theidlemaiden | — open post

You think it's—

[Wait a minute. This feels like a trap. He tips his head slightly, squinting one eye as he tries to read her expression.

Yeah, she's definitely playing coy. He knows her well enough to be able to tell, for the most part. He knows what a sincere Hilda Valentine Goneril looks and sounds like, and this isn't it— although she's clearly enjoying herself, whatever her aim.]

Come on! It's our anniversary. Pretty big deal, if you ask me.

[Mostly because it's with her, but long-term relationships generally weren't a thing in his life. He doesn't have a lot of experience in this area, but he's definitely enjoyed the opportunity for them to figure it out together.]

[ A giggle escapes her lips having been found out. Instead of pouting though, something that looks like pride glints in her mischievous eyes. Hilda knows that despite the many times she’s exasperatedly called Balthus dumb, she doesn’t actually think that (except for the moments when he’s interacting with Holst and then it really is like watching two brain cells having the time of their lives). Is he the cleverest person she knows? No, but brains don’t make a person any less loveable and it certainly doesn’t make her love him any less. ]

Is it really?

[ It’s impossible for her to keep the charade up. The coy mask dissolves as quickly as it arrived, and she’s giving him a huge squeeze, pressing herself into him. When she pulls back, the brilliant smile has less to do with the prospect of any present he’s promised and more to do with just how much she loves him. ]

I’m so glad you remembered, Baltie. I just can’t believe it’s been a whole year.

[He can't help but be pleased with himself as she pulls herself against him; she's met with both of his strong arms encircling her and giving her a secure but careful squeeze before she pulls back and he meets her grin with one of his own— he doesn't always get things right, but he's damn well determined to get today right, no matter what it takes.]

Flown by, huh? I mean, guess we've been pretty busy...

[There's the war and all, and everything stemming from that isn't exactly going to be tied up neatly with one of her fashionable little bows, but having each other makes a hell of a difference. He's practically beaming at her in response; it hadn't taken much for her to make an honest man out of him, in the end. He'd been stuck on her pretty damn quick, even if he hadn't realized it for awhile.]

Couldn't have asked to spend it with anyone better. So— ready for your present?

[He's going to guess yes. He can't imagine her waiting until after tea.]

You mean you aren't my present?

[ Her lashes flutter playfully. Which is to say, yes of course she wants to see her present because more than the object itself, the anticipation of a present, the knowledge that someone had put thought into picking something just for her, fills her with joy.

Except over the year together, she has quietly come to realize that even if there is no present and it's just Balthus here in front of her, she would have been just as content. The year and time he had given her day after day had been gift enough and she hopes that it would remain that way for a very long time.

She doesn't pull away, arms still wrapped lovingly around him because being by him outweighs the prospect of holding a wrapped gift. Pink lips curve into an expectant, cheeky grin as she closes one eye. ]

Should I close my eyes? Cover them? Do you trust that I won't peek?

Nah.

[To all of it, though her line of questioning gets a laugh out of him, loud and deep-chested as ever.]

I’m not completely without class. I wrapped it!

[Or more specifically, he had it wrapped, which is obvious enough when he pulls a little gift box out of the satchel that hangs from his belt, wrapped neatly in soft, rose-pink paper with gold trimmings. Whoever had handled it had far nimbler hands and a gentler touch than his; he knows full well he would have made a mess of it. He holds it out to her in offering, keeping one arm around her shoulders to keep her snuggled close.]

Here— open it. I don’t know about fashion the way you do, but I saw it and it made me think of you. Had to get it.

[When she does open the box, she’ll find a delicate bracelet of rose-gold links with leaves made of soft pink gems, designed to resemble a vine. Seemed fitting, for a self-proclaimed “delicate flower.”]

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