[ Hearing both of those things feels like she's been punched consecutively, one after another. Guilt washes over her again at her selfishness.
It had taken her so long to understand Claude. But not only that, it had taken so long to convince him to trust her so that he would tell her more about himself. She had once thought about it like reading a book line by line, and then slowly page by page. She had only begun to feel like she had been given chapters at a time when she had first been pulled here to Abraxas.
Most of the story was still the same. The way he smiled when he really meant it. The way she knew that he was really laughing when he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, with his throat exposed to the sun. How she knew the subtle signs of when he was incredibly, furiously angry or annoyed because of the dagger sharp shine to his beautiful emerald eyes. The way he looked at someone when he cared. How he carried his sadness and burdens close to his heart.
But slowly the story had started to change almost before her eyes and quite inexplicably in the middle of reading it, it was no longer in a language she understood anymore. They weren't reading from the same book. Strange how now, in this moment of breathlessness, awash in guilt, does she feel like for the first time in several months that she can read between the lines that he's written out for her: Sylvain misses you. I miss you.
It's enough to make a girl like her cry. Not the fake crocodile tears that she's become a master at shedding but real ones. Chest heaving, nose running, ugly crying - the kind of crying that girls like her pointedly didn't cry. It would ruin her make up. If she didn't know any better she'd think he was trying to guilt trip her but she knows that that isn't the case. Because she knows that even if it isn't meant in the way that her silly heart yearns for, he still cares for her as a friend. And shouldn't that be enough?
The thought stings more than she'd like to admit. All of these realizations are enough to bring tears to her eyes and cause her lower lip to tremble. Immediately she averts her gaze to look out over the city and she inadvertently pulls the wyvern in a little closer in comfort because she can't reach for Claude anymore – at least not any time soon. Not until these feelings float away, like cotton candy thoughts of fancy. When she finally finds her voice, it's thick with tears not yet shed that she's desperately trying to hold back. A watery laugh precedes her words to show that she knows he means no harm. ]
That's just mean playing that card. [ There's a pause as she sniffles, breath shuddering. ] You can't just say things like that and expect it to work.
no subject
It had taken her so long to understand Claude. But not only that, it had taken so long to convince him to trust her so that he would tell her more about himself. She had once thought about it like reading a book line by line, and then slowly page by page. She had only begun to feel like she had been given chapters at a time when she had first been pulled here to Abraxas.
Most of the story was still the same. The way he smiled when he really meant it. The way she knew that he was really laughing when he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, with his throat exposed to the sun. How she knew the subtle signs of when he was incredibly, furiously angry or annoyed because of the dagger sharp shine to his beautiful emerald eyes. The way he looked at someone when he cared. How he carried his sadness and burdens close to his heart.
But slowly the story had started to change almost before her eyes and quite inexplicably in the middle of reading it, it was no longer in a language she understood anymore. They weren't reading from the same book. Strange how now, in this moment of breathlessness, awash in guilt, does she feel like for the first time in several months that she can read between the lines that he's written out for her: Sylvain misses you. I miss you.
It's enough to make a girl like her cry. Not the fake crocodile tears that she's become a master at shedding but real ones. Chest heaving, nose running, ugly crying - the kind of crying that girls like her pointedly didn't cry. It would ruin her make up. If she didn't know any better she'd think he was trying to guilt trip her but she knows that that isn't the case. Because she knows that even if it isn't meant in the way that her silly heart yearns for, he still cares for her as a friend. And shouldn't that be enough?
The thought stings more than she'd like to admit. All of these realizations are enough to bring tears to her eyes and cause her lower lip to tremble. Immediately she averts her gaze to look out over the city and she inadvertently pulls the wyvern in a little closer in comfort because she can't reach for Claude anymore – at least not any time soon. Not until these feelings float away, like cotton candy thoughts of fancy. When she finally finds her voice, it's thick with tears not yet shed that she's desperately trying to hold back. A watery laugh precedes her words to show that she knows he means no harm. ]
That's just mean playing that card. [ There's a pause as she sniffles, breath shuddering. ] You can't just say things like that and expect it to work.