he had almost forgotten the act. the careful steps and lowered gaze, ponderous footfalls that sent him near-careening into shrubbery and their hard, stony planters as he searched with a hawk's focus. the catch in his throat when he finally spotted the bud, the triumph that washed over him at having found perfection, the product of both luck and a trained eye. the delicate task of plucking it, careful movements of forefinger and thumb so as not to harm the mother plant. they were skills that had been derived from his boyhood, preceding his days as a squire yet parallel to his dreaming of it. sylvain recalled watching his mother cut bouquets for his father for his birthday, chin tipped up to peer over her worktable, the top of his head barely meeting her waist. he remembered wanting such a love for himself one day. tender devotion channeled into a craft, a vivid and beautiful love. he had thought his works would be stories.
“ you kept it. ” a whisper so low it seems almost to himself. look, idiot. of course she did. to have offered a gift in the first place carried the implication that he'd accept whatever became of it ⸻ whether she tossed it, burned it, fed it to someone she didn't particularly like. but that was the disposition of a better man. a man she seemed to think he could be, if only because sylvain understood him. his actual self would want to pitch a fit if she hadn't pocketed it, perhaps even if it was sadly lost to the inferno, wanted to kick and flail on the ground like a child. you should have kept it for ten years ⸻ no, ten thousand ! never again should you accept flowers from anyone else ! he would never do it. that the impulse was there, though, disgusted him.
“ i know little and less of certainty, ” sylvain protests. “ i know what occurs to me in one moment, and i know what occurs to me in the next. and if i cannot make sense of both at once, then the newest thing must be true. ” a laugh, somewhat delirious, arises unbidden. “ and then, if i don't like that, then i settle for what is easiest. ” a consequence of a lack of insight, despite the relatively solitary existence he'd lived after having been released from his master's service. elevated, he corrects, as most would put it, blessed by his vows. at the time, he'd felt like a skiff sent off by a ship to paddle itself to shore in its looming shadow. and before the bitterness could take hold, glory hoisted him onto his shoulders, and with it, the glimmer beamed to a family he avoided and a woman he read more than he spoke to, at least up until this very moment. “ i thought if i could convince you, then perhaps i would have, for once, stumbled upon some sort of truth. ” it's pathetic to say out loud. unbecoming. he should have arrived at this point sooner, he thinks. instead, he had started running and never stopped. but at least he is bare, flayed before her. stripped of his cloak and shield, the ribbon of ink he kept between them unravels to expose the floret of him.
and still he cracks wise, lest he feel too exposed. “ would the armor have worked ? the faceplate is hideous, and so long as i keep my mouth shut, i don't need to shove my entire foot into it. ” quietly, honestly, sylvain adds, “ i envy you. i thought that if i had severed… us, then the fog in my head would clear after i cauterized the wound. instead, i said things i did not plan to and which may not have been entirely true, and even after all that, you are still here. ” sylvain does not yet dare to touch her hand, though the impulse races from synapse to nerve, a minute curl of his fingers. “ i wasted so much time painting the façade of a brick wall, and yet you are the one holding me upright. you are right that i cannot presuppose your desires, but neither can i understand them. i can only be grateful for them and jealous of their assurance. ”
he hesitates, a running start for his leap of faith. “ i will not, ” he promises, then takes the bud to tuck behind her ear, bringing with it the swinging forelock, just as he had when he first presented it to her. sylvain leans his weight on the balls of his feet, stems re-cut at a slant to take in water and live once more. “ i will never lie to you again. ”