[ They're so close to being rid of each other - or so he tells himself knowing that's how he should be feeling right now after all of Hilda's attempts to cast him off making it seemingly crystal clear there could be no other possibilities. All he feels instead is regret blended with glooms which threatens to take over anything else. His goal had been to get away from her, sure. It was the shifting of all the other pieces into place to form a better picture that'd made it feel like something else entirely.
Claude cracks an automatic smile at her joke, hardly a placeholder for anything else than it is to keep conversation moving. Maybe Cyprian's been stuck in the warehouse before himself and needed a way out is what he might've answered if he felt like joking, but it hardly seems fitting now. Instead he watches as she readies herself at the edge and tells himself he feels nothing at all. That the smile on his face is an unshakeable mask from all those years of practice honing it to be, and he can think about all of this later when he can put some distance between feeling like he's barely holding himself together at the seams and whenever that might be when it seems it won't be for a long while yet. ]
On the count of three again since usually works well for us.
[ This isn't anything like before, he reminds himself. It's something else where finality looms close as he stretches out his arms again to give her a vague target of where to jump to with the intent on making sure she lands in one piece. After this something he'd never imagined except for in the barest admission to himself there was always the chance she could walk away and nothing more when it was too painful to consider happening.
And yet: here it is. He counts to three when it looks like she's ready, and then waits. ]
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Claude cracks an automatic smile at her joke, hardly a placeholder for anything else than it is to keep conversation moving. Maybe Cyprian's been stuck in the warehouse before himself and needed a way out is what he might've answered if he felt like joking, but it hardly seems fitting now. Instead he watches as she readies herself at the edge and tells himself he feels nothing at all. That the smile on his face is an unshakeable mask from all those years of practice honing it to be, and he can think about all of this later when he can put some distance between feeling like he's barely holding himself together at the seams and whenever that might be when it seems it won't be for a long while yet. ]
On the count of three again since usually works well for us.
[ This isn't anything like before, he reminds himself. It's something else where finality looms close as he stretches out his arms again to give her a vague target of where to jump to with the intent on making sure she lands in one piece. After this something he'd never imagined except for in the barest admission to himself there was always the chance she could walk away and nothing more when it was too painful to consider happening.
And yet: here it is. He counts to three when it looks like she's ready, and then waits. ]