[ She's holding her breath up until the moment her lets her go. Hilda tells herself that it has nothing to do with the contact and being so close to him, and everything to do with having just leapt into his arms while he stood on a pile of crates.

Gracefully she climbs off after him, quietly mirroring his thoughts. While no part of him existed in the new spaces she had created for herself, she still feels his presence. It's annoying how it has soaked through to her bones. How no matter how much effort she puts in to forget him (more effort than she's ever put into forgetting someone), she can't shake him.

Could she? And if so, how? Did she want to?

She's pulled from thoughts, belatedly realizing she had been staring at the back of his head. It could probably be played off like she's staring down the alleyway and the crowd that passes by on the other side, blissfully unaware about her strife and the awkwardness at the other end. ]

As long as those crates don't move. Otherwise I'll have a further way to fall than just into your arms.

[ Briefly she lapses into silence, feet leaden and heavy again. ]

I should go tell Cyprian and get my things. Are you planning on heading back into the warehouse?

[ If he were, she could make up an excuse to linger in the workshop until he was done. How else did you say goodbye to someone you weren't speaking to? ]