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[ Her unexpected statement has his fingers fumbling for a moment on the laces, but fortunately she’s well distracted with the task he’d given her and misses it entirely. Casting a momentary glance up at her, he shakes his head with a crooked smile and goes back to unlacing her boots, stripping her of one and then the other before moving on to her stockings.

By the time she gets off her dress and corset, leaving only her slip, he has the rest of it off and the tub is nearly full. At her gleeful exclamation, he chuckles and ruffles a hand over her hair, mussing it with a smirk. ]

You did, indeed. I knew you could do it. Alright, sweet, come on. Your bath awaits.

[ Leaning in, he scoops her up into his arm and spins her towards the bath, moving to lower her into the steaming, sweet-scented water. ]

[ There's barely time to react to the ruffle and mussing of her hair because the grounding presence of the counter is gone. Her "Wait!" turns into a squeal as she's spun around. ]

Sylvain no, I'm in my shift still!

[ It's said like getting her clothes wet would be the biggest offence. She wiggles in his arms, tugging the shift over her hips, over her torso before it's pulled clumsily over her head, not caring that her hair is mussed more in the process or that her breasts are on full display. Her hands go to tug her panties off without a second thought, lifting her hips just enough so that she's left fully naked with the same proud smile on her face. ]

Okay, now you can put me in the bath.

[ He manages not to laugh, but barely, and when she turns to him, victorious in having lost the last of her clothing, his lips are still twitching from stifling his amusement. ]

As her Highness demands.

[ Carefully, he lowers her down into the bath, ignoring the fact that it gets his own shirt drenched in the process. ]

[ The water feels luxurious on her skin and she sinks right in, momentarily missing that his shirt has become soaked in the process. When she does turn to look back at him, she notices the soaked fabric and a furrow appears between her brows. Before he can straighten up, her fingers find purchase on his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

Her momentary triumph at being able to remove her clothing hasn't completely erased the fact that she doesn't want him to go or that she's been an inconvenience to him. ]

Did I do that? [ Hilda hands immediately finds the buttons on his shirt. ] I puked on your pants and got your shirt wet - I should be the one bathing you. [ The first button is undone with relative ease. ] Come here.

[ He stills, so surprised by her movement that it catches him completely off-guard and gives her the chance to get his first button undone, and then the second. His hands come up to catch her wrists again before she can go further, giving a low laugh as he does so. ]

It’s fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to wash everything anyway, so it was going to get soaked sooner or later. Let’s get you cleaned up first and we can worry about the clothes later on.

[ The pout on her face is immediate, mingled with a flash of hurt in her expression that she isn't entirely aware of. Not that she has any real reason to. Rational Hilda would know that she's not being rejected, but the middling effects of the alcohol hadn't helped matters. Thankfully it makes it just as easy to brush aside the sliver of hurt in exchange for more of a pout.

She twists her wrists out his grasp with the grace of someone who had been taught how before both hands cling onto his shirt. ]

No, please? There's so much room. [ There's a brief pause as her eyes search his. ] And I miss you.

[ He doesn't really struggle when she tugs her wrists free of his grip, or when she latches onto the front of his shirt again. Her words, however, do give him pause, and he blinks down at her pout, feeling that sudden stab of hurt that he knows wasn't his own.

Careful, Gautier.

His expression softens as he reaches out a hand and brushes his fingertips against her jaw once more. ]

I'm right here, Hilda. I'm not going anywhere. Let me take care of you, okay?

[ The time in which it takes her to decide to step up can't be more than a few seconds in reality, but it feels like an eternity. At the same time it's too fast because it's more apparent than ever their goal is within (relative) reach, at which point... then what? He leaves to head back to the merchant, and Hilda either stays here, because she's staying here, or disappears to somewhere else within Cadens again?

The latter feels so much worse than it had when he'd been stealing his way through the warehouse's semi-shadows towards the door. When it'd felt easier to leave that behind like it didn't mean anything, like it hadn't had any cause and had spontaneously developed, and like it wasn't real if he just didn't pay attention to it. But now the thoughts rattle all around his mind with no resolution, and become even louder when her hand's in his. Practice keeps his face from flinching when the weight of it slipping into his grasp feels achingly familiar and for a second Claude stares at their hands like it's something he needs to memorize. As if that memory wasn't already taunting him while he's still living it.

And - oh. He hadn't actually thought this part through besides lifting Hilda up being a method of securing a way out, and he has to blink again to force his mind back into motion. A strange feeling and not one he's encountered often before, but fitting in all the worst ways for how it's ground to a halt now. ]

Which one would you prefer? We'll go with that.

[ One of those relies on a lot more trust than the other, after all, and he's not going to assume she has any of that towards him anymore. It'd be easier to let her climb up, and probably safer, but he'll leave that up to her to decide as he shifts his gaze to the window. ]

[ If she stops to think about her hurt, turn it over and dissect it, she would see that it mingles with guilt. She has no right to tell him she misses him after she had told him she didn't want him. There's no guarantee that he even likes her like that.

Just because he's kind and caring doesn't translate into affection. Is she being selfish? Is this mean? It would track with her recent behaviour. None of these things manage to make it to the surface with her drunken haze.

What does register however is the touch of his fingertips against her lips and the tender, soft quality of it that makes her want to cry. Her grip loosens on his shirt, gathering his hand in hers so she can press kisses to each of his fingertips. Another thought swims beneath the haze trying to break through, but she doesn't dwell on it either too focused on pressing apologetic kisses to him. ]

Okay.

[ Instead she offers him a conditional in exchange, murmured against his hands. ]

Only if you let me take care of you after. And only if you take your shirt off. You're going to catch a cold and then someone is going to get mad at me.

Edited (I saw a typo don't look at me or the timestamp ) 2023-07-28 07:44 (UTC)

[ There's an ease to how well their hands fit together and there's that feeling again, rising up unbidden like a reaction she wishes she could rid herself of. A simple touch shouldn't elicit such a feeling of desire and want, but she feels the wave crash over her, threatening to drag her under. Everything is still unsteady, her centre of gravity off after they had fallen from the boxes and seen the jewelry box he had given her fall too. Coming with that uncertainty is that feeling of goodbye, like this is somehow the last time she'll ever feel his arms around her or her hand in his.

It takes everything in her power not to tighten her grip, to hold on so that he can never let go. To focus on the conversation and task at hand.

Both options aren't ideal, but she's further away from the latch on the window than he is thanks to her lack of height and he's just a couple of inches short from being able to nudge it open with his hand. ]

I'm not sure I'll be able to reach it if I'm just being boosted into your hands but we can try that first. It's probably less risky than me climbing onto your shoulders too.

[ The tumble they had taken earlier hadn't been that bad, but if she were on top of his shoulders - that was just further to fall. ]

[ If his mind was working properly instead of reeling around one topic to another and back again between them all, Claude might've noticed it seems like they're having similar reactions to the idea of leaving. To not wanting to let go, whether it's of something going unsaid or each others' hands or whatever else. Or maybe he does see it and sets it aside in the same breath because that's assigning too much meaning to things he now knows are no longer what he'd hoped, and there's only so long he can use hope as a weapon against himself.

The window is something tangible even if it's not in their reach. At least that's something to work towards than anything that won't be. Claude nods, still doing his best to not be pulled too off-kilter beneath what he knows are poor facsimiles of his usual ability to remain unflappable in the face of unimaginable chaos. Fitting, in some ways, given that he'd never predicted any of this in all those carefully laid out plans. ]

On the count of three, then?

[ That's the best way to go about it, surely, to make sure they're on the same page before he lifts her up. This is also familiar but more from late nights of looking in the monastery's kitchen cabinets for something, or to climb over a wall to get away from Seteth, or to climb into somewhere they shouldn't be. All those memories rush forward with the strength of any avalanche and put him in peril of being buried beneath their surfaces as he gets down on one knee with fingers laced, ready to start the countdown to lift her towards where they need to go and where it feels like he'll be left with only memories and nothing past this. ]

[ Focusing on the window makes it easier not to acknowledge how their hands slipping from one another's makes the wound he had left behind ache. Or how him asking her an incredibly simple question feels like a countdown towards another ending that she would realize with a startling clarity she doesn't want.

Claude kneeling down in order to boost her up in an all too familiar way overlaps in her mind's eye with memories from their now distant past. She can't help but be reminded that the first time they had tried to do this she had stepped on a tender spot on his thigh sending them collapsing to the ground in a heap of laughter. There's no chance of that today though. Hilda gives him a nod, pushing the numbers past her lips. ]

One, two, three -

[ Hilda steps into his hands, arms outstretched. Thanks to the momentum from Claude, one hand easily grasps the ledge to steady herself while the other stretches out, taking a hold of the latch. It unhooks with ease. The window is pushed out and with a strength she'd deny she has, Hilda pushes herself up onto the edge before flipping around to sit on it. And without thinking, the grin she gives him is bright and triumphant. Or at least she hopes it is. Gazing down at him, she suddenly has to fight the, overwhelming urge to cry. Words stumble over her tongue and past her teeth, injected with so much faux brightness that it even sounds incredibly fake to her. ]

Not bad, Claude. The second best archer hasn't let himself go.

Edited 2023-07-28 07:36 (UTC)

[ It works, and he really shouldn't be feeling as sad about that as he is. What's the alternative - that they stay in here in whatever uncertainty's permeated everything past animosity? In another life, they would've celebrated this successful plot they came up with in seconds with no one believing it but them even if there wasn't anyone else around like right now. That's how it should be now, but it's not and the chances of that happening again seem so unlikely.

That too stiff smile comes back to his face when it's all he can summon up as he boosts her up and she lands in the window without any further trouble. It's a poor match to that dazzling grin which makes her whole face aglow. There's a second where he wants to memorize that sight too before Claude catches himself and stops - that'd just be another way to wound himself by picturing it again later, and he's supposed to be letting all of that go. ]

Well, I do what I can. Not just anyone can make it so effortless, you know.

[ The air of straddling the fine line between confidence and cockiness makes it into his voice even if he doesn't exactly feel it himself right then, but it's there for appearances' sake to this time be in sync with what she'd said even if he doesn't entirely believe it either. Falling into old routines back from a different time before they'd known each other feels easier to grab onto right then as he looks back at the wall and finds something that'll work as a foothold as he holds a hand up to her again. ]

Give me a hand up, will you? Then we can be out of here.

[ Her momentary praise is reminiscent of days gone by. Of a dynamic they used to have and might never have again. Seeing the stony smile on his face only confirms that she had made an awful mistake even trying to lighten the mood. Discomfort creeps across her skin and the urge to cry becomes that much more apparent; the familiar feeling of real tears pricks at the corner of her eyes and she has to will them away by reminding herself that she'd be out of his hair soon enough.

Were this any other moment than what felt like a finality to their relationship, what Claude had said would have been a perfect opportunity for banter, for her to say something witty that would make the gold in his green eyes dance. And even though the desire to see that is still there, even if it's one last time, she hesitates. There's no guarantee that would be the outcome anyway. And if it did, then, would that make all of this more painful than it already is?

Claude's outstretched hand decides it for her. What did she have to lose? Maybe it would be the deserving bittersweet ending to something she had held dear to her for so long. Maybe after that something else new would grow in its place. ]

Alright but we're going to have to rely on your second best archer muscles because I [ She pauses dramatically for effect, flipping her hair over her shoulder and slipping easily back into a persona they both know all too well. ] am a delicate flower.

[ And before she can second guess herself, her hands grasp his, hauling him up beside her onto the ledge. ]

[ It's not lost on Claude as he holds his hand aloft that Hilda could simply say no. If they're really so intent on getting away from each other - something he only is because he's convinced she feels the same - it'd take but a second for her to slip out of the window and leave him right here. Admittedly, there's a fairly good chance he'd deserve that for multiple reasons. It only now occurs to him he could've just sent Sylvain a message via that mind writing and spared them both from all of this, assuming the man in question wasn't busy.

Nothing to do about that now as he waits and seconds tick by into what feels like something so much longer before she moves her hair. As always the impulse to reach up and run his fingers through it is a strong one he ignores, willing it away when it absolutely has no place here and won't again. If there's the slightest shift in his smile towards something less impassive over a familiar refrain before she deems something worth doing anyway, Claude certainly doesn't notice it.

Her pull is as strong as ever, and with that foothold spotted before it gives him the leverage to pull himself up to the free space next to her, letting go of her hands as soon as he's sure of his seat. ]

I think it's hard to say whose muscles came in handier just then, but let's call it something like teamwork.

[ That hits more at a usual teasing tone, and this is the part where he should open the window and simply duck out of it. There's no reason to stay, not when Hilda's made it clear by his estimation that his company is something she no longer wants. Staying just draws the inevitable out for longer as he pauses with fingers wrapped around the handle to peer out through the wavy glass at what's outside. ]

Looks like there's some more boxes stacked up out here and taller than what we'd managed so it won't be nearly as far of a drop down on the way out.

[ Sitting beside him so closely feels so much like how they had sat together on the Aquila beach after they had successfully launched that stranded jellyfish out to sea. She's well aware that this setting is quite literally nothing like it.There's no sunset, no warm sand beneath their feet, no ocean breeze rustling through their hair. They most certainly aren't on good terms either.

The similarities she draws has little to do with all of the above and everything to do with Claude's allusion to team work. They did make a good team. They had made a good team.

So much of her life after leaving Goneril and attending the Academy revolved around seeking excitement and adventure - things she couldn't ever have under Holst's watchful but loving gaze. Claude had given her that in spades and had turned out to fit so perfectly into her life like someone had written it into the stars. But along the way, she realized that being by his side, even if it was just quietly basking in a content glow, filled her cup just as much as ridiculous plans and adventures did. She hopes that her smile doesn't falter even as the echo of a teasing tone from him is enough to make her heart shake. ]

Let's just say they were yours.

[ Because, what muscles?

She joins him in peering through the glass, unable to push the window open when he's got his hand on the handle. Secretly, a small part of her is relieved as it clings onto whatever is left of their time together. ]

It's still a drop though. One of us should probably head out first to make sure the other lands safely.

[ Read: Preferably not her. ]

[ There's the old temptation to roll his eyes as Hilda more or less denies doing the bulk of the work there when there's no real way he could even spin it to make it seem like it was his doing alone. But that'd require them to be on better terms, for something else to have taken place like when she'd tease him about putting on some front she could tell was obviously false or any number of things he's having to remind himself will stay past tense. Not because they happened in the past, either, but because they won't happen again.

It's the sort of thought Claude's still desperately trying to put aside no matter how much it keeps looming over everything, and doing so (somehow) requires opening the window. At first it sticks but some carefully targeted jostling loosens it to crack open a bit and so he can press both palms to move it out of the way enough to where it won't catch on their clothing. Something else from all those times they'd made it into places where they shouldn't have been even as he pushes that nostalgia away when it doesn't belong. ]

You can just say I should do it, you know.

[ In another life that would've hit a different note, could've been another opening to another round of playful teasing in ongoing rounds as volleys back and forth, but now he can't muster up anything other than something far blander. Teasing doesn't have a place here in whatever this is, and he hasn't yet figured out how to define it or how he's supposed to behave. Nothing was ever in his plans for this.

Claude swings one leg out of the window to perch on the outside of the building as he takes a second to blink in the sunlight, then goes about turning himself around to lower himself down. The distance now is less than it'd looked through the window as he appraises it before letting go while holding his breath until he lands on the crates below. They're sturdier than their stack, what with far more of them being there, though he deliberately tests this one far more than the one inside to make sure neither of them fall from this height when there's still a climb down from here. ]

Looks like we're in luck and Cyprian just saves his far better crates for out here for some reason.

[ He just arches an eyebrow at this outlandish statement, his lips twitching in amusement. ]

Sweetheart. You’re still talking to the heir of Gautier. Who’s currently stuck in the desert. I’m not about to be done in by a wet shirt in the middle of summer. [ He bops a fingertip against the tip of her nose. ] But if you wanted to ogle me, all you had to do was say so.

[ That, at least, is an easy enough thing to joke about, as he’s been making it most of his life. ]

[ Her nose immediately wrinkles at the nose boop and she pulls away mid-kiss from his hand to pout at him. ]

I do want to ogle you but that's not what - [ She shakes her head, tongue stumbling over words. ] I mean why.

[ The gentle press of her lips against his fingers resumes as the pout fades but still lingers in her voice. ]

I'm worried about you. I don't want you to get sick because you do so much to care for us but what have I done for you? [ The pout in her voice gives way to a thick quality, like she's trying to swallow a lump in her throat. More words stumble past her lips as she presses a lingering kiss to his palm. ] I really care about you, you know? I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night because I dream about how you looked in the Horizon and I never want to see that happen again.

[ Her words are enough to have him stilling again, not expecting such a serious answer from her. His gaze softens as he slides his hand free and then brings it to rest against the nape of her neck. Bending his head forward, he rests his forehead against her own. ]

You’ve done more than you think, Sweetheart. But I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was still haunting you. Look. [ He takes her hands, slides them against his shoulders as he rests his own over hers. ] I’m not hurt. I’m right here. Just a little damp is all. You don’t have to fret over anything else tonight, okay?

[ Her breath hitches at his touch. Automatically she nuzzles closer to him, her other hand going to tenderly cup his cheek. Even in her drunken state, she doesn't think that she's done anything at all except cause trouble, made things difficult for him, been awful, petty and jealous, and lied to him when she said she wouldn't.

When he pulls her hands away, tension fills her body as if it viscerally fears that he's pulling away. Her fingertips linger, wanting to hold onto him as long as humanly possible. When she realizes what he's doing, her body immediately relaxes as he guides their hands down his shoulders. Through the damp fabric of his shirt, she can feel the muscles there, how strong, warm and sturdy he is. How good he is. It's grounding and after a moment she nods, pressing the lightest of kisses his nose.

Hilda keeps her forehead pressed against his. A beat later she slides her hands over the curve of his shoulders, folding her arms around his neck to draw him close. ]

Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who's sorry.

[ He lets her pull him in, even if he has to lean against the edge of the tub to keep from being unbalanced completely. He chuckles quietly though, soothing his hands up and down her bare arms. ]

How ‘bout we forbid anyone from being sorry tonight, hmm? It’s way too late at night for that. Lean back, Sweet, let me wash your hair, okay?

[ And he gives a tug against her as he pulls back, his hands siding up to start working her hair free of how she’d pinned it up for the day. ]

It's not that late. There's plenty of time for other things.

[ What those things are exactly never come to light. Her mumbled protest is weak but she allows herself to be pulled back against the tub. Her silence should be enough of an indication that she agrees there won't be any more sorry's this evening – at least for the next little while.

The feel of Sylvain's fingers in her hair only further aids in dissipating the tension from her body. As he does, she pulls herself into a little ball, hugging her arms around her legs. Absently her thoughts wander, wondering and worrying if he believes her when she says she cares or if they'll be dismissed as nothing more than words that she's tossed around in the past. If that is the case izt would serve her right, she thinks. ]

[ His fingers let down her hair before wetting it and starting to massage shampoo into the long locks, massaging her scalp at the same time. Trying to get her to relax, because he can practically feel the unhappiness radiating from her right now. ]

You’re thinking very loudly for someone who’s supposed to be relaxing and enjoying themselves.

[ Once the shampoo begins being worked into her hair and the faint smell of peonies joins the medley of scents, Hilda finds herself getting lost deeper and deeper into her own thoughts. Sylvain's words rouse her from them. And while they don't startle her, what he says earns a small genuine gasp of surprise as she cranes her neck around to look at him. ]

Since when could you read minds?

[ In another scenario she wouldn't be so earnest with her question. After all, as far as she's aware he can't but her imagination is already in the habit of spinning silly possibilities that aided with the help of drink, drags her towards an endless vortex of 'what if's'. Belatedly her question more or less gives away that she had in fact been thinking about things and she's quick to try and cover it up. ]

I'm not thinking anything at all. You said there wasn't supposed to be any more apologizing tonight so what else am I supposed to do?

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