theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[His attention is evident. Transparent. She toys with the idea of simply ignoring it or giving in to the way it leaves her just a touch flustered. She opts for the former, clearing her throat when she catches what he's looking at. Maybe she should have left him for some private time with her book, though she doubts that's really his type of interest. He probably has a very refined taste in his romance novels.

Aerith is not about to ask.

Her eyebrow raise when he finally addresses her. It's very probable that he's indicating her directly. Better not to acknowledge it like that either.]

If you like it so much— [She gestures to the book that he sets down before she starts to approach, lifting her hands to begin working her hair down from the pink ribbon holding it up.] —you can borrow it, if you want.

I'm not talking about the book.

[But he's fairly certain they both know that. He sits up straight to give her his full attention, one hand resting against the mattress to support himself as he fixes his gaze on her, watching her pull her ribbon free. He's only seen her with her hair down in full for any length of time once before, but it's not a sight he'll soon forget.]

Interesting use of language by the author, however. 'Quiver' came up a fair few times— far more than one might expect in the span of ten pages.

[The intensity of his gaze is lessened by the amused scrunch of his nose that follows, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease as he so often does— it's been far too long since he's had the chance. As she approaches, he rests his hand against her hip before sliding his arm around her waist in full, and he doesn't think he can begin to articulate just how glad he is to be this close to her again, to be able to reach out and touch her in a way he'd become all too accustomed to in a remarkably short period of time.]

I could handle that for you, you know— your hair.

[Or maybe he just wants an excuse to run his fingers through it.]

[Of course he's not talking about the book. Aerith doesn't outright acknowledge he's said it, but the moment he starts talking about 'quiver,' she grins and even looses a laugh.]

You were keeping count? I definitely wasn't. I don't even think I've ever said the word 'quiver' before. Maybe the writer didn't know any other words that meant the same thing.

[For some moments, she's thinking about the variety of words that could be used. When he carefully coils his hold about her, she's in the midst of carefully tying her ribbon about her wrist before reaching back up to her hair. His offer grabs her attention and she finds herself eyeing him.]

I didn't know you wanted to. You can, if you want. I'm so used to handling it myself or having my mom do so, that it's weird to hear someone else make that kind of offer.

[Aerith probably spends a decent amount of time with her hair, when she's really thinking about it.]

Sounds like they would be well-served by finding a new editor, though they certainly have the spirit.

[Which means he certainly doesn't disapprove of the book's contents, even if he's having a brief laugh at its expense. However, he's not here to play literary critic, and with the novel itself cast aside his attention is fully on the young woman beside him, on how it feels to have her so close after much too much time apart. He feels almost compelled to turn his face into her side and bury it against the warmth of her as she stands, but manages to restrain himself— if only just, and watches her patiently as she goes about tying her ribbon around her wrist.]

Suppose I hadn't given it much thought before now, myself.

[Still, he does want to. He almost remarks that he's surprised she would let him do anything for her, but thinks better of it as he offers a somewhat softer smile in response, carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he can stand alongside her, running his hands over her shoulders as he draws back up to his full height.]

Turn around?

[While she might love to get into a deep discussion on synonyms for potentially risque descriptors, Aerith gets stuck on the idea of him tending to her hair, finding it oddly intimate. It's just hair, but it is something of hers and Aerith for all of her confidence in being close to people, seems to have invisible boundaries that rarely get touched. It's as if she's contemplating whether her hair is one of them or not, but given that she's allowing Balthier this... privilege, maybe not. Or maybe it's only okay because it's him.

She could talk herself in circles when it comes to him, honestly. Does it all the time already.

He moves to stand with her and it's only when he makes his request that she offers him a little dip of her chin. She turns, loosely clasping her hands together and she waits patiently.]

The materia is still in there. Be careful with it, okay?

[Which just means don't drop it. Not that she thinks materia is particularly fragile. Only that it's sentimental and it means something to her. Difference being that she can't exactly wear that one all the time. Not in a feasible fashion, anyway.]

Of course.

[He offers her warm reassurance in reply; he wouldn't dream of being anything but careful. Though all he knows of materia itself is what she's told him, it had been made quite clear that this particular piece meant a great deal to her— its value is beyond words.

He's careful as he begins to gently pull apart the long braid she's tucked her hair into; it's as soft beneath his fingers as he remembers, and he neatly unties the end before turning his attention to where her ribbon had been until only moments ago. The materia itself is impossible to miss, and while he had avoided touching it earlier in the evening, he delicately takes it in hand now, examining it for but a moment before he closes his hand in order to safeguard it as he holds it out to her over her shoulder.]

Here— best you hold onto it.

[Better not to take risks, as far as this is concerned.]

[It's almost nerve-racking to stand there, only waiting for him. Nerves? Weird. She didn't realise she had anything left to be nervous about when it came to him. Once he's seen her naked are there any walls left? Evidently so. Or maybe being physically close isn't as scary as it is to be emotionally close. When she plays it all back in retrospect, it's alarmingly easy to let him be close to her. To hold hands and other such things. Everything else that goes beneath that is a lot more difficult.

When he offers her the materia, she reaches up to where he holds it over her shoulder and she takes it with care before she protects it between both of her hands.]

Thanks. It belonged to my mom. [There's a pause and then she continues.] My first mom. [She can't say 'real' one, because Elmyra has been as much a mother. It's not as though Aerith has a tonne of memories regarding Ifalna. Many of the ones she does have are somewhat broken up. But she does know Ifalna went to great lengths to protect her and to give her a good life. Ifalna is why Aerith is here today.] I don't really have many things from her, so it's important to me. I want to have it with me always.

[He waits until he's certain she's safely taken hold of it before he retracts his hand, quietly going about undoing her braid one piece at a time as he listens attentively, curious. Before tonight, he had never known that she'd had two mothers, and he's intent on committing what information she does offer to memory. He is always and ever eager to learn more about her, though he knows well how it feels to want to keep such things to oneself— but he'll take what bits and pieces she offers and be glad for them.]

An admirable reason. I'm sure she would be pleased to know you've taken such care with it.

[It seems a good way to remain close to someone after they've gone, a way of preserving their memory.

He's silent for a moment, working her hair loose and making it halfway up her back before he offers something of his own in turn; he'd promised to share more of himself with her, after all, and he smiles faintly to himself.]

I never knew mine. I'm glad you have something of hers to carry with you.

[As she dusts touch over the ball of materia she's holding onto, she listens to him attentively. She wonders what her mother would think of her now. She probably would want Aerith to live the best life she can regardless of whatever may be coming. After having spent so much of her childhood in captivity, that wasn't living at all. Her mother would want her to live. And given the nature of an uncertain future that Aerith is trying to fight against, it's all the more reason she ought to be living.

...She would probably like Balthier a great deal. If she were back home, she'd probably have a more dedicated answer to that.]

That explains why you've never brought her up before. I only ever hear you make mention of your dad, but...

[Aerith pauses for a moment, wondering how to put it.]

It doesn't sound like you two got along.

[She's not prying. It's just an observation. She's allowed to make an observation. In truth, Balthier has spoken of his father very little, and it's because of that, that Aerith can only assume there's not much positive there. Factor in the idea that Balthier changed his name, changed his entire life to get away from the one he was born into... Nothing about that implies Balthier had a particularly father-son relationship going on.]

[His deft hands pause in their work, just for a moment— it was, he knows, only a matter of time; he's mentioned his father on more than one occasion in the past, and he knows that sharing anything real about himself means discussing the situation with Dr. Cid, unpleasant though it had the potential to be.

He shakes his head slightly, working another part of her hair loose and gently setting it aside so that it drapes over her shoulder.]

It's complicated, I suppose.

[Well. There's no suppose about it, is there? While he's in no rush to ruin the mood, there's something to be said for being able to read the moment and to share, if one feels so inclined. Aerith, for her part, has done a great deal of sharing tonight, much of which he knows she wasn't keen to reveal to anyone, let alone him.

Her braid is finally undone in full, and he carefully gathers her hair together at the back of her neck with both hands to keep it from getting tangled, his fingers idly carding through it.]

We did, once, but came to see the world quite differently. He's passed on, now.

[She would have been satisfied if he'd simply left it at 'it's complicated.' She understands that, given the amount of complication that surrounds her. That he says anything more is surprising, but not at all unwelcome. She waits and listens patiently, content enough to let him toy with her hair as he will. She can feel when he's done. She can tell when he's just using idle time. Instead of interrupting him, she lets him work through his thoughts.]

I'm sorry to hear it. Getting along or not, that's never something easy to go through.

[Especially considering when it's very likely that things probably didn't end the way Balthier wanted them to. She has a hard time believing he'd want for them to be at odds. Somewhere there is feasibly a lack of closure. Not so different from her own with her parents.

It occurs to her that he, not unlike her, has lost both parents. Yet she has Elmyra. Balthier has suffered a great deal. More than most anyone should have to. He's likely never had a proper support network. She wonders and questions if she can provide just such a thing to him.]

[For all that he's willing to share, he quickly decides that the circumstances of his father's death aren't on the table— at least, not for tonight. He takes her condolences for what they are, as gracefully as he can manage, and gently pulls her hair through his fingers one last time before letting it fall in waves down her back.]

Thank you. An unfortunate thing to have in common, but I'm not surprised we've both seen our share of loss. Though we come from different worlds, they are each hard in their own right, it would seem some difficulties are universal, regardless.

[He smiles wryly as he remains at her back, his fingertips lightly brushing against her arms as he seeks to put his own around her middle from behind— a simple embrace, innocent enough despite the fact that they had both come here with intent.]

I'll save the rest of the tragic backstory for another time, hmm? I think we've had rather enough of sharing unpleasant memories for tonight— though I do intend to repay you in kind, should there be anything you wish to know.

Loss is loss. [Aerith shakes her head.] It holds a similar weight regardless of the world one comes from. And everyone interprets it in a different way. [After all, those who've passed on in her world simply return to the planet. One day, she will as well.]

[As he settles his hold about her carefully, she leans against him as gently, as inconspicuously as she can manage, easily admitting to herself that she's missed that. Having him in her home was a nice change of pace. Being able to take care of him, even though she'd been worried over his recovery...

It was nice having him around. Even Tifa was able to pick that up. Aerith had been very happy at that time.]

I said it before, but I don't want to pry into you for information. If you share anything with me, I want it to be because you choose to. Because you're comfortable doing so. Otherwise it's not worth putting you through discussing it.

[He lets out a soft, short peal of laughter; there's an incredulous note to it, directed firmly at himself, though it's not without humor.

"I want it to be because you choose to."

He shakes his head briefly, and his hold on her tightens just so as she leans back against him. He'd missed this, as well— it offers a sort of comfort he's never quite allowed himself to experience, before he'd met her.]

That's just it, isn't it? I find myself wanting to tell you everything, as it turns out.

[It's new, and quite possibly bordering on terrifying. He's never wanted to be open; he's always kept his secrets well until there was no choice but to air them. Now, he wants to offer them not only because he feels he owes her something in turn, but because he wants her to have the chance to know him better— a rarity, indeed.]

You have a way of making it feel easy, even if you don't mean to.

I do, do I?

[Aerith asks thoughtfully, not really sure she'd think that of herself. What is it about her that makes it so easy for him to speak? That makes him want to share these things with her? She's done nothing intentionally to achieve that. Maybe that's what it is. She goes out of her way to avoid pushing him for information. Not because she doesn't have an interest in him. She does, of course, and her curiosity runs deep. But she wants so much to respect him and his need for privacy that she doesn't want to take advantage of that.

Perhaps to someone like Balthier that kind of mindset is an attractive one.]

I guess that's a good thing. I was going to say something clever about moderation, but I'm pretty sure I've said that already. If you feel at ease talking with me, then that's a compliment. I hope I'll always be able to offer that. I'm not in a hurry to unravel every mystery that makes you you.

[A little mystery for them both leaves them with the ability to keep others coming back for more, though Aerith is certain there's nothing that would particularly ward her away from Balthier. Except the depth of his feelings, evidently, as seen by their recent weeks.]

Indeed you do.

[He's not sure he would quite know how to explain it even if he'd tried. Chemistry has something to do with it, he's certain, but there's more to it than that alone— even early on, she had shown herself to be patient and compassionate, open in a way that made him feel at ease around her. It was part of why that first stretch of not talking, months ago now, had been so very frustrating.

He smiles as he leans forward to press a kiss against her temple, careful not to let her hair get caught between them, sliding one of his beringed hands over her own.]

I'll try not to spoil the mystique entirely, however. I do rather enjoy the effect it tends to have— but in all seriousness, I hope to be able to offer you the same.

[She's already shared more than she cares to, he knows, but he doesn't want her to regret it. He wants her to know that she can.]

[Her head tips just in slight as he presses lips to her temple. It's almost instinct that encourages her to shift the way her hand rests when he settles touch against it and she airs a soft sigh. He wants to offer her the same? She isn't saying it, but it's likely clear cut that Aerith hasn't felt much the same. Not with him. Not with Tifa. It's nothing personal. She doubts there's anyone ever in the world who would make her feel as if it's safe to speak up about herself or whatever she may be going through.

Or maybe it's just the idea that everyone else has their own things to work through and Aerith simply doesn't want to add onto what's preexisting. It's difficult to say and she's not even sure it's one reason and one only.]

I'm not much for talking a lot about that kind of stuff. It's real easy to talk to other people about themselves. And sometimes there are people who love being the centre of attention.

[She feels like at this point, with Balthier especially, she's said as much about herself that she ever needs to say. Anything else beyond that is unnecessary and leaves her with a familiar weight of reality.]

[He lets out a soft hmm of agreement, wordless understanding. Of the two of them, he is far more likely to trend towards wanting to be the center of attention, even if what he often puts on display is only partly real at best.]

I'll never ask or expect you to say anything you wouldn't offer freely— if that means that you choose to say nothing, I don't mind in the least. I only hope that if you ever feel you need to share such things, that you know you can trust me.

[The same thing she had offered him, now and weeks beforehand, in so many words. The only difference is their respective willingness, and that troubles him not at all— he's more interested in spending time with who she is now then prying at her for all the bits and pieces that got her here.

He drops one of his hands to rest lightly against her hip, dipping his head slightly to tease his lips against the cuff of her ear.]

You may not be the sort who likes to be the center of attention, but you certainly have mine.

I...

[She wonders how to address any of that. Given how much she's told him, she's not sure how much more she can tell him. He knows... the majority of everything, doesn't he? But she supposes if anything else should come up that's really what he's getting at. For instance, should something happen with Sephiroth...

Except she's aware enough she won't say anything if that becomes the case. She should and she simply won't.

Before she has the chance to say much else, the very brush of his lips against the edge of her ear causes her breath to catch softly. That's intentional, isn't it? A means of distraction. Perhaps that's a necessity given the amount of tension that has been holding onto her so intently.]

I think I can handle your attention. As long as I don't have to be in a position where suddenly everyone's looking at me. As a sky pirate, I bet you get it. It's a lot easier to manoeuvre things when people think I'm not worth paying attention to. I think I've had enough attention from unwanted parties to last me a lifetime.

[A shortened lifetime, at that, if she doesn't find a way around it.]

[It is, of course, absolutely intentional. They've spoken at length about heavier topics this evening, and while what's been said here pales dramatically in comparison to all that had been laid bare in her kitchen, he thinks it best, perhaps, that they not let their thoughts wander towards anything too somber— his own, in particular, and Aerith has certainly more than earned a reprieve.]

There's something to be said for anonymity.

[It's been a long while since he'd experienced it in Ivalice, and the fact that his name meant so little here had allowed him to get another taste of it. Though there are some mixed feelings as a result, he's sure that in Aerith's case, it's nothing short of a blessing.]

With that in mind, I'm grateful you've made an exception for me. [At least for the time being.] You won't be losing my attention anytime soon.

[It's persisted despite her best efforts, otherwise. He brings his other hand to her shoulder and gently encourages her to turn to face him as his lips fall away from her ear and he straightens.]

I don't think you've given me much of an option otherwise.

[That's not accusatory. It's almost amused in a way. Aerith doesn't need a lot of coercion for her to turn. She does so with a fair amount of care, adjusting his hold where she has no other alternative. Lifting her gaze back onto him, she loosely folds her hands together and they linger right about her collar.]

I think the thing about eyes is that they're much like any other kind of free will. I can't really control that when it comes to another person. So I can't stop you from looking at me. And I couldn't stop you from showering me with attention if I wanted to.

[After a moment's pause, she continues.]

I'm not implying I want to. Just an observation.

I think I ought to take some degree of pride in that.

[He chuckles along with his response; they've each met their match in stubbornness, it's become clear. While his persistence or tendency to fixate on things doesn't always serve him well, in this regard, it most certainly has.

He shifts his hold on her as needed, though he's quick to drape an arm around her waist again as she comes to face him, an amused quirk tugging at the corner of his own smile.]

Well, suppose that's for the best. I don't intend to stop doing so at any point.

[Good, then, that she sees things his way. He crooks a finger beneath her chin to tip it upwards so that he can lean down to meet and kiss her properly, without any desperate demands or kitchen sinks involved, without feeling as though he has to prove something. It is, nonetheless, intent and heartfelt, eager to make up for lost time, and the hand at her waist comes to rest against the small of her back, fingers spread.]

Maybe... moderation.

[Her words are somewhat more hushed when he continues. If he's like this ordinarily with one he cares deeply about, then anyone having his attention like so would be a great deal special. He's said it before, however, that he thinks she's significant. Special. Important. He's not implied it was on her own merits as an individual, and he hasn't needed to. He provided her with attention before ever knowing about her. Who she was. What she was. To him, she's simply been Aerith Gainsborough, flower girl with many secrets.

...What is she to him now?

For just a flicker of a moment, Aerith's eyebrows knit together as she begins to contemplate just what that might be. She doesn't get far. He tips up her chin easily and bends just enough to touch his lips to her own. Before him, she didn't realise there could be so many types of kisses or that kisses were, as people are, so complex. Whether he intends to or not, Balthier is always showing her something new.

Visibly she softens, willing to release some of that tension she's held and practically clung to, knowing that without it, it might as well be the same thing as caught adrift in a sea. A breath of hesitance ensues before she presses the touch of fingertips against his chest.

Right. He's shirtless. It's very noticeable.]

[He smirks against the curve of her lips as her fingertips lightly brush against bare skin, warm despite the fact that she'd carted his shirt off to the laundry some time ago now. That furrow of her brow as he'd leaned in hadn't quite escaped him— no doubt she has a lot on her mind, as she always does, but he's quite keen to encourage her to loosen her hold on it— for a little while, at least.]

Moderation.

[He echoes her with a note of warmth and humor in his voice as the kiss breaks, without pulling away.]

Pirates are famously known for it, of course.

[Sarcasm, of course, though affectionate. Even his brand of pirate is prone to excess.]

I'll do my best, then, for your sake, to be restrained.

[There's the subtle, sultry turn of his voice in his mimicry of her. Not really mimicry, she supposes, but that ever intentional jab in her direction. But that's how all of this began. She wouldn't want him if he was any other way. At least, that's the easy way to look at it. Truthfully, she quite possibly would have wanted him regardless. There is no denying that Balthier's sharp wit is a good deal why he drew her to him.

For a breath, perhaps three, her touch grips and spreads, before she forces it to slacken, pressing the smooth, warm flat of her palm along his skin.]

If you need to know the definition... [She begins softly, caught somewhere between sensation and lightheaded.] ...I can get you a dictionary.

[Very smooth.]

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