[ 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
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. ]