Chapter Text
Annette is humming again, tucked in a corner of the library and tapping at the table, scarcely noticing her volume. When he follows the sound and sees her, she's lost to her own music with a pencil caught between her teeth. A ditty about a tornado, Felix proposes; she's claimed one of the largest workstations available, and still her books and stationary spill all over, a rainbow of pens and rulers and other instruments—some for which Felix does not know the primary function but thinks would double nicely as weapons—spread with an ironic lack of rhythm.
Unintentionally sneaking up on her is what branded him a villain, so Felix does his best to be seen. Heavies his gait, clears his throat. Raps twice on a bookshelf before taking his seat. He's loud enough that Claude waves from the stacks and Linhardt stirs from the adjacent desk, but his tutor remains thoroughly lost in the Annettosphere, her eyes alight and pen now at work—inspiration has hit, and she's scribbling something into the brown leather journal he's sometimes seen her consult in class.
What is it they say about curiosity? That leaning in to see what a girl is doing, accidentally butting heads with her, and simultaneously discovering that she is workshopping a song about the crown prince's ludicrously excessive strength is inadvisable?
At least she finally notices him.
"F-FELIX!"
Linhardt groans and props a book over his head.
"Hey," says Felix, while Annette covers the journal with her arms, pulls it and her other belongings closer. The tips of her ears are a shade shy of matching her hair. It's cute.
So's this: "You—you—ohh, I'm so mad, I can't even think of something mean to call you!"
"I announced myself a couple times," says Felix, a smile tugging at his lips. This conversation is scripted: he finds her absorbed in something, she's embarrassed, she shouldn't be. He never apologizes. "It's not my fault you didn't hear me."
"It is! It totally is!"
"Okay," he says. They're attracting more looks from the stacks; he's not too bothered, but no one wants Ferdinand marching over and demanding they adhere to the rules of the library like proper nobles. And anyway—if pressed—Felix will admit he prefers Annette's company without an audience.
He pokes at the journal she's still hugging to her chest. "What is that?"
She squeaks, frozen like a squirrel caught rummaging through a birdfeeder. When lack of inertia fail to make her or the journal invisible, she shakes herself furiously, says, "Nothing."
He pokes it again. "Pretty solid for nothing."
"Felix," Annette hisses, "what do you want!"
Now he sits back to allow her her space. "You said you'd tutor me."
"I did?" She blinks, tilting her head as if to roll the memory in place. One of the loops in her hair is coming undone from the stress of it. It's remarkable that someone as studious as she can be so scatterbrained, but maybe there are too many things swirling around in there to be neatly shelved. He's tempted to lean forward again and knock.
"You did," he says instead. "In the greenhouse."
Annette squeaks again, her eyes wide and blue and trembling as she scans the library for potential eavesdroppers. Then with reluctance she spreads her journal on the table, exposes a bookmarked page with a personalized calendar, and draws her finger along the relevant date to find what Felix spots first: the words Study with Felix!! beside two small hearts in four different colors.
Damned by his curiosity in her, he points. "Huh. Do the colors mean something?"
She snaps the journal shut and jams his finger inside.
He yelps.
So does she, and then relinquishes his finger before shuffling the miserable note into her bag under the table, as Felix curses and fans the pain away.
"Oh. My. Gosh. Sorry! Felix, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"
"It's—It's fine."
"Nonono, I'm so sorry, I just panicked!"
"Clearly," he says. "It's fine. I've had much worse than a papercut."
Someone clears their throat with the subtlety of an ox. Felix presents the bullshitter an uninjured finger at the same time that Annette wails, "Sorry!"
When they turn back to each other he rolls his eyes and she bites her lip, anxiety pressing her eyebrows low. He attributes it to further undue embarrassment until she mumbles, "...Yes."
"What?"
"Yes," she says, "they're color-coded. But the hearts don't mean anything, I just wanted something I could fill in and they're cute..." She deflates, cheeks puffing into a pout and begging to be pinched. Toying with the corner of another book, she explains, "It's my planner... But it's not just my planner, it's my diary and where I do my writing, too, so it's just super personal, and I'm-so-sorry-I-reacted-that-way-but-you-understand-right-pleasedon'ttellanyone!"
Felix, able to parse the end but unwilling to let her earlier words pass, says, "Writing?"
"What?"
"You said it's where you do your writing," Felix says, nudging her bag with his foot. "Do you write more than songs?"
"Felix, please not so loud." Her lip wobbles.
"I won't tell anyone," he says. There's more to lose than gain if he does, anyway: the songs; this time together; the relief that washes over her now, relaxing her shoulders, recoloring her face, brightening her Robin's egg eyes. The softer pleasure of her now trusting him at his word.
One last, grateful sniff. "Thanks." Then, spirits renewed, she draws herself to her not-so-full height, folds her arms on the table, and—before he can ask whether she truly spends her free time writing odes to the boar prince in her diary—says, "So! What did you need help with?"
"Reason," says Felix. "Seiros knows why the Professor sees fit for me to study it."
Annette practically sparkles, clapping her hands in excitement. "Ooh, that's my focus! Mercie and I covered most of our general classwork here in Fhirdiad, so the Professor holds special sessions for us in—um, sorry." At Felix's bewilderment, she blushes, starts again more slowly: "Okay. So Reason is expansive, versatile, and once you've passed parlor tricks, super powerful. It's tricky because there's a lot of, well, reasoning involved, because you really have to study the spells before you can actually practice the magic, and even then sometimes they just don't vibe with you, but that's what makes it fun!"
Here Felix frowns, because his typical strategy is brute forcing things to grow stronger, so studying hard and practicing harder only to yield no results sounds like the exact opposite of fun. Annette reads his thoughts like the bookworm she is and adds, "Because it's a challenge that way! But it's okay if you don't agree, I know Mercie didn't really like it and she found Faith to be a better fit…" She trails off but then meets his eyes again and smiles. "Anyway! Since you're more of a, um, physical specimen? I'd wager the professor thinks it would add good diversity to your arsenal. Imagine you're facing someone super bulky or heavily armored like His Highness or Dedue. What's your plan of attack?"
Felix doesn't realize he's expected to respond until the pause is too long. He clears his throat and says, "Punch them."
It's not the answer for which she's looking but Annette considers it. "Oooookay, that's one strategy that could definitely work! Getting past armored defenses with typical weapons is difficult, but close combat could give you an advantage. But! Strategically, and in a pinch, it's probably more effective to snap your fingers and WOOSH! Whip 'em with a torrent!"
She jumps and punches the air for effect, giggling. "At least," she finishes, neatly retaking her seat, "that's what I think the professor was getting at."
Holy shit she is adorable. All he can manage is, "Makes sense."
It's enough for her. "Yay! So, how far have you gotten? Will it help to look through a textbook?"
"Sure," he says, and has hardly finished before she announces that she knows the perfect series, hops out of her chair, and disappears around the corner. When she returns with a tower of books high enough to block her vision, Felix has to stand to support the top few lest they topple before making port. Annette thanks him busily and pages through the bottom two, muttering to herself about one chapter or another. She's in her element and is her element, the Dominic whirlwind, which reminds Felix that he meant to ask if bloodline or crests have any effect on what magic works for whom.
"What?" she says, when he poses the question, because her mouth works faster than her brain deciphers the message and she is, for the third time, thumbing through the table of contents in Volume 1. "Oh! Yes, there are some theories. Legacy students at the Royal School often wound up with similar spells as their families, but it's not always the case."
"Huh." Neither Glenn nor their father studied much sorcery. Does their family even have any Reason in them? If not, Felix will be the first.
He pokes her shoulder with a pen. "Annie."
"Hm?"
"Let's… start at Chapter 1?"
She blinks. Looks at him, at her stack of books, at the one still in her hand. "Oh. Okay, sure."
So the lesson continues. Despite the books' presence Annette rarely consults them; she mastered the contents ages ago, with an abundance of silly mnemonics and jingles that settle neatly into Felix's memory and help more than she realizes. His favorite is her Spell Song, which lists the most commonly taught spells in the sorcerous canon and includes sound effects and hand movements respective to each element.
"Wind is WOOSH! Fire is BAM! Blizzard is WHOMP! And Thunder is CRACK!"
"Woosh," tries Felix. "Bam. Whomp. Crack."
"WOOSH!" Annette corrects, slicing the air with her arms like knives. "BAM!" Rubbing her hands together and releasing the friction in his direction. "WHOMP!" A punch to the air. "Aaaand CRACK!" A clap, except that she slows before her hands touch so that they're not too loud.
Felix considers. "I'll probably need to see them a few more times."
"Nope," says Annette, "you're teasing me again. We are moving on!"
And so the session continues. Happily, he much prefers this teacher.