daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

In that case, it sounds like you had a lovely evening, platonic or otherwise.

[But there's a reason why she texted, he imagines.]

Does this bother you? That you acted more like friends, rather than a professor and her assistant?

Of course it does.

[For more than one reason, but she focuses on the easiest first.]

It's inappropriate. I had to make sure a dozen times he didn't feel coerced, that he knew his grade and his thesis weren't on the line if he refused to stay. Add to the fact that there's several reasons one oughtn't become friends with their assistant, starting with the fact there's a professional boundary crossed and ending with the fact it might lead to a conflict of interest.

[The sensible thing would be to cut it off now. Go back to being professional, stop texting him on this app, ignore him outside of the classroom. And yet--]

I suppose the problem lies in the fact that I've grown too fond of his company. To the point where I ignore good sense each time an opportunity crops up.

[They're valid concerns. Several that he shared, actually, whenever Prompto needed assistance. Of becoming something of a mentor to the boy, maybe an actual father figure. He also had to make it clear that there was no obligation or strings attached -- it was a tricky sort of thing, even if the young man wasn't actually his student.

(There's a strange overprotectiveness there, too. As for the reason why, he cannot put his finger on it. Something that lingers just beyond his reach, some revelation he cannot quite make out in the fog-)

Well, no matter. If she's looking for someone to dissuade her about all of this, she's probably come to the wrong person.]

Your circumstances are unusual. I think it would be impossible for the two of you not to bond over time. Retrospec may come with a swath of issues, but if there's one thing we should give it credit for... Well, it's brought us all closer by giving us a sense of solidarity. A faceless corporation for all of us to fight against.

We talk to each other about what's bothering us. Your assistant, as per your own words, seems well attuned to aiding you. Friendship is practically expected, and I wouldn't encourage you to sever that connection.

[He's sensible, of course. He's encouraging her to keep this going, yes, but that doesn't mean he comes to his conclusion frivolously, and she appreciates that. And really: if it was entirely about friendship, she'd likely agree. Oh, she'd still be leery of it, especially given how much time Fawkes has been spending with her lately, but ultimately, she'd agree.

But that's not all of it. Rosalind rubs a hand over her face, exhaling harshly, and then finally types out:]

And if the connection should turn romantic? Is that still your advice?

[Well, then. His response is typed out rather quickly at that.]

And is this something you consider a possibility?

I don't know. I hope not. But

[She hesitates.]

I know myself. And I'm aware of just how fond I am of him.

[He considers this for a moment, which leads only to the smallest of pauses before a reply.]

And how would you like for me to answer? As a fellow professor? Or as a friend?

A friend. I know the answer of a professor.

Very well. If your relationship should turn romantic, then you've a choice to make: take the risk, or don't. The first may lead to nothing short of an adventure, or fulfillment and happiness in equal measure. It may also lead to unrealistic expectations, heartbreak, and the stress of trying to keep it all very hush-hush.

The second option, the one where you choose not to pursue it, is the safer route. Boring, but safer. You'll be asking yourself "what if" for the rest of your days, though. Or at least, until you drift apart and go your own separate ways, as is what often happens in life.

I'll tell you a secret: I'm a bit of a romantic, myself. I would suggest that you take the more amorous option, because despite all of the risks, you'd have fun for a while. Maybe even /more/ than a while. And even if it ends up shattering at your feet, at least you lived through the experience, did not have to suffer through the torture of /not knowing/.

[Of course this would be Ardyn's advice. He is a romantic, like he said, but he's also a somewhat impulsive, emotional man. But she can take it how she will.]

[What she truly appreciates about the advice is how thorough it is. This isn't a flippant answer, a go for it born of an idle whim. Yes, he's a romantic, and yes, he's somewhat impulsive, but he's giving her the courtesy of reasoning out his explanation.

She doesn't know if it will turn romantic. She can speculate about Fawkes, but the truth is, he's never done anything that would give her solid evidence to support her quiet hypothesis that he views her in such a light. Perhaps he doesn't. Perhaps her own fondness will stay at the speculation stage, limited to idle daydreams inspired by that one lunch date. Perhaps she's fussing for no reason at all.]

All right.

[They're discussing this anyway. She might as well go all in.]

. . . when you asked me about him a few weeks ago. I wasn't simply reacting because of his age.

[It's enough of an acknowledgement of his advice to satisfy him. He trusts Rosalind to take this advice into consideration, if the relationship develops in that direction, and go from there. That's all he asks, really.]

What else, then?

You can't guess? I was reacting because you were precisely on the money.

Oh, I thought as much. I wanted to see you text it to me yourself.

I could tell, you know. By the expression on your face.

Stop messing around.

. . . but that's precisely what I'm afraid of. That I'll say or do something and he'll jump to the wrong conclusion when I'm not even certain of it myself.

[Come on, Ros, you have to concede to a little bit of his humor. This is Ardyn, after all.]

Do you not think he'd bring this up with you, if that ever happened? The two of you could work it out amongst yourselves.

[You know, talking about things like adults.]

He's twenty-three.

[A very mature twenty-three, yes, but also still twenty-three.]

And? When I was twenty-three, and if I had found myself in a similar situation, I wouldn't have hesitated to speak up.

[But then again, Ardyn is Ardyn.]

. . . it's not simply his age. It's the fact that he often doesn't act his age. We'll be talking and I'll forget he's nine years younger than me, he'll be perfectly mature and intelligent and brilliant, and then suddenly he'll say something and I'll abruptly remember.

I don't know if he'd bring it up, or simply try to hide it.

Then perhaps you should have faith in the age he /acts/ rather than the age he /is/. Wouldn't that be the logical conclusion to draw?

In any case, if you feel it heading in that incorrect direction, there's nothing to say that you can't be the one to quickly readjust the course.

True.

In any case. It's not as if anything has happened yet, and there's nothing to say it will. But I appreciate your listening to all this. And the advice.

Trust me when I say you'll be the first to know if anything changes.

Of course. What good am I for, if not to listen?

Whatever happens, I wish you luck.

RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

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