[ Here's the eye roll Sylvain's expecting to that explanation considering they both know that's not what he meant or was implying, but it's paired with a smile still playing about his mouth. If there's no direction to be had here, then he'll start with the smallest one since it's on top and waiting. Not without a teasing and possibly vaguely sarcastic tap of that bow before Claude slides fingertips beneath the paper, of course.
It hardly takes longer than breaching said paper for a whiff of something he knows well to hit him. It's stronger than anything he's found in the markets - and far more to what he knows from home than whatever weak stand-ins for that specific pine. There's a short laugh from him, the kind which says someone doesn't know what to say rather than that there's anything funny, but Claude can't stop to think of words when he's already reaching to pick up the package. He stops short of burying his face in it while holding it up for a better inhale to hide a small smile of a different kind - not that the temptation to do that isn't there - and it smells like home.
If he were the type to be more outwardly sentimental, this would be the part where he'd admit to this alone putting a lump in the back of his throat. But it's rude to keep a gift giver waiting, especially when said gift giver is busy pretending like he's successfully resisting the urge to fidget in that chair next to him, so he sets the pouch down for safekeeping while reaching for the next wrapped box.
There's a telltale rattle Claude thinks he almost recognizes as he accidentally tips it too far one direction and it reveals there's something inside before the paper's out of the way, and when there's a chessboard looking back at him he almost laughs. This time out of delight considering this one is far nicer than the one he'd picked up in the markets some time ago now, and he reaches for the storage to check the pieces.
They don't disappoint when the candlelight catches them and the materials glint. It's something Sylvain put a lot of thought into and apparent as Claude picks up the smaller pieces to examine them one by one before moving to the larger ones. That's when his fingers close first upon the lion and then upon the stag, and there's a long moment where both rest in his palm with his gaze upon them. This is, he thinks, one of those rare times where he understands what his mother meant when she'd say her heart was too full about something.
Too full for jokes, too full for words, even too full for overthinking - nothing to do but to set the pieces down safely before reaching to put both hands on either side of Sylvain's face to pull him in for a kiss for everything unsaid in those moments and what he's come to understand are all the others before. ]
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It hardly takes longer than breaching said paper for a whiff of something he knows well to hit him. It's stronger than anything he's found in the markets - and far more to what he knows from home than whatever weak stand-ins for that specific pine. There's a short laugh from him, the kind which says someone doesn't know what to say rather than that there's anything funny, but Claude can't stop to think of words when he's already reaching to pick up the package. He stops short of burying his face in it while holding it up for a better inhale to hide a small smile of a different kind - not that the temptation to do that isn't there - and it smells like home.
If he were the type to be more outwardly sentimental, this would be the part where he'd admit to this alone putting a lump in the back of his throat. But it's rude to keep a gift giver waiting, especially when said gift giver is busy pretending like he's successfully resisting the urge to fidget in that chair next to him, so he sets the pouch down for safekeeping while reaching for the next wrapped box.
There's a telltale rattle Claude thinks he almost recognizes as he accidentally tips it too far one direction and it reveals there's something inside before the paper's out of the way, and when there's a chessboard looking back at him he almost laughs. This time out of delight considering this one is far nicer than the one he'd picked up in the markets some time ago now, and he reaches for the storage to check the pieces.
They don't disappoint when the candlelight catches them and the materials glint. It's something Sylvain put a lot of thought into and apparent as Claude picks up the smaller pieces to examine them one by one before moving to the larger ones. That's when his fingers close first upon the lion and then upon the stag, and there's a long moment where both rest in his palm with his gaze upon them. This is, he thinks, one of those rare times where he understands what his mother meant when she'd say her heart was too full about something.
Too full for jokes, too full for words, even too full for overthinking - nothing to do but to set the pieces down safely before reaching to put both hands on either side of Sylvain's face to pull him in for a kiss for everything unsaid in those moments and what he's come to understand are all the others before. ]