escordvi | closed ⚡🪶 and forevermore, i'll be chasing the storm we had.

[When Cid went to deliver Mid's Winterstide gift and found her room empty, a cold, sickening feeling of dread only a parent could have for their child rushed through him. There had been many occasions when Mid had up and disappeared when she was younger, as children have a wont to do, and not even the worry and fear he had then matched the ominous one that came to him then. A dread that was all confirmed when he tried to reach her through the shellphone only to find that such a user no longer existed.

In some ways, he should be relieved. She's not in some strange, unknown world and back in theirs. On the other hand, given the current state of things, is it really that much better? More than that...

He always knew this arrangement could never last long, that this exact situation could and would happen. Either he disappears or she does, maybe she will return, maybe not. But regardless, this would be their only place to ever see each other again. The only place he could catch even a glimpse of her growth and try to be a father to her once last time.

He knew all that, made sure they were able to spend as much time together as possible, and enjoy and treasure those moments. But what he didn't expect was how hard it ended up hitting him. Perhaps...because once again, he couldn't give her a proper goodbye.

Thus after contacting everyone to let them know of her departure and return to their original world, Cid buried himself in his work. At first it was just a way to distract himself and set himself back on track, but when he kept finding Mid's notes or plans she had developed while here, he'd end up sitting there staring at them, marveling and feeling both joy in his pride and regret in that loss before once again focusing on his work.

Many a cigar burned, but at the very least Benedikta's fear of him wallowing in alcohol did not come true. Okay, he might have had a bottle or two, but it was not to get himself drunk and more out of reminiscing before continuing on.

But he will be in the middle wiring one of his (many) new projects when he hears that rap on the door and feel that familiar twinge at the back of his neck. Honestly, it surprises him. He's already met the others who came to check on him, and he knew Benedikta wasn't really the type of go out of her way to do the same. Not that he is bothered by it, either. If anything he wondered how she was taking it, but he wasn't sure how much time the two spent together.

So there's a bit of a delay as he just stares at the door in surprise, a bit slower to process than he should before he stands up and approaches the door to open it. Mostly because it's locked so he couldn't just call her to come in. He's still wondering why she dropped by, wondering if she was...actually concerned about him or not, but he just smiles at her when he opens the door all the same.]

Well this is a pleasant surprise.

[Well, immediately being met with the strong smell of his cigars the moment he opens the door is not a great sign, but he looks mighty better than what she imagined he might look like. A bit tired perhaps, not enough sleep, but less drunk than what she expected when she decided to come.

Still, it won't stop the brief furrow of worry in her brow, or her scrutinizing stare from looking him over once, twice, before she decides that he looks... okay. But she would be lying if she said that he wasn't still worse for wear. If she said that she didn't see the heaviness that's settled into every old bone in his body, and into his shoulders. And especially his eyes.

...

It reminds her a little of another time in their distant past together. The nights leading up to his betrayal...]

Is it? [No, she knows that it's... well, a surprise. Whether it's a pleasant one remains to be seen.] I didn't think you'd be surprised at all.

[She looks past him over his shoulders to the inside of the workshop, trying to glean what he might have been up to, but it's hard to tell from here. So, she invites herself in, trotting through the door and past him.

Her nose crinkles.]

Have you been holed up in here since then?

[He doesn't stop, letting her in. ...Although at her comment, he does look back at his workshop and at himself, noting the messy and disheveled state of, well, everything. Ah ha...]

Just had a few projects I've been working on, that's all.

[Neither admitting nor denying that question.]

A few...

[The words repeat slowly as her eyes take in the rest of the workshop, at the papers and books all over. She's not sure she ever saw his desk in such a state at any point even back in Waloed...

She almost pities him, but Benedikta was never good at that sort of thing, either.]

So, you have.

[If he's not going to answer, she's just going to come to a conclusion on her own. He has left plenty of evidence behind. Especially as she turns around to get a better look at him, and once more, there's something softer, more pensive lurking under her frown as she tries to reconcile with what she should say.]

You look like shit, Cidolfus.

[Yeah. Definitely not great at this.]

[Again a rueful look as he roughly rubs a hand over his chin, feeling the coarser hairs that have grown since he hasn't shaved in a bit.]

I can't look that bad. I've showered at least.

[.....................Briefly. Washed up. It was enough.

But he knows he's been pulling all nighters, and he doesn't even sleep in. Instead, he'd still wake up in the morning and it's back to work. Maybe go out to grab a quick bite of a sandwich, but he has a coffee maker here.

...

Okay, yeah, he probably looks like shit but he's going to pretend anyway.]

[She glares at his beard so sharply that she might as well look like she's attempting to carve it away with her gaze. She steps right up to him, closing that distance, and snaps her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away, the other lifting to run over the longer beard with a disapproving click of her tongue.]

Hardly.

[He might catch that slight tenderness in her stare when she meets his eyes, that worry that deepens them and sets another wrinkle between her brows.]

I don't like this on you.

[Not just the longer, messier beard (though she absolutely hates that, too), but the rest of it. That heaviness that he wears in his shoulders, that forced smile, the pretending that everything is fine when she knows damn well that's a lie. She has grown far too used to the easy-going mannerisms, that annoyingly smug smile of his, the chuckle that can irk her sometimes.

She understands why, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.]

[He should probably be more surprised, but maybe he's grown used to her just approaching him like this. That or really that tired that he doesn't even try to protest much aside from a slight roll of his eyes.]

I just haven't had a proper time to shave. It takes time and care, you know.

[Though this does remind him of when he joked about growing out his beard back when he was that toy form of Ramuh, so he can't help but grin a little in amusement at her fussing at him.]

[It's so... scratchy, as she runs over it with a not-so-gentle rub of her hand, but not in the way that she likes it.]

You haven't had the proper time to clean up, but...

[She motions to the messy desk behind him with a slight toss of her head.]

You've had time to work on all this?

I had a few deadlines.

[Mostly self-imposed. And some non-existent.]

And I made a lot of progress, a few almost to their final phases. Just need a bit more time to test before can release it to the public.

[She's not buying it, and the way that she stops what she's doing and stares at him makes that much clear. She understands that he is upset, but...

Pulling back from him, Benedikta wanders over to the desk to start rummaging through his papers haphazardly, moving them this way and that, looking over what he's doing as if she understands what she's looking at. She doesn't, but she does know one thing and that is he has been working himself too hard.]

Deadlines for who?

You know how terrible beaucracy can be, especially for paperwork. Which I filed quite a few, including a permit to start a business.

[Whether or not he realizes what she's really angling at he makes no sign, instead moving to the other side of the workshop to do a little tidying...

At the very least, aside from the crumpled papers of rejected notes and designs, there is no unwanted trash. If that was one thing he made sure of, it was to keep his workplaces clean in that respect. One could argue about the excess paper but that's different.]

[Well. The amount of paper is enough for Benedikta to call it messy in all of her own perfectionism and meticulousness.

Her eyes follow him as he moves, not so much interested in the mess or the work he's done as she is in him, and that added weight to his steps. She has no idea how to broach it, though. No idea how to bring up the topic of Mid because what then?

So for now, until she figures that out or he does it himself, she focuses on the rest of it, perching herself on one corner of his desk as she sifts through the paperwork again, making an even bigger disorganized mess of it.]

And that involves you hardly sleeping, does it?

You know how it gets. Inspiration comes, and...

[He looks over to where she is, recognizes where, and there's just a small pause in his voice before he continues.]

Just takes over.

[And then a quiet mutter under his breath when he fishes out a paper that had some notes he had been looking for, setting it to the side.]

[There's that pause, and while she doesn't know what it means, she knows that there is something behind it, and her eyes narrow at him again before she drops the papers to the desk, hops off, and walks over to him.]

No, I don't.

[When she's in front of him again, she sets her hand against the books so that he can't take another one.]

What is it?

[She can't fucking stand seeing him like this, she can't take it anymore, and there's a strange pang of guilt in her chest as she looks at him. Looks closer.]

Nothing.

[Said perhaps a little quick as he looks at her in some surprise—and maybe a little defensive. Why is she bothering him now!!]

[What does he mean, why is she bothering him now!? Does he not always bother her!?!?

And when he gives her that nothing answer, she frowns at him.]

Quit pretending, Cidolfus.

Pretending about what?

[There's that fucking twinge of guilt all over again, pesky little thing that it is, pulling at her heartstrings as she stares at him, her voice and her expression falling too far into gentler territory for her liking.

Please don't make her point it out. Don't make her say how much she hates seeing him this way...]

That you are perfectly fine.

[There's just a stretch of silence as he looks at her before he turns away and moves to his work bench where he had been before she arrived.]

I am fine.

[It stings when he walks away like that, and even more when he continues to lie to her about it. Here she is, having come all the way here the moment that she could and now she doesn't know what to do with herself, or what to do about him, and he just stonewalls her like this?

~~is this what he feels like when she does it~~

She lets him leave, but isn't too far behind him, following to the bench where she shoves herself right in between him and his work.]

There are bags under your eyes, you need to shave, you stink of cigars, and...

[She stops, her gaze dropping, like she means to say something else, but she corrects her course.]

Put the work down.

[Oh, she is persistent, and he just arches a brow when she puts herself between him and the table.]

And then what?

[A genuine question, not sarcastic.

yes this is exactly how it's like when she does it enjoy]

Well.

[And then spend time with her. Use her to take his mind off things... is what she would say if she were brave enough to.

Instead, she grabs him by his chin, fingers squeezing gently around his cheeks so that she can turn his face left, and then right.]

You can start by cleaning up this awful beard of yours.

[It's something between a scowl and exasperation when she fusses over his beard and moves his chin... But he also doesn't really protest or complain. Verbally, anyway.]

All right, I will.

[A beat.]

After I finish wiring this bit—

[Her hips shove up against him, this time ensuring that she pushes him back a step.]

Now. I can't stand to look at it.

[While it does play a part, it isn't even about the beard anymore. Nor is it about the papers or the work or the stench of cigars that clings so desperately to him...]

Hey—

[And he is shoved back. Wow she is serious and he is giving her a bit more of a disgruntled look. And he really looks like he's going to protest before he sighs and waves a hand.]

All right, all right.

[He turns towards the small bathroom in the back, grumbling under his breath about a nagging harpy—]

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