[ As Claude's eyes flutter closed at her touch, she takes a moment to trace over his features that she had long since memorized. It never ceases to make her marvel at how he trusts someone like her enough to let her do something so tender and soft. In her mind she was wholly unremarkable and undeserving - especially after every unforgivable hurt she had put him through. And yet he still thought that she was deserving. That she belonged in some capacity by his side.
The brush of his lips against her palm and the warmth they leave in their wake coaxes her from her thoughts. The familiar feeling of anxiousness and worry that this (this being them, this being his trust) is something he would eventually decide she isn't worthy of anymore - but she tries to draw on his certainty. Tries to draw on the thin thread of bravery she had clutched onto moments before and weave it and the steady warmth from Claude's hand against her cheek into some kind of armor to shield her from the negative voices in her head.
It's easy for her to assume that what he says is meant for the Deer - safer, even. But even with that said, something akin to pride wells in her chest at how far he's come to admit that. She could say as much. In fact, she could say a number of countless things that should eventually be said: how lucky she was to have met him, to have seen him grow into a leader she'd give her life for. How, perhaps, some version of her had and would in every timeline - without question, without hesitation.
But sometimes actions speak louder than words. As Claude leans in, lips parted in a silent question mark, she answers him in kind. Without question; without hesitation.
When she does eventually pull away her lips linger against his, eyes still closed, awash in his breathing. ]
Can I sleep here tonight? I'll even let you read some of that book to me.
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The brush of his lips against her palm and the warmth they leave in their wake coaxes her from her thoughts. The familiar feeling of anxiousness and worry that this (this being them, this being his trust) is something he would eventually decide she isn't worthy of anymore - but she tries to draw on his certainty. Tries to draw on the thin thread of bravery she had clutched onto moments before and weave it and the steady warmth from Claude's hand against her cheek into some kind of armor to shield her from the negative voices in her head.
It's easy for her to assume that what he says is meant for the Deer - safer, even. But even with that said, something akin to pride wells in her chest at how far he's come to admit that. She could say as much. In fact, she could say a number of countless things that should eventually be said: how lucky she was to have met him, to have seen him grow into a leader she'd give her life for. How, perhaps, some version of her had and would in every timeline - without question, without hesitation.
But sometimes actions speak louder than words. As Claude leans in, lips parted in a silent question mark, she answers him in kind. Without question; without hesitation.
When she does eventually pull away her lips linger against his, eyes still closed, awash in his breathing. ]
Can I sleep here tonight? I'll even let you read some of that book to me.