[ There's the slightest flinch in an automatic reaction when she asks how she was supposed to know and for the reason preceding it before a sort of clarification follows. One he also understands - it's not like he hadn't used the same rationalization for himself over and over in denial that it wasn't working and hadn't gotten rid of any of those wishes. It stings in a sort of abstract way since he recognizes that's not how it was truly meant even before Hilda moves to say so, but it does touch upon the fear he's harbored that it'd always been just that like a finger pressed into a not yet healed injury. One of the many reasons he'd not said a word in case Hilda chose to confirm it as much long after Claude realized that for himself it'd stopped being that so long ago he couldn't pinpoint when it'd changed. It'd moved as seamlessly from that to something so much more every bit as much as they'd moved together.
But this doesn't seem like a refusal of that; if it was, he's heard Hilda be blunt with enough people over the years to know there's no chance she would've brushed it off to wrap up in something else. Their fight's proof enough of that ability to be direct if he'd ever doubted it. Whatever feeling he'd had about missing something here feels like it's been all but confirmed as Hilda works through finding what she wants to say, and Claude wills himself to have all the patience in the world and half as much again. He's waited for longer even if his mind is trying to convince him otherwise right now and he's narrowly avoiding something crossing into actual concern about where this is headed. I'll believe that when Hilda says it herself, his own voice echoes back to him from a memory, and it's hard to let that thought go.
What if he'd waited too long? What if there is no coming back from everything? On sleepless nights where his mind wouldn't stop those were two questions he'd agonized over even in the midst of telling himself he didn't care, that it didn't matter, and any number of other lies like it'd vanquish what he knew was the truth. If it is a denial, he'll have earned that.
It's a complicated symphony of thoughts racing through his mind, and ones that only get louder and quieter in equal measure when her hand finds his. Even when her expression shifts just as suddenly to something else he can't place, even when it causes his breath to pause, even when she says his name to -
- to what will be an unknown, because suddenly there's a blur of leathery wings and scales launching past him and for a millisecond all Claude can do is stare. What he doesn't have to think twice about is reflexes kicking into action since Hilda keeps the wyvern from falling but doesn't do anything for herself as she gets perilously close to the ledge and sends his heart into the back of his throat. Instinct has him launching himself forward to wrap his arms around her to pull her back in what's far from graceful from the immediate need of safety. The wyvern complains the whole way either because its fun was interrupted, because it's being held again, or simply because that's what wyverns do, but Claude can't focus on that.
Not when they've fallen yet again into something not unlike on a warehouse floor where they'd frozen up into cracking their hearts even further with fissures, or a reverberation of all those nights in bed where they'd ended up like this and he'd leaned over her and thought maybe now, I could say something now only to lean down and instead whisper something in her ear that'd make her laugh and push him away so he could pull her closer again. Now Claude pauses with his breath still held, another unasked question on parted lips as he looks down at her. Is that all you have to say? ]
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But this doesn't seem like a refusal of that; if it was, he's heard Hilda be blunt with enough people over the years to know there's no chance she would've brushed it off to wrap up in something else. Their fight's proof enough of that ability to be direct if he'd ever doubted it. Whatever feeling he'd had about missing something here feels like it's been all but confirmed as Hilda works through finding what she wants to say, and Claude wills himself to have all the patience in the world and half as much again. He's waited for longer even if his mind is trying to convince him otherwise right now and he's narrowly avoiding something crossing into actual concern about where this is headed. I'll believe that when Hilda says it herself, his own voice echoes back to him from a memory, and it's hard to let that thought go.
What if he'd waited too long? What if there is no coming back from everything? On sleepless nights where his mind wouldn't stop those were two questions he'd agonized over even in the midst of telling himself he didn't care, that it didn't matter, and any number of other lies like it'd vanquish what he knew was the truth. If it is a denial, he'll have earned that.
It's a complicated symphony of thoughts racing through his mind, and ones that only get louder and quieter in equal measure when her hand finds his. Even when her expression shifts just as suddenly to something else he can't place, even when it causes his breath to pause, even when she says his name to -
- to what will be an unknown, because suddenly there's a blur of leathery wings and scales launching past him and for a millisecond all Claude can do is stare. What he doesn't have to think twice about is reflexes kicking into action since Hilda keeps the wyvern from falling but doesn't do anything for herself as she gets perilously close to the ledge and sends his heart into the back of his throat. Instinct has him launching himself forward to wrap his arms around her to pull her back in what's far from graceful from the immediate need of safety. The wyvern complains the whole way either because its fun was interrupted, because it's being held again, or simply because that's what wyverns do, but Claude can't focus on that.
Not when they've fallen yet again into something not unlike on a warehouse floor where they'd frozen up into cracking their hearts even further with fissures, or a reverberation of all those nights in bed where they'd ended up like this and he'd leaned over her and thought maybe now, I could say something now only to lean down and instead whisper something in her ear that'd make her laugh and push him away so he could pull her closer again. Now Claude pauses with his breath still held, another unasked question on parted lips as he looks down at her. Is that all you have to say? ]