theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[You could have fooled me.

She isn't demanding an explanation. Doesn't want one. Possibly because a part of her already knows. There's likely more than a little sliver of truth in his earlier observation. Not so much that she's developed a different version of the truth. What she heard in him is what she believed, not something she constructed out of nothing. But there's an idea that his attention being else where provides a good excuse for why they ought not to be spending their time together.

In some way, it was an escape. Keyword being 'was,' because as she expected to happen eventually, Balthier's caught on. More quickly than she anticipated, honestly. She's underestimated him. Hasn't been the first time she's done that either.]

Balthier—

[She just barely gets his name out while he's curling hold about her before he rests her against the edge of the sink. Maybe protesting wouldn't have changed anything. He draws her face to his easily enough, pressing upon her a kiss she doesn't know how to define. He's kissed her in a plethora of ways, but not like this one.

It still feels like anger, but maybe she has no idea what anger really is. It takes very little thought for her fingertips to spread and splay against his chest, fighting the temptation to grip and clutch. It shouldn't affect her the way that it does. Yet it does anyway. Tifa's words linger in her head. Talks of memories. The own confessions she's finally managed to say. Not to the person who needs or deserves to hear them, of course, but the point is that she's said them at all.

That makes them more tangible and real. More frightening and disconcerting.

He hasn't given her much in the way to withdraw from, so as she's trying to gather herself, she lingers near to him, the subtle throb of her heart and the shuddering of her breath. Her voice rests on the cusp of hushed and muted, betraying her uncertainty in tandem with all of the parts of her that hold affection for him.]

—I told you...

[They can't be doing this. He can't be saying things like that. Except apparently they very well can and he very well can, too.]

[She had told him.

"Think it all you want, feel it all you want, but you can't say it to me. I can't hear it. I can't listen to it."

It's a request he can't bring himself to honor, at least not tonight. Not when there was every chance that if she has her way, they were about to part ways for good— we're not going to make a habit of this, she'd said— with her not fully understanding the truth of the situation. He can't force anything to change, can't keep her from going right back to pushing him away if she's still determined to do so, but he can insist on the truth.]

We can.

[She hadn't needed to repeat herself to know what was coming next, and he refutes her protest without pause, barely pulling away long enough to do so before he claims another kiss. It has none of the desperation from earlier, but instead, frustration has become a simmering heat within him.

They can, even if it's only for right now. Even if it's only long enough for her to get her to understand him.]

I love you. You are the one who makes me weak.

[Just as she'd said for him— he makes her want to say 'yes' to everything, to concede where he would not have dared before. His words are low and murmured against the curve of her mouth between kisses, though he doesn't demand another one just yet.]

Push me away all you want. That won't change— and even if you shut and lock that door behind me when I go, I refuse to leave you believing in a lie.

[Even for as much as she'd like to say she knows him, she finds just another side to the man that she doesn't know. How many different Balthiers are there? Likely as many as there are Aeriths. How many times will she see this one? She supposes that depends on how often she intends to let them see one another.

If she had it her way, she'd see him every day. Wouldn't it be nice if she made a habit out of curling up against him every night? Out of waking him with kisses to the shoulder, the length of his neck every morning? Thought in tandem with action leaves her scarcely flushed. The close proximity. The weight of his words, the want in them, both things pressed upon her. The way that a kiss, perhaps any kiss from him, can leave her near aching for breath.

At his confession, brazen and bold as it is, encourages her to assess him. To really assess him as an individual. He... loves her? Affection she could hazard a guess. But... love? He clearly must to use the word. But what has she done to be worthy of that? What has she been?

How conflicted it leaves her. Overjoyed and terrified. Morose and delighted.

It's a test of discipline that she doesn't just take another kiss from him. She merely teases, though that in and of itself doesn't seem intentional. Brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth seems to be purely for her own benefit.]

You haven't exactly given me much possibility to push you away.

[Not when he holds her like so. Not when she fears he'll feel or hear the race of her heart. Not when she thinks she can't hide how he affects her.]

Edited (Fixing typos :[) 2021-11-23 06:38 (UTC)

[He closes his eyes as she speaks against the corner of his lips, his own breath catching as his fingers curl just a bit tighter against her waist.]

I wouldn't stop you, if you wanted to.

[He'll never take anything from her that she isn't willing to give, and if she wanted him to stop, to step away, he surely would. It would hurt, to have her turn him away with that sort of finality, but if she wanted to, he would find some way to force himself to accept it, or so he tries to tell himself. But she doesn't want to— that was precisely the problem with all of this, wasn't it?

Neither one of them wants for them to be apart, for this to be over. It's because Aerith believes it to be the right thing to do— or perhaps more precisely, she needs things to be this way, or so he's beginning to think.

He exhales softly, some of the rigidity leaving his shoulders, and he turns his head so that his brow grazes against her temple, his lips still dangerously close to hers.]

That's the trouble, isn't it. You don't want to.

[Not once has Aerith told him what she wanted. What she didn't want. In fact, she's avoided saying anything about her wants. Likely deliberate. It was never about wants, after all. A want and a need are two very different things, after all, though at times they may hold hands with one another.

Just hearing his breath catch threatens a shudder to play at the small of her back, where she just force it to stay. Her hands tighten their hold, press in against him, for no other reason that she simply wants them to.]

Don't ask me things like that.

[There's no force behind it. It's more pleading, honestly. She doesn't handle speaking about those kinds of feelings particularly well. Wants are complicated. Everything about her is already difficult enough. Why add to it?

It's with an exceeding slow and leisurely pace that she eventually turns her head in favour of her lips finding his bottom in a startlingly brief kiss.]

It was never about what I wanted. What I didn't want.

[It's such a small thing, that kiss, and yet it speaks volumes. It's the first display tonight that he hasn't initiated, and though one might argue that the situation has coaxed it from her, he knows full well she wouldn't have given it at all if she didn't want to.

Even if this isn't about wants, as she says, it eases his heart some to know that it's there— even if, in turn, it makes what's to come that much more difficult. He would rather know the truth of her heart than not, just as he'd insisted on her knowing his own.

His hold eases, his hand moving to the small of her to rest there.]

No, it isn't, is it.

[There's a strange note in his voice that feels foreign, even to him— something dangerously close to resignation.

Perhaps it truly will have to be enough, just to know.]

You've never talked about what you want. Not until tonight.

[She'd told him that she wanted him to stay forever. If he hadn't believed it in full then, he certainly does now.]

[...She's not getting out of this, is she? Once more she thinks to Tifa, how it all just kind of poured out of her. All of her worries and concerns. All of her feelings. If there was any kind of judgement, Aerith didn't take notice of it, though that's forever a lingering concern. In the end, she had conceded. Not particularly persuaded by this, that, or the other thing, but given in simply because she felt like she was foolish. It was embarrassing. Not quite humiliating, but getting there.

She settles her forehead to Balthier's and simply thinks. About the very current situation, which is very distracting. How she's gotten to this point. How she could have avoided everything in between had she not said anything. She still agrees that she never should have said a word. Let everyone believe what they want. In that respect, living a lie is better than not doing so.]

I'm... not good at talking about things like that. It's not an excuse. That's just the way it is.

[Her touch upon him loosens and blindly, hands raise until she can just scarcely brush her thumbs along his jaw line. Despite his own frustration, she's still soft. Almost painfully so.]

Just because I'm not saying it doesn't mean it's not there.

[Aerith looses a sigh as she shakes her head, feeling something very similar to surrender stewing about in her.]

It sounds like you want to hear all about that. I might need a little more convincing to speak up.

[She knows when her words are looser. She knows it's a thing she can use to her advantage. Being close to him, Aerith feels all of it so much more intensely. Repeatedly, her resolve has been tested, thrown against perceptions that aren't hers. Without a doubt she feels battered. Fighting with Balthier, disagreeing with Tifa's perspective, these aren't the places for her energy and time to go. Not when there are more... solid threats.]

[That, he can hardly begrudge her— though he had been direct now, in this moment, it was hardly an easy thing for him, either. It was a challenge, to talk openly about things that were raw and uncertain, unfamiliar, but pushed to his breaking point, it had managed to come forth.

For her, he'd rather a different method. Rather than push, perhaps it can be coaxed out, instead. She reaches for him and her touch is soft, compassionate, and he feels yet more of the tension leave him, some of that frustration dissipating, the press of her brow against his a warm and solid reminder that he hadn't imagined what was between them to be more than it was. It was real, and remains so, regardless of complications.

He exhales slowly in response, the arm around her waist tugging her just a bit closer to him so that she's nearly flush against his middle, and it only takes a very slight turn of his head to press his lips softly against her jawline— just once, but he remembers quite clearly what such things stirred in her, in both of them, even if it's been some time.]

I'll remind you I can be quite convincing.

[And though he does, indeed, want to hear her thoughts at length, he can certainly wait, if it means there are other forms of expression that might serve them better in the moment.]

[It's ridiculous. A lot of what she's said has centred around this idea of wanting to forget what it was like to be around him. In any matter of the word. 'Move forward,' she's said, which is completely stupid in retrospect. She can't go back and pretend that nothing happened between them. Even if she could, would she want to?

No.

That thought is solidified when he draws her just close enough that she can easily recall exactly what it's like to be pressed along him. To thread her fingers between his. Every sliver of affection that's exchanged between the two of them. None of these things are easily put aside, despite whatever Aerith's said implying the contrary. He draws her breath from her easily enough. It's always the neck. The very first time he lingered there, she couldn't forget it.]

I haven't forgotten.

[And she hasn't. He is very convincing when he wants to be. She's known that all along. It wouldn't take a lot of effort on his part to have her be so agreeable with him. His words about weakness remain with her. He must be hers, too. She's with him in ways that she isn't with others. Ways that she can't be with others. Not so dissimilar from how an Aerith in Tifa's company is different from an Aerith in Balthier's, in Nanaki's, in Cloud's, in anyone else's. There's a different side to Aerith that everyone sees, originating from the same core woman.]

I told Tifa...

[She begins quietly, feeling those nerves curl up along her. If she says any of this, she can never take it back. It will always be there regardless of whatever happens in the future. However long or short that future may be. Whether she should or shouldn't remember these very moments or the impact that Balthier and others have had on her life. If she says these things, she has to be willing to accept that.

She must be willing to own those sentiments.

If neither of us will remember this, then why should it matter so much?

Because they aren't just words. They're real, weighted things. The bittersweet joy that she has in his presence is real and tangible. A memory or not, a falsified one, a temporary one, none of that makes a difference. It doesn't make it any less real.

She draws back just enough that she can eye him in that way that is so earnest with so little to hide behind. Aerith studies him, her hold shifting to wordlessly admire his features with the touch of her fingertips. The pad of her thumb as it drapes over jaw, along the shell of his ear, carefully over a dangling earring.]

I don't want to go back to Midgar because I would rather be with you. I've wanted to be with you all along.

[Is that love? Surely in some way, it must be. That's a four-letter word that scares her, but she suspects it must be lingering in her somewhere.]

[He meets her gaze as she pulls back, studying her, his touch at the small of her back and the nape of her neck having softened considerably as he summons up patience, a willingness to listen and let her take what time she needs to piece her thoughts together, find the words. He can't help but offer her a flicker of a smile as her thumb moves along his jaw, his ear, gently pulls against his earring— somber as this moment has the potential to be, he has ached for her gentle and attentive brand of affection for weeks now.

He's missed this. In the greater scheme of things, their time together had been quite short— but what did that matter, when there was no time to be wasted? It doesn't make him feel any less strongly about it, about her.

"I've wanted to be with you all along."

His smile blooms just a touch wider, reserved and cautious, but no less real for it. It doesn't change the complexity of her situation, perhaps— but it's no less thrilling to hear, no less reassuring.

He'd known, but it was a different thing entirely to hear her say it for herself.]

I've wanted the same.

[Would he go back to Ivalice now, if offered the choice? In practice, such a decision wouldn't be so easy, but he knows where his heart wants to be now, in this moment, and his hand moves to the side of her neck so that his thumb can brush against the soft line of her jaw, dangerously close to the corner of her mouth.]

It's an unnerving feeling. [But not bad. Not unwelcome.] I'm— not used to it. I'm willing to wager you aren't, either.

[And regardless of pre-existing complications, that has to have had a hand in things. Feelings of that magnitude had the potential to be, quite frankly, terrifying— but decidedly less so in such excellent company.]

[She's gathered as much. Aerith didn't really know his feelings. She had... suspicions. And she had inklings. She had ideas. She isn't sure how she feels having them placed out so nicely in front of her. In much the way that she can't put away her own words, she can't put away his either. He has a right to his feelings and she must not belittle them or treat them with any less respect than they deserve. They are kind, soft, gentle things. Fragile.

As fragile as he is, though she suspects he wouldn't like it much if she described him like that.

She very pointedly draws her gaze aside when his touch shifts. He's already set her heart to pounding, but somehow he always makes it beat just a tad faster by doing the smallest things.]

Not... really.

[She replies quietly, once more finding herself revisiting the notion of Zack. The only reason things didn't proceed between them, she's sure, is because of what befell him. If he were still alive today, wouldn't they have ended up together? Aerith has no way of knowing that. She could sense him back home, but it's not as if it's answered so many of her questions. She knows he's waiting for her, however, and she knows that one day, they'll meet again.

Who knows when or what the circumstances will be at that point.

How do her feelings for Balthier compare to those she had, and continues to have, for Zack? Simply put, that's incomparable.]

I don't want you to feel that I expect anything out of you. I don't. I was afraid if I said something, it might be too much. For you. For me. I didn't want it to affect any decisions we might have to make. All I could do was try to reassure you. I always knew how I felt. I didn't realise that... I underestimated the time we spent together. Things I thought were so innocent.

[But no. They've danced around one another for quite some time, haven't they.]

I may have underestimated too, at first.

[He can certainly understand such a thing happening, and quite easily. He wasn't generally in the practice of sharing much of himself with anyone, with very few exceptions— there had been no way of knowing just how quickly things would escalate, but even if he could, he wouldn't undo it now. Not for anything.

There's still the matter of expectations, however, and the very thought makes his heart heavy. Certainly there will be decisions to be made in the not-so-distant future. He wishes he could say the same, that he doesn't expect anything, but he knows that he can't. He's selfish. If they want the same thing, then he cannot in good conscience bring himself to walk away from that, for whatever reason might be given.

His lips pull into a thin line, somber as his brow remains against hers, his thumb moving along the arc of her cheek as he pulls his other hand forward to gently rest against the curve of her hip, still pressed almost impossibly close.]

I don't think pretending it isn't there does either of us any good.

[No doubt they both could have done without the pain of the last few weeks, though he understands her point of view better now, sympathizes as best he can despite his own patience having worn thin.]

You don't always have to worry so much about what's right. For once, let something be about what you want. Even if it feels like a bit too much. I think it would feel less so, shared between us.

[He's right, of course. He's as right as Tifa was. Maybe in a way, Aerith was right as well. What works for some does not necessarily work for others. She's gone about it all wrong, however, forcing him into what she wanted out of him instead of allowing him to live as he ought to have. She'd intended to free him of her and all she did was try to control him.

She's never really noticed it as much as she does after speaking with them both. As she'd told Tifa, if she was the only one who thought differently, then maybe it was she who needed to reassess what she was doing, and why. In the end, it still comes down to selfish behaviour and a lack of courage. It doesn't matter that her intentions weren't malicious. Intent rarely has anything to do with it.]

I want to say that I'll do that, but I know I can't make a promise like that.

[She admits, softening at the very contact of his thumb pressing over the height of her cheek. She doubts she'd be even half as willing to make a remote step in that direction were it not for the hold he has on her, or the close proximity. She is just as weak to him, she finds.

I don't know how good I can be at pretending that I feel fine with all of this.

But she has to try. She has to try. He's still here. So is she. She owes that to him.]

I'll do my best, Balthier. [For you, and for Tifa.] Maybe... you should tell me what you want.

[Out of her.]

[It takes a great deal, he knows, to make a promise of that magnitude. Even for all the wanting in the world, one might still find themselves unable to, and he appreciates that Aerith's situation is singular enough that even while doing his utmost to examine it from every angle and offer her his understanding, he cannot truly know the full extent to which her troubles weigh on her.

He doesn't know that he can ask her for anything more than she's already offered, but at her suggestion, he pauses to consider at length, remaining close— that last bit is the key, he thinks, a very physical reminder of just how much she's come to mean to him, what it feels like for the both of them when they're together.]

What I desire most from you is patience.

[Perhaps not what she had expected, but he's hardly finished. He exhales, taking her face between both of his beringed hands, fingertips lightly curling into her hair on instinct alone.]

You may have noticed that I didn't run off after you shared the truth, as you thought I might. In fact, rather than not being able to 'stand' being around you, I find I've never wanted anything more. So I ask for patience. That when you're afraid, or overwhelmed, you will talk to me instead of run and hide. That you'll trust me to want to help you. I want the opportunity to try and make you happy, for as long as I possibly can.

[They both know that's not going to be forever— that isn't in the cards, but he'll take what he can get. That will have to be enough.]

[She makes a discovery that she understands she'll be thinking about for days to come. When Balthier is close to her, she listens to him very attentively. Not that she doesn't when he isn't, but it's decidedly different. It's a very effective way to get her attention, likely something to do with the idea that she's never known anyone else who would have such a boldness.

Corneo does not count, she decides.

At 'patience' her befuddled expression is transparent. As he continues and takes her face into his hands, he directs her gaze back onto his. What he asks of her—rather his implied requests—are not easy things for her to acquiesce to. She's agreed to try. The truth is that she still doesn't fully agree with him or Tifa. A part of her realises that she is merely giving in, not feeling as if any of her options actually have the desired outcome.

If she's still going to berate herself in private, if she's still going to worry constantly, then the least she can do is be the most minute amount of self-indulgent. But in doing this, isn't she just living a lie?

Aerith tries not to betray too much of the worry crawling about her insides.

All he's asking her for is the chance she wanted to give him before and backed out before he could. Run and hide. That's exactly what she did.]

I feel like you're trying to render me speechless. You're way too good at that.

[Her hands lift to rest over his with a subtle, gentle squeeze. No promises. She can't make him any promises, but...

Aerith forces a small smile. Maybe her outside will convince her inside to lighten up. Just a touch.]

I'm getting the distinct impression you didn't finish your tea. You've been terrible about finishing things tonight. Couldn't finish making the tea. Couldn't finish drinking it. Couldn't finish letting the kettle boil. A master at leaving things unfinished.

[Teasing him is always worth it.]

Not trying, but if that's the result, I'll certainly take it.

[It's not the agreement that his heart had hoped for, but it's enough. He's made his request, and it's been heard— it's nothing more or less than what he'd asked from her at the start, only more clearly stated, but he understands her hesitation to make promises. He's never been quick to make them, himself. That small, forced smile is bittersweet; she means it, and a part of her wants to be able to say so, he's certain, but they both know it isn't so simple, and he expects that what's happening beneath the surface is far more than she's allowed to show.

Just a chance. If she can give him that in earnest, he will find a way to make it be enough. He will earn it several times over, show her that it was worth offering him and that she needn't bear her worries all on her own.

He sighs heavily at her teasing, giving her the wry smile he's sure she'd hoped for as he shakes his head, releasing her in favor of putting both arms around her waist as he feigns weariness, his expression utterly put-upon.

Well. Partially feigns.]

There were more important things at hand than tea.

[As an Archadian, he knows that to be an exceptionally strong claim.]

[Her look is apologetic. She knows what he wants to hear. Knows she can't exactly say it and lock herself into something. She doesn't want to break any agreement with him. To him. That's not the kind of person she is. Aerith tends to be a woman of her word, thus must make her decisions very carefully to continue upholding that. Although she suspects that given the last few weeks, her credibility is in danger. She hasn't been a particularly impressive display.

...Not that anyone else has bothered to say so. They don't need to when it's obvious. No one's going to be harder on Aerith than Aerith either.

Little does he know that the curve in his mouth does make it easier for her own to grow. He's understanding. Far more than she ever would have requested of anyone, much less him. In many ways, she would say he's too good for her. But so would be anyone else. She's too much trouble to be worth it is how she's always felt about the situation. But that is self-defeating.

It really was easier not thinking about any of that stuff.

A careful touch of her fingers in his hair and Aerith lowers one hand that she can pass the same touch over his bottom lip with care.]

Debatable. [She begins thoughtfully before her attention turns onto the sink he's got her set upon.]

Was that part necessary?

[Yes, she decides. Of course it was. Regardless of however he might answer that, she's convinced it was. As she looks back to him, Aerith leans forward just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.]

The answer to that, Balthier, is yes.

[He bites at his lower lip for just half a moment, the familiar feeling of her fingers in his short hair beyond welcome after so long without, the dusting of her touch against his lip equally appreciated.

It almost seems impossible, just how much he's missed her.

She answers the question for him before he can say anything at all, but that press of her lips to the tip of his nose has him grinning openly in response, as though that small display were enough to banish some of the worry that still clung to the both of them.]

Absolutely yes.

[Perhaps it had been a bit over the top, but it absolutely had its benefits— such as granting him the ability to lean in and smooth his hand over the curve of her rear before drawing it forward along the length of her thigh, fingers brushing against bared skin where her skirt has ridden up out of necessity. He leans in to kiss her properly, the arm that remains around her waist cinching a bit more closely.]

I wanted to make sure I had your undivided attention. I'd like to think it worked.

[Absolutely yes.

Of course he's agreeing. Not that Aerith has expected anything less of him. He loves to leave her aflutter in little and large ways. A subtle wave of uncertainty lingers in her, not because of feelings. She knows very well where hers are and now, so too does he. It's more or less that the position he has her in is precarious. He can not only hear every reaction, he can feel each one, too.

He never wants to give her an option to hide, it seems. He always has to be in the know.]

Getting jealous of the kettle?

[She asks him, a deliberate levity, though she understands well enough that that's not at all what he meant. Given the subject matter, he genuinely was setting it straight. His relationship with Fran, whatever it may be, according to him, isn't the same as whatever sits between him and Aerith. She won't call it a relationship because she isn't sure that's what it is. And he hasn't been pressing her to call it anything.

It simply is. For that, she seems almost relieved. But maybe eventually, they'll have to think of something, because she doubts if she calls him friend, he may not appreciate that. Especially if it's to someone else who's blatantly interested in her.

Not... that she suspects there's much of that in Camelot. He's probably safe. Although some of the things Sephiroth has said—]

You have my attention. In case you need the reassurance for it.

[She leaves her words against his mouth quietly, involuntarily tightening the way he's settled between her knees, though she suspects that comes from the way he's tightened hold upon her.]

[He'll take that bait, and gladly.]

Perhaps a bit. I've missed you, you know.

[If he hasn't made that perfectly clear before now. While he's certain he has, it never hurts to be sure, especially since he's taken such pains to lay his feelings out in full— he doesn't care to be misinterpreted in that regard.

His grin quirks to one side, feeling her knees press in against either side of his waist, and his fingers begin to lightly nudge their way up the length of her thigh, beneath the hemline of her skirt, one hand remaining at the small of her back as though to keep her steady.]

I do appreciate the reassurance. However, I'm afraid our tea's gone cold.

[That one is entirely his fault, all of her prodding aside, but he's finding it incredibly difficult to feel too badly about it.]

You also may have housemates returning sooner rather than later. I don't think we ought to be in the kitchen when they do.

[In her best Balthierian impression—]

Gods know why that should be.

[Because she really does pay attention when he speaks. Honestly. Truly. She does.

But her humour pretty quickly dies down into something a bit more subtle and light. Although she's intent on him, she's keenly aware of the touch he traces up her. Drawing in a breath, her attention momentarily flickers over to her teacup. He's probably right. Is that an implication? Before she can ask, what he says to follow up with beckons her gaze back onto him.]

Probably not like this, no. Do you want me to reheat your tea for you?

[Perhaps there's other implication in his clever wordage, but it's the kind that goes just a bit over Aerith's head. Maybe. Or she's playing hard to get. He can take his pick.]

[Alright, he very likely deserves that, cross as he'd been. He gives a withering sigh in response, though he doesn't allow his grin to falter, his hand moving further and more firmly up the length of her thigh to curve against her hip beneath her skirt.

He's not thinking about tea any longer, that's for certain.]

It can wait until later, I think. Instead, I'd rather show you just how much I've missed your company.

[It's been quite some time, in fact, since he's appreciated her the way he would like to, well before this mess thanks to his injuries, but just in case she doesn't quite catch on, he leans in for another kiss, lingering and heated, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin.]

[At least he takes her teasing in stride. Not... that she's thinking much about her clever colloquialisms. As he draws his fingers further up her thigh, she uses a hand in an attempt to hold down her hem. It's a pointless action when he's painting invisible circles atop her skin and kissing her so soundly.

Her breath hitches for just a moment. Of course she's receptive. There was only the one time before Celliwig had happened and after she set him free, they'd not seen one another since. Of course she's thought about it, even if she claims the opposite.]

...This a part of that making me happy thing or is it to make you happy? You know how I am about you... showing me things.

[Both, she suspects, and she means his doting behaviour. Maybe he's onto her. She can see him asking her something particularly heavy and her simply going along with it in a combination of quiet desire and being incredibly agreeable when he draws upon her in just the right way.]

[Yes, he certainly does know how she is— often delightfully flustered, which is incredibly endearing to say the very least, but he knows there's more to it than that. Being so focused on taking care of others, she has some difficulty accepting doting in any number of forms, and he smiles against the gentle curve of her mouth as the kiss breaks.]

Hmm. Can't it be both? Ideally, we would both be happy in such a situation.

[It's no good if only one of them is enjoying themselves, after all, but he's always made it a point to avoid being a selfish lover. It does, after all, take two.]

Unless you're opposed, of course.

[He doubts that, given that he can already feel the way she responds to his touch, hears the way her breath hitches— and given all that's been said and done, he doesn't think it's even remotely out of line to say she's missed him, as well.]

W-well, yes...

[Just like that he's got her hesitating. Not because she has any lack of interest. She doesn't. Obviously she doesn't. But it does leave the blush touching her darkening just a tad more. She also knows she has a very difficult time letting him just treat her kindly. She isn't against it. Aerith has done things herself, by herself, on her own, for so long that having someone suddenly want to take care of her in any fashion is... weird.

Even Tifa knows there are some places one just does not cross with her without her instigating it or asking for it specifically. Balthier simply does as feels natural to him and Aerith isn't used to be mirrored in such a fashion. It's much easier to tend to him and focus on him. And it's not as though she doesn't get some kind of her own joy out of it.

Making Balthier happy does, in fact, make her happy, too.]

I'm not. I'm sure you know that.

[Settling her weight into her hand, she shifts just a hint, as if she means to hold onto something more modest than the way he might so easily fit right up against her. She likes him there. She knows that. It'd be all too easy to fall right into them. Absence seems to only make the heart grow fonder and they have a great deal of personal time to make up for.]

I'm just awkward. Still. Surprisingly. I know you said... practise, but uhm. Things have been kind of all over the place. I haven't been able to think about it as much as I'd like.

[Implying that she does think about it regardless. Of course she does.]

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