#crying (positive) cuz it has gotten to a point where i accidentally catch myself typing in 'ferdinannie' instead of your url

[hermidetta]

he paced up and down the open walkway in front of her door, rehearsing his words. "why, bernadetta, happy birthday! oh? these? yes, of course they're for you. are they too much? i hope not, because when i heard you liked them i decided to..." "or is that too much, Ferdinand?" he interrupted himself. "well, if it overwhelms you, maybe you could just take one and i'll just... i don't know what i'll do with a whole bouquet of them, but i'll figure it out." rehearsing. rehearsing.

"no, okay. less words. this has to be perfect. after all, it's her birthday..." inhaling deeply, he was about to start up from the top, when a neatly creased music sheet fell from his pocket. laughing under his breath wistfully, he mocked himself. "why, Ferdinand! since when did you find the time to do this? she's not going to enjoy a song that isn't finished..." swooping down to pick it up, he sighed. "of course not." "oh, it matters not! i may as well get on with it." clearing his throat, he knocked on the door in his Ferdinand-esque way. intrusive. kind of loud. neat. "Happy Birthday, Bernadetta! I shall leave these flowers here for you!" a HUGE bouquet of variegated tulips were wrapped in old scrolls that the professors were disposing of. (intrusive. kind of loud. neat.)

"thank you!"

he said brightly. they shared one too many sorry's between them.

"thank you for being part of the Black Eagles, and being a wonderful colleague and housemate. and, of course, thank you for the lovely year so far."

"i'm so proud to know you!"

he rolled his hand for the theatrics, bowing to no one in particular. "annnnd. i'm off. i hope to see you in class!"

⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀

bernadetta cannot possibly tell him.

slumped against the opposite side of her door, knees up and huddled against her chest, she sits. listens. and as ferdinand von aegir keeps pacing and mumbling, bernadetta's palms in turn keep shifting to and fro between her flushed cheeks and tight-lipped mouth. she has had to stifle more than one giggle, just the tiniest and mousiest peep of peeps.

because he is sweet. intrusive. kind of loud. neat. but sweet, warm, just like the berry tea she is prone to take. because he is rehearsing, of all things, and why bother with frills or perfection toward the girl who is anything, everything but? there is nothing in it for him. no matter which way she looks at it, there is nothing that could ever be in it for him. anybody. anything.

to have brought her an entire bouquet, and—did her ears deceive her?—ferdinand had composed a song? was it something he did for everybody, a fortuitous guess, or had he gleaned her passion for music despite it being one of her more furtive pursuits?

and here, bernadetta's palms are cupped back over her warm cheeks. violet lashes flutter shut like butterfly wings. by reflex (by conditioning—), by self-persecution (by self-preservation—) she braces herself for the moment ferdinand might turn around and clip hers, but it does not come.

instead he says the last thing she had ever expected to hear in her worthless life. and bernadetta folds.

the door swings open before ferdinand can raise his head, revealing a flustered tangle of nerves who cannot stop kneading the hem of her shirt. her breath catches briefly upon seeing the tulips.

"ferdinand! w-wait!"  her mouth freezes open for a moment while she scours her brain for words. coherent ones. ones ferdinand deserves to hear.

"thank you! um, thank you. you."  as in, that's bernie's line: thank you.  "for the flowers, definitely, but for all of this, too. for everything. th-the black eagles... the black eagles are important to me,"  she finds herself mumbling, and it surprises her not because she had ever felt otherwise, but because there is still something so foreign and frightening about handing her heart a voice. these are the things she had never been afforded.

"thank you for letting me be with you!"  she wills her voice to hold strong.  "because... i'm prouder to know you. really. and i'd really like to hear your song when you're ready to share it. and—"

(a gulp.)

"when you go to varley territory... i guess i'll go, too. if you guys are going, i can do it. bernie might just need to, um, stand behi—beside you most of the time. if that's okay."

it's okay, right?

gingerly, bernadetta takes the tulips into her arms. she stares appreciatively at their patterns and feels her gaze soften.

it's okay, probably.