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[ 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.

[ Hilda hadn't known what answer to expect when she asked her question. Except that isn't the truth. Maybe she did. Maybe she had expected something along the lines of how she moved, something about her perfume, the way she chose to accessorize, or maybe some patch of pink had slipped through her glamour unbeknownst to her. That had always been the case in the past; she had always been distilled down to her looks and nothing more because what else did she have to offer? Instead it had been none of those things.

At the realization that he's describing seeing her in a way that she's always hoped she'd be seen, her cheeks flush. Her stupid little heart skips a beat and has the audacity to hover several inches off the ground in her chest. She's glad that her back is to him so that he can't see the way her eyes widen or how she's at a loss for words. He probably wasn't saying things just to be kind - but that didn't mean that it meant what she wanted it to mean, right? Hadn't he already turned her down?

She swallows and several beats later she asks - ]

And do you still feel that way? Even after everything that she said?

[ He almost makes a lighthearted comment about not giving up that easily but… no. That would be a lie. He’s a master of strategic retreat when things start turning too serious or too uncomfortable or maybe just too outright risky.

Even that night, he’d slipped away before she could catch on to who he was beneath his own mask. Hadn’t been willing to face the consequences of the anger or rejection he’d been expecting from her, or to ruin the rest of their nights. Better to leave it a hopefully-pleasant mystery to remember instead.

He could give her a pretty answer or he could divert her onto a different topic, probably. But instead he just gives her a simple truth, turning his head just enough that he can rest his cheek atop her head. ]

Yes. I don’t think that feeling is going anywhere.

[ One of the thoughts plaguing her since she had discovered who Lief had really been had been why he had left so abruptly. They could have gone elsewhere. They didn't even have to continue. But instead she had been left hurrying back into her clothing with shaking limbs before the other maze goers they had heard discovered her.

If Sylvain had known - if he had suspected - it had been her, why not stay? As soon as she asks herself that question though she recalls her reaction upon discovering it had been him. The dread and guilt she had felt. The fear that now that he'd had her he wouldn't want her any other way. Of course he wouldn't have wanted to stay.

But all of those things don't necessarily cancel out someone's wants and desires. She knew that all too well. ]

Do you want her to feel the same way about you as you do about her?

[ That was the rub, wasn’t it? The ironic dichotomy that was him. His wants rarely mattered when it came to things like this. Especially when it involved matters of the heart.

But that’s dangerous territory to tread, both for him to consider and for him to word his answer to her. She’s not going to like that truth and it’s too ingrained in him to avoid giving unpleasant truths, or finding a way to word them to steer away from the dark shadows that stained so much of the person he was behind his masks.

He doesn’t want to steal even more of her smiles, but he doesn’t know how to answer that question in a way that avoids that without outright lying to her. ]

I want her to be happy. [ It’s a quiet concession. Not quite an answer, but not a lie, either. ] What I want doesn’t really matter beyond that.

[ Sylvain's answer is enough to cause her to shift in his arms, untangling their fingers. To face him head on in a way that she may not have the courage to do had she not tried to outpace an imaginary Raphael at the Sarstina. The alcohol in her fuels an already existing desire to have him see that he deserves the world. To convince him that he deserves to be cared for in the way that he extends care to those around him. But how is the question.

Some might say that it's easier for her to quietly and doggedly continue to show him. That over time, she could show him that even if he never cared for her the way he clearly yearned for Claude. But that felt like too much effort and required more patience than drunk Hilda is willing to give at that moment. So if she didn't take the slow and steady route, what did that leave? Brute force?

But that was a terrifying thought too. It also required her to be brave, to bare her own truth too. That felt like a lot from someone who thought she was a coward. But how much more bravery did she need to expend tonight? Did that matter when she had already said as much in the bathroom? ]

That isn't an answer either. What you want does matter. You matter, Sylvain. [ Pink eyes look earnestly, fiercely into amber ones. Her hands find the place over his heart again, curling over his chest as a quiet reminder about what she had admitted earlier. That she wanted him. All of him. ] And I'm saying that as someone who cares for you. Whether that's me or Claude or whoever or whatever - what you want matters.

And what if I want all of it?

[ He arches an eyebrow, capturing her hand, holding it against his chest. He tugs her closer, holding her gaze, his own intent. He rolls them, then, until she’s stretched out on the mattress beneath him, pinning her there with his own weight, a knee lodged between her thighs. ]

What if I want everything? I’ve never claimed not to be selfish, Hilda. I’m very selfish, in fact. What if I want you and Claude? What if I want more nights like the ones we spent together before? With you caught between us or one of us there instead. Because I think that was the closest thing to perfect the three of us will ever get.

[ A small breath escapes her lips as she's rolled over staring up at him, skin pebbling at the sudden rush of air as her towel unravels from around her. Cool air is a sharp contrast to the warmth that quickly pools at the pit of her stomach from the action itself. It doesn't even occur to her in that moment to be shy about being naked beneath him, or that he's barely wearing anything himself.

All she can focus on is his words and the sight of him above her.

She's selfish too, she thinks. She's greedy and she hadn't been more aware of it since arriving here. She wants them both. But she's also terrified. The realization is enough to make her balk, to turn tail and run in the other direction now that she's here again. But this feels all too much like she's standing at the edge of the cliff she had dove off with Altair and Diana on in Aquila. What's stopping her from just taking the leap? She had survived that. Surely she can survive this.

But a cliff dive into blue waters is far less intimidating than this. Diving off a cliff wouldn't shatter her soul, her body, her heart. Her feelings for Claude had almost broken her. How is she to survive Sylvain coming to a similar realization that Claude had? That she's not worthy of those affections or wants?

Her hands reach up to cup his face, her fingers running gently over his cheek with adoration. What she says is as much for herself as it is for him. ]

Then you shouldn't be afraid to take or ask for those things. But you also can't be afraid if ask the same in return.

I’m not afraid of you asking.

[ He turns his head jut enough to catch her hand against his lips, pressing light kisses to her fingertips as he gives a quiet, almost weary sigh. ]

I just don’t want to see you disappointed.

[ Because that’s inevitable, even if he’ll try to delay it as long as possible. With both of them. ]

So it's what comes after that you're afraid of.

[ This is the same as the fear she had voiced to him earlier, isn't it? It's just wrapped up in different trappings, stemmed from different sources of hurt and worry. She can't help but give him a sad, understanding smile. ]

If that's what you're worried about, you can't disappoint anyone worse than me. You're amazing, Sylvain. I wish I cared about people half as much as you did. I wish I was as smart and attentive as you.

[ Sometimes her care felt put on. Like it was an exaggeration of the façade she built for others so they'd help her, take pity on her when she flashed them her doe eyes, so they'd never think to expect anything of her except hapless damsel. Clearly that dishonesty and burden is the reason why Claude had let Sylvain through his defences and why he had turned her away for those more capable than her. The sliver of hurt that had remained lodged in her heart like a splinter buries itself deeper. Her eyes search his face, her thumb continuing to brush gently over his cheek. ]

I won't be disappointed by what you have to show me. Claude probably won't either. [ Her other hand goes to brush gently against the earring, the flash of gold and green that now adorned his ear. It lingers there along with her gaze. They had already decided, she thinks. Sylvain spoke of wanting them both, but perhaps that's a kindness too, just for this moment. ] I'm not him but...I knew him well enough to know that the only disappointing person in his life was me. And if you're selfish, then what am I? I don't want you if it isn't all of you.

[ Perhaps that was what she really meant to say that day in his room. Letting that truth slip from her tongue is what it feels like to dive right off a proverbial cliff. ]

Don't be afraid of being honest with Claude, okay?

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