Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lights clicked on in the auditorium as the curtains swished closed. All around her, members of the audience began shuffling out of their seats— moving and chatting in a wave of motion.

Bernadetta stayed seated, waiting until most of the crowd had dispersed. She never understood how everyone could move at once without crashing into one another or at least bumping shoulders.

After a few moments the noise died down, leaving only the hum of the overhead lights and the murmurs of voices in the lobby. At last, she stood and made her way towards the large double doors that led out of the auditorium.

She recognized the usher who stood by the doorway—it was the same man she’d seen at every show she’d attended. He was a beautiful man, with dusty purple hair a few shades lighter (and a whole lot neater) than her own. He smiled at her but she was sure he was judging her for attending every showing of the school’s musical.

She ducked her head and darted through the door before he could try and make small talk (he had asked her every night if she had enjoyed the show and she had yet to respond with more than a squeak or a nod).

Frankly, the show was mediocre at best.

It was a jukebox style musical that was hardly more than the drama teacher’s favorite songs mashed together.

The characters were all flat, there wasn’t any pacing and the plot—which barely existed in the first place—was confusing at best.

But it was the actors she came to see.

Or rather the lead actress.

She had a voice that Bernie could only describe as angelic. According to the playbill, her name was Dorothea Arnault, and she was a junior—making her two years older than Bernie. 

She had only come to see the play because it was required for her dramatic writing class. In fact, she had considered skipping.

Her grade was high enough that she could have missed it and still passed the class, but she was worried her teachers would report her slacking to her father and he would demand she return home. Of course she understood that was unlikely, but she would much rather endure a single hellish night than risk even the slightest chance of angering her father.

So she went.

She had bought tickets for opening night, hoping to get the worst of it over with so she could spend the weekend holed up in her dorm room writing her report. But then Dorothea stepped on stage.

That first night Bernie had sat in the far back of the theater, but even from a distance she was captivated by Dorothea’s beauty. She wore a crimson gown that shimmered in the spotlight. Her hair was beautiful too, with two braids wrapping around her head like a crown, and long loose waves cascading down her back.

She looked like a princess.

Her co-star was a fairly attractive man. His hair was the same shade of crimson as Dorothea’s dress, which—Bernie thought—only drew more attention to her beauty. Besides, while his acting was good enough, his singing was middling at best.

The show put on a total of 12 shows throughout the week, 6 the first weekend and 6 the next. Bernie had just finished the last show of the first weekend and she hadn’t even started to work on her review paper.

Instead, she had spent the weekend staring at her bedroom ceiling daydreaming about Dorothea.

Luckily her dorm was a short walk from the campus's theater, so she was able to get back to her room before it got too dark out. 

Once inside her sanctuary--which she got all to herself, since her application and school ID considered her female, but her father thought she was somehow man enough to be a threat to the other students (not that he had ever considered her enough of a man before but whatever--she slung her bag on her chair and flopped face first on her bed. Immediately her mind drifted to Dorothea: 

The way her dress sparkled, or her hair fluttered around her shoulders. 

The way Bernie was pretty sure they made eye contact during the final bows. (She was also pretty sure she was being delusional, but no one had ever accused her of being well adjusted).

She rolled over, causing one of her stuffed animals to fall over which snapped her out of her fantasy. She sat up and looked around her room.

Bernie still hadn’t put any posters on the walls (she was too scared that she would damage the paint somehow and then the school administrators would arrest her for vandalism of private property), and it was relatively tidy, at least for a college dorm, but there were stuffed animals covering most of the tiny twin sized bed.

Not to mention her bed sheets were covered in little cartoon bears which was about as unsexy as a bed could get.

Wait, what was she thinking? There’s no way Dorothea would ever see any of this anyways.

She was gorgeous and Bernie was well… Bernie. She fell back on her bed with a groan of defeat.

And yet, despite her best efforts to try and bring herself back to reality, she still ended up drifting off to sleep, picturing Dorothea’s lips against her own.

Bernadetta didn’t dream that night, which was a blessing compared to her usual nightmares.

She woke to the soft music of her alarm. It was the theme song to one of her favorite games and she never seemed to get tired of it.

She pulled her favorite hoodie over her pajama top and swapped her flannel pants for a loose skirt. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to calm her bedhead and she slipped her shoes on.

She had never put too much effort into her appearance, she had tried plenty of times but no matter how much time she spent trying to braid her hair or do her eyeliner just right, she always felt just as ugly as she did when she just rolled out of bed. Besides, the dorm didn’t come with a mirror, and she didn’t want to spend any longer than strictly necessary in the communal bathrooms.

And yet, today she felt even worse about herself than usual. Even without a mirror she could tell her hair looked awful, and her skirt was short which showed off her knees which she always thought looked weird.

Her leg bounced anxiously as she picked at the skin around her nails, trying to think of a way to look at least a little less disgusting.

But time was ticking and if she spent much longer, she’d be late to class, so she grabbed a hair tie and tried to pull her bangs out of her face. She had hoped her hair would lay a bit flatter, but instead it insisted on sticking straight up.

Still, it was better than nothing

…probably.  

She walked to class as fast as she could, clutching her satchel bag against her chest. She threw the classroom doors open with way more force then she intended. Then gave a surprised squeal at her own strength, as the door thumped against the wall. Right as she stepped through the door—still panting slightly from almost running to class—the bell rang out, signaling the start of class.

“Miss Varley, how nice of you to join us” her professor, a stuffy overly formal man, said and she entered.

All eyes in class burned into her, as her face turned red with shame and embarrassment. Her eyes darted towards the back corner of the room where she usually sat. Luckily her usual spot was still empty so she darted there as fast as she could, throwing her bag down on the desk and burying her face in her hands.

For the most part, the class was no different than usual. The professor reminded them to see the school’s musical and he went over the guidelines for the report again.

But about halfway through the class he switched topics to their final project. Bernadetta had been dreading this ever since they went over the syllabus. It was a partner project (oh no!) and they would have to work together to write a script for a play. Then the whole class would read through all of them (oh no!!) and vote for their favorites. Of the top three, the professor would pick the best one which would be sent to the theater department to perform for their winter drama.

She would probably have to kill herself. It was as though the entire assignment had been specifically designed to stress her out. However! There was a potential silver lining. She had checked the class roster, and there were 19 students in the class. Which means there’s a chance she could work alone! Her plan was to wait quietly in the back corner until everyone else found groups, and then tell the professor that she didn’t want to intrude on anyone else’s group. It was a perfect plan, she just had to wait.

Just before letting them pick their groups, the professor opened the floor to questions. One student, a pink haired girl who had been faux flirting with the professor all semester raised her hand.

“But Mr. Seteth, there’s an odd number of us, does that mean one of us gets to sit out?”

 “It’s Professor Seteth, and no Hilda. You will all be doing the project, there will just be one group of three”

A group of three!? Bernie’s plans collapsed before her eyes. A partner project sounded awful, but getting stuck in a group of three would be way worse! What if no one wanted her in her group so she had to endure the shame of rejection only to be assigned to a group that didn’t want her. And of course they would already be friends so they would resent her for ruining everything, so they would work together to plot her demise!

While Bernadetta continued to spiral, the student—Hilda apparently—made a dramatic show of sighing before shrugging and wrapping her arm around Marianne.

“Right. Any other questions before we pick groups?”

When there were none, professor Seteth released them to pick their partners. The room instantaneously burst into motion.

Bernie snapped out of her spiral just enough to realize that she needed to find a partner. Now. Her eyes darted around the class frantically, looking for anyone who might be as much of a loser as she was.

She knew Marianne a little, and they got along pretty well, but she would clearly partner with Hilda. Bernie never understood how they got along, not that she had anything against Hilda, but she was just so much… louder than Marianne.

Other than Marianne, Bernadetta didn’t know most of her classmate’s names, much less anything about them. She willed herself to get out of her seat and try to talk to someone, but she just couldn’t do it.

She felt her breathing quicken, and she dug her nails into her palm, desperately trying to stave off a full blown panic attack—if there was anything that wouldn’t get her a partner for this project, it would be crying and hyperventilating in the back of the class.

Bernie chewed on her bottom lip, finally building just enough courage to push her chair back from the desk. It made a screeching noise against the floor drawing a few loose stares from her classmates, but she tried her hardest to steady her shaking knees.

Right before she could stand, she caught a movement in her peripheral which was way too close for comfort. Instinctively she shrieked and jumped back, almost falling out of her chair.

In fact, she probably would have fallen if not for the arm wrapped around the back of her chair. The pale knuckles gripped the chair with surprising strength, slowly tilting it back in place.

“Woah, sorry didn’t mean to startle you”

She looked back to see who had spoken, though she didn’t really need to, she recognized the voice. She had heard it quite a bit over the past three days.

Still, she leveled her gaze so she was looking him in the eyes—or at least close enough to his eyes, she generally focused her eyes on peoples’ noses or foreheads since direct eye contact was a bit overwhelming.

His face was more freckled than she expected, maybe the stage lights washed him out or maybe he was wearing makeup. Other than that, he looked pretty much the same as he did on stage, all crooked smiles and slouched shoulders.

“Saw you at our show over the weekend. Quite a few times if I do recall”

Something about his tone and smile made her stomach turn. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment at being caught, or if it was her instincts telling her this man was dangerous. She panicked trying to think of a response.

“That wasn’t me!”

She cried, her voice far squeakier than she had intended. Not that it mattered, she could feel her face heating and her pale complexion meant there was no chance of hiding her blush. Plus, she had sat in the same spot (row 3 seat 11) at every show except opening night.

The man—Sylvain Jose Gautier if the playbill was to be believed—cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Funny, cause I’m not usually the type to forget a face, especially if that face is as pretty as yours” he said with a wink.

Danger! Danger!

Alarm bells rang in Bernadetta’s head. 

This man was definitely bad news. She was mess on a good day and today was definitely not a good day. Which means he had ulterior motives! But what were they?

Maybe he needed money. Bernie wasn’t exactly classy, but everyone knew her father’s name. Maybe he had heard professor Seteth call her by her last name and decided it was worth a shot. Then again, she was pretty sure his watch was worth more than everything in her dorm put together.

Maybe he just wanted someone who was a pushover and would do the project for him? She wasn’t necessarily opposed. She wasn’t good at much, but she was a pretty good writer, and there was nothing she hated more than when people would try to control her story.

“Uh hello?” he waved a hand in front of her face, the same unwavering smirk plastered on his face.

“I know the line was cheesy, but you could give a guy some kind of response.”

“We had to go for class!” she blurted out, which was true!

“I saw you in the audience like 5 times in a row--” it was actually six times, but she was not going to correct him, “--and I’m pretty sure you weren’t there for the plot” he was right since there was none.

“So…” he continued, “did you like what you saw~”

Shit, he was onto her. He knew she had a crush on Dorothea, and he would tell her, then she would publicly humiliate Bernie as retribution for her sins.

Sylvain seemed to take Bernie’s silence as affirmation, and grinned wider, showing off his teeth which were unnaturally white and shinier than she thought teeth should be. Predators had teeth like that. Wolves, and foxes, and men like her father. 

“So, I was thinking you’d like to be partners!

For the project that is” 

He leaned an elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his palm.

Now, she might regret this—in fact she was pretty positive she would regret this—but… 

She did need a partner. 

And while it seemed that he was determined to mock her, maybe she was right and he just wanted someone to do the project for him. Which would be about as close as she could get to doing the project alone. So…

“I’ll do it!” she said (much louder and quicker than intended, but that was par for the course for old Bernie).

“Perfect!” He kept on grinning—Bernadetta was starting to think his face was stuck that way. There was no way a man like him could be that happy about working with her.

“I’ve got a few hours between classes after this, if you want to get started. I know a few places where no one will bother us”

Bernie was torn. On one hand, she really did not want to talk to him any more than she had to. On the other, this was her only class on Mondays and she was a terrible liar.

Unable to come up with any excuses, she nodded her head in defeat.

“Great, the bells about to ring, so I’m gonna grab my stuff real quick, and I’ll be right back.”

She watched him as he retrieved his bag, a satchel bag not too different from hers--but clearly empty. She wasn’t the best student, but she at least brought her notebook and laptop to school. She at least tried to look like she was paying attention. 

Regardless, she tried to savor the fleeting moments of peace, since she had a sinking feeling the next few hours would be far from peaceful.

Chapter Text

An excerpt from A Knight’s Wish (working title) by a Bernadetta Von Varley:

The young boy leaned out of his bedroom window with glee, his shining eyes glued to a single shooting star that cut across the sky. He clasped his hands in front of his face and closed his eyes to make a wish.

I wish that one day I could be a princess.

He did not speak it out loud of course, both for superstition’s sake and for fear of his parents hearing. It was a foolish wish. Princesses were royalty, and the young boy, while noble, was not. But he did not know how to wish for anything else. 

Was he wrong for wanting such a thing? He was old enough to know that the other boys did not want to be princesses. His classmates told tales of knights, heroes, and warriors, many of whom saved princesses from dragons or evil witches. The boy did not like those stories. The princess was always an award, a trophy for the triumphant hero. But the other boys never understood his complaints. 

“He saved her life! Why wouldn’t she love him?” one had asked. 

The boy did not respond, he only shrugged and dropped the subject. Could love truly be bought with enough swordsmanship and wit?

Sylvain had kept true to his promise that others would not bother them. He had led her to the upper story of the library, in a far back corner. The sign above the bookshelves read “History of Seiros” which seemed like a fairly boring topic—though Bernie had never been particularly religious, so perhaps some people found it riveting. 

Still, the shelf was in a surprising state of disrepair. There was a thick layer of dust that made many of the book spines unreadable, so it was clear that no one had read most of the books here for at least a couple of years. On closer inspection, she did notice tracks in the dust in a few places, as though someone had removed books, but not yet returned them. 

She also noticed that someone has drawn a dick, then next to it written a phone number and the words “call me”

Up against the wall there were a few plush blankets and a handful of throw pillows, which—to Bernie’s relief—seemed clean and dust-free. Sylvain slung his bag down in the corner and plopped down on the pillows. 

Bernadetta stood awkwardly, just watching him as he rearranged the blankets and pillows into a makeshift couch of sorts. 

Sylvain finished setting the corner up and looked up towards Bernadetta, then patted the ground next to him for her to sit. 

“I know it’s not as luxurious as the study rooms, but it’s quieter and we don’t have to worry about people interrupting us here.” he said, spreading his legs out and taking up the vast majority of the space he has just organized. She usually made herself as small as possible, but it did annoy her when people expected her to make herself small. 

Bernie hated being around other people, and the idea of being totally alone with Sylvain was equally—no, more—terrifying.

Plus, no interruptions meant no witnesses. What if he wanted to kill her? Or kidnap her and ransom her for her father’s money. A funny idea, as though her father would care enough to spend any of his precious wealth to save her. That gave her a small amount of comfort: if he did try to kidnap her, at least he wouldn’t get anything out of it.  

Still, she was already here. Leaving now could prove more perilous than playing along, so she sat. Of course she sat as far away as possible, and she kept her bag slung over her shoulder in case she needed to make a run for it. If Sylvain noticed her hesitance, he did not show it.

He lounged there, leaning his weight on one elbow so he could face her. He watched her carefully, his eyes drifting from her eyes to her bag—seemingly waiting for her to put it down. Instead, she cautiously removed her notebook—she did bring a laptop to school, but she preferred to use physical paper for writing. 

Sylvain’s eyebrows raised a fraction (though Bernie didn’t think writing in a notebook was that weird), and he leaned back to face her.

“Oh, you were serious about working on the project?” he asked, which irritated Bernie since he was the one who dragged her here to this decrepit library corner to work on this project. 

“I thought that was what you wanted?” She said, sounding more scared than angry—though admittedly she was both. 

“Well yeah but I didn’t actually mean— y’know what! Never mind. Let’s just get started.”

She opened her notebook to a blank page and titled it “Drama Writing Project.” 

“Um… did you… did you have any ideas?” Bernie asked, desperately willing her voice to remain steady (she failed of course, to no one’s surprise).

“Hm? Oh, nope” Sylvain said. His lackadaisical attitude was really starting to get on Bernie’s nerves. “Whatabout you?” 

Bernadetta scowled at her notebook. She had originally planned on writing a story about her knight and princess, but their tales always felt so personal. Besides, they were her favorite characters, and she wasn’t ready to share creative liberties with someone else, especially not Sylvain. 

“No” she lied, “Not really”

“Damn, that’s a shame. Wanna do something else then?” 

She could hit him. At this point, she just might. She was a lot stronger than she looked—her slouching and general timidness made people underestimate her a lot, but Sylvain was still a lot taller—and a whole lot broader—than her. So she kept her fists to herself. 

“Maybe we should brainstorm separately! Then we can reconvene next class!” she suggested.

“We don’t have class again until next week though, and we only have a month to work on this” 

Bernie was pretty sure she had written better stories in one afternoon than Sylvain had written in his whole life, but she didn’t say that. 

Sylvain continued, “How about you give me your number? Then we can at least message each other about ideas before class.”

Bernie was trying to think of a reason to refuse, but Sylvain was already handing his phone over, with the “new contact” screen up. She could give him a fake number, but she didn’t doubt he would try texting her and inevitably realize the number was wrong. 

She breathed out in defeat, and set her notebook down on the ground next to her, to start punching in her number. When she was done, she handed the phone back.

“Oh, you forgot to add your name.” He said, showing her the screen

“Oh, okay” she said. She figured he could add that himself, surely, he wasn’t that incompetent. 

But he just waited there, staring at her. Until Bernie realized… he didn’t know her name. 

He might have known her last name, though honestly, now that she really considered him, his accent sounded foreign (though Garreg Mach University wasn’t in Adrestia, so she was technically just as foreign as him), he might not have any clue who she is. 

Bernie was thrilled by this discovery. She didn’t like people knowing who she is, even when they had good intentions. Because knowing who she is, meant knowing who she was. Not that she was ashamed of being trans, but she liked to be the one who told people, not some reporter who was trying to figure out how her personal life would impact her father’s investors. 

“Bernadetta.” She said, “my name is Bernadetta.” She didn’t add her last name of course. She didn’t want to risk him trying to look her up. 

“Cool” he said, turning the phone back to face him and typing her name in. 

“I’m Sylvain by the way, don’t think I introduced myself earlier. Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Now that she thought about it, his last name definitely sounded Faerghan, she might have recognized it if she tried a little harder, but she had never been particularly interested in international business affairs. Frankly she had never been particularly interested in local business affairs (much to her father’s very vocal disappointment). 

After pocketing his phone, Sylvain stood up. He was a tall man, and something about him standing while she still sat triggered her anxiety. She pushed to her feet in a rush, though even when she was standing up straight, she was barely eye level with his collarbones. 

“I should go!” she said, rushing off without a second thought about Sylvain, or her notebook which lay open on the library floor. 

Chapter Text

An excerpt from A Knight’s Wish (working title) by a Bernadetta Von Varley:

The young boy looked into the mirror. He had been avoiding getting a haircut for as long as he could get away with it. Though he had hoped his hair would grow long and luscious, instead grew in unruly waves with layers that could only be described as unfortunate. And yet, despite his hair looking objectively worse than ever, he was pleased with it. Each morning, he would spend ages brushing and braiding it—or at least trying to. 

A few weeks ago, he had stolen a few sheets out of the maids’ laundry pile, and he had begun stitching them together into a simple gown. It wasn’t luxurious, nothing like the noblewomen at his school, but it made him feel beautiful. 

Not that any of that mattered anymore. The boy was 15 now, he would be beginning knight training soon. 

Well, formal training, his father had been preparing him for this his whole life. The boy wondered if his father would make him cut his hair before sending him off to training. 

He wondered if his father would notice at all.

Bernadetta woke to her phone buzzing on her cluttered nightstand. The nightstand was cheap and unstable, so the vibrations were enough to cause the whole thing to tremble, knocking over the tower of notebooks piled atop it. 

She groaned, reaching for the phone, which continued to buzz erratically. 

When she unlocked it, she was greeted by a stream of messages from an unknown number

8:07 You lied to me! 

8:07 How dare you!

8:08 You totally had an idea for the project!!

8:09  [the message contained an attachment with a picture of her notebook] 

8:10 This is Sylvain btw :D

8:11 You’re writing is really good though! I couldn’t put it down! How does it end?

8:11 Actually never mind, I can wait until you’re done writing it, but you have to promise to show me!

8:12 Your* oops lol

8:15 Promise me, Bernadetta! Please! Don’t make a guy beg like this

8:17 I can see that you’ve read these, don’t leave me hangin >:( 

8:25 Pleeeease :(((((((((((((((

She powered her phone down. 

This was bad.

Having people read her finished work was embarrassing, but having Sylvain of all people read a rough draft? 

She could just die. 

Maybe the stress would cause a heart attack and she would. She was beginning to think that would be preferable.  

Her only hope was to wipe his memory somehow. Maybe she could invite him back to that library corner then hit him upside the head with a brick. Actually, that might just kill him. Though that would be effective, it would also leave her without a partner. And probably with jail time. 

Maybe she could steal the notebook back and replace it with a blank one then hypnotize him into believing it was all a dream! 

Now that sounded like a good idea!

She dug through her blank notebooks (now scattered across her dorm floor) until she found one that looked just like her writing notebook—she bought all of her notebooks from the same brand, and always used the blue ones for her personal stories. She threw the notebook into her backpack and shook it around some, hoping to make it look more used. Then she stored it in her backpack for later. 

After what felt like hours—but was probably closer to 20 minutes—of scripting and rehearsing potential conversations, Bernie turned her phone back on. 

She had received a few more messages from Sylvain, but he probably noticed she hadn’t been reading them, so he had stopped. 

She sent a single word back

9:04 Library?

The response was almost instantaneous.

9:04 As the lady wishes!

9:05 sorry that was cringe

9:05 I’m omw :D

Bernie clenched her teeth as she dragged her feet leaving her dorm. Admittedly she appreciated how non-threatening Sylvain seemed over text—though maybe that was just to get her to let her guard down. If so, it was working.

In person Sylvain was terrifying. He was loud, pushy, huge, and he always seemed like he was hiding something. 

Over text he was just annoying. 

Sylvain had arrived at the library before her. That wasn’t surprising since she had walked about as slow as she could. Plus the men’s dorms were much closer to the library, though she wasn’t actually sure whether he lived on campus or not. 

She had assumed they would meet at the same nook as last time, but Sylvain was waiting for her in front of the building. 

He was leaning his back up against the wall looking at his phone. She wondered if he was waiting for a text from her. Maybe he was texting some other girl. 

Bernie wasn’t particularly up to date with the school’s gossip, but she also wasn’t blind. She could see the way passing women looked at him (which seems to vary from obvious lust, to fervent hatred)

Not that she would normally mind. She certainly had no interest in dating him (or any man really). But she couldn’t help but wonder if Dorothea looked at him the same way her classmates did. They seemed to have decent chemistry on stage, but maybe she was just a really good actor.

Bernie couldn't help but picture Sylvain’s arm draped over Dorothea’s shoulder. How could she compete with him? Sure, he could be a bit obnoxious, but everyone else seemed to think he was charismatic. Not to mention he probably spent hours of time with her for the play.  

Bernie’s mood soured at the thought—though she had already been pretty upset before. 

As she reached the front of the library, Sylvain spotted her. His eyes lit up, and he gave her a goofy grin while waving. He looks like a puppy whose owner just got home, Bernadetta thought.

“Hey Bernadetta! Here’s your notebook back.”

He pushed the notebook into her hands. Luckily it hadn’t been damaged, and a quick flip through revealed no missing pages. 

“Sorry for reading it without permission, but it was just… sitting there. And I got nosy, so I took a little peak and then I just couldn’t stop!” 

Sylvain was standing in front of the front door as he rambled, blocking people from getting in or out, which had started to attract some irritation from other students. 

“We should go inside!” she squeaked, grabbing the edge of his shirt sleeve and trying to pull him into the library.
“Oh yeah, about that,” he said, standing firm (and still blocking the entryway), “I’m actually supposed to meet with the rest of the cast and crew today. We’re gonna go chill at a diner, wanna come with?”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude—” Bernie started, but waited… the rest of the cast… meaning Dorothea would be there! Which could be really cool! Except that Dorothea was so much cooler and prettier than her, and if they met then Dorothea would know how much of a loser Bernie was. Maybe it would be better to just fawn over her from a distance.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be intruding! They don’t really care about stuff like that. Besides, if you write dramas an eighth as well as novels, then you’ll definitely win the writing project” 

“Which meeaaans, you’ll be helping Professor Manuela direct the play” he continued, with a grin.

Bernadetta could not match his enthusiasm. 

Directing the play she wrote was not in the project description. But in retrospect, the class did say it would provide ‘directing opportunities’ it just never specified what they were. 

She hated when teachers tried to sneak in extra rules. 

“bu-but the project never said anything about directing the play” 

“Hm? Well I don’t know. Maybe professor Seteth just forgot to write it in the assignment. Or maybe it’s not technically required, but I’m pretty sure the winter play has always been co-directed by the writer.”

Great. This project just gets worse and worse. 

Bernie let her shoulders slump, clutching her notebook to her chest. She had entirely forgotten about her plan to swap the notebooks and convince him he had dreamt it up. 

“Hey, you worry too much,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. Easy for him to say, she was starting to think he had never cared enough to worry about anything before. 

“Y’know what will help you relax? A nice meal! My treat” he said with a thumbs up.

“Okay…” 

“Awesome! The diner’s right by campus so we can just walk”

He started leading her away. She followed a few steps behind him, trying to smooth out her bedhead (she was deeply regretting not brushing it this morning). 

The diner really was close, they had only been walking for a few minutes when they arrived. Bernie might have been surprised that she’s never been here before, but honestly, she hadn’t really been anywhere but her dorm room and the college campus—so it wasn’t really all that surprising. 

Sylvain hooked his arm through Bernie’s elbow, startling her so much she almost dropped her notebook. He swung the door open and walked inside (which meant that Bernie was dragged in too).

“Welcome to- oh it’s just you.” 

“Good morning to you too Hilda, working hard as ever I see” Sylvain remarked. 

Hilda looked more bored than Bernie thought a person could look. She was slumped over the receptionist desk picking at her cuticles. Bernie wondered why she was working here. She was pretty sure Hilda’s family had enough money that she would never have to work if she didn’t want to, and she pretty clearly did not want to. 

“Oh like you’re one to talk, you skip class almost as much as I do!”

“I’ll have you know, I had rehearsals!” 

“Yeah yeah, everyone else is already here, they’re at the big table in the back.”

“Thanks” he said with a wave, dragging Bernadetta towards the table. 

There were probably about a million people packed around the table—though Bernie was pretty sure it wasn’t one table, but three that had been pushed together. The noise was horrific. So many people were talking all at once. She was gonna die. 

“Everyone! This is Bernadetta!” Sylvain announced, stepping aside and using his arms to present her. 

The chatter stopped in an instant, which was somehow worse. All eyes turned to her. She felt like a baby rabbit, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves. 

She took a shallow bow, “h-hello…” she said meekly. Her voice shook almost as much as her hands. How pathetic she thought. 

Of course everyone hates you. You’re so damn pathetic all the time. Can’t you get it together for two seconds? No, you can’t even say a single word without stuttering.

“Oh hey! I know you!” a voice in the back chimed. Bernadetta looked up. “You came to, like, all of our shows this weekend!” The speaker was a short, red-headed girl with her hair in braids. Bernadetta recognized her as one of the supporting actors in the play, but she couldn’t remember her name. Anne maybe? No, that didn’t sound quite right.

The girl spared her the struggle of trying to remember her name, “I’m Annette, nice to meet you Bernadetta” she said, hopping out of her seat to shake Bernie’s hand. 

“Nice to meet too-meet you. Nice to meet you too” 

She was going to kill herself. She simply had to. 

If she was lucky, this was a nightmare, and she would wake up safe in her room. 

But before she could start plunging silverware into her chest, she met eyes with Dorothea. 

It was as though the world had paused. Bernie was vaguely aware of the fact that the conversations had resumed. Sylvain and Annete had taken their seats on either side of a grouchy looking man who she thought had been glaring at her.

She was frozen. She was pretty sure she had just been staring at Dorothea for a century or two. But the strangest thing was… Dorothea looked back. 

Her eyes looked duller without the stage lights. Her hair didn’t glow, or flutter around her. But she was no less beautiful than the first time Bernie had laid eyes on her. 

Dorothea stood up. 

Crap! What should I say? Do I say anything? 

Before Bernadetta could open her mouth, Dorothea walked past her, the gentle scent of roses trailing behind her. Bernie turned to watch her as Dorothea grabbed another chair from a nearby table and placed it right next to her own. She looked up at Bernadetta. 

“Bernadetta right? Can I call you Bern?” You could call me anything you wanted, Bernie thought, but before she could respond Dorothea continued, “Come on Bern, you can sit here. We don’t bite” 

Bernie sat obediently.

“We were just about to order, do you need some time to think it over?” She asked, sliding a menu in front of Bernie. 

Her voice was so gentle, like a cozy blanket during a thunderstorm. Bernie could listen to it all day.

“Oh, I’m not really hungry,” Bernie lied. She hadn’t eaten breakfast yet and it was almost 9:30.

“Are you sure? Sylvain’s paying so you can get whatever you want” she said with a conspiratory grin. 

She leaned towards Bernadetta. She was close enough that she could feel her warm breath against her cheek. “Between you and me I always order the most expensive stuff with him. It almost makes it worth putting up with him… almost” 

Bernie giggled a little. 

“I’ll just get the chocolate milkshake and fries then” her voice was quiet. With all the background noise, it was probably a bit hard for Dorothea to hear. Still, it was steadier than usual. Something about Dorothea’s presence made Bernie feel a little stronger.  

Chapter Text

An excerpt from A Knight’s Wish (working title) by a Bernadetta Von Varley:

It had been a few months since the knight had begun their formal training. They had expected to hate it, as they’d never gotten along too well with the other boys their age. However, training involved a lot less talking and a lot more lance work (something that the knight was surprisingly good at it turned out). 

Despite struggling through every conversation with their companions, the knight was actually something akin to popular for the first time in their life. Their companions fought for the right to spar with them.  

But, while the knight did appreciate the companionship, what they truly loved was the anonymity. 

They chose to keep their helmet on even when the others abandoned theirs. 

They took their meals alone, claiming that the idle chatter of the dining hall distracted them. As a result, many of their comrades hadn’t seen their face since orientation. 

Moreover, all of the other knights and instructors referred to them by their family name. The knight had never realized the tug in their chest every time someone called their name, but now that no one did, they felt free. 

It had been nearly a year since the knight had cut their hair. The helmet made it messy and knotted, so they had to spend ages each night detangling it, just for it to get matted again the next day. 

But the knight loved their hair. It felt like a piece of who they really are—even though they weren’t quite sure who that was yet. 

The cast and crew’s chatter seemed to grow in volume exponentially. By the time Hilda showed up with her fries and a strawberry milkshake (even though she was pretty sure she had ordered chocolate) her ears were ringing with the noise. 

“Bern, are you alright, you look pale?” 

Bernie was always pale, and frankly she suspected she had more color than usual on account of her burning cheeks. But she just responded “oh! Yes, I’m fine, this is all fine!” dumbly and maybe a little too loudly. The grouchy guy with blue hair seemed to glare at her again. It gave her the chills, and she decided she would put a chair in front of her door tonight just in case he tried to assassinate her or something. Though, he could always break in through the window. Her room was on the third floor, but he looked like the kind of guy who would scale building to kill innocent maidens. 

When she finally stopped spiraling about all the different ways she could be murdered in her sleep, she realized Dorothea was talking. To Her. Dorothea was talking to her and she hadn’t been listening. She should probably be executed for that or something.

“-did you think?” She finished, looking at Bernie expectantly. 

“Oh! Uh… yes! Um…” she needed to die. She needed to explode one million times. 

“Oh, sorry, I know these things get really loud if you’re not used to them. I was just saying that I saw you at our show a few times, so I was wondering what you thought?” 

Oh my god, she had actually noticed Bernie! No! Not the time, Bernie needed to respond.

“You were wonderful!” she blurted out, realizing too late that she probably should have said the show was wonderful, even if that was a lie. 

Dorothea laughed, and saints Bernie wished she could bottle the sound. She had never done drugs before, but she was pretty sure Dorothea’s laugh was better than any high. “Oh aren’t you a flirt, but thank you. Did you happen to catch the late show on Saturday? I was really proud of my performance that day”

“Oh, yes! I loved how your hair was a little looser so the light made it seem all glowy! And when you started crying during the finale I got goosebumps!”

“Yes! Thank you! You know, I told Manuela that the looser waves fit the character more, but the style took hours so I couldn’t do it for every performance” 

“Actually, I think it was more special because it was just the one! It was like divine intervention, or a triple rainbow. One of those things that are super extra special because they’re so rare.”

“Wow, Bern. I’ve had a lot of pretty girls give me compliments, but I don’t think anyone has ever described seeing my hair as comparable to divine intervention”

Shit. She had  overstepped and nor Dorothea was going to think she was crazy, or a stalker, or—wait. Did Dorothea just imply that Bernie was a pretty girl? Bernie with her oversized hoodie and messy hair? Maybe this was a dream. And if it was a dream, that meant there were no consequences. So maybe she should just play along. Yeah, she was just going to flirt with a woman who could beat the goddess in a beauty competition. Totally fine. and. chill. 

But of course she had taken too long to respond again and Dorothea seemed to interpret this as Bernie being upset at her (unfathomable!).

“Oh, sorry! You went super red. Was that too far? To be honest I kind of thought you were flirting, was I wrong?”

“No! Or Yes? Um, you were not wrong. I. Was. Flirting. With. You. On purpose” Okay, that was pretty good and normal. She almost didn’t trip over her words. 

“Oh lovely! In that case,” Dorthea turned her chair towards Bernadetta, pushed her food out of the way, and leaned her elbow on the table so they could make direct (piercing, breathtaking, world-ending) eye contact. “I think we should get a drink together sometime. Could I get your number?” 

Bernie was definitely either dead or dreaming but she would rather die (again?) then let this opportunity pass. 

“Yes!” too loud again. But saints be damned, Bernie did not care. 

Fanarts I did :]