Work Text:
Annette has been drifting in and out of sleep for the past hour at least. With so much going on at Garreg Mach, her brain is a swirling soup of projects, deadlines, students, and their parents. She can’t tell when her thoughts about addressing each situation logically become frustrating dreams where Viscount Gisela von Schwarzwald cannot fathom her daughter Genevieve spending her free time addicted to horseback riding instead of magic theory texts. Annette will have to write yet another missive explaining that her progress in Reason has reached a standstill that can only be bridged by hard work, no, we cannot talk about certification in the Valkyrie class until she has completed the first three levels of Reason, and also no, she will not be able to earn additional school credit through volunteer work. Who does Gisela think she is? Annette would never resort to nor accept bribes.
She’s so engulfed in this scenario, plagued by a nightmare Gisela that wants nothing more than to see her reputation as an educator tarnished beyond repair, that she barely notices the gentle pressure against her hand. Annette groans and screws her eyes shut as her brain continues to reel. No, Archbishop, Genevieve has shown no effort in class. Yes, Archbishop, I am aware that she is very bright. Yes, Archbishop, I do know the Crestology professor rather well, and I understand that he made great achievements in the subjects that piqued his interest. No, Archbishop, I am not trying to quash her interest in book learning. But, Archbishop, if she can’t wield any sort of weapon, horseback riding will do her no good!
The pressure on her hand changes to a soft rubbing, and Annette finally opens her eyes. She doesn’t know how much of that was a dream. It’s too dark to see much. Felix lies next to her, closer than he does when he hogs all of their blankets, and he’s staring at her.
“Are you awake?” he asks in a whisper, continuing to draw circles on her hand.
She closes her eyes again. “Barely. How about you?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “And I was bored, so I figured I could hold your hand.”
The Archbishop and the Giselda of Annette’s mind melt away, and a pleasant, filling warmth replaces them. What right does Felix have saying something so simple yet so intimate? The villain.
His hands don’t wander anywhere else. He’s content running his thumb along each of her fingers, lingering at her wedding ring. “It’s better than me lying awake,” he explains.
“Or midnight training grounds,” she mumbles, snuggling deeper into her pillow.
“I like this more than midnight training grounds.”
The villain! Annette yawns and laces her fingers with his. She’s so, so tired, but she wishes that sleep won’t find her just yet if it means she can spend just a few minutes more connected to Felix like this, without the day’s worries threatening to crush her. Felix’s hand in hers protects her, completes her.
Despite this, sleep finds her all the same, but her realistic dreams shift to dates in the park, longing glances, and hands laced together.