[It's... reassuring in some ways, that she's clearly just as effected by the whole thing as he is. The fact that this synchrony thing is enough to make him consider, just for a moment, the merits of giving her a reassuring hug is the breaking point, though. It's too much and too strange and he nods along with what she's saying sure but there's something tight and fearful in his eyes again.]
I don't... [A moment to pull his will around him like a cloak, a couple steady breaths in and out, reaching for that same mindfulness that lets him start his days level headed and at peace.] I don't hug people, Bernadetta.
[A slow exhale and then he takes a step back, hand dropping away from her shoulder, breaking the contact between them entirely, shaking his head a little as though he can convince himself that he doesn't really want to close the distance again.]
[Her voice dwindles to a strangled little squeak.]
Hug?!
[She stumbles back a step too, her face redder and redder than ever as she stares up at him, eyes huge. They're both caught in the triple crossroads of exposure to a new dimension of feeling, the shackles of Fodlish propriety, and a not inconsiderable amount of touch starvation, which perhaps goes a ways to explain how deeply they've been affected, right now.]
Th, that's, um.... I-I d... people don't... I-I mean, Dorothea d-did, once or t-twice? A-At school. But. But I don't, um, I don't... I-I don't get hugged?
[Her fingers knot together, far more agitated than before.]
Yes, but, um... none of us.... none of us seem to remember the same information.
[The words come out, strangely careful and delicate. Her grip slackens a little, as she tries to piece together what she wants to say without screwing this up and winding him up again.]
And, um. I'm... you know. So, who could I tell, even, well, even if I actually wanted to? I don't...
[She purses her lips, and tries really hard to get this next part right.]
I don't think it's right, to... to hurt you over who you are. You've, um, you've never hurt me, and, and you just... [being Almyran] just being you isn't... I-I'm scared a lot of things, a-and people, and... and what they might do to me, or think, or say. And... and it doesn't always make sense. But I'm still sick with fear, a lot of the time. I... I don't want to do that to other people. Not... when I know what it feels like.
[Not right to hurt someone over who they are? Hah. Hilarious. Who he is was the only reason he'd even left home in the first place. If he wasn't a prince he'd be dead for being different, nearly had been a thousand times over, and if he wasn't his mother's son his brothers and cousins wouldn't all want him dead. His entire life being who he is was the single most consistent reason for him to have been hurt.
It's the reason he's spent the past eight years so agonizingly careful about everything he says and does, constantly terrified that the slightest slip will turn the relative safety of Fodlan into just another fire to escape.]
You're not the only one here who should be dead.
[And there's something cold in his voice when he says it, fear and caution and all the years of careful distance and paranoia let him cling to that little sliver of bitterness to help him distance himself again. It's easier now, not touching her, with that connection broken. Difficult as it was to pull away from it the fact that it is so foreign only makes him even more suspicious of it now. As neutral as he tries to keep his expression, though, she's seen enough of the fear and uncertainty behind the mask to recognize it in the slight furrow of his brow, the tightness around his eyes.]
I'd like to think there are bigger concerns at the moment but... sometimes a common enemy can unite even the oldest of foes.
[Fighting Edelgard had brought Holst and Nader together after all. Whose to say that a lying, vicious Almyran in their midst wouldn't be enough to unite Bernadetta and Hubert... and Dimitri... and gods forbid Yuri- It's the sort of thinking that makes his heart ache but it's also the sort of thinking that's kept him alive all this time. The knowledge that anyone and everyone would turn on him with the speed of a cobra's strike if given enough information to know him.]
[The words feel thick on her tongue. Unwieldy. Her throat tightens a little, because she can feel her point faltering midway before it connects, rambling sentences and stammers diverting the right path, falling into the gap between the two of them, the paths they walked, and where they started from.
Still.
Still.
That cold edge jolts her into trying, once more.]
...until I was eighteen, I never—I had never left Varley they, um. They had to litterally drag me to, to the monastery in a sack. So I'm... I'm not good at being a-a patriot. I don't... I never learned to care, th-the way I was supposed to.
[It's a miserable little admission. Early on, something in her snapped, and after that the estate or the town just beyond were the limits of what she would let herself consider her world. Anything past that, and even some things inside it were as close as she came to an 'enemy'. A Faerghan was as scary as a Dagdan. Claude no more threatening than Petra, here and now.]
...
[She takes a deep breath, then reaches up and takes off one of her earrings, holding it out to him.]
...here. This...
[She touches the remaining one, still in place. She has so little left of home, and less still of what was good about home.]
These were one of the last gifts my uncle gave me for when I grew up, when I was little. Before... before he died. Um, if you take it, and hide it, then... then, you can treat it as insurance. If... if I ever want it back, then I can't tell anyone. So... y-you'll be safe from me. ...right?
[in a sack Stars above, what the hells is wrong with her family? The same things that are wrong with all of the old family, his grandfather included. There's a reason his mom left Fodlan.
But she removes that earring and offers it out to him and he holds his hand out to accept it, moving on autopilot, staring down at the delicate jewelry in his hand in surprise. In the Empire something like this, finely crafted, golden and dramatic, eye-catching.... it was a show of wealth, of status, and clearly something that was very important to her, sentimental even.
His own earring was a mark of defiance, rebellion, some twisted way to reclaim the slur he'd heard most often as a child. Outsider, his brothers would call him. Mongrel, if they were feeling exceptionally cruel. In Fodlan they marked him as other, different. No Fodlish man would be caught wearing earrings, and especially not only one.
But Bernadetta offering him this... that would leave her unbalanced, wouldn't it? Only one earring on such a delicate girl and what would people think. The very idea of it makes his stomach drop unpleasantly and he finally blinks up at her, shaking his head in disbelief then, after a moment, more firmly in denial.]
No. Bernadetta I can't- [Gods damn it all. He can't do that to her and the fact that she'd even be willing to offer makes him want to believe her so badly. And maybe... maybe the ache of homesickness makes it that much harder to refuse. That fleeting taste of freedom before dragging all the old masks back out to weigh himself down with. He actually walks away from her, a few swift, hard steps, pacing in a circle once more as though his mind is running too fast for his body to remain still.]
You can't do that. [Frustrated all over again, offering the earring back to her.] You can't just give away something like that.
[It's a finely crafted piece, if understated and about a decade and a half out of courtly fashion. The gold is smooth, with floral etchings, and the threads of the tassel are finely braided silk, dyed in a deep, rich shade of purple. It's soft even through gloves.]
I... I can.
[She watches him pace again, and thinks of how his last little turnabout culminated. With a firmness that surprises her, she lifts her chin.]
It's mine. N-Not much is, here. And, um, it is very important to me. But, it's mine, and if I want you to hold onto it, th-then, then, um, that's... that's what I'll do.
[She curls her palm back against her chest, so he can't put the earring back in her hand.]
I... Du—C-Claude.
[She uses this fleeting confidence to try and grab his attention away from whatever turmoil is churning behind his eyes. To get him to look at her.]
I... I hate feeling the way I do, worried, and scared, and like... like everyone in the world wants to tear me apart. S-So, please; I-I don't want to make you feel that way. So... take care of that, for me? If... y-you can give it back when you feel safe.
[If he ever feels safe, about her.]
...um, if you t-try to talk me out of it again, I-I'll... um... I'll take the other one o-out and make you r-responsible for the whole set.
[Bernadetta is not an assertive person. It's part of the reason he had dismissed her so readily back in the academy. He'd pursued some people he'd thought would make good allies, not that it mattered once the war broke out, but... never her. As much as he doesn't really know her he does understand what it must take for her to be able to speak to him like this. Insistent, assertive, placing her will above another's.
When he feels safe? He... doesn't know if he'd even recognize the feeling if he did. He's never been safe, as long as he can remember. The closest he'd ever gotten to that was with Teach, sleepless nights spent pouring over books in the library, knowing no one else was awake anywhere in the monastery but the two of them.
He hesitates for another long moment, searching her face for some hint at what she might think she has to gain from this, why she would jeopardize her own comfort for something like this. Someone like him. It doesn't make sense and no matter which way he twists it in his mind he can't quite figure what the game is.
The idea that there is no game is, in some ways, even more disconcerting.]
You can't just... only have one. [He has to say that much at least, can't leave her looking as though she belongs down in the dirt and the slums like him. Finally he turns his head, reaching up to his own ear, huffing a frustrated sigh and impatiently yanking his gloves off to stuff them in his back pocket. It's much easier, without even that thin layer of leather in the way to pry open the hoop in his own ear, something that hasn't been removed in over a decade. He fumbles it a bit, even without the gloves, and it's only the fact that gold is so soft that he's able to finally force it open.
He immediately replaces it with her earring, the weight of the tassel a little strange but not uncomfortable, the silk fine and delicate enough that it barely changes the weight on his earlobe. Then he steps close to her again, hesitating for a moment before steeling himself for the rush of synchrony when he reaches out to gently cup the side of her head, tilting her just so, filling the empty space with far less finely crafted gold, simple and understated.]
We don't want... anyone getting the wrong idea. [Mismatched earrings were better than only one. Even if his voice is strained and a little shaky, fingers lingering against her cheek, her hair, breaking the sync the first time was hard enough but this...] Bu sadece adil
[Bernadetta isn't an assertive person, most of the time. She's better now than she was five years ago, certainly, but it's still a steep climb to get her to dig in her heels about something that doesn't directly impact her; accidentally trampling on other people's feelings, or discovering a sense of kinship, happen to be triggers for that, for better or for worse.
She's never had the practice or will to play mindgames, the way some nobles do. Never had a chance to hone a sense of political acumen, never had an interest in cutting others down or using them to her benefit, short of squeezing more time alone out of the deal. But even then, her selfishness always falters at the thought of genuinely coming at another's expense.
But she knows a little about the sick feeling choking him up now, even if her own feelings don't have quite as much credible threat backing them. So she tries hard, this time.]
I—
[She makes the mistake of trying to talk just as his fingers touch her ear, and the noise she makes is strangled and rough and quiet, cheeks blooming with color anew just as they had begun to fade, in the seriousness of the moment, because that is his bare hand is touching her so gently, like she's... like she's worth that sort of care, and no matter how many books she's read she has never quite expected enough from life to be prepared to be in this position.
In a book, he'd probably kiss her now, even if it didn't make sense. In reality, she has absolutely no idea where this moment is going, only that it's heavy with more significance than she can possibly understand, and she can barely hear him over the frantic sound of her own pulse.]
I. I... D-Don't know what that one means.
[It's not common in classical, antiquated, literary Almyran prose, after all.]
[In a book or a fairy tale that's exactly what would happen. He'd lean in and kiss her and sweep her off her feet and everything would work out perfectly. But there's no guarantee that things will even work out decently, never mind perfectly, and for all his playful flirting to rile people up and make them uncomfortable crossing the line to kiss someone is far, far too much. Makes him vulnerable in a way he can't bear to allow.
But the thought still flickers through his mind. Not strange and foreign like the impulse to hug her had been but something that just... made sense in a way that he couldn't accept. He has so, so much experience in denying himself things, however, that it honestly doesn't occur to him to try it. It's instinctive, by now, to shy away from something he might want until things are planned and perfected.]
Just... keeping it fair. [A soft murmur under his breath and he may not kiss her but he does bow his head, touching his forehead lightly against hers, something soft and trembling in his next breath that makes him close his eyes. Not just close them but squeeze them shut, brow furrowing as he tries, desperately, to figure out how to make himself break whatever this spell is, almost wishing it were all some strange compulsion because that, at least, would be simple.]
[Somehow, he managed to naturally switch to something even more flustering and unexpected. He told her he wasn't one to hug, and maybe it's the shut-in habits or the Adrestian etiquette embossed in her like a seal in wax, but this feels several steps past a simple hug. Or maybe it's because, when her uncle or Michail or Dorothea did hug her, they never cupped her face beforehand or were quite so...
So...
Something.
She doesn't know if there's a single word that can describe all of Claude von Riegan at once.]
Th-That's...
[Her breaths are quick and shallow, and she squeezes her own eyes shut before her heart can pop out of her chest, from the pressure of all this.]
[They'd blown past hugs and into something far beyond what either of them were comfortable with. Still... her unyielding insistence that she wants him to be safe is so strange and painful and- and maybe the reason it hurt so much was the fact that somewhere, some small part of him wanted to hope that he could feel safe with someone. Just once.]
No... [Soft, breathless, like there's not enough space between them for him to be able to take a full breath. Like the weight of all of this is too much for him to be able to really breathe.]
'Detta? [He knows others call her Bernie but shortening everything to sweet little words that always seem to end in 'y' or 'ie' has always felt so strange to him, childish in a way.] I... don't know how much of this is... is the gems? I don't-
[He feels like he can't trust his own feelings and that's terrifying but he's also been so agonizingly lonely only to have that fleeting moment of connection, of comfort back. To be able to give his parents a hug once more and then ripped away before he could even really let himself believe it was true. It's all too much and he can't explain any of it but it makes his heart hurt, makes it that much more difficult to pull away from the tiny sliver of a connection to home there is in this place.]
[Her heart has either stopped or is pounding so fast she can't distinguish separate beats or she's so flustered that she can't focus on anything other than him, for this moment. She keeps her eyes shut, a little scared to find out just which answer is right, and fights back a shudder at that strange new endearment.
'Bernie' had been what her uncle called her as a child, and it soothed her to use it herself; it made her feel like a piece of him is still with her. Petra picked it up somewhere along the line too, and she's been fine with that. 'Bern' is Dorothea's domain, quick and snappy and sweet, just like her.
'Detta is new ground entirely, especially from a man.]
I-I think... I'm a little less scared? And... a-and it feels...
[Goddess. It sure does feel.]
It feels n-nice.
[So much nicer than the slash of the Blade of the Creator, of the snap of fire, of the chill of bloodloss. So much better than dying alone on splintered and splattered wood, never to be held or consoled or... or being able to hold or console.]
I-I, um. I don't... know if it's usually like this, o-or not. But... it feels nice.
[It feels nice. Stars that seems like a maddening understatement. It feels like home and hope and all the things he doesn't let himself get caught up in any more all at once. Too many feelings but also those feelings each too pure. He can't breathe and he tilts his head slightly, nudging ever so softly against her, breaths shaky and strained.]
I should- [He should go. He should walk away from whatever this was and cut contact with her entirely, let Yuri give her earring back to her and replace all the bricks in the walls he's built around himself. Walls he'd been so stupid to lower, even that little bit when he returned home. Gradually he convinces himself to draw his hand away, letting her hair slip from his fingers, letting the warmth of her fade from his hand.
Gods even that makes his heart hurt, makes him want to reach out and hold her that much tighter and his next breath bursts out in a rush like the loss of contact is a physical blow. His teeth click as he tightens his jaw, clenches his teeth together, a tiny, frightened, fragile little noise catching in his throat.
He can't do it. He can't do this, let someone so close. Even now, already, she could ruin him without even trying. There's so many feelings all wound so suffocatingly tight around his heart that it's difficult to even define them. He doesn't realize at first that he's focusing so hard on trying to work out what is real and what might be something... other, something forced onto him by bond, that he's holding his breath. Fingers curling into a tight fist, tension winding tighter and tighter in him, in the set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow where it presses against hers.
He should walk away. Right now. He should leave and never look back.
[A thoughtless, disappointed little sound works its way out of her throat as she feels him retreat and the sync fizzle out again, and tentatively she peeks her eyes back open and tilts her head up slightly, properly looking at him again.
He looks, she thinks distantly, like he would very, very much like to be pacing again.
As if magnetic, her own hand is drawn up to hover where his had been, the little hoop heavy against her fingers. The small rings decorating it click together faintly, and she remembers to breathe.
It feels heavier than it actually is. She doesn't know how a gesture meant to give him a sense of power and stability snowballed into an emotionally-charged exchange that leaves both of them flat-footed and uncertain, and she doesn't know if it was a bad thing, either. She's so far in over her head she's not even sure which way is up any more, but she swallows dryly and tries.
She has to try, otherwise she thinks she'll just faint, right here on the street, and that will probably spook him into something even worse than pacing.]
Y-You... should...?
[Her voice is soft, breathless, and somehow impossibly loud, to her ears.]
[She knows what should happen, surely. They're both too paranoid and anxious and distant to continue to endure this... this.
But that sound she makes is more effective than a dagger to the heart. The realization that she is now toying with his earring something sharp and hot in his gut, wonderful and terrible all at once. It's enough to startle him into breathing again, one ragged desperate breath that seems to finally be enough to release him from that horrible prison of indecision. Except instead of turning away from her, walking away, hells running away if that's what was needed... he does precisely the opposite.
His hand comes up in a rush, cradling her face once more, fingers stumbling against hers, awkward and uncoordinated. He tilts his head down, shifting that point of contact from their foreheads gently touching to instead crash his lips against hers. Too hard, too sudden but he corrects himself quickly, eases the pressure and lingers there, lips on hers, heart hammering in his chest so hard his head spins and the shock of the sync spiking once more almost enough to make him stagger against her.]
[A handsome, dangerous, suspicious man she only just really met today is kissing her.
He's kissing her.
He's kissing her.
Her mind goes blank, washed clean by the sudden surge of energy between them, by the almost bruising initiation, by the heat of his mouth as she gasps against it, soundless and stunned. She has never, ever been kissed and even in her wildest novel-fueled dreams, she never imagined it happening like this. Her other hand moves from her chest to his, fisted in his coat, and her knees are weak and she... she doesn't know what to do, exactly, or what she is doing, but somehow she thinks she's... kissing him back.
She's certainly not pushing him away or pulling back or slapping him, the way she occasionally saw that Blue Lion boy's would-be paramours do as she skulked through mostly-secluded hallways on occasion, at least.
This is so, so many steps further than a hug. She should stop this. Stop him. Surely there's no way he'd ever want to do this with her in his right mind, after all.
...
Sh-she's not stopping him. Why isn't she stopping him...?]
[He'd, honestly, written off any considerations of romance a long long time ago. He had work to do, goals and dreams to strive towards. Besides that he was an outsider, the idea of forcing someone to tie themselves to him was absurd. If, somehow, he survived long enough to take the throne, to do some good, he'd just appoint one of his nieces or nephews as successor, let his brothers bicker over who deserved the throne after him, whatever happened it wouldn't have anything to do with him or his line or romance of any sort.
His dreams and ambitions had always been enough so this... was a first for them both. The rush of power sudden and intense, the softness of her lips impossibly enticing even if he had no idea what to do beyond pressing closer to her. His free hand touches her side ever so lightly, the faintest encouragement to close the distance, to let her pull him in...
And it's as if the warmth of her under both of his hands is too much of a shock, an overload that sends him staggering back with a gasp of his own, hands raised helpless and uncertain, jade eyes wide with shock. Shock that spirals into panic the moment the contact is broken even if the bond is still there, still buzzing in the back of his mind like a bolting. His hand comes up, touching his own lips, slow and wondering and confused before clamping over his mouth with a startled little squeak.]
I-I... Det- [Oh gods, he shouldn't call her that, she didn't agree to let him call her that. She didn't agree to any of this. He stumbles back one shaky step, looking for all the world like a hare about to bolt.]
[She's never thought she'd interest anybody; if she ever had that sort of hope, her father had crushed it thoroughly, early on. If any duke ever gave her the time of day, she assumed it would be a radically older, desperate one, who was in some backroom agreement with the Count.
Here, with the type of handsome young man who would sooner put an arrow in her father's throat than give him the time of day?
Inconceivable.]
I. Um.
[When he pulls back, her knees immediately give out. His jacket slips through her fingers and she lands, sitting stunned on the ground.
Still staring up at him, and steadily growing redder and redder as her brain scrambles to catch up with... current event. Her own hand rises to her mouth, unconsciously mirroring him.]
[There's a strange little aborted movement, like he wants to go to her, help her to her feet, steady her but now after that he's terrified to touch her again. Gods what the hell had happened here?
His jacket is all askew and he can't help her up but he can... Instead of righting his jacket he shrugs out of it, crouching down in front of her. His face is not as red as hers but that's only because the flush shows up so much brighter on her porcelain complexion. (Porcelain? Stars, he sounds like Lorenz.) A moment of looking at her, still disbelieving and shocked. Then he swings his jacket around to drape it over her shoulders, still warm from his body and a warm, spicy musk clinging to it like sunshine and sandalwood.]
I'm sorry. [Cautious words he's well aware won't make up for whatever the hells he's just done here but it's all he can get out, the great leader stunned into near silence. Then he pushes to his feet, backs away from her for a few steps before turning on his heel and bolting down the street, the convenient power of his gembond making sure he's out of sight in but a moment.]
[It feels like the next few seconds bunch and jump, like pages stuck together and then speeding ahead in the story. One moment he's there, he's... taking his jacket off...?!]
I-I...!
[And then he's apologizing, and then he's gone.
And she's still here, swathed in a man's jacket—the jacket of the man who just kissed her—the chill of the pavement slowly seeping into her legs.]
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no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 12:25 am (UTC)I don't... [A moment to pull his will around him like a cloak, a couple steady breaths in and out, reaching for that same mindfulness that lets him start his days level headed and at peace.] I don't hug people, Bernadetta.
[A slow exhale and then he takes a step back, hand dropping away from her shoulder, breaking the contact between them entirely, shaking his head a little as though he can convince himself that he doesn't really want to close the distance again.]
This isn't right...
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 12:33 am (UTC)[Her voice dwindles to a strangled little squeak.]
Hug?!
[She stumbles back a step too, her face redder and redder than ever as she stares up at him, eyes huge. They're both caught in the triple crossroads of exposure to a new dimension of feeling, the shackles of Fodlish propriety, and a not inconsiderable amount of touch starvation, which perhaps goes a ways to explain how deeply they've been affected, right now.]
Th, that's, um.... I-I d... people don't... I-I mean, Dorothea d-did, once or t-twice? A-At school. But. But I don't, um, I don't... I-I don't get hugged?
[Her fingers knot together, far more agitated than before.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 01:38 am (UTC)And I don't hug! So... So why the hell did I think-
[Oh no he's implicating himself]
think you n-needed one
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 01:40 am (UTC)I. Um.
[She looks around, shoulders rising up uncertainly.]
D-Did... you want to? I. Um. I'm...
[She takes a shaky breath.]
M-Maybe it's... because, um, because I'm n-not... not very, um, threatening?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 02:11 am (UTC)I don't know. How could I? With... all of... that going on.
[A vague, frustrated and flustered little gesture between them. Something that makes him shift forward just a little bit even if he doesn't mean to.]
Anyone can be threatening if they know the right information.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 02:19 am (UTC)[The words come out, strangely careful and delicate. Her grip slackens a little, as she tries to piece together what she wants to say without screwing this up and winding him up again.]
And, um. I'm... you know. So, who could I tell, even, well, even if I actually wanted to? I don't...
[She purses her lips, and tries really hard to get this next part right.]
I don't think it's right, to... to hurt you over who you are. You've, um, you've never hurt me, and, and you just... [being Almyran] just being you isn't... I-I'm scared a lot of things, a-and people, and... and what they might do to me, or think, or say. And... and it doesn't always make sense. But I'm still sick with fear, a lot of the time. I... I don't want to do that to other people. Not... when I know what it feels like.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 03:19 am (UTC)It's the reason he's spent the past eight years so agonizingly careful about everything he says and does, constantly terrified that the slightest slip will turn the relative safety of Fodlan into just another fire to escape.]
You're not the only one here who should be dead.
[And there's something cold in his voice when he says it, fear and caution and all the years of careful distance and paranoia let him cling to that little sliver of bitterness to help him distance himself again. It's easier now, not touching her, with that connection broken. Difficult as it was to pull away from it the fact that it is so foreign only makes him even more suspicious of it now. As neutral as he tries to keep his expression, though, she's seen enough of the fear and uncertainty behind the mask to recognize it in the slight furrow of his brow, the tightness around his eyes.]
I'd like to think there are bigger concerns at the moment but... sometimes a common enemy can unite even the oldest of foes.
[Fighting Edelgard had brought Holst and Nader together after all. Whose to say that a lying, vicious Almyran in their midst wouldn't be enough to unite Bernadetta and Hubert... and Dimitri... and gods forbid Yuri- It's the sort of thinking that makes his heart ache but it's also the sort of thinking that's kept him alive all this time. The knowledge that anyone and everyone would turn on him with the speed of a cobra's strike if given enough information to know him.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 03:31 am (UTC)[The words feel thick on her tongue. Unwieldy. Her throat tightens a little, because she can feel her point faltering midway before it connects, rambling sentences and stammers diverting the right path, falling into the gap between the two of them, the paths they walked, and where they started from.
Still.
Still.
That cold edge jolts her into trying, once more.]
...until I was eighteen, I never—I had never left Varley they, um. They had to litterally drag me to, to the monastery in a sack. So I'm... I'm not good at being a-a patriot. I don't... I never learned to care, th-the way I was supposed to.
[It's a miserable little admission. Early on, something in her snapped, and after that the estate or the town just beyond were the limits of what she would let herself consider her world. Anything past that, and even some things inside it were as close as she came to an 'enemy'. A Faerghan was as scary as a Dagdan. Claude no more threatening than Petra, here and now.]
...
[She takes a deep breath, then reaches up and takes off one of her earrings, holding it out to him.]
...here. This...
[She touches the remaining one, still in place. She has so little left of home, and less still of what was good about home.]
These were one of the last gifts my uncle gave me for when I grew up, when I was little. Before... before he died. Um, if you take it, and hide it, then... then, you can treat it as insurance. If... if I ever want it back, then I can't tell anyone. So... y-you'll be safe from me. ...right?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 05:00 am (UTC)But she removes that earring and offers it out to him and he holds his hand out to accept it, moving on autopilot, staring down at the delicate jewelry in his hand in surprise. In the Empire something like this, finely crafted, golden and dramatic, eye-catching.... it was a show of wealth, of status, and clearly something that was very important to her, sentimental even.
His own earring was a mark of defiance, rebellion, some twisted way to reclaim the slur he'd heard most often as a child. Outsider, his brothers would call him. Mongrel, if they were feeling exceptionally cruel. In Fodlan they marked him as other, different. No Fodlish man would be caught wearing earrings, and especially not only one.
But Bernadetta offering him this... that would leave her unbalanced, wouldn't it? Only one earring on such a delicate girl and what would people think. The very idea of it makes his stomach drop unpleasantly and he finally blinks up at her, shaking his head in disbelief then, after a moment, more firmly in denial.]
No. Bernadetta I can't- [Gods damn it all. He can't do that to her and the fact that she'd even be willing to offer makes him want to believe her so badly. And maybe... maybe the ache of homesickness makes it that much harder to refuse. That fleeting taste of freedom before dragging all the old masks back out to weigh himself down with. He actually walks away from her, a few swift, hard steps, pacing in a circle once more as though his mind is running too fast for his body to remain still.]
You can't do that. [Frustrated all over again, offering the earring back to her.] You can't just give away something like that.
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Date: 2021-02-07 05:12 am (UTC)I... I can.
[She watches him pace again, and thinks of how his last little turnabout culminated. With a firmness that surprises her, she lifts her chin.]
It's mine. N-Not much is, here. And, um, it is very important to me. But, it's mine, and if I want you to hold onto it, th-then, then, um, that's... that's what I'll do.
[She curls her palm back against her chest, so he can't put the earring back in her hand.]
I... Du—C-Claude.
[She uses this fleeting confidence to try and grab his attention away from whatever turmoil is churning behind his eyes. To get him to look at her.]
I... I hate feeling the way I do, worried, and scared, and like... like everyone in the world wants to tear me apart. S-So, please; I-I don't want to make you feel that way. So... take care of that, for me? If... y-you can give it back when you feel safe.
[If he ever feels safe, about her.]
...um, if you t-try to talk me out of it again, I-I'll... um... I'll take the other one o-out and make you r-responsible for the whole set.
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Date: 2021-02-07 02:45 pm (UTC)When he feels safe? He... doesn't know if he'd even recognize the feeling if he did. He's never been safe, as long as he can remember. The closest he'd ever gotten to that was with Teach, sleepless nights spent pouring over books in the library, knowing no one else was awake anywhere in the monastery but the two of them.
He hesitates for another long moment, searching her face for some hint at what she might think she has to gain from this, why she would jeopardize her own comfort for something like this. Someone like him. It doesn't make sense and no matter which way he twists it in his mind he can't quite figure what the game is.
The idea that there is no game is, in some ways, even more disconcerting.]
You can't just... only have one. [He has to say that much at least, can't leave her looking as though she belongs down in the dirt and the slums like him. Finally he turns his head, reaching up to his own ear, huffing a frustrated sigh and impatiently yanking his gloves off to stuff them in his back pocket. It's much easier, without even that thin layer of leather in the way to pry open the hoop in his own ear, something that hasn't been removed in over a decade. He fumbles it a bit, even without the gloves, and it's only the fact that gold is so soft that he's able to finally force it open.
He immediately replaces it with her earring, the weight of the tassel a little strange but not uncomfortable, the silk fine and delicate enough that it barely changes the weight on his earlobe. Then he steps close to her again, hesitating for a moment before steeling himself for the rush of synchrony when he reaches out to gently cup the side of her head, tilting her just so, filling the empty space with far less finely crafted gold, simple and understated.]
We don't want... anyone getting the wrong idea. [Mismatched earrings were better than only one. Even if his voice is strained and a little shaky, fingers lingering against her cheek, her hair, breaking the sync the first time was hard enough but this...] Bu sadece adil
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Date: 2021-02-07 03:17 pm (UTC)She's never had the practice or will to play mindgames, the way some nobles do. Never had a chance to hone a sense of political acumen, never had an interest in cutting others down or using them to her benefit, short of squeezing more time alone out of the deal. But even then, her selfishness always falters at the thought of genuinely coming at another's expense.
But she knows a little about the sick feeling choking him up now, even if her own feelings don't have quite as much credible threat backing them. So she tries hard, this time.]
I—
[She makes the mistake of trying to talk just as his fingers touch her ear, and the noise she makes is strangled and rough and quiet, cheeks blooming with color anew just as they had begun to fade, in the seriousness of the moment, because that is his bare hand is touching her so gently, like she's... like she's worth that sort of care, and no matter how many books she's read she has never quite expected enough from life to be prepared to be in this position.
In a book, he'd probably kiss her now, even if it didn't make sense. In reality, she has absolutely no idea where this moment is going, only that it's heavy with more significance than she can possibly understand, and she can barely hear him over the frantic sound of her own pulse.]
I. I... D-Don't know what that one means.
[It's not common in classical, antiquated, literary Almyran prose, after all.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 03:57 pm (UTC)But the thought still flickers through his mind. Not strange and foreign like the impulse to hug her had been but something that just... made sense in a way that he couldn't accept. He has so, so much experience in denying himself things, however, that it honestly doesn't occur to him to try it. It's instinctive, by now, to shy away from something he might want until things are planned and perfected.]
Just... keeping it fair. [A soft murmur under his breath and he may not kiss her but he does bow his head, touching his forehead lightly against hers, something soft and trembling in his next breath that makes him close his eyes. Not just close them but squeeze them shut, brow furrowing as he tries, desperately, to figure out how to make himself break whatever this spell is, almost wishing it were all some strange compulsion because that, at least, would be simple.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 05:19 pm (UTC)So...
Something.
She doesn't know if there's a single word that can describe all of Claude von Riegan at once.]
Th-That's...
[Her breaths are quick and shallow, and she squeezes her own eyes shut before her heart can pop out of her chest, from the pressure of all this.]
Was I... being u-unfair?
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Date: 2021-02-07 05:59 pm (UTC)No... [Soft, breathless, like there's not enough space between them for him to be able to take a full breath. Like the weight of all of this is too much for him to be able to really breathe.]
'Detta? [He knows others call her Bernie but shortening everything to sweet little words that always seem to end in 'y' or 'ie' has always felt so strange to him, childish in a way.] I... don't know how much of this is... is the gems? I don't-
[He feels like he can't trust his own feelings and that's terrifying but he's also been so agonizingly lonely only to have that fleeting moment of connection, of comfort back. To be able to give his parents a hug once more and then ripped away before he could even really let himself believe it was true. It's all too much and he can't explain any of it but it makes his heart hurt, makes it that much more difficult to pull away from the tiny sliver of a connection to home there is in this place.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 06:09 pm (UTC)'Bernie' had been what her uncle called her as a child, and it soothed her to use it herself; it made her feel like a piece of him is still with her. Petra picked it up somewhere along the line too, and she's been fine with that. 'Bern' is Dorothea's domain, quick and snappy and sweet, just like her.
'Detta is new ground entirely, especially from a man.]
I-I think... I'm a little less scared? And... a-and it feels...
[Goddess. It sure does feel.]
It feels n-nice.
[So much nicer than the slash of the Blade of the Creator, of the snap of fire, of the chill of bloodloss. So much better than dying alone on splintered and splattered wood, never to be held or consoled or... or being able to hold or console.]
I-I, um. I don't... know if it's usually like this, o-or not. But... it feels nice.
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Date: 2021-02-07 08:27 pm (UTC)I should- [He should go. He should walk away from whatever this was and cut contact with her entirely, let Yuri give her earring back to her and replace all the bricks in the walls he's built around himself. Walls he'd been so stupid to lower, even that little bit when he returned home. Gradually he convinces himself to draw his hand away, letting her hair slip from his fingers, letting the warmth of her fade from his hand.
Gods even that makes his heart hurt, makes him want to reach out and hold her that much tighter and his next breath bursts out in a rush like the loss of contact is a physical blow. His teeth click as he tightens his jaw, clenches his teeth together, a tiny, frightened, fragile little noise catching in his throat.
He can't do it. He can't do this, let someone so close. Even now, already, she could ruin him without even trying. There's so many feelings all wound so suffocatingly tight around his heart that it's difficult to even define them. He doesn't realize at first that he's focusing so hard on trying to work out what is real and what might be something... other, something forced onto him by bond, that he's holding his breath. Fingers curling into a tight fist, tension winding tighter and tighter in him, in the set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow where it presses against hers.
He should walk away. Right now. He should leave and never look back.
So why couldn't he make himself move.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 08:37 pm (UTC)He looks, she thinks distantly, like he would very, very much like to be pacing again.
As if magnetic, her own hand is drawn up to hover where his had been, the little hoop heavy against her fingers. The small rings decorating it click together faintly, and she remembers to breathe.
It feels heavier than it actually is. She doesn't know how a gesture meant to give him a sense of power and stability snowballed into an emotionally-charged exchange that leaves both of them flat-footed and uncertain, and she doesn't know if it was a bad thing, either. She's so far in over her head she's not even sure which way is up any more, but she swallows dryly and tries.
She has to try, otherwise she thinks she'll just faint, right here on the street, and that will probably spook him into something even worse than pacing.]
Y-You... should...?
[Her voice is soft, breathless, and somehow impossibly loud, to her ears.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 08:54 pm (UTC)But that sound she makes is more effective than a dagger to the heart. The realization that she is now toying with his earring something sharp and hot in his gut, wonderful and terrible all at once. It's enough to startle him into breathing again, one ragged desperate breath that seems to finally be enough to release him from that horrible prison of indecision. Except instead of turning away from her, walking away, hells running away if that's what was needed... he does precisely the opposite.
His hand comes up in a rush, cradling her face once more, fingers stumbling against hers, awkward and uncoordinated. He tilts his head down, shifting that point of contact from their foreheads gently touching to instead crash his lips against hers. Too hard, too sudden but he corrects himself quickly, eases the pressure and lingers there, lips on hers, heart hammering in his chest so hard his head spins and the shock of the sync spiking once more almost enough to make him stagger against her.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 09:05 pm (UTC)He's kissing her.
He's kissing her.
Her mind goes blank, washed clean by the sudden surge of energy between them, by the almost bruising initiation, by the heat of his mouth as she gasps against it, soundless and stunned. She has never, ever been kissed and even in her wildest novel-fueled dreams, she never imagined it happening like this. Her other hand moves from her chest to his, fisted in his coat, and her knees are weak and she... she doesn't know what to do, exactly, or what she is doing, but somehow she thinks she's... kissing him back.
She's certainly not pushing him away or pulling back or slapping him, the way she occasionally saw that Blue Lion boy's would-be paramours do as she skulked through mostly-secluded hallways on occasion, at least.
This is so, so many steps further than a hug. She should stop this. Stop him. Surely there's no way he'd ever want to do this with her in his right mind, after all.
...
Sh-she's not stopping him. Why isn't she stopping him...?]
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Date: 2021-02-07 09:33 pm (UTC)His dreams and ambitions had always been enough so this... was a first for them both. The rush of power sudden and intense, the softness of her lips impossibly enticing even if he had no idea what to do beyond pressing closer to her. His free hand touches her side ever so lightly, the faintest encouragement to close the distance, to let her pull him in...
And it's as if the warmth of her under both of his hands is too much of a shock, an overload that sends him staggering back with a gasp of his own, hands raised helpless and uncertain, jade eyes wide with shock. Shock that spirals into panic the moment the contact is broken even if the bond is still there, still buzzing in the back of his mind like a bolting. His hand comes up, touching his own lips, slow and wondering and confused before clamping over his mouth with a startled little squeak.]
I-I... Det- [Oh gods, he shouldn't call her that, she didn't agree to let him call her that. She didn't agree to any of this. He stumbles back one shaky step, looking for all the world like a hare about to bolt.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 09:42 pm (UTC)Here, with the type of handsome young man who would sooner put an arrow in her father's throat than give him the time of day?
Inconceivable.]
I. Um.
[When he pulls back, her knees immediately give out. His jacket slips through her fingers and she lands, sitting stunned on the ground.
Still staring up at him, and steadily growing redder and redder as her brain scrambles to catch up with... current event. Her own hand rises to her mouth, unconsciously mirroring him.]
C-Cl... Claude...?
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Date: 2021-02-07 10:01 pm (UTC)His jacket is all askew and he can't help her up but he can... Instead of righting his jacket he shrugs out of it, crouching down in front of her. His face is not as red as hers but that's only because the flush shows up so much brighter on her porcelain complexion. (Porcelain? Stars, he sounds like Lorenz.) A moment of looking at her, still disbelieving and shocked. Then he swings his jacket around to drape it over her shoulders, still warm from his body and a warm, spicy musk clinging to it like sunshine and sandalwood.]
I'm sorry. [Cautious words he's well aware won't make up for whatever the hells he's just done here but it's all he can get out, the great leader stunned into near silence. Then he pushes to his feet, backs away from her for a few steps before turning on his heel and bolting down the street, the convenient power of his gembond making sure he's out of sight in but a moment.]
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Date: 2021-02-07 10:07 pm (UTC)I-I...!
[And then he's apologizing, and then he's gone.
And she's still here, swathed in a man's jacket—the jacket of the man who just kissed her—the chill of the pavement slowly seeping into her legs.]
...I don't... u-understand...