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[ 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?

Hilda, there’s never been an ‘after’ with me. [ His voice holds a dry note of humor as he shakes his head slightly. ] That’s not what people are interested in me for. Or if they are, it’s been for all the worst reasons.

[ He leans into the warmth of her hand for a moment, feeling her fingers brush against the hoop of his earring. But then she says that and he spares a moment to roll his eyes up towards the ceiling. Likely begging the Goddess for patience in dealing with these two stubborn idiots. ]

You know. [ he starts that mildly enough, letting his gaze drop back to her face, one eyebrow arching upwards. ] I’m pretty sure the only person he’s disappointed in is himself. Because he thinks he can never be the person you want. And it’s gutted him.

[ Claude’s going to murder him if this ever gets back to him. He’s 100% sure he was never supposed to repeat that to Hilda, but Sylvain’s about at the end of his rope when it comes to both of them.

But he lets it go there, hopes she’ll mull that over, maybe rethink some things. He can’t fix them but he can keep trying to nudge them where he can. Until they tell him to stop or he pisses them off too far, he supposes.

He bends his head down to rest his forehead against hers again, still crouching over her on the bed and caging her in beneath him. ]

And that’s not selfish, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure that’s pretty normal, actually. But I mostly wish you could see yourself the way we see you. Because you’re amazing all on your own, just as you are. [ He brushes a kiss against the tip of her nose, not missing that admission from her, a complete contradiction to what she’d told him before.

Being honest rarely got him anywhere good, however. He has plenty of experience to back up that understanding. ]

Are you still afraid to be honest with me?

[ What he says confuses her. There's nothing she can think of that she would gain from wanting Sylvain. They aren't in Fodlan; there are no lands to join or politics to play. If there is anything that either of them would be gaining here in Abraxas, it would be Sylvain gaining a burden in the form of her.

Sincerity turns to annoyance when she spots Sylvain's eyeroll heavenward. Here she is trying to be serious and he's rolling his eyes at something she'd said. She barely has enough time to comprehend what he says about Claude being disappointed that he isn't what she wants him to be but she does have enough sense to immediately pinch Sylvain's cheek. Why did it feel like he was laughing at her? If Sylvain thought Claude was going to murder him, he might not even get that far if she murdered him first. There's some heat to her voice as she tugs at his cheek partly aimed at his eyeroll and partly fuelled by a truth she's since convinced herself of. ]

He doesn't care what I think because I don't mean anything to him. He made that pretty clear.

[ But she cared what Claude thought of her. That's why it had hurt so much to hear that he thought she had no substance and had nothing between her ears except air. Even that hadn't been enough to stop her from admiring him for who he was even after understanding that he made himself difficult to get to know by design. So did Sylvain, she realizes hazily. Is that why they both didn't want her? Because she was just a pretty thing to be put on a shelf with no other useful skills to speak of? Because she didn't have a brave, bleeding heart? Or was it because she wasn't some intriguing puzzle to solve?

Before she can question it further he's closing the space between them and her breath catches in her throat. Her hand relinquishes his cheek, going instead to slide into the hair at the nape of his neck. She tells herself her breathlessness has nothing to do with his question or the way she can make out the golden flecks in his eyes, and that she's just caught off guard. ]

That depends. Do you think I'm interested in you for the wrong reasons the way that others are?

No.

[ That answer, at least, comes immediately. Succinct and honest.

He lets his eyes slide shut when she slides fingers into his hair, tangling them there in way that almost always has him going boneless at the feeling. ]

No, you’re nothing like the others, Hilda. You’ve always been special.

[ Being called special isn't new. So often it fell from people's lips when they were fawning over her, to the point where it bounced off of her like the word meant nothing at all. After all, it isn't like she thinks she's anything special. They only saw what she presented to them: a delicate flower all soft without a care in the world.

But hearing the word from Sylvain's lips, she can't help but feel like it means something. Or maybe that's her heart yearning for something she can't have again. ]

So if I'm not like the others, [ If Claude isn't anything like the others - ] and you know how I feel about you and that I won't be disappointed, then what's stopping you from what you want?

[ Her fingers curl into his hair, tugging lightly signaling that he should open his eyes to look at her. If he does, he'll see that her gaze is soft. Pleading. ]

There's nothing to be afraid of.

[ She can no longer tell if she's trying to convince him or convince herself. Maybe it's both even though she knows better than to listen to her own advice. ]

[ His eyes open in time to meet her own pleading look, holding her gaze for a moment. He debates his answer to that, since just because she isn’t like the others doesn’t change what he’s like. It hasn’t ruled out the inevitable crash of reality that’s still looming in his future. But he knows she’s not going to accept that answer right now anyway. Not until it’s real.

So instead he bends his head closer to hers, his lips hovering over her own. ]

Then what are you afraid of, Hilda? What’s stopping you from taking what you want?

[ Another version of her would sink back against the pillows as if that would somehow put more space between her and the thing she wants. That would be the rational, right thing to do. It's what this version of her should be doing, really. But she can't tear herself away, nor can she get the image of him sitting on his bed sadder than she had ever seen him out of her head.

His earring catches in the light acting as a reminder that he had already decided on someone else far more brilliant and bright than her. And despite that her body arches instinctively towards him. Maybe it's the alcohol that makes her braver than she is, or maybe it's the act of having already leapt that makes it easier to leave just a hair's breadth between their lips. ]

You asking me for my heart too.

[ She wants this to be real too. Not just a kindness, not just a desire. Real. Honest. ]

[ He still slightly, searching her face, feeling uneasy again as he tries to understand what she means by that. ]

That’s what you’re afraid of?

[ Hilda doesn't flinch, even though yes, it some ways that does scare her. Terrifies her in fact. But that's not what she had meant when she said it. ]

No, that's what's stopping me from taking what I want.

[ Her hand cards gently through his hair, voice quiet but steady. ]

I told you I was selfish too. I want all of you. I want to know you want all of me too.

[ And if he didn't then she would survive. She could live through a broken heart, couldn't she? So long as she knew that the two people that were the most important to her here in Abraxas were happy that's all that mattered to her. ]

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