[ He sits up properly, scrubbing his face as his mind pieces itself together. Princeliness. Faerghus and Almyra. He can still feel unfamiliar grass beneath his feet, a night breeze and a clear sky. The frustration that burns in his chest and behind his eyes is something he's familiar with, but it's not his. It's a secret that could burn the tenuous bridges they've built so far.

But they'd talked about trust before, hadn't they? When they were walking towards that cauldron. He's starting to remember now, even if it's murky and perplexing. He'd asked Claude to believe in him—was that when they really started to be friends? Not in grade school, sitting at the same assigned table?

He can't return the smile, just lifting his head out of his hands for a moment to regard Claude. ]

...I don't think you mean harm. [ Claude's origins could paint him a spy, but after all that they've been through, he can't view him in bad faith. Dryly, ] So long as you keep your poisons to yourself.

[ His brother seemed like a bully who deserved to pass out face-first in his food, though. He just wonders why someone would hate their own younger sibling so fiercely—Rufus was never fond of Dimitri, and the feeling was very mutual, but it wasn't such bald-faced disgust. They didn't raise blades at each other. Thinking about it, the memories creepy back naturally, even if he lets out a rattling sigh.

Does he want these back? Does Claude? ]

I want to trust you. [ Which version of him is talking anymore? ] And I do, but... [ He frowns a little, the habits of these past few weeks having him reach out, gingerly taking Claude's hands and looking up at him properly. It's not really like the real him, reserved with his touch—but he can still enjoy the freedom they have right now, fading as it is. ] There is so much we haven't told each other.

[ He doubts that either of them have ever shared the scenes that just played out, and it's a lonely thought. ]