Maybe the nine hundredth year would've been the one to really do us all in.
[ There's a lack of humor behind those words considering that joke falls flat for so many reasons. That Hilda moves to turn over is a good distraction; it gives him time to contemplate her answer, to peer beneath it for what isn't being said even if it's agreement being offered. Agreement that's a relief to him when it settles something he hadn't known he was looking to hear as she entwines the two of them together again. Claude slides an arm beneath her pillow to cradle her head and let that hand rest against her shoulder in one more way to keep them folded together as his other arm returns to her waist.
It's after some careful consideration of her expression, taking in each and every detail of that so cherished face he'd memorized so long ago while absently running some loose strands of pink hair through his fingertips in another familiar pattern on their late nights before - in every before and after, Claude thinks, like all of those lives were meant to lead here - and finds what to ask first. ]
What's on your mind?
[ My love, he would've added once in those times which had both happened and were mere imagination though they've not been uttered in the present before. But the sentiment - that part has never changed, never wavered. Not now, not before when they'd rent each other's hearts over a misunderstanding or in the possible future where it'd happened again at his hands. Two words meant to fall into place at the end of that question and so much so Claude nearly adds them anyway before catching himself with only the smallest breath to hint the space where they belonged.
He doesn't add them even if they continue to sit behind his teeth. The question is left as it is with ten thousand answers he could supply if it was asked to him, but he waits to hear what Hilda will tell him in her own time. ]
no subject
[ There's a lack of humor behind those words considering that joke falls flat for so many reasons. That Hilda moves to turn over is a good distraction; it gives him time to contemplate her answer, to peer beneath it for what isn't being said even if it's agreement being offered. Agreement that's a relief to him when it settles something he hadn't known he was looking to hear as she entwines the two of them together again. Claude slides an arm beneath her pillow to cradle her head and let that hand rest against her shoulder in one more way to keep them folded together as his other arm returns to her waist.
It's after some careful consideration of her expression, taking in each and every detail of that so cherished face he'd memorized so long ago while absently running some loose strands of pink hair through his fingertips in another familiar pattern on their late nights before - in every before and after, Claude thinks, like all of those lives were meant to lead here - and finds what to ask first. ]
What's on your mind?
[ My love, he would've added once in those times which had both happened and were mere imagination though they've not been uttered in the present before. But the sentiment - that part has never changed, never wavered. Not now, not before when they'd rent each other's hearts over a misunderstanding or in the possible future where it'd happened again at his hands. Two words meant to fall into place at the end of that question and so much so Claude nearly adds them anyway before catching himself with only the smallest breath to hint the space where they belonged.
He doesn't add them even if they continue to sit behind his teeth. The question is left as it is with ten thousand answers he could supply if it was asked to him, but he waits to hear what Hilda will tell him in her own time. ]