daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

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?

[yes, exactly that, if the smile on her face is any indication.]

Now I'm the one who's wondering if I'm dreaming.

[maybe she should be saying something about how being delirious wasn't the best thing, but that would be urging caution she doesn't have. instead, she's quiet a moment, before borrowed words come to mind, like they might at any pause when her own seem insufficient. soft, said for him and him alone.]

I love thee to the level of everyday's/most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

[when the poets were right, they were right.]

[They say love is a delirium, after all. Enough to make men and women alike irrational in all things, but there's always time for more carefully considered sentiments later. He'll use words like madly and deliriously with the grandeur that they deserve in a moment like this.

The poem she recites to him sparks no recognition, even as he thinks back on the myriad of stored quotes, lines, and narratives in his own memory. And yet its meaning is not lost on him regardless. That she can recall the words with such clarity when his own focus so solely lost in the moment is impressive unto itself.]

A declaration far more eloquent than my own. To whom do those lines belong to?

Browning. A perennial favorite, the book's somewhere on the shelf.

[but as for eloquent? she's already confessed so much, it feels natural to make another.]

It's easy to borrow another's words when I have none of my own that seem to suit. When my own I know would fall clumsily down, laughable instead of getting to the point. Unless for some reason you want to hear me rambling like a dazed girl who doesn't know what to do.

Maybe you'll let me borrow it? So next time I don't remain ignorant in the face of such romanticism.

[But he seems to chuckle at the notion of her "rambling like a dazed girl". He finds it exceedingly hard to apply that kind of clumsiness with words to Grell.]

But regardless... If you think words would be so treacherous as to fail you, you can always rely on action instead.

[Amping up the flirtation to eleven? Yes, why do you ask.]

[she could make some witty comment about how she was so glad that action is no longer considered cheating, or that he really should be sure before giving her that permission. but there are things just as effective as the right comment, particularly when the receiving party isn't expecting it.

it's not hard since he's holding her to use the leverage to change their positions, rolling him on his back and giving him no time to comment before she's kissing him, and he can probably feel her smiling into it. she holds onto it, taking her time before she pulls back just long enough to whisper:]

Schatz.

[Action only qualifies as cheating when Ardyn deems it so... or, in other words, when it’s convenient for him. Hypocritical, maybe, in a harmless and playful way. But now, he’ll certainly not call it cheating; he welcomes her touch, quite eager for it, and gives no form of resistance when she rolls him on his back and kisses him. If she’s smiling into it, then so is he — two grinning fools, lost in each other for an extended moment, not caring about the world around them in any form or fashion.

But when she pulls away, whispering to him, that’s enough to do away with the playfulness, smothering it instead with something that burns bright with passionate affection. It’s almost unfair, he muses to himself, gazing up at her from where he lies. One shouldn’t be allowed to be so beautiful and utilize words of adoration in a way that could undo him right then and there.]

Mm, that’s not fair. [He voices his thoughts, smile turning lopsided.] You can’t kiss me and call me that, and simultaneously expect for me to hold onto any shred of self-control for the sake of remaining a gentleman. It’s absolutely cruel.

[it's not unfair to resort to action, when he was the one who proposed the idea in the first place. not unfair at all to go back to a word that spoke her truer feelings and to kiss him like there isn't anywhere else she'd rather be.]

Then don't be a gentleman, if it's so difficult.

[she could point out many things in this situation that made the idea of proper behavior laughable, if she wanted. but that takes more effort in thinking about things that extend beyond this moment than she wants to expend.]

[Those words are magnetic, and he looks at her, as if wondering if she realizes just how much hearing it delights him. A link in the chain of propriety and inhibition straining and breaking completely, with a bit of her permission.

He sits up, just slightly, resting his weight on his elbows. Tilting his head at her, there's everything in his gaze that was there before -- fondness, adoration, love -- but something new, too. Something that reads akin to a challenge, or at least an eagerness to take her up on her offer.]

And is that what you want?

[Grell could laugh, if she didn't know he was serious in asking. does she want that, to cast aside being proper instead of demanding the nigh impossible of self control? the answer is simple, and she gives it with a smile on her face.]

Yes.

[she loves him, she knows, gentleman or not. and he should know it's hard for her to back down from a challenge.]

[It's all the confirmation he needs.

Decorum figuratively unravels at his feet, discarded with her permission, and it doesn't take much effort on Ardyn's part to lift himself up just enough for his lips to meet hers. It's light and barely-there, not very indicative of the eagerness he had hinted at just seconds before, but this only proves to be misleading.

Because he then shifts himself up and over, ensuring that it's her back against the mattress with him hovering above. It's only then that his fervor begins to eke through in earnest, with the way one hand threads fingers through her hair, the other settled at her hip. He kisses her then, and it's a passionate thing, unlike how he's ever done before. Bolder, possessive, wanting. As if their closeness to each other still wasn't enough, as if tasting her like this wouldn't quite ever satisfy him.

She did say that this is what she wanted.]

[she should have expected that, all told, and he'll catch the smile she hasn't lost as they change places. it feels great to mentally say to hell with it, to kiss him and return everything in kind, to wrap her arms around him and keep him close to her. letting go would be a positive crime, when she needs him here and it's the simplest way to make sure.

he's not the only one who's had to manage his self control over time.]

Ardyn...

[Grell practically breathes out his name before she kisses him again, letting that be enough to convey her thoughts. rising to meet him with equal intensity, welcoming all of it, no hints of getting tied up in embarrassment or getting flustered. this is what she wants. he's what she wants. she doesn't need words to prove that.]

[Words would feel superfluous now. Ardyn would even consider them inconvenient and unnecessary in this exact moment in time. Everything that he could say, he can instead show and feel; infinitely more preferable with their bodies pressed together like this, her lips meeting his again, her eagerness reflected back without hesitation. Intensity layered upon intensity, and eventually there's a shift, and his touch becomes less about strongly showing his affection, growing instead with need and want. He's been holding steadfast to his self-control for some time now, and how easy it is just to let it all go when given equal motivation in return.

His mouth moves to her neck instead, humming with pleasure upon hearing her breathing out his name. Despite everything, she'd still be able to feel the grin that tugs at his lips, the stubble that lightly grazes against her skin.

He will absolutely lose himself in her completely, if she allows it. That much is becoming painfully obvious.]

[there's nothing important but this, and that's exactly as she prefers it. nothing to make demands on their time except each other, nothing to serve as distraction that would have unlikely success at distracting her anyway, given the situation. not so much a choice, but a privilege to discard restrain and take what's offered.

her glasses she manages to take off and set aside - they'll only get in the way - before her focus goes entirely back to Ardyn. she'd say yes a hundred times if he needs to hear it, but her actions can stand for permission as well, in the way that she's getting bolder with her touches, more demanding. yes it's fine, yes it's allowed, and she'll meet him halfway and figure out how to show that it's the case. there's more than enough time for that. not that anyone's keeping track.

(and that's when the camera pans away.)]

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