had not abated entirely, but it had been channeled into a calculated determination. The two men exchanged ideas and plans, their intellects colliding in a shared pursuit of justice and protection. Meanwhile, the weight of guilt and self-doubt settled upon your shoulders. How could you have ever questioned Al Haitham's connection, his true feelings towards your daughter? You berated yourself in the recesses of your mind, feeling silly and guilty for ever thinking that his fatherhood duties were mere obligations devoid of love. The realization of your mistake gnawed at you, filling your heart with a mix of regret and relief.

As Cyno made his exit, you closed the door behind him, its soft click reverberating through the room. Before you could turn around, you felt Al Haitham's arms encircle you from behind, drawing you into an embrace that was at once comforting and suffused with a raw vulnerability. His head found its place in the nook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. In that moment, the sensations overwhelmed you. The strength of his hold, his warmth enveloping you, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back sent a wave of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. A profound sense of security mingled with an ache of sorrow, and tears you had been holding in for the entire day welled up within you, their release inevitable.

Al Haitham's voice, soft and remorseful, reached your ears, his words tinged with an indescribable tenderness. "I'm sorry, Jaan, for endangering you and our daughter. I never truly understood the weight of my decisions, the potential repercussions they could have on those I hold dear. But now, I realize that my life is bigger than just me. It encompasses the responsibility I have towards you both."

His heartfelt confession pierced through your defenses, the floodgates of your emotions bursting open. Turning to face him, you buried your face in the warmth of his chest, seeking solace. His arms tightened around you, providing a haven amidst the chaos. As you turned to face Al Haitham, tears streamed down your face, your sobs escaping in ragged breaths. Emotions swirled within you, an overwhelming mix of relief, guilt, and vulnerability. In a broken voice, you confessed your sense of failure, your inability to protect your daughter from harm. "I... I couldn't protect her," you choked out, your voice trembling with sorrow. "I failed as her mother."

Al Haitham's touch was gentle as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks. His voice remained calm. "Don't blame yourself, Jaan," he whispered, his voice a balm to your wounded heart. "Going to Bimarstan was the best course of action we could have taken. We did everything we could to keep her safe."

You clung to his words, finding solace in his reassurance. The weight of your fears, the dread of losing your daughter, had consumed you, leaving you with a sense of helplessness. Al Haitham's next words echoed the depth of his own feelings, his vulnerability laid bare. "I was terrified too," he admitted. "To see you and our daughter affected by that dust, I felt utterly powerless. I always have my thoughts collected but today… today I felt what true madness was. But no matter what happens, (y/n), together, we will get through this."

Through your tear-filled gaze, you met his eyes, an apology welling within you. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst your sobs. "I doubted your love for her. All these day… I was consumed with worry that you were just around her to fulfill your duties as a father but had no real interest in her.”

Al Haitham let out a sigh, his fingers caressing your cheek, his touch a gentle reassurance. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "My feelings for our daughter are unwavering. I am preparing her, nurturing her to be the best she can be in a path of her choosing. Don’t be mad, but I love her even more than I love you," he added with a soft chuckle, a twinkle in his eyes betraying the truth in his words.

A playful punch landed on his arm, a brief respite from the heaviness of the moment. His gaze softened as he continued. "She has had me wrapped around her tiny finger ever since I first felt her kick in your belly," he confessed. "She may have my eyes and my hair, but she has your nose, your liveliness, your passion. And I hope she inherits my intellect," he teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You replied with a playful retort, hoping to keep the mood light. "Hopefully minus the arrogance," you quipped, earning a gentle flick on your forehead in response. Al Haitham's laughter mingled with yours, the tension slowly dissipating between you.

Al Haitham continued; his voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "The two of us may not have planned to become parents, but it has been one of the best things to happen to me since you agreed to marry me," he confessed. "I never thought having children was important to living life, but now, I cannot imagine a life without our little girl. And someday," he paused, his expression contemplative, "someday, I hope we can give her a sibling as well."

A loving smile graced your lips as you looked into his eyes, your heart swelling with affection. The bond between you and Al Haitham had deepened in ways you never imagined, and the love that radiated from him enveloped you like a warm embrace. It was in this shared understanding that you pulled him closer, savoring the softness of his lips against yours. The kiss was a gentle dance of tenderness and longing, each sensation heightened—his lips molding to yours, the taste of him lingering on your tongue, and the warmth of his hands caressing your waist.

Breaking away from the kiss, Al Haitham's eyes locked with yours. "Let's go to bed," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. He took your hand in his, his touch both strong and reassuring, leading you towards the bedroom.

As you approached your daughter's cradle, a sense of tranquility settled upon the room. She slept peacefully; her tiny form bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. The sight of her innocence and serenity filled your heart. You and Al Haitham stood side by side, hovering over her, a united front in the face of the challenges that lay ahead. A shared love and protectiveness enveloped you both as you exchanged a tender glance, silently affirming your dedication to safeguarding your daughter's future. You reached out, your fingertips brushing against your daughter's cheek, marveling at her delicate features. The room was filled with a profound silence, broken only by the soft lullaby of her breath. A sense of awe washed over you, intertwined with a fierce protectiveness, as you whispered promises of love and devotion to the sleeping bundle before you. As you prepared to retire for the night, Al Haitham's hand found yours once more, his touch a grounding force amidst the uncertainties of the world. You bid your daughter a silent goodnight, knowing that she was safe and loved. In the sanctuary of your bedroom, you and Al Haitham found solace in each other's arms. As you settled into the comfort of your shared bed, you knew that together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead as a family. For Al Haitham’s loyalty towards the family was unconditional.

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