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[ He blinks down at her when he spins to ask him that question letting one eyebrow arch upwards. ]

Uhh. Is there more than one meaning to that question that I’m not aware of? I thought I was pretty straightforward. It’s not a complicated question. Is it?

It has different meanings! Why would I ask otherwise?

[ The apples of her cheeks flush further as her brow furrows. ]

Did you mean physically or you know – [ She places her hands over his heart but her eyes look right into his, oddly serious. ] here.

[ His gaze drops to where her hand presses over his heart and she might feel the way it lurches beneath the surface. Or maybe that’s just his imagination.

He swallows thickly for a moment before giving her a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach anywhere close to his shadowed gaze. ]

I learned a long time ago to not ask for that. You don’t have to worry, Hilda. I wasn’t trying to make things more complicated.

[ Hilda doesn't feel the lurch of his heart. Had she been more herself, her attentiveness might have picked up on his heart beating a little faster. But as it stands she dismisses it as nothing more than the rise and fall of his chest.

And even though she can't quite decipher the look on his face, it weighs her heart down all the same. Fills it with a heaviness that she had been trying to drown in drink. But this weight is different – what did he mean by learning not to ask for that? ]

Ask for what? To be loved by someone else?

[ His grin stretches a little wider, but it’s an old act. One he’d worn for years when they were in school and after. It comes as easily as breathing, even if that doesn’t make it any more real. ]

I’m not who people come to when they’re looking for that. Usually, I’m who they come to when they’re trying to forget or ignore that. Or just never cared about it in the first place.

[ He reaches out and tugs on a damp lock of her hair before attempting to nudge her head back around so he can finish rinsing out her hair. ]

I know things are complicated between you and that person I’m not allowed to mention. But I also know you both have very deep feelings about each other you’re going to need to work through at some point. You’re both just breaking your own hearts at each other right now and it hurts me to watch you keep doing this to yourselves.

[ His thumb swipes along her cheek as he meets her gaze, turning a hint more genuine now that he diverted to topic off himself. ] I hate seeing you so sad. I miss your smiles. Your laughter.

[ Wriggling from his grasp in order to stay facing him is easier with alcohol and determination. And after seeing this new smile replace the one that hadn't reached his eyes only spurs that. Even she doesn't have to be sober to recognize that. She doesn't have to be sober to think that she hates seeing that smile.

If she's being honest she doesn't want to move away from the topic they're on. She feels like she's accidentally stumbled onto something that Sylvain will never want to talk about again. The rational part of her desperately tries to dig her heels in but her breath catches in her throat when he brushes his thumb against her cheek. His care and his softness has once again taken her by surprise. Hilda stumbles over it, her heart soaked in disbelief because she can't understand how he doesn't see himself the way she sees him.

Her fingers fist the fabric of his damp shirt. ]

But I'm not talking about me and him. [ There's determination to her voice. ] I'm talking about you and me.

[ She pauses. Maybe he had been so quiet afterwards because he didn't have feelings for her - maybe he had sensed it. Not that she'd blame him. She isn't Claude. She isn't some intriguing puzzle to be solved, not some bright mysterious moon that still sheds brilliant light. Maybe she should just let it be. Despite the uncertainty that fills her, words continue to tumble over her tongue, lubricated by drink. ]

Because I don't want you just for those things you said.

[ There’s the faintest hint of a flinch around his eyes before that mask of a smile turns into something more wry. Resigned. ]

I know, Hilda. I haven’t forgotten your answer. It’s okay. I’m not going to push anymore. Let me just finish getting you cleaned up, okay?

It's not okay! [ Her brows furrow, a spike of hurt rooting in her heart. ] My real answer or the one I told you before?

[ The possibility that he doesn't believe her makes her heart sink a little deeper, her fingers grip a little tighter. It doesn't matter to her that her intoxication might make this seem less sincere. She just wants him to know. Wants him to believe it. ]

I'm not letting you until you tell me. I want you for all of you. Not just your body. [ Her fingers smooth over the fabric she's bunched up, the one just over his heart. ] This too. I want this.

Edited 2023-08-05 05:20 (UTC)

[ He’s still not convinced that her first answer hadn’t been the more truthful of the two. This one, he reluctantly suspects, is more likely brought on by too much alcohol and guilt and the complicated feelings for Claude she’s still trying to avoid. But that’s not an answer she wants to face yet either.

So he lets one hand slide down to cup over her own, resting against his chest, while the other comes up to cup against her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against the flushed skin there. ]

Sweetheart. I believe that’s what you want right now. But you’ve also had a lot of alcohol and a hurt heart, and neither of those things are something I’m going to take advantage of tonight. [ Or ever. She deserved better than that. Than something like him.

He lets his other hand drop until he can cup her face between his warm palms, cradling her gently. ] Let’s put a pin in it tonight, okay? We can talk about this again when you’ve had some good sleep and you’re sober again.

[ Or maybe he’ll luck out and she’ll forget this entire conversation. He can hope. ]

In the meantime, let me finish rinsing your hair so you can get into your comfortable pajamas. We can even go out and snuggle on the terrace a while if you want or I can tuck you into your bed if you’d rather. Whatever will make you happy, sweetheart. Let’s save the serious talks for another day, when there’s not so much alcohol involved. That never helps make good decisions, no matter how it feels in the moment.

[ The feelings that follow his response shoot so rapidly through her that she barely has time to comprehend them herself. To Sylvain it's probably a cacophony of emotions all at once: indignation at being told what to do, petulance at not being believed despite saying that he did, lingering sadness because she couldn't get that image of his smile that didn't reach his eyes out of her mind, and hurt.

Hurt layers on top of it all, permeating everything else until it's the emotion that stands out the most. Of course it is; it had been following her for months now hand in hand with this fear that everyone would get bored of her being a pretty little thing the way Claude had. That they'd re-evaluate her place in their lives and leave her behind. Even Sylvain's hands cupping her face, telegraphing the care that she didn't think she was deserving of, can't dispel it.

But this isn't about her. In other circumstances she'd toss said pin out the window, demanding that they talk about this thing she had stumbled upon now. But she's weighed down by hurt and the knowledge that she's been too much of a burden already. Too selfish. Too greedy and naive in her thinking. Hilda's lower lip trembles and her eyes mist, but there's stubborn determination in her voice. Her hands stay over his heart. ]

Promise we'll talk about it tomorrow.

[ Because she will remember it tomorrow, she thinks. She must. He needs to know she means it even if he doesn't reciprocate any of it. She'd be okay if he didn't so long as he starts to believe that he's worthy of being adored and cared for and that he's wanted for more than whatever people have used him for in the past. Her eyes flutter closed as she memorizes the feel of the callouses on his hands against her cheeks. ]

I want to snuggle in bed. That will make me happy.

[ He feels the riot of emotions that wash through her, but it’s the depth of that hurt that stabs through him. Has his movements stuttering before he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. That was the last emotion he’d wanted to cause, so of course that would be the strongest.

He silently curses himself even as he strokes a thumb against her jaw. ]

We can talk about anything you want tomorrow, sweet. I promise. [ Although he’s still pretty sure she won’t remember any of this, after the amount of alcohol she’d consumed tonight.

He finishes getting her cleaned up and her hair done before getting her up out of the tub and wrapped thickly in soft towels He pauses to strip out of his own pants and soaked shirt, leaving them discarded in a pile on the floor for now and him standing there in a dark pair of boxers.

Scooping her up into his arms, he moves to carry her away from the bathroom and down the hall towards her bedroom. ]

One late-night snuggle in bed, as the Princess wishes.

[ The hurt lingers even with the alcohol. It lingers even as the shampoo is washed from her hair. What doesn't linger however is the determination with which she had so fiercely told herself that she'd hold fast to tomorrow once sleep had come and gone.

The voice telling her that she's been all the awful things she fears rears its head; that even if she will be okay when he doesn't reciprocate her feelings, it is what she deserves. It is what she'll deserve until she becomes less of a bitter, jealous thing that shouldn't touch the happy, soft thing he and Claude are creating. The soft negative voice chips away bit by bit as the water cools and her hair is cleaned and washed until her determination is nothing but a whimper.

The softness of the towel rouses her and her fingers gently grasp the edges of the towel to hold the warmth of the bath to her as long as she can. Weariness weighs her down and she rubs her eyes gently. ]

Just a short one. I'm supposed to go back to the Old Public Hall. And then you can go snuggle with Claude.

[ That's the way it should be after all, she thinks. This small happiness will be enough, one last selfish act and she'll try and be better tomorrow. ]

[ He presses a soft kiss to her forehead as he carries her down the hall towards her room. ]

He doesn’t snuggle nearly as well as you do.

[ He can feel the lingering hurt, doesn’t know how to take that back without venturing into topics that are just going to cause more pain first. For both of them. He knows that without the alcohol talking, she’d remember that he’s not what she wants but that Claude’s still painfully out of reach until these two can sort out their emotions.

Were they anyone else, he wouldn’t feel so bad about taking advantage of that. But he hadn’t been lying when he said he hated seeing her so sad, that he missed her smiles and laughter. He missed Claude’s too. They’d both become a little dimmer in the weeks since their fight, like they’d doused too much of that inner warmth that shown so brightly from both of them. He wanted to see that back more than just about anything.

He nudges her door open with his foot, her room clean and tidy and just as she’d left it. Carrying her over to the bed, he lays her down and crawls in beside her, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her closer. ]

Come here. I’ve missed this, too.

That's only because he doesn't have big boobs.

[ The reply is murmured before she can stifle it - not that she'd be ashamed to say as much sober. It's the truth even without the alcohol because if there's one thing she can be confident about it's her breasts. ]

If he did, my snuggling title would be in danger.

[ Having that title is perhaps the only thing that she has over Claude. Not that it's a competition or anything. But despite what Sylvain thinks his embrace is exactly what she needs. Not because there is an absence of Claude or anyone else but because there is safety in these arms.

Hilda snuggles back into him, arms pulling him tighter around her midsection in order to dispel what little space is between them. Her fingers tangle into his, the warmth of his body softening the harsh edges of the feelings she had been feeling. Tension slowly seeps from body as her eyes flutter closed. ]

I miss you, Sylvain. I wanted to see the feywilds with you.

[ Her comment gets a quiet snicker from him. ] The boobs are a nice bonus, not gonna lie. But your snuggling title would never be in danger either way. It’s all yours, sweetheart.

[ He drags her blanket up over them both, even as he settles down with her in his arms, letting her wiggle as close as she wanted. He stays wrapped around her, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head. She fits so perfectly here, that it brings a soft smile to his lips.

Her confession has him pressing another soft kiss to the top of her head as he lets one hand stroke softly up and down her arm. ]

Then we’ll go back and explore it together next time, you and me.

[ The noise she makes clearly says she's doubtful of his reassurance that her snuggling skills are better than Claude's. But more than that it's directed at his promise that he'll follow through with it. Why would anyone who has feelings for someone else want to do something like that with her? Perhaps it's another kindness.

She's already cemented his evasiveness of addressing her declaration of feelings a response in and of itself. But she is the self-proclaimed princess of delusion and daydreams and her constant pull and push of insecurity continues. Her fingers cling to him like she's clinging onto this moment for as long as she's awake, like this will somehow slip away when she wakes. ]

Tell me what you did when you were there.

[ She doubts it had been as lonely as her time had been. At least she hopes that's the case. Hilda had spent time with people but that didn't dispel the gnawing hole in her chest left by those she has purposely distanced herself from. ]

[ He’d missed having her at his side just as much. He gives her a squeeze and settles in to regale her with ridiculous tales from his time with the Fey.

If he exaggerated a bit when it came to the mount contests they’d dared him to, or the disastrous drinking contest with Shepard, well… he knew she’d find it amusing all the same. ]

Of course, one of the highlights of the visit was this stunning beauty that let me chase her through the maze the night of the ball…

[ He's right. She does find the embellishments amusing – adores them in fact. If a story didn't have embellishments what was the point? As she listens to his escapades, she smiles quietly to herself, glad to hear that he had fun.

Every so often she interjects, peppering him with questions asking for more ridiculous details, or providing murmured comments as colour commentary. It's a means of catching up. Of saying she's sorry without actually saying it (even though saying sorry would really just make more sense).

Wistfully she wishes that she could have been there to see him successfully handle the fey mounts. That she could have been a bystander watching him try and go shot for shot with Shepard and laugh at his attempt before dragging him back to his room when he inevitably wasn't able to stand on his own two feet. But that's all wishful thinking. Those moments had been reserved for Claude. Inserting herself even in thought still feels intrusive.

But then he mentions their moment together in the maze. She stills in his arms, fingers absently running over his knuckles. ]

You must have really liked her a lot to chase her through a maze.

[ It's not meant to be leading. Rather she doesn't think before she speaks. ]

That or you really needed to see if it was who you thought she was.

I think a part of me knew who she was from the very start.

[ There’s a fond smile in his voice as he murmurs the words against her hair, still holding her close. He knows that’s a dangerous admission but as they lay there together, with her so soft and relaxed and warm in his arms, it’s hard for him to cling to all the reasons he should keep that to himself.

He brushes his lips against her hair again and turns his hand until he can tangle his fingers with her own, threading them together. ]

And she was worth every moment of the chase.

[ There's a laugh in her voice. ]

How? It was a masquerade.

[ Her hair had been devoid of colour, and her eyes had been gold and predatory instead of its usual pink. She hadn't even crossed paths with him before the maze. For him to know it was her, even without all her usual physical trappings, makes her heart thrum in a way she knows it shouldn't.

Whatever charged feelings she'd had when she initially found his fox mask appears to have dissipated. Or maybe it's a combination of the alcohol and the warm bath that had worn away the fear she had felt knowing that she crossed a line she said she wouldn't cross. ]

[ He chuckles softly as he teases fingers lightly against her ribs from where she’s curled up against him. ]

Maybe I’d just know her anywhere. I have been paying attention, you know.

[ The feel of his fingers against her skin draws a soft exhale from her. Don't read into it, she tells herself, don't get more invested than you already are. That will only make this more difficult to say goodbye to.

She's been saying goodbye to a lot of things lately, hasn't she?

At first she starts to laugh but it's quickly swallowed by a hiccup. ]

What does that even mean? Paying attention to what?

[ It’s ironic, how often he’s been saying those same words to himself lately. It’s not something he’s ever had to work at reminding himself before. It had never even been an issue before. Not before her, not before Claude. No one had ever really tempted him to get invested. Or if they had, he’d regretted it fairly quickly.

But for now, he just lets his smile linger as he repeats the motion, gentle but teasing against sensitive skin. ]

To the stunning beauty who made me chase her through a maze, of course.

[ Hilda had always attributed her flippancy towards people, matters of importance, hobbies, and feelings, as a way to avoid boredom. But perhaps her fear of expectations, of trying and failing, was the real drive behind her flippancy. The same fear she had about not being able to make a difference in the war also fueled her approach to relationships. Why start something at all if it would end in disappointment? Why should she have to say goodbye at all if she said it first? If whatever began never made it far enough to constitute a goodbye? She had gone too far with Claude. She's teetering on the edge of it now with Sylvain.

Those thoughts are clouded by the haze of alcohol and all she can focus on now is that what he's doing tickles. A girlish giggle manages its way past her lips as she wriggles in his hold. It's part protest, part knee-jerk reaction to the ticklish spot beneath her ribcage. ]

That's not what I meant! [ It's part laugh, part whine. ] You're avoiding the question again. What did you notice about her in the first place?

That I missed being able to see her smile.

[ The confession is soft but his hands drift away from her ticklish ribs to brush over the back of her hand once more instead. ]

That no matter what she changed, how different she looked, I was still just as drawn to her as ever. Still wanted to hear her laugh, scoop her up in my arms, hold her against me. I kept catching sight of her all night at that ball, even tried to chase her in there, but she kept getting away. It wasn’t till she stepped outside that I finally caught her. And then got to chase her for real.

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