daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

Maybe I still am.

[How thoroughly smitten he must feel right now, making something so cliche sound so sincere. He reaches out with an arm to put around her, as he shifts his weight a little to draw her closer.]

Maybe I'll wake up soon, and opening my eyes, you simply won't be there. Lying next to me like you are now. I'll have woken up alone in my bed, and while that's not an unusual occurrence, there'll be an ache in my heart. A sorry consequence of knowing what could have been.

[cliches start somewhere, and Grell settles in right next to him as he pulls her over. perfect.]

If you're dreaming, then we found our way into the same dream. I'll have to wake up acutely aware of your absence, wishing the dream could have gone on just a bit longer.

[there's something delightfully tragic in the idea, the both of them waking up disappointed and knowing what's missing. yet, the reality is far better.]

But I'm very much here, and awake. I'd hazard to say you are as well.

Edited 2017-07-18 21:40 (UTC)

As far as I'm aware, I am.

[But she feels real in his arms, in both warmth and solidity. It's silly, but he takes comfort in knowing that, drinking in every detail of her face from this close.

And then, he decides to ask something seemingly out of the blue. (It isn't; he had been thinking about it, briefly, before he fell asleep last night. The question rises in him again now.)]

What does schatz mean?

...Where'd you hear that?

[she remembers saying that, but if she can play dumb, she will - that had more slipped out than anything.]

[He has to laugh lightly at that.]

You said it. [He wonders if she really did forget, but he'll not call her out on it if he doubts it.] Last night, before you fell asleep. Don't you remember?

[this close, it's impossible to miss how her expression shifts through about five different emotions before it settles on something slightly shy.]

...I remember. But I should just make you look it up and work for the answer.

[that tells her how tired she'd been, and truthfully it isn't embarrassing - it's more just...special.]

[Ardyn tries to decipher every last one of those emotions as they filter through her, and as she seems to settle on something close to being shy, he just has to know now.]

You wouldn't actually do that, would you?

[Though, he does reach over just to pat at his phone nearby.]

Not that I couldn't, if that's what you wanted.

[and she tries to reach and pull his hand back to stop him, but it doesn't really work given their positioning, and all it manages is her with her arm over him a little awkwardly.]

I said should.

[excuse her as she goes back to what was comfortable.]

Schatz is...well, you've got the literal meaning, but using it, it's more like my dear, darling, that sort of thing. Anyway the point is you don't say it to just anyone.

[she is bracing herself for him to tease her over this.]

[She'll not be met with any measure of teasing from Ardyn; even as she braces herself for it, he does little more than blink in... faint surprise at this information.

There's that feeling again. That idiotic, stupidly cliche feeling of being a lovestruck teenager. While she's busy readying herself for teasing that won't come, Ardyn averts his gaze, hiding it by shifting his weight to adjust his pillow with one arm.

It's not embarrassment, not really. It's the flourishing, outwardly spilling fond realization that she had used the term for him alone and--

It's an immeasurable kind of feeling. He doesn't know what to do with it.]

Only to loved ones?

[Or... well, people you were amorously affectionate towards but. The plainer version is out of his mouth already.]

Something like that.

[why'd he have to put it so plainly, like trying to get her to say something that she wasn't going to say because she wasn't thinking about it, and why did he have to look that way when he woke up it was unfair as anything, and she's very glad that he can't tell her heart rate right now. maybe she should just get up and make coffee.]

I suppose it just...felt right to say.

[It wasn't a crafty way of trying to get her say something she wasn't prepared for, nor was he fishing for confirmation; of all the times for him not to be wordy and filling the air with superfluous meaning, why did it have to be now? He hadn't wanted it to be awkward, and while Ardyn does not show anxiety in a normal way, or even really experience it to the same degree as others, his hand closest to the pillow does flex a little into the material.

But her response isn't one of correction. It's a quiet affirmation of, it just felt right to say, and when Ardyn searches for words, he finds himself settling on only one response.]

I feel the same way. Though I've not a specific word to apply to it.

Some things don't need words immediately to be there.

[but she feels the same awkwardness there, and as much as she wants to keep holding on and just staying there, there's the high likelihood that she's going to say something colossally stupid that just keeps increasing. so, she pulls away enough to sit up, talking to calm herself down.]

If you like, I can make breakfast. Coffee at least won't go amiss.

[putting on her glasses feels a little bit like restoring herself, now that she can see everything and isn't at the mercy of her memory to not bump into things. an escape to put together coffee, but she leaves the door open at least. in the kitchen she can have her own five second crisis and be done with it before the brew's even begun.]

[He just watches as Grell decides to get up and make ~~her escape~~ her way out of the room, for the purpose of making at least coffee. He sits up fully in just enough time to watch her disappear out the door and down the hall, feeling that lingering awkwardness, mixed with everything... else that has started to become a veritable wave of emotions just from their conversation alone.

Still, little to be done about it now. Ardyn will wait for her, idly killing time by smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, a consequence of having slept in them. His success is questionable.]

[when she comes back, two cups in her hand, she feels calmer. now she's fully awake, and now she feels more in control of what she's saying. it's fine. it's fine, she can absolutely figure out how to handle the fact that her mind keeps going back to seeing Ardyn there when she woke up and how that made her feel. maybe. she'll attempt.

or, more likely, she'll end up in a mess of emotions, but she can at least be caffeinated while it happens.

but she sits back down on the bed, holding out a mug of coffee - black, how he likes it.]

This is one morning ritual I haven't broken in years. But...I'm pleased to be able to make two cups.

[Ardyn takes his mug from her with an utterance of gratitude, taking a sip. The smell, as pleasing as it ever is, is indicative of a proper early morning, and he notes that it's prepared black, just like he prefers it. She remembered, and it's such a small thing, but it makes him grin into his mug despite himself.

The atmosphere is calm again, and maybe whatever unspoken things that were hanging in the air prior have dissipated -- or at least, neatly packed away for now. Maybe. The safest thing is to just respond to her comment and carry on conversation as usual.]

Maybe you'll be getting the chance to prepare two cups of coffee in the morning more often now. [A pause, followed by an addendum to not sound too presumptuous.]

If the idea continues to please you.

I don't think I'd be changing my mind on it so soon.

[presumptuous. more like she could laugh and insist that it was fine.]

Not as long as the one I was preparing it for was you.

[the honesty slips out, and she takes a drink of her coffee to stop herself from continuing. there's that feeling again, as if it never went away and calmed itself.]

[What was it that he had said last night? When sleep was threatening to descend upon Grell, he had mentioned something about this all feeling very domestic, and she said for him not to rush through moments such as these. (She had called him schatz then too. He remembers her face as she drifted off to sleep, how beautifully peaceful she looked at the time.)

This moment feels the same, and Ardyn finds himself wondering how many more they'll share in the future. Cupping the mug in his hands, feeling its warmth, he quite realizes these are not things in which he's ever thought about before. A depth of emotion that was mind-bogglingly hard to parse, almost overwhelming when he looks at her now. And Ardyn is no fool. He knows that these feelings are not normal -- as in, they are not indicative of something transient like a lingering crush or a passing fling, something that should be obvious given his conversations with her in the past. Sitting here now, just watching her drink her coffee (how simple, how domestic), he feels the poignant weight of realization dawning. It's gentle, but as it washes over him, he feels that it'll swallow him whole. A part of him irrevocably shifts, never to be exactly the same, as he realizes that he has completely, thoroughly, immutably fallen for her.

He raps his fingers against his mug, fingernails clinking. Ardyn is quick to cast his gaze to the side, and oh, he's such a laughably lost cause now, he thinks. There's no getting around it, and he seems too busy thinking about this to even say anything in return to Grell.]

[she looks at Ardyn curiously, but she'll allow him his silence. there's a calm that falls in the place between them, one where she can sort out some of the thoughts she'd dealt with in the process of putting the coffee together. actually doing something had been helpful for her, to not end up sorting it out all aloud.

there's giddiness, yes, the excitement and anticipation of something new that keeps her on alert and almost too present. there's that slow undercurrent of delight that came at being proven wrong still, after so long ago she had calmly closed off that avenue of thinking towards him and settled into the solid and reliable contentment of friendship. there's the care and appreciation she feels like she would towards any close friend, that desire to see them well and happy and to know it was all sincere. and there's a trust there that runs deep enough that some of the cracks in herself are shown, none met with pulling away. enough that she had fallen asleep, secure in herself. but there's a happiness in it all to fill the spaces between, and being content and being happy are two different things.

there's more, she knows, more she doesn't see and that to pull apart piece by piece and acknowledge would be a use of time and effort that's practically wasteful when the easier thing to do is accept it, in spite of how far it reaches. Grell's not forgotten how it feels to have it all shatter to sharp edged pieces, how being cast out can be a violent and brutal affair that hits where unprotected. but wounds heal, and the joy in falling, the possibility there outweighs the fear of pain.

a word goes to this, despite her proclamation of things not needing words instantly. several words, actually. and yet, would saying anything break the spell? would trying to pin anything down send it further away? could she say this lightly enough that if it missed its mark it could be nothing more than another joke?

Grell realizes she's been staring into her coffee, and quickly takes another drink to avoid it getting cold. while she figures out what to say, if she should say anything at all, she shifts on the bed, leaning in so she can kiss him on the cheek. that, at the least, can't go amiss.]

[He wishes he could say with confidence that his thoughts, threading through his head, were as purposeful and organized enough to be weaving a tapestry. And yet the reality is that there's a lot to take in, a lot to consider, emotions tangling with each other in the wake of this dawning realization. He could spend minutes more getting lost in them, a reflection of his time spent with her in the past, of how they both transitioned from good friends to… this. He takes another long, considering sip of his coffee, wondering what he should say. If he should say anything.

Ardyn hinges on words. He uses them as if they were tangible things, purposeful in their application. To create emotion, to elegantly pivot around a point, or to drive an argument through with no dearth of confidence. He is a man that fills the air with them, even when the situation does not call for it. So why now do they fail him? He thinks back, to that ridiculous display of theirs in the parking lot. The way that he had called her things like my dear and my love and how when she asked, jokingly and theatrically, he had meant any of it, he had used those same words to sidestep the question. Even in the vein of a joke, it required him to find that grain of truth nestled deep within, and he had shrunk away for fear of saying something foolish. The threat of making light of that one, luminous truth in the swath of theatricality had still been too much to hold. The fear of making himself sound like a fool — when he usually cares so little about how others might perceive him — was real at the time, even if he was quick to flit over it and move on.

And now? Now that moment echoes itself again, here in her room, as they sit on her bed sipping coffee. He wants to tell her something, anything, of what he’s realized. But what if the words land wrong, what if they’re too flippant or too serious, what if she just looks at him and smiles and tells him that he’s being silly, or that he’s misconstruing things, or that she’s flattered, but she doesn’t feel the same way. That there’s a fondness there, an affection, but nothing as strong as what he wants to convey, and all he ends up doing is making a fool of himself? (And by god, since when did he care so much about making a fool of himself?)

This is what goes through his head, considerations colliding into each other as he hears her shift and lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. With that gesture alone, the thoughts stop swirling in the wind and instead begin to settle, like silt at the bottom of a riverbed. He looks at her, and his expression is immeasurably fond.

To hell with it, he thinks to himself. He would rather look like a fool than drown in uncertainties for the rest of this moment, beautifully torturous as it would be. Impulsiveness and something akin to courage intermingle with each other, and Ardyn hopes that it generates enough momentum to make him sound at least somewhat eloquent.]

You say you won’t be changing your mind— [He starts, realizing he had never responded to her last sentiment.] —and hearing that makes me immeasurably happy. The idea that, in the future, there are more chances for us to be like this together; alone, you and I. It’s a sentiment that’s hard to put words to, even for someone like myself, but I can try.

[He certainly can. His fingers grasp around his mug, still warm from the coffee within. There’s a rare seriousness in his tone, light but not with a single hint of flippancy. None of this is said for the sake of dramatics, not this time.]

I… don’t expect you to say this in return. But I think if I don’t say something, I may regret it later. [Only a half-second pause, and while one hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck (he can’t help it, it’s a nervous tell, damnable thing), he doesn’t glance away from her.]

Grell, everything about you has rendered me a fool in love.

Edited 2017-07-22 18:43 (UTC)

[if time was slow before, it's brought itself to a halt as Grell hears him say that. she was in the middle of trying to shape her words into something that they could forget if they didn't land correctly, and whatever paper thin guards she would have set up are thoroughly burned down. her voice stolen, not out of confusion, but because for a moment she can't do a single thing but smile, her chest too full of feeling to properly process the shape of a sentence. something bright and warm taking shape, and oh, she knows this feeling, and so much of her own actions in hindsight become blindingly obvious.

she smiles, and she looks away, and there's a bit of laughter that comes up unbidden because she's happy and it can't be cut down. usually, she wants to say, she's the one making these declarations, and they don't happen in the early morning in her pajamas. but like this, nothing moves their hands save their own will. no jokes, no theater to disappear into. only them and whatever happened to be reality. when Grell looks back to Ardyn, the truth of her happiness is practically written on her face. she can't even summon up the will to teasingly ask him if he truly means everything, or to say that he did pretty well at putting words together all told. she can only be honest, when she finally gets back her voice.]

Then we're fools together.

[because she had been turning over in her mind how to say anything, how to let go of that net of safety that deflection and dramatics wove around her, how to be honest without anything in the way of it.

she won't look away now, she can't look away.]

Because I'm in love with you.

[Ardyn's keeping his eyes trained on her expression, telling himself to ignore the tinge of uncertainty that crops up in the space between his admittance and her response to it. He's said it, and now it's only a matter of waiting to see how it settles with her. Ardyn hadn't even realized that he was tense, that his shoulders were wound taught, until she smiles at him like that. Suddenly, his chest feels lighter with the promise of something that he wishes to dare is maybe, maybe reciprocation, and when she looks at him with pure happiness written across her features, it's all he can do to stop himself from leaning over to kiss her there on the spot.

His patience is rewarded, however, when she speaks. Because I'm in love with you, she says, and if only he could hear her say that again and again and again, he'd be the happiest man alive, he's sure of it. His own expression is a reflection of that smile, feeling that wave of affection wash over him, and once again the compulsion to kiss her rises, tenfold as strong as it was before.

But they’ve their hands full, and that won’t do, and he reaches over to set his mug on the nightstand — then, gently, he offers to take hers from her, only to set it down next to his own.

That leaves him free for an embrace, and so indulges himself in it, pulling her closer and kissing her properly. It’s eager and a little giddy, the curl of his smile never leaving him, and probably felt on her side. He makes it last -- if he could stretch out this moment, if he could still time, he would. It's only when he finally pulls away, still holding her close, does he speak.]

Fools together, then. I hardly even know what to say.

[Ardyn Izunia, not knowing what to say. A momentous occasion, indeed.]

[the coffee feels a little superfluous at this point, uselessly in the way, and she's all too happy to give it up in favor of being able to put her arms around him. is it even healthy for a heart to feel this full? such that her chest can only do its best to contain it, as she returns the kiss that leaves her a little breathless. a perfect moment where she can't care about anything, save Ardyn, and...that chosen descriptor is almost a little too apt. they have been foolish, they most certainly will be in the future.]

Is there anything that you need to say?

[or want to say, but she's more than happy to be close even if there's nothing. reciprocated. something she wouldn't have even dreamed of, months ago, and yet here they are.]

[For once, Ardyn has no criticisms directed at himself, regarding just how much of a walking cliche he feels like (again) -- a man in love in the blissful wake of a confession, holding close to the object of his adoration. His heart might burst, but, well, at least he'd die happy.]

I could declare a thousand different things, all of them fighting to be said, and therefore none of them spilling forth.

[And since he's still holding her close, Ardyn takes advantage of the situation by playfully pulling them both down so that they're lying on the bed properly again. His head is practically on the same pillow as hers. A strand of hair falls in his eyes, but he doesn't care.]

You're brilliant and beautiful. I suppose that would be a start. Oh, and that I love you.

[He doesn't think he'll ever tire of saying it now.]

[she lets go of him with one hand so she can push the hair away - it's blocking her view of his eyes. this maddeningly impossible, dear man. it feels ridiculous, in hindsight, to have not opened her heart a little sooner, if this was the result.]

Say it again?

[not that she hasn't already committed the words to perfect memory, to be protected in her record of it all. simply to hear it for the joy of it being there, unprompted other than he believes it.]

Edited 2017-07-25 00:36 (UTC)

[He lets her brush that piece of hair out of his eyes, and it's almost funny how much pleasure he takes in that little fleeting touch alone.]

Say what again? That I love you? Dearly? Madly?

[He'll say it as many times as she likes. He scoots forward just a tiny bit, enough for his forehead to touch hers lightly.]

Deliriously?

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watch me lose this tag

picks it up and places gently in ur lap

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