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One hand pressed against his aching back, Linhardt attempts to walk rather than stagger like a drunkard, but without much success. After all, the cramps kept him from napping in class, but Linhardt knows from experience that he can’t function without at least one afternoon nap, leading to decreased performance in training and Linhardt literally not remembering a single moment of every lecture he sat through. But, thankfully, classes are over for today, and if he can just reach his bedroom, a painkiller and a nap should make him feel better. Hopefully.
When he finally reaches his dorm room, Linhardt blinks, his tired mind puzzled by the sight. The door, which he definitely locked, sits ajar, and soft, familiar humming drifts through the gap.
“Bernadetta?” he calls, nudging the door open.
A shriek pierces his ears, followed by the clatter of something wooden hitting the floor. “D-Don’t come in!”
Without bothering to answer, Linhardt grimaces as another cramp squeezes his guts, and pushes the door open.
“Lin, I said wait!” Bernadetta cries, scrabbling to her feet and dashing over, arms flailing.
Linhardt stops dead, but not because she told him to. He just stands there, stunned. Behind his girlfriend, whose presence he still doesn’t understand, his bedroom has been transformed into a mess of blankets, pillows and at least three chairs, one of which lies on its back, causing one edge of the structure to sag. But despite his confusion, Linhardt recognizes it, and he finds himself letting out a deep sigh.
“Bernadetta,” he says, rubbing his back again. “Why is there a blanket fort in my room?”
Bernadetta flinches, her cheeks flushing bright red faster than normal, and she darts forwards and grabs his arm. “D-Do you not like it? Oh, I knew I should’ve asked first! Stupid, stupid Bernie, why’d you think he’d want such a stupid surprise—”
Recognizing the beginning of a downwards spiral of panic and self-deprecation, Linhardt holds back a sigh and rests his other hand on her shoulder. “Bernadetta,” he says softly. “Calm yourself. I’m not mad. Can you… explain what you meant by surprise?”
“O-Oh… o-okay…” she says, heaving in the deepest breath she can manage and then exhaling slowly (and Linhardt smiles as he recognizes the breathing exercises he taught her months earlier, after she first panicked in front of him). Despite his back and stomach aching and wanting nothing more but to lie down, Linhardt lets Bernadetta take her time, bringing herself back to normal. She smiles awkwardly, a silent display of thanks, before mumbling, “W-Well, we got back early, so I wanted t-to surprise you. And, and Sylvain told me about m-making forts and I, I knew you’d still be feeling crappy, so… I wanted to make you one.”
“I… I see,” Linhardt says, taking a moment to process her rambling words. That explains a lot. He was told the Blue Lions were getting back from their two-day training mission this evening, so seeing Bernadetta at three o’clock baffled him, and Bernadetta did this because she knew he would still be dealing with period pain when she got back. It doesn’t explain how Bernadetta got to this age without knowing what a blanket fort is; Linhardt has known of them since he first met Caspar and his hyperactive friend roped him into making a ‘Fortress’ out of pillows whenever they spent time together. And another thing has gone unexplained… “How did you get into my room?”
Somehow, Bernadetta flushes even redder, but she manages to avoid another near-panic attack by squeezing his arm and timing her breathing. “I, I asked Ashe to p-pick the lock,” she finally whispers, voice reminiscent of a squeaking mouse. “Sorry.”
Linhardt rolls his eyes, well used to Ashe’s thievery skills after all times Caspar has made his boyfriend ‘help’ him orchestrate pranks on unfortunate victims—usually Linhardt himself or Ferdinand. “Trust me; this was not the first time Ashe has picked my lock,” he says, and he flinches when another cramp twinges in his stomach. “And, no, I don’t care to tell the story,” Linhardt adds, noticing too late how his voice comes out thick with pain.
Staring up at him, Bernadetta’s eyes suddenly widen, and she dashes over to his closet so fast she almost trips on a book Linhardt left in the middle of the floor (because he is still reading it, as he explained to an exasperated Edelgard three weeks ago). “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lin. I’ve, I’ve been distracting you when you wanna take your meds, right?” As she speaks, Bernadetta flings the closet open and grabs one of several small, glass bottles, and thrusts it at Linhardt with outstretched hands. “Here!”
Too tired to be snarky, Linhardt simply takes the bottle and drinks the contents in one go, grimacing at the foul but familiar taste. He takes these pain relief potions twice a day when menstruating, and whenever he ends up in the infirmary with an injury, but Linhardt fears he will never stop retching at the burning aftertaste. Would it kill Manuela to make these taste better?
“Is that better?” Bernadetta asks.
“In five minutes, I’ll be much better, yes. Thanks,” he says. Linhardt yawns, stretching his stiff arms. “Is the fort functional yet? I need a nap.”
“S-Sure, just give me a sec,” Bernadetta says, and she lunges to pick up the fallen chair.
As Linhardt removes his shoes and outer layer of clothes, wanting to be as comfortable as possible, Bernadetta tucks the blankets over the chair and secures them in place with a stack of books, something Linhardt watched Caspar do countless times as a child. When she finishes, Bernadetta springs upright and gestures to the opening at the front of the fort, beaming.
“All done.”
Too tired to care if it looks stupid for a teenager to crawl into a blanket fort in his dorm room, Linhardt crouches down and pokes his head through the flap (that Caspar always called the ‘door’). The floor is nothing but a sea of blankets and pillows, the air is warm but not too hot, and the lighting is soft and subdued, but not too dark to see. Linhardt smiles; just like the forts he remembers.
With the painkillers kicking in, dulling the cramps, Linhardt moves faster, crawling into the fort and rolling onto his side, cushioned by the thick layer of blankets and pillows beneath him.
“Do you like it?” Bernadetta says from outside, her voice muffled.
“Very much,” Linhardt says, suddenly struggling to keep his eyes open. As the pain fades, the sleepiness builds, his tired mind desperate and finally able to have a long-needed nap. “V-Very… much…” he yawns, and Linhardt falls asleep before he finishes speaking.
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He stirs sometime later, barely awake and longing to fall back asleep, but something forces his tired eyes open. Bernadetta lies snuggled up beside him, hugging one of his arms to her chest even in her sleep, and she snores softly, her face relaxed and peaceful. Linhardt barely has time to smile and wriggle closer, resting his head against her own, before the fatigue overwhelms him again, and he falls back asleep in his girlfriend’s arms.