Chapter Text
The world ended twenty-eight days ago and Lorenz doesn’t know why they’re keeping count.
He says they but means him, the way Lorenz always does.
(Who is he speaking of? Marianne asks quietly, a few months before the sky comes crashing down around them.
Hilda rolls her eyes. Claude, duh. One beat, two, then, a little lower, Lorenz is, like, obsessed with him. He says it’s all about beating him and… I mean, maybe it is, but -- whatever. Either way, it’s Claude. He’s always talking about Claude.)
It’s just one of those things, Lorenz thinks. Claude keeps counting because he started doing it, and now he has to continue. At first, it meant -- the world has ended, and here we still are. Day One After Calamity. Then day two, then day three, until it got to the point that it seemed more likely than not they would keep surviving after the point of no return, and still Claude kept counting.
Lorenz doesn’t think it’s a misplaced sense of optimism. He knows Claude—has for a long time now, even if he never used to admit it, never wanted to let anyone know how closely he paid attention to him—and that’s not his style. The man is maddeningly intelligent, a schemer to his core, deeply loyal to his allies, and has bigger dreams and ambitions than anyone Lorenz has ever met -- but he’s not unrealistic.
There’s no return from this. Lorenz knows this. There’s no way Claude doesn’t.
He kicks a loose piece of rock away from him -- probably the remains of someone’s home. Lorenz of twenty-nine days ago would never have done it, but Lorenz of twenty-nine days ago wouldn’t have been surrounded by wreckage, thinking about Claude von Riegan.
(Really, the wreckage is the only part that’s changed.)