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Claude gets to the cafeteria later than he usually does that morning, which means he’s rushing a little in an attempt to make it to class on time, but it also means that catches Hilda just before she finishes her breakfast when he would typically be the one ahead of her. He plops down onto the bench across from her and flashes her a grin as a greeting before he gets straight to eating.
“Wow, you’re running late today,” Hilda comments. “You’re usually so on time.”
Claude shrugs. “Sadly, it’s impossible for one person to be perfect all the time,” he replies, then smoothly adds, “So, are you ready for the dance this weekend?”
He expects Hilda to be excited over the prospect of dressing up for a night on the town, but instead she just groans loudly and drops her head into her hand with a pout. “I’m sorry, Claude, but I’m going to have to stand you up,” she sighs. “Seteth found out I’ve been shirking my chores and now I’m stuck doing make-up chores all weekend. I’m going to be scrubbing toilets while everyone else is out having fun!”
“What?” Claude sits up straighter in his seat. “Hilda, we’ve talked about this before. You can’t pawn off all your work on your classmates just because you don’t want to do it!”
“It’s not my fault that everyone is always so willing to help!”
Claude lets out a long-suffering sigh and fixes Hilda with a disapproving look. “It is when you go out of your way to do it with every chore you get assigned,” he scolds. “What am I supposed to do now? Going by myself doesn’t sound all that fun, if I’m being honest.”
Hilda flashes him a reassuring smile. “Come on, Claude, it’s not like you’ll be the only one. Do you really think Felix is going to bring a date?” She pauses for a moment, frowning thoughtfully, then adds, “Actually, I’ll be shocked if he shows up at all.”
“Unfortunately, you’ll never know, seeing as you’ll be on latrine duty,” Claude says spitefully.
“I get it, I messed up.” Hilda flashes Claude a dirty look. “Luckily for you, there are still plenty of people who don’t have a date yet, so your night isn’t ruined just yet. Edelgard, for example!”
The suggestion takes Claude so off-guard that he has to take a moment to process it. “Edelgard? You can’t be serious,” he sputters. “You and I both know that she hates my guts. Plus, I’d be willing to bet money that she’s going with Hubert. Those two are practically joined at the hip, for better or worse.” Contemplating for a moment, he adds, “What about Dorothea? She seems like she’d be fun to dance with.”
Hilda shakes her head. “No can do. Ferdinand got to her first,” she replies. “Oh, what about Lysithea? She may seem uptight, but she’s pretty fun to talk to once she loosens up a little.”
It’s not the worst suggestion Claude’s heard. He honestly wouldn’t mind taking Lysithea, though he’s having a hard time imagining her ‘loosening up’ around him. “Going off of past interactions, I think I’d be lucky to make it through the first hour without accidentally insulting her somehow,” he sighs, and sets that suggestion aside.
“You’re not giving me a lot to work with, here.” Hilda leans back in her seat and crosses her arms, falling silent for so long that Claude begins to wonder if she’s started to daydream instead of actually helping him. Then, she half-heartedly suggests, “Ingrid? Hmm, she doesn’t really seem like the type to enjoy formal dances, but she is pretty… Oh!” Sitting up suddenly in her seat, Hilda’s eyes light up in excitement. “I’ve got it! You should totally take Marianne!”
“Marianne?” Claude hums to himself thoughtfully, considering Hilda’s suggestion with care. He and Marianne are friends, of course, though not particularly close ones. Despite her shyness, though, Claude does like Marianne. She’s sweet, if a little on the quiet side, and has an air of mystery about her that entices him. Still, he finds it hard to imagine her dancing. She’s always seemed uncomfortable in a crowd, more of a wallflower than the life of the party.
“I know she doesn’t look like it, but take it from her best friend: she’s a perfect match for you,” Hilda insists. She has that twinkle in her eye that Claude recognizes immediately, one that means that Hilda is either about to get him into some serious trouble or solve all of his problems on the spot.
Well, what’s life without a little gambling? “Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” he decides.
Hilda claps her hands together, elated. “Fantastic! You won’t regret this, Claude, I know it. Let me warm her up a little for you before you ask, though, okay? Wouldn’t want to spook her off by approaching too quickly!” Without even waiting for an answer, she jumps to her feet and gathers up her dishes. “You just relax for a while and don’t worry about a thing! This is going to be perfect!”
“I—” Claude starts, but before he can get in another word, Hilda’s already gone, cutting across the dining hall like a miniature tornado. All Claude can do is sigh, finish his breakfast, and hope Hilda doesn’t do anything too rash in his name. If he’s lucky, he’ll even make it to class on time.
—
“Seteth really banned you from the dance?” Marianne’s eyes are wide where she sits beside Hilda, waiting for their next class to start. “I’m surprised he went so far.”
Hilda sighs dramatically, resting her elbows on the desk and dropping her head into her hands. “I know, right? Honestly, I’m not all that broken up about the dance, but I do feel bad for leaving Claude in the dust,” she says. “It’s kind of last minute, though I’m sure he’ll find another date by then.” She turns to catch Marianne’s eye. “What about you? Have you found a date yet?”
Marianne hastily averts her eyes, feeling her face warm a little in embarrassment. “Hilda, you know I’m not… not good at those kinds of things,” she mumbles.
“Aww, but you’re such a nice girl!” Hilda insists. “You’ve got a cute face, too. I bet someone’s asked you out by now.”
With an awkward laugh, Marianne shakes her head. “I don’t think anyone would want to take such a quiet girl dancing.” Her standoffish nature from most of her classmates certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed; most tend to keep their distance, wary of her perpetual solemnity.
Hilda hums thoughtfully. “I bet Claude would,” she comments, and the thought must stick in her mind, because she sits up in her seat in excitement and turns to face Marianne fully, grinning. “Marianne, you should go with Claude in my place!”
“E-Excuse me?” Marianne squeaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Sure you could!” Hilda interrupts. “I’ve seen you dance before. We all learned growing up, so I know it’s not lack of skill holding you back. Even if you’re a little clumsy, Claude’s good enough at leading that I’m sure he could make up for it.”
“I, um, I don’t have anything to wear,” Marianne tries again.
Hilda waves Marianne off with her hand. “You can borrow a dress from my closet. I’m sure I have something that would look great on you,” she assures. Maybe she sees the uncomfortable look on Marianne’s face, because her excitement wanes a little. “Look, if you’re really that against the idea, I won’t push it, but just for a second, don’t worry about the details. If he asked you, would you say yes?”
Marianne has to hide her face in her hands to mask her redness. Her gut feeling is to say no, but when she stops to really think about it, the idea of attending a dance with Claude really doesn’t seem all that bad. Claude has always been kind and patient with her. She might even have fun going with him. He has a knack for making anyone smile, and Marianne is no exception to that rule. “I-I’m sure he’d find someone else to take before he ever got to me, but… if he asked me, I would,” she finally admits, voice hushed down to nearly a whisper.
Hilda grins, looking oddly triumphant for someone speaking in purely hypotheticals. “Well, you know what they say about saying ‘never’,” she says cryptically, but before Marianne can say anything more, the Professor calls for their attention so that class can start, and her questions are forgotten in favor of reaching for her textbook.
—
Hilda catches Claude on his way back to the dorm, walking up to him with a conspiratorial wink and a grin. “She’s all yours. Just don’t wait too long to ask her, alright?” she says to him as she passes, an upbeat skip in her step.
He watches her go with a raised eyebrow. Well, if she’s so confident that things will work out, he’ll trust in her intuition just this once.
He finds Marianne after just a little while of wandering around Garreg Mach’s grounds, watching the fish swim in the pond outside the dining hall. The sun has nearly set, but Marianne seems unbothered by the darkening of the sky, content to sit with her legs tucked to her side and a little baggie of what Claude assumes is fish food at her side. She looks up when he approaches her, looking a little surprised.
“Oh, Claude,” she greets in her usual soft, reserved tone. “Can I help you? It’s a little late to be out and about.”
“I could say the same to you,” Claude replies with a smile. He gestures to the empty space next to her. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”
Marianne’s gaze flicks back to the pond, uncertain, but she nods. “Please, go right ahead,” she says.
Claude obliges, sitting down cross-legged at Marianne’s side and peering into the pond in hopes of catching what she’s been looking at. “Do you always come out here to feed the fish?” he asks, curious. He knows that Marianne is fond of animals—it would seem that fondness extends to aquatic life in addition to horses and birds.
“Sometimes. At this time of day, most of the students have gone back to their dorms for the night. It’s… peaceful,” Marianne explains. She lifts her gaze to look at Claude again, though not without a hint of trepidation. “Is there something you wish to talk to me about?”
Leave it to Marianne to strike right to the heart of the matter. Though her straightforward nature isn’t apparent at first glance, it’s a trait of hers that Claude admires, given his own tendency to deflect and play the long game. “There is, actually. I’m sure Hilda’s already told you about how she’s been banned from attending this weekend’s dance.”
Marianne nods. “She did.”
“As a result, I find myself down a date,” Claude continues, leaning back on the palms of his hands casually. “She and I were going to go as friends, but seeing as that’s not an option anymore, I was wondering if you’d be interested in going with me as my date instead.”
Marianne falls quiet after Claude’s question is asked, eyes going wide as the implications of it hit her all at once. A bright red blush blooms on her face a moment later, spreading out from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “Y-You want to take me?” she squeaks in flustered surprise. “I didn’t think… I-I mean, surely there are plenty of others who would be much more fun to dance with than I would.” As she speaks, she stumbles over her words, fiddling with the hem of her skirt as an outlet to her nervousness.
Claude simply shrugs his shoulders. “I guess, but I’d rather take you, if you’re willing,” he replies simply. “I like being around you, Marianne. Is that so strange of me?”
“I… suppose not,” Marianne eventually relents. She still looks uncertain—Claude can practically hear her internal argument as she struggles to come up with a reply—but after a little while of contemplation, her reluctance turns to determination. She meets Claude’s gaze once more and offers up a little nod. “If you’re sure, then… okay. I’d be happy to go with you.”
“Great!” Claude grins, feeling excited for perhaps the first time over going to the dance. He’d liked the idea of going with Hilda, certainly, but going with Marianne feels different, more intimate. With all the reluctance she clearly feels about attending, Claude finds himself wanting to ensure she has a good time, no matter what. “We can go over the details tomorrow if you want. It’s pretty late already, so we should head back to the dorms soon. If you’re finished feeding the fish, that is?” As he speaks, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out his hand.
“Yes, you’re right,” Marianne replies, and accepts the offered hand. Once she’s on her feet again, she flashes Claude a small, sweet smile, one that has Claude pausing to stare for reasons he can’t quite place. Huh. He can’t remember the last time Marianne smiled like this, easy and unforced. Something about it causes his heart to stutter in his chest. Swallowing back the sudden fluttering feeling, he puts on another well-practiced smile and strikes up a polite conversation as he walks Marianne back to her dorm and bids her goodnight.
Although the day had started out with disappointment, he has to give Hilda credit this time. This is shaping up to be one of her better ideas, for sure.
—
“Stop squirming and let me fix your tie,” Hilda scolds, fiddling insistently with the fabric at Claude’s throat. She’d come to his dorm a little early to ensure he’s ready to go; it’s ironic that, with how adamant she is about avoiding her chores, she’s surprisingly stubborn when it comes to matters of the heart.
“Hilda, you’ve adjusted it four times already! Let me breathe,” Claude begs, turning away before she can accidentally strangle him with his own tie. “I thought you’d be helping Marianne get ready, not me.”
Hilda huffs in mild offense, though Claude knows she doesn’t take his words to heart. They’ve known each other for far too long for such lukewarm words to cut too deeply. “I just want you to look your best, okay? Besides, I’ve already finished with Marianne. You’re going to faint when you see her, just you wait!” Giving up on Claude’s tie for the time being, she takes a step back and gives him a scrutinizing look.
Claude sighs softly, turning to look himself over in the full-length mirror Hilda had brought from her own room to his. Despite his impatience with her hovering, he has to admit that she does impressive work—he looks good, even more so than usual. She’d managed to tame his unruly curls with surprising effectiveness and had traded his regular school uniform for a slim and well-fitted formal suit.
“Purple’s an odd choice for you,” he comments, fingering the necktie she’d chosen for him. “Surely you didn’t just grab one at random.”
Hilda laughs, smoothing her hands over the shoulders of Claude’s suit as though to smooth out invisible wrinkles there. “Claude, you should know by now that I never do anything unintentionally,” she replies slyly.
A cryptic answer, to be sure, but if there’s one thing he trusts Hilda’s judgment on without question, it’s her fashion sense, so he simply shrugs and lets the question go. A moment later, a knock at the door calls Hilda’s attention.
“Oh, she’s here!” she announces with a clap of her hands. “Prepare yourself, Claude, because I really outdid myself this time.” With that said, she enthusiastically opens the door to reveal Marianne standing in the doorway. When Claude turns to look at her, he has to stop for a moment just to stare.
Marianne has always been pretty—that much, Claude had known from their first meeting—but Hilda is absolutely right when she says she’s outdone herself. Dressed in a floor-length satin gown in the same shade of royal purple as his tie and with her hair curled into an elaborate updo and held together with an ornate-looking set of pins, she looks more like a princess than the daughter of a margrave. The gown hugs her waist and hips and flares out elegantly just above her knees, and the bodice of the dress is decorated with intricate glass beadwork.
It’s clear that it’s been borrowed from Hilda’s ample closet, and yet as Claude looks at her, he can’t help but feel that the gown had been made for Marianne to wear. The deep purple compliments her pale blue hair and Hilda’s understated makeup brings out the hints of hazel in her gray-brown eyes.
“I know I did a good job, but you’re going to have to pick your jaw up off the floor, Claude,” Hilda teases, giving him a little nudge in the side to draw him out of his stupor.
Marianne catches Claude’s eye briefly before glancing down, looking a little flustered. “Do I really look so strange?” she asks quietly. “It’s very different from what I usually would wear, but Hilda insisted.”
Claude shakes his head hastily. “No, it’s good,” he assures, crossing the length of his room so he can stand properly next to her. He offers her his arm. “You look beautiful. Not strange at all.”
The private little smile Marianne gives him in response has Claude’s heart skipping a beat all over again. She threads her arm through his with just a hint of hesitation, her hand resting lightly against his bicep. “Well, you look very handsome,” she replies, looking a little pink in the face as she does. “Are you ready to go?”
Claude nods. Behind him, Hilda calls out, “You kids have fun!” with a cheeky wink. He has to suppress a snort of laughter as he leads Marianne out the door, reminding himself to give Hilda a proper thanks when he next gets the chance.
The dance is already in full swing by the time they get there, couples and groups crowded around tables with plates laden with good-looking food or laughing on the dance floor to the tune of a classic minuet played by the band. He spots a few familiar faces as they head toward their assigned table: Edelgard, predictably with Hubert at her side, and less predictably, Dorothea on Ferdinand’s arm. They make somewhat of an odd couple, considering Dorothea’s general disdain for the nobility, but they seem genuinely happy together, so Claude supposes it must be fine. They’re good conversationalists throughout dinner, too, even with the soft-spoken Marianne.
By the time they finish their dinner and move onto the dance floor proper, Marianne even starts to look a little relaxed, though she still looks like she feels out of place among the rest of her fellow students. Claude offers her up a reassuring smile as he takes her hand in his and settles his other at her waist in time for the next song to start up.
“I’m sorry if I step on you,” Marianne utters, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “I can be a bit of a clumsy dancer.”
“Don’t worry too much about that. Just try to have fun,” Claude replies, and then, as if to punctuate his point, he leads Marianne into a spin, uncaring that the steps are out of time with the music and out of alignment with the rest of the dancers.
Marianne squeaks in surprise, but goes along with it, and by the time she comes back around, she’s smiling. “If you don’t follow the steps, the others are going to think you never learned,” she points out. Still, she makes no move to stop him, falling into step with him and matching his movements as best as she can. Once she lets go of her worries, she’s quite the graceful dancer, focusing more on the feel of their movements instead of whether or not she’s putting her foot in the right place.
Claude simply shrugs and says, “If they don’t know how to have fun, that’s on them. They can think of me whatever they want.”
Marianne’s smile broadens just a little, and it’s enough for Claude to throw what’s left of his inhibitions to the wind in favor of simply enjoying himself. By the time the last song of the night has ended and it’s time to return to their dorms, both Claude and Marianne are worn out and red-faced from dancing but nonetheless satisfied with a night well-spent. They walk home side by side, laughing and talking in low voices all the way up until they reach Marianne’s doorstep.
“Thank you for taking me, Claude,” Marianne says, standing in the threshold of her half-open door. “I had a lot of fun tonight. More fun than I’ve had in a long time.” She flushes pink as she speaks, reaching up to brush away a few stray hairs that have come loose from her updo.
“I did, too,” Claude replies, and finds that he really does mean it. He feels like he’s learned more about Marianne over the past few hours than he has in the years he’s known her. Here, under the faint glow of the moon overhead and with the satisfaction of a night well-spent still hanging over them, he finds himself drunk on that newfound feeling of closeness. Before he can think not to, he takes Marianne’s chin gently in his hand and leans down to kiss her.
It’s a fleeting thing, lasting no longer than a heartbeat or two, but when Claude pulls back, Marianne’s face is scarlet all the way to the tips of her ears and her eyes are blown wide with shock. For a moment, Claude is worried that he’s pushed too far, but before he can say as much, Marianne surges up to give him a kiss of her own. It’s a little clumsier than their first and lingers a little longer, but Claude can’t bring himself to mind.
Marianne is smiling when they part, her face still flushed pleasantly. She takes a step back and lays a hand on her door. “Good night, Claude,” she murmurs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it,” Claude’s certain he’s grinning like an idiot, but he can’t bring himself to care when he feels so light and giddy. “Sleep well, Marianne.”
Marianne’s door closes with a soft click, leaving Claude to walk back to his own dorm, content and excited for what’s to come.
—
“Alright, Marianne.” Hilda catches her friend as she’s walking from her dorm to their classroom, leaning in close and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve finally caught up on my chores, so tell me: how did your date with Claude go? I want to know everything!”
It’s been a few days now since the dance, and yet Marianne still can’t help but blush, a smile creeping up onto her face. “Well, uh, you know…” she stutters, unsure how to put into words how her relationship with Claude has changed in such a short time.
Hilds pouts. “Come on, Mari, don’t leave me in the dark,” she pleads dramatically.
Before Marianne can properly answer, an arm settles around her shoulders and draws her attention up to where Claude himself has appeared beside her, a familiar smirk on his face.
“Sorry Hilda, but I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. I’ve got to get in my girlfriend time before class starts!” he says.
Hilda just stares for a moment, shocked. Then, face lighting up in delight, she exclaims, “Girlfriend!?”
Claude winks at his friend cheekily. “If you’re nice enough, I might even be willing to share her with you,” he teases.
Despite the way her face goes bright red, Marianne has to fight a smile, hiding it behind her hand. “Sorry, Hilda. I’ll tell you all the details after class,” she promises, and allows Claude to tug her away, murmuring something to him under her breath that causes his face to soften with affection.
And honestly, how is Hilda supposed to be annoyed when her best friends look so happy together? She smiles, crossing her arms and giving a helpless shake of her head. Truly, this had been her best work yet. She gives herself a mental pat on the back as she turns to leave, basking in the pride of a job well done.