[attr="class","spiral"]“It’s called being considerate. I know— hard to believe but I still sympathize.”

In fact, he gets it better than most these days. Seeing everyone crumble around him in the aftermath of the war reminds him of Slateport. But he’s been through this. He’s survived every time, unscathed and unbothered. Each time, he loses people, both those close to him and strangers, but he moves on undaunted. Pining after a goal keeps him grounded. The facade of unwavering resolve makes him a pillar for some.

But he’s not sure he can remain that pillar anymore. Stress and pressure build until they erupt in an earnest disaster baked under layers of unheeded warning signs. He recognizes them even now, scoffing at her outright dismissal. Even so, he beckons at her touch. At her demand, he steps up to bat.

“Is that what you want, Katherine?”

[attr="class","spiral"]Hmph.

How cocky.

It almost makes him want to take the bait, to put her in her place. But Fernando knows better than to succumb. The last time they had exchanged festive greetings she had made it abundantly clear that such customs were unwarranted. Wherein she can taste temptation all he smells is an empty promise of unfed hunger.

He leans in, the smooth, shaven skin of his face gliding across her own. “Don’t tempt me into making a mistake, Fairburne.” He can smell her, feeling the heat of his own breath bounce off her ears. He’s close enough to attack, to leave a mark that’ll remain hidden under her scarf for the reason, but that shows weakness. Giving in requires consent. “You’ll come to regret it.”

Fernando draws away before his will can crumble and ends it with an anti-climatic pat on the back. These dates were marked as platonic as well, something he’d have to resign himself to lest he break his cardinal rule and end up like the rest of his colleagues. It’d be best if he didn’t shit where he ate. Whatever sanctity his title holds, he intends to keep.

“The snow looks beautiful this time around, no?”

[attr="class","spiral"]Is that disappointment he hears?

A tale of two cities always ends with their glaring differences wedging them further apart. This is no different, a mistake miscommunication of wants and boundaries being regarded and cutting the scene close.

The last time he had answered the call, he was lucky to escape with just being brushed off. The abrupt shove of her hand still resonates in his mind, one of the few times someone has gotten the slip over him, causing him to stumble from the sudden move. All this while she enticed him with what he felt as a mutual hunger.

But who is Fernando Silph to say he understands the carnal and core emotions of people?

All he knows is the standard, the practiced, the repeated.

Katherine is not the norm, that much is sure. And it makes her unreadable.

Fernando is given one last call to incept her when she announces her departure. In this window, this Christmas miracle, giving him the chance to reach back out before she retires, he turns back to her.

“Fairburne,” this time his voice has the same sharp snap of Santa’s whip against his sled of Sawsbuck.

[attr="class","spiral"]Her response to his call kills his intention immediately. There’s no real plan behind it and the off putting nature of not knowing where to go causes him to stutter between two options. Caught in an awkward silence, his features lessen, smoldering into a wistful smile.

What a fool.

“Thank you for everything you do.”

Another year comes to an end and this year Fernando is no longer alone. He’s far from content with how much he’s accomplished but it’s a drastic turn from being alone on the Holidays. For that, he’s thankful, making light of being roped into another social event against his own will.

He pauses, an uncertain pause on his features as he tries to articulate it into something thoughtful.

When nothing comes up, he simply smiles, releasing the only real tether he has to keep her here.

“Happy Holidays, Katherine.”