Work Text:
The wind from the storm brewing outside was quiet. Softened by the walls of stone and snow, and the small warmth the two of you had carved out inside the lab.
The fire crackled steadily nearby, but your fingers were still cold. You rubbed them together absentmindedly, eyes skimming over the set of notes Albedo had passed you earlier. The reaction you’d just finished logging was stable, according to his observations.
You shifted in your seat, flexing your toes inside your boots. Your limbs were stiff from sitting still too long, but the last thing you wanted was to move and make noise. This kind of silence was rare, the kind that felt... shared. Safe. You didn't want to break it.
You glanced toward him.
He was seated across from you, leaning slightly over his own notes, pale lashes low over his eyes, the way the lamplight hit him made the edge of his hair glow gold, like it was catching fire. He still had his coat on, he almost never took it off.
You looked away quickly.
Not because you’d been caught staring. He hadn’t even noticed.
But because your chest felt a little too tight for no good reason.
“…You didn’t stir this sample, did you?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking to your log.
You tensed. “I—I did.”
“For precisely ten seconds?”
“…Approximately.”
He raised an eyebrow, a slight quirk that you’d come to recognize as his version of a dramatic gasp.
You shrank back slightly. “I lost count after eight.”
Albedo exhaled, not really annoyed. He was amused.
“Fascinating. Your approximation skills are wildly unpredictable.”
You buried your face in your notes. “I’m trying.”
“I can see that.” His voice softened a touch. “But next time, I’ll count for you.”
Your fingers clenched around the paper slightly. That made your ears warm. Not the offer, exactly, but the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like he'd already decided.
You didn’t answer.
He didn't press. The silence that followed was comfortable in that particular way only he could make it. He went back to writing. You flipped to the next page, pretending you weren’t still thinking about his voice in your ear, counting down seconds.
A few minutes passed like that.
And then, quietly:
“Don’t move.”
You stiffened. “Huh?”
Albedo didn’t look up from his sketchbook. You hadn’t even seen him take it out.
“I like how the light falls right now,” he said simply.
You froze in place, eyes wide.
You weren’t even doing anything, just sitting, half-curled over your work, your hands tucked close to your chest. Hair probably a mess from your hood earlier. Cheeks probably red from the cold. There was no way this was a good angle for anything.
“I’m not—” You flinched as your voice caught. “You don’t have to draw me.”
“I know.”
You looked at him then.
He wasn’t smiling.
But there was something there, a glint in his eye, a very slight curve to his lips. Something dangerous in its softness.
You curled in on yourself. “I’m not a good subject.”
“That’s incorrect,” he said, calm. “You’re very expressive.”
“I’m literally hiding behind paper.”
“And yet I can still tell when you’re flustered.”
Your breath caught.
He said it so easily. Not teasing on the surface, but there was a thread of something in his voice that made your heartbeat double anyway. You could feel it in the tips of your ears. Your fingers. That spreading, dangerous warmth.
“You’re making it worse,” you muttered, trying very hard to disappear into your scarf.
“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head. “You usually go quiet like this when I’m right.”
You whined, softly, into your notes.
Albedo turned the page in his sketchbook and continued like nothing had happened.
You sat there, cheeks burning, limbs stiff, torn between crawling under the table or throwing a vial at his perfect, stupid face. But you didn’t move. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm.
He didn’t say anything else for a while. The scratch of his quill filled the space between your panicked thoughts. You tried to focus on your notes, but your eyes were blurry. Your brain was stuck on a loop. His voice. That look. The fact that he noticed your expressions at all.
He noticed you.
Then, just when you thought it was safe:
“I think I’ve discovered a new reaction,” he said casually.
You looked up, hesitant. “...What kind?”
He glanced at you. Just once. And it was so brief, so unbearably calm, that you couldn’t brace for it.
“Your face heats up every time I say something like this.”
You died.
Fully, dramatically, spectacularly.
You made a noise, a wounded one, and buried your face in your arms. Your skin felt like it was on fire. The worst part was that you knew he was still watching you.
"You are the worst," you groaned, your voice muffled into your sleeves.
"I'm documenting results," he replied, his tone maddeningly neutral. "It would be irresponsible not to record consistent phenomena."
You peeked up just enough to glare at him. "You're evil."
His quill paused for a moment.
Then, without looking up, he said it. Quiet. Too calm.
"You're blushing."
You froze.
Absolutely froze.
The words landed with a quiet weight. You could feel the heat climb further up your neck and settle hot behind your ears.
"Stop," you tried, curling in tighter. "Don't say that."
"Why?" he asked, finally glancing at you. His expression was mild, as if he were observing a rare specimen under glass. Calm, patient, too focused.
It only made it worse.
"Would you prefer I write it down instead?"
"Albedo!"
You nearly fell out of your chair trying to swat at him with your notebook. He leaned just slightly to the side, effortlessly dodging it with the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Completely unbothered. Entirely composed.
Meanwhile, you were practically glowing red and vibrating out of your own body.
He paused for a moment, then said softly, almost as if it slipped out:
" I like how easily I get that reaction from you.”
Your heart stopped.
He didn’t smirk. He didn’t look away. He just said it like it was obvious. Like it was the simplest truth in the world.
You opened your mouth, then shut it again.
There was no recovering from that.
So you did the only thing you could think of. You grabbed your mug and shoved your face into it.
It was empty.
Albedo blinked once, watching you with a curious tilt of his head.
"Would you like more tea?" he asked politely.
You were going to scream.