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The irony of his current situation wasn’t lost on Ferdinand von Aegir.
For as long as he could remember, sleep had always come easily to him; something he had been both cursed and envied for in equal measure, depending on the nature of his critic. It had never been an issue of time, or where he was falling asleep; so long as he was tired, all he had ever needed to do was shut his eyes, and he would eventually open them again feeling completely (and annoyingly, some would say) rejuvenated for the challenges ahead. Even when Garreg Mach had fallen and he had suddenly found himself on the run, stripped of his lands and titles and constantly moving just to stay alive, this fact had never changed. Mercifully so, all things considered; life on the run was nowhere near as glamorous as the novels made it out to be.
There had been some perks, of course; Ferdinand could admit that. But mostly? It had been hard, and being able to easily sleep anywhere had been a blessing. If he had perhaps one flaw in that regard, it was that he was a deep sleeper, but during his years as a noble he had never needed to jolt himself awake, and during his time on the run…
Well, Petra had been a light enough sleeper for the two of them. Which tied into his current ironic situation, really.
Ferdinand couldn’t sleep.
He should have been able to. He knew this, logically; there had been a hard battle today, defending the only barely restored monastery from Imperial forces, and he was exhausted from his efforts on the frontlines. Byleth had seen fit to assign everyone back to their old rooms during that last school year, and it would serve him as well as it had before now that he had taken a bit of time to clean it up. The bed was certainly the most comfortable thing he’d slept on in the last four years, and the room itself being so bare--well, he was used to not having many things, at this point.
And yet, he couldn’t sleep. And despite his attempts to ignore the reason why, he couldn’t. Mostly because he’d just thought of her, and all that had done was remind him that she wasn’t here.
Ferdinand groaned quietly, opening his eyes to glare up at the ceiling. He couldn’t actually see much--it was dark--but it was the spirit of the thing, really; a way of expressing his general annoyance at his current situation. He grimaced and rolled over onto his side, adjusting his blanket as he did so, but he already knew it was a lost cause. At this point, he just had to accept he probably wouldn’t sleep tonight despite being tired and in a comfortable bed, and it was his own fault.
Well. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he could at least try to do something that might put him to sleep. Maybe it would even work.
He hoped it would. Anything to quiet his mind.
He hadn’t meant to end up in front of Petra’s room.
Ferdinand had gotten out of bed, clipped his short axe to his belt before leaving his room--an old habit from his years of travel, and it was better safe than sorry even in this place--and had decided after some thought to head for the dining hall. He wasn’t hungry, but there were always tea leaves there, and maybe a hot cup would clear his head. He hadn’t had a good cup of tea in years. It’d be a treat, hopefully one that could finally help him sleep. Maybe not through the night, but a nap would work. He liked naps. He could work with a nap; that would at least get him through part of the day.
Goddess, he was starting to sound like Linhardt. He hadn’t spoken to the man in years.
But his feet hadn’t carried him to the dining hall, in the end. They had taken him to the stairs, walked him only a short distance, and had stopped him in front of Petra’s door. And now he stood there, staring at her door, knowing this wasn’t where he’d meant to end up, but it was where he’d wanted to end up.
You sound like a lovesick fool, hissed a voice in the darkest corner of his mind, and Ferdinand tried to ignore how that voice sounded like Edelgard. Don’t do this to yourself. You remember what happened last time.
He shook his head to clear it and grimaced, looking at Petra’s door. This was his own fault; he knew that. Their decision to share a bed over their four years together had been merely convenience, a way of making up for moving constantly and a lack of freedom or space. There’d been nothing emotional or physical about it, and it wasn’t something he should have gotten attached to. He’d done that once before, five years ago, with Hubert, and all it had gotten him in the end was heartbreak.
Apparently he hadn’t learned.
Ferdinand nearly lifted his hand, nearly knocked, but after a moment of thought he kept his hand down at his side, and resisted the urge to sigh. No, this was wrong. He might have come here for missing something, but to ask Petra if she’d be willing to come back to his room with him just to share his bed because he couldn’t sleep without her was… he couldn’t do it. She’d tolerated his presence now for four years, ever since they had accidentally crossed paths in Empire territory. He hadn’t even benefited her cause all that much; provided some weak points for her hit and run tactics on Edelgard’s forces, certainly, but other than that he’d been a fallen noble with no ties to aid her and no lands to shelter her or her men. She finally had her own space away from him, and he had to respect that.
No, he wouldn’t bother her. He’d stick to his original plan. Tea. Tea would help.
He hoped it would help.
Ferdinand did sigh now, something low and quiet, and he finally turned away from Petra’s door to head towards the dining hall. His feet finally seemed to cooperate with him, and he might have even ended up there this time with his mind made up, but he hadn’t taken a step before he froze as he realized the same door he’d spent the last few seconds contemplating was opening.
“Ferdinand?”
Well then.
He turned back around, and--yes, that was Petra standing in her doorway, her hand still on the knob, blinking at him in the darkness. “Petra,” he said, very intelligently, and could have kicked himself if he was physically capable of doing so.
There was a moment of silence as they just stared at each other.
“You are being outside of my room,” Petra said at last. There was something cautious, in her tone. It wasn’t an outright rejection; Ferdinand had heard that enough from Hubert when it suited him to know what that sounded like. It was uncertain, yes, but… she wasn’t telling him to leave. And she’d clearly been on her way out. Did he dare hope?
Ferdinand swallowed. “Yes.”
“May I be asking why?”
He could have lied. He was perfectly capable of doing so after running for four years, and it would have been an easy thing; it would have been child’s play to claim that he was heading towards the dining hall, and she’d simply opened her door right as he was passing by. She might have even believed him. She wasn’t pushing, but she was… asking. And he didn’t want to hope from her asking, but…
Maybe this was a sign. And if there was one thing he’d learned from Hubert, it was that keeping things to himself hadn’t helped, in the end. Maybe trying for honesty would at least make the eventual fall easier.
“You may,” he finally said, and he blew out a breath, straightening up a little without realizing it. “The truth is… I couldn’t sleep.”
There was a pause, as Petra contemplated this; maybe it was the dim moonlight playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. “I am also having trouble sleeping,” she said. “In fact, I was hoping that I would be finding you.”
That made him laugh quietly, mindful yet of the late hour. “Really?” he asked. “Because the truth is, I was looking for you. I seem to have forgotten how to sleep alone.”
A little too honest, maybe, and definitely too nervous; he’d repeated himself. And yet, still, he was beginning to hope, as it felt like he was being led.
At some point when he’d straightened up, he’d also tucked his hands behind his back slightly; a respectful gesture for making a request, he’d always been taught. And he’d kept his hands there, during their brief conversation. He hadn’t dared to move at all, really. But as he finished speaking, Petra did move; she took a small step forward, closing the distance between them, and she reached out, found his hands with hers. She urged their hands forward, between their bodies, and absently laced their fingers together as she studied them, her eyes dark, thoughtful. It was intimate, gentle.
Ferdinand held his breath and waited.
“I was also having trouble being alone,” Petra murmured at last, lifting her eyes to meet his, and she was definitely smiling, now. “I was thinking I would go to you, but you are here.”
“It’s your fault, really.” He kept his tone light. “You’ve spoiled me with those furs you always like so much. The blankets back in my room feel wrong now.”
That got a laugh out of her, something soft and warm. “As it should be.” And then she stepped back, giving him a gentle tug from their joined hands, and he followed her, closing the door behind him as he went.
In the back of his mind, Ferdinand knew there would probably be talk tomorrow if he was seen leaving her room in the morning. But as he set his axe down beside her bow and Petra tucked into him with a content sigh that settled into his bones, nuzzling into his pulse point, he couldn’t find it in him to care.
Instead, he closed his eyes, breathed her in, and finally slept.