[ There's something he forces at that meant to be a laugh, something to clear the air and probably would if it was anyone standing here but someone who knows him so well. Something he should change to knew, but that's also on the list of things Claude can't manage to reconcile even as they wait there for him to do so. No struggle he needs to involve her in when it's clear this is something he has to solve for himself.
It's almost offensive that the sun's still daring to share brightly and nothing about this day is as dim as it feels like it should be. The crowds pass by with all kinds of chatter, there's the calls of different shopkeepers looking to lure them in, and the breeze has the audacity to pick up then to carry away some of the day's warmth while he stands absently flexing his hands and willing himself to forget to the feel of her.
He could leave. There's nothing keeping him here as he's reminded himself several times in the space of a few seconds, but it's like something keeps him rooted to the spot. Until Hilda speaks and he blinks at the passersby he was watching without really seeing to look back at her, and then back at the building. ]
I suppose I probably should since I didn't actually finish what he told me to go in there and do. Wouldn't exactly be the best impression to leave there considering I'm here because of someone else in the first place.
[ He's stalling in ways that don't feel like something he'd do so Claude forces himself to take one step and then another like Hilda will fall into step with him like from other times, other places, and whether she does or not when it comes to where the shop and warehouse meet, he doesn't offer up a goodbye when it feels like this has been a long extended one enough already which won't bring them any closure at all. ]
[ Gods, she hates the sound of that hollow, forced laugh. It's all niceties at this point, isn't it? Claude's laugh will never again ring bright and sweet for anything she does again. That's reserved for others he's built and nurtured feelings for. For Sylvain. For Petra if she ever returns. They are deserving of it. They are worthy of affections she'll never have and her jealous, pining heart will simply have to come to terms with that some day. Her heart aches all the same and she has to force herself to swallow a mysterious lump in her throat. ]
No. It wouldn't.
[ Her quiet disapproval doesn't have bite to it, but it suggests that she better not hear about him leaving a mess for someone she's beginning to view as a mentor.
All of that masks her quiet hope that he won't leave, but that would be ridiculous because then they'd just be left standing here making awful small talk with no substance. Would that be so bad though if it means he's still close? As if he can read her mind he begins walking away, and of course her feet follow so dutifully like they have so often in the past. His stride is naturally longer than hers and she hurries to catch up, pushed along by the gentle breeze as if it hears her quiet desire to stay by his side.
In the past she used to whine about how fast he walked. And while the whining never really stopped, eventually, unbeknownst to her, she adapted to it, perfecting the pace at which he walked in her own stride. How many people had she done that for? The answer is clear as the sun that shone so rudely above them: very few, if any.
It doesn't feel right to say goodbye when they reach the junction between the shop and the warehouse. But as she turns to utter it to him, he's already continuing towards the warehouse staring straight ahead like he always had. Her mouth shuts. Pressure behind her eyes begins to build. This is right, she thinks. This is fitting. The answer to her question earlier becomes clear. You said goodbye to someone once held dear by not saying it at all. It's easier that way.
Hilda's gaze lingers on his back a beat longer than she should before she tears it away. Rolling her shoulders back she takes a centering breath before bursting into the workshop, a whine on her lips bemoaning to Cyprian about being stuck in the warehouse, not once mentioning anything of the heart ache she had suffered at the hands of a broken lock. ]
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It's almost offensive that the sun's still daring to share brightly and nothing about this day is as dim as it feels like it should be. The crowds pass by with all kinds of chatter, there's the calls of different shopkeepers looking to lure them in, and the breeze has the audacity to pick up then to carry away some of the day's warmth while he stands absently flexing his hands and willing himself to forget to the feel of her.
He could leave. There's nothing keeping him here as he's reminded himself several times in the space of a few seconds, but it's like something keeps him rooted to the spot. Until Hilda speaks and he blinks at the passersby he was watching without really seeing to look back at her, and then back at the building. ]
I suppose I probably should since I didn't actually finish what he told me to go in there and do. Wouldn't exactly be the best impression to leave there considering I'm here because of someone else in the first place.
[ He's stalling in ways that don't feel like something he'd do so Claude forces himself to take one step and then another like Hilda will fall into step with him like from other times, other places, and whether she does or not when it comes to where the shop and warehouse meet, he doesn't offer up a goodbye when it feels like this has been a long extended one enough already which won't bring them any closure at all. ]
no subject
No. It wouldn't.
[ Her quiet disapproval doesn't have bite to it, but it suggests that she better not hear about him leaving a mess for someone she's beginning to view as a mentor.
All of that masks her quiet hope that he won't leave, but that would be ridiculous because then they'd just be left standing here making awful small talk with no substance. Would that be so bad though if it means he's still close? As if he can read her mind he begins walking away, and of course her feet follow so dutifully like they have so often in the past. His stride is naturally longer than hers and she hurries to catch up, pushed along by the gentle breeze as if it hears her quiet desire to stay by his side.
In the past she used to whine about how fast he walked. And while the whining never really stopped, eventually, unbeknownst to her, she adapted to it, perfecting the pace at which he walked in her own stride. How many people had she done that for? The answer is clear as the sun that shone so rudely above them: very few, if any.
It doesn't feel right to say goodbye when they reach the junction between the shop and the warehouse. But as she turns to utter it to him, he's already continuing towards the warehouse staring straight ahead like he always had. Her mouth shuts. Pressure behind her eyes begins to build. This is right, she thinks. This is fitting. The answer to her question earlier becomes clear. You said goodbye to someone once held dear by not saying it at all. It's easier that way.
Hilda's gaze lingers on his back a beat longer than she should before she tears it away. Rolling her shoulders back she takes a centering breath before bursting into the workshop, a whine on her lips bemoaning to Cyprian about being stuck in the warehouse, not once mentioning anything of the heart ache she had suffered at the hands of a broken lock. ]