Well... I'd hope so. I try pretty hard to do that.
[Lifting spirits, that is. She's not perfect. Aerith knows it's just not feasible to expect that she might accomplish that every time. But it's better to try and not succeed than to never try at all. And... if she doesn't succeed the first time, she finds a different way. Aerith is not really the type to be terribly keen on surrendering. Sometimes just giving up isn't an option.
But when he smiles the way he does, she feels triumphant. She doesn't have to fix. She just wants to make things a little better.]
I promise not to.
[That she can promise, though Aerith sometimes shies away from doing such things, if only because she would never, ever want to break something like that made with him. To him. A soft sprinkling of pink kisses her just as softly as he does when he rests lips to her crown.
Founder, it's all very nice. She wonders if he knows just how easily he makes her pulse threaten to race. Her insides are all tingles and pleasant nerves, like little ideas that she's never really let herself begin to consider.]
You know. I was gonna work on that ledge. But... I think I like just being like this. With you.
[ Like flowers, people bloom. They need water and sunlight－ they don't need fixing, just patience. At least, that's what he's come to believe after Cid plucked him from the hell of his self-pity and self-punishment, and that's what Aerith helps him feel more convinced of with her love of nature and her adeptness at tending-to.
She promises him, and Clive relaxes. She tells him about what she likes, and Clive chuckles. A pleasant call-and-response that happens with their bodies pressed against each other, arms and limbs a warm tangle.
It's a bit frightening, now nice it all feels. His heart sits nicely in his chest, full but steady. ]
I'll tell Otto about the ledge. [ Their steward will grouse, but not overmuch; it's a part of their home that needs fixing, and that man loves this Hideaway more than anyone. ] For now...
...You should do as you like.
[ Be selfish. Live. It's what they should all have been born to do, with impunity: to be unapologetic about who they are, as long as they're helping in the process instead of harming.
With that said, Clive lifts Aerith from the mattress, arms still around her, and makes the bold maneuver of hoisting her sideways onto his knees. A big, human-shaped divan for her to get comfortable against. ]
You could, but I did kind of say I would do it. It wouldn't be very nice if I made someone else do it. I want to be known for being a woman of my word, you know? So... maybe I'll go out and do it later.
[Or she'll do it in another day. Or another few days. But when he tells her that she should do as she likes, she could very well just keep right on procrastinating. What would she like to do? For so many moments in that quiet thought, she gazes up at him. He moves her so easily, settling her right atop his knees. But he's still holding her so protectively.
Her hands shift, fingertips small little tethers that could invisibly keep her near him. There's something nice about that, too. Feeling safe. Secure. Feeling her heart threaten to open where she has often been so careful about holding it to herself. But when Clive smiles, when he looks at her, when he speaks to her the way he does, encourages her, she considers little ideas like that.]
...I'm not too heavy, right?
[It's a joke. Kind of. She knows she isn't. That's just not possible. Clive pretty much towers over her and next to him, she must look so delicate. She tries to temper her smile, the colour in her features darkening just a touch and she idly traces nonsensical designs atop his chest. Leathers and details that she's just associated with him.
[ He's fairly certain that Aerith will be summarily forgiven for not taking care of a ledge that everyone has left half-intact for a while now, but far be it for him to push back against something she wants to do. Clive chuckles about it, low and throaty, and makes sure that she's tucked safe and comfortably against his chest before he lets his weight settle on the mattress, giving it his deadweight.
They could so easily tip backwards. Occupy the same bed. Maybe huddle together and close their eyes for a nap that might be soon interrupted by the pitter-patter of hurried feet.
It would be a luxury. He thinks of it, but doesn't act on it. ]
Light as a feather.
[ As he lifts one hand from her hip to touch along the slight tinge of pink that dusts across her face. Not a flush of discomfort, he hopes; he thinks she would tell him if their current arrangement made her feel patronized or condescended to. ]
...I do appreciate it, you know. That you told me what was on your mind.
[He seems... at ease. And Aerith wonders if she's ever been in his company when he's felt that way. There are no shortage of things that tend to demand his attention and she has long suspected that whether he's saying it or not, Clive is probably a frequent, consistent quiet thinker. It's not as though he doesn't have a great deal to think about, at that. But right now, it seems like he may very well be content to simply live in the moment.
Maybe he's trying to live by example. If he can do that, surely she can, too.
There is something about his touch as he ever so carefully traces where colour strikes her. With touch alone, he births nerves he cannot see and more of those flutters that hide beneath her surface of relatively well-composed thought and consideration.]
I know that you do. [She reassures him, the curve in her mouth a little sheepish. She's not very good at that. The telling him, or anyone really, what's on her mind. No harm in acknowledging that. Aerith's hands lift, palms gently press to him. The same palms leisurely travel up and she subconsciously learns him. Acquaints herself with him. His is an expanse she could travel so many times without tiring.] I worry a little that I might one day say too much. That you might start thinking you should carry my burdens, too, on top of all of the other ones you already do.
[Eyeing him sympathetically, she quiets for a moment before she continues. Honestly, even just today he'll probably be thinking about it for some time to come. If only because he'd want her to feel safe and secure, and he'd want her to not expect the worst.]
But if that happens, I think it's only fair that I shoulder some of your worries, too. When you need a safe space, a place for just you, I hope I can be that. This— [She shifts just a little atop his lap with a pleased little smile.] This is nice. I feel safe. When you hold me, it feels like nothing else in the entire world could touch me.
[ She worries that she'll say too much, and that he might want to share her burdens. The logic doesn't quite click for him, and it shows: if her thoughts are so heavy that she might one day need to speak them into reality, then why not let someone carry them with her? No woman or man is an island, and humans exist to bear each other's burdens and see them made lighter for it.
(A hypocrite, through and through. Clive, who has made a noose of his duties and looks to hang himself with it at every opportunity, doesn't see how this can be applied in reverse.)
But he softens at her offer, regardless. Warms, when she claims that she feels safe in his periphery. ]
I never thought I could be something like that for anyone, anymore. Not after what I did. Not after finding out what I truly am.
[ But he won't wear that point out further; he's already told her about those uncertainties, about how he has consigned so many to flame. That isn't nearly as important as what he wants to say, which is: ]
You say that I make you feel safe. And that, in turn, makes me feel safe.
Aerith's heart swells with a soft ache at his words. She can understand them. Why he has them. Where they come from. How important it is that he feels safe enough to voice concerns like that. He must think himself a monster. She doesn't.
Ifrit is... Perhaps what any eikon might be. Bestial in some form. Surely finding the delineation between man and eikon is a difficult one. She can look at it all objectively and in that scrutiny, they may be parts of one another, or at the very least, Ifrit is a part of Clive, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are one and the same.
He will probably never view it that way. No dominant may.
Eyeing him with a gentle sympathy, an understanding empathy, Aerith lifts a hand and she gently guides dark hair from his face. Wordless, with the pad of her thumb she traces his features. Prominent brow line. The height of his cheek, just along the outer corner of his eye. The scarring that touches his cheek.
Finally, she nods.]
You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe.
[When he needs it. When he wants it. Even if the world should turn against him, she'll do everything she can to stay near him. To be a constant. Even in the face of her own fears.]
[ Safety, saving, protection. They speak in soft terms, idyllic and almost conspiratorial－ as if the things they whisper here are in danger of shattering if spoken too loud or in witness of less gentle, discerning eyes.
And it's nice, that he believes Aerith when she says that she can do these things for him. That she can hold him (a funny mental image, his bulk and charcoal edges tempered by her floral pastels, her thin arms) and give him the space and time to settle into this trust they've built. Not just through necessity, but through a slow dance of understanding.
He likes it, he thinks. Unworthy as he is.
So he nods, twists, and falls. Relents in every way, physical and emotional, the smile on his face as open and vulnerable as the creak of the mattress under them. He still has Aerith held close to his chest, but now they're horizontal on his bedsheets, two disparate but similar souls tangled together. ]
Watch over me, then. [ He laughs; it floats, warm and buoyant. ] Let's rest for a while.
[ Contradicting himself. She can't watch and nap at the same time. But Clive lets her figure out how she wants to manage that, as he nests closer with his arms around Aerith's shoulders, blue eyes shuttering with the smile lingering on relaxed lips.
He hasn't felt so pliant in ages. He drifts like that, and dreams only of flowers and emerald water, of Aerith's palm on his cheek. ]
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flamebrand) wrote2023-10-31 01:24 am
no subject
[Lifting spirits, that is. She's not perfect. Aerith knows it's just not feasible to expect that she might accomplish that every time. But it's better to try and not succeed than to never try at all. And... if she doesn't succeed the first time, she finds a different way. Aerith is not really the type to be terribly keen on surrendering. Sometimes just giving up isn't an option.
But when he smiles the way he does, she feels triumphant. She doesn't have to fix. She just wants to make things a little better.]
I promise not to.
[That she can promise, though Aerith sometimes shies away from doing such things, if only because she would never, ever want to break something like that made with him. To him. A soft sprinkling of pink kisses her just as softly as he does when he rests lips to her crown.
Founder, it's all very nice. She wonders if he knows just how easily he makes her pulse threaten to race. Her insides are all tingles and pleasant nerves, like little ideas that she's never really let herself begin to consider.]
You know. I was gonna work on that ledge. But... I think I like just being like this. With you.
no subject
She promises him, and Clive relaxes. She tells him about what she likes, and Clive chuckles. A pleasant call-and-response that happens with their bodies pressed against each other, arms and limbs a warm tangle.
It's a bit frightening, now nice it all feels. His heart sits nicely in his chest, full but steady. ]
I'll tell Otto about the ledge. [ Their steward will grouse, but not overmuch; it's a part of their home that needs fixing, and that man loves this Hideaway more than anyone. ] For now...
...You should do as you like.
[ Be selfish. Live. It's what they should all have been born to do, with impunity: to be unapologetic about who they are, as long as they're helping in the process instead of harming.
With that said, Clive lifts Aerith from the mattress, arms still around her, and makes the bold maneuver of hoisting her sideways onto his knees. A big, human-shaped divan for her to get comfortable against. ]
no subject
[Or she'll do it in another day. Or another few days. But when he tells her that she should do as she likes, she could very well just keep right on procrastinating. What would she like to do? For so many moments in that quiet thought, she gazes up at him. He moves her so easily, settling her right atop his knees. But he's still holding her so protectively.
Her hands shift, fingertips small little tethers that could invisibly keep her near him. There's something nice about that, too. Feeling safe. Secure. Feeling her heart threaten to open where she has often been so careful about holding it to herself. But when Clive smiles, when he looks at her, when he speaks to her the way he does, encourages her, she considers little ideas like that.]
...I'm not too heavy, right?
[It's a joke. Kind of. She knows she isn't. That's just not possible. Clive pretty much towers over her and next to him, she must look so delicate. She tries to temper her smile, the colour in her features darkening just a touch and she idly traces nonsensical designs atop his chest. Leathers and details that she's just associated with him.
His father now, too.]
no subject
They could so easily tip backwards. Occupy the same bed. Maybe huddle together and close their eyes for a nap that might be soon interrupted by the pitter-patter of hurried feet.
It would be a luxury. He thinks of it, but doesn't act on it. ]
Light as a feather.
[ As he lifts one hand from her hip to touch along the slight tinge of pink that dusts across her face. Not a flush of discomfort, he hopes; he thinks she would tell him if their current arrangement made her feel patronized or condescended to. ]
...I do appreciate it, you know. That you told me what was on your mind.
no subject
Maybe he's trying to live by example. If he can do that, surely she can, too.
There is something about his touch as he ever so carefully traces where colour strikes her. With touch alone, he births nerves he cannot see and more of those flutters that hide beneath her surface of relatively well-composed thought and consideration.]
I know that you do. [She reassures him, the curve in her mouth a little sheepish. She's not very good at that. The telling him, or anyone really, what's on her mind. No harm in acknowledging that. Aerith's hands lift, palms gently press to him. The same palms leisurely travel up and she subconsciously learns him. Acquaints herself with him. His is an expanse she could travel so many times without tiring.] I worry a little that I might one day say too much. That you might start thinking you should carry my burdens, too, on top of all of the other ones you already do.
[Eyeing him sympathetically, she quiets for a moment before she continues. Honestly, even just today he'll probably be thinking about it for some time to come. If only because he'd want her to feel safe and secure, and he'd want her to not expect the worst.]
But if that happens, I think it's only fair that I shoulder some of your worries, too. When you need a safe space, a place for just you, I hope I can be that. This— [She shifts just a little atop his lap with a pleased little smile.] This is nice. I feel safe. When you hold me, it feels like nothing else in the entire world could touch me.
[It helps her worry a little less.]
no subject
(A hypocrite, through and through. Clive, who has made a noose of his duties and looks to hang himself with it at every opportunity, doesn't see how this can be applied in reverse.)
But he softens at her offer, regardless. Warms, when she claims that she feels safe in his periphery. ]
I never thought I could be something like that for anyone, anymore. Not after what I did. Not after finding out what I truly am.
[ But he won't wear that point out further; he's already told her about those uncertainties, about how he has consigned so many to flame. That isn't nearly as important as what he wants to say, which is: ]
You say that I make you feel safe. And that, in turn, makes me feel safe.
no subject
What he did.
Aerith's heart swells with a soft ache at his words. She can understand them. Why he has them. Where they come from. How important it is that he feels safe enough to voice concerns like that. He must think himself a monster. She doesn't.
Ifrit is...
Perhaps what any eikon might be. Bestial in some form. Surely finding the delineation between man and eikon is a difficult one. She can look at it all objectively and in that scrutiny, they may be parts of one another, or at the very least, Ifrit is a part of Clive, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are one and the same.
He will probably never view it that way. No dominant may.
Eyeing him with a gentle sympathy, an understanding empathy, Aerith lifts a hand and she gently guides dark hair from his face. Wordless, with the pad of her thumb she traces his features. Prominent brow line. The height of his cheek, just along the outer corner of his eye. The scarring that touches his cheek.
Finally, she nods.]
You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe.
[When he needs it. When he wants it. Even if the world should turn against him, she'll do everything she can to stay near him. To be a constant. Even in the face of her own fears.]
🎀💕!
And it's nice, that he believes Aerith when she says that she can do these things for him. That she can hold him (a funny mental image, his bulk and charcoal edges tempered by her floral pastels, her thin arms) and give him the space and time to settle into this trust they've built. Not just through necessity, but through a slow dance of understanding.
He likes it, he thinks. Unworthy as he is.
So he nods, twists, and falls. Relents in every way, physical and emotional, the smile on his face as open and vulnerable as the creak of the mattress under them. He still has Aerith held close to his chest, but now they're horizontal on his bedsheets, two disparate but similar souls tangled together. ]
Watch over me, then. [ He laughs; it floats, warm and buoyant. ] Let's rest for a while.
[ Contradicting himself. She can't watch and nap at the same time. But Clive lets her figure out how she wants to manage that, as he nests closer with his arms around Aerith's shoulders, blue eyes shuttering with the smile lingering on relaxed lips.
He hasn't felt so pliant in ages. He drifts like that, and dreams only of flowers and emerald water, of Aerith's palm on his cheek. ]