THE WORDS YOU SPOKE TO ME - (Wriolette)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 01 - SILVER PLATTER

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Neuvilette hasn't spared very much thought to poor Wriothesley in the last couple of days. He's got far more important things to do than talk to a boy he kissed one evening. It was only one evening. They'll probably go back to just friends again, like before. Neuvilette will go back to holding his nose up at the Pankration court and Wriothesley will go back to interrupting student council meetings as he pleases.

Neuvilette might go back to longingly gazing at fluffy hair. Watching blue eyes. Staring at muscled arms and even his naked torso one hot day. He had watched his shoulder blades flexing on his back as he, unfortunately, pulled a different shirt on. Neuvilette's eyes had been drawn downwards to even the last sliver of skin as the shirt covered his back.

The tips of Neuvilette's ears had warmed slightly at the sight, and Wriothesley pointed out his slightly red face. Due to the sun, he had explained. It had been laughed off. Always had been laughed off.

A light tap on his shoulder grounds Neuvilette's thoughts. This is no time for daydreaming. Furina is telling him something important.

Important meaning important to her, mainly. But it would be impolite of Neuvilette not to humour her, especially as she seems to look up to him so much.

Furina walks annoyingly close to Neuvilette, keeping up with his long strides even though he is practically running. She is whining as per usual.

"... which is stupid so I told him where he could stick it. Then, he told me something about you, Neuvilette!" she pauses for breath and looks up for his reaction, searching for blue eyes behind long hair, "He told me you and Wriothesley are an item! Duke Wriothesley of the Pankration ring! How ridiculous is that?!" she snorts, "Seems like a load of bull to me..."

Neuvilette's eyebrows are raised more than he thought possible and he frowns, looking down at the ground and away from Furina. He brushes his hair behind his cheek.

Wriothesley, him, an item?! Where had that come from? Surely no one could have known about last week, it was only one evening and he went home before sunset. He shakes his head. It's just rumours, stupid rumours. No one really cares.

It's unlikely many people have heard anyway. Furina always seems to know everything about everyone, she probably talked to her gossip-hungry classmates. Kids these days. Insatiable.

(In truth, Neuvilette is not at all much older than Furina. She's only a couple of years behind but certainly acts bratty enough to seem far younger. Neuvilette almost feels bad for her, there must be some reason why she's always so annoying...)

"I mean, you and him do speak sometimes. But the things they've been saying, it's... Scandalous! No friend of mine would ever do this, would he?" Furina bats her pretty eyelashes at him.

Neuvilette can only cough awkwardly. He avoids her eyes, "No, of course not. It's all just talk, Furina, don't listen to them." he says, which seems to satisfy her. She hums her approval and Neuvilette breathes a small sigh of relief. Guilt worms it's way into his mind; he's just lied to his friend's face. But really, it was all he could do.

What's done is done, and there's no use dwelling.

Within a week people won't even think about student council president Neuvilette and duke of the Pankration ring Wriothesley in the same sentence. Let alone with the noun 'item'.

-☆

"Haven't you heard? Wriothesley and Neuvilette are dating."

"Well, they're at least making out regularly."

"Puh-lease, as if duke Wriothesley is gay!"

"Last I heard, he kissed him under the English block stairs."

"President Neuvilette would never! He must have pressured him."

"I heard he sucked his dick in the bathrooms."

"I heard they fucked in the janitor's room."

-☆

Gossip is Cuistot and Laverune's strong point. It's what they're known for, the sole thing anyone talks to them for. They even acquired the nickname Bombshell Bros at some point, and it stuck.

As far as the general public of Fontaine academy knows, other people are all they talk about. It's likely all they talk to each other about.

This couldn't be further from the truth. When it's just the two of them they talk about things any normal pair of definitely-just-friends would talk about. Laverune will thread his fingers into Cuistot's hair and Cuistot will hold his waist. They threaten to start rumours of their own about each other. They kiss each other senseless, until other people don't exist anymore.

Then they go to school and sell gossip to stupid teenagers looking for kicks.

Cuistot and Laverune pride themselves on having real gossip, none of this fake rumour rubbish. Their suppliers are to be trusted and so are they. Any word that leaves their mouths is completely factual.

It is not Cuistot's fault that "Neuvilette and Wriothesley had a meeting after school together." turned into "Neuvilette and Wriothesley are banging on Saturday nights." but he wasn't going to stop it. He's told the truth. Everyone else just twisted it for their own strange pleasure.

This is exactly what he's planning to say when Wriothesley comes storming up to him, buckles on his boots rattling like... a rattlesnake. Scary stuff.

"How did you know?" he demands in his deep voice. Cuistot spares a glance to Laverune. He looks just as lost, but winks at him as if to say, you've got this.

He spreads his arms, "We have plenty of sources around the school, Wriothesley. Could I request specifics on this situation?"

Wriothesley's facial expression hardens, and he narrows his eyes, "While we're out on my Pankration court, it'll be duke to you two. And you know just what I mean."

Ah, the Bombshell Bros have seen this all before. The poor boy is just trying to gain some control on the situation.

It's not as if Wriothesley doesn't have a point. They are standing in the corner of his Pankration court. They even showed up for his club. Not because they have any interest at all in fighting, oh no. Cuistot's talents lie far elsewhere.

It had just happened to be the one place duke Wriothesley is guaranteed to be. Firsthand information from the subject themself is diamond solid, polished and shined gossip. Tied with a bow. All it needs is to be seasoned to taste.

But, of course, Cuistot hadn't expected it to be so easy. It's really just been handed to him on a silver platter now, hasn't it? There's no doubt Wriothesley's heard the rumours doing the rounds about him and Neuvilette. It's clearly what he's talking to them about.

They're just being annoying for the sake of it.

Laverune shrugs, "Duke Wriothesley. What do you want, please?"

The gleam in Wriothesley's eye makes Cuistot shiver. He'd really rather not cross him. He thinks he'd be dragged into some Pankration match and return flattened like he'd been a crumpled shirt that needed ironing. He watches Laverune debate his next words in his head, but flicks around when the duke starts talking.

"How did you two know I kissed Neuvilette last week?"

Silver platter. With a gravy boat and everything.

☽