Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edelgard literally fumbles over herself – something that almost never happen these days– as she bites back on a swear from nearly tipping over her wine glass in her mad haste to right herself up from her lazy lounge on the couch. She gingerly sets her glass down on the coffee table, as opposed to her lap, as a safeguard this time. Because Goddess forbids if she spills any of that red wine onto her very exclusive designer rug, she will literally cut a bitch – even if that bitch is herself.

Staring down at the screen of her latest iPhone XI once more, Edelgard can't help but greedily take in the sight of tousled dark locks and cobalt blue eyes, staring right back at her in an all-too-familiar blank, impenetrable gaze.

Her heart clenches.

Byleth Eisner.

Her professor from Garreg Mach University.

And of all places, Edelgard can't believe this is where she finds her.

On Tinder.

She doesn't know if she should laugh or cry.

It had all first started as a whim.

No more than a means to an end to finally stop Dorothea from constantly pestering and hounding her over her non-existent love life. Even without referring back to that very recent memory, she can still hear the shrill lilt of Dorothea's voice in her ears as if she is right there beside her this very moment. (Which is actually a pretty scary thought, as much as she loves the woman.)

'Edie, honestly,' Dorothea had sighed as she breezed right into Edelgard's penthouse that Saturday morning with all the nonchalance of someone who apparently didn't own the place.

Sometimes Edelgard wondered if giving her the passcode to her sanctuary was the right call after all. She was already henpecked as it is.

Dorothea sighed again, albeit pointedly and loudly this time, and Edelgard could feel her chiding gaze scorching into the side of her skull as she hovered close beside her.

She knew she wasn't supposed to be working on a Saturday – morning, much less – but as that saying went: there was no rest for the wicked. Or for a CEO of a multi-billion corporation. But that was beside the point.

As per their 'no work during weekends' agreement, Edelgard quickly saved and set her laptop aside, glancing up to meet her best friend's reproachful look in the most dignified of manner she could possibly muster.

But nevertheless, Dorothea was none too impressed.

'You know if you keep this up, you're going to burn out, live out a sad life in a mansion filled with cats and die alone, right?'

'Sounds like a dream actually,' Edelgard chuckled wryly, rolling at her shoulders to loosen the tension that had gathered in them, what with her piss-poor posture and all.

Dorothea scoffed, waving her off with some vague motions in the air. She huffily plopped herself down in the seat beside Edelgard at the kitchen counter.

'You need to find someone. Hook up. Spice up your life a little.' She stopped short just then, staring Edelgard dead in the eye. There was something about the look she had that gave Edelgard pause. 'Give me your phone.'

It lasted for about one stone-cold moment where their gazes remained fixedly lock on each other, the tension thick and palpable in the air.

And then it all snapped the very second their stares collectively dart across to the phone sitting by her laptop's side.

For someone who was never the athletic type, Dorothea was apparently lightning quick with her reflexes. Because in the next second, before Edelgard – captain of GMU's renowned fencing team, and all-round athletic type since high school – could even get off her ass to do anything, her phone was already in Dorothea's hands.

'W-wait, Dorothea! What are you doing with my phone?'

Edelgard could literally pinpoint the very instance where she regretted ever sharing the same passcode lock on her phone as her apartment.

'I'm creating you a Tinder profile, duh. Say cheese!'

'What the f–'

Needless to say, she was helpless to the lens of her phone being shoved in her direction.

It was a whim.

Still is a whim, brought on by the idleness of a boring Saturday evening where work is forbidden and there are no books left for her to pore through, and nothing substantial on TV to watch other than that mindless trash reality show, see: Married At First Sight – which Edelgard would rather shoot herself in the head than sink low enough to even come close to indulge in.

Unfortunately, due to circumstances, Tinder is literally her best bet for some form of entertainment this evening.

Unfortunately.

The interface of Tinder, as explained by Dorothea, is as idiot-proof as it gets. Swipe right, if you're interested. Swipe left, if you're not. Swipe up, if you’re super interested. Not that Edelgard knows what she meant by that, but the hardest part of the entire app is to write up an engaging bio.

"Which I've got you covered for, Edie." Dorothea grinned, winking over at Edelgard who was squinting hard over her shoulder to read the fine text under the surprisingly good picture Dorothea had taken of herself despite being caught off guard.

"'Do not be fooled by how I look, I can and will chug down 30 chicken nuggets in one sitti–' No one needs to know that!" Edelgard shrilled, mortified. She launched in a desperate attempt for her phone, but Dorothea was quicker and happened to be much, much taller.

She tsked quietly at Edelgard, wagging a playful finger. "It stays, solely for the fact it gives you a little more character than that stuffy CEO persona you're so hellbent on putting on all the time now. College Edie was so much more fun."

"That was one time, Dorothea!"

But in all honesty, Edelgard didn't even think she'd get past the first five profiles of this silly dating app – that had apparently taken the rest of the world by storm – before giving up.

But here she is, on her sixth profile where the striking face of her college Professor peers back up at her silently.

Out of sheer morbid curiosity, she taps at her Professor's profile, pulling up her full bio page.

'I like to teach.' Is apparently all that it reads.

Short, clipped and straight to the point. Edelgard chuckles fondly. Even the picture of her is a nondescript, professional head-shot, and the only picture she has in her profile. One that is no doubt taken from the 'faculty' portion of her university's yearbook – as Edelgard would know, having sifted through it countless of times over the years since her graduation five years ago.

She wonders how she looks like now.

If she's still the very vision that Edelgard remembers her to be. Ruffled hair and soft features, stoic and unsmiling for the most part. But on the rare occasions... Edelgard swears her smiles are downright lethal in the way they are heart-stopping.

Edelgard lets out a soft, wistful sigh that borders on longing.

If Dorothea were here, she'd call her lovesick – though, Edelgard doesn't think she's too far off from that assumption.

Thumb hovering – trembling – over the face of her college Professor, for the first time in a long time, Edelgard falters. Her heart is pounding, roaring in her ears as she wills her hand to cease in its shaking to no avail.

She is the CEO and chairman of the board to the Adrestia Corporation-cum-empire for goddess' sake. It is most unbecoming of her to behave in this wishy-washy way. She's no longer that college undergrad who happened to have the hots for their ridiculously good-looking Professor.

She is –

Just then, her phone buzzes, popping up with a text notification:

Dorothea:

Met any hot girls/guys yet? ;) 9:34pm

Edelgard practically groans out loud at that, rolling her eyes in exasperation. In her haste and impatience to skip over the notification, she had accidentally swiped upwards, instead of the intended 'right' on her professor. In that very moment, Edelgard sees her short twenty-five years of life flash before her eyes.

The following seconds that ensue after almost seem to stretch on forever.

The extreme mortification settles in soon enough as her brain registers the blocky blue text that is now stamped across her Professor's unsmiling face.

SUPER LIKE

Edelgard doesn't breathe for a second, and when she finally does, it is to take in a long, suffering breath that rattles her ribs.

She grips tight at her phone, her other hand reaches for her temples.

After this, she is going to kill Dorothea Arnault.

She is –

It's a Match!

You and Byleth have liked each other.

"What the fuck."

Chapter Text

“You what now?” 

It literally takes the culmination of all of Edelgard’s experiences and practice at social graces to school her face into a mask of neutrality – to not look too smug – at Dorothea’s face of incredulity. Sometimes, it just feels so good to beat her at her own game. 

She had even taken the liberty to make that fifteen minutes walk down to the opera house from her office in Fódlan’s sweltering summer heat to personally invite her out for lunch.

Just so she can gloat in her face.

“Professor Byleth Eisner from GMU,” Edelgard says, evenly. Even though this is her second time repeating this, no matter how much willpower she has, her voice cannot betray the excitement buzzing through her. “She took us for Intro to Econs in our second year? Yeah, we matched on Tinder last night.”

“The super hot genius professor who you had a big fat crush on the whole time through Uni?”

“Yes, Dorothea,” grits Edelgard, all the while pinning Dorothea down with a glare that looks a lot less menacing with that hot pink blush on her cheeks. “That’s the one.”

In the time spent knowing Dorothea, she has learnt from the hard way to not play right into her hands. Apparently, outright denial and attempts at indifference will only fuel her on harder and stronger, as Edelgard’s experience would serve her. She’d rather be humiliated once than play the fool twice – or thrice – over, thank you. 

“Shut up!” Dorothea lurches forward in her seat animatedly, eyes brimming with laughter as she slams her palms down onto the table of their diner booth, rattling its contents. “No way!”

Edelgard slides her phone on over to her, screen flashing with said-dating app open and the Professor’s face with the text ‘It’s a Match!’ scrawled across. “Yes way.”

Dorothea draws out a dramatic gasp, and literally scrambles over herself to snatch the phone off the table to better inspect the Professor’s profile. Edelgard watches her in expectant silence as she oohs and aahs over the Professor’s single profile picture – the one with the professional head-shot – and when she pulls out her full bio page, she breathes out a quiet chuckle. “This is definitely Professor Byleth, alright.” 

“It is very her,” concurs Edelgard, looking over at the image of her Professor with a soft, almost fond smile that doesn’t go unmissed by Dorothea.

She hands Edelgard back her phone, eyes now sparkling with open interest and glee. “So, are you guys texting yet?” 

“Um, no?”

Dorothea immediately stops short and does a double-take. “You’re not?”

“No.”

“Seriously?” Edelgard thinks she almost looks scandalised just then. “It’s been what? Nearly a full day since you two matched, and you still haven’t texted her?”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m too busy running a multi-billion dollar empire. Besides, if the Professor wants to start a conversation, she can always just text first anyway.”

Dorothea sighs, shaking her head and tut-tutting quietly, “Edie, Edie… Edie.” 

When she reaches over to clasp her hand over Edelgard’s on the table, her gaze is filled with sympathy, darkened with a look that vaguely reminds Edelgard of a war-torn soldier who has seen their comrades fall one too many times.

She gently squeezes Edelgard’s hand and looks her deep in the eye.

“Welcome to lesbian dating hell: where no one ever makes the first move.”

For the rest of the day, Edelgard allows Dorothea’s words to stew at the back of her head, all through the countless meetings and mountains of paperwork that needed to be done by the end of her evening, and it’s only when she’s back in the comfort of her luxurious penthouse that she finally takes it out of the back-boiler to mull it over properly.

Fresh out of the shower and dressed down in a simple shirt and shorts, Edelgard lazes against the length of her lounge with her feet kicked up haphazardly against its side, one hand idly swirling at her glass of red wine, the other half-heartedly scrolling through her feed of unread emails on her phone. In the background, her TV drones on with the titular personalities of the trash reality show, Married At First Sight, going at each other’s throats once again. Not that Edelgard’s been actually watching or anything. She’s just too lazy to get off her ass to reach across for the TV remote on the coffee table, but she’s sure that Jess is cheating on Mick with Sam or something along those lines as how trash TV usually goes.

In the meantime, between the shrill screech of Jess from the TV and her feeble attempt to busy herself with work emails, Edelgard finallyallows herself to ruminate over Dorothea’s cryptic words.

‘Do I even want to know?’ Edelgard intoned with a quiet sigh that hinted at the barest trace of exasperation. At this point, she had known Dorothea for far too long to be even fazed by her theatrics anymore. 

‘Oh, Edie,’ Dorothea cooed affectedly, patting at her hand hearteningly like a mother would to a child who had fallen off their bike and gotten a boo-boo as a result. ‘You already do.’

But Edelgard was neither a child, nor did she have some theoretical boo-boo, and honestly speaking to Dorothea can be so trying sometimes. It made her want to tear her hair out and scream. But for propriety’s sake, Edelgard had opted for a calmer, more civil approach.

‘I’m going to up and leave you right now with the bill if you don’t cut this bullshit with me, Dorothea. We both know your schnitzel Caesar salad didn’t exactly come cheap.’

The ensuing wide-eyed look of sheer horror from Dorothea was by far, the most gratifying thing for Edelgard that day.

‘Alright, fine. I’ll cut straight to the chase.’

‘Thank you.’

 ‘Honestly, Edie,’ Dorothea huffs, pouting, ‘you literally just said so yourself–‘

Without batting an eye or missing a beat, Edelgard rose to her feet, hand shooting for her purse.

Ever so calmly, Dorothea raised a halting finger in turn, albeit the alarm in her eyes had betrayed the tranquillity she meant to project. ‘Sit down, please. I’m getting there, I swear.’

Edelgard acquiesced and sat herself back down in her seat once more, looking to Dorothea archly. Her fingers were still clenched over her purse, a silent warning that she would abide by her previous words of ditching her – best friend or not.

‘”If the Professor wants to start a conversation, she can always just text first anyway.” Did it not cross your mind that the Professor may be thinking the same thing too?’

Edelgard froze, pursing her lips. The tiniest inkling of doubt flittered through her head, seeding in her chest.

‘If she shares the same thoughts as you, sad to say Edie, the two of you will be inevitably caught in a stalemate.’

‘Then, what?’ 

Dorothea shrugged. ‘Then, nothing. She’ll probably just be another match who you’ll never speak to because the timing for conversation has passed, and it becomes awkward to even try later. It’s basically now or never.’

Edelgard sighs. “It’s now or never,” she murmurs absently to herself, turning the words experimentally over her tongue. “Now or never,” she repeats, looking down at her phone with the Tinder app open and the cool, cobalt eyes of her Professor staring back at her. Steeling herself with a deep, shuddering breath, she pulls up the message function of the app with trembling fingers. “It’s now or never.”

And as Edelgard begins the agonising process of constructing a perfect greeting, a shadow of unease crosses her, settling deep in her stomach. She feels slightly nauseous, what with the way her heartbeat seems to roar, thudding loudly in her ears like a constant bassline, and her palms turning clammy as the seconds tick by in excruciating slowness.

Minutes pass, and Edelgard is sure she has typed and deleted at least six different versions and variations of ‘Hey Professor!’ within the past fifteen minutes.

With a groan (whimper), she decides to take a brief moment to herself, setting her phone down and righting herself up on the lounge, one hand cradling at her wine glass while the other pinches at her nose bridge. 

This is completely unbecoming of her, Edelgard knows. Her hands are shaking slightly – heart still pounding – and it feels like she has eaten a frog for dinner. She can’t even remember the last time she had felt this on edge and high-strung.

She has literally spearheaded countless business conferences before, spoken to large crowds, lead and presented at board meetings, but, somehow, texting her professor from college is the one thing that she can’t do without breaking down into a nervous wreck.

Edelgard steals an abashed peek down at her flashing phone.

The Professor is still staring up at her, her gorgeous blue eyes boring deep into her soul. 

(And she can’t deny to herself just how much she wants to see her again.)

Taking a swig of her wine for liquid courage, Edelgard picks up her phone and rapidly types up a short but simple greeting. “It’s now or never,” she says, with a little more conviction this time.

She steels herself with a deep, long breath, and right as she is about to will her thumb to hit ‘send’, her phone had chimed with a notification that took her off-guard.

 “She texted me,” Edelgard breathes, her voice a tremulous whisper. She blinks, does a second take – a third one, for good measure – and swoons. “Oh my god, the Professor texted me!” 

Edelgard’s heartrate skyrockets, soaring to euphoric levels. She buzzes with excitement and elation, and would have probably jumped to her feet and dance for joy if she weren’t holding on to her glass of wine, but that’s beside the point!

The Professor texted her.

She actually texted her first, and now she’s out of lesbian dating hell! (Dorothea can suck on that.)

But first, she’s got to text the Professor back.

Returning her attention back to the flashing screen of her phone, reality begins to sink in for Edelgard then, her shoulders sagging under the weight of it all.

She’s got to text her back.

Making a mad scramble for her phone, Edelgard fumbles with typing back her response.

And then she sits and waits with her heart in her throat, fingers restlessly curling and uncurling, tapping away at the back of her phone, all the while watching the flashing ellipse at the bottom of her screen taunt her with the Professor’s reply.

She takes another swig of wine, hoping the burn of alcohol would settle the thrum of nervous energy through her when –

Edelgard promptly chokes, spitting out her wine in a spray of ruby red that would no doubt stain her plush designer carpet.

“FUCK!”

Chapter Text

“DOROTHEA!” 

In that very instance, Edelgard doesn’t know which would make for a more comical picture.

Her, blustering down into Dorothea’s humble abode in a pair of silk slippers and a very conspicuous dark stain on her shirt, silver-spun hair wind-blown and dishevelled from her five minutes dash across the street to Dorothea’s apartment building — looking like an insane person who is completely off their rockers

Or.

The monster that is Dorothea, situated on her lounge, dressed in nothing but a hot pink bathrobe with her face caked over in the exquisite clay mask that Edelgard had gotten her during her business trip to Korea. All the while attempting to sip on her cocktail and paint her toes at the same time, albeit clearly failing from the looks of the splotch of red beyond the confines of her nail — no thanks to Edelgard’s abrupt entrance. 

“Marvellous!” Dorothea sighs, throwing her hands up in vexation at the apparent mess of her toe. Glancing over at Edelgard, she sends her a saccharine smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Not that Edelgard can tell from the elaborate facial she has on at the moment. “Edie! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this… wonderful evening?”

Without missing a beat, Edelgard forges forwards, thrusting the flashing screen of her phone out in front of her.

“Professor Byleth just asked me out,” she announces breathlessly, still winded from her mad dash across the street. Though, at this point, Edelgard isn’t too sure if she’s actually puffed out or breathless from excitement. 

Probably both.

A moment passes in expectant silence as Dorothea squints to read the fine exchange between Edelgard and their Professor. 

“Oh wow, she did,” Dorothea murmurs after a beat. She looks over at Edelgard in quiet wonder. 

Edelgard retracts her hand — and along with it, her phone. She stares down at the grey bubbles of text, heart pounding and mind racing with a million and one thoughts as she reads and re-reads the Professor’s invite for tea. Right up till the point where the text on her screen starts to morph, the connotation behind each letter begins to twist. On her fifth re-read, a cold sliver of doubt hits her square in the chest, flooding her veins like liquid ice. 

Suddenly, it all just sounds too good to be true. 

Clutching at her phone whilst still breathing hard, Edelgard begins to pace the short length of Dorothea’s lounge room, her lip worried between her teeth and a knot between her brows. 

“Then again, maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions, and it’s not actually a date.” Edelgard cards her fingers through her hair, tugging at its roots, dishevelling it further in the midst of her spiral. She pauses in her pacing to peer over at Dorothea, eyes wide with apprehension. “But is it though?”

Dorothea snorts, “Oh, calm down, you worry-wart!” She waves Edelgard off with an airy flick of the hand, then sips on her drink. “And sit down. Your pacing is giving me PTSD flashbacks from our time at the dorm.”

“Sorry,” Edelgard mumbles, obliging. Obediently, she plops herself down next to Dorothea on the lounge, shoulders sagging — spirits deflating.

Beside her, Dorothea sighs loudly. Edelgard can feel the weight of her gaze bearing down on her as she regards her, watching her quietly. After some time, Dorothea finally lets out a chuckle. “Some things just don’t change, huh, Edie?” she says softly, almost wistfully. 

Curiously, Edelgard chances a glance up at her, only to find that her emerald-green eyes are bright and full of fondness. 

“I swear you used to keep me up all night during Finals week. Pacing about with your head buried in that textbook of yours.”

“Urgh, don’t remind me.”

Dorothea shoots up in her seat as if struck by an epiphany. She eagerly taps Edelgard on her wrist in rapid succession. “Hey! Maybe I should move back in with you. For old time’s sake? I’m sure you have plenty of rooms to spare in that huge luxurious penthouse you’ve got there.” She bats her lashes and winks. 

However, her renowned charm is unfortunately lost on Edelgard when she’s looking the way she is right now; hair held back in a towel that matches her hot pink ensemble, paired with that atrocious clay mask plastered across her face. Ridiculous is what she looks, not that Edelgard would ever say that out loud, lest she invokes one of Dorothea’s diva-tantrums. 

“Oh, shut up!” Edelgard laughs despite herself, lightly shoving her best friend in jest. 

Dorothea grins cheekily in turn — well, as cheekily as she can with her mask on — and nudges Edelgard back in playful retaliation, as they soon find themselves engaged in a round of lighthearted play-fight, filling the air with laughter and giggles. When they’ve settled, and Edelgard inevitably emerges as champion of their ‘fight’, Dorothea reaches over to offer Edelgard her drink as a prize.

“You feeling better about yourself now?”

Edelgard nods, smiling mildly, cheeks now flushed from exertion. She takes up on Dorothea’s offer, sipping out of her cocktail glass and immediately recoils on first taste. Whatever it is, it’s stiff, it’s cloyingly sweet, and it burns — not in a good way — the whole way down Edelgard’s throat. But she supposes as most alcohol goes, it still does the trick, so she continues to nurse on it all while Dorothea is occupied with cleaning up the smeared polish on her toe.

“Well, date or no date, you’re still going out for tea with the Professor and that’s still a win in my books!” Dorothea caps her polish with a flourish. Now that her mini crisis is dealt with, she turns to pin Edelgard down with an impish grin that she knows can only mean trouble. “So, tell me, what’s gonna’ be your getup for this not-date date?”

“Well, we’re meeting at quarter past 2 tomorrow. So, I’m probably just going to go straight from my office...?” Edelgard trails off, suddenly feeling more unsure of herself than ever upon catching the narrowed look of contemplation on Dorothea’s face as she takes the brief moment to size her up.

Edelgard balls at her fists, tamping down her urge to fidget. But Dorothea’s roving gaze is penetrating and intense, and Edelgard feels oddly exposed, sitting there in her badly stained shirt and her pair of short shorts. She almost wants to reach over for Dorothea’s throw to cover herself up, but ultimately decides against it, sitting herself straighter on the lounge.

It’s really not like Edelgard is unused to being put under a microscope. In fact, it’s something she’s subjected to everyday, being who she is — a young female CEO of one of the world’s biggest corporations. Everyday, her ability to lead is judged, her decisions questioned, and her person scrutinised by the board of directors on the sheer basis of her young age and gender. And everyday, she has to one up those slimy bastards in their game and put their feet in their mouths just to prove them wrong.

Pursing at her lips, Edelgard raises her chin and squares her shoulders, her training kicking in like a reflex when finally, Dorothea breaks the silence with an approving hum and a nod.

“You’re lucky you look hot in your work clothes or so Goddess help me, I’ll— ” Dorothea cuts herself off with a stilted breath. And it’s almost as if a bulb had gone off in her head as a sudden realisation dawns on her face, lips stretching into a sly grin. She jabs a playful finger at Edelgard. “Ah... I see what you’ve done there, Edie. You little minx, you!” 

Edelgard frowns, perplexed. “Am I going to get an explanation for this?” She intones flatly.

But Dorothea only grins on in that insufferable way that she normally does, a knowing glint in her eye, looking sufficiently smug over whatever it is she thinks she has figured out about Edelgard. 

“Edie, you sneaky, sneak! You're planning to blow the Professor away by showing her how much you’ve changed over the past five years— ”

“I’ve changed?” 

“—by casting aside your atrocious college fashion of oversized hoodies and brightly-coloured, hideously RED overalls—”

“Hey, they were comfy!” Edelgard doubles back, genuinely affronted.

“—for those sexy tights and that classic blazer and pencil skirt combo.” Dorothea moans, biting at her lip. She gazes over at Edelgard with open appreciation. “Oh, and those heels too. You can’t complete your outfit without them.” 

At the end of it all, Edelgard is left even more confused than she was before and she squints, narrowing her eyes sharply at Dorothea in her attempt to make sense of her drivel to no avail. Dorothea pays her no mind, and instead, presses on spiritedly, eyes alight with a wild glint.

“It’s clear as day!” She exclaims, throwing her hands into the air as if her words were gospel. She holds out a finger, more so to quell herself than anything else, and flashes Edelgard a devilishly ingratiating grin. “So, fuck me if I’m wrong, but you’re out to seduce the Professor with your womanly wiles.”

Edelgard stops short in puzzlement. “I... what?” 

She pauses, and it takes her a good second or so to properly process what Dorothea had just said, the absurdity of it all clearly slowing her brain down. 

“Okay, you’re wrong. But I’m not going to fuck you. You have Petra for that very reason.”

“I know, but there’s always room for a third.” Dorothea throws her a charming wink from beneath her clay mask.

Edelgard shoots her a withering look.

“I’m joking! Sheesh, calm down, Miss Uptight. I love you and all, Edie, but I don’t think I’ll be willing to share my Petra with you anyway. Best friend or not.” Dorothea waves her off flippantly, finally reclaiming ownership on the cocktail glass she had left in Edelgard’s care. She takes a long sip out of it, smacking her lips noisily. “All I’m saying is that if you wanted to seduce the Professor, you totally could.”

Edelgard swallows, silently deliberating over Dorothea’s words. She nibbles on her bottom lip and fiddles with a loose thread along the hem of her shirt.

“You... really think so?” she chances in a quiet voice, looking up sheepishly.

Dorothea snorts. “Uh, yeah!” she answers easily without even missing a beat — without hesitation and without doubt — and that earns a tiny smile from Edelgard in turn. 

As Dorothea scoots on closer towards her, she doesn’t even need to see the grin on Dorothea’s face to know that she’s absolutely thrumming with excitement for her. It’s there buzzing through the air between them — and the way Dorothea almost seems to bounce, vibrating in her seat beside Edelgard. 

She makes a lunge for Edelgard’s hands that are neatly folded on her lap, using it as a leverage to bring her in closer, so that she’s right up in Edelgard’s face. So close that Edelgard can see the flecks of teal and gold swirling in her eyes, bright and sparkling with levity.

Never mind personal space with Dorothea, it’s basically non-existent with her. But her excitement is decidedly contagious so Edelgard supposes she will let it slide this round.

“Now, if you can come by my place before work tomorrow and let me do your hair...”

Edelgard acquiesces with a soft sigh, albeit still smiling faintly.

“If you can style me up with something other than those Leia-buns you always do, then yeah sure, I'll come over.”

Needless to say, Dorothea had given her those Leia-buns again. 

Apparently, it makes her look fierce. 

Or so Dorothea claims. 

Though, really, Edelgard is starting to think that it’s the only hairstyle she actually knows. But whatever. Edelgard had pretty much resigned to her fate of having those buns, thirty minutes into sitting in front of Dorothea’s dresser with Dorothea fiddling about her silver tresses to no end. She was already running late as it is and cutting it close to missing her nine o’clock, so Edelgard supposes that it will just have to do. 

When Edelgard had finally gotten around to their agreed meeting spot at the quaint little café down the street across from Garreg Mach University — the one she would use to frequent as a student there — the Professor is already there, waiting.

She swallows, her breath catching, her heart hitching as soon as she spots the familiar mop of dark hair across the café, and it’s almost like time had stopped moving for Edelgard. For a moment, the rest of the world slips away and it’s just them both. Edelgard, standing by the entrance of the café, and her dearest Professor sitting by her lonesome self in a booth by the window, haloed by the stream of sunlight flooding in.

Edelgard watches her quietly then, simply taking it all in. 

The fact that the Professor is here — actually here — and sitting only a couple metres away from her. That this is not a dream or a figment of Edelgard’s imagination. Or some wishful thinking that a passing stranger with similar shock of dark hair and blue eyes could be her.

No.

This is real.

She’s here.

Edelgard clutches at her chest, feeling her heart clench — the way it did five years ago in a lecture hall filled with students. 

The Professor hasn’t quite noticed her yet, her attention fixated on the buzzing traffic outside, and Edelgard decides to take a moment or two to school herself together. She takes in a shuddering breath, stilling her quivering hands as she briefly checks her reflection in the café’s glass door. 

Once everything is in order, Edelgard straightens at her blazer jacket and steels herself, making a quick glance for the time.

Ten past two.

Edelgard lets out a breath and fiddles with the loose tendril of hair framing the side of her face.

“It’s now or never,” she murmurs under her breath, finally making a bee-line for the woman she has longed to see all this time.

“It’s good to see you again.” Edelgard stops, the clicking of her heels ceasing along the edge of the booth that the Professor had chosen for them that day. 

She watches as the Professor stills sharply in her idle stirring of her tea, shoulders tensing imperceptibly as she turns to look over in Edelgard’s general direction. When cobalt finally meets lilac, Edelgard allows the curl of a small smile to grace her lips. 

“Professor.”

“Edelgard,” the Professor breathes, eyes widening marginally in surprise. She then smiles, a rare, fleeting thing that is beautiful all the same. It stretches across her face, tugging at her lips and lighting up the very blue of her eyes. Edelgard had nearly forgotten how radiant her smiles are in person. “It’s been a while.” 

Edelgard shuffles into the booth, taking the seat across from the Professor. “Well, it has been five years,” she says, chuckling.

When she glances up at the Professor, she’s surprised to see that her former teacher is still smiling back at her, albeit with a soft, almost wistful look in her eyes. “It certainly has,” she murmurs absently. 

But the Professor quickly snaps out of it in her next blink. 

“I hope you still enjoy Bergamot tea,” she says, gesturing to the steaming cup that Edelgard only notices now that she had pointed it out. “I remember it being your favourite.”

“Oh, it still is.” Edelgard’s heart swells, bursting with a warmth that makes her skin tingle pleasantly. Her fingers delicately cradle against the heat of the cup as if it’s something precious, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Thank you, my teacher.” She grins broadly, unable to contain herself no longer. 

The responding smile on her Professor’s face is one that is absolutely breath-taking.

“So, Edelgard.” The Professor follows up by propping her chin on the edge of her palm, her head tilted at Edelgard in a manner she finds utterly adorable. “How has these five years treated you so far?”

And Edelgard tells her. 

She fills her in on how she had gotten a managerial role at one of her father’s smaller companies shortly after graduation. How she had worked her way up, toiled through blood, sweat and tears to eventually replace her ailing father as the new CEO of Adrestia Corporation. And the youngest one at that too — at only the tender age of twenty-five. 

She tells her everything.

And it’s just so easy to fall back onto old habits when she’s with the Professor, Edelgard thinks, that they somehow end up talking about anything and everything under the sun — as they always do during their tea times together.

From inconsequential matters like the daily life of the campus’ cats to the great dissertation of the John Lewis partnership to the likelihood of a summer wedding for Ferdinand and Hubert despite the latter’s aversion towards the sun or anything summery. 

There had been so much more that Edelgard wanted to say. So many more stories to regal her. Tidbits of gossip to fill her in on. But one look up at the Professor, and Edelgard suddenly stops short. For the first time since she had sat down, she sees the evidence of the years lost to them on the face of her dearest Professor. 

There’s just a tinge of a tan to her fair skin now — the barest hues of a sun-kissed gold that has only just began to lose its lustre — and a certain weariness that lines the corners of eyes that can only come with age and time.

It hits Edelgard hard then, the reality of those five long years bearing down on her like a steamroller.

It really has been five years since she had last seen the Professor.

Five years.

“What have you been up to all this time, Professor?” 

It’s a question that Edelgard has worn on her lips for days. Months. Probably even years. And it had rolled off her tongue before she can stop herself. But she supposes that there’s no denying what her heart wants. 

She needs to know.

The Professor seems to ponder on it for a second or two, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. 

“Sleeping,” she finally says, humming musingly almost to herself. “Lots of sleeping.”

Edelgard frowns. “Surely, you must be joking, Professor.” She looks to her Professor searchingly, but the Professor is still the enigma she remembers her to be five years ago, her face that ever so impassive mask. Though, her eyes are alight with a strange mirth.

“I actually took a couple years off teaching not long after you graduated. I only just returned to instructing a couple months ago,” the Professor explains with a shrug. “For the most part of my time, I had spent sleeping, and what was left of it — I suppose I had spent travelling around the world.” 

“So essentially you spent the last five years as a drifter.”

“That is correct.” The Professor nods.

“And hence the reason why you dropped off the face of the earth and no one could reach you then.” 

The Professor’s resulting answer is in the form of a sad, almost wan smile that strikes a chord in Edelgard’s heart. She doesn’t say anything else after that, choosing to stir at her tea absently as she stares down at an invisible speckle on the table, all while as Edelgard watches her silently.

She traces after the soft lines of her Professor’s features, mapping out the gentle slope of her nose, the swell of her cheeks and the strong angle of her jaw; the way the light catches in her hair and her eyes, dappling vibrant blue with flecks of gold and silver. 

Edelgard commits them all down to memory — lest she forgets. 

(Lest the day comes where the Professor chooses to up and leave, disappearing with the wind again.)

“I was searching for something,” the Professor finally admits after a prolonged beat, her voice hovering just above a whisper. Her eyes are unusually distant and faraway. 

“Did you end up finding whatever you were looking for?” 

The Professor only shrugs, a cryptic smile on her lips.

For what it’s worth, Edelgard prays that whatever it is she’s looking for, she finds it somewhere, somehow. Though, in saying that, Edelgard also knows what deflection is when she sees it, so she decides to steer their conversation on over to lighter matters such as:

“Out of curiosity, Professor, how did you end up on an app like Tinder in the first place?”

The Professor freezes mid-sip of her tea. For one inexplicable moment, Edelgard thinks she might have had the look of a deer caught in headlights. Though, she can’t be too sure, considering that it is the Professor that she’s talking about, and she isn’t exactly the easiest person to read.

Ever so slowly, the Professor sets her cup back down onto its saucer with an audible ‘clink’, shifting slightly in her seat.

“I... well,” the Professor stalls, rubbing at the base of her neck. If Edelgard doesn’t know any better, she would have thought her embarrassed. “Professor Manuela may have made an innocent remark the other day that I wasn’t getting any younger, and that for someone of my age I should, quote, ‘live a little.’”

The Professor twirls at her spoon, swirling her tea. “She also said I should go out and meet new people. Hook up, get hitched, and settle down.”

Edelgard arches a brow. Propriety forces her to hold her tongue as she occupies herself with a short sip out of her own cup of tea instead. The discordance of hearing the voice of her Professor, deliver the frivolous sort of drivel that is known of Manuela at her worst, is at best jarring. 

Odd, even. 

Though, since when did the Professor pay heed to the opinions of others anyway?

“But I disagreed,” the Professor says, unfazed.

But of course.

“She then went on to tell me that I was going to die alone in a house filled with cats, which honestly doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“It really isn’t,” Edelgard sighs in quiet understanding, having undergone the exact same spiel from a certain someone not too long ago.

The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, she thinks to herself. 

“But my father, he— ah, might have expressed the same sentiment as Professor Maneula a while back, so she suggested for me to try out this app.”

“So here you are.”

Professor Byleth nods. “Here I am.”

Edelgard takes a careful sip of her lukewarm tea. She watches the Professor from behind the rim of her cup, letting all that she had said to sink in and marinate for a beat — maybe two — before she takes in a breath to steel herself. 

She swallows, letting the fragrant tang of bergamot to singe her tongue, bolstering her on for what is to come next.

“So... have you had any luck in meeting anyone, Professor?” Edelgard hazards in a tiny voice, dropping her gaze to twiddle with her teaspoon. “Apart from myself, that is.” And even then, she can’t stop the familiar rise of a blush from burning the fringes of her cheeks.  

“Well, no one has actually managed to catch my eye,” the Professor says, and undeniably, a small part of Edelgard rejoices at that fact, the fluttery warmth in her chest taking her sky high—

“But I stumbled upon your profile the other night and it said that you had ‘super liked’ my profile — ”

—and then it plummets, crashing and burning in a heap of hellfire. 

“It was an accident, I swear!” Edelgard interjects vehemently, the panic causing her to lurch forward in her seat, slamming her palms down onto the table in a forceful display of her embarrassment. She catches herself immediately, albeit a second too late.

Without even needing to look in a mirror, Edelgard has no doubt that her blush has completely overtaken her face. She can feel the tell-tale heat scalding the tip of her ears, right up to the roots of her hair. 

Settling back into her seat, she takes in a deep breath, desperately trying and failing to regain her poise.

“My thumb slipped,” Edelgard explains lamely, hanging her head, unable to look her Professor in the eye. For now, Edelgard supposes, it is the official excuse that she is going to go with. Although, it isn’t exactly far off from the truth. (Not that the Professor needs to know.)

“Oh, so it was a fluke,” the Professor murmurs pensively. While she might have said it in her characteristic monotone, Edelgard had immediately picked up on the imperceptible edge to her voice; a certain stiltedness to her words that the Professor sometimes gets when someone had failed her class. 

Disappointment, as Edelgard has come to learn over the years. 

(That, and the way her wild mane of dark hair had seem to flop over with the fall of her shoulders, resembling the drooping ears of a kicked puppy.)

Edelgard back-pedals frantically.

“No! I mean. Yes, me ‘super-liking’ you was a mistake. But I can assure you, Professor, it was no fluke. I—” Edelgard sucks in a breath, her heart catching in her throat, wavering. But when her lilac gaze collides against dark cobalt blue, it is as if everything had fallen into place in that one single moment — and the Professor is all she could see. 

Stoic and heart-achingly beautiful. The very vision Edelgard remembers her to be five years ago. The breath that Edelgard has been holding onto all this time subconsciously leaves her, and with it, her previous panic, her doubts and her insecurities. For the first time that afternoon, Edelgard decides to throw caution to the wind, baring her heart out on her sleeves.

She tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear for confidence. 

“I was already planning to swipe right on you, anyway."

“Oh,” the Professor says, simply, albeit the light in her eyes seem to dance in content. “I’m glad.”

“You are?” Edelgard blinks, surprised.

Professor Byleth nods, smiling faintly — almost sheepishly to the trained eye. She picks at her teaspoon once more, tracing formless figures into her cooled tea in a half-hearted action. 

“When I stumbled onto your profile that night, I had thought to myself, that perhaps I wouldn’t mind it as much,” she pauses in her stirring, glancing up to look Edelgard square in the eye, “if it was with you.”

Edelgard thinks her heart might have stopped there and then.

A beat passes in silence.

“Hook up, get hitched, settle down?”

“Mmhmm,” the Professor nods in all seriousness. 

Edelgard flounders, trying her best not to gape. She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth, stops, then closes it again, only to repeat the entire cycle before finally giving up. She looks to the Professor helplessly, powerless to the blush that sears her cheeks. 

“Do you have any idea what those words even mean, Professor?”

“Vaguely.” The Professor shrugs.

Edelgard stares on, dumbfounded, feeling the steady tick of her pulse start to rise in her throat. 

“I... Wow.” Is apparently all that she’s able to manage at the moment.

In most situations, Edelgard would like to think she’s an eloquent speaker. Which she sure she is, given the reception for the speeches she has given at functions and galas. But for whatever reasons she cannot fathom, she’s often reduced to a bumbling mess in front of the Professor. 

Then again, Edelgard supposes she can only do so much when the woman she has always longed for suddenly tells her that she wants to ‘hook up, get hitched, and settle down’ with her. 

It’s just a lot to take in.

“You know, I have never been in a relationship before,” the Professor says, quietly, almost in a rasp of a whisper. So quiet that her words would have been lost to the fleeting breeze if Edelgard hadn’t been paying attention.

“Professor…?”

Edelgard glances up, tentatively seeking after the Professor’s cobalt gaze. But her Professor’s stare is staunchly fixed onto the porcelain of the teacup, clutched between the palm of her hands. 

“I’m twenty-eight this year and I have never been in a relationship before,” Professor Byleth repeats, a little louder this time. When she finally gazes up to meet Edelgard’s enquiring stare, there’s an unreadable glint to the blue of her azure pools. “And neither have my heart fluttered once for anyone.”

“Not ever?”

The Professor shakes her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “Sometimes I wonder if I have an un-beating heart,” she says, wryly, no doubt as means of a joke.

But neither of them are laughing.

The Professor sighs. “It’s frustrating,” she admits, pursing her lips. “I don’t understand the ‘butterflies in the stomach’ that everyone speaks of, and I don’t know of this… giddiness that is supposed to come with a crush.” 

The Professor peers down at the russet stillness of her tea, hanging her head, her grip tightening over her teacup. 

Edelgard thinks she might have seen it in the azure waters of her Professor’s eyes then, rising slowly like the tide — this burning want. It’s there in the toneless timbre of her voice, riding on the tail end of her words like the beginnings of a tempest, screaming: I want, I want, I want.

When she gazes up at Edelgard next, it almost seems to flare up, blazing with a scorching intensity that takes even Edelgard aback, so much so that she has to lean back a little to avoid getting burn; and with it, had brought on a conviction that Edelgard doesn’t know existed in the Professor until now.

“In a sense, Professor Manuela is right. I should live a little.” The Professor nods, eyes never once leaving Edelgard’s face. 

All as Edelgard stares back, transfixed by the stirrings of something wholly new, hiding behind her Professor’s stoic façade. 

“Call it a selfish whim but would you humour me with this one request, Edelgard?” 

“Yes, Professor?”

The Professor takes in a short breath, as if to steel herself. 

“Would you enter into a relationship with me and teach me how to love?”

Chapter Text

“I’m taking that it didn’t go well?”

Edelgard gives a dazed blink, slowly but surely emerging from the fog that has plagued her since her meeting with the Professor. It’s almost as if she’s awakening from a deep slumber. Her mind groggy and slow, her eyes heavy and her limbs sluggish. And when she squints, the image of Dorothea sitting with her legs crossed and arms folded on the lounge finally sharpens into focus.

“Huh?”

Dorothea sighs in half-exasperation, twirling at a lock of hair in the way she normally does when she’s frustrated – or antsy.

“Edie,” Dorothea huffs, leaning heavily onto the roll of her first consonant, and instinctively, Edelgard braces herself, recognising the tell-tale start of a rant. “You literally just stormed in here, helped yourself to my Pringles and beer – beer, Edie. I never thought I’d ever see you stoop this low again – and then proceeded to spend the next forty-five minutes just staring into blank space. I feel like I deserve a good explanation for this.”

Glancing down, Edelgard nearly recoils away in surprise, having noticed the aforementioned (half-empty) can of Pringles and beer – beer, for goddess’ sake! – in her hands for the first time.

Dorothea sighs again, and this time when she lays her gaze on Edelgard, it’s with a lot less heat. “Is everything okay?”

Edelgard swallows, gingerly setting the Pringles and beer back down where it belongs on the coffee table. She wipes her palms on her thighs – as if by doing so would somehow rid herself of the taint of her previous actions. But the abhorrent tang of beer mixed with the crumbs of sour cream on her tongue inevitably lingers on, and it’s all proving jarring for Edelgard and she can’t think, can’t focus.

She can’t even remember how she had ended up in Dorothea’s apartment in the first place.

One second she was lounging on her couch, contemplating life and rehashing her meeting with the Professor with the contestants of Bachelor in Paradise locking lips and wrecking relationships in the background. And the next second, she’s here in Dorothea’s apartment, crumbs on her face and beer in hand. Edelgard hasn’t had beer since she had discovered the existence of fine wine.

(Or more like, since the last time she nearly died doing a keg stand at some college party. But that’s a story for another day.)

Edelgard shakes her head, fighting back on a wince as she lays her palm on her forehead, fingers pressing into her temples in hopes to jot her muddled memory.

"I, uh…”

Overhead, Dorothea frowns, clicking her tongue and tut-tutting away at Edelgard’s bout of absentmindedness. “Goodness, Edie, the last time you were this out of it was when the Professor disappeared, and you lost all conta – ” She cuts herself off with a hitched breath, expression instantly sobering to that of fierce protectiveness, eyes blazing and jaw tight. “She stood you up, didn’t she?” Dorothea asks, her voice an unnatural quiet. The underlying ice in it does not go unnoticed by Edelgard.

From the tick in her jaw to the balled fists on her lap, Dorothea looks about seconds away from smiting the Professor at the given word, former educator-student relationship be damned.

“What? No!” Edelgard exclaims, shaking her head vehemently. She holds out her hands in a placating gesture – more so for Dorothea’s benefit. “No, she didn’t stand me up. We met and had tea.”

Dorothea settles back with a breath, the fire in her eyes winking out in a smoke of relief. Though, she immediately returns to her agitated hair twirling, further fuelling the restless thrum of energy in the air.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

Gnawing at her bottom lip till it’s worry-worn and sore, Edelgard twiddles at her fingers, stalling.

She knows, it’s unlike her to be this wishy-washy over anything. Running a multibillion-dollar corporation has made it so that she is to be certain of everything, confident in every sense of the word. Lest the sharks of the corporate world eat her whole for breakfast. It had steeled her, turned her heart to ice – sculpted her into the very image of an unfaltering, ruthless executive.

But yet, in the face of this whole situation with the Professor, Edelgard finds herself hemming and hawing away like a schoolgirl with a silly crush.

It’s unbecoming.

Breathing out a final sigh, Edelgard bites the bullet. With a heavy heart, she divulges Dorothea what had precisely gone down that afternoon.

“Isn’t everything all dandy then?” Dorothea waves her hand in an airy gesture. She breezes over to her bar and rummages through it noisily, all while keeping half an eye on Edelgard. “You’ve now finally attained the woman of your dreams, so shall I do us both a favour and pop a champagne or two?”

But the expression of Edelgard’s face remains fixedly pinched, brows drawn into a harrowed furrow. Deciding to expend some of the frenetic energy brought on by the stress of the situation, Edelgard jumps to her feet and begins pacing, worrying at her hands and her hair.

“Were you not listening, Dorothea? – ”

Dorothea sighs, muttering under her breath to no one in particular. “The sad-time baileys it is then.”

Surreptitiously, she slides the two bottles of champagne back where it lives behind the bar.

“– How am I supposed to teach the Professor how to love when I’ve not properly loved myself?”

Dorothea blinks, her forehead and eyes barely peeking from beyond the bar. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Edelgard nods glumly, legs still pumping back and forth along the length of Dorothea’s lounge room. So preoccupied with her own worries, she completely misses the look of incredulity that Dorothea throws her.

When Dorothea returns to the lounge, it is with two tall glasses of baileys and milk, nearly flooding over its brims. The perfect comfort drink, as Dorothea would call it, and for the first time, Edelgard agrees. She settles back against the lounge with her legs curling beneath her, and holds a glass out to Edelgard, silently baiting her to cease in her pacing.

She succeeds.

Taking the drink into her hands, Edelgard compliantly sink backs into her spot on the lounge without protest, sipping away on Dorothea’s concoction like a soothed kitten.

When all is finally set and calm, Dorothea sighs affectedly, her voice taking up on a softer, almost gentle cadence when she speaks next. “Edie, you’ve literally spent five years pining after the woman. Seven, if you count the years in Uni. If that’s not love, then I need to get my eyes checked.”

Edelgard makes a strangled noise that is a cross between a choke and a sputter as she struggles to hide her blush behind a particularly large swig of Baileys. But other than that, she doesn’t say anything else, choosing to stew in her chagrin with her head bowed low.

A minute passes them by with only the sound of Edelgard’s incessant tapping of her fingers against her glass droning away in the background, and with each ensuing tap, she can feel the exasperation behind Dorothea’s emerald gaze begin to grow.

“Honestly, Edie, I don’t see why you should even be stressing yourself over something like this. It’s Professor Byleth we’re talking about, I’m sure it’ll all work out someh– ”

“It’s precisely because it’s Professor Byleth that I – ” Edelgard catches herself with a hitched breath. She hadn’t even realised she had raised her voice until she had slammed her glass down with a particularly loud ‘thunk’ and glanced up into the stunned face of Dorothea staring back at her – her eyes wide and mouth ajar.

Shoulders falling with a sigh, Edelgard deflates back into the lounge, abashed. She buries her face into the comforting cradle of her hands as if curling in on herself.

“The Professor trusted me with this. And I just…” Edelgard falters despite herself. She sucks in a breath, peering up at Dorothea through between the gaps of her fingers. Sheepishly, in a tiny voice, Edelgard mumbles, “I just don’t want to do anything wrong by her, you know?”

Dorothea regards her for a long moment, gaze softening. When Edelgard meets her eyes next, she recognises the steely determination in them – the look that Dorothea gets when her mind is set on something, and there’s no way in stopping her. In the next second, Dorothea is sitting beside Edelgard on the lounge, having scooted closer, and she reaches over, gently prying Edelgard’s face from her hands as she pushes the glass into her palms, urging her to drink.

“Alright, hunker down, and let the wise Dorothea shed some words of wisdom upon you.” Dorothea cracks her neck and straightens her back, clearing her throat. She inhales in a deep breath and purses her lips, building on the anticipation and playing into her usual theatrics – all as Edelgard awaits expectantly.

While Dorothea might come across as a tad airy-fairy at times, it is through the years that Edelgard has come to realise that there is in fact a certain sagacity to her words.

That, and her advice is, often times, what Edelgard needs to hear the most.

“Talk to her, go on a couple of dates. Be a proper couple. Have some fights, kiss and then make up. It’ll be slow and sometimes even painful, and we all know it’s going to be filled with all sorts of ups and downs.”

Dorothea smiles, shrugging, as she takes a languid sip from her own glass of baileys. When their gazes cross, her emerald orbs are warm and inviting, glittering bright with a knowing twinkle. Leaning over towards Edelgard, she affectionately flicks her between her brows, giggling when Edelgard flinches and gasps, looking seemingly affronted by the action.

“But hey, who said you should go into this alone anyway? You can always just learn to love together, you silly-goose.”

But then Dorothea pauses, expression growing thoughtful – more serious.

“Though if I were you, Edie, I’d probably start planning the hooking up and getting hitched part of the Professor’s agenda. I mean, is that part of her five-year plan for this relationship or…”

Edelgard sighs, fiddling with her phone in hand, absently scrolling through the chatlog of messages she has with the Professor so far. Bubbles of blue and grey flood her vision as she toils away at her bottom lip.

It’s been nearly a week since she had matched with the Professor on Tinder.

Five days since their meeting at that little-known café by GMU.

Five days since Edelgard agreeing to enter into a relationship with her former Professor on the sole purpose of teaching her how to love.

And very honestly?

Edelgard has no idea what to expect from their whole… arrangement.

She has taken Dorothea’s ‘words of wisdom’, processed it, slept on it, thought long and hard about it, and ultimately – she had decided to take them to heart.

Learning to love together seems a lot less scary when placed into perspective. As opposed to trying to shoulder everything by herself as Edelgard would have probably done so without Dorothea’s sobering advice.

(As for hooking up, getting hitched and settling down… Edelgard supposes they’ll just cross that bridge when they get there.)

But it’s all just so hard when they haven’t actually spoken or texted much since, apart from the obligatory ‘how are you’s and ‘how’s your day been’s. They can only go so far with their texts before one is left hanging while the other is forced back to their responsibilities. Though, Edelgard supposes there’s really no helping it.

The Professor has her instructing to do, and Edelgard…

Well, Goddess knows how many meetings she has crammed in a day alone. Not to mention the amount of paperwork that awaits her in her office when she returns.

There’s no rest for the wicked, it seems.

Though now, standing within the confined space of the lift, Edelgard allows herself a minute for a breather while she patiently waits for her floor.

She sighs again, thumbs hovering over the empty chat bar of her iPhone’s standard messaging app. Silently, Edelgard wonders if she should send a text off to the Professor to see how she’s doing. It would definitely do her spirits well, from her otherwise lousy afternoon, just knowing that the Professor is doing good – or at least better than she is at the moment.

But just as Edelgard is about a word into typing an upbeat greeting to the Professor, the lift chimes with her floor.

Edelgard draws in a deep, albeit exasperated breath, as she silently pockets her phone.

On the outside, she’s the very image of serene calm, but on the inside – oh, she’s screaming, alright.

It just seems like nothing is going her way today.

She had missed her alarm and woken up on the wrong side of bed this morning, couldn’t get her hair to cooperate into the low bun she normally wears and had to settle for an off centre pony-tail instead – and neither did she get her daily pick-me-up of Bergamot tea from running late.

And if Edelgard had thought her day had started off bad enough, she had to spend her entire morning sitting through a banal board meeting filled with entitled white men trying to one up each other at their own petty games.

Men that she knows are vying to usurp her position as chairman of the board if given the chance but are too afraid to begin to even try – given Edelgard’s mighty reputation when it comes to sniffing out a coup from miles away.

With a tongue as sharp as knives, able to kill without drawing blood, paired with the power to put anyone into bankruptcy with a simple snap of her fingers; a good majority of the board knows better than to trifle with Edelgard, lest they invoke her fiery wrath.

Though, it would seem that there had been a couple new additions to the board who have been particularly… trying… as of late.

Two bright-eyed and bushy-tailed executives with neatly pressed designer suits, chests puffed with a particular brand of arrogance commonly associated with their sort. The kind of overly ambitious young men that think they’re the hottest stuff in the room based off the fact that they came from an Ivy League college.

Edelgard knows their type well.

For the most part, they had been rude, talking over Edelgard and rolling their eyes when she did, all while the rest of the board broke out in cold sweat. The final straw was when the one with the particularly boxy face, whose name for the life of Edelgard she cannot remember, started talking down to her as if she was some fresh recruit that didn’t know any better than her own corporation. If there’s one pet hate that Edelgard has – it’s mansplaining.

Needless to say, the board meeting had ended on a sour note, with two utterly crushed spirits and Edelgard, in a progressively worse mood than she did before.

In all, it has been a bad day.

And just when Edelgard thinks it can’t get any worse, she pushes through the twin mahogany doors to her office, only to be met with the insufferable face of one Claude von Riegan grinning roguishly at her from behind her desk.

In her office chair.

Catching Edelgard’s eye, Claude greets her with a cheery two-fingered salute.

“Heya, Princess!”

“Claude,” Edelgard bites out stiffly in turn. She can feel the beginnings of a migraine throbbing in her temples as she steps further into her office that is apparently overtaken by the person she least wants to see.

All she had wanted was to have a moment of respite to herself in the privacy of her office. But of course, the Goddess has had other plans for her.

It’s no wonder that Edelgard is not exactly the most religious of people.

“Say, this is a pretty nice throne you’ve got here,” Claude remarks, patting and squeezing along the material of Edelgard’s chair with a careless flippancy. “Where did you get it from? IKEA?”

“It’s a custom-made chair designed ergonomically to my needs, directly imported from Italy,” Edelgard says, chewing her words out slowly through gritted teeth.

“Oh, that must explain why it’s set so low then.”

Edelgard feels her jaw ticks at the subtle jab. She narrows her eyes at her former classmate, staring him down coldly, her tone clipped. “What do you want, Claude?”

“What, can’t I drop by to say ‘hi’ to an old friend?” The furrow in Edelgard’s brows only deepens further at the glowing megawatt grin on Claude’s face as he reclines back in her chair and crosses his legs, propping them over her desk.

Edelgard’s fingers clench and unclench reflexively at the action, almost tempted to reach over to pinch her bridge in frustration. But she knows better than to play right into Claude’s hands. Instead, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. Hard. Trying to rein in her cool.

“How did you even get past Hubert in the first place?” Edelgard asks curtly, the unwavering calm to her voice belying her growing exasperation.

Claude rolls his shoulders airily, shrugging. A small sheepish smile splits across his roguishly handsome face.

“He was on his toilet break?”

Re-directing her ire, Edelgard turns to glare accusatorily over her shoulder, past the undrawn blinds of her office at her personal assistant, sitting out by his desk.

As if sensing the weight of Edelgard’s stare on him, Hubert glances up from his paperwork. His eyes widen sharply at the foreign presence of Claude in Edelgard’s office, having noticed him for the first time. He pales, his already pasty complexion draining off all colour as it leeches into a sheer ashen-white. To Edelgard, he mouths a brief word of apology before dropping his head shamefully to resume his work.

Edelgard allows herself a vexed sigh.

“Whatever,” she says, shaking her head absently. She veers her attention back to Claude, fixing him with a withering look, eyes hard and lips thin. “The only other time you ever ‘drop by’ is when you need something from me. So, cut the bullshit and state your business.”

Claude responds by clutching at the wrinkled cloth of his Armani suit, pretending to be struck in the chest. “Oof, ice-cold, Princess! You wound me.” He coughs theatrically.

But Edelgard remains unimpressed.

Unfazed and likely used to the lack of reaction on Edelgard’s part, Claude takes it all in stride with a large disarming grin. “I really am here on a personal visit, though.”

“And I’m really not in the mood for your games, Claude.” She sniffs, folding her arms across her person and shifting her weight from foot to foot. “If you wish to carry on with it, I will not hesitate to have you escorted out of the building.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

Edelgard regards him for a moment, unsmiling and sullen.

Wordlessly, she forges onwards, heels clicking after her like a death march until she is standing, towering forebodingly over Claude from the edge of her desk. She stays there for a tense beat, simply glowering down at him. But when she’s met with nothing but a careless shrug and a sunnily blithe smile from Claude, Edelgard makes her move.

“Security?” she says, leaning forward to speak into the intercom that crackles to life on her desk.

The reaction she gets from Claude is instantaneous. He fumbles into an upright position in her chair, holding his hands up in surrender as the mirthful spark in his sea-green eyes zaps away into something akin to horror.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Alright, okay. I get it. No games.” He gingerly rises to his feet, holding Edelgard’s chair out towards her in a placating gesture. “Look, you can even have your throne back if you so need a boost of a power trip. Or perhaps you’ve grown used to the view up there?”

Edelgard’s glare darkens briefly, and it’s all the warning Claude gets before she jams a finger down onto her intercom without missing a beat. Right as she is about a breath away from actually contacting her security team, Claude finally rushes out with an eloquent string of words:

“I have a business proposal for you, Edelgard.”

Edelgard rolls her eyes hard at Claude’s admission, albeit any harder she is sure they are liable to keep on rolling right out of her skull.

Was it that hard for him to cut straight to the chase?

Settling back and reclaiming her ‘throne’ as Claude has kindly put it, Edelgard allows a weary sigh to escape her parted lips. She absently gestures for Claude to take the empty seat across from her desk, which he does so with a minute degree of hesitation.

“Didn’t you claim that this was a personal visit?” Edelgard asks wryly.

“It’s an informal proposal.” Claude points out with a wink and a winning grin, whose charm is unfortunately lost on Edelgard. “I have nothing drawn up. Well, at least officially. As far as anything is concerned, there is no paperwork. No contracts. Just two old friends chatting about the possibilities of drawing up a successful merger together.”

“A merger?” Edelgard narrows her eyes critically.

“Of Hrym and Ordelia.” Claude nods with a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

It’s almost fascinating then, to watch as the laughter in his eyes fade, replaced by a cold sobriety that is commonly seen in businessmen and women alike when prepared to sell their pitch. He straightens in his seat, tugging at his creased collar.

“As you already know, Ordelia is one of Leicester’s Group apparel company that has a better brand reach. But in light of our quarterly finance report, there has been a fifteen-percent drop in sales, no thanks to our shared competitor – Cobra.” Claude chuckles dryly, albeit absent is his usual humour.

He cards a finger through his stylishly unkempt hair, throwing Edelgard a charming smile. “On the other hand, Adrestia Corporation has Hrym. A relatively small shoe company, which I am very inclined to believe – still has a huge potential for expansion. With Ordelia’s brand reach and Hrym’s room for growth, we may stand a better chance in taking those snakes down together than alone.”

“Taking Cobra down together, huh,” Edelgard murmurs, tapping at her chin contemplatively.

While as attractive as an idea it is, there are still some things that she can’t simply overlook.

Edelgard frowns, pinning Claude down with a dour look.

“If you think I’ve forgotten about that disaster with the Gronder acquisition a while back ago, I can assure you, I have not.”

“Yeah, it was quite a disaster.” Claude nods, pausing. He fixes Edelgard with an arch look, green eyes glinting meaningfully. “But, Edelgard, did it fall through in the end?”

“No,” Edelgard says, tone clipped and expression stony. But at the sight of Claude’s victorious grin, she inches forward in her chair, her hands folded primly on her desk. Her expression is pointed and dark. “But my trust in you most certainly did.”

For the first time that afternoon, a frown mars Claude’s face.

“Will you at least consider it, Edelgard?”

Edelgard sighs noncommittally. “We shall see.”

A moment passes in silence as she awaits Claude’s next move. It’s a mental game of chess they’re playing, and it’s taxing and draining and Edelgard wants nothing more than to be done and over this. Though, she knows that the only real way she can get out of this is when someone finally wins – or loses.

And they both know that she currently has Claude at ‘check’.

“How about this,” Claude begins with a breath, bending forward on his knees. He looks harried with his tousled hair and rumpled suit and that uncharacteristic frown on his face. “I know you are above bribery.”

“Yes, I am. So, whatever you’re planning on doing, Claude, I will not–”

Claude holds up a silencing finger, cutting Edelgard short.

“But I also know you’ve been hunting high and low for the antique vase of Seiros. Which I have recently procured from an arts dealer.”

Edelgard purses her lips, back stiffening sharply. Her nails prick deep into her palms as she balls her hands into fists on her lap beneath her desk.

“I mean, after all. This is just a personal visit. And I’m offering you this one-of-a-kind vase on account of our longstanding friendship through Uni and beyond. If you could do me one small favour – as a friend, of course.”

Edelgard lets out a long, suffering breath and pinches at her bridge hard. She has been scouring across the globe, contacting art collectors and dealers, pulling strings and making connections – all in search for that one antique vase.

Only to find that it had landed into the hands of her long-time frenemy.

Claude von fucking Riegan.

“Fine,” she says, throwing her hands up in acquiescence. “I’ll consider it. Draw it up on paper, but I won’t be signing anything unless my lawyer sees to it first.”

“Awesome, we’ve got ourselves a deal!” Claude stands, smile blinding and eyes full of cheer.

As per the duty of a gracious host, Edelgard begins the treacherous process of walking Claude out of her office and seeing him off at the lift, feeling more drained than she has ever been in a long time.

“Oh! And do send the Professor my regards. Hopefully, we’ll see her hanging off your arm at the coming gala dinner?”

Edelgard stops short, doubling back.

“How do you know of this?” She hisses, clutching at Claude’s sleeve and forcing him to standstill.

He flashes her a dazzling, albeit shit-eating grin that only serves to grind her gears more. “Are you forgetting who owns Tinder?” He winks, the mirthful twinkle in his eyes decidedly annoying.

“That’s an abuse of powe,” Edelgard points out, blandly, resuming their track down towards the lift.

Claude throws his head back in careless laughter. “Hey, you should be thanking me! I was pulling strings and tweaking the algorithm for you, sending all the best profiles your way.”

“In other words, you were snooping,” Edelgard deadpans.

“But you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Claude grins, smug and ingratiatingly self-satisfied of himself, and Edelgard wants nothing more than to wipe that stupid look off his face.

But alas, despite everything, she supposes she does owe him one after all.

She sighs. “Yes, I suppose, I did,” Edelgard murmurs quietly, the barest slight of a private smile tilting at her lips for the first time through their interaction that afternoon.

But it fades the second she jabs at the button for the lift.

“Send my regards to Dimitri as well, will you?” she sighs, checking her nails in faux disinterest. “It’s been a while since I’ve last seen that step-brother of mine.”

“Oh?” Claude starts, looking over his shoulder at Edelgard in surprise as he steps into the lift. “Someone has a trick up her sleeves.”

Edelgard smirks, lilac eyes glinting shrewdly with knowledge.

She shrugs airily.

“It helps that you reek of Dimitri’s shitty cologne.”

As if right on cue, the doors to the lift slide shut, leaving Edelgard to revel in the ensuing silence and Claude’s look of astonishment in the seconds before the doors had shut on him.

Oh, it’s just so gratifying to have the last word in.

Edelgard thunders out of Adrestia Corporation’s lift lobby with her heels echoing like the foreboding drum of a brewing storm. It is barely three in the afternoon, she knows, but she’s calling it quits for the day.

Well, not exactly.

Edelgard hefts at the weight of her laptop in her hand, adjusting her grip over its carrier while she fingers over the strap of her purse hanging off her other arm. She’s not usually one for working from home, but it seems like she would be far more productive there than her office at the moment – given her rotten luck all day.

What with that disaster of a board meeting in the morning and that whole run-in with Claude in the afternoon, Edelgard is sure she has burnt out the last of her patience for any sort of social interaction for the evening.

Or so she thinks, until she catches the tell-tale shock of dark hair on an all-too familiar frame, sitting back in one of the couches in the lobby reception of her corporation’s building.

Her heart stops. It squeezes at her once as her eyes dwell in disbelief, then it starts back up again, though it doesn’t quicken this time, it straight up skips and stumbles over the next beat.

“Professor, what are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

“Professor, what are you doing here?”

Scurrying over to the Professor, Edelgard watches it happen in slow motion.

Right from the point when the Professor turns to look over her shoulder, dark tendrils of hair stippled with sunlight bouncing off her back at the movement. The way her face lights up almost instantaneously at Edelgard’s approach, lips stretching into a radiant smile that reaches all the way into her eyes, setting those electric blue hues aglow.

Edelgard nearly stumbles in her step, her chest swelling – heart hitching – at having the wind knocked out of her by a simple gesture like a smile. Albeit, a rare smile coming from the Professor, no less.

She nearly forgets how to breathe.

By the time Edelgard comes to a stop, Professor Byleth is already on her feet, standing just a couple inches taller than herself, smiling warmly back at her.

“Edelgard,” she greets.

Standing barely an arm’s length away from the Professor, Edelgard feels oddly breathless, warm and giddy. And she knows she can’t contain the smile that is steadily growing on her face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to be spontaneous,” the Professor says with an airy shrug, still smiling softly down upon Edelgard. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you most certainly did.” Edelgard beams, and she can start to feel her cheeks begin to ache from smiling so widely. Her eyes rove across the soft planes of her dearest Professor’s face, simply drinking her in.

She’s standing there in a navy cardigan and jeans, and it’s a simple ensemble, but Edelgard can’t deny how fetching she looks in it. Even looking at her now, a part of Edelgard still can’t quite believe that the Professor is here in the flesh. That if she were to so much as reach out, she’d most certainly be able to touch her.

And she does so – to be certain that the Professor standing before her is not a phantom of her imagination. Or a figment of her overworked mind.

Edelgard’s heart sings when she squeezes at a toned bicep, feeling the tight coil of muscles ripple beneath her fingers.

She’s real.

“I’m very happy to see you, my teacher,” Edelgard says, most ardently.

“Likewise.” Professor Byleth nods, a ghost of a pleased smile on her lips.

For a moment, they’re left standing, hovering around each other in silence. It’s only when Edelgard glances up to find that their faces are barely inches apart that she jolts away sharply, dropping her hand from her Professor’s arm as if scalded by flames. So drawn into her orbit, she must have subconsciously taken steps to narrow the proximity between them.

And now the Professor is looking at her, four parts curious and one part confused.

Silly. How terribly silly of her.

Edelgard coughs, clearing her throat in her attempt to downplay her embarrassment and to regain some semblance of poise – to no avail. She can feel the tips of her ears burn hot under the Professor’s quizzical gaze. She shuffles a step backwards out of the Professor’s personal space, tucking a lock of snowy hair behind her ear self-consciously.

“H-How did you know that I was planning on getting off early today, Professor?”

Professor Byleth blinks owlishly back at her.

“I didn’t.”

Edelgard freezes and does a double take.

“Wait, just how long exactly did you spend waiting for me in the lobby?”

The Professor makes a quiet hum, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. “An hour or so? It wasn’t that long of a wait, really.” She shrugs nonchalantly, then begins sifting through her satchel for a thick booklet of paper. Across it, had the elegant gold scrawl of ‘The Enbarr Journal of Psychology’ printed in bold. “I was rather absorbed in reading this journal article on the longevity of relationships, you see.”

As Professor Byleth holds the booklet up in front of her, Edelgard notices the faint stirrings of a barely contained excitement rippling through the still waters of her azure pools, lighting them up to a sheer, vivid blue – in a way that it does when the Professor talks about books and articles. Or things that she’s passionate about.

It’s quite the adorable sight. Edelgard has almost half the heart to indulge her, but she quickly shakes that thought off, straightening with a frown.

“And if I had decided to stay in the office till much later?”

“You would have to leave eventually,” the Professor points out with a shrug, looking none too concerned. The faint smile on her face is inscrutable as always.

The frown on Edelgard’s face only creases further, deepening.

“Do you have your ID on you, Professor?”

The Professor nods, fishing out her driver’s licence from her wallet. “Yes, I have – ”

“Pardon my intrusion.”

Is all the apology that Edelgard offers before gingerly setting her laptop brief down and swiping the Professor’s aforementioned licence off her fingers, her free hand slipping into the Professor’s.

“– Edelgard?”

Paying little heed to the Professor’s fumble to keep up with her, Edelgard tugs her along, steering her in the direction of her corporation’s reception counter.

“Michael, was it?” she enquires, stopping right at the end edge of the counter, standing hand-in-hand with the Professor beside her.

“Yes, Miss Hresvelg?” The lanky receptionist Michael, who was previously slouching back in his seat, startles to attention. Nervously, he fixes his hair and smoothens his tie, sitting tall with his back ramrod straight and shoulders squared.

Edelgard all but slams the Professor’s driver licence down in front of him, and gestures to the Professor standing, albeit perplexed, beside her.

“Could you please remember the face of Miss Eisner, here? I want you to show her up to my office right away, whenever possible.”

“Y-yes, Miss Hresvelg, of course!” Michael nods, head bobbing so hard that Edelgard worries that it might fall off his neck. Taking the Professor’s ID into his trembling fingers, he proceeds to tap the Professor’s particulars into Adrestia Corporation’s system. “Here you go, Miss Hresvelg.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Edelgard sends him a tight-lipped but otherwise grateful smile. She completely misses the way her employee had brightened at the address as she turns sharply on her heel to return the Professor what she had forcefully taken from her.

Only to realise that the Professor is peering back at her with an indecipherable look in her eye and an odd, almost rueful smile on her lips.

“Is something wrong, Professor?”

“Bad day?”

Edelgard starts, eyes widening with thinly veiled surprise. “How did you know?”

Inwardly, she wonders if she looks as harried as she thinks she is. Maybe it’s the sorry state of her ponytail that has given it away.

But Professor Byleth only smiles on, albeit in that enigmatic way she so often does. Her gaze is soft when she reaches in, and with ever so much gentleness, she presses a thumb between Edelgard’s eyebrows.

“You get this crinkle in your brow whenever you’re stressed over something,” she says, in a quiet hum of a voice – gentle and soothing. Just like the thumb that is moving slowly, warm against Edelgard’s skin. “It’s something I’ve always noticed.”

But the moment ends a little too soon to Edelgard’s liking when the Professor pulls away abruptly, and taking along with her – her warmth.

“Come on,” the Professor says, squeezing softly at their fingers that Edelgard had forgotten were still linked, clasped over one another in a gesture that is almost too intimate.

Edelgard fights down a blush, ducking her head, suddenly feeling unusually shy. She pushes a stray lock of hair out of her face, circling it behind her ear as she sheepishly squeezes back at their joined hands, feeling the steady pulse of her heart pounding hard in her chest.

“Where to?”

The Professor’s answer is in the form of a cryptic smile.

“You’ll see.”

It is somewhere around the twenty-minute mark out of the city, driving past sweeping lawns and landscaped vistas of the suburban district of Enbarr, that Edelgard begins to get an inkling on the direction they are headed to. It’s a route long weathered, one that is close to her heart, filled with familiar sights and familiar street signs.

When she finally steps out of the Professor’s silver Lexus, she isn’t the least bit surprised to see the towering architecture of her alma mater looming overhead majestically.

“Garreg Mach University? I haven’t been back since… forever,” Edelgard breathes, craning her head to take in the expanse of GMU in its full glory.

Its walls still stand, impervious to the work of nature and time, held together by some of the finest brickwork Edelgard has ever seen. For the most part, the faculty buildings are swept upwards with height and grace, connected by the flying buttresses that dart and sweep around each building, further purporting the grandeur of the architecture as the buildings taper off into sharply pointed spires. Sitting amidst the sprawl of the surrounding suburbia, it’s as if the University is encompassed by its own flow of time, forever locked in its ageless era like a modern-day antique.

A marvel. That’s what Garreg Mach University truly is, really.

Once upon a time, Edelgard had stood in this exact same spot as a freshman, bushy-tailed and bright-eyed, awed by the University’s resemblance to the castles and towers she had seen in movies – in fairy-tales and books.

And now, older and grown, she still stands awed, albeit for fairly different reasons.

“It’s only been five years, Edelgard,” Professor Byleth says, a quiet amusement to her voice as she sidles up beside Edelgard. For a moment, they stand, shoulder to shoulder, the back of their hands barely brushing against one another.

“I know, but it has certainly felt longer than that,” Edelgard murmurs wistfully, giving the impressive architecture of GMU yet another once-over.

She gives a small jolt at the unexpected press of slender fingers slipping into her own. Almost reflexively, Edelgard tenses at the foreign touch, whipping her head up so quickly that she thinks she might have given herself whiplash in the process. Her heart stutters in her chest. Two quick, but forceful beats that send her blood roaring, heating at her cheeks.

Because the Professor is there, peering down at Edelgard with an unusual intensity to her gaze. It’s a penetrating look. One that Edelgard recognises instinctively as the look the Professor gets when she’s trying to assess a situation or trying to piece something – or someone – out.

In which case, Edelgard gets the vaguest sense that she’s trying to read her, as if gauging her reaction for… something.

“You really don’t have to force yourself if you’re uncomfortable with holding hands, Edelgard.” Professor Byleth says, softly, after an extended beat.

It happens in a blink of an eye, but Edelgard catches the split-second, tell-tale flash of hesitation that crosses the Professor’s blue gaze. Her tentative grip on Edelgard’s fingers slackens as she averts her eyes, lips pursed into a tight, almost chagrined smile.

And it’s all that is required to spur Edelgard into action.

“I’m not!” Edelgard flusters, alarmed. “I’m just…” Gingerly, she adjusts her clammy grip over the Professor’s fingers, giving their joined hands a sheepish squeeze – as if testing the waters. “I’m just a little unused to this, is all,” Edelgard mumbles, fighting down the raging blush that is currently scalding her cheeks.

“I see,” the Professor murmurs faintly. Though, there is no doubting the underlying hint of relief to her voice – nor the pleased curl to her lips.

She glances over at Edelgard side-long, regarding her with an unreadable twinkle in her eye. And in her next move, the Professor carefully intertwines their fingers together.

“P-Professor?” Edelgard starts, blushing furiously. Her heart lurches to her throat, pumping a steady bassline in her ears, and it’s all Edelgard can hear.

Palm against palm; fingers interwoven, fitting between each gap snugly, she can feel the gentle heat of the Professor radiating up her arm from the very tips of her fingers, making her heart thrill, her head starts to spin.

If Edelgard thought the way they had held hands before was intimate.

Then this was just… beyond words.

“Did you know? The act of holding hands reduces the level of stress hormones in the body,” the Professor murmurs – almost distractedly. Her eyes span the length of their entwined fingers, a thinly veiled curiosity sparking behind her blue gaze as she brushes a thumb against the knob of Edelgard’s knuckle, making her breath catch. “It also stimulates the feelings of love or so the journal article I was reading before claims.”

When the Professor glances up next, it’s with a dazzling smile, albeit a rather crooked one. Edelgard watches as the pretty lights in her cornflower-blue eyes dance in a rare show of mirth.

“Though I suppose we’ll be the judge of that, hm?”

Giving their linked fingers a slow but tentative squeeze, Edelgard nods, shyly. “Yes, we shall.”

The smile on the Professor’s face widens marginally, softening the lines around her eyes, setting them aglow. She squeezes back at Edelgard warmly in turn.

And so, together, they proceed onwards, finally passing the gates of Garreg Mach University.

For the most part, everything seems relatively unchanged. The courtyard is still the way Edelgard remembers it to be. A uniform green that looks almost combed, grass mowed to a pristine length as rows of colourful flowers line the trail of concrete walkway.

In the middle of it all, the striking statue of the country’s patron saint – Saint Seiros – stands, head bowed with her hands clasped serenely in prayer.

Given that it’s only slightly past four, there are still a handful of students milling about the courtyard, lazing around in the grass and enjoying the summer sun. Despite the curious looks thrown her way, Edelgard walks on with her head held high. She knows exactly what she looks like walking through the campus in her full business regalia with her Gucci blouse and skirt, paired with her Chanel heels – like a sore thumb.

Though, when the stares seem to rivet, lingering on her and the Professor’s entwined fingers for a second longer than is required, Edelgard finds it almost hard to not waver in the face of her rising self-consciousness.

Inwardly, she wonders if Professor Byleth is still as popular with her students as she had been before. Not that Edelgard would ever admit it out loud, but the thought of the student body clamouring after and vying for the Professor’s attention seems to put a bitter taste in her mouth for some reason. She gives herself a good mental shake, steering her focus back onto the path that the Professor is taking her.

By now, they’ve crossed the courtyard and passed over GMU’s state of the art library, heading down into one of the more secluded footpaths along the Science building. When the Professor takes another left, it all suddenly starts to fall into place when Edelgard catches the faint outline of an all too familiar building gradually looming into view.

“Is that the sports hall?”

Coming to a brief stop at the foot of said-building, the Professor throws Edelgard a side glance.

“Yes, it is,” she nods. There’s an odd twinkle to her blue gaze, as if hinting at a muted excitement. Pulling and tugging at their linked fingers, the Professor gingerly guides Edelgard forwards and past the sliding doors of the sports hall. “Now, air-conditioned and newly refurbished.”

Eyes roving and taking in the polished lacquered floors, the freshly painted walls and the soaring ceilings above, the gasp that rises to Edelgard’s lips is one that is completely unbidden.

“This is amazing,” she breathes, her hold on the Professor’s fingers momentarily slackens as she wanders further into the hall to explore the new facilities.

While granted, the sports hall five years ago hadn’t exactly been in ruins, per se, it was still falling apart from age and use. The paint on the walls back then were peeling apart, and there were certain areas across the court where the floors were uneven and bumpy – which made for some unpleasant practice sessions, but they just had to make do. Not to mention the constant reek of sweat and gym socks, made worse by the lack of proper ventilation within the building.

Though, it all seems to be problems of the past now.

“Care to fence?”

Edelgard pivots on her heel, half expecting to see the Professor hovering close by, only to be met by a fencing mask, whizzing in her direction at full speed. She catches the mask almost instinctively, her reflexes kicking in like a knee-jerk response as she freezes in perplexity, glancing between the fencing mask in her hands to the Professor, standing a little ways from her by the weapons rack.

“What?”

Cocking her head slightly, the Professor casts Edelgard a small, almost cryptic smile. “You were on the fencing team, weren’t you? The captain at that too. I remember going to one of your matches before. Your form was spectacular.”

Coyly, Edelgard tucks a lock of silver-spun hair behind her ear. The ensuing grin that stretches across her face is something she’s completely powerless to.

“Thank you, my teacher.” She can’t deny the thrill that shot right through her at the knowledge of the Professor having attended one of her matches – and being complimented at that too. But when Edelgard’s gaze indubitably falls back down onto the mask in her hands, her smile wanes slightly, suddenly recalling the Professor’s unusual request. “But going against you, it just wouldn’t be fair — ”

“I was a fencer too, a long time ago,” says the Professor absently, an epee held up in front of her person. Her gaze is unusually faraway and distant as she studies the blade with glazed, unseeing eyes. “My father used to teach me when I was little.”

For a brief moment, Edelgard thinks she might have caught a fleeting glimpse of a deep unending sorrow, lurking in the shadows of her darkened cobalt pools.

But it’s gone in Edelgard’s next blink.

Professor Byleth lowers the epee in her hand. “You needn’t hold back against me,” she says, looking over at Edelgard with an unreadable expression. But the unfaltering conviction in her eyes is for certain. “I can hold my own against you, I can assure you that.”

Edelgard acquiesces with a sigh. “If you say so, Professor.”

“Ready up.” Is apparently all the warning Edelgard gets before an epee is thrust into her hands.

Edelgard blinks, brows scrunching in bewilderment as she glances down at the fencing gear in her hands, and then back up at the Professor who is peering down at her expectantly. Incredulity immediately slackens Edelgard’s jaw.

“Wait, I’m sorry. You want me to fence in this?” She gestures to the entirety of her outfit, shifting her weight from foot to foot in her attempt to bring attention to her less than practical heels – and her form-hugging, movement-restricting pencil skirt.

But the Professor remains relatively unfazed, her gaze steady and unblinking.

“You’re wearing stockings, aren’t you?”

“Professor!” Edelgard all but nearly shrills in horror, a scandalised look contorting her features, her brows shooting up all the way to her snowy hairline.

“I’m kidding,” the Professor says, with laughter in her eyes. There’s a slow crawl of an amused smile to her lips. “I’m sure there’s a spare pair of gym shorts at the back somewhere.”

Surreptitiously, Edelgard gives the hem of her borrowed gym shorts another tug, trying her best, albeit failing miserably to not fidget and pick at its fringe.

Uncomfortable, is a complete understatement to what Edelgard is feeling at the moment.

The pair of shorts are beyond tiny on her. It’s small and it’s tight, and it only rides up enough to cover her crotch area by just. For the most part, it feels like she has half her ass hanging out in the open – though Edelgard is sure it’s probably designed that way to facilitate better airflow.

Though, who the fuck is she trying to kid.

It probably shrank in the dryer or something and was thrown aside in the locker room as a ‘spare’ that would never be used.

Until now, that is.

Edelgard shuffles awkwardly at her bare feet and fiddles, fussing at her rolled sleeves in lieu of stewing in her embarrassment. She must no doubt make for quite the funny picture; standing there in the middle of GMU’s sports hall, barefooted, in her horribly mismatched outfit comprising of her Gucci button-down and a tiny-ass pair of gym shorts.

Oh, Edelgard can see it now. Tomorrow’s breaking headline on TMZ news.

Edelgard von Hresvelg’s crazy fashion disaster: What the hell was she thinking?

Dorothea would have a fit if she sees her in the print for tomorrow’s tabloid news looking the way she is right now. There’s no questioning that. Edelgard’s only saving grace is that there is no one else in the sports hall apart from her and the Professor.

Or there’ll be some hell to pay.

Mustering up whatever’s left of her dignity, Edelgard finally approaches the Professor who’s been idling by the weapon rack the whole time whilst waiting for Edelgard in the changing room. Much to her relief, the Professor had barely taken one look at her and nodded, gaze blank and expression inscrutable.

If she had found Edelgard’s attire to be silly, she most certainly didn’t show.

“Shall we?” Professor Byleth offers, holding out the epee and mask that Edelgard had forgone in light of changing into something more ‘fencing-appropriate’.

With a bashful nod, Edelgard takes the proffered items and scurries into position across the Professor. She watches with thinly veiled curiosity as the Professor fumbles with her loafers, unceremoniously kicking them aside to a corner.

Catching Edelgard’s eye, the Professor sends her a small, nondescript smile, blue eyes twinkling enigmatically under the light. She gestures to their bare feet. “To even the playing field,” she explains, before drawing her epee into the customary salute and, finally, slipping on her fencing mask.

Instincts taking over, Edelgard mirrors her salute, donning her own without missing a beat. Inside the mask, it takes about everything in Edelgard to not retch from the bouquet of body odour and sweat enshrouding her senses like a muggy furnace of stink. For a moment, she has forgotten how bad an unwashed mask can smell. Although, for a borrowed one,Edelgard had expected nothing less (nor more).

Beggars can’t be choosers after all.

“En garde,” the Professor intones.

And thus, begin their tentative dance around each other.

Fingers flexing over the hilt of her blade, the weight of the epee in Edelgard’s hand feels almost foreign yet familiar all the same. It’s the bulkiest out of the three fencing blades, if memory serves. Heavy. Just like the burden that Edelgard carries on her shoulders on a daily basis.

She feints with a particularly weak thrust, briefly locking the Professor in a clash of blades. It’s a lacklustre blow, not meant to land. More so to jostle the Professor into action; to slip up and eventually lose her guard, giving Edelgard the window she needs for her next attack.

But when Professor Byleth unexpectedly lunges head on, it nearly throws Edelgard off her game. Though, thankfully her body reacts instantly, recoiling back with nimble steps, acting on sheer muscle memory.

Years of gruelling training kicks in as she parries after the Professor’s strike, riposting in a blink of an eye, albeit missing her mark by a narrow margin. Without giving Edelgard a chance to recover, the Professor lunges again, her strike quick and true, hitting Edelgard square in the chest.

Just like that, their first bout ends in a matter of seconds.

“Touché,” the Professor murmurs behind her mask, and despite not being able to see her face, Edelgard can sense the undercurrent of a smirk in her voice. “You really don’t have to go easy on me, Edelgard.”

A taunt.

Clicking at her tongue, Edelgard rolls at her shoulders, easing up on her taut muscles as she cracks her joints in preparation for their next bout.

“Oh, I don’t intend to, Professor,” Edelgard retaliates back heatedly, with a roguish smirk that she knows will be lost on the Professor. She rears up once more, taking stance, her competitive spirit now thoroughly piqued.

It’s been years since she has last picked up an epee, and she knows that her movements are stilted from rust, joints stiff from disuse. But even then, Edelgard has faith in her skills – honed through blood, sweat and tears – that it would not let her down.

As the former captain of GMU’s fencing team, there is no way she will allow herself to lose. Not even to the Professor, she won’t.

“En garde!”

Edelgard tears off her fencing mask with an unfettered roar of relief, carelessly dropping it aside with little heed. She leans back onto her palms, panting hard, her breaths coming out in rags – shallow and quick. Tilting her head skywards, she relishes in the sweet taste of fresh air, the cool draught of the hall’s air-conditioning like a balm against her heated skin.

The second they called it quits for the day, Edelgard’s knees had given like jelly and in the next instance, she had dropped like a fly, flopping down onto her bottom in the most unflattering of ways.

In any other circumstances, Edelgard would have taken to her plight with a large pinch of embarrassment and a sprinkle of chagrin. But maybe it’s the high of the adrenaline still pumping through her veins, she merely throws her head back in unbidden laughter, finding amusement in the silliness of it all.

“For someone who just lost a match, you look happy.”

Edelgard raises her head, still teeming slightly with giggles. She peers up at the Professor, who’s smiling warmly over her.

Her mask is off and her hair is tousled; wilder than Edelgard has ever seen it before, looking more like bird nest atop her head. But her eyes are filled with dancing lights, and despite her dishevelled appearance, she is still indubitably the prettiest thing in the room.

Edelgard grins, shrugging her shoulders airily.

“It was a really good match.”

By the time the Professor had gotten past her fifteen-point lead, Edelgard had more or less stopped keeping score. It goes without saying that the Professor had wiped the floor with her. Years of experience with fencing had nothing on the Professor, apparently. Her lunges were vicious, her ripostes deadly, and the way she parried and twisted out of the way of Edelgard’s blows was so seamless – it was hypnotising to watch.

Though, in spite of her loss, it is still the best fun Edelgard has had in a long time.

“Would you look at that,” the Professor croons quietly, stooping over Edelgard. Her sudden proximity causes Edelgard to freeze, her heart stuttering, skipping over itself in her chest. Ever so tenderly, Professor Byleth brushes a thumb over the spot between Edelgard’s brows. “That furrow is gone.”

Edelgard flushes, shyly dropping her gaze when the Professor’s fingers flutter over her temples, pushing a particularly muggy lock of hair out of her face in an affectionate gesture.

“T-Thank you, my teacher,” she sighs quietly. The soft heat of the Professor’s touch spanning across her face is a welcome distraction, and it’s nice and all-so soothing – almost like a salve over her soul. And even when she draws away, her warmth still seems to linger on.

Just like that, the troubles of the day seem to fade away.

“How is it that you’re able to handle me so well?” she wonders out loud, lilac eyes twinkling languidly up at cobalt blue.

Professor Byleth only smiles a vague smile, the expression in her eyes like an enigma inside a mystery wrapped in a riddle. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Edelgard laughs, a weightless feeling that bubbles through her chest. She can’t remember the last time she had last felt this light and unencumbered.

“You were amazing, Professor,” she says, peering up at the Professor with unbridling curiosity, eyes wide with childish awe. “I had no idea know you were such a seasoned fencer."

“I was on the Olympic team for a while when my father was still into coaching,” the Professor supplies offhandedly, shrugging. Though, her gaze is faraway and fond. “But then I left when I decided to take up teaching at GMU.”

Edelgard nods, carefully processing the information that has just been relayed to her. Her eyes rove the face of the woman standing before her, and for a split second, she sees the silhouette of a masked fencer she remembers watching on television many moons ago whilst confined to a hospital bed.

“The Ashen Demon. That was you, wasn’t it?”

It’s an old memory, made foggy by time. But Edelgard still distinctively remembers the way the Ashen Demon had moved across the fencing strip with ever so much grace and speed. It had left Edelgard awestruck just watching her.

Only eighteen, and the youngest out of the other combatants at that time, she had stood a head shorter than most of her opponents. But what she lacked in height, she had definitely made it up in her skills.

Her form was the textbook definition of flawless. Back straight, knees locked and arms raised at the perfect angle, there was hardly any opening in her impenetrable guard. And when she attacked, it was with split-second strikes that almost always struck home with a crazy pin-point accuracy.

She was in short – quite the demon on the strip.

The Professor nods, humming almost to herself.

“I believe that was what they dubbed me in my Olympic debut, yes,” she says, tapping at her chin thoughtfully.

Veering her attention back over to Edelgard who is still seated, albeit haphazardly on the floor, she smiles, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that looks almost waggish – teasing, even.

“Do you need some help getting up there?” She holds a hand out towards Edelgard.

“Thank you, Professor.” Edelgard blushes, taking the Professor’s proffered hand sheepishly. “I think might have over-exerted myself a little – ”

But as soon as Edelgard shakily rises to her feet, her knees begin to buckle, and it’s all the warning Edelgard gets before she finds herself toppling over like a house of cards. In the seconds to disaster, she sees it all happen in snapshots – in rapid bursts of frames.

It starts off with Edelgard’s legs giving out on her as she loses her footing. Her desperate fumbling to steady herself to no avail. The Professor swooping in without missing a beat, arms outstretched to catch Edelgard mid-tumble. Only to be caught in the crossfire instead.

Because everyone knows what happens when you try to go against the pull of gravity.

You fall.

Crashing down with an echoing thud, Edelgard winces, reflexively pressing her fingers against the side of head with a quiet groan. She is about halfway through the motions of drawing herself up to her forearms when her brain begins to dimly register the delectable warmth radiating beneath her.

Edelgard sucks in a breath, so sharp it whistles through her teeth. Her eyes snap open, as if suddenly remembering herself.

When she chances a peek down at the Professor, she is there, lying pliantly under her, peering up at Edelgard from between the bracket of her arms with her hair ruffled and cheeks pinked from exertion – looking like a picture taken straight out of Edelgard’s wildest fantasies.

“Are you okay?” the Professor asks, albeit in a soft hum that inevitably reverberates through Edelgard’s body, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

It all kicks Edelgard’s senses into high gear, and suddenly, she’s never been more aware of the little things.

Such as the soft swell of breasts pressed up against her torso, rising and falling with every breath.

How up close like this, the Professor smells vaguely of citrus and fresh laundry.

Of how supple and tantalising her lips look under the fluorescent glare of the lights above, sitting just barely an inch away from her own. So much so if Edelgard were to lean in a little more, she would be able to…

“Edelgard?”

Edelgard blinks, jolting with a start, her breath hitching. She hadn’t even realised how far gone she was until she can feel the Professor’s breath, hot, blowing against her face, their lips now separated only by a hair’s breadth.

Edelgard squeezes her eyes shut. A vain attempt to block out the temptation lying prone beneath her as she tries to think through the fog of desire that is addling her brain, slowing her thoughts. But the sweet, enticing scent of the Professor teasing at her nostrils is proving to be quite the distraction.

She can barely even remember the Professor’s question.

“I… Yes,” Edelgard rasps thickly, after a prolonged beat. She can scarcely hear herself over the rush of blood in her ears and the rapid thumping of her heart in her chest. With a slow, steadying breath, Edelgard draws away, forcibly putting some (respectable) distance between their faces. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Once sure that she has her raging hormones in check, Edelgard hazards a glance down at the Professor, surprised to find that she’s watching her intently with a budding curiosity behind her blue gaze.

Gingerly, the Professor reaches up towards Edelgard. The unexpected movement causes Edelgard to stiffen, holding her breath till her lungs burn, her eyes wide in frozen anticipation.

With gentle strokes, she smooths at Edelgard’s snowy hair, carding through locks that must have no doubt came loose from her ponytail during their fencing bout. She pushes her hair back and over her shoulder carefully, fingers lingering as she traces down the curve of Edelgard’s spine, her touch slow and tentative – almost inquisitive. It raises gooseflesh across Edelgard’s skin, stealing her breath and making her head spin.

“Is this making your heart flutter, Edelgard?”

Edelgard blinks, eyes unnaturally glazed and unfocussed. “Huh?”

“You heart,” Professor Byleth repeats, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. Her wandering hand finally stops in its exploration, stilling over Edelgard’s right hip – just above the spot where her shirt begins to ride up. “It’s beating really quickly. I can feel it.”

Brows furrowing in perplexity, Edelgard blearily drops her gaze to follow after her teacher’s line of sight, only to realise that she’s been resting her weight against her – lying chest to chest with the object of her desires – the entire time of their interaction.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Professor!”

Mortified, she scrambles to roll off the Professor, leaping to her feet, albeit not without helping the Professor up with a shaky hand, all while trying to retain some form of composure. Though, she knows she’s failing miserably at that. She can feel the tell-tale burn of a raging blush fanning across her collar and her cheeks, burning the very tips of her ears and rising all the way up and beyond her hairline.

A human tomato, that’s what Edelgard is. There’s no need for a mirror to attest to that.

“How envious,” Professor Byleth murmurs, wobbling slightly on her feet. She draws out a quiet sigh, straightening her clothes with a quick pat before regarding Edelgard with a look that can only be described as wishful, one that is full of longing. “I’d like to experience this so called 'fluttering of the heart’ too.”

And there it is again.

That want in her eyes. It isn’t so much as blazing with that same scorching intensity as it had before. But it’s still there. Burning slowly through the Professor’s shimmering depths of azure blue – like fire on water.

It’s mesmerising; sort of like watching the flames of a fireplace crackle in its hearth, curling and swaying, flickering this way and that in an enchanting dance.

And Edelgard finds that she can’t quite look away from it, drawn in like a moth to a flame. A red rose seeking the sun. In the next moment, she’s standing eye to eye before the Professor with a spark ignited in her chest, blossoming through the cracks of her ribs with every forceful pound of her heart.

“Professor,” Edelgard says ardently, folding a hand atop her breast, trying to cradle that precious feeling growing inside of her.

She takes another step forward, hears it echo distantly over the incessant drum of her heartbeat, and steels herself.

There’s a want burning behind her own lilac eyes too, Edelgard thinks. And as she glances up to meet her teacher’s smouldering gaze, she can feel it swell, flaring to life, as if trying to match the Professor’s fire in its ferocity.

Throwing caution to the wind, Edelgard jumps in head-first, albeit with a pledge on her lips and a promise in her eyes.

And she decides then – just then – she will give in to her want.

“I’ll make you fall in love with me. I swear on it.”

Chapter Text

A peaceful Wednesday afternoon finds Edelgard in her office, seated in her ergonomic throne, waist-deep in paperwork. It’s been a relatively quiet day so far, and apart from the banal shareholders meeting in the morning, it’s been rather uneventful.

Just the way Edelgard likes it.

Outside, the skies are a glittering clear blue. The birds are singing, and the sun is shining, spilling into her office in warm hues of yellow and gold through her large panoramic windows that overlook the bustling cityscape of Enbarr City.

As the way things are, the day is perfect.

It should be perfect.

But…

Sighing heavily through her nose, Edelgard shifts, almost restlessly. She stretches her arms, hearing the satisfying pop of her joints. Though, the tight kink in her shoulders doesn’t abate.

And neither does the growing pile of paperwork on her desk.

Edelgard stares sourly at the organised mess on her desk, and blows out another sigh.

She really needs to fast track the whole paperless motion she has going for the corporation since her take over. Though, in saying that, it has been two years. And yet? There’s still documents and paper as far as the eye can see. With a shake of her head, Edelgard throws herself head-first into her paperwork once more.

And then, it happens.

She is right about a paragraph in into reading Claude’s eloquently worded proposal of a merger when an errant thought flitters through her mind’s eye. An innocent echo of a memory that wafts in one ear and chooses to linger on for a moment too long to her liking.

“I’ll make you fall in love with me. I swear on it.”

Stopping short of everything, Edelgard all but slams her pen down onto her desk, and cringes. A full body shudder creeping down her spine, making her toes curl, her skin crawl, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. The words just seem to reverberate on indefinitely — the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears.

Haunting her.

Mocking her.

When Edelgard had recounted the events of her day with the Professor to Dorothea shortly after returning home, the first thing Dorothea had done was to pop open the nearest champagne bottle she could get her hands on. Which needless to say, went everywhere.

As if Edelgard’s carpet wasn’t a mess enough already with that unsightly splotch of red amidst all that off-white. (Apparently, wine stains are notoriously hard to get rid of.)

Shoving a flute into Edelgard’s hands with a laugh, Dorothea had caught her in sweeping side-hug. That was closely accompanied by a hearty slap on the back that knocked the very wind out of her lungs.

‘About time you’ve finally grown a pair. I’m so proud of you, Edie!”

Ever the drama queen, Dorothea had sniffed and swiped at a faux tear in her eye before proceeding to take a swig from her champagne flute. All while, paying little heed to the beet-red, half-choking Edelgard as she continued clapping her back without restrain.

Needless to say, it was a night of humiliation. No thanks to Dorothea.

Edelgard’s pretty sure she will never let her live this one down for the rest of her life. If her constant stream of ‘have you gotten the prof to fall in love with you yet?’, followed by a plethora of heart-eyed, kissy-faced emojis, were anything to go by.

Edelgard has been beating herself over that one line since.

Just what had possessed her to say the things she did, she has no idea. Because now, clear-headed without the rush of adrenaline buzzing through her system, clouding her judgement with all sorts of impulsiveness, it’s slowly coming back to bite her in the ass.

She can still vividly see the expression on Professor Byleth’s face.

“I’ll make you fall in love with me. I swear on it.”

The Professor’s breath had hitched on her next inhale, her lips parting slightly. Edelgard watched as her throat bobbed, her eyes dwell, widening in wonder. Almost in a slow dawning realisation.

For the first time, Edelgard had gotten the impression that she was looking — really looking — at her.

Not as if Edelgard were just another student.

Or some harried CEO with the burden of a multi-billion dollar empire resting on her shoulders.

But as simply the woman she was — just Edelgard.

And it made Edelgard’s chest swell, her heart pound a little harder.

“Yes, please do,” Professor Byleth smiled.

And truly, it was a thing of beauty.

Quite unlike any of her smiles before, this one was fitted with teeth as it curved its way into her eyes, lighting them up to a clear spring day blue, softening her countenance. And in it, Edelgard saw something more beautiful than the stars.

Hope.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

With a groan, Edelgard slouches forward onto her desk, sinking and burying her glowingly red face into the cradle of her arms. “I think I might just die from embarrassment,” she grouses aloud to no one in particular.

“Should I get a quote from the coroner’s office then?”

When an ever so familiar baritone intones quietly from behind her.

Edelgard jolts, starting so hard she’s sure she had shaved a couple years off her life when her soul had briefly departed her body for a split second there. She reflexively snaps her head up to meet the cool lime gaze of her P.A.

“Hubert,” she coughs, surreptitiously struggling and failing to smooth out the creases in her paperwork caused by her abrupt flailing at her assistant’s sudden presence.

Ever the loyal subject, Hubert does not comment nor so much as bat an eye at Edelgard’s frantic correction. His face is schooled into that ever so impassive mask of his — blank and mostly indifferent.

And somehow, it only seems to fuel Edelgard’s embarrassment further.

She clears her throat once more, albeit folding her hands primly in front of her person and straightening in her chair. Having completely given up on the façade of keeping her shit together now that she’s been caught red-handed.

“I did not hear you come in.”

She swears she needs to put a bell on him one of these days.

Or so goddess help her—

“I knocked,” Hubert explains, unaffectedly, “a couple times, actually.” His measured stare makes the languid journey from Edelgard’s crumpled stack of official documents to her face, boring into her pointedly. “But you were otherwise… preoccupied… if I should say.”

Edelgard flushes, the gurgle of embarrassment curdling her stomach and scalding at her cheeks. “I, uh…”

Think fast, El.

She drops her gaze, searching for an excuse when her attention rivets onto Claude’s creased proposal peeking from beneath her fingers.

As much as the man annoys her… She supposes that he does have some good points to him after all.

Edelgard sits herself taller in her throne and squares her shoulders, clearing her throat.

“Well, admittedly, the Hyrm-Ordelia merger has been taking quite a bit of my focus lately.” She nods sagely, feigning ‘stress’ by rubbing at her temples. “Claude can’t be trusted, and I’ve been poring through his clauses for any loopholes. It’d be embarrassing if I can’t come up with a proper response to his proposal by our next meeting on Monday.”

A half-truth.

She hopes that Hubert would buy that at least.

“Hmm, yes, I see,” Hubert murmurs absently. His gaze remains contemplative, though his attention is no longer on Edelgard. He makes for a quiet, almost airy hum. “Though, I suppose it would be rude of me to point out that your phone’s pop-up notification of the Professor mentioning her pussy… ”

Edelgard straight up chokes on her spit. At this point, she has given up all pretences of poise as she races to unlock her phone to set the record straight, her hands trembling — her heart jittery.

“… cat, seems to suggest otherwise.”

As soon as the image of an adorable ginger kitten, laid sprawled under the glowing sun with its belly bared comes into view, Edelgard deflates despite herself.

The Professor was merely going on about her usual report of the campus’ cats.

“Oh.”

Ever so deliberately, she turns to throw a withering look over at Hubert, who only meets her glare evenly, his professional poker-face fixedly in place. Though, if Edelgard squints hard enough, she’s pretty sure she can make out the barest sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

“In other news, I’m afraid your one’o clock has just arrived, Miss Hresvelg.”

Edelgard sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose. Hard. She has half the mind to face plant herself into her desk. But instead, she merely waves Hubert off with a half-hearted gesture of defeat.

“Send them in.”

Honestly, he could have just led with that from the beginning.

It’s some time midday, during which the sun is caught in an awkward limbo where it’s neither setting nor hung up high in the clouds like a blazing ball of fire.

Edelgard doesn’t know for sure the exact hour or time. But she does know that it’s the very moment where her already trying day goes down to shit — when Dorothea flings open the twin doors of her private executive office with a dramatic flourish.

“So, what’s this I hear of you being all distracted at work?”

Edelgard opens her mouth, the preface of a snarky remark searing the tip of her tongue when she snaps her jaw shut at the last second, thinking better of it. Knowing full well that any retaliation to Dorothea’s apparent… intervention… is only going to make things worse.

With all the willpower imbued in her, Edelgard takes in a deep breath and releases it with a resounding sigh. She can just about feel the beginnings of a migraine pounding at the base of her skull.

“Hubert told you?” she asks, her voice a controlled calm and quiet. Though, if one were to pay enough attention, they would make out the slight warble of frustration in it.

Dorothea flounces deeper into her office, and heedlessly plops down onto the plush chair across from Edelgard without any preamble.

“Right after you pulled a hissy fit and threatened to crush Ferdie’s balls after you sack him as your CFO for having the audacity to propose a ‘friendly competition’ for the Professor’s attention.”

The subsequent scowl that contorts Edelgard’s lips is beyond her impeccable self-restraint.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ferdie is annoying.” Dorothea twitches her nose, rolling her eyes in her usual exasperation for their once-classmate. But when her emerald gaze falls upon Edelgard, it softens with blatant affection. “But we all know you’re better than that, Edie.”

Edelgard allows herself to consider the words of her best friend for a moment, before she huffs a quiet, albeit relenting sigh. “You’re right, Dorothea. This is… unbecoming of me.”

She frowns, seeming genuinely abashed at her own behaviour. So much so that when she glances up at her best friend, she makes sure to inject every ounce of her so-called sincerity into her gaze.

“Please tell Hubert on your way out to send his idiot fiancé the cheapest bottle of wine from Aldi as a token of my apology.”

And just like that, Edelgard returns to her paperwork without so much of a second glance at Dorothea — as if her day hadn’t even been rudely interrupted in the first place.

“Look, Edie,” Dorothea begins, quietly.

And inwardly, Edelgard cringes at the underlying current of sobriety behind the sweet lilt of her voice. While the curve of Dorothea’s smile doesn’t waver the least bit, there’s a notable flash of warning in her green depths.

“I’m here to fix things before shit actually hits the fan and you somehow find yourself in a lawsuit against a client. Or goddess forbid, you lose a deal.”

Edelgard scoffs (not so) softly under her breath. “Like I’ll ever let that happen.”

“Oh my god, Edie. Stop!” Dorothea slams her palms down onto Edelgard’s desk with great effect, jostling the contents over it. And with it, effectively silencing Edelgard’s snark and capturing her full attention in one full swop. “Please, just do everyone a favour and go see the Professor already.”

Matching Dorothea’s frown with her own deep-set one, Edelgard schools features together as she engages in a heated staring contest with her best friend since college. Her gaze hardens, turning steely.

“Get out,” enunciates Edelgard, her tone clipped and final.

As soon as the two words had rolled off her tongue, it had set off a chain reaction of sorts. It starts with the tension between them snapping like a rubber band. Which leads to the long-suffering groan that leaves Dorothea in a loud roar as she throws her hands up into the air.

And then all hell breaks loose.

“You always get so touchy when we hit the nail right on the head—”

“I said it once, I’ll say it again. Get. Out.”

“Come on! We both know you want to—”

“—Dorothea…” Edelgard grits, her fingers creeping slowly over to her intercom in forewarning.

But Dorothea is still speaking quickly, almost animatedly with her hand waving about furiously in her last-ditch attempt to get her point across.

“If you’re that worried about the paperwork, Hubert can take care of it.”

“I’m calling security if you’re not out in—”

“Going, sheesh!” She jumps to her feet huffily, shouldering her purse with a pout, all the while throwing Edelgard a dirty look.

Edelgard can only sigh, her fingers working at her temples to ease the throb of the migraine that has been steadily building through the course of her interaction with Dorothea. Relief, thankfully, comes in the form of Dorothea’s heels clicking over to the twin doors of her office — a silent announcement of her departure.

But the songstress continues to linger by her doors, as if hesitating over something when she finally whips to peer over her shoulder at Edelgard. With a vexed sigh, she pins the CEO down with an exasperated, albeit soft, encouraging glance that speaks volumes.

“Seriously, just go see the Professor. It’ll be fine, trust me.”

“What am I doing?” Edelgard mutters quietly under her breath, more to herself than anything else.

Because, one meeting, a half-hearted attempt at paperwork and an embarrassingly effective intervention by Dorothea later, finally sees her halfway out of the city with her foot pressed against the accelerator and hands white knuckling at the steering wheel. Around her, the luscious green scenery of suburban Enbarr zips past at a hundred kilometres per hour.

She knows exactly where she’s headed to. (Garreg Mach University.) But what had possessed her to do so…

Well.

She can’t believe she’d actually let Dorothea talked her into doing this.

Call it a spur of a moment decision, which she’s been guilty of making lately. Or blame it on the torrent of campus’ cat pictures the Professor has been sending her. But she’s overcome by this burning need — this desire — to see the Professor again. (Which has also inadvertently crippled her work productivity in the process, but that’s beside the point.)

And it’s only been what, three days?

All over some… pussy — no, cat pictures. Cat.

How pathetic.

Not that Edelgard can change her mind and turn back now when she has literally passed the gated entrance of GMU, gotten a parking spot, and is now standing over the door of the Professor’s office, knuckles raised and poised to knock.

“It’ll be fine, trust me,” mocks Edelgard in a shrill, god-awful mimicry of Dorothea. The very same impression she frequently employs to press the woman’s buttons.

Sighing loudly, she suddenly feels rather silly.

A corporate shark like herself, travelling an hour out of the city simply because she’s…

“Thirsty,” mumbles Edelgard, shamefaced and utterly embarrassed of herself. “I am thirsty for the Professor.” As Dorothea would so crudely put it.

She drops her hand, shifts her weight from foot to foot, then pinches at her nose. With a loud groan, Edelgard thumps her forehead against the wall by the Professor’s door with a hollow thud.

“What am I doing?”

“Edelgard?”

Edelgard starts violently, nearly jumping out of her skin. So engrossed she had been with beating herself over… literally everything she has done involving the Professor so far, she has failed to notice the messy mop of dark hair peeking through the crack of the door.

“P-Professor!” she stutters, stumbling over herself to come up with a perfectly reasonable excuse for her surprise visit at GMU as she feels her cheeks begin to warm.

“I thought I heard a knock.” Professor Byleth smiles good-naturedly at her, fully stepping out of her office to stand before Edelgard.

“But I didn’t…”

Perplexed, she looks between the smiling Professor to the wall she just had her face planted against mere seconds ago, and reflexively touches her forehead.

Oh.

Edelgard flushes, the tips of her ears burning hot. “I, uh…”

Probably deciding to spare Edelgard from her crippling embarrassment, the Professor ushers her forward into her office with a hand on the small of her back.

“Please, come in.” She shuts the door behind them, and turns to face Edelgard properly, regarding her with a faint but happy smile on her lips. “What brings you over?”

“I…” Edelgard stalls, tucking and pushing a lock of stray hair out of her face.

She hazards a glance at the older woman, only to find her staring back at her expectantly. Her blue eyes are aglow with an odd twinkle that further deepens Edelgard’s blush. Edelgard coughs, a feeble attempt at reining in her composure, then straightens her back.

‘I wanted to surprise you’ had been on the tip of her tongue, but what eventually leaves Edelgard’s mouth is instead: “I wanted to see you.”

She cringes bodily at that.

In lieu of a slapping a hand over her traitorous mouth, she bites down on her bottom lip. So hard, it nearly brings tears to her eyes.

Goddess, why.

There’s no doubt she’s beet-red at this point. Edelgard can tell. Her entire face feels like it’s on fire, burning down to scorch past the neckline of her scarlet chiffon blouse. Inwardly, she wonders if she’s done something to offend the Goddess. Like spat in the face of an acolyte in her past life or something, to receive such recompense—

“I wanted to see you too,” says the Professor quietly.

—Oh.

There’s an unexpected softness to her voice that causes Edelgard’s breath to hitch — her head to raise tentatively with hope.

And there’s the Professor, smiling faintly over her. Ever so patient and warm.

Gingerly, she reaches in to smooth her fingers through Edelgard’s hair, which she has (fortunately) decided to wear down today. Her thumb sweeps past the spot between Edelgard’s brows in an action similar to the time before.

“You’re stressed,” murmurs Professor Byleth in a pensive hum.

She continues to circle her thumb over where Edelgard presumes the ‘stress crinkle’ to be, trying and failing to ease it away — if the subtle pursing of her lips is anything to go by.

The ends of Edelgard’s lips curl despite herself, finding the Professor’s frustration to rid her off her ‘stress crinkle’ to be utterly adorable. Eventually, she closes her eyes, momentarily giving in to the soothing motions of the Professor’s fingers working over her skin.

“When am I not stressed?” she quips back with a self-deprecating chuckle.

She can almost hear the Professor’s disapproving frown in the quiet breath that escapes her in a huff. Her fingers still briefly — in what Edelgard is sure to be contemplation.

“I’m afraid we can’t spar it out on the strip again today, but…”

At the tentative slither of arms snaking around Edelgard’s waist, pulling her straight into a soft, delicious heat, the gasp that tears past her lips is one that is completely unbidden. There is no doubt that her brain had short-circuited right there and then. What with the way she loses all train of coherent thoughts as the lub-dub of her heart throbs away in her ears like an all-consuming beat.

It takes Edelgard all of a belated second to realise the Professor is still speaking, albeit in quiet, hushed tones.

“A psychology paper I was reading earlier mentioned that hugs and physical touch help significantly in reducing stress and lowering blood pressure.”

To make a show of her point, Professor Byleth’s arms wind to secure more firmly around Edelgard’s waist. Slowly, ever so deliberately, she tightens her hold over Edelgard, squeezing her just much so, as if testing the waters.

“Is this… helping?”

Not so much as helping, it’s probably making Edelgard blood pressure skyrocket even more by how fast her heart is pounding.

Awkwardly, her arms hover over the Professor for a beat and a half. When finally, Edelgard decides to throw caution to the wind and allows herself to succumb wholly to the tempting heat before her, reciprocating the embrace at long last.

It all feels like it has come to full circle; being in the arms of the woman she’s been pining over for years. The Professor is soft against her, and so inexplicably warm. And it’s just so easy for Edelgard to simply melt into the cocoon of her arms and let the stress of the day ebb away, allowing the very presence of the Professor to soothe her.

Sighing quietly, Edelgard burrows into the slender curve of the Professor’s neck and draws in close. Closer. The fresh fragrance of wildflowers and sunshine fills her lungs.

The Professor smells good.

“Maybe I should invest in a bottle of lavender-scented perfume,” hums Professor Byleth musingly. “Lavender has a relaxing effect, I heard.”

Edelgard’s eyes fly open with a hitched breath.

Stiffly, she glances up at the older woman in abject horror for having spoken her thoughts out loud. But the sparkle of mirth dancing in the Professor’s cobalt-blue gaze, paired with the curl of amusement to her lips, is thankfully more than enough to make up for Edelgard’s mortification.

Teasing… The Professor is only teasing me.

With that thought in mind, Edelgard leans in and gingerly nuzzles into the Professor’s neck, albeit masking the action by shaking her head as she breathes in deeply — indulgently.

Just because she can.

“No need, your scent is calming enough…” mumbles Edelgard, grateful that the Professor can’t see her glowingly red face from this particular angle.

She feels, more so than hear, the quiet rumble of the older woman’s chuckle reverberating through her. “I see.” And it's a calming, calming thing. Just like everything else about the Professor. 

For a prolonged minute or two, they remain like this. Wrapped up in each other’s embrace. Even though they're doing nothing more than just holding each other, the moment still feels rather intimate — special. And Edelgard wants nothing more than to capture this very instance, jot it down to memory, and stow it somewhere in the foreground of her heart under lock and key — to revisit on a rainy day.

Like all good things, the magic eventually ends when the Professor extricates herself away from Edelgard. Probably having surmised that she is now properly de-stressed. And Edelgard lets her go reluctantly.

“Come, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” She steers Edelgard over to her workspace by her shoulders, valiantly trying to maintain that last bit of physical connection between them. She sits Edelgard down in the chair across her cluttered desk, then draws way, her touch lingering in a way that makes Edelgard’s heart clench, skipping a beat. “I’ll be with you in a little bit, I just got some marking left to do.”

“Did I come at a bad time?” Edelgard frowns, working her bottom lip between her teeth.

As her eyes dart across the organised mess on the Professor’s desk, the worrisome side of her starts to rear its ugly head.

But of course. What was she thinking, dropping by unannounced like this?

The Professor is a busy woman after all.

“Not at all. It’s just what it is.” Professor Byleth shrugs easily, nonchalant as ever.

Yet, the high stacks of paper spilling on her desk is still somewhat daunting. And if Edelgard were to go as far as to say — triggering even. Especially to someone who is used to doing paperwork like Edelgard, herself.

Curiously, she fingers a loose piece of paper that has fallen out of the stack. “This is…”

Her gaze scans past the familiar bold lettering of what appears to be a formal exam transcript. Instinctively — before Edelgard can even stop herself — she pulls a face. Never has she been more glad that she’s long past cramming and stressing for exams and assessments. With a slight shudder, Edelgard sets the paper down and does the maths in her head.

“Is it just slightly after the mid-semester exams?”

“The hell week for professors and instructors, alike, yes,” intones Professor Byleth dryly with little to no inflexion to her voice. To the unseasoned ear, the playful quip would have flown by easily, but Edelgard knows better.

Chuckling quietly under her breath, she waves the piece of exam transcript in her hand. “Do you have the marking rubrics for this?”

It takes the Professor a good two minutes or three, but she eventually retrieves the wrinkled rubrics from under one of the many piles of documents on her desk. When she hands the document over to Edelgard, there’s the barest trace of sheepishness to her otherwise stoic expression — something that Edelgard finds entirely endearing.

Swiping a red pen that’s on the verge of rolling off the edge of the desk, Edelgard sets to work immediately without another word, leaving the Professor properly stumped in her wake.

“Edelgard, what are you doing?”

“Helping you mark,” hums Edelgard airily without so much as looking up at the Professor.

She can feel the weight of the older woman’s cobalt gaze bearing down her, and a small part of her thrills at the attention. It makes her want to preen — to show off a little.

Feeling strangely emboldened, Edelgard circles her hair behind her ear. And deliberately, she cards her fingers through her silvery-blonde locks, flipping it over her shoulder in the way she has seen Dorothea done so, one too many times before when turning the charm on for Petra.

“I did do my two years with you for Econs, you know.” She sends Professor Byleth what she hopes would come off as a coy smile.

Resting the edge of the pen against her chin, she tilts her head slightly off to the side to maximise on its effect.

The Professor blinks.

Once.

Then, twice — as if for better measure.

Before dropping her gaze entirely, the imperceptible hint of pink dusting across the fringes of her cheeks.

It’s the first crack — as infinitesimal as it is — Edelgard has ever seen in her stoic façade and she’s thoroughly charmed. Dazzled. And she thinks she likes what she sees under all that impassivity.

“Thank you,” mumbles Byleth, and there’s just the faintest warble of… something… to her voice then. It’s nearly undetectable, but Edelgard catches it all the same.

But alas, the Professor is quick to regain her poise. And in a fraction of a blink, her inscrutably blank mask is fixedly back in place.

“I really appreciate the help.” She nods, cordial and polite to a tee.

Edelgard beams back brightly in turn, a full-faced smile that doesn't betray the glee bubbling in her chest. “It’s the least I can do for dropping by unannounced.”

For the first time that evening, she’s glad she’s ever decided to pop by to see the Professor. As much as she hates to prove Dorothea right, she supposes she does owe her best friend the finest wine that Enbarr has got to offer.

And makes a mental note to get her that pricey rosé that she likes on the way home tonight.