tartaglia/gn!reader, pining, fluff, he's trying to write and you give him inspiration, references to other harbingers and jealousy
Tartaglia stares at the blank parchment on his desk, sorting out his thoughts. He had too many fatui-related tasks this week, not enough leisure to create or buy trinkets for his family, and he was struggling on how to even start the letter to Tonia.
He didn't struggle often. It was easy to ask questions, to send things in thought, but today was... a long one. Another meeting with the other Harbingers, one which he felt could have been a letter or delivered through a messenger instead, and a drag of paperwork throughout his afternoon left him tired. His pen sat in the inkwell untouched.
A knock at the door interrupts his train of thought, sitting up straight at his desk and calling out, "it's open." Your head peeks through the doorway, a smile on your face that instantly makes his heart skip a beat. As you enter his office, he's delighted to see you holding a tray with drinks and food. He had not realized how hungry he got-- an often occurrence, an old habit stemming from the abyss-- and the smell of sweet pastries and warm tea was enough to spike his hunger.
"I brought offerings," you tease, setting the tray to the side. "You looked like you could use it."
"My knight in shining offer," he teases back, taking a small cake to bite with a wink. "Mm-- are these from Marionette? I wasn't aware you two were close." Which was true. You weren't any high-ranking soldier, rather apart of Her Majesty's staff of butlers, maids, and servants, and were respected simply for being good at your job. Sandrone was not one to busy herself with them, and the idea of you being close to her... a nasty little thing in his chest flared at the thought.
"Oh-- no, no, I had made these," you admit, smiling bashfully. The feeling dissipates instantly and is replaced with something softer. He notices how you idle from foot to foot, hands twisting around themselves awkwardly. You're truthful; he's known you long enough to tell when you lie about something. He doesn't know how to feel, about that. "I'm not as proficient in decorating, but I can follow recipes just fine."
"Well take a seat and enjoy these with me," Tartaglia offers, waving a hand out to the open chair. "I missed you today. Usually I see you everywhere!"
"Lady Signora and Lord Regrator had requested my help with a few others," you reply, straightening out your uniform slacks and sitting down. "Recently it's felt like my schedule's just been about them, seeing as they're in charge of the upcoming ball."
Right. That. The one servants weren't allowed to attend, only work, where men and women and the like would treat you like garbage. Surely the other harbingers, Regrator especially, were doing the same. The idea makes his jaw tighten slightly, a twitch of his eye at the idea of you being treated so poorly simply for doing your job.
"Well I might have to steal you away," he jokes, laughing as you swat his free hand. A dark part of him doesn't feel like it's a joke. "Maybe a trip to my hometown as a vacation. We can go fishing."
"It's meditative!" The joke, of taking you to Morespok and fishing and meeting his family, it makes his ears burn and heart jump. He controls his expression, a simple smile, but internally it's rotating around his head and all he can think of.
You both chat until the cups are empty and the tray is barren of sweets. He rests his hand on his chin, staring at you as you talk about inside gossip, information retained but not his focus. You tend to move a lot more when you're into something, whether it be opera or art or, as of now, drama. Hands become animated, your expressions vulnerable and open for him to bask in, and it makes his heart full. What Tartaglia wouldn't give to capture your essence into a locket and carry with him like a priest carries their ward.
He's utterly smitten, and he knows this. It takes effort, really, for someone to capture his attention like this, but he's not upset.
"Oh, the time," you suddenly stop yourself, glancing at the clock. "I have a few last chores to do. I'm so sorry to cut this short, Lord Tartaglia--"
"It's fine," he interrupts with a wave of his hand. His chest hurts as he says, "I have some important paperwork to catch up on anyway. But please come around more, especially if there's treats."
"Behave and we'll see if I make any more," you tease, taking the tray and cups with minimal effort. "Any possible requests, dear Lord?"
Dear. His heart hurts so damn bad, and yet you don't have a clue. "Syrniki, please."
After you leave, Tartaglia returns his gaze to the blank paper. In privacy, a soft smile stretches on his face as he finally picks up his pen and starts to write.
Tonia, he starts, you may finally find amusement knowing your older brother has someone he likes...
