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Sylvain was never big on reading.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t good at it – he enjoyed his fair share of heroic tales and romantic fantasy novels in his youth. But he much preferred to be out living the types of adventures he read about, and he was well equipped to do so. After all, the flirtations of fictional characters could never compare to the feeling of pulling a girl closer and sealing her lips with his.
But every once in a while he could be persuaded to forego a night on the town in favor of curling up with a good book. Or in this case, a collection of handwritten pages lying abandoned on the grass outside the classrooms.
At first he thinks it’s someone’s written assignment. People were losing things all the time and this wouldn’t have been the weirdest incident by far (Sylvain would never forget when an entire tea set turned up floating at the baths).
Upon closer inspection he realizes it’s not that at all. It’s something much better.
It’s a story. A well written story.
A story so well written that he ends up standing there for the better part of an hour just reading, the setting sun barely registering as he races through the pages to know what happens next and it’s exciting, it’s fresh, it’s new, he’s never been so engaged since the time he read a three part series to impress a girl and –
The papers are snatched out of his hand, his eyes still chasing the words as he blinks back to reality.
“You read it?!”
Bernadetta stands before him looking absolutely scandalized, clutching the papers to her chest. “Oh no no no, oh why did I think it was a good idea to ever leave my room –”
“Whoa slow down there,” he says. His body is present but his mind is still with the protagonists. “Did you write this?”
“No!” She says, gripping the pages so tight he fears she’ll rip them. “Just, just… forget you ever saw me! Forget about me!”
Not the first time a girl’s ever said that to him, but the context is definitely stranger this time around. She turns and starts dashing across the courtyard.
“I liked it!” He shouts.
She freezes. Turns back slowly. “What?”
“I liked it,” he says again. “Your story. Is there more?”
“M-more?” She squeaks.
He grins. “Yeah. You’ve really got a talent for this stuff.”
“You must be thinking of someone else,” she says, still looking like she might bolt at any second. “They’re just my nonsense writings.”
“If this is nonsense, I’d love to see more of it. Art is meant to be shared, don’t you think?”
He winks, and maybe it’s a bit much because her eyes grow wide. She doesn’t run though, and that’s something.
“I agree,” she says so quietly he almost doesn’t catch it.
Almost.
Sylvain’s barely spoken more than two words to her before, but now he really wants to know what other stories Bernadetta’s hiding.
He starts reading her work. It takes a lot of persuasion and just a touch of bribery with extra sweet buns to reassure her that yes, he does like her stories, no he’s not going to tell anyone, yes he swears on his grandfather’s grave to keep it a secret and will she please just let him read it because he’s dying to know how the story ends.
Bernadetta is more skittish than he anticipated, but Sylvain is nothing if not very, very persistent. It took forever to convince her that his intentions were pure (for once). All he wanted was to stay her first and most loyal reader. Eventually she stopped running away at the sight of him, and he was glad, if only because the whispering was getting out of hand.
But a few rumors weren’t enough to deter him, and now it hardly matters since he’s back in the courtyard spread out on the grass, fresh reading material in hand.
She’s sitting on a nearby bench, close enough to hear his feedback but far enough to focus. A crochet pouch is her project of choice today, as neither of them are very talkative when he’s nose deep in her latest writings.
She has a lot of hobbies, Sylvain notices. So far he’s seen her paint, sew, and make crafts. Guess it’s easy to build up a repertoire when you spend most of your time locked away by yourself.
Sylvain flicks through the pages leisurely. “Your characters feel so lifelike,” he comments.
"They do? I’m glad,” she says.
“Do you come up with all this yourself? Or do you get inspiration from real life?”
She shrugs. “A little of both. B-but it’s not like I put people I know in my stories! That’s weird, right? Yeah, probably.”
He tries not to laugh. “You know, you’re a really bad liar.”
“Am not!” She pointedly avoids looking at him, fingers worrying at the ends of her hair. “Anyway, no one was supposed to read it so it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong!”
He hums. “Sure, sure. I wonder which character I am though?”
Her face could put tomatoes to shame, and Sylvain cracks a grin at the sight. She really is too adorable.
“I might not be hero material, but maybe the dashing best friend? That could work.”
“Anyone can be the main character,” she mumbles. “Even you.”
“I like your thinking,” he says. And he does. He really does.
He balances a basket of sweet buns on his hip and knocks three times. “Bernadetta? You in there?”
No response. He sets the basket down and tries again. “I brought you something to eat, are you taking care of yourself?”
He waits, brow furrowed with worry. She wasn’t at dinner, nor at training, and was absent from class all day. It wasn’t unusual for her to hide away in her room, and Sylvain wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except she missed their scheduled meet up at the library that afternoon.
Sylvain was unfortunately used to girls skipping out on him, and was often times the one doing the skipping, but Bernadetta didn’t strike him as the type. Not that they had a thing going, but the same principles applied.
That’s what he repeated to himself as he knocked on her door again. “I’ll leave these here for you, okay?”
He’s at the foot of the stairs when he hears the door crack open. He turns around and sees Bernadetta at the door, face flushed and hair sticking up on one side.
“Sylvain?”
“Uh, yeah. Hey, you don’t look so good.”
She sways a little and he hurries up the stairs to hold the door for her. “Whoa there, let’s get you back to bed.”
She allows him to coax her under the covers, and he opens the window to let the breeze waft through. He feels her eyes on him as he busies himself with the sweet buns and pulls up a chair next to her bedside.
“Here, have some. I know they’re your favorite,” he says.
She seems to recollect herself, eyes widening. “Ah, you don’t have to –”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. You were about to pass out on your doorstep. Just let me take care of you.”
Her cheeks are already rosy from what he assumes is the fever, but they blush even darker when he insists on wiping her brow with a wet towel. She nibbles on a sweet bun, reminding him of the squirrels in the gardens, and pointedly avoids his eyes.
“S-sorry,” she says.
“For what?”
She gestures vaguely. “For this. For being so weak.”
“Hey, we all get sick sometimes,” he says, patting her head. “That’s not being weak.”
“But I –”
“If you’re really sorry, you’ll focus on resting up and getting better. I’ll tell Professor Manuela to check on you later, okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, burying herself under the blankets. “Thank you.”
He stands up, satisfied. “Hopefully I’ll see you in class in a few days. Take care, Bernadetta.”
He’s halfway out the door before he hears a quiet, “Bernie.”
“What?”
She emerges from the blankets. “You can call me Bernie. If you want.”
“Alright then, Bernie.”
Sylvain shuts the door and nearly trips on his way out. He’s not the one with the fever, but his cheeks also feel unexpectedly warm afterward.
“You’re cute.”
It slips out by accident, but it’s not something he hasn’t wanted to say for a while now. Bernadetta often looks cute, even when she’s stuttering because someone turned the corner too fast and scared her.
He’s made a note to be more careful next time, but Sylvain isn’t complaining since he currently has his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” she mumbles, hands twisting into her skirt.
He moves back to give her some space. “It’s not a lie if it’s the truth,” he says. “I think you’re cute. No one’s told you before?”
A blush colors her cheeks, and Sylvain feels his chest tighten. He’s been around with more than a few girls, but none have ever worn their heart on their sleeve so plainly as Bernie. It’s refreshing and more attractive than he’d like to admit, and he wonders why he ever wasted his time when he could’ve been pursuing the real thing.
She shifts again, still averting his eyes. “N-no. Why would they?”
“I know I’ve got a reputation,” he says. “But I think we’ve spent enough time together for you to know that I’m being honest when I say that I like spending time with you.”
Her grip on her uniform loosens. “Really?” She whispers.
He steps closer, and she finally meets his gaze. He’s much taller than her, but gone are the days when she used to cower from him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Really.”
Her eyes shine like the stars. “O-oh. Well. Thank… you?”
He laughs, but not unkindly. She laughs a little too, then shyly looks away again. He can’t have that.
He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, gives her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn’t.
Slowly, she turns back to look at him again. “Sylvain?”
She’s hesitant, but there’s something in her tone that betrays interest. He leans down ever so slightly and she doesn’t flinch away. He suspects she doesn’t have much experience with this sort of thing, and that’s perfectly fine with him.
But he wants to be sure, and so he says, “If you don’t want this, it’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t like.”
His heart is making a valiant effort to beat straight out of his chest, but he waits for her answer. Finally, she nods.
“I don’t know but I think I’d… like to try.”
Sylvain tucks her hair behind her ear, moves his hand to cup the back of her neck. “Okay,” he whispers. Her breath hitches and he closes the distance.
It’s soft and slow and oh so chaste but her lips are like nectar against his and he wants to drown in this moment. She freezes at first, her shoulders tense as he brushes his hand down one. He’s ready to stop there, but then she carefully starts to match his movements.
Sylvain’s hand curves around her waist, pulling her even closer. Her hands grip the front of his shirt as if he’s the only thing grounding her. He keeps it controlled for her, wanting and hoping that this is only the first of many, many more kisses and touches between them.
When he pulls away, her eyes are still closed. He smiles and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
“You really are too cute,” he says, and to his delight she opens her eyes and smiles back.
“That was… nice,” she says, cheeks a rosy hue.
“Just nice?” He teases.
“V-very nice! And I’d like… to do it again. If you want. Maybe.”
“All you had to do was ask,” he say, feeling entirely too fond as he presses his nose to hers.
The stars twinkle above, and Sylvain hardly sleeps that night when he finally returns to his room. He catches her eye as they enter the classroom the next morning and can’t help but wink. She clutches her bag tighter and looks away out of habit, but he doesn’t miss the way she smiles after.