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

[She flashes him a playfully scornful look, not missing the way his eyes move over her form, her own finding the very fine view in front of her quite tempting as well. She almost reaches out to pull them back to her in bed, but he escapes her before she can even think to. For the best, probably, considering that she can feel another growl coming from her stomach.

She kicks her feet up to tease him before he leaves, and only once he's gone from the bedroom does she relax again, her head falling to the pillow and staring at the door where he had once been.

Unbelievable that she has found herself in his bed once again, lounging around just like she used to on those cloudier mornings in Waloed. And as much as she prefers those sorts of mornings, listening to the rain and wind clash against the windows, the coolness in the air, there's something different about this morning... lazily tangled up in his sheets that smell so very much like him, the late morning sun beating down over her, with him in the next room making pancakes of all things. Coffee for them to share.

What the fuck is that all about?

It's so very... idyllic. They have had a few shared moments that she thought of this way, but this is so much more than what those were. And it is one thing with it being her bed, but this one is his.

If anyone had told her even five months ago that she would be here and wishing that he were still right next to her, she would have spat in their face.

And maybe... this is all just a dream that they will inevitably wake from. Maybe this is all in her head and she will wake up in her own bed, alone. But she'd like to make this last for as long as possible, in that case.

Make this strange, fluttering happiness last for as long as possible. Shut out the rest of the world until it comes closing in on her again, when she is forced to face whatever this is head-on. She can run and run and fly all she likes, but they do always find a way to find her and catch up to her, don't they? And they have certainly caught up to her now. These feelings, this fondness, this love is far bigger than anything that she can escape from or even hope to control.

The only choice she has this morning is to embrace it. Let it wash over her the way that the sun through the window does.

Once she hears him start mixing in the kitchen is when she finally pulls herself up and out of bed, stretching her arms up high over her head as she takes a better look around his room. While the rest is very... plain... it's the desk that would give away that this place was his in all its organized clutter that she is so familiar with.

She finds that shirt that had been discarded not long after she'd put it on last night and slips it into her shoulders, and he'd said to make herself at home, so she will. She searches through his drawers and slides on a pair of his underwear, folding it at the waist to make sure that it fits, before wandering over to explore his desk. Yes, she's going to snoop, and no, she will feel no shame. She used to do this plenty back then, and would admire his sketches, even if she had no idea what they meant.

There are plenty of those again—words and pictures that Benedikta does not understand. Her nose crinkles at most of them, she shakes her head at others, scoffing fondly at him for being such a tinkerer. He really is too smart for his own good, she thinks. But as long as he isn't burying himself in it...

She picks up one of the journals on the desk and flips through the pages, nothing in there that is worthy of noting, until a piece of paper falls out, fluttering onto the desk face down.]

Hm?

[Setting down the leather-bound book, she turns over the parchment, and what she sees sketched in pencil there makes her heart both stop and leap up into her throat at the same time. It's messy, to be sure, but not difficult to make out in that very Cidolfus Style it's drawn in. She knows that body shape too well, that short bob of hair, the feathery clothes... She knows it well because it's her.

He'd sketched... her?

She tries to inhale, but it hitches, her heart racing a thousand beats a minute as she looks it over.

When? And why?

And gods damn it all, her face is as red and hot as can be now.

The sizzling of the stove startles her out of whatever reverie this had put her under as she stares down at it, the page crinkling a little at the corners between her fingers and their tightening grip. Her gaze snaps to the bedroom door and she wanders there, feet carrying her without a second thought. Carrying her and carrying her until she can lean against the wall and stare at him, watch him as if in complete awe of the man in front of her, with that parchment tucked behind her back...]

Edited 2024-02-02 19:25 (UTC)

[Cid had similar thoughts as her. As he stepped out of the bathroom after freshening up, he feared that if he looked back in his room she would be gone. Either of her own volition, with the window open and curtain fluttering, or that this was all a dream and it never happened at all. So while she's looking away he does chance that glance through the door as he passes, a deep sigh of relief unknowingly escaping him as he sees her there. And it takes every ounce of restraint to not go back in and join her once again, to just be sure one more time.

But if he wants to ensure that this is not a dream, he has to have faith and believe in it. So he continues in into the kitchen and first starts with the coffee maker, prepping it and getting the water to bowl before he pulls out the pans and ingredients for a very full breakfast. Granted, he eats about this much when he does make it for himself, and knowing how much of a bird she is he knows not to make too much.

Not that he couldn't finish whatever is left.

In any case, as he starts, his thoughts drift once more to everything from last night. Of the revelations and truths they uncovered, and the anger that momentarily spills over as he cracks an egg a little too hard, swearing under his breath as he cleans up the spilled yolk and shell pieces before schooling his thoughts and resuming. No, let's not ruin the morning mood with those thoughts. Instead they will wander back to the young woman waiting for him in his room, who he can now hear rustling around.

Wander to how he never would have pictured this three months ago, five months ago, a year ago. Six years ago. Yet here they are, the second time for him cooking breakfast for her. And this time, while it might still be a little awkward for her (and admittedly, feels a little unbelievable for him, too), it's markedly different from before. There's more of an acceptance, that wall finally broke down.

And, he also finds, he doesn't mind this situation. In fact, he might quite like it. Perhaps not now, but in the future...

By the time Benedikta comes out, most everything is cooking or almost finished, the aroma mouth watering, and she will bear witness to Cid's pancake flipping. And of course, he's being a bit silly about it, flipping them into the air and spinning the pan before catching it. One day he will try spinning in place, but not today. Still, there's no mistaking that smug grin when he succeeds, setting the finishing pancake aside before pouring in the batter to work on another. And he will flip that one into the air, too, when it's ready.]

[Either he doesn't notice her standing there, or he is pretending that he doesn't see her as she watches him flip those pancakes. She waits, silently, a brow arching at him when she sees that smug little grin on his face when he flips and catches it. The Lord Commander of Waloed would never done something like this... or maybe he would have, and she'd missed it. Maybe he had an image to uphold in front of her. Or maybe that new outlaw life of his really did change him that much. Had he flipped pancakes in the kitchens of his hideaway, too? Had he smiled, pleased with himself, back then too?

Something hot like envy catches in Benedikta's throat again, but it's brief and shoved aside by the ridiculousness of it all. Him, making pancakes. Flipping them like it's some kind of game. Brewing coffee for her. And this sketch that she clutches in her hand...

She'll continue to wait for this next one to be ready to flip to speak up and make her presence known—]

Don't drop it.

[—right as he prepares himself.]

[He's practically humming as he gets into his little zone, but right as he tosses it up—]

Gyah—!

[He starts, actually flinching in surprise when he looks at Benedikta in pure surprise before belatedly remembering the pancake and—]

—!

....

[SPLAT goes the pancake on his face.]

Well. I caught it.

[A sigh as he reaches up to pull it off.]

Edited 2024-02-03 00:37 (UTC)

—!?

[Benedikta stares at him, wide-eyed. She didn't think she would startle him that much, and as he stares at her, she motions up to the pancake right, but down it goes before she can do much of anything. The sad little splat sound it makes on his face makes her snort out loud...

...

...before she laughs. Really, truly laughs. It's a soft sound, much like all of her others, but it's as genuine as it can be, ringing crystal clear through the kitchen.]

Performance anxiety?

[Tucking the piece of parchment behind her back, she strolls into the room and crosses to him, picking up a towel on the way. And though there's no batter on his face, she'll dab at it anyway.]

No.

[Just a flustered, withering look as the pancake goes to his share. Well it was still a good pancake! He has enough to make one more, so after he lets her dab at his face (even if he probably wouldn't need it, would he really pass on this opportunity? No.), he pours it in.]

Just broke my concentration.

[Aw, is he being a pouty old dog now? It only makes her grin widen, more giggling and snickering under her breath as she swipes her thumb over his lip.]

How long have you been practicing that trick?

[And why is she only finding out about it now?]

[He would enjoy her laughter more if it wasn't at his expense!! Or at least if he had planned it instead of caught like this.

...

No, that's a lie. He still likes the way she laughs right now and while he is still definitely pouting and grumping a bit, there is a bit of a softer look as she continues to give him attention. So perhaps it's not so bad.]

Only since we've been here. Saw someone from one of those food stalls do it and thought to try to make breakfast making a little less boring.

And you weren't going to tell me? You wound me, Cidolfus.

[Fingers plucking idly at the collar of his shirt, she looks over the stove at the new pancake cooking, and at the ones that are sitting and waiting to be eaten.

But she'll take a single step back away from him, giving him a decent berth before she's motioning to the pan.]

Well. Let's see it again properly this time.

I was, but wouldn't hurt to have a bit more practice.

[And he just glances wryly at her as she steps back.]

But all right. First you loosen it with the spatula like this and then...

[A flick of his wrist and lift of his hand upward and FLIP. Up the pancake goes, spinning in the air, and this time he catches it just fine.]

There, see? Nothing to it so long as someone doesn't interrupt.

[Pointed look.]

Edited 2024-02-03 03:36 (UTC)

[She flashes him a dramatically apologetic smile.]

As if I knew what you were doing.

[She knew exactly what he was doing, and had stood there and watched for at least two pancakes worth before she said anything.]

Good to know I can easily break your focus. Wonder what I'll do with that.

[She knew exactly what she was doing and his pointed look and roll of his eyes say as much.]

Oy, you.

[A mock, warning tone as he does a smaller flip of the pancake to make sure it was all done before sliding it over to her little pile of pancakes. Yes, he made two distinct sets because it was easier.]

Just keep in mind what goes around...

[She moves in like a cat again, grabbing hold of his shirt in one hand, and unfolding the paper between her fingers behind her back.]

Oh? I didn't think you were one for payback.

[A laugh as he leans back against her a little as he turns off one eye, sets aside the eggs, and pokes the sausages a little more before they're done.]

I think I've made that quite clear that I am.

[Some could consider his little mission to change the world one of revenge of sorts, but that aside, how many times has he turned things around on her? Countless.]

I would be careful where you are flinging those threats, Cidolfus...

[Heart racing again, there's a little crinkling sound behind her back.]

You never know what sort of arsenal one has in their pocket.

[Slowly, she brings out the hand that's been hiding, and flashes him the sketch of her.]

When did you do this?

[It's a good thing she waited until after he turned off the stove, because when he looks wondering 1) what that crinkling sound has been and 2) what she's talking about, he stiffens and actually drops the spatula right into the pan before he immediately tries to snatch it back.]

How did you—!?

[And she immediately pulls it out of his reach, a brow arching at his reaction. She didn't think it would warrant one like this, so it is a bit surprising, but she grins in spite of the way her own cheeks have started to flush with colour.]

It fell out of one of your doodle journals.

[Oh this little—

There's a bit of a pensive frown as he looks at that sketch. Of all the ones she had to find, it had to be that one—]

They're not doodle journals.

[And just going to once again try and grab it, giving her a withering look as he even steps towards her as if to close the distance. Give it!!]

[She steps back, and the paper flits out of her hand, riding on an invisible wind above her head, just out of his reach.]

I didn't know you thought so fondly of me, Cidolfus...

[..Oh now that is just cheating and he is going to stand there with a hand on his hip as he looks at her in disbelief.

And a sigh as he shakes his head before he glances away to the side.]

I've always had.

[Yes, and other less fond things, but it never erased his real feelings.]

[Is it cheating if she uses every skill at her disposal to keep it out of his reach?

But when his eyes glance away and she hears that, her smile fades a touch, and the wind stops to let the paper flutter down into her hand again.

... Well, that was a bit of a twist to the heart followed by a sharp pang of guilt.

Her expression softens.]

Is that why?

[He chews his inner cheek a moment, debating if he should tell her the truth or say something else. One that's not a lie, per se, but not true for that particular sketch. In the end he just runs his hand over his face and the looks back at her, eyes first going to hers then to the sketch now in her hands before he points to it.]

I drew it not long after we entered this world.

[Let's just leave it that for now, see if she can take a guess on "how long." Well, not that it matters if she ever knew the precise time or circumstance, they were still at each other's throats for a little while there.]

[Her eyes break from his to look down at the paper.

The how long doesn't really matter. She doesn't need to know that to know that it was drawn during their times of hardship. The times when she did spit poison in his face and would rather have seen him at the bottom of the ocean than in front of her.

And yet, even then, when she'd screamed at him time and time again to leave her alone, he still...

She's at a complete loss for words now, and her heart races too fast that she doesn't think she can even find her voice through it.

So, all she does is lower it, step forward, and crashes her mouth to his.]

[He watches her, watches her making those connections. He doesn't want her to feel guilty or regret, since at the time things were just—bad, to say it extremely mildly. And even that sketch had been an unconscious creation. One that just formed one night and he didn't realize it until he was half finished with it. Shoved it in one of his journals as if to chastise himself for thinking old things again, hoping old things again. Of course he could have just thrown it away, but he didn't. He couldn't. So he just buried it like everything else until he started moving again.

And so he wonders what she's thinking, what she might say or do. If she'll call him a stupid old fool or nothing at all. So the crashing kiss catches him slightly off guard, but it doesn't take half a second for his arms to go around her, pulling her in close as he pushes right back.]

[She's careful with that slip of parchment, holding it so that it doesn't wrinkle further from the way that she wraps her arms around him too. It's a violent kiss, a torrent of those emotions releasing from her in the way she knows how. Those thoughts that she cannot process instead finding their way from her lips to his so that he knows exactly what she thinks about this, how she feels...

And if it were not for the food on the stove and counter or the way her stomach is about to loose another grumble, she might have dragged him back to bed with her right then and there, but for now, she only parts with red, swollen lips.]

... Why, though?

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