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Felix doesn’t frequent music shops, as his musical capacity is just about that of a refrigerator, but he supposes desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s Christmas Eve, he still hasn’t picked out his white elephant present for tonight, and it’s on his way home from work anyway. He doesn’t have many other options, really.
It’s a quaint little shop tucked between a boutique and a weed dispensary, in a lackluster little strip mall right off the main drag of downtown Fhirdiad. Felix parks his shitty Mustang next to a busted lamppost, flawlessly executes that awkward half-walk/half-jog as a car waits for him to cross the parking lot, and arrives at the shop’s door caked in snow. Don’t Fret reads the white sticker on the glass; Felix isn’t sure whether to smirk at the pun or scowl at it.
He settles on the latter for familiarity’s sake. A bell jingles when he swings the door open and steps out of the cold, scuffing his boots against the mat to dry them.
The inside looks just as he would expect: guitars and all their extended family hung on the walls, a section for vinyls and CDs, keyboards and microphones and other equipment taking up the back corner.
How the inside sounds, meanwhile, is also just as he would expect — if this were some corny scene from a musical he’d somehow stumbled his way into.
What he means by this is — well, someone’s singing.
“Sprout from dirt, in one quick spurt!
Take a drink, and quench your thirst!”
Felix blinks, frowns. He looks around in search of the source, but finds no one in sight. There’s a potted orange lily sitting atop the counter by the register. Maybe he’s just losing it — maybe he imagined the flower to be the one singing. The lyrics were certainly on-topic…
“Oh, little lily, with petals so orange,
Grow so tall and — ugh, no. Why would I try rhyming anything with orange?!”
It’s then that Felix realizes he isn’t schizophrenic. A girl’s head suddenly pops up from behind the counter, her long hair as orange as the flower in the pot, and she squirts water onto the plant’s petals with a spray bottle. She still hasn’t noticed him, it seems, so he clears his throat.
The girl locks eyes with him, pales, and shrieks. “BAH!”
Felix stands there, unsure of what to say as the girl buries her reddening face in her hands. “I… hope I’m not interrupting,” he attempts, smooth as sandpaper.
She peeks an eye through her fingers before slowly lowering her hands. “Y-you’re not, sorry. We’re about to close and I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Oh, if you’re closing, I’ll leave. Thanks.” He turns to go. He’ll just have to find a gift elsewhere, then —
“No, wait!”
Halting, Felix quirks an eyebrow.
“I’ve got time; it isn’t seven yet.” She forces a smile that seems a bit too nervous, a bit too pleading. “So uh, can I help you find anything?”
“Um. Sure. Yeah.” Felix moves closer — it’s awkward trying to hold a conversation from so far away — and looks around at the instruments hung on the walls. “I’ve been guilted into joining this stupid white elephant thing at my family’s Christmas party. It starts in about twenty minutes and I still haven’t bought a present.” He questions whether all that information was necessary to be shared, but, well: “I’m, uh. Bad at things like this. You guys got anything good?”
The girl beams, and up close like this, Felix finds her…quite pretty. Her slate-blue eyes shine bright and her smile brighter, while her cheeks are still tinted pink from being overheard moments ago. Annette is her name, according to the nametag pinned to her cream-colored turtleneck. “Ooh, you want my advice? I’m honored! How much are you looking to spend?”
He hesitates for a half second, realizes he’s staring, and hurriedly clears his throat. “There’s a hundred dollar minimum.”
“Oh, that’s steep,” she mutters, mostly to herself, eyes widened. “Well, you can get a lot of cool stuff for that price! Here, let me show you some.”
Annette moves out from behind the counter and leads him over to one of the guitar walls, bouncing with each step. Felix finds himself looking more at her than at the instruments, her song from earlier already worming its way back into the front of his mind. Sprout from dirt in one quick…what now?
“Our quality guitars range from two to five hundred,” Annette explains, nodding up to the collection. “I mean, we sell cheap ones, and mini ones, but those won’t fit your hundred dollar minimum.”
Felix hums, listening.
“But what I really recommend is this guy.” She passes him by, dosing Felix with a (pleasant) whiff of her perfume, and points to a smaller instrument with a grin. “I’ve tried it out a few times, and it’s my favorite in the store, but I’m trying to save up so I never got one for myself. It’s a Mittelfrank K1 uke.”
Felix studies the ukulele with a quizzical eye — it doesn’t look any different from the thirty dollar one further down the wall, but what does he know. Sure, it has a sleek design, looks high-end to some degree, and if it’s Annette’s favorite it probably sounds good as well. It’s nice and all, but a ukulele just isn’t really his style. Ukuleles are bright and cheery, like Annette. Felix is dark and brooding, like a…like a didgeridoo. Sure.
He’s about to say he’ll keep looking when Annette chimes, “Oh, you go to Garreg Mach?”
Felix looks down at his outfit; she’s noticed his GMU hoodie, its logo framed by his unzipped black bomber. “I do,” he says — and it’s where he’s driven here from, despite technically being on winter break at the moment. Felix interns at the university’s business school so he can one day be qualified to take over his father’s business, a duty that’d fatefully fallen to him after…after Glenn. Well I’ve got to have my heir, don’t I? the old man had said in response to Felix’s many protests.
“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to go there.” Annette’s beaming again, and Felix decides it’s a good look for her.
“It’s nothing special,” he grunts, then remembers negativity isn’t exactly the greatest look for him. “But…why don’t you then?”
Annette’s smile falters slightly, and Felix wonders if he’s pried into sensitive territory. “I mean, I got accepted back in high school, but I just couldn’t afford it,” she explains. Her hands are fidgeting now, and her eyes are trained off to the side. “I’ve been working here for a couple years to try to scrape together the money.”
“Scholarships?” Felix tries, hoping to sound helpful and not condescending.
“I don’t qualify because of my dad’s income, even though…well, nothing. But!” Her smile returns. “This place’s owner is pretty well-off, and he offers grants to his top salesperson every year. So, I’m doing my best and hoping it’s me!”
Felix hums, turning his gaze back to the wall of guitars. Annette’s still bouncing restlessly on the balls of her feet. He can imagine how badly she wants this sale.
“Okay. I’ll take this one.” He nods to her favorite uke.
“Really?!” Hope gleams in her eyes as clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Cool! Thank you so so much!”
“Don’t mention it,” Felix grunts, looking away and shifting stiffly. “Really. Don’t.”
He can practically hear Sylvain’s hysterical laughter all the way from here. You only bought it because of her, didn’t you? Felix banishes the thought as he feels himself start to grow abnormally warm.
“I’ll go grab you a boxed-up one from the back,” Annette says giddily. “Meet you at the register!” And she disappears in an orange blur.
He waits where he’s instructed, taking out his card and tapping it against the countertop as he offhandedly studies the freshly-watered lily plant. Felix is no florist, but he’s pretty sure orange lilies like this one aren’t too common in frigid Fhirdiad. And they’re indoors. Weird.
When Annette finally returns with a cheerful smile and his boxed uke, he tips his head toward the potted plant.
“How’s it growing without sunlight?”
“What? Oh, the lily! One sec.” And just like when he’d first stepped in, Annette drops below his line of sight behind the counter. It’s then that he realizes how short she is — sure, it’s a tall counter, but still. After a moment she reappears, holding an unique-looking lamp. “We shine this on it overnight,” she explains. “My friend Linhardt owns the dispensary next door, and he had an extra, so he gave it to us.”
Felix squints suspiciously at the potted flower, checking if it’s not actually some other plant — if it, too, were a…donation. Again, Felix is no florist, but he’s still pretty sure it’s just a lily.
“Oh and by the way, I’ll throw in a case for the uke, on the house.” She lifts it up to show it to him.
He’s speaking before he even realizes it. “Do cases add toward your personal sales count?”
“Well yeah, but —”
“Then I’ll buy it.” He hands her his card, and if only to downplay his gesture, quickly adds, “I don’t take handouts, that’s all.”
Annette scowls, but there’s a mix of emotions in her eyes. “You’re really shooting down my good deed? Just to help me out?”
He feels another sense of warmth starting to bloom at the back of his neck. “Well, without your help I’d still be without a present. Besides —” He points to the $99.99 price tag on the ukulele box. “There’s a hundred dollar minimum, and it looks like I’m just short. The case will push me over the edge.”
“I’m sure nobody will care about one cent. Plus there’s tax!” She huffs, then smiles meekly. “But fine…I guess I’ll let you. Thanks for that.”
“Whatever,” he says harmlessly, then takes his card from Annette, being extra careful not to accidentally brush her fingers with his. He grabs the paper bag with his gifts inside and turns to go.
“Don’t fret!” calls Annette as he leaves, and at Felix’s confused expression, she adds, “Sorry, sorry. My boss makes us say that to all our customers. It’s corny, I know.”
He finds himself smirking at the pun this time, instead of scowling. He wonders why.
Before turning to go, though, he stops, raising a finger.
“Foreign,” Felix offers.
She knits her eyebrows. “Huh?”
“A word that rhymes with ‘orange.’ Well, close enough anyway.” He shrugs. “Might help with your song.”
The color drains from Annette’s cheeks, and she lets out a mortified groan, covering her face with her hands. Felix had honestly tried to be helpful, but only managed to embarrass her to all hell. Clearly he isn’t cut out for this.
He shifts from foot to foot and takes this as his cue to leave. “Thanks again,” he calls, even if he’s unsure if he thanked her a first time.
Maybe he’ll have to come again someday, if only to see if she takes his suggestion. Hell, when that day comes, he just might be roped into another purchase.
* * *
Annette does her best not to think about Dark-Haired Ukulele Boy on the entire bus ride home, and fails harder than her middle school PACER Test.
Why did he have to come in right when she started singing? And of course it had to be one of her dumb originals, not any of the songs from the radio she’s been working on covering, nor one of the hymns she’ll sing with Mercie when they go to church together. Just her luck. He probably thinks she’s the biggest wackjob on this side of the Oghmas.
Oh well. She’ll probably never see him again, anyway, and that’s her only consolation.
Annette tries to forget about it by humming one of those hymnal tunes to herself as she peers out the window. Christmas lights are strung up across nearly every building in the city, passing by in a blur as the bus lumbers uptown. This really is Annette’s favorite time of year. Fhirdiad’s usually a cold, dreary, unforgiving place; at no other time does the city feel so festive, so lively.
She stops humming when she notices she’s gathered too much unwanted attention. Blushing, Annette shrinks into her puffy overcoat and tries her best to blend in with the seat.
One fifteen minute bus ride later, Annette arrives at her apartment to an unusual sight.
“Mercie, you’re wearing a dress!”
It’s not her most groundbreaking observation. Regardless, her best friend offers a light giggle, turning away from the mirror as she works a brush through fluffy locks of blonde hair. “I sure am, Annie.” Mercedes sets the brush down, hair settling neatly over one shoulder, and motions to the stunning red dress and high heel combo she’s sporting. “How do I look?”
Annette shrugs her backpack off her shoulder and drapes it over a chair. “Gorgeous as ever, silly. What’s the occasion?”
It’s slight, but Annette detects the hesitation in Mercedes’s tone. “Right, about that,” she says, her smile faltering as she moves closer. “Um, Annie, I know we agreed to spend the evening watching Christmas movies like we do every year, but…”
Annette feels a sullen pit start to take form in her stomach. Oh no. Is Mercie really ditching her again? Annette knows she’s pouting, but she can’t help it. She’ll already be spending Christmas by herself this year…
“Well…Dedue wants me to go to a Christmas party with him. Everyone else is bringing their dates, so he’d feel left out if I didn’t come with.” She places a hand on Annette’s shoulder, smiling guiltily enough to make her regret pouting. Well, almost.
“Oh, okay. Go have fun Mercie,” Annette says, and even if her intentions are genuine her voice still sounds small. “Don’t feel bad, it’s okay. Really.”
“Oh, I won’t feel bad!” Mercedes perks up again, giving Annette’s shoulder a fond squeeze. “Because you’re coming too.”
Annette blinks. “Huh?”
“I asked for a plus-one, of course. Dimitri will be there, and whenever Dedue’s around him, I’m the third wheel, believe it or not. Those two just talk so much!”
“But I wasn’t invited! How can I just show up at…” Trailing off, Annette frowns. “Wait, whose party even is it?”
Mercedes makes a thoughtful expression. “Hm. Now that you mention it, I never asked.” Noticing this does nothing to quell Annette’s noticeable distress, she quickly follows up with a reassuring smile and another shoulder pat. “But I’m sure it’s fine, Annie. I got permission to bring a friend after all.”
“Mercie, I —” Annette closes her eyes, shakes her head. “I can’t just crash some stranger’s party. That’s so…so improper!”
“There’ll be plenty of people our age there. You can just hang by me if you’re so unsure about it. But it’s your decision. Just know that I’ll sorely miss you if you’d rather stay home, but I won’t hold it against you.”
And so it’s more or less a whim that finds Annette sitting in the backseat of an Uber with her best friend half an hour later, headed off to some complete stranger’s Christmas party. Even if she’d rather be laying in bed in her fuzzy pink pajamas binging god-awful Hallmark Channel movies right now, she doesn’t want to be alone. She already can’t afford to fly home to the countryside to spend the holiday with her mother. And since Mercie will be busy with Dedue tomorrow as well, Annette would rather spend some time with her this holiday than none at all. So, if only for that reason, she agreed to come along.
It doesn’t stop her from worrying, though. The dress doesn’t help either — it’s Mercie’s deep blue homecoming dress from her freshman year, since Annette didn’t have anything of the sort — but she’s paranoid about showing up dressed too formal.
They arrive after a short trip, and Annette follows Mercedes out into the chilly night air. Beyond, a long brick driveway leads up to perhaps the biggest house Annette has ever seen, bedecked with a dazzling array of thousands of white lights. A frozen stone fountain with a statue as its centerpiece stands prominently in the middle of the brick plaza.
Annette swallows thickly, having earned her answer on the dress code for tonight’s occasion. (She would probably pass.)
“Looks like we’re right on time!” Mercedes says, linking arms with her, smiling serenely in spite of the cold. Of course she wouldn’t be fazed by the pomp and circumstance; she’s visited the Blaiddyds’ mansion with Dedue many times.
Even without four-inch heels, icy brick pathways, and spiraling nerves, Annette is normally a clumsy person. Add those factors in and she nearly trips four times walking ten feet from their Uber.
It’s on the fourth time Mercedes has to steady her that Annette finally notices that her friend has been carrying something in the crook of her arm this whole time.
Something…wrapped.
Her eyes go wide. “Uh, Mercie?”
“Yes?”
“Whatcha got there?”
“Hm? Oh, this! It’s a present, Annie. Did the wrapping paper and bow not give it away?”
Annette makes a face. “Please tell me it’s for Dedue, Mercie.”
“I’m giving him his gift tomorrow, actually.” She gives the immaculately-wrapped box in her hands a little shake. “This one here is just for the white elephant game.”
Annette promptly goes as pale as a white elephant. “Mercie! I was supposed to bring a gift?!”
Mercedes takes in a sharp breath. “Oh dear, did I forget to mention that? I’m sorry, Annie. I’m sure it’s no big deal though; you didn’t know. No one will care.”
“I’ll care! I can’t just show up uninvited and choose not to follow their rules!” she cries, full-on panicking now. “What will they think of me — I’ll be kicked out on the spot!”
Annette knows that’s a harsh leap in logic, but she slinks her arm out of Mercie’s anyway and spins on her high heels toward the parked Uber. Luckily it’s still sitting there, the driver probably sifting through the app to find his next rider.
“Annie, where are you going?”
Somehow she’s managing to walk back toward the car without assistance. “I’m gonna go buy a present somewhere,” she calls out frantically, stumbling but keeping on her feet. “I promise I’ll be right back!”
Mercedes sighs. “If you’re sure. Be careful then, Annie. I’m a phone call away if you need me.”
Moments later Annette pays the driver cash to take her to any open gift shop, and she’s on the road again. He says he has a place in mind, one he took his daughter to once.
She looks out the window as the lights pass by and snow drifts down from the heavens. All she hears is the roar of an engine, tires on pavement, and her own hammering heartbeat. Annette catches her driver’s eye in the rearview mirror and quickly flits her gaze away. She’s always hated awkward silence, but he probably doesn’t want to talk; many of her Uber drivers have been this way. Still, she finds herself…tempted.
Don’t say it, she tells herself. Don’t say it.
The silence drags on.
Don’t say it…
“So how long have you been driving for Uber?”
Aw, dammit.
She cracked. “Ha!” the man barks, grinning jovially. “The fabled question, tried and true. I thought you’d never ask.” That’s a kind way of putting the most repetitive sentence a driver ever hears, Annette muses. He connects eyes with hers, briefly, through the mirror. “I’ve been getting bad reviews for…ahem, ‘talking too much,’ so I like to keep quiet unless spoken to first nowadays. But anyway. Two years now? This taxi gig is just something I do on my days off.”
“Oh,” Annette says, “What else do you do?”
“I’m a policeman! Officer Alois Rangeld.”
Annette sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes growing wide as sweet, dangerous hope blooms in her chest. “You’re a cop?” she asks. He might know Father, then…
“Sure am! It has its ups and downs. I just found out I’m on duty tomorrow, on Christmas day . It’s a drag, but y’know what we’ll be saying to each other at the station?” He turns to send her an eagerly mischievous look. “Police Navidad! Ha!”
“Do you know a Gustave Dominic?” she blurts, her mind completely missing what he’s been saying the past twenty seconds. “I…I think he’s in the force.”
Alois only looks marginally hurt that she ignored his joke. “Hm…Gustave, eh?” He runs his fingers along his goatee, brow furrowed. “Can’t say that I do. Sorry kiddo.”
Annette’s spirits fall as quickly as they’d risen. She spends the rest of the ride pretending to listen to Alois’s stories, offering dry Mhms and Ohs and Yeahs when prompted.
After a short time he lets her out at a storefront with a flickering neon open sign. She pays him in advance to take her back to the party when she’s done, then hurries inside.
She just hopes there isn’t a price minimum on the gift. Especially if it’s anywhere near the hundred dollar minimum Dark-Haired Ukulele Boy spoke of.
Funny, Annette thinks. Now she’s in the same boat that he was in when he set foot inside Don’t Fret.
Talk about a coincidence.
* * *
Felix arrives late to his family’s own party.
He lugs in the bags of groceries his father made him buy on his way home, clutching the ukulele by its neck. He didn’t bother wrapping it; Felix was never one for stylish presentations. Still, if only to play along, he slapped a bow to the headstock and called it a day.
Not five feet into the foyer does his family — memorable faces and otherwise — notice him. Some cheer his name, swarm him with obligatory half-hugs when he’s obviously got his hands full, bombard him with questions about the career he has yet to inherit, tell him he looks so much like Glenn! Others, those who aren’t pretending to be cordial, those who know him best, send him wary glances and choose to keep their distance. Felix decides he likes these family members best.
He sets the bags on the kitchen counter and sets out in search of the gift pile; their biggest tree is in the sitting room, so he heads there, unwittingly drumming his fingers against his thigh to the tune in his head of a song about lilies.
On his way he notices more and more tolerable people. Ingrid’s here already, on Sylvain’s arm, but neither sees him yet. He keeps walking. Dedue and his girlfriend (he always forgets the name) are here, and it’s strange to find the man anywhere without —
Ah, of course. Dimitri’s here too, his arm snaked around Marianne’s shoulder as he butters up one of Felix’s uncles with polished, empty words.
Felix sours, teeth gritting; he told his father not to invite him. Of course the old man wouldn’t listen. Dimitri’s his favorite, after all.
He takes another hallway to avoid any unwelcome interactions. Once he finds the damn gift pile he can finally set down this overpriced ukulele and disappear until Ingrid drags him back down when the game commences.
Sure enough, a pile of presents surrounds the Christmas tree in the sitting room. Directly in his path, however, is his father, chatting ostentatiously with all who’ll listen. Felix knows the topic before even hearing it; the old man always gets like this when family and friends come over. It’s all quite the performance.
“…and when it came to his foil work, none could hold a candle to him. It was a marvel — ah, Felix! You’re back!”
Felix winces, freezing in place. Now that he thinks about it, he could’ve just had Sylvain drop the stupid gift off for him.
“Tell us about Glenn’s fencing,” Rodrigue says, all smiles to Felix’s frowns. “What was it like?”
Felix’s grip tightens around the ukulele’s neck. He knows what his old man — and the dozen blank faces waiting at the edge of their seats — wants to hear. He was perfect, untouchable; I never beat him once; were he still here he’d be a two-time gold medalist. True as those statements may be, and as frustrated as they leave him, they only succeed in making Felix sick to his stomach.
“He was good,” Felix states, simply, flatly, his meager offering to the altar of their dead idol. He leaves it at that, forgetting about the gift in his hands, and turns to leave the room.
“Ha!” he hears his father’s bark of laughter, “Blunt as a spoon, that Felix. Now, let me tell you about…”
Felix takes the same detour to avoid Dimitri and the others, deciding it’s time to disappear for a couple hours. With them he’d be seventh-wheeling anyway. There’s a balcony on the third floor that he used to love contemplating throwing Sylvain off of, so maybe he’ll go there.
* * *
If “fashionably late” is still a phrase people regularly use, Annette is the most stylish guest at the party. It’s a full hour and a half after it begins that she walks (stumbles, rather) into the grand foyer with a hastily-wrapped present from the gift shop.
Annette does her best to attract as little attention as possible as she tries following Mercie’s text directions as to where to find her. Through this hall, past this room, through the kitchen, two lefts, a right…It’s a lot to handle. This is the biggest home she’s ever been in, and she feels like she’s trespassing.
Finally she spots a stunning red dress and a blonde head of hair.
“Oh, Annie, you made it!” Mercedes says cheerfully, taking her hand and leading her toward Dedue and a handful of curious faces. “Dimitri, Marianne, Sylvain, Ingrid, this is Annette, my best friend.”
“Um, hi,” Annette says.
They welcome her warmly, offering smiles and handshakes that quickly ease her visible nerves.
“So,” the redhead, Sylvain, cooes during a particular lull in the conversation. He gestures to the poorly-wrapped present in the crook of Annette’s arm. “Who’s that for? Someone special?”
The blonde beside him, Ingrid, elbows him sharply. “Is that any of your business?”
“It’s actually…um, I was told there’s this white elephant thing,” Annette explains. “I didn’t want to, y’know, be the one who shows up without a gift.”
The group quiets, shares a look. Annette worries that she’s said something wrong.
Mercedes is the one to break the news. “Um, Annie…I tried calling you, but I don’t think my calls went through. We finished the game about ten minutes ago.” She turns to show her the necklace she wasn’t wearing earlier tonight, a dazzling thing of diamonds and rubies. “I’m sorry, Annie.”
She went through all of that for nothing, then? Annette whips out her phone and checks for missed calls — none. Then she sees the unusual little icon on her notification bar. Sighing, she realizes she must’ve accidentally activated airplane mode. “Ah, it’s okay,” she says, kicking herself mentally. “I guess I’ll just hold onto this and return it.”
“What did you get?” Dimitri asks, then adds, “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“It was kinda last-minute, so I went to this little gift shop about fifteen minutes away and asked for something cool.” She gives the box, about the size of her abdomen, a little shake. “It’s this…sword type thing? A replica, not a real one. The salesman said it was a famous model from medieval Fódlan.”
Again, the group shares a look — no, it’s just Sylvain, Ingrid, and Dimitri this time. Annette wonders if they’re communicating telepathically.
“Say, Annette,” begins Sylvain, a strange twinkle in his eye, “have you met Felix yet?”
She blinks. “Who’s that?”
“Just the guy who lives here.”
Huh. Perhaps it is rude she’s crashed this random family’s Christmas party and has yet to even introduce herself to the homeowners. “I haven’t yet, no,” she says, and the way Sylvain swirls his drink in his cup and nonchalantly peers at her over the brim is only marginally unsettling.
“Hm. Interesting.”
* * *
It isn’t for about an hour that Felix remembers he’s holding a ukulele.
Shit, the game, he thinks to himself, pulling out his phone to see three unread texts from Ingrid and one from Sylvain.
hey- game’s starting
Get down here Fe I know ur hiding upstairs somewhere
ok u missed it, not my problem
YO FELIX I FOUND A GRIL WHO’S PRFECT 4 U DUDE I STG
Felix ignores the routine text from Sylvain and curses to himself, glaring down at the hundred-dollar uke in his gloved hand. He really bought it for nothing.
Maybe he’ll return it the day after tomorrow, and have the chance to see that girl again, maybe hear the end to that song of hers. Silly as it was, it’s been stuck in his head all night.
His breath is visible as he sighs in frustration. Thankfully the snowfall’s relented by now, but the night remains bitterly cold; he fixes his scarf and leans back over the rail.
He hears footsteps approaching from inside, then a sliding door, then a — was that a stumble?
Felix turns to see a girl in nothing but a deep blue dress and a cropped fur coat worn over it. She must have really been overheating in there to come out in these temperatures. He watches as she leans against the railing a good way’s away, still not noticing him.
Felix clears his throat.
“BAH!” The girl stumbles again, and it’s a marvel she doesn’t fall over the edge. “S-sorry, I didn’t see you there. Is this balcony taken?”
Wait. Felix freezes. He knows that shriek. That voice. That red hair, those slate-blue eyes.
“Wha — Annette?” Squinting, Felix takes a cautious step forward.
“How do you know my…” Annette’s eyes flash with recognition as he steps into the light. She gasps. “It’s you! Ukulele guy!”
Felix pauses at the nickname, making a face. “I…yeah.” He blinks. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I…I felt a little uncomfortable because I know hardly anyone here, so I just wanted some air for a sec. I wandered around for a bit and eventually found —”
“I mean at my house.”
“Oh! Right. Your…house. You must be Felix then?”
He nods.
Annette fumbles with her hands, color blooming in her cheeks. “My friend Mercie — uh, Dedue’s girlfriend — said she had permission to bring a plus-one? I’m that plus one. I…really hope that’s okay. If not I’ll leave right now, just say the word,” she stammers. Then, quickly: “I promise I’m not stalking you or anything!”
Felix snorts. “I’m not gonna ask you to leave,” he says, watching as her shoulders sag in relief and she slowly starts to calm. He tips his head toward the box she’s carrying under one arm. “You missed the game?”
Annette sighs. “I did, yeah. I Ubered into town to pick one up and just missed it by the time I finally got here. Waste of money…”
Felix arches an eyebrow. “Funny,” he mutters, lifting the ukulele up for her to see. “I missed it too.”
Annette smiles and laughs, the sound euphonic and musical. “I guess we’re both bad at these sorts of things.”
As his gaze flicks between the gift in her hands and the gift in his, an…idea hatches in Felix’s mind. Turning his gaze back out to the courtyard, he allows a silence to settle between them as he tries to work up the courage. He can already hear Sylvain’s taunting: How can you be such a wimp? Do it!
Finally, he huffs and promptly shoves the ukulele toward her. “Here,” he grunts, already feeling his face heat up.
“Huh?” Annette’s eyes widen. “What are you…”
Felix presses his lips and meets her eyes hesitantly. “Just take it. I’m stuck with a ukulele that just so happens to be the one you’ve always wanted, so…it’s yours, I guess.”
A range of emotions plays out on Annette’s face: guilt, uncertainty, shock, then ultimately gratitude. She peers up at him with sad eyes and a bright smile.
“Then here,” she says, handing her box over to him. Felix stares at it, but it’s looking like she won’t take the uke until he takes the box.
“…Alright.”
So, in their own paltry version of the very game they spent the evening preparing for, they exchange their presents.
“Hmm, I wonder what mine is,” Annette jokes, studying the unboxed, unwrapped ukulele with a mockingly-speculative eye.
“I’m not one for…cutesy things,” Felix intones, and while the word ‘cutesy’ took a great deal of effort to grind out, he considers Annette’s little giggle worth the trouble.
She taps the box he’s still holding, his eyes having been focused on something else. “Go on, open yours.”
He obeys, ripping the wrapping free and opening the box, reaching in to pull its contents out.
Felix’s eyes widen. “Annette,” he says, turning the item around to study it, “Is this…what I think it is?”
It’s a half-scale replica of a double-edged blade, sporting a circular crossguard and bronze hilt, forged by Zoltan, Sreng’s very own master swordsmith from the 1100s. It would fit perfectly in his collection, next to his Moralta, Wo Dao, Ashiya, and Thunderbrand models. How did she…
“Uh, maybe?” Annette shrugs. “I have no idea, to be honest. I kinda did what you did. I went into a store and asked the person for something cool, so she showed me this thing.” Her smile is nervous now, he notices. “Do you like it?”
He nods, still studying the model, watching the way the moon gleams off its shiny blade. “I do,” he says honestly. “I used to be a fencer, actually. Swords are kind of my thing.”
“Wow. I guess I lucked out then!” Annette laughs again, drawing Felix’s gaze away from his gift. “I was hoping whoever got mine would be a history buff so they wouldn’t think it’s just a toy.”
Felix is smiling now. “Thank you,” he tells her. “For your help today. And for this.” He sets the Zoltan model down on a nearby table.
“You’re welcome. Thank you too. I can’t wait to try out a bunch of my new songs on this thing!”
That piques his interest. “Like the lily song?”
Annette frowns, confused, then gasps as she suddenly remembers. “N-no!” she cries, “Forget about that one! It’s just a dumb little thing I was making up on the spot.”
“That’s too bad,” Felix says, crossing his arms. “I was hoping I could hear the finished product one day.”
Her frown relenting, Annette chews on her lip. “Mngh, fine,” she growls. “Maybe one day I’ll let you hear it again. But not today! I need to finish it.”
Felix nods. “Then maybe I’ll have to stop by at the shop again sometime.”
He flinches. That sounded like he was hitting on her, didn’t it?
But Annette only smiles again, and Felix finds himself matching it. “Maybe,” she says, before turning to peer out over the balcony. Felix joins her, standing a bit closer than before.
The night, it seems, is beginning to wind to a close. People are filing out of the house and into their cars. He spots Sylvain throwing a snowball at Ingrid before hurrying into his Jeep, only for Ingrid to smuggle a wad of snow inside and force-feed it to him. Felix is proud of her.
“Well, I bet Mercie’s looking for me by now,” Annette mumbles, shivering slightly. Felix is overcome with a sudden, unfamiliar sense of disappointment at the idea of her leaving. “But this was the most fun I’ll probably have all Christmas, so thank you. Your friends are really fun, too,” she adds with a smile.
Felix shrugs. “That’s a nice way to say annoying.” He turns to fix her with a curious look. “What do you mean, though?”
Annette’s breath fogs in front of her as she huffs. “Well, I’ll be spending it alone. I live with Mercie, but she’ll be with Dedue, and I couldn’t afford a plane ticket to fly home.”
Frowning, Felix peers back out over the balcony and hums. It’s quiet between them for a moment. Then: “My Christmas usually sucks too,” he says. “If you noticed, I don’t like most of my family. That’s why I’m up here. To them, I’m just…”
He trails off, ‘second place’ right on the tip of his tongue. Felix decides not to get into it; those wounds are better left scabbed over.
Annette’s staring at him, a handful of questions in her shimmering eyes, her fair skin so radiant in the moonlight. And, for the second time now, Felix feels an idea hatching in his mind. A stupid one, one he would normally never even think of, one that could backfire right in his face and provide Sylvain with enough material for ridicule to last him a lifetime.
There are a few things most people want to accomplish in life: achieve a successful and fulfilling career, leave their mark on the world, fall in love and start a family. Felix isn’t aimless, but looking to the future has never quite been his thing; he takes life one day at a time.
Sure, he has a few items on his bucket list: try skydiving, visit Dagda and Brigid, throw Sylvain’s voodoo doll into Ailell volcano. Simple things.
But as for love and romance…He’s never been focused on such goals.
That’s why — when he peers at Annette, when he peers at Annette and feels things — he’s so far out of his element. It’s uncomfortable, it’s nerve-racking. Like he’s standing at the edge of a steep plunge.
But he finds himself swallowing his pride and asking anyway.
“Would you…maybe…want to…” Felix braves a glance in her direction; her eyes are so bright, so hopeful, that he’s unable to look away. He takes the leap. “I dunno. Spend it together?”
He’s in freefall now. Felix watches as Annette blinks back surprise, until, miraculously, her lips slowly break out in a big smile.
“Sure,” she breathes. “Sure, I’d like that.”
Relief washes over Felix as he nods and swallows hoarsely. “Um, great,” he mumbles, an expert conversationalist. “I’ll —”
A phone rings, cutting Felix off. Annette reaches into her purse and grabs her phone. “Oh, hey Mercie,” she says, sending Felix an apologetic glance. “Okay, I’m on my way down right now.”
Annette drops the phone back into her purse and links eyes with him once more. It’s silent now, save for the commotion on the ground level and the sound of Felix’s own heartbeat in his ears. Neither of them makes a move to leave.
“So,” she says.
“So,” he says.
“I guess…See you tomorrow?” There’s hope in her tone, nervousness in her smile, as if he hadn’t been the one to already ask her.
Felix nods. “Y-yeah. Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll have Dedue send you my number,” Annette says, gathering her things before stumbling toward the sliding door. She sends him one last parting glance. “Alright, goodbye!” she calls, and this time there’s only excitement in her tone.
He nods, matching her smile as he watches her go. She must have waved three more times and tripped four before she finally disappears from his view.
Felix pulls out his phone and immediately searches for flower shops open on Christmas day. There’s got to be at least one of them that carries orange lilies.