Yeah, I think that's about as clear as a sign as we could ever get. Almost like the gods or whatever else know it was meant to be.
[ Claude's also trying for their usual lightheartedness and missing it by miles even as she leans into his hand and closes her eyes. There's something he's not seeing here, he's sure of it, but it's too hard to focus on what it might be when she's right here in front of him. Here, in one piece on the outside which is more than can be said for him, and neither of them are without fissures on the inside.
Maybe if it hadn't been still so soon he might be able to voice some of them to her. Might be able to find a way to wipe away some of the details that'd make her dissolve into tears again when she's past the brink of them. And maybe, if he stops to think about it, wanting to protect her from this when they've already been through so much - she's already been through so much - is yet another convenient reason to keep a wall up between them that he shouldn't.
He's about to keep joking ("joking") when Hilda takes his hand in hers to press kisses to it, and the tenderness of that action sends his heart into the back of his throat. It's unfair, Claude thinks weakly, that something should affect him so much and entirely because of who it's from. Still as meaningful as all the other times on other nights where it'd happened and even more so now as he studies that face he treasures so much. Something else to file away under the what ifs of sometime where small things like this could be commonplace. As easy as breathing. If only. ]
You can always wake me, Hilda. [ One more slow shift to make sure it doesn't seem like he's pulling away when that's the last thing on his mind and to not pull at too many bandages. The latter is less successful but he ignores it, gaze still on her face as that movement meant he's freed up his other hand to run his fingers through her hair, to tuck loose strands behind her ear, any excuse to touch her more like there's not enough contact between them already. ] No matter what it's for, or why, or when. Even if it's just because you need an accomplice for a midnight snack like all those times at the academy.
[ One last attempt to make her smile given that he'd been every bit as guilty (and far more than her) when came to wanting to roam around in the middle of the night, but even if it's part of their routine it doesn't feel right. It's a strange feeling to be scrambling for words when so often he has them at the ready. Hilda has always been the reason so many of them feel like they don't measure up to what she deserves to hear. Something that's entirely his fault, he's certain, but here's one more tentative and partially obfuscated attempt. ]
I don't want you to apologize for it, either. I'll always be here for you.
no subject
[ Claude's also trying for their usual lightheartedness and missing it by miles even as she leans into his hand and closes her eyes. There's something he's not seeing here, he's sure of it, but it's too hard to focus on what it might be when she's right here in front of him. Here, in one piece on the outside which is more than can be said for him, and neither of them are without fissures on the inside.
Maybe if it hadn't been still so soon he might be able to voice some of them to her. Might be able to find a way to wipe away some of the details that'd make her dissolve into tears again when she's past the brink of them. And maybe, if he stops to think about it, wanting to protect her from this when they've already been through so much - she's already been through so much - is yet another convenient reason to keep a wall up between them that he shouldn't.
He's about to keep joking ("joking") when Hilda takes his hand in hers to press kisses to it, and the tenderness of that action sends his heart into the back of his throat. It's unfair, Claude thinks weakly, that something should affect him so much and entirely because of who it's from. Still as meaningful as all the other times on other nights where it'd happened and even more so now as he studies that face he treasures so much. Something else to file away under the what ifs of sometime where small things like this could be commonplace. As easy as breathing. If only. ]
You can always wake me, Hilda. [ One more slow shift to make sure it doesn't seem like he's pulling away when that's the last thing on his mind and to not pull at too many bandages. The latter is less successful but he ignores it, gaze still on her face as that movement meant he's freed up his other hand to run his fingers through her hair, to tuck loose strands behind her ear, any excuse to touch her more like there's not enough contact between them already. ] No matter what it's for, or why, or when. Even if it's just because you need an accomplice for a midnight snack like all those times at the academy.
[ One last attempt to make her smile given that he'd been every bit as guilty (and far more than her) when came to wanting to roam around in the middle of the night, but even if it's part of their routine it doesn't feel right. It's a strange feeling to be scrambling for words when so often he has them at the ready. Hilda has always been the reason so many of them feel like they don't measure up to what she deserves to hear. Something that's entirely his fault, he's certain, but here's one more tentative and partially obfuscated attempt. ]
I don't want you to apologize for it, either. I'll always be here for you.