abraxaslogs | ( catch-all ) the more that i see myself

Entry tags:

( catch-all ) the more that i see myself

Who: Hilda & various!
When: September/October
Where: Cadens, the Horizon
What: Things, stuff, the usual but definitely not Hilda bored out of her mind recovering in bed. Also there's a mean moogle in her domain.
Warnings: Might be mention of injuries, but warnings will be added as needed.

( open and closed starters below. wildcards encouraged!
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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Here you are.

[ It's an evening with pleasant weather with a breeze coming through to stir the greenery and the flowers planted around the balcony, and with the latter adding pleasant perfumes to the air. Not for the first time Claude makes a note to ask Sylvain what some of the ones the other man's planted are - especially since the ones for Claude's own use are safely away where someone would have to look for them.

Hilda being confined to a room for rest is something he's deeply sympathetic to; between being trapped ("trapped") in infirmary rooms at Nocwich and then later in Cadens' hospital rooms he'd been restless enough to get up and start wandering far before he should have. Something she's not tried - yet, or at least not yet that he's aware of - but on this night when being faced with a particularly sad expression about staying inside when it looks so nice outside, well. Let's just say he'd relented on the resting in bed part of things even with all the hovering he's been doing to keep tabs on her recovery.

Which is how Claude's ended up carrying her to the bench swing with more flowering vines winding around its supports before setting her down in it carefully. That comes with minding each and every bandage he's come to have memorized, then reaching for one of the pillows to prop her up to keep any still healing injuries from pulling. That's followed with a quick scan he's perfected over the past few days to check for any signs of discomfort, unable to turn off the constant thrum of worry for even a second and without bothering to hide it before he looks back up to meet her gaze with a smile. ]

Now, which tea will be it be tonight?

[ Claude is well aware that Hilda is not above faking an injury or illness or two to get out of things she doesn't want to do. It had been common practice during their days at the Academy but not so common knowledge that people knew about her propensity to fib. It's not just an excuse either though - Hilda loves being doted on. Well, she normally does. The amount of doting that had been given to her by both Claude and Sylvain compounded over the last several days had crossed the threshold into smothering.

It was more embarrassing than anything else. And the tiniest bit uncomfortable mostly brought on the by the fact that this has been the longest she's spent around the two of them since her unannounced departure from the loft. When Claude scoops her from the bed, her arms are tucked against her chest, her arms too tender to loop around his neck like she might normally do. As he settles her down, there's a faint flush on the apple of her cheeks along with a muttered thank you.

Instead of answering his question however she gives him a mildly weary glance. ]

You know you don't have to get me tea, you know. I can get Perry to make it or something.

[ It would probably be with mixed results of course. Apparently being weak also means that her magic follows suit in a similar manner. It had been difficult for the ghost to move a chair across the room and that was something that hadn't involved hot liquid and breakable china. ]

That's true enough. But if I remember correctly back to when I was stuck in bed... [ Here's a thoughtful expression like Claude's actually contemplating this rather than it being for show (and entertainment's sake, with any luck) as he takes a seat in a chair next to the swing before he holds up a finger like the memory's finally come back to him. ] Right, I think someone named Hilda told me I'd better let her help me instead of doing it myself.

[ Perry probably counts as that given it's not Hilda herself getting up to get the tea, but he's too familiar with magic having a cost. Even more so while trying to recover from all that'd happened even if he'd tried to pretend it wasn't so bad or so tiring, and even if he'd wanted to be free of recovery constraints before he should've been. The same will likely be true for Hilda if it's not been already, but he'll let the matter of tea go for now when the point's been received nonetheless.

Instead he looks up at the sky above them where the first of the stars are starting to appear and studies them, idly matching them to the constellations he'd read in books and charts some months ago. No stories about them come to mind as Claude slouches down a little further to get comfortable and to rest his head against the back of the chair with eyes still tracing over this formation and that one. ]

But we can start with something smaller like, say, by doing what you did for me then and bringing me a library's worth of books and work up to the tea.

[ He's smiling faintly even with his gaze still skyward, considering tea barely measures up to all that Hilda did. In his eyes, at least. ]

[ The look she gives him goes from mildly embarrassed to absolutely withering. She can't help but fall into old habits either - that's quickly accompanied by an eye roll. ]

Ugh, that was different.

[ Emphasis on the different. She doesn't need to state the obvious that being kidnapped by cultists, being experimented on and being subjected to awful inhumane things only to be punched by an avalanche steps from the portal back to civilization is definitely not the same as being a dragon snack.

The mild level of annoyance is worn away by fondness as she watches him lift his gaze to the sky where she knows he's mapping out the constellations. Inadvertently her eyes gently trace the profile of his face, over each line and curve she knows intimately like the back of her hand. Faintly she realizes that she had missed seeing him in these in-between moments. She had missed him. It's not the first time that she's had that thought since the dragon fight, but it's the first time that she's really had a moment to linger on it and feel the reality of their months apart settle on her shoulders and in her bones. The tenderness she holds for him could crack her heart open if she thinks too long about it (which unfortunately, she has because she's had nothing but time to think between sleep).

Her gaze follows his to the sky as she lets out a huff. ]

I don't read nearly as fast as you do. My bed is going to end up looking like yours and then where am I going to sleep?

[ Hilda's protest that it was different - because it was - just gets a hum from Claude. It doesn't matter, not for anything past pointing out they've been in (unfortunately) similar positions even if they'd taken different routes in getting there. If he catches a glimpse of that change in her expression to one he knows well for following after he's said something entirely ridiculous, it'll only show in that smile growing slightly wider. Or it does until Hilda makes her proclamation about reading speeds and the matter of where to sleep, and that gets an honest laugh from him. ]

Oh, c'mon. You say that like you have no experience in navigating stacks of books scattered around to get comfortable.

[ The thought's out of his mouth before he really thinks it through, a callback to (somewhat) easier times maybe he shouldn't reference. But - too late to take it back now, so Claude turns his head without lifting it off the chair to look at her with a far more teasing expression than seconds ago. Nothing to do but embrace it with the fondness he still feels. ]

I think I also remember you moving most of them to create a spot for yourself more than once. [ Self-awareness about that tendency to accumulate all kinds of books totally helps here, right? ] Or just outright napping in the middle of them anyway when you wanted to be really distracting.

[ Said with all affection since those are memories he holds dear from the academy and from the war where each had occurred for different reasons, and where Hilda had featured prominently in them all. The rest of it beyond the naps and the complaints, though - that Claude doesn't think he needs to voice aloud as while he's not forgotten them, there's an invisible line he's still working on figuring out how to not cross without permission. In the meantime, here's a wince for entertainment's sake as if he's suffering. ]

Besides, your bed's not looking far off from mine last time I checked. I think I even have a papercut from something hidden in the covers when I went to pick you up.

That's totally different too! For one that wasn't my bed. [ Her bed was probably the cleanest part of her room at the Academy – it was the rest of the room that was the problem. ] And you're the one that kept doing it even after you knew that there wasn't enough room for me. It's like you liked watching me struggle.

[ Distance and time are supposed to soften things (things like diminishing the way a real laugh from him makes her heart flutter) - or at least that's what Hilda had been told. And yet something so simple as harkening to a time when she didn't have to think twice about crawling into his bed still triggers a dull pain in her heart. But that's probably just her dramatic tendencies showing.

An intrusive thought comes to mind: would she ever be able to do that again someday? Probably not. Their beds are big but not big enough for three people and books. One of the things had to go and she was already deciding to remove herself from the equation.

Thankfully feeling nostalgic for times like this doesn't completely stop her from feeling mildly annoyed by his antics and teasing smile. Or rather mildly annoyed and feeling more fondness towards him than she should be feeling. She's got enough sense to look mildly incredulous towards his false claim. ]

Oh no. There's no way you're going to blame me for that. You and Sylvain won't let me leave my room let alone lift a finger to do anything myself. If I wanted them off my bed I would have done it ages ago.

[ Perry would have done it ages ago, actually. But details. Thinking of Perry however, a thought formulates in her mind. Some distance away and behind Claude, the telltale small gust of wind kicks up on the balcony signalling the arrival of something unseen. ]

You can pout when I've actually done something to you. Which I would never.

So you're admitting to wanting the books on the bed, then? Maybe for old times' take?

[ He's still grinning, especially after her expression shifts to something which says he clearly doesn't know what he's talking about. When it comes to blame, well. Claude knows he has no room to talk about any kind of clutter in one's room even when there's not been rather horrific injuries involved preventing things from being straightened up. That's certainly the last thing he wants to dwell on even if it's also why they're out here.

And it's easier, maybe, to joke about the past like it's not been part of the reason so many thorns have grown between them and sprouted in their words. It's not dismissing it, he thinks, even if their truce is still who knows how fragile, but right now? Right now he doesn't want to ask or do anything besides keep it as light-hearted as possible as he sits up from slouching over, blissfully unaware of that breeze that's not a breeze behind him. ]

Don't worry, I can bring in plenty of others to really make it like it used to be. Maybe some quills and pens to go with it? Oh, and papers. Can't forget those.

[ No point in not making fun of a habit he has that Hilda's always disliked, as has been illustrated here again in all the teasing (and some of it not teasing but facts). While it's true he'd gotten better about that - eventually - it's also equally true that Claude's never quite succeeded in not using his bed as a second desk no matter what he's working on. ]

And I'm not pouting, papercuts are serious! That's what you used to tell me, anyway.

The day I become nostalgic for papercuts is the day that Waffle starts being able to speak.

[ Her tone borders on the edge of withering but she struggles to keep her laugh out of it.

She had actually experienced plenty of them, and all of them, at least the ones that she vehemently claims to recall, had all been because of the books on his bed. At the time she had been convinced that the books were punishing her. Like doling out papercuts is their way of retaliation for her trying to make room for herself in his bed when they had been there first.

Papercuts were practically guaranteed when it came to navigating his bed. They quickly became a small price to pay specifically because she knew that the thing that followed them was also inevitable. Namely, they were the kisses she demanded he give her as penance for being responsible for them. There was always laughter in his eyes when he did it, but he didn't hold back. Peppering her with kisses that eventually led to other places. The lie she gives him is a small lie but a lie nonetheless to hide any yearning from days gone by that might show.

The (very real) threat of more objects being added to her already cluttered bed however is enough justification for her to enact her plan. ]

They are serious!

[ With a heave, Perry takes a hold of the back of Claude's chair, tipping it forward with a force to match Hilda's own protest. It wouldn't be enough to injure him of course. The intent was to startle - and depending on whatever look is on Claude's face, it might be enough to break her concentrated pout into one of mischievous laughter. ]

You know, with the Horizon, Waffle could just start speaking the next time you walk in. I'll take that as proof enough about the papercuts being near and dear to your heart then.

[ He's grinning as he speaks, secure enough in a ridiculous notion as always and even more so when he's content to draw it out for as long as Hilda allows him to keep running with it in more and more leaps which may make no sense. It's worth it, if not for having the chance again to harmlessly rile her up a bit and in something closer to what was. If it wasn't for being all too aware there's plenty of work - and an answer he still hasn't received - to do before it can go back to that, Claude might even let himself be swept away in pretending.

In terms of things being back to usual, however, there's one thing he hasn't accounted for: Perry. The ghost wasn't there to team up against him as happens now when with a startled half-cry half-yelp of surprise, Claude finds his chair rebelling against him. Not enough to fling him out completely when reflex kicks in a millisecond later to make him stand, but enough that the point's received by the time it settles back like nothing happened and Hilda's laughter rings out brightly. A sound he'd missed so much, even at the cost of his injured ego. ]

So cruel! And after you said you'd never done anything to me on top of it, so just for that?

[ Because it's entirely for dramatics' sake, another old habit between them like he's bemoaning a terrible fate and not some very well-played mischief with a hand clutched to his chest like he'd barely survived, and like there's not several other chairs he could sit in instead of taking a seat on the other end of the swing from her with space between - ]

Now you get to suffer my presence up close.

[ Had Claude actually landed flat on his ass, she probably would have laughed harder than she is now, but that would also have likely come with a tinge of guilt and worry that she had gone too far much like it does right now. It’s not a consideration she would have had to think about before, but when their knuckles are still healing and the bruises there are still visible, she can’t allow herself to fall back into too much familiarity.

There’s a brief moment of doubt that she feels in the moment that immediately follows his reaction where she worries even that might have been too much. But then she hears the telltale dramatics in his voice and it dispels the minuscule worry that had started to breed in her heart. His theatrics are enough to bolster her bravery and encourages her to fall right in step alongside him. A groan of fake displeasure in protest is pulled from her lips like it’s somehow the worst punishment to have less space between them. The swing sways slightly as he situates himself, still too far for her liking she thinks briefly before brushing the thought away. ]

There were consequences to my actions? I take it back, I should have just given you a paper cut. Perry — do you think you could go get a book from the living room, please?

[ Except that too is part of the theatrics. Perry is already dispelled into the breeze blowing gently across the balcony leaving them in silence. Silence with Claude used to be something she had never been bothered by. In fact, he was one of the few that she hadn’t felt some incessant need to constantly prattle on with. But times had changed and she can feel the nervous desire to say something, anything to dispel the silence that had settled on them. Topics flit through her mind: talk of the weather, something weird she had read in a book, a cute thing Veliki and Mali had done when they she had let them roam around on her lap in bed, if he could maybe come closer just so she could lean on him for support and not because she dislikes the space between them, how much she wishes that they could go back to the way things were -

Listlessly her hands fiddle in her lap and a beat later she pipes up, voice light. ]

If you have something you need to do, you don’t have to stay out here. I can call you if I need anything. Or brain message you. I guess I shouldn’t be shouting with my injury.

[ Maybe he should've sat on the swing in the first place considering this feels better, more normal than gingerly perching elsewhere with far more distance between them than what's remaining between them now. Something Claude won't cross, clear as it seems to him that it'd require an invitation first rather than the easy way they might've been further in each other's space any other time. But - he doesn't get tipped out of this seat (or doesn't yet, since time might tell on that one) even as Perry's invoked again, and that threat just makes him grin. ]

Wow, I didn't think you'd give away your next revenge so easily. Should I be fearing Perry rustling around my room at all hours of the night waiting for me to fall asleep for the worst papercut of my life?

[ Or some other nonsense; given that he hadn't heard Perry behind him and had mistaken the ghost for the evening's light breeze still rustling the plants around the terrace, it's not like he'd really be able to tell the difference what with having a habit of keeping his window open for some air at night. With the amount of papers he usually has around with this note or that research scribbled on it that could seem like a mere accident in more ways than one. Something Hilda knows well since it helped comprise all of those space issues when she'd go to lay down in his bed.

It takes him a couple additional moments to register that she's fidgeting, and not exactly in a way which suggests a bit of restlessness outside of being stuck inside as she has been. When paired with the correction about shouting he doesn't immediately answer, even if he agrees with that. ]

You could. [ Those words are said slowly, an acknowledgement and a placeholder in one while he tries to figure out if that's a dismissal or not. Once upon a time he would've run with it being one and ignoring it, but - in this new era of them figuring each other out again, if it can even be called that, Claude's left uncertain if it is. Which means there's only one way to find out, and that's by offering something else to see where it goes or whether coming to sit here wasn't welcome. ] But I was thinking maybe more along the lines of we could plan something for the future for when you're up and about. Something to look forward to, I suppose.

[ Honestly having Perry cause some ghost havoc (of the non-papercut kind) doesn't sound like that bad of an idea. In fact, she kind of likes it and might have to pocket that one for a future when she isn't feeling so drained and exhausted after trying to tip Cladue out of his chair. The fatigue chooses to make itself known just at that moment in the form of her feeling short of breath.

The last couple of weeks have had her trying to hide the fact that she's been in any kind of pain at all. What should come as no surprise to anyone is that she rarely had to pretend that she was in pain. She's far better versed in pretending she is. And while she's quite the actress, even several weeks of trying to hide winces, hissed breathes and a stuttering chest doesn't make her a master at it.

In vain she tries to hold her breath while he mulls over her offer because somehow, counterintuitively it helps steady her racing heart. The silence that follows makes her think that he'll relent. He's always kept a busy schedule so taking care of her is likely to have thrown that schedule out of sorts. That doesn't mean that she actually wants him to go. The dichotomy of feeling guilty at being fretted over and being alone gnaws away bit by bit at the deliberate distance she had created herself. Unfortunately it feels like something she has to become used to if she has any hope of sticking to her promise to be a better friend to he and Sylvain.

Instead he surprises her. The fidgeting stops and she looks up at him, confusion reaching across her features as she lets out the breath she had been holding. ]

You mean something for you and Sylvain to do?

[ Because what else could 'we' possibly mean? He had probably misspoke, right? Surely he wants her help thinking of something for he and Sylvain to do. It isn't like she's the only one who had been injured during the fight. ]

The Red Path is probably going to be out of commission for a while so hiking probably isn't going to happen anytime soon. Which is fine because he might complain about the heat anyway since it's still warm.

What? No, I meant--

[ The all too real look of confusion on his face only grows as Hilda continues on when her question made no sense at all to him. What follows doesn't either since it just makes the crease between his furrowed brows grow that much deeper, unable to prevent or twist it into anything other than what it is: being utterly baffled. There's a pause where Claude waits for some kind of punchline since maybe this is an extended joke he's not in on yet, but one never comes. That's when he realizes Hilda means that and there's a slight twitch of one corner of his mouth. Whether it's to smile or something else will have to remain a mystery as he searches her face with more unasked questions behind his gaze. ]

No, I meant for me and you to do, since - that's the 'we' I was thinking of unless you had other plans. [ That's said as a joke, but doing so doesn't make any of it compute any more to Claude than it did seconds ago, though he waves a hand as if to clear it away when deciding it doesn't matter, not even though it comes too close to all those times Hilda had tried to push herself right on out of the picture for reasons he still hasn't entirely figured out. ] I'm sure Sylvain will want to plan something for the both of you later, but I'll let him figure that out if he doesn't have about forty five different ideas as it is.

[ All fondly, and all true, but that's still not want he wants to focus on. Absently Claude drags a hand through his hair to give himself something to do besides reaching for her hand, telling himself that'd just mean she'd have to lean at a strange angle to keep the space between them. Putting pressure on healing wounds won't do when the point is for her to relax, so here he'll stay. ]

I wasn't thinking about hiking, anyway, and I'm not sure any of us want to see the Path again anytime soon. I know I certainly don't. Anyway, considering we have all of Cadens here before us I'm sure we could find something to do a little closer to home. Or even take the portal to Libertas to look for some more supplies for you, if you'd rather have a change of scenery.

[ To one of the markets, maybe, and for starters since just as absently as before he also reaches to fiddle with his collar, that necklace she'd made him from what they'd found in the markets still safely tucked beneath it. ]

[ The confusion on Claude's face only prompts further confusion from her. Her mind seems to falter and now it's her turn to try and puzzle out the very clear words that Claude had just said. ]

Why would we –

[ Her eyes shut briefly as she cuts herself off, checking her own tone before she finishes that sentence. There isn't anything heated or angry in it but she's still all too aware of the current tentative state of their relationship. They may have been brought together by a baby wyvern in need and her wounds but none of those things together means that they're ready to spend an extended amount of time together. Right?
And that doesn't even begin to touch on what he says about Sylvain coming up with an arm's length of ideas to do Goddess knows what. Her situation with Sylvain is only slightly different but it still boils down to her trying to quash whatever feelings were trying to make themselves known - which obviously means spending as little time as possible alone with either of them. But wouldn't that put her back into the same cycle of avoidance that had lead to hurting them in the first place? She can't make amends like this.

She sighs, eyes still closed. ]

What I mean is that you and Sylvain don't have to put that much effort into planning anything. This has been more than enough. Almost too much, actually. [ There's an attempt at levity then. ] I'm sure you two want your lives back and the merchants' books are looking really unkempt right about now.

[ When her eyes open it's just in time to see him fiddle absently with something beneath his collar. Maybe something from Sylvain? The unbidden, mildly jealous voice intrusively butts in before she imagines shoving it off the roof. So what if it was? There's nothing wrong with that. An earring, a necklace, a bracelet, a ring - anything given to someone else to show that they care is meant to be worn. If Sylvain bears an earring Claude bought well, wouldn't it make sense that Claude would wear something of his in return?

But then she catches the glint of familiar beads that shine like wyvern eyes in the fading daylight and she feels herself staring longer than she should. She had left his birthday present in his room not expecting anything to come from it. At the time she had told herself that by delivering it to him only had to do with making room in her messy Hall office and left it at that. A necklace is meant to be worn but she hadn't expected him to actually wear it (and it doesn't matter that it's contradictory to her previous thought).

She doesn't know what to make of it. It throws her off centre just enough that she says without thinking - ]

But Libertas might be nice. I guess.

[ There's the instant reaction to argue that in the way he usually does by prodding a statement until there's holes in it, and more so when Hilda tries to say what's already happening is too much. As if she hadn't done the same in the wake of coming back from the Pit and with having to look after three people in there, and as if there would be anything that'd keep the two of them from taking care of her. Beneath that thought there's more, he's positive, especially when Hilda glosses over it with a joke. If it is one, since he's uncertain if she actually thinks the merchants' books would rank over this in any way.

It's another reminder of how off balance things are between them when in another life, he would've known what she'd meant immediately. Wouldn't be guessing at this or that and feeling like he's still nowhere close as she sits with her eyes closed after what'd sounded like the start of a rejection or something about how they shouldn't, and Claude drops his hand away from his collar still not realizing it'd been there as his brow creases again. ]

You can say no, Hilda.

[ Because that's what this is about, isn't it? That's why she's was staring at him in silence for so long when she opened her eyes to look back at him. The pause had been to summon up how to decline, or more like more ways to decline since she's done as much already. Might and I guess aren't exactly known for doing anything but pointing to that being the answer, and Claude shrugs a shoulder with a substitute for a smile and easy-going as ever as he turns his gaze back to the night sky above them.

If only he was unaffected as he's projecting out there since it stings even while he tells himself it doesn't and pushes that feeling back down. In that other life, this is where he would've tried to convince her anyway with reasons growing ever more out there and meant to make her laugh more and more with the chance to tell him how ridiculous he was being. The temptation's still there but it doesn't feel right.

Claude resists the urge to sigh and returns to finding this constellation and that one. She was right that there's always levity and he'll fall back on that as well. ]

The books aren't nearly as charming, but I suppose I can make a day out of those instead.

[ Each passing day makes her feel more and more like she's becoming a contradiction of herself. Doing what she wanted, fulfilling her whims, had always come easy for her - so long as it fell within the boundaries that she had set out for herself. She had become used to stifling the desires that didn't abide by those constraints until it became second nature. Feelings were handled in much the same way.

Caring too much for someone opened her up to a world of more ways to disappoint people which meant opening herself up to a spiral of gnawing inadequacy that she would never be enough. She had worried about that with Cladue and their friendship at the start. But time, and perhaps Claude's own doing, had worn that worry into the ground until they were nothing like fine grains of sand.

Or at least she thought it had. A simple answer to a simple question shouldn't feel like a monumental misstep. She feels her heart sink as he relents, turning his face to the skies once more. Isn't this what she wants? Isn't a delicate balance of time spent alone together how she eventually stifles the hope and her feelings for someone that she could never hope to stand beside the way Sylvain does? This is unknown territory. She's never had to unravel feelings before or put them on any sort of shelf to collect dust.

But spending time with Claude on what's surely just meant to be a shopping trip isn't going to tip the scales in any particular way, right? They had gone shopping so many times before that it wouldn't be a new occurrence. If she reminded herself of that, it was like the unrequited feelings didn't exist at all. This is how she would start over. This is how she would make amends. And, most importantly, she tells herself, this is what she wants. She misses him. She misses her best friend.

She reaches out, hesitantly, gently, so as not to pull at her healing wounds to lightly touch his hand. The desire to curl her fingers around his hand, to take up space between his fingers like she used to is tempting to act on. But that would be too much, she thinks. Maybe once upon a time, the spaces that Claude had made might have been for her, but timing, fear, and self-doubt equated to her time having come and gone. Those places were for someone else now.

Her smile has a similar hesitation to her touch but is no less genuine. ]

Let's go to Libertas. I wouldn't be a very grateful patient if I didn't make it up to you somehow. [ Her eyes crinkle slightly, an echo of a laugh there. ] I just have a couple of conditions: You can't be upset at me if I'm a little slow and you have to carry all of my bags without any complaints.

[ This time as he looks at the skies Claude wills his thoughts to be quiet after that quip about the intricacies and excitement wound up in bookkeeping. Said thoughts have no reason to crowd his mind as they do now, like they can sense an opening with which to wedge themselves into because he'd let his guard down.

But how could he not? For as much as he'd told himself he'd built up armor back into place to keep her out and at a distance, that hadn't been true at all. If it had been, that conversation Sylvain had pushed him into about it wouldn't have hurt so much. More than that and far before it: all of this wouldn't have ached so much like a wound refusing to heal even if he'd nursed it quietly and beneath the illusion cast of being just fine - like right now. Now he'd run a finger silently along that blade of longing to see how sharp the edges were and, like a child not careful enough with a weapon despite being warned, was surprised when it cut him.

There's a shift which happens next to him on the bench, one he assumes is so she can get comfortable despite this wound pulling or that bruise aching. He doesn't bother to check unless she needs assistance, but instead what Claude finds is a familiar hand on his own. That's enough to get him to cut his gaze away from the sky to her without turning his head, watching her carefully as she chooses her answer.

It's his turn to let a moment go by, one where he evaluates Hilda and that smile which has always pulled at his heartstrings with now no exception at the laughter creased into it he hears every bit as much as if it'd been aloud all along. ]

You get to show your gratitude by having me carry all of your bags? Wow, Hilda.

[ This time the teasing lands as it should fueled by all too genuine mirth and relief that - it's not a no even with the offered out. Her offer is familiar enough even with the context being different, the same way he'd found himself carrying books across the monastery or different shopping bags back from the village market outside the gates or around Derdriu once upon a time while being ever so slightly bewildered as to how that was the case before the realization had hit it was because of Hilda. At first, because then it was for her in a different way. Of course it was, and of course this is. Without giving himself a chance to second guess it he turns his hand over to let her fingers rest in his palm, a quiet invitation should she choose to accept it as he tilts his head down to look at her properly again rather than skyward. ]

I'm gonna have to remember that one to use myself sometime. But I think I can accept your terms, even if I'm already worried just how many bags we're talking about here. What'll it be, ten? Thirty? Somewhere closer to three digits?

[ Not that it matters - there's no number she could provide where he still wouldn't carry them anyway. ]

Edited 2023-09-17 15:18 (UTC)

[ Claude's teasing tone bolsters her, buoying her heavy heart a couple of inches off the floor. Hearing the laughter and mirth woven in his voice is a relief not only because it means that her typically bratty response hasn't been met with exasperation or disdain but also because it gives her hope that she can do this. Having a common touchstone to fall back on certainly helps matters too. A shopping trip with her - especially one after being cooped up - is inevitably going to involve plenty of bags filled to the brim with things that she either needs or tells herself she needs. What better way to celebrate rejoining society than by shopping and seeing all of her favourite merchants?

Playfully she pouts. ]

I didn't say what they'd be filled with. For all you know they could be filled with thank you gifts for you and Sylvain. [ Her pout turns doe-eyed and fluttery, looking every bit like a younger version of herself when she isn't bothering to hide the chore folded into the promise of a gift (the gift being time usually spent with her). ] And because my gratitude knows no bounds, we might be closer to the three digit range for the bag count.

[ That feels like a bit an exaggeration, but if she had all the unlimited resources, she would give them all of that and the world. That sentiment isn't entirely due to the care and attention that they had been giving her. Rather it has more to do with her behaviour prior to all of this. Guilt still weighs heavy on her mind and is likely for the next little while.

In spite of that, getting carried away by the teasing is an easy thing to do when it feels akin to a comforting sweater she hadn't worn in ages. She's so wrapped up in the warmth of that that she almost doesn't register how he turns his hand over, palm up. Subconsciously she takes in a small breath. She may not be as well versed in Claude-isms anymore, but she knows immediately what that means. It's an invitation, an extended olive branch, a quiet beckoning for her make a choice that leads them a little closer to what they once had been.

The gesture shakes the remnants of her defences and hesitations, the sincerity of such a simple thing lifting a staggering weight from her shoulders. But slowly and surely she adjusts her hand to quietly tangle with his. Holding his hand has never failed to make her feel like she had the whole world grasped in the palm of her hand. It's an intimidating feeling, one that shakes her to her core every time the thought dares to cross her mind. Now is no different from all those times before.

Silence lapses between them briefly because teasing threads can only go so far. Thankfully this one feels more content than the ones before it, allowing her a moment to soak up the feeling of being able to hold his hand intentionally like this again. Her gaze lingers on them for a moment before moving back up to his face. ]

Have you thought of a name for the wyvern yet by the way? Because we can't keep calling it, "The Wyvern" - it's a little exhausting and pretentious.

That sounds a lot more like we're buying clothes if we're heading for three digits.

[ Introducing that might've been all his own idea, but Claude's going to run with it for entertainment's sake now that he's been provided a further opportunity to. Especially since he doesn't buy that pout for a minute, being far too familiar with being on this side of it about a million times before, and on this? This he doesn't have to second guess whether it means anything but what it is with that look following with the proclamation of the bag number which has him snorting a laugh. ]

And see, all of that right there is what tells me this is going to be a very Hilda shopping trip.

[ The complaining is only to play along since it feels like a gift to be able to do so now after so long. It's a thought he won't tire of thinking unlike the others which have been pulling at all the edges of his mind with heavier and heavier weights. This isn't the first time he's been reminded how easy things could be - nor does Claude think this will fix things in one go any more than the conversation on the rooftop had before, but. It helps.

It feels like a balm, and so does Hilda's hand slipping into his rather than her pulling away or ignoring that it'd been offered. Without thinking about it Claude trails a calloused thumb over the back of her hand back and forth in non-specific patterns as he's done so many times before, a small sign of restlessness as it ever is even while he's perfectly content to sit here. There's nowhere else to be - and nowhere else he'd rather be - and sitting here to enjoy the evening is more than enough.

He's about to playfully bring up the comment she'd made when he was the one trapped in a recovery bed about cuticles and them being in a state of tragedy at the risk of also being tipped out of this seat by Perry considering hers are no such thing, but she beats him to speaking once again. The topic Hilda mentions is one far more important than any teasing, though Claude lets a teasing smile curve one corner of his mouth all the same. ]

I dunno, the wyvern seems to kinda enjoy being referred to as the only one to ever exist. Hardly seems pretentious when it might actually be true. [ The only one from Fodlan, anyway, which is close enough (and no less pretentious). Though Claude pauses, remembering what it was Hilda's offered and if it's what they're going with, and decides maybe it wouldn't hurt to check if it's still the case. ] Are we still going with our theme? I've thought of a couple possibilities if so.

[ The mention of clothes visibly perks her up. Reading messages hidden between the lines and her body language might not be so easy to do anymore, but there's no mistaking the simple things in life that still bring her joy. ]

We could be buying clothes. I don't think the clothes we wore to fight the dragon are in any shape to be worn again. And you two aren't the type to want to keep that sort of thing like a trophy or anything.

[ It goes without saying that she certainly isn't either although as Alucard had pointed out, her bloodstained clothes had been at the bottom of her laundry basket until fairly recently. Physical injuries aside she's ready to forget the whole thing happened and never address the fact that she had almost died. Thoughts of her own morality seem difficult to grasp onto as she teeters on the edge of comfort chased away by the senseless shapes Claude is drawing on her hand with his thumb.

What it doesn't make it difficult to think about is how awkward she feels as he does it. As much as she wants to return to a sense of normalcy (platonic normalcy), years of longing are difficult to shake off over the span of several weeks. Claude's return to a lackadaisical attitude when they're together makes her think with some level of certainty that he's already moved past their fight and his confession about feelings he had felt for her in the past. Just like so many times before she's several steps behind, rushing to catch up proving once again that she hates cardio. ]

I think you're just projecting onto him.

[ There's a dry sarcastic tone to her voice but the laugh tugging at the corner of her mouth softens it. As far as she's concerned, despite the revelation about multiple timelines, there will only ever be one Claude for her in all of the infinite timelines. But it's the reminder about her suggestion that gives her some pause. Quietly she reminds herself that she shouldn't put too much weight into him remembering that and this nod to their nicknames that she can't use anymore are remnants of feelings for her that no longer exist. ]

I meant it when I suggested it. That and I wouldn't want to let your hard work go to waste.

[ There's a joke on the tip of his tongue, but that's before Hilda points out the clothes from the fight being kept as a trophy and something in his expression flickers before he can safely stow it away. No - that's not something he wants to commemorate in any way, not in anything beyond Hilda still being here and while not quite in one piece yet, she's soon to be.

It's not lost on him how close they came to losing her. There are thoughts he's had over the years, things he's witnessed, different points in time he knew would be etched into his memory as if placed there with indelible ink. Kneeling on the Red Path with her limp form in his arms isn't anything likely to ever leave or to ever cease causing his heart to twist each time he remembers it or that harrowing run back to the portal.

But saying so would cast more of a shadow over everything than his fleeting pause already has, and so would squeezing her hand like the urge to do so is telling him to, and Claude sets a smile firmly back into place in time for the question of projection. That makes it less of a placeholder and something closer to amusement again like there was never a beat skipped at all. ]

Hey now, maybe I just want to make sure he has the spotlight he deserves! There's been a fair bit of showing off that's not just us doing the showing off, after all. 'The Wyvern' is a good title, especially for the exclusivity in it.

[ Claude's truly balancing this all upon that sliver of a laugh Hilda's not voiced in hopes of drawing it forth whether it's paired with a (deserved) eye roll or not. Maybe it's his own way of expending some nervous energy, hidden as it is in more ridiculousness like he never hesitates to bring forth for the sake of entertaining her. A habit which hasn't left despite being placed on pause - all worth it in hopes of seeing her smile when it's something that could sustain him on that alone. ]

I knew someone would finally appreciate my very intensive labor on something someday. [ Teasing, considering Hilda's done that very thing many a time already long before this and likely will after if he believes in those hopes, but no need to dwell on that before she can break in with a rebuttal. ] And in that case, I was thinking what we're missing here between the moon and the stars is the sun: Khurshid. That should balance it all out to complete the sky, I should think.

[ Hilda catches the flicker of something unspoken on his face. Something unpleasant that settles like a stone in her stomach and squeezes her heart. Guilt? Embarrassment at another misstep? Worry that she's being a burden? She brushes by it.

Making light of death is one of the few things she doesn't do and she doesn't plan on starting with her own. The fear of death still grips her, but she doesn't want to dwell on it any longer than she has to, nor does she want to speak about it when it's literally clawed into her flesh. She'd rather gloss over it, pretend that the physical and mental reminders don't exist and that keeping both men out of harms way, fighting tooth and nail so that Claude and Sylvain would have a fighting chance at something spoke to a conviction and feelings that she's had too much time to think about in her room alone. Out of sight, out of mind - which is why she didn't have a shred of skin showing despite her preference to show a little.

In spite of the twitch of her lips again she lets out a labored sigh and a roll of her eyes as she motions for him to keep going with the hand that currently isn't still resting on his. ]

Alright, alright, just get on with it. We're losing daylight hours!

[ Hilda knew this script well. The choices she had before her was bursting his proverbial bubble before he actually delivered on the punchline or grand statement that he had planned, or waiting until he did and then bursting his bubble. There's no bubble to burst here though. And it isn't simply because she knows how long he probably thought about it (weeks, since they had found The Wyvern on the rooftop of the workshop). It's also because she still wanted this to be an olive branch and she didn't know where the line was between playful teasing and something that would poke the nerves of the proverbial wyvern was anymore. ]

Khurshid.

[ She says it slowly, mimicking his pronunciation of it like she's trying her best to be delicate with it, to do right by it and the Almyran language. Her eyes flit towards him as if seeking approval - or waiting for notes on correction before allowing herself the smallest of smiles. ]

I like it even if he's usurping my title as your sun and sun.

[ There's another flicker after she speaks, this time of a genuine smile at the same kind of prodding she would've done to make him get to the point of whatever ramble was taking place. Said in those war councils when a strategy explanation went on for too long, or when it was just the two of them and whatever thread he'd come up with to make her laugh took maybe one too many turns. It's something else brushing up against normal which makes him hold onto it the same way one might nurture a candle flame threatening to blow out, to keep this going as long as it can.

And it grows stronger, hearing her repeat the wyvern's new name so carefully and in a way which he can't help but let the smile on his face grow a little wider still - something else to hold dear. ]

No one could ever usurp your title, my stars.

[ The words fly out of his mouth so quickly Claude barely considers them before they're already ringing as loudly as any bell in the space between them, and he pauses again. There's more honesty there than he'd intended to share, what with it not being filtered through no less than five layers of something else first, even though he means it.

There's no one that could replace her even if he'd rather slowly found the threads in the last few things they'd said to each other in the heat of that argument that'd echoed in his mind ever since. A belief he doesn't understand on how it came to be despite obsessively pulling it apart over and over to examine all of it, and Hilda's not explained. Yet, if she means to, or ever unless he asks. Another impasse calling for patience, and Claude lets his gaze fall to their hands.

Only for a moment before he's looking back up at her again; the conversation doesn't need to stop there when there's more to be said. If what needs to be said is adjacent to his own words he's going to sidestep around to loop back to before, he tells himself it's only to give her the out she's likely looking for to not have to say anything back. ]

Anyway, we'll go to Libertas. I'm certain we can find some other things to do while we're there to do in between the shopping or afterwards. It'll be worth looking forward to after all of this.

[ Hearing their silly little nickname hits her with a wave of longing that could have very well knocked her off her feet if she hadn't been sitting down. Nostalgic bitterness coats her tongue and she feels like she has to pretend like she isn't as affected as she is by hearing him say that nothing would ever replace her.

Something strikes her. Seeing Claude and Sylvain happy together, dealing with whatever ensuing jealousy that sparked from that, stumbling over things that Claude used to say to her that would make her heart skip a beat before making it soar, missing his touch and his kisses, daydreaming about the what if's - none of those things would be the most challenging part of what was to come. Rather it's tempering her own expectations and learning how to smother the feelings that hadn't been so much nurtured as they had unexpectedly grown into a burning flame and learning how to be content with however he chose to share himself with her. Being content with this. With being with him, alive, here in this strange world. If she reminds herself of that then she could do this, she thinks.

Tenderly, absently, her thumb brushes against his knuckle a contrast to the snort she gives him. ]

Well if that day ever comes I'll remember that, moon of my life.

[ Her gaze rises in time with his and for a brief moment he might see the flicker of raw, adoring care in her eyes that she has no place to feel anymore before catching herself. It's replaced with the telltale sign of how she looks when she's excited about something. That same barely restrained excitement is palpable in her voice too. ]

Anywhere outside of the loft would be a welcome change. I feel like I've been missing out on so many things being cooped up in here. Not that you two haven't been excellent caretakers, but there's only so much gossip the two of you can provide.

[ The nicknames - Hilda saying his hits like a shockwave when it's only now Claude realizes he'd said hers along with everything else. It'd happened too easily, and that old habit surfacing again meant what it usually did: that it threatens to pry the stones loose from the wall he'd built around everything like he'd ever had a chance of quarantining his feelings away. As if it was possible to sit by her and not feel all of them in their complete range even before the nicknames called them all forth in longing which feels as bone deep as it ever has.

All that practice of keeping a mask firmly in place keeps it from cracking now with no skips in its surface as he continues to gaze back at her when surprise means there was something in her eyes he didn't catch, too slow to look at it properly and give it a name. Maybe that's for the better in case it was something that doesn't fit the things he's dreamed of, all those things also carefully shelved away as he'd tried to pretend they didn't exist.

Better to ground himself with her thumb tracing against his hand - something tangible he can hold onto as he gives into squeezing her hand lightly and with care now. If nothing else, he wants to remember this: her face aglow from those promised plans, the excitement in her voice for something she's looking forward to already, her hand still in his. ]

Are you slandering my ability to bring back adequate gossip? [ A nice moment he's going to ruin because it was tilting towards something too serious even if it was just that in his mind. Claude presses his free hand to his chest while speaking, feigning being wounded as he's done ten, twenty, a hundred times before tonight and so many other nights between the two of them. ] I worked hard on the list I had! It was no small task to curate that down to only the most interesting parts, but I suppose I'd better leave that to the expert when it comes to the two of us. You'll be out of here soon enough.

[ Followed up with the gentlest shoulder bump that's barely a nudge of his to hers, mindful to not jostle her too much and cause more aches than there already are, even if Claude can admit to himself it's for the tiniest bit of additional contact no matter how brief it is. ]

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