[ 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?
[ She lets out a mortified wail, twisting around so she no longer has to look at him as another piece of last night clicks into place. Can she even apologize to a horse? Probably not. But she should probably go and apologize to Mags at the very least.
If there was any hope of her returning to the loft after this, it's certainly evaporated into thin air after that admission. There's a clear, despairing quality to in her voice as embarrassed tears prick at the corner of her eyes. ]
[ He just gives a fond laugh as he wraps his arms around her and tugs her back to cradle her against his chest. ]
Don’t fret, Princess. You’re just as adorable when deep in your cups as you are out of them. And I promise, Marshy and I won’t tell your deep dark secrets to a soul.
I'm fretting. It's easy for you to say when you weren't the drunk one.
[ His pointed avoidance of her question continues to drive her anxiety higher. Her cheeks burn with worry, embarrassment, nerves. All of this is quickly undoing whatever resolve she had tried to hard to instill in herself over the last several months, and guilt bubbles in her stomach.
Whatever wriggling in his arms is suddenly stilled as her hands go to lightly touch his forearms. ]
[ He feels those pangs of emotions and even though he’s not sure what they are or what’s causing them, he knows they’re definitely not positive ones.
He turns her around until she’s facing him again, cupping her chin between his fingers as he tips her head up towards him. ]
You don’t have to be upset. You didn’t do anything you’ll regret - I wouldn’t have let you. But we did talk. We talked about what had happened a bit. And what didn’t. And we talked about… us, a little.
[ There's protests at the tip of her tongue about how again, it's easy for him to say when he can remember everything from the night before. She trusts him, knows full well that he wouldn't do anything to hurt her intentionally or let her do anything she would regret. But that doesn't mean he knows what she might regret saying.
And the current state of affairs means that there's plenty that falls under that category.
His gentle redirection of her gaze means it falls on his face and the glint of gold and green in his ear. The admission about it being a memento for his date with Claude and how the man in question had bought it for him floods back and she feels her heart thud dully in her chest. Ah.
Suddenly she doesn't want to hear anymore. The smile on her face comes too late to be convincing but there it remains. ]
If that's all then... I guess I don't have anything to worry about like you said. [ Gently she tries to tug her chin away. ] I'm sorry I puked on you. I'll make it up to you for having to take care of me.
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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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Yes, yes you were. You and Marshy were having very deep philosophical discussions when I found you.
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[ She lets out a mortified wail, twisting around so she no longer has to look at him as another piece of last night clicks into place. Can she even apologize to a horse? Probably not. But she should probably go and apologize to Mags at the very least.
If there was any hope of her returning to the loft after this, it's certainly evaporated into thin air after that admission. There's a clear, despairing quality to in her voice as embarrassed tears prick at the corner of her eyes. ]
Tell me what else we spoke about right now.
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Don’t fret, Princess. You’re just as adorable when deep in your cups as you are out of them. And I promise, Marshy and I won’t tell your deep dark secrets to a soul.
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[ His pointed avoidance of her question continues to drive her anxiety higher. Her cheeks burn with worry, embarrassment, nerves. All of this is quickly undoing whatever resolve she had tried to hard to instill in herself over the last several months, and guilt bubbles in her stomach.
Whatever wriggling in his arms is suddenly stilled as her hands go to lightly touch his forearms. ]
Please tell me what I said.
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He turns her around until she’s facing him again, cupping her chin between his fingers as he tips her head up towards him. ]
You don’t have to be upset. You didn’t do anything you’ll regret - I wouldn’t have let you. But we did talk. We talked about what had happened a bit. And what didn’t. And we talked about… us, a little.
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And the current state of affairs means that there's plenty that falls under that category.
His gentle redirection of her gaze means it falls on his face and the glint of gold and green in his ear. The admission about it being a memento for his date with Claude and how the man in question had bought it for him floods back and she feels her heart thud dully in her chest. Ah.
Suddenly she doesn't want to hear anymore. The smile on her face comes too late to be convincing but there it remains. ]
If that's all then... I guess I don't have anything to worry about like you said. [ Gently she tries to tug her chin away. ] I'm sorry I puked on you. I'll make it up to you for having to take care of me.
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