godshattering | abraxas inbox + horizon contact

abraxas inbox + horizon contact

action + prose (nsfw marked) / horizon / network

[ Only once there's distance between them do her sensibilities return to her in earnest. And the emotion leading the charge? A sliver of annoyance at how she's been reduced to nothing more than a blushing school girl who had never had anyone flirt with her a day in her life. Something so simple shouldn't have her heart hammering in her chest, or make her cheeks so warm that they're practically radiating heat - which means her cheeks are probably as red as roses to boot. It isn't so often that anyone is able to elicit such a flustered response from her. The last time she'd felt like that with him had been...well it must have been during the early days of the Academy when he had told her that she could grasp any part of him including his heart and his neck.

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.

Edited 2023-08-22 06:49 (UTC)

[ It's tempting to place his hand back on her face once again as the cut heals like it was never there at all. He could - as the spell ends, the distance there is negligible. Claude has to will himself into putting that hand back at his side where it belongs even as his gaze lingers on her long enough for it to be as effective as any touch.

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.

[ At Claude's almost-implication, Hilda's gaze turns up towards him with a glint in her eyes. Her voice suddenly turns arching, much in the same way her eyebrow raises. ]

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. ]

Maybe.

[ 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.

[ It feels like the time stretches as she waits for him to answer her but she barely seems to register it, so lost in her own debate about whether or not to say more. Had he not spoken up when he did, she very well might have blurted everything out all at once which is hardly her style. Blathering on about something isn't cute on her; it's cute on people like Marianne when she's flustered and trying to talk herself out of a preconceived scenario, but on Hilda it usually only resulted in her looking far lame. And who wanted to be lame?

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.

Edited 2023-08-30 05:32 (UTC)

[ The joke hangs in the air between them while he waits to see what she'll do. There's what he hopes the response will be - something not back to normal since he knows better than to wish for that, but adjacent to it would be nice. Any answer but the ones they've been bludgeoning each other with for the past weeks turned into months could be a start. It occurs to Claude, and not for the first time, that not knowing what Hilda might say or do is endlessly unsettling and further serves as a reminder of the distance both unwittingly and willingly wedged between them both.

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?

[ Belatedly she realizes what the word someday implies; it implies some sort of future together that she's denied herself imagining for so long, along with even a future where Claude remains in it. Moments where she wishes she could snatch back the words that have left her mouth are becoming more and more frequent. In Fodlan those moments were rare; she was so sure-footed in her interactions, knowing exactly where to step, what to say, what expression to wear. So rarely did she have to think twice about those sorts of things except for the odd exception which, coincidentally, occurred in Claude's presence.

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.

[ Claude just hums at the mention of the dictionary, unwilling to confirm or deny that. There's been a multitude of books recreated in the library to where he couldn't say for sure that one hasn't been placed on the sprawling shelves in the Horizon, but at the same time: something's pulling at the corner of his mind saying he hasn't. There's not one on the shelves of his study either, carefully as he'd recreated books from the Alliance alone in an illusion he hadn't really cared to maintain. But - it wouldn't take long to create one or to change it so the books he has have translations in both Fodlan's language and Almyra's.

Perhaps on the next trip into the Horizon he can tackle that since now his attention goes to his healed hand and the realization that while he'd healed the scratch on Hilda's cheek, he hadn't done anything about her still wrapped hand. Now doesn't feel like the right time to reach for it as he waits for an answer to his question, and Claude can't help but ride out the sinking feeling which comes when Hilda says she doesn't know.

It makes an unfortunate amount of sense. Surprised isn't the right feeling to attach to it since it wasn't unexpected, and neither is the slight wilt plus what he recognizes as a drawing over a veil over the topic. An attempt at a misdirection of sorts, except that to Claude it feels like it reveals more than intended. His brow immediately furrows less in a frown than in thought; while access to her wardrobe would be a veritable bonus, it's the rest of it he doesn't buy. ]

Easier for who?

[ For all his modulation of his reactions well-practiced from years of making them be exactly what he wants someone else to see and nothing more, this one still takes a concerted effort to leave anything else he's feeling out of it. The question's said easy enough despite it being his only focus. Deliberately, no assumptions are put into it or behind the tone even though he doesn't believe she's merely talking about Sylvain's predilection for tidiness.

Any other time he might have let her get away from this with that sidestep. It wouldn't be a stretch to convince himself he doesn't have the right to ask this anymore - or that he doesn't have the right to ask a lot of things, really - but this Claude can't let pass by. Maybe he's imagining it's another piece of the puzzle to understanding what's going on, or maybe that's overstating it, but he doesn't add anything else while looking back at Hilda evenly and waiting for her answer. ]

[ There's no telling whether or not Hilda will actually go in search of an Almyran dictionary. Learning anything, particularly a language, is more effort than she'd put in on any given day. But to say that she's willing to try learning the native language of someone she cares for deeply sounds a little too much like her trying too hard. And Goddess forbid she try too hard for anyone.

Having full access to her wardrobe isn't a lie; she's a vain little thing that has collected a tidy collection since her stay here and making friends and connections through the Old Public Hall has certainly helped in that regard. Unsurprisingly seamstresses and designers for stage costumes also enjoy the opportunity to dress people up when they aren't on stage too.

But Claude is right not to buy her attempt at trying to play this off. The question feels a lot like he's stepped into her path, blocking her from exiting this conversation which she so desperately wants to do. Most situations like these usually end with her barreling the person standing in her way over whether that's figuratively or literally. Except with a wyvern in her arms, and them already being in a precarious position on the roof, literally barreling him over seems like a bad idea.

She doesn't flinch when he asks the question but it's enough for her to divert her gaze. There's still an air of her trying to play this off like this doesn't toe the precipice of a subject she doesn't want to explain at length. ]

Easier for all of us.

[ There's a pause as she reaches down to stroke the wyvern's snout with her back of her finger. The admission still has the same lightness, the same echo of sing-song in it, but it's deliberately put on like someone who's chosen to wear a little too much perfume or cologne that day. Dressing herself up is as much of a practice of redirection as it is something she enjoys. ]

I told Sylvain this but I don't want to bother either of you.

[ She's still under the firm belief that having her around would somehow diverted their attentions and efforts needlessly. And it would be easier for her because maybe, gradually, she could loosen the hold the jealous creature had on her. Even that feels like too much of an admission and she's quick to move on, offering him something else instead. ]

But if you want me to come by and look after this little one from time to time while you're both out, I wouldn't say no.

[ It's not a promise of moving back in, but at least it's something. ]

[ 'For all of us' nearly gets a muscle in his cheek to twitch in displeasure before he averts it from happening to keep from betraying his thoughts on that. To say that's something he doesn't want to hear is an understatement. Nor is it something he understands, not when the point of them moving to one place was to remain together rather than separated across an apartment, or a city, or anywhere at all. Something they'd all agreed to and even more so after the rifts of losing first Felix, then Petra and Marianne had taken root.

Claude continues to look at her evenly with a seamlessly blank expression hiding the consideration he's processing. It gets harder to maintain when she adds she's already told Sylvain this - and then what this is comprised of when he can't make that foot to anything said or not despite the sting of distance being present yet again. He could blame it on them being out of sync, unaware of the other's steps for so long and out of practice with their usual dances around information, or feelings, or anything else. It still doesn't seem to fit even as he continues to recognize those evasions. ]

And who exactly said you were bothering anyone?

[ Besides you alone goes unsaid, but the weight of it's likely there all the same. This again falls under things he's not willing to let her move away from even if it risks upsetting the balance they've fallen into today, even if it means pressing on a sore point for her the way it feels like she's doing knowingly or otherwise to him right now. The offer to stop by gets ignored; it'd be generous if it wasn't for Hilda still avoiding the idea of coming back to the loft for anything besides coming by when no one is there.

Accepting it even as another term of their burgeoning truce means accepting she isn't planning on coming back when it feels like that's what she wants to say without saying it, and Claude has no interest in doing either. There's no satisfactory resolution to this except what he'd said before: that she stops living anywhere besides where she should be calling home but won't tell him the reasons why she won't.

There's more he could add, more he wants to add, and this time his restraint comes with biting the corner of his tongue to keep from letting it slip out. One question after another isn't an evasion or a misdirection like it could be at any other time he's wielded those very things to do just that, nor is this an attempt to argue. If he's being led to fill in the blanks on his own, it's just that he's going to refuse to do that too when it's what got them here - from each of their own assumptions. ]

[ You did in less words when we fought, threatens to slip from her mouth but she bites it down, swallows it along with the bitterness and blame that also threaten to present themselves. That isn't the truth. It's remnants of her insecurity and jealousy. She's so tired of sounding like that, of being both on the offensive and defensive that she can't just exist in the presence of someone she used to be able to sit in content silence with for hours.

That is easier said than done when he refuses to relent. Hilda knows exactly what Claude is doing of course. The tone of his voice is reminiscent of what the stuffy, stubborn Alliance nobles had once been on the receiving end of. Having a front row seat to that had been amusing but now she feels like how they must have felt – squirming and wriggling under the heel of Claude's boot and not in a fun way. She can hear what he's left unsaid and she confirms it with a soft, annoyed breath. ]

No one. [ No one but her which bothers herself to admit. ] But it doesn't need saying, does it?

[ As much as there is the spirit of exasperation in her voice, weariness seeps through too, betraying the front that she's putting on. It crosses her mind to leave it there, a silent way of digging her own heels in protest. But stubbornness hasn't helped her with anything to do with him over the last several months. Knowing that truth doesn't make admitting her shame any easier. Wouldn't it be better to never give that jealous monster a voice ever again? He and Sylvain didn't need to be burdened with that ugly side of her. They didn't need to know the festering thoughts that still lurked beneath her pastel exterior.

But he deserves some answer, even if it's some semblance of one doesn't he? Her eyes flit up to him, full of shame as another quiet truth is admitted. ]

It's hard seeing you both together.

[ There's a split second where he's tempted to argue the definition of saying something, but it's an old impulse from years ago brought back to the surface now by wading through all the hurt here and now. It fades in the same instant it surfaces because it's not important; that's not the point either of them is making and he knows it well.

Claude stays quiet after, partially waiting to see if there's anything else Hilda will add and also because he can tell she's thinking something over. It's another reminder of how both of them have become so reluctant to tell each other anything when that wasn't how it used to be. Or he wanted to believe it wasn't what with knowing Hilda knew (or even knows) more about him than anyone else, right up until the shock of finding out he was the only one who felt that way in what'd transpired between them.

It's nothing he wants to go over again - nothing that'll bring up anything helpful or productive, and not when Hilda finally looks up with something else etched into her expression Claude finds he's uneasy to try naming. The quiet admission of - something else along with it compounds that feeling. It's not that he doesn't understand what she's hinting around. But somehow, it feels incongruent with that hope of what she'd been about to say and where it could have gone if the wyvern hadn't intervened. That's before even counting in that he's unsure there's even a together as such as saying implies when it comes to him and Sylvain. Either way, it feels like putting unsaid words in her mouth to think it's that kind of difficult - not even with something else Sylvain had said he'd disbelieved on that very topic ringing in his ears now. ]

It's hard not having you around.

[ But that's a false equivalency, isn't it? He could add more, but maybe it's for the best to sidestep that evasively now. This instance won't be because Claude doesn't want to answer but more that he feels whatever he offers as his own feelings on it won't be well-received. There's another truth to that he can add, though. ]

And I'm not the only one hurting from you not being there.

[ Because it's obvious, to Claude, that the longer this has gone on or the more times they've come back to the loft to discover signs she'd been there and left without seeing them that Sylvain's reactions might have maintained some of their brightness but not without more and more of it being forced. A feeling Claude can relate to in many ways and so it's said not as anything which could be seen as a manipulation, with any luck, even if it's burying the lede of just how much he misses her within it. ]

[ 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.

[ Tears appear in her eyes and he nearly reaches for her and starts to before remembering. Claude lets his hand fall back into his lap with fingers curling uselessly against his palm. They're real ones; this much he knows from all that time studying her reactions. From when his eyes would wander in her direction so often it'd been surprising to him when he'd finally noticed it happening and all those things he'd taken the time to learn about her fell into place to make sense.

All of it pointed to the person he fell in love with, still is in love with in a quiet admission to himself, with those reasons from before being such a small portion of everything as he'd said. The list feels near endless and with new ones still added now that they're here. Neither of them are exactly who they were at home, but none of those feelings had ever lessened for him.

Something about her response aches all over again beyond that choked back tone betraying her in conjunction with the tears. It wasn't meant to be yet another card in the ones he endlessly stacks to build plans like houses forever on the verge of tipping over. This is something far more important. Hilda probably didn't mean it that way - something he knows, logically - and yet it hangs between them anyway as another reminder of everything they've been through.

It feels like yet another misstep on the path he's stumbling on towards honesty. The temptation to give into tiredness and accept it is there when he's managed hurt her even without meaning to, and what he'd seen as a truth now feels more like assuming there's one stair left on a staircase only to hit nothing but air. A price he'll have to pay by learning whenever that happens since Hilda holds the control on what will happen, and for as much as he wants, he'll wait for her wishes as they're more important than his. ]

It's just the truth.

[ Resigned is what he is when that feels like enough words alone though it only lasts for as long as it takes to speak them. Talking can only go so far, and perhaps today they've reached the limit of that after silence for so long between them both. Actions need to fill in the cracks, too. Some rifts and wounds can't be healed in an afternoon alone much as he wants them to be for her sake more than his. It'd be enough, Claude thinks not for the first time, if she could be happy and at peace even if it means he's not part of that. Maybe he should consider that what she'd been about to say could be that instead of what sentimentality needs and wants it to be.

He pushes himself up with an inaudible sigh to first kneel and brush off the dust from the roof, then to stand and hold out a hand to her while the wyvern considers biting him again. That - all of it - is a risk he's willing to take as he offers her a smile that's still genuine. ]

We should get this little one back to the loft rather than staying out here before it gets any warmer. Are you coming with me?

[ Asking around the question wasn't enough before, so it's time for something more direct meant for a yes or a no even if it comes with stipulations since he won't assume that even if it is a yes that she'll stay. ]

[ Knowing that it's the truth is bittersweet. Unable to stop them from anymore, the tears begin to really fall in earnest down her cheeks. She had wanted him to be truthful with her from the start - it had been one of the biggest reasons for their fight and a realization she had only come to understand after the fact.

It wasn't because she was trying to be nosey or that this was some gossip she wanted him to fill her in on. Rather, it was just wanting to feel close to him again after feeling like there was some impossible rift that she couldn't cross between them which had been only made worse because of her actions. Knowing that this is where some of it had led to, even if it was on the path to some sort of forgiveness and healing, doesn't make it hurt any less.

She's almost glad that he doesn't reach for her when she begins to cry. To feel his arms around her in that moment would feel like pity that she doesn't deserve and would completely break the damn wide open. When she hears him get up she doesn't turn her head to look, still half expecting him to leave her here. It's a silly thought because of course he doesn't. They might have reached a truce but he isn't cruel. She is surprised when he extends a hand to her though and she gazes up at him with wide, bleary eyes. After a beat she shifts the wyvern in one arm to gently take a hold of his hand and stand up, successfully preventing Claude's fingers being bitten again. ]

That depends. What is Sylvain making for dinner?

[ It doesn't escape her that she probably looks and sounds ridiculous trying to ask that question when she's got tear stains down her cheeks and tears still slipping from her eyes. There's comfort however in knowing that it's just Claude and the wyvern here to witness the worst of it. The corners of her lifts lip weakly as she takes another wipe with her sleeve. She really doesn't want to walk through the streets of Cadens like this and wishes faintly that she had brought a big hat or something to cover up. ]

[ The look she gives him with those tears still falling makes his heart clench even as it simultaneously doubles his resolve to stay uninvolved. As much as he can for being the cause of it, that is, and Claude waits for her answer. There's a moment or two where he wonders if he'd guessed wrong about asking until she shifts and takes his hand, and then he has to keep from holding onto it more. It's a simple touch but one he's missed so much with an ache it flares to life that lasts longer than the contact does when he lets go after Hilda stands up.

It's not a yes, but it's a precursor to one if he's reading it correctly. That's something he can work with. As it is, he settles for reaching out to hold the wyvern so she can get down the ladder first, and as the wyvern grumbles at him he absently runs his fingers over its scales again in the same motions that'd calmed it earlier. ]

Probably -

[ But Claude cuts himself off, realizing the too honest answer of Sylvain likely making whatever she wants simply for being there sounds a bit too much like a guilting response. Or another card or a ploy rather than teasing, he realizes with the slightest tinge of bitterness, and that's enough to change tactics mid-thought. ]

Well, probably whatever we can convince him to make. [ Now there's a squint up at the sky to calculate what the current time is, more or less, before he shifts the wyvern in his grasp and steps forward to the ladder himself. ] If we're lucky he's still out and we can head through the market to pick up some things to leave out as helpful suggestions. If we're extra lucky, we can find something better for this one to have for dinner than more jerky or whatever Sylvain has around the kitchen since I think he'd have some words about the latter. How's that sound?

[ When the comforting warmth of the wyvern leaves her arms she can't help but wish for it back. Instead she gives her face another wipe before quickly making her way down the ladder. It's easier to redirect the desire for something to hold to the small creature rather than Claude's warm hand in hers. It's good practice to start now because maybe, hopefully, that will make the yearning for him dissipate bit by bit.

When her feet are back on solid ground she quickly moves aside to make room for him. Dusting herself off and pulling the small compact from her purse to check the havoc caused to her makeup serves as an honest, proper distraction as she begins the process of trying to be a better friend. To be happier, lighter, more full of grace for them. To ignore the impulse to read into the "we" like there's anything there at all except for the fact that they're moving in a direction towards repair and a dinner that a part of her is dreading.

Her makeup isn't as bad as she thought it would be and after a quick powder and one last brave sniffle, the red rims of her eyes is the only sign she had cried at all. The compact shuts with a definitive snap. ]

I think it's a given that we have to find them something. We can't go back on our promise, can we?

[ She would set things right again starting today; there's already a veneer of sweetness being layered over her weepiness. As Claude arrives beside her she reaches out to gently stroke the wyvern's head affectionately. ]

And if they get hungry before dinner is ready Sylvain really can't stay mad at this face, can he? [ It's very obvious that she's talking about the wyvern but as she looks up at Claude, her hand moves without thinking to squeeze his cheeks. ] Or this one.

[ Realizing what she's doing only takes a moment and by the time it dawns on her, she's quick to remove her hand. It's back, securely on the strap of her bag like it hadn't been anywhere near his face at all mere moments ago. The best way to pretend it away is by acting like it isn't anything she suddenly feels self-conscious about. She turns, moving towards the market already beginning to put together a mental list of ingredients that would make a nice meal that hopefully everyone could enjoy and certainly not trying to steel herself from the desire to overstay her welcome at the loft after the meal was done. ]

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