[ The thing about knowing someone so well means knowing the telltale sign that they're about to protest something. The slightest intake of breath that could border on a scoff or a laugh, the barely there furrow between his brows - it may be dark in the room, but Hilda knows they're there. For as long as she's known Claude, defying naysayers has been engrained in his bones. The exasperation she felt towards that quality had been short lived. She had quickly warmed to it, admired it, envied it, quietly deciding in the early years of their friendship that she would do whatever she could to support him in his endeavours even if it was as something a silly as a prank.
But support, she's learned, doesn't always have to look like agreement. As quick as she is to cheer him on, she's just as skilled at poking holes in his sometimes grandiose plans. Reasons are poised on the tip of her tongue as to why he can't and shouldn't in this one instance: What if she returned to Fodlan tomorrow? What if her future - his present - weren't the same? What if Petra's reality came to pass? Doing so would reveal the other awful truth she's been hiding from him, the one that she couldn't tell him in Aquila for fear of ruining his date with Sylvain. For fear of what it would dislodge in her.
Seconds stretch and she's ready to bury her face into the crook of his shoulder again and feign fatigue. Instead, her dismissal is muffled by the familiar warmth of his lips and the feel of his fingers in her hair. Her mind is overrun with surprise and a hint of exasperation (because closing the space is the most Claude response ever) but her body seizes the opportunity, deciding it doesn't care what logic or reasoning have to say in this moment. Right now? This is home, and she has missed it.
She melts into his touch like a long held back sigh. Hands slide down the gentle slope of his neck, fingers curling into the hair that has grown long during his time in the pit. Gently and quietly, she urges him to come closer as if that will somehow make up for the unforgivable space and time wedged between them even if it's just in this isolated moment. The romantic in her imagines their heart beats fall in sync with one another's.
When it comes to him, her resolve has never been as strong as she makes it out to be; her affection for Claude runs as deep as defiance and stubbornness does for him. It likely always would. But as she deepens the kiss, she steels her resolve, assigning a meaning to their kiss in her mind: this will be the last. ]
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But support, she's learned, doesn't always have to look like agreement. As quick as she is to cheer him on, she's just as skilled at poking holes in his sometimes grandiose plans. Reasons are poised on the tip of her tongue as to why he can't and shouldn't in this one instance: What if she returned to Fodlan tomorrow? What if her future - his present - weren't the same? What if Petra's reality came to pass? Doing so would reveal the other awful truth she's been hiding from him, the one that she couldn't tell him in Aquila for fear of ruining his date with Sylvain. For fear of what it would dislodge in her.
Seconds stretch and she's ready to bury her face into the crook of his shoulder again and feign fatigue. Instead, her dismissal is muffled by the familiar warmth of his lips and the feel of his fingers in her hair. Her mind is overrun with surprise and a hint of exasperation (because closing the space is the most Claude response ever) but her body seizes the opportunity, deciding it doesn't care what logic or reasoning have to say in this moment. Right now? This is home, and she has missed it.
She melts into his touch like a long held back sigh. Hands slide down the gentle slope of his neck, fingers curling into the hair that has grown long during his time in the pit. Gently and quietly, she urges him to come closer as if that will somehow make up for the unforgivable space and time wedged between them even if it's just in this isolated moment. The romantic in her imagines their heart beats fall in sync with one another's.
When it comes to him, her resolve has never been as strong as she makes it out to be; her affection for Claude runs as deep as defiance and stubbornness does for him. It likely always would. But as she deepens the kiss, she steels her resolve, assigning a meaning to their kiss in her mind: this will be the last. ]