watercolor strokes

A breath of fresh air sobered up in the blink of an eye. He drove away unnecessary thoughts and the bustle of a long working day. The sun was approaching the horizon, caressing the tall man’s unruly strands of hair with its scarlet rays. Risley was in a hurry. Pebbles under the soles of massive boots scattered in different directions, the dust of the noisy city settled in a thin layer in the lungs. It hasn’t rained for a long time. Fontaine did not need him, and the manager of the underground fortress was only glad of this fact. The hem of the cloak fluttered in the light breeze, catching the delicate rosebuds that decorated the lawns of the main path. For about a month, warm sparks danced in Risley’s soul. Memories of one special person warmed him like invisible weightless touches. About snow-white hair, about long fingers that carefully straightened the collar of his shirt. About the glare of the sun that caressed the green crowns of trees, under which mens could allow themselves to intertwine their fingers. The cafe closed at nine in the evening, but now the clock showed eight-thirty, and Neuvillet promised to leave work early. The weather was favorable for a walk. For the first time in several long years, Risley felt like a free young man. Not an adult man who solved the problems of other people day after day, not a tired man who only sleep-eat-work-sleep. Being carefree, young and in love was an unaffordable luxury, which he tasted and savoring every moment, destroying all his principles. Risley just felt it when he first met the eyes of the ever-indifferent Judex. A man, in whose soul the frosty element had huddled for eternity, burst into flames. Neuvillette was tall, handsome, and smart as hell. Massive tomes with summaries of laws took root in his brain and even in his dreams the man didn’t stop being a judge. There are ink stains on the protruding knuckles; formal suits are always ironed. For breakfast — an omelette with bacon, for lunch a mug of steamed coffee with an old book, and for dinner almost innocent, chaste kisses. Calculating, cold-blooded and impartial — that’s how he seemed to everyone around him. Everyone except Risley. Neuvillette has drops of morning dew in her braids, strokes of bright constellations in her bottomless eyes. His sadness rained down from lush clouds, and there were countless such days in recent years. Last month was, surprisingly, the sunniest of all. He touched weightlessly, with caution, and Risley did not dare to press, to ask for more. They never came to anything serious; they were only content with gentle hugs and short, furtive kisses. Only when the sun goes down, because others can see. Risley doesn’t really care. He would prefer to sit, dangling his legs like a child, on a wide table in the Judex office, feed him fresh slices of fruit and kiss-kiss-kiss until his pulse skips a beat. Fall asleep, inhaling the freshness of the summer breeze that envelopes Neuvillette. To convey to all of Teyvat: this man, on whose shoulders the built city rests, is only mine. But there is fear in Névillet’s eyes. He always looking around even in dark alleys and staing too formal with strangers. And he pretends that the tea that Risley brings him almost every day is only considered a sign of politeness. He is public person, who is afraid to let his people down. Risley has said three hundred times: it is necessary to be yourself, and afraid of their feelings are disastrous. For Risley the underwater world became brighter. Here it was better to breathe and the food was tastier, the sky was painted with watercolor strokes. Such a gentle purple, mixed with the water of the Primordial Sea; clouds — cotton candy. Touch — it melts. And Risley was touched, but they did not melt; only in ragged blotches were the outlines of the dragon outlined. And the fortress became a prison for one more person, handcuffed, left out of the sun. Take an extra breath — will choke. So Risley hurried. To see him again, to give him a fleeting smile. Buy two glasses of tea and hand them over, accidentally touching his thin wrist. “We have mochi, straight from Inazuma, still fresh”, said the cute red-haired girl behind the counter, holding out a small craft bag: “Take it, this is a compliment from the our cafe”. Risley nodded in response, throwing a handful of mora into a clear glass jar. The girl waved her hand goodbye. The main thing is that without unnecessary questions and rumors. Neuvillette wouldn’t have liked to hear his name spoken in evil tongues. Especially, if it concerns the Duke. There were few people near the palace. Someone was reading a book, distracted from the bustle of the city; a cute couple watched the sunset. Risley chuckled. Perhaps, someday it will be like this for him, or maybe it will remain behind the curtained windows. Like a personal secret, although difficult, but impossible to refuse. Not a little boy — he understands everything. And he’s ready to add this item to the huge list of my responsibilities. The heavy door opened slightly, and a familiar silhouette floated out to the chimes of the sunset rays. For some reason, the Duke’s heart began to beat faster, his hearing became more acute, and his legs began to run towards the entrance of the palace. As if by an invisible thread, two men were fastened, walking towards each other, without taking their eyes off each other. Solar chains-shackles wrapped around the bodies, and nothing else seemed important. “Good evening, Duke,” Neuvillet said politely, glancing around cautiously. But everyone around had their own worries. “Good evening, Judex”, he passed the glass from hand to hand, weightlessly stroking the fingers of the other: “Let me take you home”. “With pleasure”. Neuvillet talked about work, new laws and other nonsense, half of which Risley ignored. Because he watched. Because he noticed. How eye to eye glances brought a slight smile to the Judex’s face. How he thoughtfully peered into the first stars of the night sky. Risley knew that Neuvillet dreamed, perhaps, of the same thing as he, but still tried to hide it behind seven locks. Frames, boundaries — who needs them at all when everything is on fire inside? But Judex apparently really needed it, so Risley just smiled. Neuvillette came into his life suddenly. It remained as echoes of citrus on chapped lips, as ripples on the surface of a smooth lake. The trembling of fingers numb in the cold penetrated all the walls inside. An elusive after-fact of regularity that you feel, but don’t see the root cause. But here she was, the reason, walking side by side, independently intertwining their fingers for the first time in a month. It’s calm inside Risley. On the face of Judex is a mask of calm and tenderness. In hands that are not clasped, there are two half-empty glasses of tea. Warm. “Have I tired you?” Neuvillet asked confusedly, noticing Risley’s empty look. The Duke would say — daydreaming. “No way,” he looked around; a familiar door, a neat lawn and no one around. Time to say goodbye. Neuvillette hesitated. Not like usual, when it was clear from his eyes that he wanted to kiss. He wrung his fingers, squeezed the paper cup extremely tightly, staining his fingers with the bitter liquid. Risley frowned without breaking the silence. Of course, he wanted to, but he promised himself not to push, not to interfere, not to spoil. Losing Judex is the same as voluntarily dissolving in the water of the Primordial. “I bought a tea set yesterday”, Neuvillette said more quietly than before, and the soft pink watercolor flowed down his cheeks: “But I have no idea how to use it. Maybe you’ll come in? If you don’t want to, then nothing…” “With pleasure”. The door slammed shut; the rosebuds under the windows swayed from a sudden draft. The light came on in the window. Still curtained for now. But Risley was ready not to freeze — to rekindle, and to paint their overall picture of life with four hands. Watercolor colors of the sunset sky.