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[ 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?

Clearly I’m a master of it now.

[ He retorts this back lightly, teasingly. Were his two closest friends here not currently fighting, he would have made a joke about how it had become a necessity in translating Claude - which it was - but he has a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that humor of that right now.

His fingers continue to work against her scalp, persistent in trying to get her to relax, even hen he could feel she was still spiraling. ]

Since when are those the only two options? Apologizing or brooding? Neither of those seem much like your style.

[ Even with the teasing lilt, that certainly doesn't stop her delving down a rabbit hole of what if scenarios – but it does slow the thoughts down briefly. She gives him a click of her tongue. ]

And you say that you aren't smart.

[ Her words are softened with the faintest of affectionate smiles before she turns her head back around so that he can continue his work. Turning around serves another purpose though: it hides the lamenting expression on her face and the way she worries her lower lip. ]

I know it isn't me. But I haven't really felt like me lately.

[ It felt like pieces of her had been dislodged over the course of several months and instead of doing something about it she had tried to patch them up with stickers and bright things that would distract her from that fact. ]

...I don't know what to do about it.

[ his fingers hesitate a moment before continuing as he leans over her where she’s curled in the tub. He lets the comment about his intelligence slide, because any joke he makes about that at the moment has too high a chance of upsetting her again, so instead he focuses on the rest of what she says. ]

Well. Maybe you should start with what you want?

I want...

[ Her voice trails off, the pause of his hands noticeable. Had she said something wrong again?

There's too many thoughts jostling for attention in her mind, too many things that she wants. She wants her best friend back. She doesn't want to feel like a burden. She doesn't want to be an awful person that lies to people that she cares about. She wants to be as graceful and pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. She wants – ]

You.

[ Her voice is quiet but it's no less certain and unwavering. "You" doesn't seem adequate enough however, doesn't encompass everything she wants to say to him. That she wants him for more than just his body, that she wants his heart as selfish and scary as that is. But all of her words seem to get caught just behind her teeth and nerves. ]

[ Sylvain has to blink at the back of her head for a moment, not expecting that answer.

Just how drunk is she right now?

But he just tugs her hair lightly, tipping her head back until he can peer down at her, upside-down. ]

You have me. I’m right here, remember?

[ The gentle tug of her hair and her world view turning upside down successfully draws her from her thoughts. Immediately her lips twist with displeasure.

Sober Hilda would have realized what she had said, tried to deflect, agree with what he's saying instead of doubling down on her truth. But drunk Hilda can't help but feel a pang of hurt that she's being questioned. That it sounds like he doesn't believe her.

Her words leave her mouth in a whine, hands reaching behind her to push his cheeks together, spraying water in her wake. ]

That's not what I mean. I really – [ She buries her face into her arms, cheeks suddenly burning. Why would be believe her, she had told him she didn't. Her voice grows quiet again, retracting her arms and curling into a tighter ball than before. ] nevermind.

Hey.

[ He’s quick to interrupt that, hands sliding down her arms before tugging her back against his chest from where he leans behind her in her tub, where he’d positioned himself to wash her hair. His hands continue to stroke soothingly up and down her arms uncaring that her wet hair is soaking his shirt even more now. ]

I’m listening, Hilda. You don’t have to hide what your thinking from me. Talk to me.

I don't want to.

[ She sounds petulant and she knows it, but she can't bring herself care. All of her annoyance is aimed at herself, none of it aimed at him.

Her embarrassment makes its way down her neck, fuelling her hold on her legs. Her voice wobbles. ]

I shouldn't have said that. Of course you wouldn't believe me after what I said to you – it's so selfish of me.

[ She's tired of being selfish, she thinks. Of being so greedy and thinking that her life would always be the way it would be if she were home. ]

[ Scooping a handful of water up and over her hair to start rinsing out the shampoo, he makes a quiet sound of disagreement. ]

I was the one that asked. If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have.

[ A pause, because he realizes that applies to more than just now. His lips quirk slightly, but its more melancholy than a true smile. Easier to hide when he’s still working behind her. ]

Both times. It wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but I wasn’t surprised by it either. Saying what you want - or don’t want - isn’t selfish of you, Hilda.

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