revolutionne | ❧ open post

Each passing second feels like nearly a bell as the weight of Estinien's gaze settles on him, unbreaking. Aymeric swallows around a lump in his throat despite himself, hoping that the warmth of his palms is not overtly noticeable.

His dear friend is prone to moments of reflective silence, yet this time Aymeric feels as if he is being towed along by the current of his thoughts to an unknown end. Mayhaps he yields all too readily to the ebb and flow much as the movements of their feet begin to feel as if they do of their own accord, heedless of the music quieting down behind them. When their foreheads touch Aymeric cannot deny the fact that his heart flutters in his chest and that the warmth of Estinien's breath across his face makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

It must be the wine, he repeats the mantra inside his head as he might a memorized passage from the Enchiridion. And by the Fury's blessing, may he continue to believe it for just little longer.

Aymeric does not register that the music has stopped, his own heartbeat loud enough in his ears to make up for it. This close, Estinien's features a blur, but their noses nearly touch and he feels compelled to do or say something.

His throat feels dry so he wets his lips out of habit.

"Estinien..." he utters softly, voice deeper than usual. Tentative, as if he knows that this may be--

Crash! Something topples over in the room beside them--the kitchen.

"--the soup!"

Aymeric jerks back, fighting a losing battle against the flush on his face and ears as mental images of the metal lid of the soup mysteriously crashing to the ground and onion soup going everywhere are enough to pull him from more incriminating thoughts. He releases Estinien and rushes over to the doors, pulling them open with less force than might be imagined, and quickly making his way into the kitchen for damage control.

Though Estinien is aware that they are in close proximity, he's drifted into such a distant world that he doesn't fully contemplate the way they touch. He's thinking about Aymeric and himself and the way they are connected, but in visceral abstracts. It's only when Aymeric speaks that he comes back to himself enough to grasp it.

It's close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to feel the brush of his dark hair. Estinien's eyes widen with self awareness, only now realizing the implication of how they stand, now I'm silence.

And then there's a crash. It genuinely startles him this time, causing his heart to leap and his muscles to go taut. Aymeric realizes the source before he does. He runs of to the kitchen and Estinien falls behind, left standing in place.

He curls his arms around himself, but not in the forbidding crossing of arms that he usual does. Instead, it feels more like he's holding himself together, only pausing to wipe a stray bit of moisture from his eye.

The distance is much needed, it seems, despite the fact that he feels the loss of Estinien's presence all too keenly as soon as he is out of range. In some strange blessing the chaos of finding his cat on the counter having knocked over a ladle and gotten into one of the cheeses--not the pot, thank the Fury--is enough to bring him back down to the ground.

What had he been thinking? Of course Aymeric has not been shy about enjoying closeness with his friend, as he sees should be perfectly acceptable, yet that was most definitely a line that had been crossed.

A line...that was much too easy to toe the edge of. His heart is still racing as he shoos Ser Croquembouche down off the counter, sets the ladle to the side to wash, and checks on the soup.

"Just on time, it seems..." How...fortuitous.

Aymeric serves up the soup into two bowls, shredding cheese on top and setting them into the oven to bake. He slices some bread to crisp next to them on the rack as well before cleaning up the rest of his workstation (and the scavenging that his cat has taken to.) Easy to go through the motions, simple steps.

One, two, three, four...

Yet it is not the rhythm of the song that makes his blood pump more wildly. He has never parted from a dance partner at any part prior and felt such a strange combination of high and low. Aymeric pauses at the sink, feeling Croquembouche rubbing against his leg. He glances down at the white feline, but does not smile and murmurs low,

"I cannot well blame the wine...can I?"

Estinien stands in silence, feeling as if he's lost his mind. It's not as if emotions were incapable of seizing him, he has to fight their encroach frequently, but something about this has struck him dumb. The realization of what it could mean, of what he's allowed himself to do...

He's afraid. That's what it is, deep down. He's left himself unprotected, and now he can feel that exposed piece of him beneath the blade, waiting for it to drop. Even now, the tendrils of deeply ingrained fear suggest to him that the outcome he dreads is an inevitability.

Why is it so... difficult? After years of holding them all, even his own guardian, at a distance, now...

He hears Aymeric working in the kitchen, as the feelings of panic linger in his chest. His eyes rove to the glasses on the table - still mostly full with green drink. He realizes his hand is shaking when he reaches to reclaim his, and puts down a gulp of it like the medicine it tastes like. If he cannot control this, if he cannot force these feelings down, then he will never accomplish anything.

He wipes his mouth, allowing the liquor to settle. His eyes linger on the doors ahead, the ones that Aymeric passed through. Slowly, he moves to them, but he can't quite push through. His hand rests against the wood, his ears perked to the sounds within, but he can't bear to move.

The crisping of bread and the melting of the cheese only takes a few minutes, giving Aymeric enough time to finish his cleaning activity. He spares a few glances now and then to the doorway to the kitchen, half-expecting Estinien to follow. It remains only Aymeric and Ser Croquembouche, rubbing against Aymeric's ankles in the hopes that he may drop something tasty onto the floor.

Had...Estinien left? Had he pushed that line too far? Damn it all, Aymeric had been much to keen to dance. Teaching Estinien to dance in preparation for the party had been something of a necessity as much as it was an amusement, but this had been purely for pleasure. Can he wave that off and not make it awkward?

Is Estinien yet questioning Aymeric's motives in inviting him to stay longer?

Is Aymeric questioning his own?

He worries his bottom lip, knowing full well that he has a tendency to overthink, but he cannot help the growing fear in his heart. Too bold. He had gotten much too comfortable and too bold. This may yet just be...a passing fancy, excitement from all they had shared the eve thus far. They can come back from a simple awkward interlude.

Can't they?

When the cheese has spotted appropriately brown, Aymeric retrieves the dishes with oven mitts, setting them on a metal tray. The bread follows, as well as two forks and two spoons. Yet as he picks up the tray, he just stands and stares at the kitchen door.

What if he goes back into the dining hall and Estinien has left?

Aymeric shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and presses on. He will just have to accept the consequences of his actions...as always.

--But does not at all hide the relief when he sees that Estinien is still there right by the door itself. He looks a little...beside himself, but Aymeric feels a smile regardless. It makes it much easier to play off his sudden departure as just fear of the food being overdone.

"--Apologies, my friend. Apparently Ser Croquembouche has grown a pair of thumbs and found his way into the kitchen without notice. He nearly made quick work of our late dinner, too, but all is right now," he says as he walks past and towards the dining table, setting up their respective places.

Yes.

All is right now.

Estinien lingers around the doorway for an unreasonable amount of time, attempting to muster the nerve to enter. Most of all, he wants to steady himself before he does - he can't stand the idea of going in there shell shocked and misty-eyed, betraying the interior collapse he's been experiencing.

So, when Aymeric suddenly emerges with food in tow it's a bit of a mixed blessing. On one hand, he no longer needs to make that move - on the other, Aymeric probably just got a glance at him looking so out of sorts. He tries to steel himself as soon as he realizes, but the appearance clearly startles him, as he struggles to tuck some part of his reaction away.

Estinien followers him to the table on autopilot. Right, he can feel his appetite stir from the scent alone. Brushing back strands of white hair, he manages to collect himself enough to make a dry sound of acknowledgment.

"Of course it was him," he says, shaking his head. The wormwood is starting to catch up with him now, making words a bit easier, but balance slightly harder. He stares at Aymeric's hands as he sets up the food. "Bold little beast."

They will both pretend that nothing transpired between them, it seems. The food is a welcome distraction, but there is a part of Aymeric that takes it as a mixed blessing. That is something he does immediately feel guilty about. And still he shoves it aside to mull over later--why he would be remiss to forgo how much easier it will be if they simply move on and eat with no reflection.

"One can hardly blame him," Aymeric says, easily coming to his cat's defense. "He is merely following his nose." And while Aymeric does not consider himself to be a culinary expert of any sort, he does think that his creation smells decent enough.

Pulling open a drawer onto the table itself, Aymeric produces two cloth napkins. He folds them and sets them next to each place set. The tray is put to the side as he nods.

"Well, shall we?" He motions at the chairs, doing his utmost to appear as calm and at ease as possible.

Estinien is somewhat less good at appearing at ease, his nod of agreement ending up a bit on the stiff side. He doesn't let that stop him, though. He seats himself quietly, his mind buzzing at the stimulus of everything that just happened and now the returning memories of the particular recipe he chose.

He's had it plenty of times, but having it made for him in such a personal matter stirs other feelings. It's nice. It should be a thing that brings him comfort, which only makes it more maddening that his heart seems to rebel at the thought.

He takes his spoon and prods at it, not because it seems unappetizing, but mostly due to feeling out of his mind and also the sensation of the stiff shot he just took coming into effect. His head swims.

He finds himself glancing up at Aymeric repeatedly, trying to tell if he's as uncomfortable. He seems very calm despite his abrupt departure. Is his discomfort entirely one-sided? Does it seem absurd from his friend's perspective?

After what is probably an awkward delay, he realizes he hasn't actually eaten yet, and that it probably comes across as very rude to his host. So, when he does finally eat, it's with an odd abruptness, like he's only just remembered that that's what one does with food.

Aymeric is well used to Estinien's silence at this point, but he would be a fool to pretend that this is at all the same as their usual silence. It is not exactly uncompanionable, but there is a notable tension in the air that is very different than the intensity of the tension that was there before. A different. Stilted. Awkward.

Yet Aymeric has become more and more practiced and pushing through awkwardness over the years, both amongst nobility and other Temple Knights, acting as if he his minding his own business, unbothered. He has gotten so much better at letting passing comments and rumors slide off his shoulders, but having this sit between Estinien and himself is infinitely more difficult.

He's all too aware of every movement Estinien takes--or lack thereof. That his friend barely touches his food does not go unnoticed, so Aymeric slowly digs into his, resisting the urge to tap his bowl with his spoon. There's a small relief when Estinien seems to suddenly remember that one eats at a dinner table.

Aymeric does not hide the fact that he stares as Estinien samples the dish, a little anxious for his feedback. (Or maybe just anxious to know that they are all right.)

"What do you think?" he asks, smiling hopefully. "Does it suit your palate?"

It's a natural question, considering, and it forces Estinien to pause long enough to actually consider an answer. It's an easy and agreeable taste, as good as he would get from any of the local eateries with more seasoned chefs. He hadn't thought that Aymeric would struggle, but even with the last-minute panic, it has turned out well.

"It does," he says, nodding his head. Now that he's gotten into it and realized how hungry he is, his pace speeds to the more recognizable manner of food inhalation he usually achieves. He dunks some of the bread, feeling warm and strange.

"Your talents are many," he adds a moment later, feeling a bit flushed. Normally that would be a compliment he would think nothing of, but for the moment, he wonders if it was only throwing fuel onto the fire. "I had... not known this was among them."

The food choice was rather apt, also.

He likes it. Not that Estinien is someone to turn his nose up to most food, but his approval still means something to Aymeric. His shoulders relax just a little and the warmth in his smile is a little less forced.

"I am glad that you like it." Earnestly so. "And that our cheese selection pairs well. Granted, I may be a tad biased in that arena..." There are few cheeses that Aymeric would say 'no' to, even in questionable combination with one another. Especially the sweeter variety.

He is picking up his own bread when Estinien offers the compliment. Aymeric can feel the tips of his ears growing hot again, but his smile finally comes easily and honestly.

"You are much too kind with your appraisals, but I thank you. 'Tis something of a hobby that I began a few summers ago. I find it relaxing, working with one's hand in a way that is less martial and more creative. And it is always nice to be able to eat the fruits of one's labor as well." The last bit is a little cheeky, and may be in small jest to the times they have needed to hunt for food while out on an assignment.

"Yet...it is admittedly much more enjoyable to share it with someone." Aymeric shifts slightly in his seat, carefully breaking a piece off of his main slice of bread. "I.."

Ahem.

"I would very much like to cook for you again, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Is he testing the waters to see how far of an impasse they have reached? Absolutely. But is it an offer he would have made regardless? Most certainly. Aymeric has ever been looking for excuses to call Estinien around.

Aymeric's own relaxed reaction makes it a bit easier for Estinien to calm himself. He still has some significant problems that he will have to contemplate more deeply later, but it's helpful to see that his own difficult response hasn't damaged their rapport.

He only wishes he better knew what to do with himself.

As for the food, he listens to Aymeric's explanation, and can't be particularly surprised. Aymeric had always been the one to handle rations when it was needed, it's only that his skills are more in-depth than he'd assumed. He can't help but think of how he really would be an ideal choice for the courtly women to pursue. What a waste that they seek only scandal.

"My skills end with carving up prey and applying fire to the meat," he says. He can acquire the meat with little effort and have it ready for cooking, but there are no additional flourishes to his technique when it comes to flavouring. "Though, even then, I can admit to finding some level of satisfaction."

He manages a laugh, that comes out soft and rough. There's a teasing quality to his tone.

"To think that cooking for a man would be troubling him..."

"There is yet a skill in that," Aymeric counters as he dips the bread into his soup, making sure to get a nice chunk of melted cheese on it. "Think of the many of Ishgard's residents who would not be able to do the same if they found themselves out in the Highlands during a blizzard."

That would have been Aymeric had he not joined the Knights, and as such he does not begrudge them their lack of experience. He takes a bite, chews, and swallows before continuing.

"Of course, 'tis only to be expected if there has never been a need...but the point still stands." Aymeric does not need to be able to cook, anyway. He has staff to do it for him--but he is still glad to have the skill.

Hearing Estinien's laugh in that pleasing gruff tone makes him feel warm in other ways. He selfishly indulges in that feeling.

"You have entertained all my posturing thus far, my friend. 'Twould be remiss of me to discount your patience in the matter."

He had learned to hunt and prepare animals for that specific reason - that and because Alberic was something of an outdoorsman himself, and at the time he had been eager to learn whatever he could be taught. Relying on assigned rations seemed insufficient to him, were he to cling to survival as desperately as it seemed he would need to.

He was never that fussed about flavour when he was preparing things for himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate good food when he crossed paths with it. He appreciates this... though maybe for reasons beyond the taste.

With a small snort of approval, he focuses on eating for a few moments. Now that he's gotten into it, it's clear it's being appreciated. All the while his head gets a bit more swimmy, his words becoming looser. He'll chat, hesitantly at first but with increasing energy, about some of the things he's learned regarding outdoor survival, as well as asking questions about Aymeric's cooking. Whatever was wrong before seems to have been put aside for now, allowing him to glean some enjoyment from the food and company without thinking about the moment they got just slightly too close.

A while later, he'll sit back in his chair, a hand to his forehead. The food is eaten, with nothing but empty plates and bowls left behind. Now that it's fully sunk in, it seems like the drink has wiped him out.

"Ah... I may have tread a step too far," he says, without fully establishing context.

He is grateful that the evening takes a turn back towards amicable talk and companionship. For a while Aymeric almost forgets the missteps entirely, so ready to fall into the easy give and take that he finds with Estinien of late. There is a bit of wine left to offer, though Aymeric deigns not to offer the devilish wormwood in lieu of its less suspect counterpart.

He feels pleasantly full of food, wine, and friendship when a bell in the hallway chimes the time of day--or rather, of the early morning. Yet he cannot find it in himself to be bothered. Aymeric sighs contentedly, moving back in his own chair to begin the clean up, pausing when Estinien speaks.

A pause that gets a moment's thought--back to the...moment they shared earlier. Could he mean...?

"Is aught amiss?"

Estinien is thinking of it too, albeit in a more abstract way. He's thinking about how afraid he'd been, and what he'd done as a result... yet, was there reason to have been so upset? He's no longer sure.

"When you rushed into the kitchen..." he explains, boggling over the nature of his own emotions. How inconvenient. How terrible. And yet his expression remains easy and tired. "...I went back for more of that Gridanian drink."

He runs his hands through his hair.

"It tasted no better, but it settles the body like stone." It had been a very good thing at the time, seemingly necessary self-medication, but now he finds himself clumsy and weary.

As soon as Estinien starts, Aymeric can feel his throat tightening. Had it been wrong to try and simply gloss over the 'incident' and try to move on? Foolish... Mayhaps the misstep was too--

Oh.

Oh.

There is immediate relief in that. Not that he wants Estinien to feel ill at ease, but the wine is (yet again) much easier to blame than anything that may or may have not transpired between them. He lets out a chuckle, in part from that relief, and shakes his head.

"I yield to you, friend. You are the stronger man than I this eve. Pray attend to that stone in your gut for a moment longer and the guest room shall be yours as long as you need to sleep it off."

He starts to collect the dishes, placing everything back on the metal tray.

"Would you like some water?"

"Aye," he says, starting to pull himself up. "I still remember the morning I had the last time I was surprised by one of your father's drinks. I'd not repeat it."

That one had been filled with its own awkwardness, he recalled, when he woke before Aymeric had and went about collecting his things. That night at the manor had been unintentional - this one will not be.

He doesn't feel nearly that bad off this time, at least - it isn't a feeling of sickness so much as a heaviness that fills him. He can stand without that much trouble, and will do so once Aymeric seems to be ready to move on.

Worries still do flutter inside of him, his gaze settling on his friend for long moments as they finish up for the night. He has the sense that things may feel more questionable when he examines them in the light of day. That time is not now, however.

That is worth another chuckle. "Ah yes, how can I forget? Not one of our proudest moments, was it?" But another evening he would not change for the world. It had been the night that solidified their friendship for the first, and how far they have come since that time.

Aymeric makes quick work of the clean up, having done most of it before serving dinner with minimal assistance from Ser Croquembouche who had been holding out the whole time for some remnants of cheese or bread. (Alas, he gets neither, but Aymeric does give him a treat for being patient.) Then he leads Estinien up the stairs and to the guest room he is familiar with by now, just one door down from Aymeric's own room.

"It should all be made ready for you, but let me know if there is aught left that you need."

Ser Croquembouche sits at the doorway to Aymeric's room, tail twitching as he stares pointedly past Aymeric and at Estinien.

Once they are there in the hall, ostensibly ready to go their separate ways, Estinien starts feeling more and more like there is something he's missing - something he should do or say before they part. It's a little easier to contemplate what happened with his belly full of liquor and his head full of fuzz, and he feels like maybe he should say something now. To explain himself, maybe.

He finds himself hesitating, though, staring back at his friend wordlessly. Dazzled, his gaze flickers towards Aymeric's doorway and then, of all things, to stare his bloody cat right in the face - the little beast is looking at him like it knows something. In an absurd moment, he feels like he has something to prove. Something he has to say.

"I only need..." he begins, feeling like it will be easy for a fraction of a moment before he realizes he's in over his head. His hand lifts like he is going to touch something, but then pauses on the way. "I... felt that I... that you..." He sways on his feet.

Finally, he slaps his hand over Aymeric's shoulder. It's an incredibly rare case of Estinien initiating such a gesture instead of merely reciprocating it. There is something flinching within his eyes, like a small bit of lingering fear or worry.

"...You are my friend," he says. "I... need that."

It's painfully sincere, for all it is slurred and borderline incoherent.

That Estinien simply stares back at him does not strike Aymeric as odd at this venture, he has harder stuff than Aymeric and already admitted as much to being under its affect. He has half a mind to offer to guide Estinien to the bed if he needs the extra help, although maybe he would be better off just doing so if his friend would prefer the assistance go unsaid.

Yet all intentions are put on hold when Estinien speaks. At first, Aymeric is merely curious, only for his stomach to flip when he hears "I... felt that I... that you..."

Aymeric swallows despite himself. Truly...they cannot avoid this, can they? They cannot sweep it under the rug, hide it like the wine stain in his mother's room. He should be afraid, but something in Estinien's gaze tells him not to be. Concern, yes, but here isn't anger there. There is...

He almost jumps when the hand clamps down on his shoulder--not a gesture that he is used to being on the receiving end of. It has its own intimacy, not of the same caliber as how close they had been standing earlier in the dining room, but it is one he appreciates all the same. The earnestness of Estinien's words, lazily though pronounced, reaches deep within him and Aymeric feels as if he has just received the greatest honor of his career.

Perhaps he has.

Aymeric's smile blooms and seems to reach every ilm of his being as he reaches out to return the motion, placing his hand on Estinien's opposite shoulder.

"And I shall always be your friend, Estinien. On that, you have my word."

He gives that shoulder a squeeze.

Estinien is immediately worried about having said this, though it's somewhat abated by the fact that Aymeric is clearly and uncomplicatedly happy about it. There is no doubt about Aymeric's sincerity, at this moment. His statement is unflinchingly true.

It's so incredibly overwhelming. Estinien isn't prepared for it, despite being the one to initiate this exchange. His brow creases, more complicated emotions slipping in. He is stuck with this, he is certain. There is no escaping it.

"Ugh," he rumbles, muddled with drink and impossible emotions. "I know." He knows that Aymeric means it, truly and desperately, and he knows that it isn't going away any time soon.

For either of them.

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