[ Wriggling from his grasp in order to stay facing him is easier with alcohol and determination. And after seeing this new smile replace the one that hadn't reached his eyes only spurs that. Even she doesn't have to be sober to recognize that. She doesn't have to be sober to think that she hates seeing that smile.

If she's being honest she doesn't want to move away from the topic they're on. She feels like she's accidentally stumbled onto something that Sylvain will never want to talk about again. The rational part of her desperately tries to dig her heels in but her breath catches in her throat when he brushes his thumb against her cheek. His care and his softness has once again taken her by surprise. Hilda stumbles over it, her heart soaked in disbelief because she can't understand how he doesn't see himself the way she sees him.

Her fingers fist the fabric of his damp shirt. ]

But I'm not talking about me and him. [ There's determination to her voice. ] I'm talking about you and me.

[ She pauses. Maybe he had been so quiet afterwards because he didn't have feelings for her - maybe he had sensed it. Not that she'd blame him. She isn't Claude. She isn't some intriguing puzzle to be solved, not some bright mysterious moon that still sheds brilliant light. Maybe she should just let it be. Despite the uncertainty that fills her, words continue to tumble over her tongue, lubricated by drink. ]

Because I don't want you just for those things you said.