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Sylvain is normally a very patient man, there are very few things that get under his skin enough to make him ever act out.
Cicero, happens to be one of his few exceptions.
He’s muttering to himself as he paces about the cold stone floors of the sanctuary, continuously running a hand through his blonde hair that it’s become messy, and sticks out of his braid awkwardly in a few places now. Cicero has only been gone for more or less a day- something about traveling just out of Dawnstar to collect flowers for the Night Mother- but Sylvain feels like it’s been ages.
He really didn’t use to be this way, so dependent, so fond of someone. And of course the jester came and changed all that, and now Sylvain can hardly sleep in a bed by himself. Not to mention how desperate he gets, it’s embarrassing really, how a little distance suddenly makes him the neediest man in the world.
The whispery sounds of cold wind blowing inside past the heavy door make his head snap up, as he blinks and watches Cicero appear over the stairs. Finally, god.
Sylvain rushes up the concrete steps without a second thought, though he does pause just to watch the jester happily hum to himself as he sets down his basket of flowers next to the Night Mother’s tomb. It’s really a sheer miracle that he doesn’t jump the man right then and there.
Instead, Sylvain takes the few steps forward and simply circles his arms around the other’s waist from behind, dipping his head to rest against his shoulder with a little sigh. The jester startles at first, but almost immediately relaxes once he realizes it’s just Sylvain.
“Listener! You startled poor Cicero, he was sure you would be asleep by now!”
Sylvain only hums at first in response to Cicero- oh, it’s so lovely to hear that voice again, you would think he hasn’t seen the man in weeks from how he’s behaving. He tightens his grip a slightly, spurred on by the little giggles and hums Cicero makes in response, and tilts his face a little to properly bury it against his nape
“I missed you,”
He murmurs. Simple, but really it always feels like a lot considering how closed off Sylvain normally is with his emotions. Cicero preens at that admission, leaning back more against Sylvain when he speaks again, all giddy with excitement like he normally is.
“Oh dear Listener… Cicero was only gone a day! So so silly… did the angel really miss me that much?”
Good god, Sylvain always melts when Cicero calls him that- angel, or whatever flowery variation of it the jester comes up with. He hums again and nods against the back of Cicero’s neck, which only makes the man giggle more.
“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m you’re Keeper then! Humble Cicero, always serving my Listener, even when he’s silly and sappy,”
The teasing does pull a real laugh out of Sylvain, warm and tired against Cicero’s neck. When he speaks again, his voice admittedly does sound quieter, like the jester finally being back has allowed his body to rest once again.
“Does my Keeper have to do all his tending right now? I’m so sleepy…”
Cicero’s hands do pause, a deathbell still in his hand where he was going to place it along the other flowers in the tomb. He hums a little as he thinks, though by the way he keeps leaning back more and more against Sylvain, it’s fairly obvious what he’ll say.
“Hmm… well.. oh, I suppose Mother would want Cicero to take care of my poor Listener first…”
And with that, Sylvain is swiftly pulling the jester alongside him as he resides further into the sanctuary, till they’re finally shut in the master bedroom. He’s even quicker to tumble right into bed, tugging a giggling Cicero down alongside him.
“So eager Listener! Cicero hasn’t even taken his boots off yet!-”
“Shush. Just. Just stay for a minute, please?”
Sylvain mumbles as he snuggles up against the man with a content sigh. Poor thing, he’s more like a touchstarved puppy right now rather than the terrifying Nord assassin he normally is. He tucks his face right in the crook of Cicero’s neck, breathing him in, one hand idly playing with the ginger hair that falls out of the jingly jester cap.
Cicero just laughs softly again before tugging off his gloves, then hat too, humming and rambling as he holds Sylvain against him.
“Silly Listener… all this over a fool… poor Listener get’s so lonely now without Cicero! An angel that needs his Keeper, hmmm, what a silly silly thing… foolish me, foolish you, Sylvain..”
Sylvain has already passed out by the time Cicero’s words become softer whispers, finally resting, splayed across the bed against his Keeper’s side.
Well, evidently the Night Mother’s tending to would have to wait till morning. Not that Cicero minded. No, he never did.