Jill nods. He didn't say wait and do nothing, however. She'll fish around for something to at least do a pass over the windowsill and the kitchenette, grimacing at the dirt.
She wonders if he'd be living like this if she never came to the city at all, or if she's somehow driven him to this. It wasn't this bad before, was it?
The short walk up the hall is a good time to let out a long, tense exhale, out of her earshot so it doesn't make her feel uncomfortable. He's uncomfortable. He's glad to spend time with her, and glad to have a cleaner space, but the embarrassment of her seeing it still clings to him. It'd been easier, before. No Torgal, no visitors.
By time he comes back, he's braced himself properly again and puts on a small smile.
"I'll take the wood down later," he says. "I can't thank you enough for your help."
"That's alright, Jill," he assures her. He doesn't want her to feel poorly about that, either. Whatever she's feeling, no matter how defensive and hurt it might make him feel, she's entitled to. He owes her that.
He swallows his breath.
"Should we go now, or do you want to do more here first?"
He's not so sure about that. The logistics of setting it up –– and getting the hold mattress out –– feel like he could have her here all day and then some, and he doesn't want to count his chocobos before they hatch. But it would be nice.
"I'd like that," he says, and he realizes he can't go out in boxers and a t-shirt, so he makes his way over to the clean laundry to select whatever has been least exposed to wolf hair. Grey sweatpants and a hoodie. "Do you know where we should go?"
"... not really," Jill admits, crossing her arms and casting her gaze over to Torgal so that she doesn't watch Clive dress. "My apartment came furnished. We can ask someone once we're out, I suppose."
Torgal, still working on that femur, just gives a lazy half-wag of his tail.
"At least there's not much else he can destroy," Jill says, reaching for the door. She feels a slight pang of anxiety--with her luck, Dion or P will see her with Clive and she'll have some explaining to do--but she swallows it down. If they saw the state of his room, they would feel moved to help, too.
He hums his agreement as he pulls the hoodie over his head, and then sets about gathering up the last bag of garbage and the biggest beam from the loft bed to take down with them. She can get the doors, he hopes.
"If we come back and the couch is in splinters, too, the owners of this building will surely put me out on the streets," he says, only half joking.
she gets spotted out with clive and then he comes home to a destroyed couch
She does get the door, and any that are on the way, without second thought. They were a team for too many years for her to not instinctively move a few steps ahead when his hands are full.
"I would think it something personal by that point." He's let her furniture be, save for the dusting of wolfy undercoat on everything.
Good woman. He adjusts his grip on the beam and lets the bag hang from his wrist for the duration of the elevator ride, shoulders leant against the mirrored wall.
"He knows it's my fault," he says, lightly, but there's a self-aware little look in her direction.
She looks his way when he says it, and she does agree. It's his fault. It doesn't make it less painful to hear, and she looks away before the hurt is too evident on her face.
"Then perhaps he's upset I left at all," Clive remarks, letting his gaze drift up to the ceiling the moment she retreats, the pot lights searing his eyes. "Just the same. I'm sure he'll get his fill of my furniture."
She can sympathize with how Torgal feels. If left alone in his space, when she was full of fresh injury and couldn't see beyond the blur of her tears, maybe she would have destroyed his furniture, too.
"I'll be out of ideas if he continues to turn your things into splinters."
"I just cease to have furniture and live in an empty hall, like the Fallen did," he replies, and he gets the bag up off the floor when the elevator comes to a halt.
Jill follows the signs (and smells) to a metal door that takes a little effort to open, several dumpsters aligned to catch the garbage from the trash chutes. Someone's abandoned a metal bedframe, complete with yellowed mattress with springs sticking through the top.
It smells like piss.
"If all else fails..." she says, and there's so little humor in her voice these days when speaking to Clive it might be a little hard to tell she's joking.
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She wonders if he'd be living like this if she never came to the city at all, or if she's somehow driven him to this. It wasn't this bad before, was it?
It doesn't feel good.
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By time he comes back, he's braced himself properly again and puts on a small smile.
"I'll take the wood down later," he says. "I can't thank you enough for your help."
He can never let it get this bad again.
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"It's selfish," Jill admits abruptly. "It's guilt. I can't do anything."
Not about Joshua, not about whatever is going on in Clive's heart.
"But this, I can do."
Just like how he pays the bills, she supposes. It's all they can manage.
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He swallows his breath.
"Should we go now, or do you want to do more here first?"
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And then she won't have a reason to stay up, worrying about him.
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"I'd like that," he says, and he realizes he can't go out in boxers and a t-shirt, so he makes his way over to the clean laundry to select whatever has been least exposed to wolf hair. Grey sweatpants and a hoodie. "Do you know where we should go?"
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"Surely there are a number of places... I'm sure people always need these things. Torgal, you're going to stay here, alright, boy?"
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"At least there's not much else he can destroy," Jill says, reaching for the door. She feels a slight pang of anxiety--with her luck, Dion or P will see her with Clive and she'll have some explaining to do--but she swallows it down. If they saw the state of his room, they would feel moved to help, too.
that should happen lmao it would be funny
"If we come back and the couch is in splinters, too, the owners of this building will surely put me out on the streets," he says, only half joking.
she gets spotted out with clive and then he comes home to a destroyed couch
"I would think it something personal by that point." He's let her furniture be, save for the dusting of wolfy undercoat on everything.
flawless plans
"He knows it's my fault," he says, lightly, but there's a self-aware little look in her direction.
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"He doesn't think that."
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"I'll be out of ideas if he continues to turn your things into splinters."
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"Your back will appreciate that, I'm sure," she tells him. And his sanity.
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“I pray it doesn’t come to that,” he says. “But no matter. I’ll think of something.”
He follows behind her, slower with his arms full.
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It smells like piss.
"If all else fails..." she says, and there's so little humor in her voice these days when speaking to Clive it might be a little hard to tell she's joking.
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“Then what?” he clarifies, curious.
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She hurriedly steps around him to leave.
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She chooses a direction and heads off, not glancing back to see if Clive follows. She knows he is.