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Bernadetta bounces on the tips of her toes as she waits for Marianne to open her door. It’s been a few seconds since she knocked, and she can already feel the stares of all of the other students around her, judging her and her inability to get her girlfriend’s attention by knocking. She tugs on the strings of her jacket and hums anxiously.
Today is a particularly good day. It isn’t too sunny, it isn’t too hot, it isn’t too cold, and it isn’t raining. But most importantly, the little corner of the greenhouse that she had been allowed to care for is finally starting to bear fruit. Or, uh, flowers. She isn’t growing any fruit.
But whatever she’s gonna call it, things are happening, and she needs. to. show. her. girlfriend.
She’s about to knock on the door again when—
“Bernie?”
Her scream is so loud, so high-pitched that people definitely turn and stare. She doesn’t want to look. But she has to, because she knows Marianne’s voice like, uh, the back of her hand. That doesn’t make sense. But she knows Marianne’s cute, sweet, beautiful voice, so she turns around to face her.
Marianne looks at her like she’s grown another head. Bernie holds back an agonized squeak. “What are you doing?” She looks around, presumably for something wrong. “You’re, um, you’re out of your room and it’s not mealtime. Are you okay?” With faintly furrowed brows, she places the back of her hand against Bernadetta’s forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”
At first, Bernadetta blushes. Marianne’s skin is cool, and her concern for her makes her want to melt into a puddle of lovesick goo.
But she can’t. She came to her room with a purpose, and she’s getting distracted.
“I have something to show you!” she says, snatching Marianne’s hand from her forehead and squeezing it in hers. “Are you busy right now?”
“Um, no?” Marianne looks so confused. On one hand, Bernadetta wants to tell her about her plants right away. But on the other, she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise! The easiest thing will be to just show her.
“Great. Come with me!” With a sheepish yet excited smile, Bernadetta pulls on Marianne.
Marianne allows her to take her down the stairs to the greenhouse. Unfortunately, Bernadetta has to let go of her hand to open the heavy glass doors, but she picks it up again right away. She leads her girlfriend to the small little corner she’s sequestered for her horticulturist needs, and gestures towards her pride and joy.
“Look at it!” she says, practically glowing with pride.
Marianne follows her pointing finger, and she looks at the garden. “What am I looking at?” she whispers as she glances up at Bernadetta with a hesitant smile.
The one that doesn’t look like any of the other plants, Bernadetta wants to tell her. She doesn’t, though, because if Marianne took her to a bunch of horses and told her to pick out the one that was different, she’d be just as lost as Marianne is right now.
Instead, she squats down in front of her little patch. Marianne kneels beside her and leans in close as Bernadetta points at her darling:
A baby flytrap.
She feels compelled to whisper in front of it, like it’s a human baby at risk of being woken up. “I brought the sprout from my home,” she says, beaming down at its new-green color, the tiny spikes growing from either side of the prominent, rounded leaves like a gaping maw. “I didn’t know if it would do okay here, but look at you! You’re doing so good!”
She directs her praise towards the sprout, of course. And then, she looks up at Marianne for her reaction.
“It, uh, looks healthy?” her girlfriend guesses after thinking for a second. “It’s very… unique.”
The fact that she’s trying at all means the world to Bernadetta.
“Bernie II is very healthy,” she says with a happy little smile. Out of her jacket pocket, she pulls a little paper packet and a pair of tweezers. “And we’re going to feed her together so she can get all big and strong. Aren’t we, little Bernie II?”
Marianne’s eyes grow wide as Bernadetta uses the tweezers to pull a buzzing fly out of the packet. “Bernie, what are you doing—”
Bernadetta beams at her. “We’re going to feed her. Flytraps eat flies, after all.” She lifts the fly in her tweezers, showing it off as it buzzes desperately. “I… uh, I named this one Grégoire.”
“Isn’t that—”
“Yes.”
She actually names the majority of the flies she feeds to her pets after her father, but this is the first time she’s told anyone about it. It’s also the first time she’s had to catch a fly since moving into Garreg Mach. So she hasn’t had any reason to talk about it, either.
“A-anyway, you sorta, um, tickle the leaves.” She lowers the fly down into the flytrap’s maw.
As soon as the tiny fibers on the inside of the leaves register that there’s food there, the lobes snap shut—quickly at first, and then easing around the fly until the spines lining the lobes are intertwined.
Marianne gasps sharply at the sight of the flytrap’s leaves closing. She wraps her arms around herself, and frowns. “What—is that supposed to happen?”
“Yes! That’s how it eats.”
Bernie puts her tweezers and packet back in the pocket of her jacket, then claps her hands happily. There’s something cathartic about watching Bernie II munch away at Grégoire, and she doesn’t feel like investigating those big and scary feelings right now.
She turns to Marianne with delight in her smile. “So, what do you think?”
“Of?”
“Of, uh…” she hesitates, finally doubting herself, “this?”
“I, um…” Marianne’s eyes dart towards the flytrap, the bulge of the dying fly. One wing isn’t completely inside the leaf. It twitches. She flinches.
Bernie’s hands fly to her face as it contorts with horror. She of all people should know that her girlfriend is sensitive towards animals. She doesn’t know if a fly counts as an animal or not, or even if a flytrap might, but Marianne’s got some sort of special connection with animals, and she’s definitely messed up.
“Oh my goodness, you must think I’m horrible!” she wails. “I made you watch something die and it got all eaten up and it’s going to scar you forever!”
“Bernie, Bernie!” Gentle arms wrap around her shoulders. “It’s okay. Animals have to eat each other to survive. I understand that. And, uh…” She smiles feebly. “So do some plants, apparently. And I’m glad you were able to bring your, uh, friend to Garreg Mach. It looks like you worked very hard to get Bernie II to be able to live here.”
“I thought she was going to die a few times,” Bernadetta admits.
“You did a wonderful job.” Marianne squeezes her. “Congratulations.”
Bernadetta blushes as she leans the side of her head against Marianne’s. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Aside from literally being a magic user, Marianne has some sort of magic when it comes to her. Her hugs are soothing, and she’s kind and genuine in a way that makes Bernadetta’s heart beat like crazy. And not in a bad way, like it does when she feels like she needs to hide, or cover herself up, or run away.
Marianne is warm, like the best kind of blanket. She makes Bernadetta feel the same kind of happiness that she feels when she looks at Bernie II, slowly digesting little Grégoire.
Well, maybe it’s a different kind of happiness. But she’s happy nonetheless.
Bernadetta perks up. “Ooh, what if we named the next fly after your father?”
“Adoptive father.”
“Oops, sorry. Adoptive father.”
“It’s okay.” Marianne chuckles quietly. “No, I don’t need you to do anything like that for me.” She hesitates. “Though, if you had to name one for me, why don’t you call one… um, Maurice?”
“Maurice? Who’s that?”
“Oh, no one.”
Not for the first time, Bernadetta wonders what secrets her girlfriend has locked up tight inside. But, like every other time, she doesn’t ask.
“Sure; okay,” she says. “I can definitely do that. Just leave it to me, and Maurice will be the next victim of Bernie II!”
Marianne giggles. “That would be nice.”
Seeing Marianne smile over her precious pet flytrap is the best reaction Bernadetta could have anticipated. It’s not what she expected—she’d actually expected Marianne to decry her hobbies and denounce their relationship forever—but she’s happy.