claude von riegan. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
godshattering) wrote2025-01-01 12:30 am
godshattering) wrote2025-01-01 12:30 amabraxas inbox + horizon contact
action + prose (nsfw marked) / horizon / network
godshattering) wrote2025-01-01 12:30 am
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So when Claude had suddenly begun to read between the lines it had taken her by surprise. At first she hadn't lingered on the thought too much; she had chalked it up to flukes the first couple of times. He was smart after all. But then she became used to being seen by him, even enjoyed the playful back and forth they had developed even if it meant having to do work she was trying to avoid. She didn't think she'd ever have that again.
Claude's words freeze something in her pleasant expression. That tone of his, the weighted measure of his words, is all too familiar to her. He's trying to test the waters, she realizes. Wants to see where she stands. But for what reason? Sylvain's voice faintly echoes in the back of her mind buried under a haze of alcohol: Claude thought she was important to him. Maybe that was true once upon a time, but why would he now when he has Sylvain? Why would he when he cared so deeply for Petra who is all the things she never would or could be? Surely it's not just for sentimental reasons.
There's plenty of things she could say in this situation. But instead she settles on a forced lightness in an effort to dispel nerves and hope as she averts her gaze back towards the wyvern who is all but becoming a puddle in Claude's touch. ]
I'm not sure what you mean by that. We haven't exactly been on speaking terms.
[ Better to be up front about it, she thinks. But there's a line of curiosity that runs through her words, an invitation to expand because a part of her wants to know. ]
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In the past he would've attempted to draw it out with this prodding question or that one and maybe with some teasing sprinkled in for good measure to round it all out. Claude sits silently with the only noise in the pause being the wyvern's grumbles, unbelievable as they are from enjoying the attention. Patience isn't new to him when it's a skill he'd picked up long ago even with the conflicting feeling of impatience in wanting to know what she'll say. Waiting wins out since whether or not Hilda chooses to answer is up to her. It'd be better to not interfere; on this, he wants her honest response.
When she settles on a cheerful deflection, a volley of an unseen ball back to him to see what he does with it, Claude has to work to restrain the twist of his mouth that'd be a giveaway to wanting to smile from surfacing at all. It'd give the wrong impression, even as he's not going to settle for what she says. ]
I think you know exactly what I mean.
[ The latter part of what she'd said - he's not going to address that. No need to point out the obvious, and especially so when it'd merely leave another way for a wedge to be driven in. Or worse, it'd become another distraction for one or both of them to latch onto to get away from the topic Claude actually wants to pursue. Even if those words are said in something like nonchalance, something to hide a deeper meaning behind like he'd used as one of his many shields over the years Hilda had equally learned to look beyond, he certainly still means them. ]
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She'd laugh if only if she were a 100% certain that there wouldn't be a spark of annoyance through it, a remnant of their fight. He's too smart to not have known what that response would elicit in her. Her gaze lifts just in time to see the telltale twist of his lips trying to hide a smile that she knows threatens to show. Jerk. Although even that is thought with more affection than venom. It was just another reminder of what she loved and hated about Claude.
But she refuses to move another inch. Stubbornness rears its head and her eyes stayed trained on him with a look of challenge and defiance that doesn't match the good natured smile on her face. If he wasn't going to settle for what she had said, she isn't either. This too was an old habit of theirs. Hypothetical chicken until someone caved and said what they really wanted despite being fully aware of what it was, all thanks to being able to read between the other's lines. ]
I might. But I'd rather hear what you really mean.
[ Her patience was in good form today, but she knew there was only so much she could actually take. The time that stretched between them and their fight, was an indication that what she wanted and needed from him had changed. Maybe she had outgrown playing guessing games with him when it came to things that mattered. She couldn't be sustained on what if's and hope anymore. She wanted something tangible to stand on, to know exactly where she stood whether it was an answer she wanted to hear or not. ]
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But all this does is bring about that frayed edge feeling playing about everything the way it has ever since, and all at the same time his own stubbornness rises to remind him he wasn't the one who closed the door on everything. Which might be true, or it perhaps not depending on the lens through which it's viewed, but continuing to view it that way won't do anything but continue to open this particular wound again and again, won't it?
Claude's silent as he looks down to the wyvern now resting its chin on his hand, apparently resigned to its fate of being loved on and held though he can tell it's as alert as ever. Probably can sense the tension, if he had to guess, if only because Sahar had learned to do the same with everything that went on though unlike Sahar looking for something to defend against this wyvern will be waiting for a chance to flee. Something he can relate to, though now his own tendency to run takes a seat to the side.
One step at a time, he thinks, and then he looks up. ]
I mean I want you to stop staying everywhere else that isn't the loft like you don't already have somewhere to call home, to begin with.
[ Because that seems like the easiest thing to ask for, of all the things, especially when most of them are things Claude's not even certain he can ask for or if it'd even be worth it. This is something direct enough while still being indirect to the rest. Hilda's made clear there's nothing keeping her here, after all. Even the wyvern had been somewhat brushed off as something to reside only at the loft where she wouldn't be, as though she'd already carefully excised herself from any possibilities there. A familiar pattern from their time here, he's come to realize, which leads to another thought to nudge that door open further. ]
I don't understand why you left, and it wasn't because we fought. That's not the reason when you were already barely there before then.
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Claude overhearing her conversation with Cyprian that day in the warehouse hadn’t been forgotten. A part of her had briefly worried what he’d do with that information before dismissing that feeling altogether. The answer is that he would do nothing with it because if he did, that wouldn’t fit into the narrative she had built around him explicitly not caring. That’s why she has so much trouble comprehending this turn of events.
Whatever bravery she’d had before shrinks slightly at the word ‘home’ and her smile disappears altogether. The loft had been intended to be a place for them, but home in Abraxas wasn’t so much a physical place as it was a person. Or two persons, rather. Her heart pangs at the loss. She withdraws her hand from the wyvern’s head going instead to fiddle nervously with the badly wrapped handkerchief around her finger. It would be easy to bite back with a bitter retort but she answers with some level of honesty instead. ]
It’s not my place to call home anymore. Especially after we fought.
[ She could leave it there because it’s both a response and an answer to his non-question. But if she wanted to stop being so selfish, so awful, and this would give him peace of mind so he could move on from them to start new with someone else then maybe that was the final act of kindness she could give someone who had once been her best friend. ]
That and I wanted to give you and Sylvain more space to be together.
[ Which is again something that just skims the surface of something she can’t bring herself to touch upon but she hopes he won’t venture further either. ]
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Even more so when her next answer has him stilling in place and focusing on her, ignoring the wyvern's complaint about the attention stopping. That's a sentence with a lot of things packed into it and something which has the edges of his mind itching to pull it apart, to examine everything possibly within. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't hesitate to do that.
And it's not even hesitation here that's stopping him, but something more like common sense: he can try to extrapolate what she means from a handful of words if he wants to keep making the same mistakes over and over. It'd be a good way to throw them into another cycle of whatever this is instead of what they'd been going around and around in. Claude ignores the call of frustration and shakes his head, determined to take emotion out of this. As much as it can be, anyway, and with whatever's needed to prevent this from becoming yet another confrontation he doesn't want. ]
Maybe I didn't want that, Hilda. [ A huff follows that, entirely at himself, since - why the qualifier? Time to try again. ] I take that back: I didn't want that and I still don't. None of what you just said has ever been on the list of things I'd call wants. I'm not trying to argue, I promise you I'm not. But I do want to understand, if you'll tell me.
[ An admission of sorts: that Claude's turned all over his over and over in his mind and felt he was never any closer to any answers, that what those answers might be are assumptions - that he's tired of pretending there's not whatever's going unsaid here from one or both of them which sent everything on a collision course. ]
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The handkerchief comes undone with an easy tug revealing the bright spots of blood staining its fabric. Trying to tie it again serves as both a focal point and a distraction so she doesn’t have to look at Claude. Despite that she can feel her heart racing, her brain buzzing, a tug at the base of her skull — she doesn’t want to have this conversation. She isn’t capable of it, doesn’t possess the bravery to. Unsurprisingly it’s easier to talk about her feelings with someone partly removed like Wanda and practically impossible when it involves the person in question.
Internally she’s torn; this is what she’s wanted for weeks. She’s missed his presence like he’s a part of her but now that he’s in front of her, she’d rather leap from rooftop to rooftop than have this conversation. Maybe that was still on the table — if she could tie this damn handkerchief first that is. ]
What do you mean you don’t want that? [ Hilda lets out a sound that is equal parts frustrated huff and laugh at how absurd this is. ] Claude, I slapped you and practically threw you onto the ground when we were in the Feywilds. I said awful things to you that weren’t true. Why would you want to share a space with me after that? I wouldn’t.
[ The ends of the handkerchief continue to slip despite her best efforts, and she lets out an annoyed sound. Words continue to spill from her as she tries in vain to succeed in her task, these ones edging a little closer to the truth than anything else she’s said before. ]
And why do you want to? You have Sylvain. You had Petra. You don’t need me. I’m not anything like them which is fine because I don’t need a pity party or praise, but if you were done being friends with me you could have just told me. You don’t have to be nice to me just because I was summoned here and because we have history. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, especially when I found out you were leaving for Almyra.
[ That letter in his domain had confirmed some of her worst fears about their finite relationship. Why delay the inevitable then? Why prolong the hurt? ]
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He's about to make a quip about not forgetting the being shoved in mud that'd happened in there in between both of those - might as well make sure there's a whole picture of what's happened in a morbidly entertaining sort of way, if it can even be called that, but what she says doesn't end there. I said awful things to you that weren't true, Hilda says, and a crease appears in his brow. True doesn't change that she didn't mean them so that's what he'll point out instead, except that what she says next ceases any thoughts to cross his mind at all when it feels like a bolt of lightning rattles around his brain.
Whatever breath is in his lungs leaves it. If he were thinking clearly, there's threads in there he can follow down to what's not being said. As it is, all he can do is think around the outline of it, one step away from getting it entirely. ]
How little do you think of me that you believe any of what you just said is how I actually feel about you?
[ It's said quietly with the pained expression on his face he's too aware of being all too real as he looks back at her. Even though his arms are still around the wyvern it's all but forgotten; he'd meant to leave that question there and let it stand but now it registers she's rebandaging her hand because she means to leave. With that understanding, Claude shifts his grip to prevent any wyvern escape just because he's distracted before reaching out his own free hand to curl gloved fingers lightly around her nearest forearm to keep her there, if only for a moment. ]
My leaving for Almyra doesn't mean anything has to end, now or later. I don't understand how--
[ But no sooner is the first part of that sentence out of his mouth than something else starts slowly sinking in, and the already loose grip he has on her goes even slacker. ]
I thought you didn't want me with how clear you've made that lately, let alone since you arrived.
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None of those things had come to pass though. Instead she’s left with runway to ramble on, as if rushing through this explanation means she can leave this hot rooftop sooner and her civic duty to both Sylvain and Claude could be considered complete. But then she hears the sliver of hurt in Claude’s voice when he poses that question to her. It’s like a glass shard that worms its way into her own heart. That would have been enough to halt in her in her tracks, but then he reaches out to grasp her forearm and her frantic motions come to a screeching halt.
Her eyes snap up to look at him seeing how pained he looks, as if his voice hadn’t been enough evidence of that. The buzzing in her head gets louder to the point where she can’t hear her own thoughts. All she can focus on his Claude and how hurt he looks, and how her first thought is how she wants to reach over to cup his face, like her fingers smoothing out the lines between his brow would be enough to dispel it from him.
The word “want” tugs at a loose thread in her brain, like she’d had to clarify that definition with someone else recently. But with everything else being said, about how a return to Almyra didn’t mean the end, and how he felt about her - it’s hard to focus on that right now. ]
I don’t know how you feel about me because you’ve never told me! [ Her voice raises slightly, causing the baby wyvern to hiss at the sudden cracking quality of her voice. She tries to steel herself - she wouldn’t cry even if it meant having the baby wyvern bite her again because she’s so tired of crying over men. ] The only time you said anything about that while we’ve been here was when you said in less words that I was dumb and couldn’t see what was in front of me.
How was I supposed to want you when I saw how close you were with the others? [ The arm Claude is holding falls limply to her lap and despair begins to edge into her voice. ] There’s practically a year between us in time if you count how long you’ve been here. I could see how you had changed. I saw how you looked at Petra and how you look at Sylvain even if you don’t think you are looking at them a certain way. [ Her voice grows small again, the last part deflating her entirely. ] I thought you had outgrown me.
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[ There's no edge to that statement, just a weary truth since the side of him all too ready for the worst is doing its best to convince him this sounds like a defense leading up to stating she couldn't possibly feel anything at all. It'd explain why she sounds teary in a way he knows is real. This stretches beyond Abraxas as he's always felt it has - though Abraxas certainly hadn't helped - and he's beginning to resent the eventuality it seems like is looming over this conversation. It's not blame he's trying to shift away or put somewhere in the first place; the truth remains both of them had an equal hand in ending up in this situation even if the backdrop for it isn't Fodlan like it very well might have been otherwise.
Though - it's with that in mind he reminds himself to think clearly in ways that'd slipped away from him. To put all those skills of reading people to use and look when her voice changes timbres yet again, and to not assume. Even if he still doesn't quite understand the logic he can follow it, and that makes it easier to try again in a gentler tone without exhaustion dragging it down this time. ]
Of course being here changed me. So did the war, so did being at the academy, and so did coming to Fodlan in the first place. I'm not going to apologize for any of that, and I don't think you should either considering I'm not the only one who's changed by being here, right? But that doesn't mean that any of it changes or ever changed how I feel about you. And I thought - [ well, this part about honesty he hates, mostly because the gears are turning to realize his inference she has no feelings beyond friendship towards him is incorrect, but also because it means admitting something he would've been perfectly happy to never share at all, ] I thought since... things didn't go back to how they were that you wanted them to end. That that's what you wanted.
[ It's the sort of thing which had made perfect sense as he'd thought about it over and over on here in Cadens, in the market together while she'd pretended she didn't have any plans for paints or beads, on nights crammed into tents or old dorm rooms as the only one awake while he tried to tell himself he'd be strong enough to walk away when this came to an inevitable end. Not because he wanted that, but because it'd be what Hilda chose and would make her happy, and he would've accepted that. Now it feels borderline ridiculous despite it being his own thought in the hindsight of the absolute wreckage it left them in.
In the rush to focus on everything else, it means Claude's still processing parts in bits and pieces - and one extremely important part clicks as he furrows his brow again in something not quite a frown and not quite concentration alone. ]
Wait a minute. Why do you think I called you dumb?
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[ The absurdity of this doesn't escape her and she can't help but groan at him. She'd throw her arms up were it not for the fact that she still had an untied handkerchief around her finger and his hand resting lightly on her forearm. ]
It's not exactly a healthy environment for romance to blossom. I can't exactly just decide to go on a date in the middle of a battle. And I'm the one still living through it. You're the one that's done and getting ready to leave.
[ It's hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice when she points out the obvious. There's not much, but it's enough to colour it and stir up the doubt inside of her. She knew what point in time he was from, she knew what had happened over the course of their time here together. The kiss they had shared in Nocwich surely just had to be that, right? A relieved kiss that he was alive and that he had returned mostly unharmed. A celebratory kiss where she was the consolation prize because Sylvain and Petra weren't there.
It's for all those reasons that despite having this conversation with him now, has her convinced that he still somehow doesn't have any feelings for her. He had said "years", hadn't he? Didn't that mean that if he did have feelings, he hadn't set anything in motion even after the war? She had built herself up a cozy den of denial for so long that convincing herself of something else feels like an impossible task.
Laying out their friendship like this hadn't been done before. Even if a scenario like this where she suddenly felt so insecure about where she stood in his life had come up in Fodlan, there hadn't been time, nor the place, to do so. Their energies were best spent on other things like surviving. She didn't think it would ever happen. Especially not on a hot summer's day in the middle of a desert town in a different world with a baby wyvern between them. Frustration wells up inside of her and she can feel his words add pressure to the build up behind her eyes. ]
I'm not asking you to not change. I love that you've opened yourself up to others and made more friends and more connections. [ Not entirely true, her jealous monster tuts. And she lets out a huff. ] I might have been a little jealous but I was going to get over it. I just - I didn't want you to leave me behind!
[ The outburst causes her to press the heel of her wounded hand into her eye to stop what she knows is an onslaught of tears. Therein lays one of her biggest fears after finding that letter: being made to feel like someone capable and then being left alone despite trying her hardest to do those things. It's pathetic, really. She's not codependent. She can do things on her own. But meeting Claude meant feeling wanted in more ways than just her family's last name and being Holst's little sister. She feared she wouldn't be able to live up to that after he left. That she wouldn't be capable of making herself feel like she could live outside her pretty box if he did.
She can feel her skin crawl admitting it - but then it's cut abruptly short when he asks a question. A little crease of frustration appears between her brow as she looks up at him, mouth falling open. The sass that slips out can't be helped. ]
What do you mean why do I think you called me dumb? You said I paid attention to anything that was in front of me and that I hadn’t really listened to anything you said over the years. How else was I supposed to take that?
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[ That's the only thing he says at first as that simple one word response tears out of him when frustration building as he listens to her gets to be too much to bear. The breaking point is her answer to his question of when he'd supposedly called her dumb and it boils over into a forceful denial over the very idea of that ever being what he'd meant. This is backsliding into something he doesn't want it to be, and it's doing so at a rapid rate where if there's no intervention they'll be right back exactly where they were.
Claude closes his eyes and counts a few seconds going by to reign everything back in to not be the one to send them careening. There's a second in there where he grits his teeth to himself, if only because everything Sylvain said is coming back to mind, and yet they're still wavering on this ledge daring the other to jump off it first. It makes sense; years of uncertainty doesn't go away from a few words exchanged. But this is also, officially, the most ridiculous conversation he's had while holding a wyvern.
When he opens his eyes, the baby wyvern gets put down to the side with enough faith in its lack of flying abilities, and the pack of jerky is put down next to it. It immediately goes to nose around it in search of more snacks which means there's nothing to do but look back at Hilda now with far less frustration and maybe even a tinge of fondness to it. ]
Hilda, for all the sakes of all the gods, I'm begging you to listen to me because you aren't the only one hurting here. I was begging you then to listen too, because if you'd looked at everything from over the years you would've seen - and can still see - how important you are to me and that you always have been. Do you think there's anyone who knows me half as well as you do? That includes that I've told you more about me than anyone else in or from Fodlan. How many people, exactly, do you think I've ever invited to come meet my parents? Because the answer is one, and it's you.
And the answer for asking when that'll happen is sooner rather than later, I hope, and if my going home means anything then it means a chance for that to finally happen because I still want it to. I could never leave you behind.
[ Claude takes his chances (in multiple ways) by peeling the gloves off and all but tossing them onto the ledge between them. Better for reaching over to take her face in his hands as he has ten, twenty, a hundred times before and with no less affection in it even if he's risking - who knows what kind of reaction. For all his calculations of risks, this one is one he throws to the metaphorical wind, because what's more important is drying the tears she's pretending aren't there as he's not finished yet. ]
You know what everyone else sees when they look at you? They see someone brilliant and capable of doing whatever she sets her mind to. Someone who cares for everyone around her because you're always checking in on them, and you're always there with a kind word or a gift meant specifically for them. You notice those kinds of things and remember them because you know how to always make someone smile. Gods know you've done that for me several times over and especially at moments when I didn't feel like it. That's not a complete list either because the actual list is far, far longer, but they're just a few of the reasons I fell for you.
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The thought alone is ridiculous, because there is no running tally of who can walk away more times and get the final say. They both stand amidst the ruins of their crumbled friendship. Neither of them had won anything and both of their knuckles sport bruises that bloom across them like violets. Regardless, she braces herself for it, because keeping her guard up had become second nature after being here for months without any clue as to where they stood but watching him progress with someone else she held dear. Instead of watching him get up to leave however, he places the wyvern on the roof to his side with all the jerky to keep it as occupied as possible before turning his gaze to her with the strangest look in his eyes.
As he speaks Hilda's emotions feel like they're on some kind of jerking wyvern ride that she has no control over. At first there's a rush of lingering frustration, not at him necessarily, but aimed at the dawning realization that this had become a matter of miscommunication between two people who had always, mostly, been in sync with one another. Frustration ebbs into a swelling hope when he mentions bringing her to meet his parents just like it had the first time he had mentioned it. But just like that time she had quashed that hope almost as soon as it had begun to materialize. She can barely comprehend what he's saying nevermind what all of it will amount to. It had only been in the past couple of years leading up to their reunion that she felt like she could fully begin to guess what might come out of his mouth in any given situation.
And then he's touching her face so tenderly making her feel like she's some tender precious thing. It's like that night in the Nocwich infirmary bed. It's like all the countless times before that back in Fodlan. And just like all of those times before her breath catches in her throat and she finds herself holding her breath because she wants it to mean nothing and everything all at once. But unlike those times, this isn't followed by him closing the gap between them to seal it with a kiss. For the first time, he's filling it with words that feel like the way he's cradling her face. He's always reassured her before, told her that she was beautiful and brilliant - and it's never failed to make her respond with anything but gentle deflections. None of those times have prepared her for how he ends his grand Mr. Leaderman speech.
Pink eyes stare wide at him, almost dumbfounded and she has to shut her mouth and shake her head because - ]
You...fell for me? I don't understand, I - [ She finds herself stuttering, tripping over words that should be so simple. There's a disconnect here between their history, their time in Abraxas, their fight and now here on this rooftop in the middle of Cadens. ] What do you mean you fell for me? Like when I threw you onto the ground and you fell?
[ Some part of her is face palming for asking such a stupid question. She'd toss herself off the roof if she could. But the disjointed pieces laid out in front of her still don't seem to make any sense. ]
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Claude's also painfully and keenly aware that though as much he'd alluded to it being, this still only skims the surface of everything. There's more that could be said - should be said, but old fears aren't so easy to shake. Years of not saying a word about any of this and relying on what ifs alone are too difficult to shake fully even with taking this stride forward. It's less fearsome than he'd imagined in some ways now the moment's finally here, and more so in others.
Especially when Hilda doesn't say anything for what feels like a century. In reality, one where he's not waiting while feeling like he's holding his breath, it's likely only minutes or even a handful of seconds while he works to suppress that ever present urge to plan for everything from rising up and dissecting what's happening or what's to come. There's no need to think about it to that level; maybe he can just trust in blowing the dust off this dream to look at it once more from where he'd shelved it with the belief it could never be.
Just as he is when she finally speaks with - not what he expected at all. A moment goes by where all he can manage to do is blink once and then twice, processing what she's said, and then he has to resist the urge to laugh. Which he manages, thankfully, since he's also not trying to be launched off this roof any time in the near future or preferably ever, and it's possible some of that lingering frustration melts away to be replaced with more fondness. ]
Last time I checked, there's usually only one way that can be meant when it's paired with everything else.
[ As for the 'everything else' in question, Claude might repeat them if it wasn't for feeling uncertainty creep in at the edges of everything. It's not that her reaction doesn't make sense on some level, and it's not like hope's managed to rush back in when he's spent so long suppressing it and then the past couple months working to outright extinguish it with mixed results. But a couple of different gears are now turning in his mind over the look on her face of clear disbelief, and why she seems so shocked, and he can't help but think there's more pieces to this he's missing.
Something else not accounted for, or maybe multiple somethings, have to be making this feel as fine as gossamer when Claude stills from running a thumb over her cheek to study her carefully. It's not a secret he's doing it either when it goes on long enough to be clear his gaze runs over every part of her face as though it'll reveal what he's looking for. If only he knew what that was. ]
Is that all you have to say?
[ Neutrally and only in the gentleness prying; he's careful to keep anything out of that since while it might be fueled by doubt and confusion on his end, that stays internally rather than being anything to put on Hilda or even hint around. That wouldn't be fair in so many ways when whatever conclusion she comes to should be entirely her own. ]
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Hilda's mind is slowly beginning to catch up with her and unfortunately for her, that also means that suddenly she's all too aware of Claude's gentle stroking of her cheek and how warm and right it feels. She's also becoming aware that her mouth feels a little dry and she has to answer his question. Confessions had occurred a handful of times over the course of her time at the Academy by those brave, bold, or stupid enough to forget that even if she did return their affections, Holst still stood as a major blocker in the quest for winning her heart. So rarely had those moments been as heartfelt or tied to someone that she actually, seriously entertained any sort of future with for more than a daydream's amount of time.
And if she did entertain it for longer than that, like she had with Claude, she had quickly waved the daydream away because even if more ever transpired between them, she's certain she wouldn't know what to say. It turns out that her assumptions had been correct - case in point, her stupid question. And because she finds herself at a loss for words, her mind chooses that precise moment to over analyze and doubt what he's said. 'Fell for' could easily be the past tense, couldn't it? So if that were the case that means that he doesn't necessarily have feelings for her now.
But if it were all in the past, why were they talking about this now? Why would he be looking at her like the way he looks at Sylvain and how he had looked at Petra? The looks had been so fleeting, so very blink and you'll miss it, that she hadn't been certain the first several times she had seen it happen. Knowing someone meant bringing puzzle pieces together fast enough to draw conclusions and Hilda had of course drawn her own which included there being no reality where he would ever look at her that way. And yet. She's shaking her head, rambling again because she feels like she has to fill the unbearable silence that she's let stretch between them. ]
I just don't know how to process it all. We've never talked about this before - you - we only ever slept together so how was I supposed to know? Well, we didn't just sleep together but -
[ She tries not to sound so desperate and yearning, nor does she mean to reduce their friendship to just the physical nature. Explaining all of her reasons why they could never be together to him seems absurd; that she is not what he thinks even though she wants to be, that he can and already has found better. Asking for further clarification about what he said also seems equally stupid. But she remembers how her heart broke when Wanda asked if her feelings for Claude went beyond friendship. How achingly loud the affirmative had been and how she hadn't actually been able to form the words on her lips for fear of making them real and him never hearing them himself. You can't always be afraid, Hilda is what Wanda had said. But she is. But doesn't that mean she should still try? Hilda tries to steel herself, as something clarifying dispels the confusion in her eyes. Her hand comes up to cup his hand. ]
Claude, I -
[ But just at that moment the universe decides to intervene. A bird has perched just behind Hilda drawing the attention of the wyvern. While Hilda's brain generates a response, the baby wyvern tenses, watching and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Unfortunately it chooses just that moment when she plucks up enough bravery to tell him how she actually feels. It pounces - and although it can't fly, it can leap. It launches itself towards the bird but instead lands on Hilda's chest, toppling her backwards and knocking the wind right out of her. Her eyes widen and she immediately wraps her arms around the wyvern who almost tumbles over the side of the roof but that doesn't account for her saving herself from a similar fate. ]
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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? ]
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She braces herself waiting for gravity to take its hold, but a similar sensation to the one she had experienced at the warehouse occurs instead. Strong, warm arms encircle her, pulling her close and suddenly instead of blue skies all she can see are a beloved pair of green eyes staring back at her. A small cry of protest from between them signals that their new charge is very unhappy with this turn of events, but the bird it had been hunting is long gone and Hilda is too entranced by how close Claude is to her to rectify it. They're close enough that she can see the way gold catches in the green of his eyes, close enough to catch the hint of pine on his skin and parchment on his clothes signaling he must have been balancing books before arriving here.
Unbeknownst to her the thoughts running through her mind are of a similar nature to the ones flashing through Claude's. His fall had dislodged some of his hair and were she not holding the wyvern, she would have reached out to brush it back into place. Even that phantom action doesn't come without an attached memory of times when she had done that for him on lazy warm days hidden expertly in the garden when they had skipped a class and she fondly watched him dozing off under the sun like a cat. Or times when they had been pressed together between sheets, bathing in the afterglow with the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and what she wanted to be affection lingering in the air.
In that moment that they stare at one another Hilda's mind goes blank before her insecurities begin rushing in. What had she had for lunch and did her breath smell? Had the make-up under her eyes smudged during her work earlier, dislodging the illusion of nights well slept? Can he feel how hard her heart is hammering in her chest? Oh Goddess, he had been waiting for her to say something, hadn't he? Claude doesn't have to ask the question again. It lingers in the air unspoken between them but whatever loose threads of bravery she had pulled together feel like they've flown off with the bird. ]
Uhm -
[ Heat seers her cheeks. If she didn't say it now, then when? A part of her wants to take the easy way out: she wants to kiss him and hope that whatever feelings she's never been able to express will translate into that and be enough. But not talking, not communicating had been the root of hurt that had started it all. Her feelings whirl inside her demanding to be felt, all pleading to be expressed as they sit just behind her teeth. There's so much she could tell him but one sentiment rings true: That all versions of her - who she is now, whoever she might be, whatever is left of her after the war in their timeline or someone else's - is his. It's always been his. It always would be even if he chose another heart to hold or flew off to Almyra and never looked back.
But her eloquence and flowery words are choked by weeds and roots and she falters again just in time for the wyvern to let out a piercing screech, apparently fed up with being squished. Its talons flail narrowly scratching Claude's face but scratching hers. She lets out a cry that is more surprise than pain but she still holds fast, wiggling backwards so there's some room for the wyvern to breathe and putting space between her and Claude. ]
I was going to say I think I had a name for it but I might have to suggest something like 'Sharp Claw' instead.
[ It's said with a huff that is equal parts both exasperated and weary. Her eyes begin to water from the sting and red begins to bloom from the shallow scratch on her cheek. ]
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It's not unlike what he'd thought earlier in bits and pieces about both of them waiting to see who moves first. To see if someone's going to feint and do something else in where this is headed - wherever it is - and that realization brings some of it into focus further where his mind insists on poring over the details he knows.
He knows this is a look on Hilda's face he's seen before in different ways, and like everything else it feels different here and like the pieces of what make it up are constantly shifting through his fingers and out of his grasp. There's echoes of something from all those times in which he'd held her in different contexts, a tinge of wariness he's unsure is aimed at him or narrowly falling off the roof, and a flush Claude doesn't think is from the warm weather alone. Apprehension's in there which only serves to make it all the more confusing when he didn't think what he said was confusing. It felt as plain as he could make the truth in it he'd offered as a careful laying down of some of the cards forever in his hand with the promise of more to come. Hadn't it?
The wyvern flails once more and startles him into letting go of Hilda even before she backs away and he pulls back to avoid getting nailed by claws, and though all those questions waiting to be asked still crowd his mouth: one look at her says now isn't the time to ask any of them. Claude feels that at a visceral level in the seconds before she jokes about the wyvern's name. It gets a short laugh out of him, something that's also a reflex kicking in while he's still considering the rest including the scratch which shows plain as day on her face. ]
Razor, maybe. Scythe? Any old sharp and pointy weapon would work here, probably. We'll figure it out.
[ He's still hoping for we, since - while Hilda hasn't said anything, a beacon of hope remains and stands out above all else that she was going to before the fates intervened. And that, quite simply, feels like the least misplaced hope he's had in some time. The flame powering it might be a small one, and he could very well be getting ahead of himself in nurturing it to be something else, but it's something to hold onto. Waiting a little longer won't bring him any harm when he's waited this long and there's other subjects they've yet to talk about in between everything else.
Claude reaches out a hand again - and eyes the wyvern when it openly considers biting him before deciding This Is Fine - and rather than placing it on her cheek again, this time he lets it hover over her skin. All the better to call forth the magic to heal that before it reddens any further, even if it wasn't exactly what he'd promised to heal earlier before things had taken such a sudden turn. That much he can do next, anyway, so long as the wyvern keeps its grumbling to a minimum. ]
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Reminiscing about days gone by will only serve to make the decision she's already coming to terms with more bittersweet. Namely that she'd tell him how she feels some day, eventually, but that when she did she didn't expect him to return them in kind. She would keep it simple and succinct; there wasn't a need for some complicated explanation or heart-wrenching declaration of feelings like how she felt like the light of the moon and sun combined didn't shine half as bright as him. Not when her answer had been given to her in the form of an earring in Sylvain's ear, in the unmistakable fondness witnessed between the two men, and Claude telling her his feelings for her had been in the past tense. Timing really was a bitch, wasn't it? But there's grace in stepping aside and clearing the way for people she cared deeply for. She had failed spectacularly the first time, but she'd do better for her best friend. Maybe she'd cry a little less. This time she wouldn't be so selfish or greedy. This time she'd practice letting go.
Something about this newly blossoming commitment tugs at the base of her skull, like she had already made that commitment before. But for that to have happened, she would have had to have confessed her feelings to another and that doesn't sound like her. The wyvern squabbling in her arms is enough to brush the thought away. And her sudden urge to cry? That too is quashed when Claude reaches out to remedy the cut on her cheek with a laugh. Immediately she pouts in protest but remains still as he works, removing any trace of the scratch and scar that might follow. This time we doesn't go unnoticed but it does bring with it a pang. She groans, focusing on the name in an attempt to ignore it. ]
That was a joke. We can't name it that and have this turn into another Waffenzahn-Waffle situation. They might have sharp claws but they doesn't deserve that. Scythe is nearly as bad as Jerky.
[ Her eyes flit down towards the wyvern who's gazing up at her with something that she can only assume is wyvern for a cheeky grin. The retaliating boop on the nose she gives it is more affectionate than annoyed. It's lucky that they know enough healing magic to sustain her vanity. Hilda hesitates then, eyes staying on the wyvern because there is actually something they could call it. It's just in light of this new revelation she's had, she isn't sure it's appropriate. ]
Actually, I was thinking we could call them something to do with the sky or a celestial body. You know, because of our dumb nicknames.
[ There's a hint of a nervous laugh in her voice, one that is purposefully there to play something off like it doesn't matter. Hilda's eyes flit to Claude's for just a moment, gauging his reaction before stumbling over a soft clarification. ]
Not that we have to do that or anything. I know that might be weird considering...everything.
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Even with something shifting towards a truce, much as he hates to apply that word here because of what it means for them to have even needed a truce in the first place, it feels as though there's too many invisible lines which shouldn't be crossed. Strangely, it also reminds him of the early days at the academy. The difference being there that Claude had been the one with all the lines, guards, and masks meant to keep Hilda and everyone else at a carefully curated and deliberate distance. And then over time, Hilda became an exception to all of them in so many ways, and to be back at the start? It could be another chance to start over, to not make the same mistakes he, she, they both had before. That's the sort of thing which needs more time than right now to consider.
The wyvern is a good distraction as he finally looks down at it and that grin he recognizes all too well from Sahar smiling it at him after doing something she knew was wrong and feeling pleased, both as a baby just like this wyvern and as an adult. He's about to say as much, to share something more in bits and fragments of another time in what he has available as a way of trying, but Hilda beats him to speaking. Her suggestion is a good one, and maybe it's because they're on unsteady but solid enough ground currently that Claude can consider this without it stinging like it would have not a few hours ago. ]
Scythe's a little better than Jerky, really. Not that Waffle is bad, [ just for a quick clarification, and possibly also to be difficult in something closer to their regular interactions than what the past months have been, ] but I like your idea better.
[ Claude glances up just in time to catch Hilda's fleeting look before she looks away again, and he reminds himself to not overthink that. That's a reaction of hers he still knows from all their time together, and it ties in exactly with why he knows she's going to walk it back slightly before that happens. This time, though, what he feels towards it is more fondness than anything else even if he doesn't let it show. ]
So something instead like, say... Cloud, Moon, that sort of thing. [ To go with the basics in what would fit between a sun and stars, and Claude reminds himself to temper any hope which arises from this, too, but that doesn't work nearly as well as he'd like. ] Or we could go full tangent and pick one of the moons from Fodlan's calendar.
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Are you implying that Waffle is just an average name then?
[ There's a playfulness to her look, a precursor to her reaching out and pinching him or flicking him in the forehead like she so often had before. Her hands moves as if to do just that before she halts.
Before. Hilda catches on the word, realizing that whether she liked it or not, there is now a before and an after with them, one that couldn't simply point to their respective arrivals in this world. One that didn't just imply the before and after of a war, but one that she can't turn a blind eye to no matter how hard she tries. Her heart sinks a little further.
She sniffs, body shifting slightly back and away from him as the corners of her lips lifting to show that there's no harm done. Admittedly she's relieved that he hadn't dismissed it as a stupid, silly idea and that he still didn't mind sharing something so childish between them. Nervousness still jitters in the air around her though. ]
Cloud is cute, but actually... [ There's another pause despite herself, a vocal stumble and hesitation all wrapped up into one. ] I was thinking that regardless what we name it, that it could be in Almyran.
[ There's more she wants to say.
Like how she has inklings that he'd like to stay in Abraxas, but that wouldn't diminish his homesickness. That even if she is the airhead she claims to be, knowing someone as well as she knew Claude, she could piece together the parts of a picture that had been slowly laid out before her: favouring Almyran pine needles for his tea, donning a sash made with a finer weave and brilliant dyes than any craftsman in Fodlan could make, instinctively calling Dawn by her real name, speaking fondly of a place like it was an old friend – even without finding the letter, she knew when a heart she held close to her own yearned for other things whether that be another person or a place.
But perhaps most of all she just wants to say she's sorry for being selfish and awful. That she understands being away for a decade can't be easy and she wouldn't fault him anymore for returning, even if that means never seeing him again because everyone deserves to return to a place they call home. It feels silly to offer him pieces of a place she's never been to (a pine branch pressed between resin as a bookmark, a terrarium meant to mimic what she imagines Almyra to look like, a chance to call this wyvern something in his mother tongue) but it's all she can offer in the hopes it will help soothe his yearning somehow.
Instead she lapses into embarrassed silence as she forces herself to stay looking at him. ]
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[ Back to flippancy regarding Waffle's name where he doesn't think about it as the old impulse arises again and before he can second guess himself on that either. It feels too normal, something he's missed in a way he couldn't begin to articulate even as Hilda sniffs in mock offense and he has to restrain himself from a grin. If he was hoping any of this would lessen the mixture of aching and hoping despite his best efforts to suppress it - it certainly doesn't.
But it's easier to grin slightly in a way that's not quite up to his usual standard because that's something he can figure out later even if it's also coming with the increasing wish that when they leave this rooftop, that they won't part ways. That maybe Hilda will come back to the loft, even if it's under the guise of getting the wyvern settled in and nothing further since Claude's aware of asking for too much after this long. At the same time: there's nothing to be gained by not asking at this point even if the answer he's expecting is a no. It's not like far worse hasn't been said between them at this point.
Before he can ask considering he's still thinking it over, Hilda speaks again about the name. The pause isn't characteristic to her and though his gaze had been on the wyvern - somewhat out of fear for all of their fingers and also just because - Claude lifts it back to her assuming there's a name she truly has in mind and hadn't wanted to say earlier. But it's nothing like that; it's something far beyond what he could've guessed.
In the silence after she speaks, Claude forgets about the bustle of the street below, or the warm summer sun above them, or even the wyvern's potential for adding new punctures. Though he starts to say - something, the words die away and instead leave him with lips parted as if still about to speak even though the silence is needed for processing that. It's not what he'd expected to hear and it's also not something offered lightly, he knows. Maybe that's why it feels like he can't look away while they look at each other without saying anything.
Shock isn't what he's feeling - it's affection when he knows the gesture for what it is. Any warmth he feels now can't be attributed to the weather as a small smile plays about his mouth while reaching to run a couple fingertips over the wyvern's forehead again and ignoring the grumble following and during the action. ]
I'd like that. But only if you'll help me choose what it should be after I think of some options that'd fit.
[ Because it should be both of them deciding, Claude thinks as the wyvern offers a playful snap towards his hand, eyes tracking his movements like this is playtime now as he looks up with a slight grin more tentative than it might be at any other time but feels fitting given the topic. ]
Promise I won't put in the Almyran words for buildings, weapons, or anything else in there to throw you off. Well - I probably won't.
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All of this worry and anticipation about what he would say in response to her suggestion and what he would do if she came across uncool for blurting out all of the words that threaten to push themselves up from her throat is almost enough to make her forget that all of this started because it sounded like he wanted her to move back into the loft. He hadn't said those words explicitly of course, but he had implied as much and she knew him well enough to know that. The thought of returning sends a wash of mixed feelings through her. The thought of having her full wardrobe at her disposal again makes her heart soar but it's quick to plummet back to the ground when she realizes being home will mean having to see Sylvain and Claude together.
Resolving that she'd try harder to be a better friend doesn't mean the jealous, envious creature that had clawed its way from her belly is so easily dispelled. Much like its mistress it is a stubborn creature and it wasn't about to disappear, and certainly not overnight.
Thankfully worrying about what Claude implied or didn't imply is waved away momentarily as she watches his expression curiously change. The smile that blossoms at the corner of his lips is one she knows well. One that she had willingly run towards and chased after so desperately once upon a time when she realized what it alluded to. The smile was a real one. One that meant Claude was genuinely touched by something, and that he meant it. She didn't think she'd ever see it again. Her heart stumbles over itself like its suddenly grown two left feet and she breaks eye contact again, too inwardly flustered to say anything. Her gaze settles on the wyvern who's now happily entertained by the little game Claude is playing with it.
The sound of the smile in his voice as he jokes with her comes dangerously close to feeling like how things used to be. A voice gently gathers her hope back before tethering it back into the ground. There's a half-hearted muttered reply in return that comes out without her really thinking about what she's saying. ]
You'll be the one seeing it most of the time so that will be your own fault if you decide to name it something stupid. And if I ever learn Almyran someday you're going to be so sorry you ever did that.
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Even while reaching for something to offer in return it seems like the effort falters somewhere, falls short of what he'd hoped and hope shifts then to reality. Lingering as it does around the edges, it's something Claude still can't completely ignore even with how things seem to shift from each turn of them speaking. This is where he should laugh at what she says, he knows. That'd be the solution to keep things light. It'd let the illusion stand he wants to believe in, but that feels more like another version of doing what got them to this place to start with.
Instead he pauses a second too long after she speaks, the wyvern's teeth graze his hand, and he pulls it back with a grumbled curse a second later. Said curse is directed at himself for not paying attention and juggling one thought too many, though he inspects the teeth marks left behind with a sigh. ]
That's putting a lot of trust in me considering it's not like you have access to a dictionary here to be sure of whatever I'm saying the translation is. I don't think there's many lying around like at home though 'many' is an exaggeration since it's more like - a few.
[ That's as lightly as he can tease about something which had also sent his heart into his throat for a moment - that not quite an offer and not quite a promise nebulous statement about someday and learning the language he'd grown up with. Maybe Hilda's just talking about when Fodlan's Locket inevitably comes down if she's guessed as much in what's yet gone unsaid, or - no, that's not a thought he should follow anywhere. Not when she refuses to exist in the same space as him as the first hurdle of so many.
A few seconds go by where Claude absently flexes his hand, ignoring the sting of the tiny scratches before going right back to teasing the wyvern like he had been and like no lesson was learned. It's now or never, and still one step at a time. ]
Are you really planning on never coming back to the loft?
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The hissed curse draws her gaze, a brief moment of worry flashing through her expression. When she realizes that it's no real harm done, just some grazed flesh because of sharp baby wyvern teeth, she lets out a short breath. With one hand still securely wrapped around the midsection of the wyvern, she intercepts his hand before he can begin teasing the creature again. If an action could have silent exasperation attached to it, that particular one would.
Focusing on healing even the most minor of scratches means that she won't read too deeply in that pregnant pause of his. Some part of her wants to say that even after everything that she does trust him despite what she said. Instead the words bounce off the back of her teeth tumbling back into the darkness of her throat. A gentle warmth begins emanating from her hand into his as she grumbles. ]
There's probably one in the library somewhere. I'm sure you or Cyril probably had one lying around.
[ And while she would never normally go to the library on her own accord, pettiness has been known to drive her in unexpected ways. Thoughts of pettiness are interrupted by his question and it's her turn to pause in surprise because shockingly, her hunch had been right. The scratches heal but her touch lingers. ]
I don't know yet.
[ It's the truth if the slight droop of her shoulders is any indication. She can't tell him that her heart isn't as sensible as she makes it out to be, not just because it goes against the person she claims to be but because saying so would also mean telling him other things she isn't prepared to admit. Shrugging off the momentary drop in mood, she's quick to force levity into her voice again along with pulling her hand away. ]
I mean, it won't be never. Most of my clothes are still there. And besides, it's probably been easier without me there. It's one less mess for Sylvain to clean up.
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