[ The boop is met with an annoyed scrunch of her face that he'll see in full force when he tugs it up to make her look at him. ]
Sylvain Jose Gautier, you didn't just full name me!
[ The protest is merely a means of prolonging her reply to something that made her heart hope for more than it should be allowed to. Why hadn't it learned yet that sentimental never ended well for her? Had it so quickly forgotten that she still had the burns from Claude to prove it?
Her mind tells her heart it should know better than to hinge something so simple on things like words. It reminds her that she is not Claude, she will never be Claude, and that if Sylvain cared for him in the way she's sure he does, then he could never possibly care for her in the same way. This kindness is too much. Her heavy heart might shatter.
An annoyed growl flutters from her lips as she playfully shoves his face away once he bites her nose. ]
You are - we talked about this. And I'm not making you something just because you feel bad that I'm upset about this earring.
[ The word comes out pointed and succinct as he holds her gaze, not letting her look away from him. ]
Because that’s not why I want one. I want one because it’s something you made for me and I’m selfish like that. I want one because you- [ He interrupts his own explanation to place a purposeful kiss on her lips. Not teasing and playful this time. No, there’s far more poured into this one that he can’t put into words.
When he pulls back, he finishes his statement, his voice softer this time, but the look in his eyes is sincere as he catches her gaze once more. ]
Because you are just as important to me and I want something to show that, too.
[ It's tempting to ask why then if he wanted something from her why he didn't keep that stupid hat - but any snark is quickly swallowed up by the press of his lips against hers. The kiss isn't one just to shut her up. She knows what those kisses feel like and this isn't that.
There's something more to it, an earnestness that she's terrified to read into because it feels like kindling that could easily stoke the flames of her hope that she's trying desperately to stamp out. Easier said than done when they're pressed up together like this and she can feel his heartbeat through the palms of her hands. A kiss is a kiss, she reminds herself. It wouldn't mean anything unless she made something of it.
And if she isn't assigning meaning, if she's trying to turn a blind eye to this kiss, then that also means she shouldn't be assigning anything to the look he's giving her, right? How can she not when he's looking at her the way she had seen him look at Claude that night of the gala? Hilda feels her heart lurch and creak in her chest as she looks into his eyes, feeling breathless from a kiss that didn't make her heart hope, that didn't make it feel like she was floating and light, that didn't make it feel like the world was just them and these sheets.
Her gaze lingers on amber eyes more warm and light than any precious stone. Breath returns to her and her protest comes out as a barely audible exhale as her eyes flit away before her eyes mist over from the undeserving kindness he's showing her. ]
We'll see.
[ But they both know that she's softer for him than she can voice at this moment. ]
[ He flops back over onto his back with a dramatic sigh, flopping one arm over his eyes in playful dismay. Although the other arm is still keeping her anchored against him. Just in case. ]
Ouch. She’s doubting my pinky promise already and it hasn’t even been five minutes.
[ Sylvain's dramatics gets the sort of reaction he's probably hoping for and she gasps, rolling up to perch her arm on his chest to look down at him. She's too sensitive right now, too worried about offending and feeling like she's on the precipice of crying from the storm of feelings that currently whirl in her heart ]
I'm not! I just - [ She cuts herself short, worry shining in her eyes as her hand gently grasps the wrist of the arm covering his face to remove it. She's just what? Trying not to get her hopes up about this? Trying to dissuade him from something that she's certain will only serve to distract him from the person that he really cares for? All the explanations feel like too much for her to attempt to explain to him without just outright embarrassing herself. ] it's a lot of pressure to just ask me to make something.
What if you hate it?
[ It's not like he's picking this hypothetical thing out. And if he didn't like it and it didn't suit him, she didn't want him wearing it out of obligation. ]
[ The smile only serves to fill her with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. She's drunk but she's not drunk enough to have that escape her attention. ]
I might if you're going to laugh at me.
[ Where she would even get that amount of material to make an earring large enough is beyond her. At that point it would be a shield. And why she's even considering this seriously is a good indication that she's still, in fact pretty drunk. ]
I'm serious. I don't want you to wear something just because you feel obligated to. I want you to wear it because you like it but I don't want you to lie to me about it either.
[ He reaches up to drag her down onto his chest once more. ]
Do I need to make another pinky promise that this has nothing to do with feeling obligated? I don’t feel obligated. Trust me, if I did? I’d be complaining about it a whole lot more. [ ….which probably doesn't say good things about his opinion of the former hat, may it forever rest in peace pieces. ] I promise not to lie to you about whether I like it or not. But I’m pretty sure if you make me a pretty earring you think I’ll like, I trust that I’ll like it.
[ There's no resistance as he pulls her down onto his chest. She presses the side of her face just over his heart and closes her eyes. The sounds of a pout still linger in her voice but she seems more resigned than she had been before. ]
Even if I make something really sparkly and dangling?
[ She'd never. Not for him at least. It wasn't very practical considering he spent so much time in the desert and at the stables. Something incredibly shiny and sparkly might look like an attractive snack to a horse or whatever creatures scuttled out in the desert. She'd had her earrings tugged on by Waffle and had her long hair caught in them enough times to know how painful that could be.
If she was going to make him anything, it'd sit close to his body so that there wasn't any chance of it snagging on anything - hair, clothing, the environment. And it would have to compliment the other earring she thinks - although that thought kicks up a swirl of mixed feelings. ]
[ He just chuckles and strokes his fingers through her hair soothingly when she lays her cheek down atop his chest. Coaxing her to relax as he tugs a sheet up over them. Tucks her in against him. ]
Even if it’s sparkly and dangly. I bet I can make it work.
[ The soft flutter of the sheet being drawn atop of them adds another layer of warmth. That combined with the feeling of his arms feels like an invitation to close her eyes. As they do her arms slowly wrap around him in turn, pressing their bodies close. ]
If there's anyone that could, it would be you. But it wouldn't be very practical.
[ Words that she never thought that would come out of her mouth.
She lapses into silence then, allowing the beat of his heart to soothe her, soaking up the warmth that she feels like will eventually slip through her fingers. Quietly she asks - ]
[ Sylvain's answer brings with it a quiet blanket of content that drapes gently across her heavy heart. It's difficult for her not to feel some level of happiness at hearing that, and even more difficult to stop herself from squeezing him tightly in the process all thoughts of leaving for the Old Public Hall and the couch in her office that had become her bed most nights also drifting away in the process.
As her eyes grow heavy and sleep calls to her, several thoughts float through her mind: she hopes that Claude won't hold it against her for wanting this last, selfish thing, that she'll still have the courage to tell Sylvain how she feels and that her heart won't shatter when the inevitable end arrives and that she'll be a better friend to the both of them tomorrow and the days after that.
Her head nuzzles into just over his heart finally drifting off to sleep.
When she wakes the next morning, the previous day is hazy in her mind and there's a dryness to her mouth that is always a clear indication of having drank a little too much. It doesn't register immediately that she's curled up in Sylvain's arms, or that she's even sharing a bed with him. She blinks several times in confusion as her vision comes into focus as she glances down to the arms wrapped around her before her eyes travel lower realizing with a slow horror that she's completely naked underneath the sheets.
Her eyes blow wide open then as she shifts, twisting around to see who it is holding her. Is it a good thing that it's Sylvain holding her? Is it worse than waking up beside a stranger? The better question is why he's holding her in the first place in her bed, in the loft? And that's when last night comes rushing back to her - all the drinks, crying into Marshy's mane, Sylvain finding her, her puking on Sylvain. Hilda inhales. Oh Goddess, she puked on Sylvain.
Hilda scrambles backwards, forcing herself out of Sylvain's arms in a panic - and immediately falls out of the bed with a resounding crash. ]
[ There’s not a lot that can jolt Sylvain into full wakefulness first thing in the morning - he has never been a morning person and that hasn’t changed any. But not even he can sleep through the sudden crash as he jerks awake, just in time to see flailing limbs go over the side of the bed.
He blinks, his mind needing a moment to catch up. Eh, forget that, he has no fucking idea what’s going on.
His head comes to peer over the edge of the mattress where she is sprawled on the rug, sheet tangled around her hips and legs. Arching an eyebrow, he gives her a confused look. ]
[ A groan is the immediate response as she stares up at the ceiling of her room that is shortly followed by Sylvain's face in her field of vision. ]
No, I'm not okay! I fell out of bed, my mouth feels like it's full of cotton, I have a splitting headache.
[ And I puked on you last night. She can't quite get those words out as she struggles to sit up in the tangle of sheets. Her hands grasp, pulling the sheets up around the upper half of her body quickly, cheeks growing pink. The fall had momentarily made her forget that she was butt naked for some reason but it all comes rushing back when she spots Sylvain's bare chest. Her eyes look questioningly towards him, mildly panicked. ]
[ The arched eyebrow and quiet sigh don't provide much context or an answer to her question. There's a brief pause before she can answer his question, occupied with pulling herself to her feet while trying to desperately recall anything else past puking on him.
That part is a little difficult though. Mortification creeps across her skin and by the time she's on her feet she's pressing a hand to her face as if that will somehow prevent him from seeing her embarrassment. Goddess her breath is awful. ]
I'm trying to get past the part where I puked on you. Please tell me I didn't actually puke on you.
[ The answer doesn't help and she lets out another whine into her hands. That seems to be enough though to nudge her memory a little further into the evening: he had carried her back here and she had somehow ended up naked in the bath if her still slightly damp hair is any indication.
Their voices are muddied and clouded like she can't quite grasp the actual words they had exchanged - but she does remember their lips on one another's which prompts another flare of heat to her cheeks along with a wash of guilt. ]
I'm sorry! I'll just - [ She'll just what? Leave? This is her room. Hand her rubs her face, before briefly pressing the heel of her palm into her eyes. ] I'll make it up to you somehow. I don't know why I drank that much in the first place.
[ His voice softens and turns fond as he sits up. Reaching out, he snags one of her wrists and tugs her back towards the bed. ]
You don’t have to make anything up to me. I’ve had worse nights. And you might not remember it, but we agreed on no more apologies last night. There’s been too many already.
[ Her feet skirt across the rug, half reluctant, half embarrassed about getting closer to someone that she had not only little recollection of sharing a bed with but had also puked on. Eventually her knees bump up against the bed.
Stubbornly her hand still remains over her face as she peeks out through her fingers at him. Even with most of her face hidden, the worried furrow on her brow is evident. ]
[ He informs her of this wryly as he gives one more persistent tug, intent on toppling her back down beside him. His lips quirk faintly as he watches her peek out at him from behind her fingers.
Yeah, this was what he'd been worried about. ]
I take it you don't remember much of last night after getting home, then?
[ There's a muffled noise of protest as she's tugged off her feet and onto the bed beside him. She's still not moving her hands though. There's no way he can make her.
It doesn't matter that she can make out the tiniest smile on his face, the question is enough to give her reason for pause. Like she's about to walk into something that she isn't prepared to walk into. Like she's forgotten something incredibly important but she can't for the life of her remember what. ]
A lot isn't very comforting. Neither is that question. [ There's a pause before she slowly lowers her hands, searching his face for something. ] Did I do something wrong?
[ He can’t help but chuckle at that, tucking her in against his chest and making sure the sheets are tucked securely around her. Which is a little late, considering they’d just spent the night in bed together like this. But he does at least still have his boxers on under his half of the blankets, even if that’s hard to tell from all the bared skin from the waist up. ]
Of course not. [ He brushes a light kiss against her brow as he drapes an arm around her waist, keeping her anchored there against him. Just so she can’t panic and run away again. ] And before you start worrying, we didn’t do anything, either. Other than coming in here to talk after your bath and then falling asleep, hence the… lack of clothing.
[ Her heart softens despite itself as he tucks her in and she has to catch herself before it melts any further. In hindsight, it's a silly thing to get embarrassed about considering the confirmation of a hazey bath time where it feels a lot like she had asked him to join her in it.
His reassurance only serves to dissolve some of her worry. Not that she thinks he's lying to her. It's not that. It's an already deep rooted anxiety that has set her skin crawling with dread at what she could have possibly said. ]
Are you going to tell me what we spoke about? [ There's a pause, a slight wrinkle of her nose, her eyes close as she struggles to recall - ] Was I crying to a horse?
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Sylvain Jose Gautier, you didn't just full name me!
[ The protest is merely a means of prolonging her reply to something that made her heart hope for more than it should be allowed to. Why hadn't it learned yet that sentimental never ended well for her? Had it so quickly forgotten that she still had the burns from Claude to prove it?
Her mind tells her heart it should know better than to hinge something so simple on things like words. It reminds her that she is not Claude, she will never be Claude, and that if Sylvain cared for him in the way she's sure he does, then he could never possibly care for her in the same way. This kindness is too much. Her heavy heart might shatter.
An annoyed growl flutters from her lips as she playfully shoves his face away once he bites her nose. ]
You are - we talked about this. And I'm not making you something just because you feel bad that I'm upset about this earring.
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[ The word comes out pointed and succinct as he holds her gaze, not letting her look away from him. ]
Because that’s not why I want one. I want one because it’s something you made for me and I’m selfish like that. I want one because you- [ He interrupts his own explanation to place a purposeful kiss on her lips. Not teasing and playful this time. No, there’s far more poured into this one that he can’t put into words.
When he pulls back, he finishes his statement, his voice softer this time, but the look in his eyes is sincere as he catches her gaze once more. ]
Because you are just as important to me and I want something to show that, too.
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There's something more to it, an earnestness that she's terrified to read into because it feels like kindling that could easily stoke the flames of her hope that she's trying desperately to stamp out. Easier said than done when they're pressed up together like this and she can feel his heartbeat through the palms of her hands. A kiss is a kiss, she reminds herself. It wouldn't mean anything unless she made something of it.
And if she isn't assigning meaning, if she's trying to turn a blind eye to this kiss, then that also means she shouldn't be assigning anything to the look he's giving her, right? How can she not when he's looking at her the way she had seen him look at Claude that night of the gala? Hilda feels her heart lurch and creak in her chest as she looks into his eyes, feeling breathless from a kiss that didn't make her heart hope, that didn't make it feel like she was floating and light, that didn't make it feel like the world was just them and these sheets.
Her gaze lingers on amber eyes more warm and light than any precious stone. Breath returns to her and her protest comes out as a barely audible exhale as her eyes flit away before her eyes mist over from the undeserving kindness he's showing her. ]
We'll see.
[ But they both know that she's softer for him than she can voice at this moment. ]
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Ouch. She’s doubting my pinky promise already and it hasn’t even been five minutes.
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She's too sensitive right now, too worried about offending and feeling like she's on the precipice of crying from the storm of feelings that currently whirl in her heart ]
I'm not! I just - [ She cuts herself short, worry shining in her eyes as her hand gently grasps the wrist of the arm covering his face to remove it. She's just what? Trying not to get her hopes up about this? Trying to dissuade him from something that she's certain will only serve to distract him from the person that he really cares for? All the explanations feel like too much for her to attempt to explain to him without just outright embarrassing herself. ] it's a lot of pressure to just ask me to make something.
What if you hate it?
[ It's not like he's picking this hypothetical thing out. And if he didn't like it and it didn't suit him, she didn't want him wearing it out of obligation. ]
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Hilda. Are you planning on making an earring that hides my entire face?
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I might if you're going to laugh at me.
[ Where she would even get that amount of material to make an earring large enough is beyond her. At that point it would be a shield. And why she's even considering this seriously is a good indication that she's still, in fact pretty drunk. ]
I'm serious. I don't want you to wear something just because you feel obligated to. I want you to wear it because you like it but I don't want you to lie to me about it either.
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Do I need to make another pinky promise that this has nothing to do with feeling obligated? I don’t feel obligated. Trust me, if I did? I’d be complaining about it a whole lot more. [ ….which probably doesn't say good things about his opinion of the former hat, may it forever rest in
peacepieces. ] I promise not to lie to you about whether I like it or not. But I’m pretty sure if you make me a pretty earring you think I’ll like, I trust that I’ll like it.no subject
Even if I make something really sparkly and dangling?
[ She'd never. Not for him at least. It wasn't very practical considering he spent so much time in the desert and at the stables. Something incredibly shiny and sparkly might look like an attractive snack to a horse or whatever creatures scuttled out in the desert. She'd had her earrings tugged on by Waffle and had her long hair caught in them enough times to know how painful that could be.
If she was going to make him anything, it'd sit close to his body so that there wasn't any chance of it snagging on anything - hair, clothing, the environment. And it would have to compliment the other earring she thinks - although that thought kicks up a swirl of mixed feelings. ]
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Even if it’s sparkly and dangly. I bet I can make it work.
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If there's anyone that could, it would be you. But it wouldn't be very practical.
[ Words that she never thought that would come out of her mouth.
She lapses into silence then, allowing the beat of his heart to soothe her, soaking up the warmth that she feels like will eventually slip through her fingers. Quietly she asks - ]
Is it selfish to ask you to stay here tonight?
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[ His smile is audible as he brushes a kiss against the top of her head, still stroking his fingers gently through her hair. ]
But I’m not going anywhere anyway. I’ve got you, Hilda. Close your eyes, sweet, and get some rest.
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As her eyes grow heavy and sleep calls to her, several thoughts float through her mind: she hopes that Claude won't hold it against her for wanting this last, selfish thing, that she'll still have the courage to tell Sylvain how she feels and that her heart won't shatter when the inevitable end arrives and that she'll be a better friend to the both of them tomorrow and the days after that.
Her head nuzzles into just over his heart finally drifting off to sleep.
When she wakes the next morning, the previous day is hazy in her mind and there's a dryness to her mouth that is always a clear indication of having drank a little too much. It doesn't register immediately that she's curled up in Sylvain's arms, or that she's even sharing a bed with him. She blinks several times in confusion as her vision comes into focus as she glances down to the arms wrapped around her before her eyes travel lower realizing with a slow horror that she's completely naked underneath the sheets.
Her eyes blow wide open then as she shifts, twisting around to see who it is holding her. Is it a good thing that it's Sylvain holding her? Is it worse than waking up beside a stranger? The better question is why he's holding her in the first place in her bed, in the loft? And that's when last night comes rushing back to her - all the drinks, crying into Marshy's mane, Sylvain finding her, her puking on Sylvain. Hilda inhales. Oh Goddess, she puked on Sylvain.
Hilda scrambles backwards, forcing herself out of Sylvain's arms in a panic - and immediately falls out of the bed with a resounding crash. ]
Fuck!
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He blinks, his mind needing a moment to catch up. Eh, forget that, he has no fucking idea what’s going on.
His head comes to peer over the edge of the mattress where she is sprawled on the rug, sheet tangled around her hips and legs. Arching an eyebrow, he gives her a confused look. ]
Are you alright? Why are you down there?
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No, I'm not okay! I fell out of bed, my mouth feels like it's full of cotton, I have a splitting headache.
[ And I puked on you last night. She can't quite get those words out as she struggles to sit up in the tangle of sheets. Her hands grasp, pulling the sheets up around the upper half of her body quickly, cheeks growing pink. The fall had momentarily made her forget that she was butt naked for some reason but it all comes rushing back when she spots Sylvain's bare chest. Her eyes look questioningly towards him, mildly panicked. ]
Why are you in my bed?
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He tries to ignore the pang he feels at her words. At the look she shoots him. He’d figured this might be the case. ]
How much of last night do you remember?
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That part is a little difficult though. Mortification creeps across her skin and by the time she's on her feet she's pressing a hand to her face as if that will somehow prevent him from seeing her embarrassment. Goddess her breath is awful. ]
I'm trying to get past the part where I puked on you. Please tell me I didn't actually puke on you.
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[ That makes it better, right? ]
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Their voices are muddied and clouded like she can't quite grasp the actual words they had exchanged - but she does remember their lips on one another's which prompts another flare of heat to her cheeks along with a wash of guilt. ]
I'm sorry! I'll just - [ She'll just what? Leave? This is her room. Hand her rubs her face, before briefly pressing the heel of her palm into her eyes. ] I'll make it up to you somehow. I don't know why I drank that much in the first place.
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[ His voice softens and turns fond as he sits up. Reaching out, he snags one of her wrists and tugs her back towards the bed. ]
You don’t have to make anything up to me. I’ve had worse nights. And you might not remember it, but we agreed on no more apologies last night. There’s been too many already.
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Stubbornly her hand still remains over her face as she peeks out through her fingers at him. Even with most of her face hidden, the worried furrow on her brow is evident. ]
What else did I apologize for?
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[ He informs her of this wryly as he gives one more persistent tug, intent on toppling her back down beside him. His lips quirk faintly as he watches her peek out at him from behind her fingers.
Yeah, this was what he'd been worried about. ]
I take it you don't remember much of last night after getting home, then?
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It doesn't matter that she can make out the tiniest smile on his face, the question is enough to give her reason for pause. Like she's about to walk into something that she isn't prepared to walk into. Like she's forgotten something incredibly important but she can't for the life of her remember what. ]
A lot isn't very comforting. Neither is that question. [ There's a pause before she slowly lowers her hands, searching his face for something. ] Did I do something wrong?
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Of course not. [ He brushes a light kiss against her brow as he drapes an arm around her waist, keeping her anchored there against him. Just so she can’t panic and run away again. ] And before you start worrying, we didn’t do anything, either. Other than coming in here to talk after your bath and then falling asleep, hence the… lack of clothing.
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His reassurance only serves to dissolve some of her worry. Not that she thinks he's lying to her. It's not that. It's an already deep rooted anxiety that has set her skin crawling with dread at what she could have possibly said. ]
Are you going to tell me what we spoke about? [ There's a pause, a slight wrinkle of her nose, her eyes close as she struggles to recall - ] Was I crying to a horse?
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