[ Claude leans back against his pillows before Hilda can really contemplate what the stare he's giving her actually means. There's so much of him that she's poured over, both physically and mentally, that if she had put as much effort as she had into understanding the enigma that had been Claude von Riegan as she did with her school work, she would have been much as a prodigy as Holst had been. School work was never going to prove as interesting as him though. Few things would.
While it had taken time to unravel and artfully dodge the walls and masks Claude put up, it all felt effortless at the same time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he been dancing the same steps as her in tandem. Maybe on some weird cosmic level, they balanced the other out, and fit together in a way she couldn't have predicted when she set out to flirt with the mysterious but gorgeous heir. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time before they fell into step beside one another like they had been doing it from the day they had been born.
All of that is to say that when she's confronted with this look that doesn't appear in her Claude lexicon, she can't put a finger on how she feels about it. Her younger self wants to dig in, read the next page, see if there's anything else she's missed, while her older self — her current self — feels a tremor of uncertainty in what she's been convinced is an unshakeable bond.
Claude's teasing once again has its desired effect however as her mouth drops open in an offended expression that could rival Lorenz's. She swats out harmlessly into the air in front of his face as she splutters out a hiss of protest that's more joking than fiery. ]
You can't say these kinds of things out loud, Claude — I don't kick in my I sleep! [ She has been known to flail though, and has absolutely caught him in the chin on more than one occasion. A pout forms on her face but a beat later she gives him a relenting huff, moving to tug her boots off before crawling into his side and the comforting pull of his warmth. ]
Ugh, just don't complain if I jostle anything, okay? And if it starts getting sore, you have to tell me.
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While it had taken time to unravel and artfully dodge the walls and masks Claude put up, it all felt effortless at the same time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he been dancing the same steps as her in tandem. Maybe on some weird cosmic level, they balanced the other out, and fit together in a way she couldn't have predicted when she set out to flirt with the mysterious but gorgeous heir. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time before they fell into step beside one another like they had been doing it from the day they had been born.
All of that is to say that when she's confronted with this look that doesn't appear in her Claude lexicon, she can't put a finger on how she feels about it. Her younger self wants to dig in, read the next page, see if there's anything else she's missed, while her older self — her current self — feels a tremor of uncertainty in what she's been convinced is an unshakeable bond.
Claude's teasing once again has its desired effect however as her mouth drops open in an offended expression that could rival Lorenz's. She swats out harmlessly into the air in front of his face as she splutters out a hiss of protest that's more joking than fiery. ]
You can't say these kinds of things out loud, Claude — I don't kick in my I sleep! [ She has been known to flail though, and has absolutely caught him in the chin on more than one occasion. A pout forms on her face but a beat later she gives him a relenting huff, moving to tug her boots off before crawling into his side and the comforting pull of his warmth. ]
Ugh, just don't complain if I jostle anything, okay? And if it starts getting sore, you have to tell me.