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

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—]

What was that?

[About a nagging harpy?

If he thought that he could escape her in the bathroom, then he thought wrong, because he'll hear her boots thumping after him, her own strides a bit heavier and more frustrated than usual. Hopefully the room is big enough to fit two people because she's squeezing in behind him regardless of its size.

And she will waste no time in digging through the cupboards and cabinets, searching for what he will need to do it, and carelessly tossing things aside that they don't need at the moment.]

[Doesn't answer, but he will hear her coming and now he's regretting opening that door and being curious on whether she was worried about him or not. Because if this is what she does he'd prefer she not worry—]

Now wait just a—

[And he has to quickly catch whatever it is she threw out just now before roughly grabbing her wrist.]

The bloody hell are you doing!?

[Then maybe he shouldn't be acting so mopey and she wouldn't be so worried! Granted, Benedikta still isn't quite sure what to do with herself or him in this situation. Only that she is growing increasingly vexed by the fact that he is not his normal self... The self that pushes her buttons and wears that stupid, crooked smile of his, or laughs at her whenever she so much as pouts. It's only made worse by the fact that she realizes as he grabs her by her wrist that she actually misses it when he isn't there—]

I was looking for this.

[Duh. She holds up the razor and waves it around at his face.]

I already knew where it was, there was no point in messing things around—no, why are you to begin with?

[And grabbing the razor away.]

[And she's just going to reach over to take it right back, thanks.

But at his question, her gaze immediately drops to her hands, and she taps one end of it against her palm, fidgeting. Why is she, he asks? And Benedikta finds herself asking herself that very same question, too.

Tap, tap, tap...

Tap, tap...

She doesn't have any answer for him because she doesn't know. She doesn't understand why she's so concerned for him. Why she didn't just tell him to fuck right off with his attitude, blow all of his papers to the floor, and leave him to his work. She doesn't understand why she feels this guilt pulling at her heart. Doesn't understand why she felt the need to shove herself into his day in the first place by showing up...

Why she's staying when he clearly doesn't want her to.

Why she hates so much seeing him like this, and why she wants the old Cidolfus back.

Why... when she is the one to reach out to him, he would turn her hand away.

Her brows draw together and her lips pucker, and she has half a mind to throw the razor back in his face and stomp out. She even looks like she will.

... But she doesn't. Her feet remain rooted firmly in place as she grumbles.]

Look at yourself.

[Perhaps if he had had proper sleep and rest and just in a general better mood, he would have noticed more about her behavior. Noticed the odd way she's acting now compared to her usual and how she's sticking by him instead of telling him off and leaving him. Noticed how deeply her brow furrows as she continues to peck at him. And while he does notice her odd behavior, it's not all quite clicking. He gathers she's here about Mid's leaving, but from Cid's perspective he's "fine."

Okay, sure, he's not looking his best, but what of it? He just had a lot of things to do, projects to work on, money to make. Several of his new inventions were on the cusp of completion, so of course he would just bury himself in his work, it's what he does, anyway.

So what if it also serves to distract him. Maybe it did at first, but it's fine now. Moving on, accepted the facts, no time to mope and wallow, which he isn't.

Except he is, he just doesn't see it.

What he does see right now is Benedikta relentlessly pestering about his appearance, and with his mind as shot and frazzled as it is, it's getting irksome that she's so focused about it.]

Yeah, so? What's it matter to you?

[The words come out a bit sharper than he might have intended, but his patience is running thin.]

I can handle it on my own, don't need you fussing and nagging about it.

["What's it matter to you?"

She's actually taken aback by his response, and it shows on her face when her chin lifts to snap her gaze to him. It stings. Fucking Greagor, it stings. There's a stretch of silence, so tense that the razor in her hand could probably cut through it with ease, and it feels like it goes on forever...

...

Before she tosses the razor into the sink, letting it clatter, the sound of it hitting porcelain echoing through the whole room.]

Then I will stop my fussing and nagging.

[This fussing and nagging is the only way that Benedikta can show that she even gives a shit about him, that she doesn't want to see him like this any longer, which is why she goes on.]

I'm sure one of the others will gladly come by and tell you how you've never looked better, so you may ask them for their company should you wish for it instead. Or just handle it on your own.

[Under her breath, she grumbles.]

This was stupid.

[Stupid of her to even try. She knew that comforting was not her strong suit—so fucking far from it—but he's made it very clear that she is only making it worse.

So she pushes past him to storm out.]

[The moment he sees her taken aback, there's some waver in his ire, but it's not until there's that clatter of the razor and her words sinking in that he really starts to regret his words.

Whatever the hell he's feeling, and as poor as her attempts are—attempts he's finally starting to see more clearly—that doesn't mean he should take it out on her.

So when she pushes past him.]

Benedikta—

[A tired, rough voice calls out as he turns and reaches out to try and grab her arm to stop her.]

Benna, wait—

[Her whole arm stiffens when his hand clasps around it, and she doesn't whip around to look at him lest he see the bitter, confused look on her face. Or the hurt when he calls her that.]

What? Have you not already finished?

[For a moment his grip tightens before it loosens enough where her arm will fall and he rubs his hand over his face... And the coarse hairs of his beard.]

No—I mean, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant.

[She schools her expression, steels it before she affords him a look over her shoulder.]

Is it not? I thought you made yourself pretty clear that you don't need me here.

[Doesn't need... whatever this is. It's a horrible attempt, she knows, but... what else is she supposed to do? Pat him on the head and tell him things are going to be fine? That would be a lie because clearly things are not fine right now. Hug him and say that it's okay? No, because he needs a goddamn shower.

But no one had ever taught Benedikta how to... do that. How to console people. Her heart is far too stung to feel empathy for anyone, including him, so all she can offer is the cold hard truth.

And perhaps a steady hand to trim that god-awful beard. Maybe even a distraction, should he want it.

Really, all she wanted was to make sure that he wasn't dead. That he was okay. Alive. Living. And when she found him like this...]

[Right, her attitude is definitely not helping—but only because his own attitude isn't helping him see or think clearly. At the end of the day, no matter what he thinks—]

—You were right.

[A begrudging admission said with a sigh. Maybe he's "fine" in some ways, but clearly he isn't in others. He's not that much of a fool to not have at least noticed how things were piling up and his own unkempt appearance. The problem he just didn't care about it, because who was he going to see in this state? No one, if he could help it.

And he was...better in the earlier days when people dropped by before. Benedikta just had the misfortune in seeing how time and everything piled up.]

I...

[And it's then when perhaps all his fatigue and slight malnourished condition catches up to him, with a bit of poor timing he would think. He staggers then, his vision swimming a little as he feels that lightheaded dizziness as he instinctively reaches out to grab something to steady himself.]

[She hears his hand fumbling for something, and that's when Benedikta turns around just in time to spot him teetering on his feet.]

For fuck's sake, Cidolfus...

[With a click of her tongue and a sharp groan under her breath, she reaches out to catch him before he can stumble and fall completely, her arms wrapping around him in a stiff, awkward hug.]

When was the last time you slept?

[A small groan as he ends up having to momentarily lean into her before he tries to right himself on his own.]

I had a nap earlier.

["Nap." "Earlier."]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject