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[ She hasn't had someone wipe her face in a very long time. The last time had probably been a nanny of some kind - either that or Holst. Who is less important than the feeling of being cared for however. The fondness that exudes from the gentle hand holding the handkerchief to her face to wipe away the tears - and her snot - only add to the disaster that are her alcohol-soaked emotions.

Had she not been in such a state, she would have explained that the octopus had fallen out of the rift in the bathroom ceiling and definitely hadn't been funny at the time. It sounds far-fetched, especially when she had been the only one in the loft at the time - but it's a story for another day. And maybe if she weren't as drunk, there's a very high chance she would have found his innuendo funny even if she'd act scandalized.

Several sniffles sound from her before she takes a shuddering breath in. ]

Just one bath. And then I'll go to the Old Public Hall.

Alright. We’ll take it one step at a time.

[ He answers her agreeably, even if that’s not really agreeing to that at all. He doesn’t think she’ll notice the difference, however, as he holds out his hands to help her up. ]

Come on. Do you think you’ll be okay to get on my back again, or is your stomach still too upset?

[ She's slow to grasp a hold of his hand, but eventually does. Her grip is firm like she's holding onto him for dear life even though she's only being helped to her feet. Through a quiet symphony of sniffles she nods. ]

I should be okay now.

[ At least she hopes so. There's a drunken determinedness to her like she dares her stomach to betray her like that again. Climbing onto his back this time around is no easier than before but she manages it. This time when she's on, she tucks her head into the crook of his neck and wraps her arms around his neck to hold on even though she doesn't believe he'll drop her on purpose. ]

[ He tucks his arms under her knees and holds her up, lets her settle comfortably against his back, even if she clings to him a little more tightly this time around.

He turns his head just enough to rub his cheek against the top of her head. ]

I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just hold on until I get you home.

[ Giving up on the pretense that he’d ever been headed towards the Old Hall - which he hadn’t - he turns down the last few side streets separating them from the loft. Climbing the stairs, he slips inside with her to the quiet apartment and carries her back the hallway towards where her room and bath are located.

Once inside, he turns until he can set her down on the edge of the counter holding her sink before turning to face her once more, making sure she’ alright. His fingers brush against her cheek, back her jaw. ]

I’m going to get your bath started, okay? Can you sit here for me until it’s ready?

[ The journey back this time is far less turbulent than before now that she had emptied what little there was in her stomach. With the contents of her stomach on the floor of the alleyway, her boots and Sylvain's pants, the gentle motion of Sylvain walking them home is soothing in a way. Her eyelids grow heavy as she quietly clings to him, the streets they pass by barely registering until they turn down the familiar ones that will lead them to the loft.

And as eager as she is to hop into the bath, another reluctance emerges: she didn't want him to be apart from her even if it was just to draw the bath. Her rational voice would protest, say that it's counterintuitive to have told him one thing but then want another. When he places her down and steadies her, she leans into his touch instinctively, the smell of him lingering against her clothing and her skin. Her lower lip juts out, as if readying a protest about how no, she doesn't want to wait.

Surely she can just hop in and that way he doesn't have to be far from her at all (never mind that the bath is literally so close she could reach out a hand and touch him if she really wanted to), but she nods instead, steadying herself by gripping the counter under her. ]

[ She’s not normally so clingy, but he picks up on the subtle hints of it all the same. He lingers for a moment, cupping a hand against her cheek and giving her a faint smile before stepping back enough that he can bend over her large clawfoot tub and start the hot water running for her. A moment later, the soft scents of rose and jasmine fill the air, carried by the steam already rising.

That part handled, he turns back to her. Leaning past her, he turns on the sink for a moment, filling a cup with water and bringing it to her lips. ]

Here, drink. The water will help. [ And he’s pretty sure her mouth probably tastes terrible right now, in the aftermath of all that ale and getting sick. ] Then we can start getting you undressed and into the tub, alright?

[ When some of her favourite smells begin to fill the air, whatever tension in her body that existed slowly begins to ebb away. It mingles so nicely with the smell of him that lingers on her and she absently goes from wanting him needing to be there right by her, to watching him fondly as he putters around getting the bath drawn.

Had his back always been so lovely and broad? His hair that red? Maybe she could find glass beads that colour - and if she couldn't, it wouldn't be that difficult to make them, surely. Not with Cyprian's contacts. Time passes so fluidly that she doesn't realize he's in front of her until he's offering her a glass of water.

There's another protest on her lips that she doesn't need to drink water but it's already being held to her lips. It's only when she's gulping it down that she realizes how parched she was and how good it feels against her throat. She finishes it all, placing it gently on the counter beside her with a murmured thank you before going to fiddle with her boots as if that were a signal somehow that she should probably undress herself. ]

Remind me not to not to wear boots with so many laces the next time I go drinking.

How about we just avoid drinking binges that leave you unable to unlace them instead, hmm?

[ Humor is layered in his tone once more as he lifts one of her feet to press it against his stomach so he can start unlacing it for her. Luckily, this seems to be the clean one, although he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to wash both their outfits after tonight. ]

Here, let me. Why don’t you get your top off? That should be easier to handle.

You're so smart, Sylvain. [ She says it so cheerfully and full of warmth. When Sylvain relieves her of her struggle, she goes to pinch his cheeks affectionately, speaking without thinking. ] It's another reason I like you.

[ It's unclear if she realizes what she's saying because she dives right into her task of undressing herself. Thankfully she'd had some foresight to wear a dress that day without fiddly buttons. Wriggling her dress from underneath her, Hilda tugs her dress off of her in one fluid motion dropping it to the floor leaving her in a shift and a far simpler - albeit pink - corset than he's probably seen her in. The hooks at the front make it easier for her to undo it herself, but her fingers still fumble, making slow but steady work.

Several moments later however she's free and lets out a content sigh as it's dropped to the floor leaving her in just her slip. Seconds later a happy giggle bubbles to her lips looking goofily at him. ]

I did it!

[ Her unexpected statement has his fingers fumbling for a moment on the laces, but fortunately she’s well distracted with the task he’d given her and misses it entirely. Casting a momentary glance up at her, he shakes his head with a crooked smile and goes back to unlacing her boots, stripping her of one and then the other before moving on to her stockings.

By the time she gets off her dress and corset, leaving only her slip, he has the rest of it off and the tub is nearly full. At her gleeful exclamation, he chuckles and ruffles a hand over her hair, mussing it with a smirk. ]

You did, indeed. I knew you could do it. Alright, sweet, come on. Your bath awaits.

[ Leaning in, he scoops her up into his arm and spins her towards the bath, moving to lower her into the steaming, sweet-scented water. ]

[ There's barely time to react to the ruffle and mussing of her hair because the grounding presence of the counter is gone. Her "Wait!" turns into a squeal as she's spun around. ]

Sylvain no, I'm in my shift still!

[ It's said like getting her clothes wet would be the biggest offence. She wiggles in his arms, tugging the shift over her hips, over her torso before it's pulled clumsily over her head, not caring that her hair is mussed more in the process or that her breasts are on full display. Her hands go to tug her panties off without a second thought, lifting her hips just enough so that she's left fully naked with the same proud smile on her face. ]

Okay, now you can put me in the bath.

[ He manages not to laugh, but barely, and when she turns to him, victorious in having lost the last of her clothing, his lips are still twitching from stifling his amusement. ]

As her Highness demands.

[ Carefully, he lowers her down into the bath, ignoring the fact that it gets his own shirt drenched in the process. ]

[ The water feels luxurious on her skin and she sinks right in, momentarily missing that his shirt has become soaked in the process. When she does turn to look back at him, she notices the soaked fabric and a furrow appears between her brows. Before he can straighten up, her fingers find purchase on his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

Her momentary triumph at being able to remove her clothing hasn't completely erased the fact that she doesn't want him to go or that she's been an inconvenience to him. ]

Did I do that? [ Hilda hands immediately finds the buttons on his shirt. ] I puked on your pants and got your shirt wet - I should be the one bathing you. [ The first button is undone with relative ease. ] Come here.

[ He stills, so surprised by her movement that it catches him completely off-guard and gives her the chance to get his first button undone, and then the second. His hands come up to catch her wrists again before she can go further, giving a low laugh as he does so. ]

It’s fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to wash everything anyway, so it was going to get soaked sooner or later. Let’s get you cleaned up first and we can worry about the clothes later on.

[ The pout on her face is immediate, mingled with a flash of hurt in her expression that she isn't entirely aware of. Not that she has any real reason to. Rational Hilda would know that she's not being rejected, but the middling effects of the alcohol hadn't helped matters. Thankfully it makes it just as easy to brush aside the sliver of hurt in exchange for more of a pout.

She twists her wrists out his grasp with the grace of someone who had been taught how before both hands cling onto his shirt. ]

No, please? There's so much room. [ There's a brief pause as her eyes search his. ] And I miss you.

[ He doesn't really struggle when she tugs her wrists free of his grip, or when she latches onto the front of his shirt again. Her words, however, do give him pause, and he blinks down at her pout, feeling that sudden stab of hurt that he knows wasn't his own.

Careful, Gautier.

His expression softens as he reaches out a hand and brushes his fingertips against her jaw once more. ]

I'm right here, Hilda. I'm not going anywhere. Let me take care of you, okay?

[ If she stops to think about her hurt, turn it over and dissect it, she would see that it mingles with guilt. She has no right to tell him she misses him after she had told him she didn't want him. There's no guarantee that he even likes her like that.

Just because he's kind and caring doesn't translate into affection. Is she being selfish? Is this mean? It would track with her recent behaviour. None of these things manage to make it to the surface with her drunken haze.

What does register however is the touch of his fingertips against her lips and the tender, soft quality of it that makes her want to cry. Her grip loosens on his shirt, gathering his hand in hers so she can press kisses to each of his fingertips. Another thought swims beneath the haze trying to break through, but she doesn't dwell on it either too focused on pressing apologetic kisses to him. ]

Okay.

[ Instead she offers him a conditional in exchange, murmured against his hands. ]

Only if you let me take care of you after. And only if you take your shirt off. You're going to catch a cold and then someone is going to get mad at me.

Edited (I saw a typo don't look at me or the timestamp ) 2023-07-28 07:44 (UTC)

[ He just arches an eyebrow at this outlandish statement, his lips twitching in amusement. ]

Sweetheart. You’re still talking to the heir of Gautier. Who’s currently stuck in the desert. I’m not about to be done in by a wet shirt in the middle of summer. [ He bops a fingertip against the tip of her nose. ] But if you wanted to ogle me, all you had to do was say so.

[ That, at least, is an easy enough thing to joke about, as he’s been making it most of his life. ]

[ Her nose immediately wrinkles at the nose boop and she pulls away mid-kiss from his hand to pout at him. ]

I do want to ogle you but that's not what - [ She shakes her head, tongue stumbling over words. ] I mean why.

[ The gentle press of her lips against his fingers resumes as the pout fades but still lingers in her voice. ]

I'm worried about you. I don't want you to get sick because you do so much to care for us but what have I done for you? [ The pout in her voice gives way to a thick quality, like she's trying to swallow a lump in her throat. More words stumble past her lips as she presses a lingering kiss to his palm. ] I really care about you, you know? I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night because I dream about how you looked in the Horizon and I never want to see that happen again.

[ Her words are enough to have him stilling again, not expecting such a serious answer from her. His gaze softens as he slides his hand free and then brings it to rest against the nape of her neck. Bending his head forward, he rests his forehead against her own. ]

You’ve done more than you think, Sweetheart. But I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was still haunting you. Look. [ He takes her hands, slides them against his shoulders as he rests his own over hers. ] I’m not hurt. I’m right here. Just a little damp is all. You don’t have to fret over anything else tonight, okay?

[ Her breath hitches at his touch. Automatically she nuzzles closer to him, her other hand going to tenderly cup his cheek. Even in her drunken state, she doesn't think that she's done anything at all except cause trouble, made things difficult for him, been awful, petty and jealous, and lied to him when she said she wouldn't.

When he pulls her hands away, tension fills her body as if it viscerally fears that he's pulling away. Her fingertips linger, wanting to hold onto him as long as humanly possible. When she realizes what he's doing, her body immediately relaxes as he guides their hands down his shoulders. Through the damp fabric of his shirt, she can feel the muscles there, how strong, warm and sturdy he is. How good he is. It's grounding and after a moment she nods, pressing the lightest of kisses his nose.

Hilda keeps her forehead pressed against his. A beat later she slides her hands over the curve of his shoulders, folding her arms around his neck to draw him close. ]

Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who's sorry.

[ He lets her pull him in, even if he has to lean against the edge of the tub to keep from being unbalanced completely. He chuckles quietly though, soothing his hands up and down her bare arms. ]

How ‘bout we forbid anyone from being sorry tonight, hmm? It’s way too late at night for that. Lean back, Sweet, let me wash your hair, okay?

[ And he gives a tug against her as he pulls back, his hands siding up to start working her hair free of how she’d pinned it up for the day. ]

It's not that late. There's plenty of time for other things.

[ What those things are exactly never come to light. Her mumbled protest is weak but she allows herself to be pulled back against the tub. Her silence should be enough of an indication that she agrees there won't be any more sorry's this evening – at least for the next little while.

The feel of Sylvain's fingers in her hair only further aids in dissipating the tension from her body. As he does, she pulls herself into a little ball, hugging her arms around her legs. Absently her thoughts wander, wondering and worrying if he believes her when she says she cares or if they'll be dismissed as nothing more than words that she's tossed around in the past. If that is the case izt would serve her right, she thinks. ]

[ His fingers let down her hair before wetting it and starting to massage shampoo into the long locks, massaging her scalp at the same time. Trying to get her to relax, because he can practically feel the unhappiness radiating from her right now. ]

You’re thinking very loudly for someone who’s supposed to be relaxing and enjoying themselves.

[ Once the shampoo begins being worked into her hair and the faint smell of peonies joins the medley of scents, Hilda finds herself getting lost deeper and deeper into her own thoughts. Sylvain's words rouse her from them. And while they don't startle her, what he says earns a small genuine gasp of surprise as she cranes her neck around to look at him. ]

Since when could you read minds?

[ In another scenario she wouldn't be so earnest with her question. After all, as far as she's aware he can't but her imagination is already in the habit of spinning silly possibilities that aided with the help of drink, drags her towards an endless vortex of 'what if's'. Belatedly her question more or less gives away that she had in fact been thinking about things and she's quick to try and cover it up. ]

I'm not thinking anything at all. You said there wasn't supposed to be any more apologizing tonight so what else am I supposed to do?

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