"So, what is the plan?" Wriothesley, asks this later that night once they've fucked themselves ragged and jelly-limbed in the sheets.

They're a mess. The sheets are a mess. Neuvillette can apparently just... pull wet things from their bodies and flick it away, something that he's never done before. It's embarrassing, apparently, exercising such perfect control over Hydro for such... reasons. That just leaves Wriothesley in a fit of laughter and a pillow in his face.

"There is none," admits Neuvillette. His face is attached to Wriothesley's neck, scenting him—that's a new term he's learned. Neuvillette admitted to enjoying the smell of him, and how it clings to Neuvillette's skin when he rubs against him, which explains a lot of things. "Not much of one, at least. I have the power to repair the seal, but it will be difficult considering its location. As you can see, I can easily control water, but metal—"

"Metal?" That piques Wriothesley's curiosity.

Neuvillette hums, his chest doing this weirdly rumbling thing. It distracts him. Wriothesley finds himself curious, wanting to know more about those inhuman bits. It's daunting, but fascinating, and it's hard to focus on the important parts.

"The Seal is in the ruins of Meropide which mostly just rusted iron. I've never explored—haven't stepped foot there since it was flooded, but I remember its location well enough. Once down there, though, I'm unsure what I'll find."

Meropide? Wriothesley stills, staring at the ceiling. "Neuvillette, I—this I can help you with."

"Hm?"

"Tomorrow, let me show you something. It's... just trust me."

Neuvillette tilts, looking at him. "I do. You know that. Tomorrow then."

The morning comes and goes, and they are, admittedly, too lazy to get out of bed at a decent time. It takes Clorinde slamming on Wriothesley's door for them to jerk awake and alert. "At least she knocked," he mutters, tumbling from the bed, nearly tripping over a chair. "Shit, wear are my trousers?"

They manage to find their clothing, Neuvillette stealing a shirt from Wriothesley's closet to wear. "The other is soiled," he says. "You spilled tea on it."

It's hard not to smile at the memory. Wriothesley fucked him against the table later on, resulting in a resounding mess and a lot of laughter. He combs his hair with his fingers, making sure he's halfway decent before open the door. "Morning, Kitten."

"If you're calling me that, your brain must've been rewired."

"Doesn't matter. Set the sails for west—we're headed home."

Clorinde's face scrunches, and she peers at Neuvillette over Wriothesley's shoulder. "By home you mean—"

"I mean, home, yeah. Don't worry about him."

Wriothesley sweeps past her, leaving Neuvillette standing there awkwardly in the doorway. "Good morning, Miss Clorinde.

"You fixed him," she says. "Thank the gods."

Neuvillette doesn't really know what to say to that, but Wriothesley laughs all the same at his floundering.

#

It takes a half-day of sailing until they reach the Ruins of Meropide.

"There's a cove," says Wriothesley. "I didn't find it—this was shared with me in the same way I'm sharing it with you, and it's a secret."

"Wriothesley, what do you mean?"

"Remember how you once said that my ship will disappear for weeks, and you couldn't figure out where I went?"

It's a quandary that has always confounded Neuvillette. He could feel Wriothesley on the ocean, so he was definitely at sea, but no matter where he sailed, the Winglet could never be found.

"This cove opens into Meropide," Wriothesley tells him. "The ruins aren't entirely flooded. We've used this place as a home base since before the Winglet was gifted to me. And, even better—the moment you mentioned that the Seal was here, it clicked. There's a door, a massive one with a lock that I've never been able to pick, and trust me, I spent years trying. Does that sound like your door?"

Neuvillette trills softly. "Yes, that—from what I remember, at least. It has been centuries since I've looked. This though... Wriothesley, this is home? Not the Winglet?"

"Well... the Winglet is too, but we can't always be on the sea. This is safer from a port, and back when you... well, back before we started—" Wriothesley makes a rude gesture. "—we could at least sleep easy here. It isn't much, nor is it particularly cozy, but it's enough for us."

The Winglet sails in to a deep cave and docks. It's damp and quiet. Feels old. The rest of the crew climbs into the old ductwork that leads to the ruins, but Wriothesley hangs back waiting for him. "It isn't so confusing," he says. "Most of the paths are blocked nowadays but stay close all the same. We'll rest for the night and tomorrow... well. We'll go take a look, yeah? Get the lay of the land?"

Wriothesley is correct in that the path is relatively straightforward, but the deeper they go, the dark and damper it because. The walls lurch with the water.

"Sounds, creepy, I know, but it's always held."

"I can tell it will," Neuvillette says to him. "I can feel the water and the areas where it's free flowing. Meropide was built to last, and a lot of it has withstood the passage of time, it seems."

Wriothesley has taken residence in the old Administrator's quarters. "I didn't want it—I would've been fine anywhere, but you know what my crew is like. It isn't much, but it's—"

"It's yours," says Neuvillette. "Ah, by that I mean, it feels like... you. Messy. Carries your scent. This is why I've always preferred meeting on the Winglet versus my own ship. I enjoy it's... lived-in nature."

"And stealing my clothing," finishes Wriothesley. "Don't think I never noticed the missing shirts."

Wriothesley then tells him that he's beat, flopping onto the bed. This is bigger than a cot. Still tight, but enough room to stretch out, at least. The mattress dips underneath Neuvillette's weight, catching Wriothesley's attention.

"So, tomorrow..." Wriothesley sighs, rubbing at his face. "I love you. Just wanted to say it in case I melt away, or something."

"You're not going to—Wriothesley, I may have overreacted before, but what you've described has filled me with new resolve. If the door is accessible, at least, that means it will be easy enough to try and adjust the seal. And, you said that we were just going to take a look. We won't do anything rash."

"And if you can't? Fix it, I mean."

That is the question that Neuvillette has intentionally ignored. He feels the way his throat bobs as he swallows. "Then it won't matter, will it?"

"I've never been able to pick the lock. What makes you think you can—"

"It responds to a command of Hydro," says Neuvillette. "That, I was shown, at least. Focalors was kind enough to explain it to me, thought I was considerably young. As long as the parts aren't too rusted, I should be able to work it."

"Focalors," says Wriothesley, staring at the ceiling. Neuvillette combs through his hair and rebraids it before slipping into the sheets and pressing against his side. "What was she like? Tell me?"

Neuvillette had not expected Wriothesley to take an interest in the past, but he's pestered him nonstop with questions and curiosities over the last night. And so Neuvillette tells him, spinning a tale of a quiet, benevolent, and lonely Archon, and Wriothesley listens, stroking his hair, scratching his fingers across Neuvillette's scalp.

Neuvillette thinks that this is what he's been missing, this quiet, sweet domesticity, the simpler moments of being with a person.

He doesn't want to lose it.

#

"To be fair," Wriothesley says, wincing as his boot drops ankle deep into water, "it's been years since I was last in here. I didn't realize that it'd be flooded." A pause. "This water is safe, right?"

Neuvillette pauses and listens, feels. "It's—yes, this is just seawater. What are you staring at?"

"Your eyes. They glow when you do that. And your... horns? The things on your head—those do to. Did you know?"

Neuvillette did not. No one has ever told him, but no one has ever been close enough to see in the first place. "Seawater feels different. The Primordial Sea has... magic. It is other wordly. I can easily tell the difference, even when above on the surface. It intermingles down here, but this water is safe in case you touch it."

"Thank the—Sovereigns," Wriothesley remembers to adjust his swearing, "for small blessings. Anyway, there's the door. It's... you know, when I was younger, it felt bigger."

The mechanism itself seems intact. Neuvillette takes a moment to poke around, pulling at the gears, fiddling with Hydro until one of the tumblers slides into place. There's a lurching sound loud enough for Wriothesley to still in his place.

"That sounded promising, but—"

"There's water on the other side of the door."

Wriothesley stop dead. "Water? Is it..."

"A mixture," Neuvillette says. "That isn't so much a surprise. The leak is bad enough that it's pooling into the ocean from another point, so behind this door..." He fiddles with the lock again and another tumbler slides into place.

"Neuvillette—"

"It isn't enough to open the door yet, but perhaps it would be smart for you to leave the area."

Wriothesley's brow furrows. "I'm not comfortable with that. Neuvillette, what if you need help?"

"What will you do, Wriothesley? Take a dip in and swim after me?" Judging by Wriothesley's face, he'd forgotten just how bad an idea that is. "This isn't even the Seal, just the door that protects it. Inside, the mechanism is more complicated. It will take time to figure out, but it shouldn't be too difficult, it's just a matter of making sure these halls don't flood beyond capacity. Wriothesley, you should evacuate the crew—"

There's another lurching sound, the heavy creaking of pipes. And then another tumbler of the door lock slides into place, not as a result of Neuvillette's masterful control.

"Um..." Wriothesley stares and then looks at Neuvillette. "I don't think it's supposed to do that."

"That water pressure." Neuvillette didn't think about it before. "Wriothesley, run."

Wriothesley bolts, but trips, flying to the ground and slamming his head against a raised portion of the piping. Knocks himself out cold. Falls to the ground like a rock. Neuvillette curses, darting across the space. Another tumbler of the lock flips, and they're running out of time.

"I'm a fool," he mutters, shaking Wriothesley. "I—you're—" There isn't time to worry over it; Neuvillette hoists Wriothesley onto his shoulder and runs, trying to remember his way back to the main portion of the ruins. The others are on higher ground. Judging by is memory, even if this portion floods, the dangerous waters shouldn't reach the parts where the crew rests. For now, at least. Anything beyond the initial flood will be slowly rising waters.

Still, he'll have Clorinde evacuate until it's safe, until he can get back down here and force the Seal closed. For now, though, Neuvillette's focus is on getting Wriothesley to safety.

His head bleeds. Wriothesley is entirely unconscious, a terrible sign considering the head injury. Humans are stupidly fragile, and this is just like any other time Wriothesley has been unfairly reckless with his life. Another lurch of metal as Neuvillette turns a corner, another click of that damned lock that has him pushing.

Neuvillette's sensitive ears hear the cracking of metal as that lock breaks under the pressure of the water right as he reaches the end of this hallway. The rushing of water, the creaking of everything around them. He jumps, grunting with strain, because even if he's strong, even if Wriothesley weighs nothing to him, he's awkward to carry, and the upward climb is harrowing enough.

But he manages, hoisting Wriothesley to higher ground just in time to clear the water that licks around Neuvillette's legs. This water is different. Neuvillette jerks at the feeling of power, at the old and ancient magic threaded through the seawater.

He ignores it, ignores the call to his deepest being. He's a creature of Hydro. The Lifewaters are intoxicating, but—Wriothesley.

Neuvillette pulls himself onto higher ground, collecting the water in his clothes and tossing it to the side. When he lifts Wriothesley this time, Wriothesley groans, face lolling into Neuvillette's neck. They should be safe enough, now—the space below them will flood, but not high enough to be a bother. Neuvillette doesn't stop until he's back in the main, habitable area of the ruins.

This is not the first time he's met Sigewinne. This is, however, the first time he's been the reason for one of Wriothesley's injuries, so the moment she spots the two of them, and Wriothesley is dropped to the ground in a lump, she jumps into action. She kicks Neuvillette in the shin, pushing at him with surprising strength.

"Out of the way!" she snaps—and then thinks better of it. "Wait, no, bring him to the infirmary. Gods, men are useless."

Neuvillette is not useless, not when Wriothesley is slung over his back, but wisely he says nothing in return.

#

Wriothesley comes to with a throbbing headache, and a dead weight against his lap.

"Don't move."

Sigewinne. Shit. Wriothesley doesn't want to deal with her.

"Look, I'm fine—"

"Luckily, you are. I just meant don't move because Monsieur Neuvillette has finally fallen asleep."

What? Wriothesley looks at the weight in his lap and finds Neuvillette resting against his thigh, snoring softly into the crook of his arm.

"What... happened?"

"The two of you wandered off, stupidly, I might add. Then you fell and hit your head. You're lucky he was able to get you back here."

So, Wriothesley remembers that, at least. Hitting his head. Everything else is a little groggy. "I didn't hit my head that hard, Sige."

"No, but you would've melted when the chamber flooded. The Primordial Sea? You should've at least told Clorinde."

Wriothesley winces. Yeah, he should have. "How much does she know?"

"Enough to know that you're lucky to be alive, but Neuvillette managed to talk her into waiting to hear from you later. Or the both of you. You have a lot of explaining to do."

"Yeah, we... Shit, the Seal." Wriothesley rubs at his forehead. "The door opened, but what if it's stuck? There's no way for me to help, unless..." Wriothesley trails off as he thinks, catching Sigewinne's attention.

"Whatever it is that you're cooking up, the answer is no."

"Sige—"

"You're on bed rest! I refuse to let you do something stupid again!"

Wriothesley shoots her a sly look. "You can't keep me in here forever."

"No, but what are you going to tell him?" Sigewinne nods to Neuvillette. "Do you think he'll let you risk your life?"

With the right argument, Wriothesley thinks he can twist Neuvillette's arm. Maybe. That's a thought for later.

"Look, let me at least do this exam," she mutters, "and then you can rest. I don't think you have a concussion, so sleeping should be fine."

There's something comforting about Sigewinne's gruff attitude, but most of all... waking up to Neuvillette's sleeping face does things to Wriothesley, even with the circumstances. Sigewinne checks his coordination and mental faculties, deeming him okay to rest before leaving them be.

And Wriothesley sits there, thinking, watching the rise and fall of Neuvillette's back, counting each one. They need a new plan—but that's the sort of thing that Wriothesley's good at.

Until then, he'll rest up enough that no one else can complain.