flamebrand | overflow.

[ (things Clive didn't learn during his days as royalty: how to sew. any attempt he'd make to fashion something cute would end up with him making something horrendous and misshapen. morbols instead of chocobos.)

he watches Jill turn the stuffed toy in her hands, and wonders if it's even worth giving his second gift to her; it hardly seems adequate compared to something handmade. ]

The intuition of children. You've a way with them. [ he huffs in amusement, content to watch her fiddle with mini-Torgal while he pours the both of them a glass. it's the sort of moment he'd like to immortalize in his memory, to recall back to if he ever falters. this is what you're fighting for, you dunce.

the second item, a little glass vial, sits on his lap. ]

["Torgal" has some stuffing coming out of his leg that Jill discretely pushes back in and makes a mental note to stitch up. It's sweet, and she has a fondness for the innocence of children because she knows all too well how fragile it is. No children should have to suffer how she or Clive or Joshua have, torn apart from their families, forced into slavery. Every day Clive fights for that better future.

She sets the stuffed toy back down--facing Clive, of course--and looks to him, flattered.]

I think they just enjoy the opportunity I offer them to pet Torgal.

[When not teaching the boys to sew or the girls how to parry.

The glint of the glass vial catches Jill's eye, finally, and she hums softly.]

And what is that?

[ filled glasses settle on the desk, and bare, callus-riddled hands move to pick up the vial in question. Clive wrestles with himself for a moment, considering how best to offer this next, slightly more personal gift, but doesn't waver overmuch; it would be a disservice to Jill to assume the worst of her.

it's not quite mini-Torgal, but it's something. a small, crystalline vial that rounds gracefully on the bottom, filled with a translucent blue liquid. he turns it over between his fingers, then hands it over to Jill. ]

...Perfume, originally from the Northern Territories. [ a rare leftover from a culture devastated by the Blight. Clive'd wondered if it would be gauche to give something of the homeland his family had took her from, but: ] "First Snow", is what the shopkeep'd named the scent. I...

[ hm. ] ...It made me think of you. [ too forward? honest, at least. blue eyes flick to the side, slightly bashful, before returning to settle on Jill again with more conviction. ]

[In that moment he looks like the young boy she'd grown so fond of in Rosaria, shy despite his station and skill with a blade. They really haven't changed all that much, have they? She'd spent many nights in Rosaria hiding glassy eyes as the thought of home gripped her, sometimes out of the blue no matter how many much she told herself that Rosaria was her new home. Now, she finds her eyes glassy again, blinking rapidly for a moment before she can assure herself she won't cry. She misses home--both of them, now--but she's more touched that Clive carefully brought this thoughtful gift back to her. She looks at the vial in her hands and finally lets out a breath, smiling with her own bashful look to him.]

Oh, Clive. I'll cherish this.

[It's a precious thing even without the emotional attachment. She can't remember the last time she wore perfume, given the lives they lead. There's a slight tremble to her hand when she delicately opens the vial and lifts it to her nose.

Some note in it does remind her of a time before she knew Clive and Joshua, when she was young and carefree and watched her mother braid her long hair. Did she smell anything like this? She wishes she could remember with absolutely certainty. But maybe it's okay to simply assume it was something close.]

It's beautiful. Thank you, Clive, I... I think you've robbed me of my words.

[ a part of him is still leaning against balcony railings, looking up at the night sky before leaving for Phoenix Gate. here he is again, rendered helpless by Jill's misty-eyed strength, trying to fathom the depth of everything she's suffered. she'd seemed so ethereal back then when they were children, a thing he could melt in his hand if he touched with his hot, callused hand, but now―

―his hand finds the crest of Jill's shoulder. fingers splay outwards, fanning sideways to sift through long hair. ]

...A shame. I enjoy them. [ his lips quirk upwards; a light joke. gods above and below, she's so devastatingly beautiful.

a moment to inhale, and he adds: ] When this is all over, and we can live however we wish―

[ an exhale this time, to steady himself. ] ―I pray that you wear it, and feel at peace.

[So often, she finds herself grateful that he's remained kind despite their lives being anything but. His heart is gentle, and she would do anything to see it kept safe. It's why she swallows down the extent of how deeply touched she is, not wanting to worry him even with tears of joy.

But she does move to embrace him again, fingers carefully wrapped around the vial. In the privacy of his quarters she allows more of herself to lean into him, unworried about sudden interruptions.

He always thinks of her. How lucky she is to have him back in her life, to be able to hug him in her arms.]

If you're by my side, I'll be at peace.

[He's far more important than perfume.]

That's all I need.

[ he understands, now, how Jill must have felt when he'd passed her by with talk of duty and sworn oaths. always two steps behind him and Joshua, always having the be the one who implicitly understood the arbitrary nature of her so-called place. scorned by Anabella, dismissed. gods, it burns him to think of how he must have contributed; what a terrible thing, to have forced her into a position where all she could do was link her hands and pray for his safety.

his chair scrapes under his weight, as he pulls closer and rests his chin, gently, against the crown of Jill's head. ]

Then let me be by your side, always. [ until the end of the world, and beyond. ] As we promised, all those years ago. Together.

[ 'we will face it, together'. words to live by. he nuzzles against the side of her head, nose to her hair, eyes closed. ]

Together. [She repeats, relaxed. She's always been safe with him. Just one more thing that time hasn't stolen from them.] We always find our way back to one another, don't we? Be it years or days apart, you always return.

[Metia answers some prayers, at least, and she's glad it's those. Jill breathes in slowly and deeply, taking in his warmth, the contrast of the cool bottle in her hand. It's nice to hear him speak of the future. So often it feels beyond imagining, or something she shouldn't spend her precious time daydreaming about because so much of it centers around him. But right now, it feels permissible. A secret between them.]

I can't imagine a future without you in it, Clive.

[ a soft huff, more a laugh than a breath, as he (carefully) maneuvers Jill closer so that she's half-perched on his chair (or, well, as much of the chair as his own excessive bulk will allow), knees bumped against knees. ]

Well.

That's a relief. [ he might have died right here if she'd confessed to him that she'd actively been imagining a world without him in it. "less of a headache", he imagines her saying. darkly funny.

smoothing one palm down her back, Clive follows the trail down to the neat plaits of Jill's braid. ] All these years, and you're still not fed up with me. You're the bravest woman I know.

[Were she more bold, she'd pull herself right into his lap, but even behind closed doors it seems like too much. Thigh to thigh, hip to hip, the proximity still makes her cheeks turn pink--but they've earned this. Some quiet, some affection. She's missed him and squeezes him at his joke.]

We could have a hundred years and I'd want a hundred more, and all the years that were stolen away from us, too.

[While she doesn't move away, she does sit upright so that she can look to his face, arms still loosely around him. It's important that he know she means every word when she says,]

That day we reunited was the best day of my life. You saved me. Gave me a second chance at life. I never forget that.

[ the saving, in Clive's recollection, was entirely incidental; he was meant to kill Jill that day, jerked along on his leash like a trained dog with a beast's name. Wyvern. they'd likely have died, too, if not for Cid and his timely intervention.

once again, Clive has someone else to thank for his good fortune. something he won't say, though, when Jill is offering him her sincerity in a way that makes his head spin. ]

You saved yourself, [ he murmurs. ] All those years you spent, overcoming all your odds.

[ one hand still against her waist, the other lifts to press against Jill's face, cupping her cheek. calluses to soft, unmarred skin. ]

Thank you. For living― for finding your way back to me.

[Years she spent bowing to a master she should have slaughtered. Could have slaughtered, easily. But fear kept her weak, and she hates that she let herself be used as long as she did. She keeps those words to herself, not wanting to tarnish his sweetness--even if he's deflecting.]

You were never very good at taking a compliment.

[She understands his sentiment. As her cheek presses into his hand, she lifts the one of hers not holding onto her precious gift and gently rests her fingertips against his wrist. Without all his armor, she can touch his skin, and she just barely caresses the spot where his pulse runs, fond.]

I'm sure you're as thirsty as you are tired.

[Which, regrettably, might mean allowing some personal space--but she can sacrifice her desire to be so close to see him fed and watered and rested.]

[ again, not beating the comparisons to Torgal: if he had pointy, fuzzy ears, they would've drooped just slightly after being called out on not being able to accept compliments. his mouth opens to protest― 'that's not'― but he thinks better of it. he's always been a terrible liar (according to everyone who isn't him).

after that moment of fumbling, he clears his throat. hand still pressed against Jill's face, hesitant to relinquish that touch until he has to.

he has to. another hum, and he slowly peels back. ] ...Right. [ get it together, Rosfield. ] Our wine.

[ repositioning their filled glasses, he slides one to Jill and picks up the other. ] ―I'm not that tired, by the way.

[ he is. but also, he wants to spend more time with her before he passes out unceremoniously like a sack of potatoes, so. there's that, for posturing. ]

[Jill's sorry to lose his touch, but it does give her the opportunity to place her perfume next to Stuffed Torgal. Her two gifts, both dear to her, and she smiles at them before taking her glass in hand. She raises it to Clive in silent cheers, a welcome home, and thinks her cheeks will be sore later for all her smiles today.]

I'm glad. [He's tired. She knows it, and he is a terrible liar.] I don't wish to leave yet.

[She's not sure what it was about this particular parting, but she missed him more than usual. But she thinks that every time, penning him letters, some delivered and some stuffed away to never see the light of day again.]

Gav and Otto have things they wish to discuss with you, but I told them it can wait until tomorrow. We can afford to let you sleep.

[ a fond little uptick of his lips, almost obscured by the rim of the glass pressed against them. ]

They'll be whispering missives to me in my sleep.

[ so that they're lodged in his mind by the time he wakes up. not a thing that would actually happen, but the warm spread of affection in his chest makes him lighthearted, and he really would like the last thing he sees before he passes out to be Jill's smile (her poor facial muscles).

a sip of wine, brow raised mischievously. ]

So I expect you to protect me from them through the night, my lady.

[ an implicit invitation. the others will talk, but they've been talking for ages now. let them. ]

Shall I post at your door?

[The invitation may be implicit, but sounds too good to be true to Jill. He must be teasing her, joking innocently. So, she jokes back.]

Or you can have two Torgals guarding you.

[A big fluffy one and a smaller, stuffed one. Jill tips her head to their newest companion with a soft laugh.]

[ courage, Rosfield. another sip, and he lets the glass sit on the desk. ]

Better yet, [ is warm enough that it doesn't sound like a demand; she's still free to refuse if this is too much. (also with apologies to the two Torgals, who are very good boys and very capable of protecting him if they felt so inclined. toy included.) ] the Dominant of Shiva, by my side.

[ not at his door, Founder help him. he'd never let Jill stand around outside while he sleeps. ]

[Nothing from him could sound like a demand, not in any way she would be alarmed by. There's surprise on her face, clearly, caught off guard despite a tiny hope in her heart that's lived there for a long, long time. Her eyebrows hover high for a moment, eyes flicking over to his bed, and then the blood rushes to her cheeks in a pink tinge.

She breathes out a laugh, charmed. He's perfect in her eyes.]

It's my place, after all.

[By his side, always. Hadn't they just said? She smiles at him, tucking her hair behind her ear.]

[ Mirrored thoughts: Jill turns a lovely shade of pink, and it's perfect. She's perfect. The shape of her, the color of her soul. He could lean in and press his mouth to that flush, taste the warmth of her.

Gods, does he want to. He presses his palm to the back of Jill's hand, trapping her mid-gesture, fingers still tucked behind her ear. Rapt― almost boyishly so. ]

Jill, [ he murmurs, and it's the only warning he gives before he presses his hot, wine-stained mouth against hers, as careful as he can manage; he feels every cell in his body go alight, as perfect as he'd felt since Ifrit Risen. Their noses brush, and Clive's next exhale sticks to the back of his throat. Emotional. ]

[Her pale blue eyes widen at his touch, when he says her name--and then slip closed as she feels his lips press to hers. He feels like the warmth of the campfires they share while on the road, not the flames of Ifrit. That's Clive: warm and safe and comforting. Jill's own breath hitches once her lips part from his, eyes opening and brain struggling to register what just happened.

Her flush has spread to the tips of her ears, accompanied by a bashful smile. A pleased smile, at its heart. Her tongue passes over her lips. The wine is sweet, but she's sure his kisses are sweet on their own.

Yet this all feels natural. Talk of being by one another's side, all they share, the trust ans affection between them... whatever hesitation is obliterated in the face of this sense of relief.]

You missed me more than I realized.

[A gentle teasing, her voice soft.]

[ An inevitability. As much as Clive champions the grand ideal that they're all the own arbiters of their destinies, that nothing is written, he thinks that he and Jill were fated all the same.

His touch smooths along her cheek, tracing the heat along the rise of her cheekbone. She's stunning like this, warm and pleased, tucked close enough to him that he can hear her breathing― he settles his forehead against hers, letting their noses touch again. ]

I pined. [ The words come out as a whisper-laugh. Joking, but not. ] You have my permission to lord it over me.

[ One more slide of thumb against jaw, and he finally lets go. ]

[She's pined for him for years. It's only fair he feels the yearning, too, though Jill would never tease him about it. She's wanted to be his in every way since they were children, desperately hoping that Anabella would see some benefit in marrying her to him. Of course, it never would have happened even if their lives didn't go terribly off course. Her value was in political alliances, not marrying her spare son.]

We're both spared from that agony for a little while, hmm?

[He lets go just for her to lift a hand and brush the backs of her fingers over his cheek, over scars and stubble.]

And one day we'll need never part.

[ So this it what it means to have floodgates open. All those times he'd tried to reach for Jill and stopped short of it, fearing the corrosive nature of his presence and the potential harm it might do her― a part of him still balks at the thought of what he is and what he could become, but the damage is done. He's kissed her, and he doesn't think he could bear trying to forget how it made him feel.

Tipping his face into Jill's palm, he lets her affection seep into his skin. New, novel. Anabella never handled him with gentle hands, and the nursemaids who tended to him in youth only did so with apology written in their lowered eyes and careful touches; as if his mother would have rained hellfire on them if they were ever caught showing her failed son any sort of unearned kindness.

He didn't mind it. That was simply the way of things. But Jill was always different, even back when they were children: asking about him, looking after him, praying for him. He should have seen it more clearly, and sooner. ]

A day that can't come quickly enough. [ Maybe Ultima could stop being The Worst™, thus saving him so much time and heartache. Alas. ] Until then...

[ Another brief brush of lips against lips. Unlike Torgal, a Bad Dog move. ] ...We still have an entire bottle of wine.

[He does remind her of Torgal, leaning into her touch. The sweet look in his eyes makes her want to run her fingers through his hair and spoil him with the attention he's lacked his whole life. He deserves every moment of it.

But she lets her hand fall after that stolen kiss, laughing.]

We do. And food. You should eat.

[But she can't resist stealing another kiss. To make it fair.]

[ Oh. He can tell that they'll make a sport of stealing kisses, and the thought of it makes his face warm, this time. A light dusting of red rising on tan, scarred skin. The word smitten comes to mind. ]

Yes, my lady.

[ Hand to his chest, head bowed. Playful, even despite the impeccable court-learned mannerisms. ]

If you have any other demands for me tonight, I'm amenable.

[ Drinking, eating, sleeping... cuddling. (The last one, he'll take credit for.) He must sound overeager, but then again, he is. ]

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THEY'RE SO CUTE

😭😭😭 let them be HAPPY

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