Chapter Text
Oh Ferdinand’s foolish heart - it battered his ribcage, aflurry with excitement.
Ferdinand had never agreed to anything this scandalous. But to think Lorenz felt the same! And felt so earnestly as to send such a tempting invitation! On a card with flowers, no less, rather than some impersonal DM!
Perhaps Lorenz would be impressed that Ferdinand had no doubt in his mind. That Ferdinand arrived promptly at the river after dark without hesitation. That he tread water without a stitch of clothing on his body, mind whirling with anticipation.
...Or perhaps Ferdinand's fool heart beat too fast. Perhaps a few laps would calm him.
When Ferdinand burst from the water, he heard a frantic rustle.
Ferdinand's heart soared. “Is that you?”
“Shhh!” a fervent hiss greeted him.
“OH!” Ferdinand sheepishly covered his mouth. “I will be the vision of discretion, I swear to you!”
The giggle that followed alit Ferdinand’s heart anew. Ferdinand squinted, but the darkness was too complete to see anything.
“Turn around,” the shadow of his companion whispered from the bush.
Ferdinand laughed. “I can hardly believe you are shy. I always took you as someone who knew the depths of his own merits!” He turned in the water, placing a hand over his eyes. “However, fear not; your virtue is safe!”
Ferdinand tried not to focus on the rustling sounds of clothing. Surely undressed, Lorenz must be twice as splendid as he was clothed. It took all Ferdinand had to endeavor to be respectful. “My word, I was so… surprised by your invite! And delighted. I knew immediately it was simply the overflowing of your heart.”
Another hush, another laugh from behind him.
Ferdinand waited as long as he could bear. Unfortunately, Ferdinand was not built for waiting. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I must insist you hurry, however. My birthday does not come at the warmest time of year for this sort of thing”
Silence? Not a giggle, a hush, or, come to think of it, even a quiet rustling. Ferdinand swallowed. “Lorenz?” Ferdinand whispered. He wanted to raise his voice and call, but what of the oath he swore? “I apologize, I simply am turning to make sure-”
Not only was Lorenz nowhere to be seen, but Ferdinand’s clothes had vanished as well. “Lorenz?” he called.
Nothing but stillness.
No. Oh no. Oh dear, oh fuck. How could Ferdinand be so foolish?
Shame crept beneath his skin, his horrified heartbeat sounded so far away.
Did Lorenz punish Ferdinand for his obsessive crush? Did Lorenz find the attention disconcerting? Had he been driven to such drastic measures after Ferdinand had missed or ignored more subtle rebuffs?
A true noble never panics.
Although, a true noble would never find himself in this situation.
Saints - Ferdinand wished he could know his specific failings, know which of his behaviors had so egregiously harmed his friend. How thoughtless, how careless Ferdinand could be - diving right in, wholly unprepared.
Focus, he must focus. It was too cold to remain submerged.
But what could Ferdinand do? It was not as though the campus were littered with spare clothes.
Spare clothes. The stable. Ferdinand kept a spare polo uniform. If Ferdinand kept to the shadows, it would not be far at all.
Hubert treasured his stolen evening walks; emphasis on stolen. After all, they were Hubert’s escape from the stifling presence of Garreg Mach’s tomblike walls - to say nothing of the terrible cell phone service in his room.
Should Seteth see Hubert, he would be furious. All the sweeter that Seteth had not yet caught Hubert even once.
Frantic rustling cut the peace of the night, as though a raccoon clawed through the stables. Hubert circled to investigate, entirely unprepared to find Ferdinand von Aegir, soaking wet and completely naked, crouched at the end of the stalls. He tore through some canvas bag like a wild animal.
The horse in the nearby stall seemed equally confused, her head shaking in equine agitation.
Of all of the people he could encounter, Hubert could imagine no one worse. The classist, ableist, overconfident heir to House Aegir was the picture of undeserved privilege, and Hubert could pass the rest of his days without seeing Ferdinand von Aegir and it would not be enough.
And Hubert was much too ace to give a fuck about a naked man for any aesthetic reason.
The prudent move would be to walk away and alert Seteth. Public nudity, after all, could cause a terrific scandal for Ferdinand, all while winning some of Seteth's good favor for the future.
Though, there was little value in Seteth's good favor.
No, the circumstances intrigued Hubert. Some escapade had not gone as planned for Ferdinand. So, Hubert leaned against the stable entrance and cleared his throat. “Good evening.”
Ferdinand flailed in melodramatic shock, dropping into the dirt of the stable. Bits of hair clung to his face, eyes wild with anger. “Of all the toxic, insufferable scoundrels, I am confronted by you,” Ferdinand seethed. Ferdinand would non-ironically call someone a scoundrel. Especially with his lifeless hair giving him the appearance of a cursed swamp beast.
“So this is how you spend your evenings?”
Ferdinand scoffed haughtily, as though ass-out on this fine evening left him any grounds for condescension. “I would never choose to be standing here in my birthday suit.”
Hubert snickered. “Isn’t 19 too old to refer to oneself as-”
“Twenty,” Ferdinand snapped. “And I am attempting to remain polite.”
“Obviously,” Hubert sneered. “This entire interaction simply gleams with the manners. Such a shining example you make for your peers.”
“You infuriatingly indirect demon,” Ferdinand narrowed his eyes hatefully. His hands cradled his genitals, as though that made his current condition modest. “Why should I possibly deign to explain? I am certain you will distort circumstances to your taste, uncaring of the harm you cause others.”
Ferdinand snorted. His horse, in some animal means of solidarity, mirrored the action, tossing her mane. Ferdinand scrambled to reassure her. Pressing her nose with his hands, cooing like a mother to child.
Hubert laughed shortly. “I will leave you to seek the comfort of your horse,” Hubert dismissively waved.
Ferdinand’s teeth bared. “Her name is Persistence, and her company is infinitely preferable to yours.”
“Certainly an effective means of avoiding bastards,” Hubert muttered.
Rage flared from Ferdinand. “Are you so incapable of any sort of affection or empathy that I have to explain why I would soothe my horse, other than to fuck it?”
Hubert laughed in sincere surprise. He had never heard Ferdinand swear. To his knowledge, no one had. That mouth snapping “fuck” was more than a little amusing. “Entirely naked?” Hubert raised a bemused eyebrow. “No.”
“I keep a spare set of clothing in my satchel however-”
“Oh no,” Hubert mocked. “The clothes in the satchel, too, are missing?”
Ferdinand glared into Hubert, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. Eventually Ferdinand drew away from his horse, and returned to searching his bag. Anger and despair tightly mingled in Ferdinand’s grunts of frustration, rifling through as though that could somehow summon its former contents.
Hubert sighed. Such a pitiful display. Therefore, Hubert pulled his hoodie over his head. It was a billowy, dark thing, easy to hide anything necessary. “Here.” He covered his eyes in a show of good faith, thrusting out the sweater towards Ferdinand. “This will make you less of an embarrassment to the empire.”
He could hear the tension in Ferdinand’s breath. He felt the sweater disappear from his hand, hearing the ruffling sound of fabric.
Hubert wondered if Ferdinand would thrust his sweater to the dirt, grinding it beneath his heel like the spoiled brat he was.
“Thank you," Ferdinand drew in a long, sharp breath. “A devil’s kindness will have to do.”
Hubert opened his eyes. Ferdinand had, in fact, pulled Hubert’s sweater on. The sleeves had to be shoved above his forearms, likely because they were too long. The bottom hem stopped halfway down Ferdinand’s thighs - far enough to be decent, at least.
Hubert crossed his arms. “Shall I see to it that you make it to the dormitory without being robbed of your clothes again?”
Ferdinand sighed his thanks, eyes downcast as his bare feet minced along the cobblestone. If the crisp air chilled Hubert, who was still dressed and dry, Ferdinand must be utterly miserable.
Still - why did Ferdinand writhe as though the sweater burned him? Hubert hadn't cursed that particular garment. And why did Ferdinand whisper furiously to himself under his breath? He had not studied magical incantations to Hubert’s knowledge.
Finally, Hubert asked, “Tell me, are you so disgusted by my charity that you must writhe uncontrollably?”
Ferdinand frowned deeply. “There are these spots that are... itchy.” Ferdinand started to claw at his shoulder, but halted. “What is this here? Sandpaper?”
“Bernadetta’s exceptional craftsmanship,” Hubert replied coldly. “A beautifully sewn black pegasus, embroidered in the midst of flight.”
“P-pardon?” Ferdinand stammered in disbelief.
Hubert sighed, rolling his eyes. He gripped Ferdinand’s forearm, hoisting it to eye level. “See this?” Another lovely bit of Bernie’s work - a stylized lily, with a sweeping plum ribbon.
It took visible effort for Ferdinand to connect the image of the lily to the itching. “Oh.”
“There you are,” Hubert allowed Ferdinand’s arm to drop. “Bernadetta practices her embroidery on my sweaters. I enjoy her designs, and she enjoys complete freedom.”
It had started in that brief time their first year when Hubert and Bernie had dated. They determined they were just friends - in fact, both of them reached the conclusion that they really didn’t seem to need romantic or physical attention of any kind. Still, Hubert did appreciate that this particular tradition continued. “I’m sure she would be happy to know you find her painstaking and thoughtful work ‘too itchy.’”
Ferdinand could not hide his annoyance, but it was charming to watch him try. “I understand now,” Ferdinand replied slowly. “It is a means to personalize it, like monogramming one’s clothing in case it should be lost.”
Hubert blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have my initials embroidered in every article of clothing,” Ferdinand explained, as though that was a perfectly normal thing to do.
Hubert laughed shortly. “What an ostentatious waste of resources, just to flaunt your belongings.”
Interesting. Rather than fight back, Ferdinand furrowed his brow and asked, “Is this not a standard practice?”
“Not in the least.”
Hubert would have thought over the years Ferdinand might have deduced no aspect of his upbringing could be considered “standard.” Instead, Ferdinand appeared to have a lifetime of surprise ahead of him. Hubert laughed dismissively. “Is it so shocking?”
Pensively, Ferdinand said, “I am more shocked that you actually have a waistline. I assumed the flowiness of your sweaters served to disguise the fact are no more than a twig.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hubert noticed a strange gesture. Ferdinand seemed to do it mindlessly - his hand in a fist, only the pinky extended. Stranger still, he seemed to draw some sort of arc in the air. “What was that?” Hubert enquired.
Ferdinand blushed. “I said-“
“What was that… thing you did with your finger.”
Ferdinand paled a touch, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Very well. It is already an utterly humiliating night, why not? This is the sign language letter for J. It is simply a quick and easy means to say something is a joke,” Ferdinand explained.
Interesting. “That is actually of some use. Quite unlike you.” Hubert attempted the gesture, pinky extended as he drew the ‘J.’
And Ferdinand smiled.
It should not have felt strange, that Ferdinand would smile at a joke. But of all the expressions Ferdinand had worn tonight, this one seemed too normal. It did not belong in these strange circumstances, it belonged in an exchange with friends.
“Well hey, what are you two lovebirds up to?” Sylvain Gautier stood at the top of the stairs to the dormitory, wearing a shit-eating grin and an especially ugly yellow bowtie. “Ferdinand, I’m loving the new look!”
Ferdinand remained strangely silent. No defensive stammer, no explanation, no self-righteous speech. Instead, Ferdinand’s voice tightened as he said, “How did you come by that?”
“Oh, you like it?” Sylvain tugged at the garish bowtie. “A gift, from a redhead who might have been cute. But alas - there’s only so much nagging that one man can take!”
If Hubert was not mistaken - which he seldom was - they had found their malefactor.
“Is this some sort of kink?” Ferdinand snapped. “Forcing me to expose myself to others like some sort of beast?”
Sylvain tisked. “I’m just a helpless bystander. You and Hubert, however… you look like you’re up to no good!”
Bold move, to blame the first person he had seen for his own antics. What a frustrating excuse of a person.
Ferdinand visibly trembled, as though each word took excruciating effort. “How dare you. How dare you impersonate-” Ferdinand stopped shortly, glancing at Hubert. Instead, he finished, “And the seal? How did you come by his seal?”
Sylvain smirked suggestively. “Is it hard for you to believe he would invite a sexy redhead into his room?”
Hubert did not expect Ferdinand to snap so entirely.
In hardly a blink, Ferdinand had mounted the steps, his fist plowing into the underside of Sylvain’s jaw.
Sylvain tumbled back on his ass. “This ginger's got spice,” he jeered coldly.
Ferdinand knelt, gripping Sylvain by the lapels. “What have you done with my effects?” Ferdinand shouted.
“Oh no, not your effects,” Sylvain sneered.
Whether by superior skill or unadulterated rage, Ferdinand maintained the upper hand. The sad strands of brick red hair dangled down as Ferdinand spat, “What have you done with the rest of my clothing, you ignoble garbage!”
"What, you want to accuse me of stealing your clothes off of your back?" Sylvain taunted. "Tell me, have I doused you in water too?” Sylvain gripped Ferdinand’s hair, yanking him to the ground.
What a strange sight. Ferdinand’s bare legs splayed out as Sylvain shoved him off. Ferdinand took a nasty hit - however, he more than returned it in kind.
“Oh no, I can see under your dress,” Sylvain sneered, slamming Ferdinand to his back.
Ferdinand tried to wriggle free. "You disgusting, shameful creton!"
Hubert sighed impatiently. “Now now.” Both of the idiots looked at Hubert, his hands glowing purple as miasma swirled around his fingertips. “Don’t ruin my sweater.”
Hubert succeeded in halting the unnecessary violence. Unfortunately, the noise and the light had gained the attention of one ruthless authoritarian. “What in the name of all that is good and holy is going on here?” Seteth shouted as he ran to the scene.
The two brawlers scrambled to their feet.
“You horrible disgrace to the nobility,” Ferdinand hissed.
Sylvain scoffed. “Cute, you’re cute, you know that?”
The instant Seteth drew near, however, Sylvain's dark brown eyes widened into innocent shock. He rushed to Seteth, pleading. “Thank the Goddess you’re here! He’s crazy, man.”
Ferdinand quaked with rage, dancing about restlessly as he hurling a long tirade about the righteous path of a nobleman. By Hubert’s estimation, Seteth would find Ferdinand’s behavior utterly insane.
“Ferdinand, control yourself!” Seteth snapped in horror.
Ferdinand stiffened as though slapped, still muttering furiously to himself.
Seteth derisively scoffed. “Now tell me immediately, what is going on?”
“I was just coming back from talking to the Professor,” Sylvain sighed with woe. “I had a question on my lancework, and I know she keeps late hours.”
Flames. Did Sylvain toss a sex joke into his testimony? What a perfect cad.
“As I’m returning to my room, Ferdinand jumped me out of nowhere!”
“I did no such thing-!” Ferdinand interjected. With the group's attention, he could have presented an argument. But instead, he railed against Sylvain for being “unforgivably dishonest,” a “shameless creton,” et cetera et cetera.
Certainly, Sylvain was these things. Flames, Seteth himself may have agreed. Unfortunately, Ferdinand did nothing to absolve himself of the accusations that he was “crazy.”
Instead, Seteth found himself standing between two idiots sniping over how awful the other one was.
Hubert sighed. “Sylvain started it.”
Ah - such a beautiful moment of silence. The sort of silence that could only be followed by a storm.
“I swear I didn’t!” Sylvain pleaded. “I was just walking to my room, and he threw himself at me!”
Ferdinand chose to interrupt with an insult, rather than, oh, perhaps evidence? “How can such dishonest dastard ever expect to lead his house? You are a ruinous sack of filth!”
“You’re nuts, absolutely batshit!” Sylvain turned to appeal to Seteth, doe-eyed. “What good is Hubert’s word on it anyway?”
Hubert rolled his eyes. “No one need to trust my word,” he said coldly. He knew Seteth would never. “Check Sylvain’s tie. It should have Ferdinand’s initials in it. That probably will explain who is responsible for Ferdinand’s suspiciously absent clothing.”
Watching the hate grow in Sylvain’s eyes served as reward enough.
“Sylvain, remove the tie at once,” Seteth ordered crisply.
“Woah, woah!” Sylvain choked, perhaps sensing the danger. “I, uh, it seems really inappropriate to ask me to undress.”
Seteth’s crossed his arms in warning. “Sylvain.”
“Maybe Ferdinand is comfortable exposing himself, but I’m really not okay with undressing-“
Ferdinand stamped his foot, the wet skin slapping on the stone. "Are there no depths you would not sink to?”
Theater, unnecessary theater. Hubert wouldn't suffer it a moment more. With a careful command of magic, Hubert captured the offending bowie and tugged it free from its knot. He tossed it to Seteth once freed.
And Ferdinand, the simple beast, seemed impressed by such a small gesture.
Seteth investigated the ugly thing. “FvA?” Seteth narrowed his eyes at Sylvain.
“Faerghus varsity Athlete?” Sylvain laughed nervously.
He would almost be clever if he actually applied himself.
Seteth smirked with triumph. “Both of you, follow me.”
And, some impulse - be it defiance or charity, Hubert didn’t know - caused Hubert to interrupt. “Ferdinand as well?”
Perhaps Hubert pushed his luck. Seteth glared at Hubert. “Of course Ferdinand as well.”
“How foolish of me,” Hubert narrowed his eyes. “I had simply thought the Prime Minister might be unhappy to learn his son, who was just utterly humiliated by the church’s negligence, had to be interrogated by a senior member of the church half naked.” Hubert shrugged lazily. “Unless you have a spare set of clothing in your office, I suspect it would be difficult to explain why you extended his humiliation, and pressured him to come to your office in a state of undress after hours.”
Bless Ferdinand. For one moment, his reaction actually supported Hubert’s argument. He pulled Hubert’s sweater lower. “I would much prefer to at least be wearing p-pants when discussing this,” he agreed.
The conflict clearly read on Seteth’s face. He did not trust Hubert, and for good reason. However, he was too prudent to ignore a well-made point. Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose with a vengeance. “Ferdinand,” he said tensely.
“Sir?” Ferdinand straightened.
“Dress immediately, and then report to my office.”
“You have my word, I will come to your office right away.” Ferdinand bowed, unintentionally offering Hubert yet another eyeful. Hubert scowled, glancing away.
Sylvain’s eyes flashed. “Woah woah woah, you’re not just letting him-“
“Sylvain,” Seteth interrupted. “Follow.”
Hubert himself couldn't believe Seteth allowed it. He could feel Seteth’s eyes burning on his back as they walked directly to the dormitory.
When finally he spoke, Ferdinand said, “Can all magic users do that? Untie things?”
Hubert shrugged. “I don’t know. I had an unusual amount of free time in the hospital, and very little endurance."
"Oh," Ferdinand paused thoughtfully.
Hubert continued. "Sometimes I passed the time by influencing objects. Spinning a pen, for instance, or opening a cup of flavorless pudding." His family had brought an assortment of toys to his hospital unit. Any toy of interest Hubert was too exhausted to use, and anything he could use was intellectually empty. "I found knots to be an interesting challenge. They require tension and slack in different circumstances. So, when I had nothing else to do, I practiced tying and untying knots.”
Hubert prepared for the plethora of responses. Perhaps some polite way to say “I forgot you were a sick kid,” or some clumsy apology that, in the randomness of genetics and biology, Hubert had found himself facing death before finishing primary school.
Instead, Ferdinand furrowed his brow and just echoed, “You practiced tying knots with your mind?”
As though that were the compelling part of the story. Hubert couldn’t help but smile. “It is not so different from creating an imagined hand, and commanding it as you would your own.”
What a strange tick to Ferdinand’s eyebrow. His eyes narrowed a touch, but no malice lingered in them.
Hubert could not, however, keep Ferdinand’s eye. Instead, he said, “And how did you come to find yourself naked with Sylvain, oh noblest of nobles?”
Ferdinand blushed, looking away. "Deceit," he muttered.
“With whatever that letter and seal nonsense was?”
Ferdinand sighed heavily. “Nothing gets past you, does it.”
Hubert sighed in sympathy. “That is what anyone gets for trusting a letter.”
“No,” Ferdinand interrupted. “Betrayal is inevitable, so much is true. But I will not be a coward who shrinks from it. I must have the resilience to endure those hardships.” Ferdinand shook his head solemnly. “It reflects poorly on him to abuse someone’s trust, rather than on me for allowing myself to trust,” Ferdinand insisted.
"A strange but compelling point,” Hubert relented.
Ferdinand’s eyes bore into him, unrelenting. Finally, he said, “You assess people without emotion?”
“I do,” Hubert replied, bracing for the inevitable attack.
“And that is why you feel so confident in your appraisals?” Ferdinand pressed. “Because you rely on objective means of evaluation?”
Hubert may have lost his mind. He sensed no aggression in Ferdinand’s tone. “Correct.”
Ferdinand nodded thoughtfully. “It seems I was wrong about you.”
Hubert paused. Ferdinand very nearly walked into him at the base of the stairwell.
“You actually understand,” Hubert realized, shaking his head in disbelief. “Your optimism, while seemingly naive, is actually a magnificent asset,” Hubert observed.
“Oh?” Ferdinand investigated him closely.
“Do you disagree?”
Ferdinand appeared so weary. Hubert could not pretend to know what lay behind it. Still, Ferdinand exuded hope; something Hubert felt unaccustomed to. "I simply do not trust you. A compliment? It would be like a snake singing an aria.”
A quick Joke J caught Hubert's eye. He laughed and returned it. "So melodramatic."
Ferdinand's smile seemed uncertain. “I am choosing to accept that as sincere, so thank you.” They finally came to Ferdinand’s room. “Just give me one moment,” Ferdinand stepped behind his door.
For someone as particular about appearances as Ferdinand, he had quite a few pieces of armor and weapons strewn throughout his room, intermingled with cell phone chords and his laptop charger.
On his desk sat an overflowing vase of roses, an unopened card bearing the crimson seal of Aegir settled beside it. A second, smaller, vase boasted more red roses. An open card with a purple seal sat beside it. Perhaps the seal of Gloucester?
“Just a random bouquet of roses for a Tuesday?” Hubert teased.
Good. Hubert was actually beginning to enjoy the privileged asshole’s company. A pleasant reminder that he was a materialistic, vain blowhard.
“From my father for my birthday,” Ferdinand murmured from behind the door. “And the other apparently came from Sylvain.”
That’s right. Ferdinand’s birthday always came around Hubert’s. And as Hubert’s birthday had been 10 days ago, that would put Ferdinand’s at…
Oh.
Ferdinand reappeared. “Ah, yes, your sweater.” Ferdinand pulled it over his shoulders. He cleared his throat. “I should apologize for it’s condition. Sincerely, I appreciate your assistance. As… regretful of a night as it has been, you have spared me even worse embarrassment.”
“Of course.” Hubert accepted the damp sweater, flecked with stone and dirt. Hubert barely cared, however. Some tension built inside his core. Heat, burning brightest on his cheeks. Blushing? Why now? The slacks Ferdinand wore were far more appropriate than Ferdinand completely nude, cupping his privates. Or, naked from the waist down as he had been laid out on the stone path.
But the sight of Ferdinand’s toned chest, and the earnest gratitude in his smile, together seemed too much. It felt more private, more intimate, and the heat seized Hubert’s cheeks.
Hubert cleared the rising lump in his throat. “Now let us never speak of this again.”
Ferdinand grinned. “Gladly."
Clearing his throat, Hubert nodded. "Good night." Again, that rising… something. An interest in Hubert's core he barely recognized. Hubert turned to leave, parting with, “And, I suppose, happy birthday.”