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Sunflower Seeds and Summer Storms

“Hey, Lysithea, next time the ball goes to right field, I’ll cover second.”

Lysithea’s anger rose as soon as she heard the name of her position. “I can cover second. I’m the second baseman.”

Leonie Pinelli was the only girl on the team that wore her orange Garreg Mach Gators socks every single day, even in practice. Perhaps she wore them out of school spirit, or perhaps she wore them solely because they matched the fire-cracker-orange hair mostly hidden beneath her cap. As Lysithea glared at her, Leonie rested her glove on her hip and arced an eyebrow.

“You’ve never had a shortstop cover second when the ball heads to right field?”

Between the white tee-tank and the tall socks and the way she was relentlessly sucking on sunflower seeds even in practice, Lysithea thought that Leonie wouldn’t have been out of place on a men’s baseball team fifty years ago.

That’s not how we make friends, Lysithea. Goddess her inner voice sounded a stupid amount like Claude.

“I’ve never had the need,” said Lysithea instead. “I’ve always been perfectly capable of covering second by myself.”

The nerve, honestly. Lysithea had been a celebrated second baseman in high school. Sure, she was new to the team, but she wasn’t a rookie. Had Leonie even seen the compilation of double-out’s Lysithea had pulled off by sniping a line-drive out of the air and then cutting off a runner retreating back to first? She bet not. Leonie had no idea what she was capable of.

“I bet you can handle it just fine,” said Leonie. She had this way of smiling where she lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Lysithea. “I actually wasn’t saying it for your sake. When Bernadetta gets nervous about having to make a long throw, she sometimes lets the ball go too early. So if you step up a bit, she’s more likely to make a faster throw.”

Lysithea felt her ears burning and was grateful her ponytail was low enough that her hair would cover how easily they blushed.

“It sounds like Bernadetta should work on her nerves,” snapped Lysithea.

Leonie’s eyebrows vanished into her hairline. “Okay! You’re new here, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Go ahead then. Cover second. I’ll let Catherine make the call.”

That’s not how we make friends, Lysithea.

When Lysithea next saw Claude, she was going to throttle him. And then make him buy her a milkshake.

***

Years ago, the softball team was called the Garreg Mach Gator Gals, except one day Gator Gals challenged their male counterparts to a scrimmage match fundraiser. The softball team had crushed the baseball team and taken the title of the Garreg Mach Gators — and managed to raise enough funds to upgrade the women’s locker rooms. Said scrimmage remained an annual tradition, with the running joke being that if the men’s team ever rallied to beat the softball team, they could take their original name back.

It was a laughable competition. The Garreg Mach Gator Guys had gone 14-42 last year, while the softball team regularly won their division. But it was still a fun tradition; Lysithea, for her part, couldn’t wait to wipe the floor with the baseball boys.

“You’re allowed to pitch however you want,” Their catcher and captain, Edelgard, leaned on the table with her arms crossed. “So long as we are.”

Dimitri, captain of the Garreg Mach Gator Guys, cleared his throat. “Meaning…”

Edelgard just smiled.

“Edelgard,” said Dimitri plaintively. “Dorothea cannot pitch shirtless again.”

“Or,” continued Edelgard, “we can settle on underhand pitching only.”

“It would be foolish to overhand-pitch a softball,” admitted Dimitri weakly, though rumor had it Dimitri could pitch a softball overhanded, almost as quickly as he could pitch a baseball. “So I supposed that is settled.”

Edelgard simply smiled. “Are there any other details we need to talk about?”

“I suppose not.” Dimitri struggled for words.

“Excellent. Then it’s settled. When the date is set, we are looking forward to wiping the field with you.”

Lysithea had admired Edelgard von Hresvelg from the moment they met. She was a talented — no, not just talented, but also skilled — catcher, and she had been the team’s captain last year as well. When Lysithea had first transferred and secured her spot on the team, Edelgard had personally called her and answered any questions she had about the school and the team. And now Lysithea’s respect for Edelgard rose tenfold; there was no room that Edelgard did not command.

They wrapped the scrimmage meeting up quickly, and then there were another round of introductions, for Lysithea’s sake. Silly, now that she thought about it, since Lysithea truly couldn’t care less about the baseball team.

Not how we make friends, Lysithea, chided her inner Claude, yet again.

I’m making friends with Edelgard and Dorothea and Ingrid and Marianne, Lysithea told her inner-Claude. And she was. She liked her fellow infielders. She liked Mercedes, their third baseman, too.

Their short-stop, well. Perhaps she didn’t need to make friends with every fellow infielder.

As if summoned by Lysithea’s thoughts, when they walked out of the meeting, they found Leonie Pinelli in the lobby. Even on a non-practice day, she was wearing her orange socks all the way up to her knees, and she wore a long-sleeve flannel shirt tied around her waist, even though it was brutally humid outside. She was bickering with a redheaded boy who stood half a foot taller than she was. For a split second, Lysithea mentally labeled them siblings; then she scolded herself. They looked nothing alike.

Maybe they were a couple. The idea settled against Lysithea’s sternum oddly. As little as she thought of Leonie Pinelli, she certainly seemed too good for the smirking, snappily dressed boy with her. Or any boy, for that matter. Or presumably most others.

“Oh, you’re done!” Whatever they were bickering about, it lost Leonie’s interest, and she turned to face Lysithea and the rest of the team. “How was the meeting?”

“Quite what we expected,” said Edelgard. “We can give a full report tomorrow, with the whole team.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Ingrid, who not only was first-baseman, but was also Edelgard’s unofficial vice-captain.

“Me? Oh, I’m here to drive Ignatz home.” Leonie nodded in the direction of the baseball team’s manager, who Lysithea truly had not noticed. Ignatz matched Marianne, the softball team’s own soft-spoken, sweet-tempered manager — which was to say, they both had a way of evading Lysithea’s attention.

“I moved into his and Raph’s place, cut costs and all that,” Leonie kept explaining. She twirled her lanyard with her keys over her wrist in one direction, then let them swing free. Then she twirled them over her wrist in the other direction. Lysithea kept watching the motion, uncertain why she couldn’t pull her eyes away.

Lysithea glanced between the two of them — Leonie with her lanyard twirling and Ignatz, mousey but pleasant, chatting with Marianne with one of the softest smiles on his face. Were they an item, maybe?

Why did she keep asking herself this question?

“No, I know that,” said Ingrid. “I meant what is Sylvain doing here?”

So that was the tall boy’s name. It certainly seemed to fit him.

“Me? Oh, I was around,” said Sylvain. “Hey, uh — Ignatz, wait, I — I mean, uh, Leonie, too, I was…” Sylvain scrambled for a second very clearly and then tossed an arm around both Ignatz and Leonie. “How about we go get some buffalo shrimp?”

“Now?” said Leonie.

“I mean, you said you two weren’t up to anything tonight,” said Sylvain. He was clearly reaching for something. Lysithea didn’t know much about the short-stop of the Garreg Mach Gator Guys, except that he was friends with Ingrid, and that Ingrid had told her, in no uncertain terms, to leave Sylvain alone.

“I’ve been trying to save up a bit of money,” said Ignatz uncertainly. “Eating out less, and stuff.”

“On me,” said Sylvain. “Uh, Ingo, Marianne, whoever wants to come — new girl too, sorry, what’s your name? I’m Sylvain. Gator Guy short-stop, friend to all.” His eyes flashed across Lysithea superficially. He winked at her.

Ugh.

“I know,” said Lysithea. “My name is Lysithea von Ordelia. I’m second base.”

“Well, Lysithea von Ordelia, second base, would you like to join us for buffalo shrimp? On me?” Sylvain looked hopefully between Leonie and Ignatz. “Please?”

Lysithea looked to Ingrid, hoping that their level-headed first baseman would have a sense of what to do, more than Lysithea did, anyways. Ingrid did have a little gleam in her eye — Lysithea would later learn to identify the gleam in her eye that was activated by free food.

“If Sylvain is paying, I’m in,” said Leonie, going back to that infernal habit of twirling her keys on her lanyard over her wrist. Lysithea hated the way her eyes tracked the movement — she felt a little bit like she was ogling Leonie’s arms. Granted, it was difficult not to ogle Leonie’s arms, given that she played softball, and every muscle that could be toned was, and — Lysithea swallowed and looked away.

“Yes,” said Ingrid dreamily. “I think buffalo shrimp would be nice.”

Lysithea crossed her arms, looked between her teammates, and could not stand the idea of knowing they went out for free food without her. So she nodded curtly. “Very well. I’ll come along, if that’s alright.”

“Glad to have you,” said Sylvain with a wink. Lysithea thought, for a foolish second, that he might be being genuine.

***

Lysithea felt bamboozled. She’d been tricked. Deceived, as it were.

“I can’t believe you haven’t buffalo shrimp.” Sylvain offered her one. “Lysithea?”

“No, thank you,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. She was wishing desperately that ordering chicken tenders was seen as a normal thing that adults did. They weren’t so different from the fried shrimp, anyways.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Sylvain winked. “Ignatz?”

“I’ll — um, yes, I’ll try one.”

Sylvain’s grin turned wider. He offered one of the buffalo shrimp to Ignatz — and not by putting it on his plate like a normal fucking person, but by tossing an arm around the bench and bringing the shrimp straight to his lips. Ugh. Ugh. No wonder Ingrid had given Lysithea a warning about her friend. What an absolute embarrassment. At least she knew now who the item was — or would be soon. And that made Lysithea an accessory here. She felt foolish and embarrassed, and she was just about ready to murder the short-stop in front of her.

Not to mention the short-stop on Ignatz’s other side, who was reaching across the table to take Lysithea’s precious french fries.

“I’m eating those,” Lysithea protested, as Leonie stole two.

“Not fast enough,” countered Leonie.

“I — well we’re not in a hurry, I’ll — ” Lysithea slapped her hand away anyways. “They’re mine.”

“Fine, fine. It’s not like it matters — Sylvain paid for everything like a good little rich boy,” said Leonie. “Hey, lady-killer. I’m ordering more fries.”

“Lady-killer” (or, Lysithea surmised, gentleman-killer) Sylvain was clearly occupied trying to find more ways to put his fingers in Ignatz’s mouth and didn’t even look up. Ingrid slid Sylvain’s credit card across the table, though, and asked if Leonie could order her another bucket of shrimp. Leonie just pushed back her chair and went to the counter to order more food.

Desperate to escape, Lysithea went with her.

“This is an embarrassment,” said Lysithea.

Leonie barked out a laugh.

“Is this normal for you all?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what she meant by this. Sylvain purchasing everyone food as an obvious attempt to flirt with one person? Ingrid going into a shrimp coma? Leonie Pinelli, at ease in the midst of the chaos, helping herself to whatever she wished?

“Pretty much,” said Leonie. “Do you want anything else, or were you just following me around?”

“I’m not following you at all! I just wanted — ”

Lysithea stopped short and watched as the kitchen staff set an order of beignets on the counter and rang for another customer to collect their order. The lovely, fried pastry, crisp yet still fluffy — the powdered sugar, drizzled on top like fuzz from angel feathers — the sweet smell of cinnamon from the duster that was placed on the counter with the order. It was all tantalizing, beautiful, perfection.

Leonie must have noticed her plight. “Beignets?”

Lysithea cleared her throat. “It isn’t that I want beignets instead of real dinner, but…”

“Aw, come on, Sylvain’s paying, have whatever you feel like,” said Leonie. Before Lysithea could fully respond, Leonie got up to the counter. She leaned haphazardly against it and said, “One order of buffalo shrimp, a large order of fries, and a plate of beignets, if you will.” With a flourish, Leonie handed over Sylvain’s credit card.

It was so easy for her. Lysithea secretly wished she could feel that much confidence. Perhaps she would find it, the longer she spent alongside the softball team. She hoped so, anyways.

***

“So,” said Claude.

Lysithea looked up at him over her masterpiece (cake batter ice cream, cookie dough and rainbow sprinkles as mix-ins, chocolate fudge drizzled on top) and frowned.

“So, what?” she asked, as if that were the right thing to say.

Claude preferred dark chocolate and coffee ice cream, of all things. No toppings. Worse, he was one of those people who insisted on getting a cone, and he licked petulantly at his scoops of ice cream as if they weren’t actively melting. He was just the epitome of boring — the epitome of the type of person who went to the most prestigious university he could find and then put his nose to the grindstone while being simultaneously extremely positive and likable and smart all at the same time. The kind of person who would drive three hours just to have ice cream with Lysithea, because he had nothing better to do.

A good friend.

“How are you doing?” said Claude.

“I’m fine,” she said curtly. “The team has good players on it. And my classes will be simple.”

“Good players, that’s nice,” said Claude. “And are you making friends?”

No wonder Lysithea’s inner voice sounded like Claude. Here he was, acting like her father. She’d transferred for softball and softball alone — even though Leer University had the more rigorous academics, its softball team was intramural only, and she missed the game. She’d expected friends to come along the way. Even though, all things considered, at Leer she’d barely made friends. She’d just had Claude adopt her one day and Lorenz adopt her another, and then she had two resident outgoing friends who dragged her along everywhere.

“I suppose,” she said icily. “The school year has barely started. But my roommate seems fine, and the team is good.”

There were probably drawbacks to becoming a starter on the softball team as a transfer student. As a new member of the starting lineup, she hadn’t experienced the previous year’s dynamics. Some of the other starters had been on the team last year and just now made it to the starting lineup, like Annette and Bernadetta. Others were experienced members of the team, like Edelgard and Dorothea. She wasn’t training with the other new members of the team, as she practiced with the rest of the starters, but she was also the newcomer.

Nonetheless, she thought practices were going okay. She thought she was starting to fit in. Ingrid was particularly helpful; she’d played second base last year and was often giving Lysithea suggestions that didn’t seem too patronizing.

Lysithea liked second base too much and felt a little betrayed that when given the choice, Ingrid had picked first base; then again, Ingrid taking her preferred position because the former first baseman had graduated meant that Lysithea could be a starter. She also wanted to prove that she was better than Ingrid, but Lysithea tried not to let that competitive part of her be too loud.

“Well, I hope the game’s good,” said Claude. “Lor and I miss you a lot. He’s kind of insufferable without you around.”

Lysithea could imagine. She smiled ruefully. “I wish you both were at GMU with me.”

“I’d have brought him here with me,” said Claude, “but he threw a whole fit about driving so far at night. He’ll come next time. On a weekend or something.”

“You should come watch a game,” said Lysithea. “There aren’t any for a while, but you can come to the scrimmage against the baseball team.”

She told him all about the scrimmage, watching Claude grin with increasing amusement at the very idea of the softball team and the baseball team competing over which of them had to add a gender-specifier to the end of their team name.

“Is there any reason why you can’t both just be the Garreg Mach Gators?”

“Pride.”

“Oh, of course. Well, turn them into packing peanuts and send them…uh, packing.” Claude laughed at himself. “Sorry. Peanuts are like a baseball thing, aren’t they?”

“In theory.”

“Can I ask you a question?” said Claude, without even announcing he was about to change the subject.

Lysithea nodded between a bite of ice cream.

“Would you be mad if, now that you’re not with us every day, I took Lorenz out for ice cream?” asked Claude.

“I would never keep anyone from ice cream, Claude.”

“Or tacos, or barbecue, or — or whatever,” said Claude. “I just — it was always the three of us, so I was always going to just have it be like we were a happy little trio, but now that you’re gone, it…kinda feels like when we go places together, we’re going on dates.”

Lysithea stared at him. “Is that what you’re asking me? If you can date Lorenz?”

Claude didn’t give a direct answer to that. Instead, he just sighed. “I just don’t want to mess our friendship up. Mine and his and yours and his and yours and mine.”

Lysithea gave a slight nod. Her heart clenched as she realized how hard it really would be, being separated from her closest friends. She’d always expected them to do their own thing — to make new friends, maybe adopt another smart girl to join them on their daily adventures, and yes, to go on dates. Perhaps not with each other, but…she’d been expecting it. She mourned only the idea that she couldn’t watch up close.

“I think you should,” she said.

“I’ll give you all the juicy details,” said Claude, winking. “I might not do it, anyways. I just…before thinking about it seriously, I wanted to see how you would feel about it.”

His consideration made Lysithea feel giddy. She swung her legs a little faster, knowing that it was childish and not particularly caring. Claude wasn’t looking at her legs, anyways. Consideration like this was what Lysithea missed most about having Claude and Lorenz around.

“I think you should,” she repeated. “And you should tell me exactly how it goes.”

“And in return, you owe me juicy details about whatever romance you start up with someone here.”

Lysithea groaned.

“Oh, come on,” said Claude. “You’re around all these new softball girls and their cute little pants and their high socks. You’re telling me not one of your new teammates has caught your eye?”

At high socks, Lysithea could only think about Leonie Pinelli and her uniform socks, worn day in and day out.

She sucked in a breath, indignant, only to realize that Claude hadn’t actually accused her of any lingering looks or furtively lusting thoughts in relation to Leonie Pinelli.

Claude was already laughing at her pain. “Well, well, well.”

“No! No wells!” Lysithea snagged a bite of his ice cream with her spoon. “Take back your wells and your knowing glance. You don’t know anything.”

Claude grinned and took a big, spiteful lick of his ice cream. “Keep your secrets. But you’ve got a soft-spot for some cute girl, I know you do. And when you stop denying it, I better get the full scoop.”

“Focus on the scoop in front of you,” said Lysithea. “Preferably, before they fall out of the cone.”

***

Two weeks after joining the team, Lysithea let Leonie cover second when the ball went to right field. She did so unexpectedly, when they were doing a practice match within the team. Hilda had hit a shot to the fence — there was no reason for Lysithea to hover, so she hustled out to the start of the grass, knowing instinctively that Leonie would have her back. While one of the non-starter girls raced past her, Lysithea pinched her glove together and gestured for Bernadetta, who had already snagged the ball.

Sure enough — seeing that Lysithea was waiting for her, Bernadetta’s eyebrows furrowed in determination, and she threw the ball precisely, right into the firm padding of Lysithea’s glove. No hesitation — Lysithea turned and threw towards second base, and Leonie was waiting for her there, to catch the ball and slam it against the leg of the girl diving for the bag.

A plume of dust, a declaration from Coach Catherine — OUT! — and Leonie was looking up at Lysithea with a big grin. Lysithea’s heart was in her throat all of a sudden. Surely she was just a little out of breath from — from the hustle. Definitely. She jogged back to her place between first and second.

“Nice job, you two,” called Ingrid, as Leonie lobbed the ball back to Dorothea.

Lysithea waited for Leonie to go back to her spot between second and third, but Leonie instead was waiting on the bag still. She offered her glove and still wore that smile. She looked good with a little bit of red clay from the field smeared on her cheek.

Lysithea tapped her glove against Leonie’s tentatively — but no I told you so came out of Leonie’s mouth. Instead, she just grinned and said, “Nice hustle, Ly.”

As they left the field later, after collecting the rest of their outs and heading to the dugout, Lysithea turned to Leonie and said, “we should practice that.”

“What?”

“You covering second. Temporarily. While I assist Bernadetta.”

Leonie smiled. “It’s a normal play. I’m sure Catherine will have us do it. But sure, I’d love to run some drills and stuff.”

“I also mean…well. I enjoyed knowing that you were going to react quickly, but I would feel more comfortable if I knew you better.” Lysithea drew in a breath. “We play in parallel upon the field. I have studied thousands of championship-winning plays, and it would be good to practice some of them with you.”

Leonie grabbed her helmet and stretched her shoulders out with her bat. “Why so much research?”

“Because I will only be at Garreg Mach for three years, perhaps two, if my studies continue to be easy,” said Lysithea. “I only have so much time to establish an incredible collegiate softball career.” She sucked in a breath. “And you will only be here for two years longer. Do you not find it important?”

“I do,” said Leonie. “I’d love to leave my mark on the softball scene, but…I don’t know. I’m here at GM playing softball because I love it, yeah, but also because it’s probably the only way I could afford to come to school here.”

Curious, that they were opposites: Lysithea had abandoned a much more accelerated course program at Leer University to attend Garreg Mach, simply because she missed the game. Leonie needed the game to complete a course program at all.

“Listen,” said Leonie, as she prepared to be the on-deck batter. “Ingrid and I used to do drills and stuff in the evening after weights day with our old first-baseman. I know we’re not supposed to, but we always found it good for endurance. Practicing throws and sprints and stuff even when we were bone-tired.” She leaned on the dugout entrance, ignoring when Catherine called her name and reminded her that she was on-deck. “Let me know if you’d want to join us.”

***

Lysithea did very much wish to practice with Leonie and Ingrid. When she brought it up to Ingrid, tentative, during their next weights session, Ingrid responded with delight, which made Lysithea grin. She remained enthusiastic through their whole weights training, even though weights days were her least favorite days of the week. Afterwards — and after checking with Edelgard, of course — Lysithea went with the other girls to the empty softball field.

“What are you guys most concerned about?” asked Ingrid, turning to both of them, immediately taking charge. Ingrid was a good first baseman and often took charge of the infielders when Catherine was busy and Edelgard needed to warm up with Dorothea.

“I think we should just run plays,” said Leonie, stretching. “Get our routines down even when we’re bone tired.”

“You’re not bone-tired,” said Ingrid. “You had a light day today. Dropped a full ten pounds.”

“For endurance purposes,” said Leonie. “So we didn’t make this a total waste for Lysithea, the first time we wanted to give our old routines a try.”

“I went up ten pounds today,” said Lysithea. “Does that balance us out?”

Her shoulders were certainly aching from the workout she’d already had, and she knew her legs would be protesting tomorrow when she tried to get out of bed. Not to mention, it was Tuesday; Lysithea had new classes to attend on Wednesday. She wasn’t terribly worried about classes, but it was still a nice reminder that she couldn’t push too hard.

“Of course you did,” said Leonie, grinning at Lysithea. “Trust you never to let up or take it easy. Okay. I’ll work just as hard as I can, too.”

“You say that now,” said Ingrid, rolling a softball against her tank top. “Let’s see what we think after we run these drills. Okay, girls. I’m going to throw the ball to one of you — let’s do a double out, so field the ball, an out on second, and then get it back to me for an out at first. Sound good?”

Lysithea sank into her normal stance and prepared herself to work harder than she’d worked in a long, long time.

***

School started, but classes were an afterthought — softball took the majority of Lysithea’s attention. She liked her schoolwork, yes, but it was largely simple and didn’t require much of her time. That meant she could find time to go down to the batting cages — Hilda was always happy to go with her, claiming that she didn’t want to bat but then inevitably taking her turn so she could show Lysithea up. At first it had bothered her; now Lysithea couldn’t help but try to pick up tips from the effortless way Hilda excelled with a bat in her hand. They called her Home-run Hilda for a reason, after all. She could also always count on having lunch with Annette and Mercedes, if they were around, or Edelgard, of course. Practice carried on five days a week, and on Tuesdays, she went out to the fields with Ingrid and Leonie. Once, notably, Ingrid brought some of the baseball boys to help throw drills for them, which went well until Felix got in an argument with her, and Sylvain gracelessly ditched them to go watch a film screening of a horrible-sounding documentary.

Their fourth practice, though, Ingrid didn’t come to weights, and she didn’t meet them at the field afterwards.

“Is Ingrid sick?” asked Lysithea.

“I haven’t heard anything.” Leonie picked up her phone. “I’ll call Sylvain.”

Sylvain didn’t pick up, so Leonie tried Felix, and then when that didn’t work, Dimitri. Apparently Ingrid lived in a house off-campus with the three of them, which sounded like a miserable daily existence, in Lysithea’s books. Dimitri babbled something about giving Ingrid space, but he suggested calling Mercedes, which was finally how they learned what had happened.

“Oh, hello, Leonie. And Lysithea! Hello to both of you.” Mercedes propped her phone against something, revealing that she was baking in someone’s very precisely kept kitchen. Annette waved hello from where she was leaning against the counter, also with a mixing bowl. “What can we help you with?”

“Well, Ingrid was going to practice with us, so we just wanted to see if everything was okay.”

“Oh.” Mercedes and Annette exchanged a glance.

Annette chimed in: “we’re kinda having a code purple. At least that’s what Sylvain said before he kicked us out of Ingrid’s room and asked us to go make scones.”

“Ohhhh,” said Leonie. “Well, that makes sense. What kind of scones? Will there be leftovers?”

Lysithea really wanted to know what exactly a ‘code purple’ is, but then she heard Mercedes and Annette describe the lemon-blueberry scones they were make, and she became far too distracted thinking about the batch of scones Mercedes brought to practice last week. Leonie hung up after a few minutes, after establishing that the scones were for Ingrid to inhale.

“What’s a code purple?” asked Lysithea. “Is Ingrid okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” said Leonie. “Um…” She puts her glove back on and tosses a ball to herself. “Last year’s first baseman, Shez. Bright purple hair. If you watched any of our games, you’d have seen her.”

Lysithea nodded.

“She does this thing from time to time,” said Leonie, “where she takes Ingrid on some adventure for a few hours or an afternoon or an entire weekend once. Only for her to drop Ingrid off without another word at the end of it.” As she talked, she let the softball roll into her hand and then threw it into her glove.

“And?” said Lysithea, putting her own glove on, so that they could start playing catch instead of just talking.

Leonie tossed her the ball, stepping back a few paces. “And either it makes Ingrid late to stuff or — or Ingrid’s kind of a wreck when she gets back, thinking something would happen, and then nothing does. Code purple.”

Lysithea caught the ball. She rotated her shoulder back a few times and then threw the ball back. “And this is a regular occurrence?”

“No,” said Leonie. “Not that regular. I mean — regular enough that it’s happened before, but not regular enough that everybody’s sick of it. Mercedes and Annette baking, I’m sure Sylvain is rubbing her shoulders and putting on her favorite TV shows by the sounds of it, and one of the other guys will take her to get wings later. I dunno. We cover for her.”

“Why do that?” Lysithea had half a mind to continue speaking, but Leonie hesitated once she catches the ball, long enough that Lysithea worried she had said something wrong.

“Because we’re teammates. And friends.” Leonie rotated the ball a few times, then threw it back. “I don’t usually like the idea of letting somebody’s heartbreak get in the way of the game, either. And personally, I think practice is the best way to get over things. But nobody really knows how to do anything. Shez and ‘Grid are both our friends and teammates. It’s just…Ingrid won’t say out loud that she wants to be girlfriends for real, and Shez is like. Oblivious. I mean the problem as it usually happens is that Ingrid thinks Shez is taking her somewhere special, but it turns out that Shez kinda gets along with everyone.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I mean, kinda, yeah.” Leonie took a few more steps back, increasing their tossing distance. She shot the ball to Lysithea, her voice having to carry: “The sulking is usually because Shez hooked up with somebody that wasn’t Ingrid!”

Lysithea almost missed the ball, but she was too good a player to do that. She let the conversation fall.

It remained strange to her, as Leonie drilled her on her sprints and gives her pointers on stealing bases and they shoot grounders to each other, that they would have this conversation. It felt strange to know that two of her teammates were baking for Ingrid’s benefit, that the baseball team was also dropping everything to help Ingrid with her heartbreak, and that Leonie knew enough to share what’s going. Plus, it was odd that she would share what’s going on with Lysithea. She could have just shrugged her shoulders and claimed a relationship issue or that Ingrid had some family drama. But no. They…somehow trusted Lysithea with this secret.

Maybe Leonie was just a blabbermouth, but that wasn’t how it felt. Not how it felt at all, especially since Leonie later offered to drive Lysithea to grab a bite off-campus before heading back to the dorms. Lysithea knew perfectly well that Leonie mostly cooked her own food or ate on-campus when she could get someone to use one of their free guest meals for her benefit. Dinner off-campus — even though Lysithea knew fully that they were getting cheap burgers and milkshakes — felt like a splurge. And it felt like a private splurge that Leonie was nonetheless inviting Lysithea to see.

She wanted to text Claude in celebration, because perhaps she was actually making friends here. Perhaps she was actually finding that she had a place on the team, and that the team could be like a family.

They stopped at a poke bowl place — a step up from drive-through, shocking Lysithea — and as they walk back to the car, the sky opened up. Lysithea did not scream, because she was not the type of girl to scream at a summer storm, but it was a near thing. Instead, she wiggled at the handle of Leonie’s truck until Leonie could unlock the passenger door.

“Sorry, sorry, working on it — there!”

Lysithea dove inside, shivering already. “I can’t believe this! We could have gotten home already, were it not for that stupid couple in front of us. Stupid, horrible — ”

Leonie was laughing over her, throwing her hands over the steering wheel. “Okay, okay. PDA is so not your thing, I got it. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

She handed Lysithea their poke order — wet, in the bag — and reached over the bench to fetch a towel from the little storage space behind the seats. She tossed it at Lysithea, not quite looking; it landed firmly over Lysithea’s head. For a moment, Lysithea could only say, “oof!”

A moment later, Leonie was pulling the towel back from her with both hands, cupping Lysithea’s face in the towel. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to smother you there.”

Lysithea was breathless, looking through the humid car at her teammate who was cradling her face in her hands. Lysithea felt tingly and uncertain and very tight in the chest and like if she opened her mouth something traitorous would come out. By the saints, she hated this feeling — whatever feeling it was.

Leonie leaned back, and the claustrophobic trembling in Lysithea’s chest grew more severe somehow. Lysithea wiggled out of the towel and set it over her lap, to protect their poke bowls. She only then realized that they forgot to pick up utensils from the poke shop. Lysithea stared balefully at the shop for a few seconds, feeling Leonie watching her.

“We have no utensils,” she announced. “So. No eating in the car.”

Leonie shrugged a shoulder and says, “my place isn’t far from here, if you want to eat there and shower and stuff, try to wait out the storm. I know the walk from the parking lot to the dorms is a bitch, and if it’s still raining, you’re going to be stuck a long ways.” She paused. “You probably have an umbrella in the bag.”

Lysithea shook her head.

Leonie blinked at her. “You…don’t have an umbrella?”

Lysithea shook her head again.

“What kind of — okay. Well. Let’s go to my place then. If that’s good with you?” Leonie turned the car on; the truck sputtered angrily to life. “It’s like two minutes from here.”

Rain crashed down around them as they drove, a thunderstorm clearly rolling in from the gulf to the south. Lysithea sat cradling the poke bowls, unable to comment much else. The rain was oppressive, silencing any conversation they might have had. Lysithea didn’t dare break Leonie’s very careful conversation, as she navigated the few blocks home. Driving in the rain was terrifying. She would have hated to be in Leonie’s position, navigating this massive pick-up truck through the sheets of rain coming down and the sky turning nearly black.

Leonie’s off-campus home wasn’t that far from campus, but was definitely still in a cheaper part of town; it wasn’t big by any means, and the peeling white paint on the wooden exterior definitely made the house look old. Lysithea found it strangely charming. It matches Leonie’s little golden pick-up truck, somehow. Better yet, Leonie’s driveway was a covered one, meaning that Lysithea only had to run for a few seconds to escape the downpour.

The house was small, a simple hallway with a couple of doors on either side that emptied out into the living room and kitchen. Lysithea had put up approximately no decorations in her dorm room, but Leonie and her house-mates had made the place their own: three rows of watercolor paintings, some of which looked markedly less amateurish than the others; a photograph of the baseball team next to a photograph of the softball team; some polaroids, hung up with cheap string, showing Leonie and her house-mates along with other friends; a large oil painting leaning up against the corner of one door, appearing still wet.

As they walked back to the living-and-dining side of the house, the warm smell of fried chicken wafted in. Lysithea’s mouth watered in spite of herself.

“Oh, good! You made it!”

Belatedly, Lysithea remembered that Leonie lived with Raphael, the baseball team’s third baseman, and Ignatz, its manager. Knowing these elements made the house seem much smaller. Both of the boys were there along with Marianne, who was manager of the softball team. They’d clearly just finished dinner; Ignatz was still putting fried chicken pieces into plastic bags to refrigerate for later. Raphael had already flopped onto the living room couch, a large and semi-ugly orange thing; Marianne was carrying over a couple of bottles of soda.

Lysithea knows Marianne, somewhat — as their manager, she attended many practices and came with them on team affairs, but mostly her job was keeping track of statistics and going between the girls and the coaches. As Marianne was truly abysmal at anything to do with organizing or cleaning, Lysithea had no idea how she had gotten the job. Still, Lysithea liked her enough and found her presence calming. She didn’t know Leonie’s housemates much at all. Raphael played third base and was positively massive, one of those guys who appeared more “football” than “baseball.” Sometimes he came up in Leonie’s stories, though, and he seemed plenty affable and likable. Ignatz was the nervous and small counterpart to Raphael’s confident and big self. Leonie liked them, which was encouraging; plus, Lysithea supposed that they were both smiling at her and welcoming her to the house.

She did know one other thing about Ignatz, which that he had let Sylvain hand-feed him shrimp that one time. Lysithea saw ‘mouth on Sylvain’ as a a vile act — and because it had been right in front of her, it was also personal and unforgivable.

Though, she supposed, in theory Sylvain was spending his evening helping Ingrid recover from another wave of heartbreak. Ignatz’s crime was still unforgivable…but perhaps a little less of that sin had to do with Sylvain Gautier than it had before this evening.

“You guys know Lysithea,” said Leonie, waving a hand at her. “We were caught in the storm and figured we could eat here.” She turned back to Lysithea. “Are you going to want a shower?”

“If you don’t mind,” agreed Lysithea.

“I don’t mind at all,” said Leonie. “Let’s eat first, though, yeah?”

The other three did their homework quietly while Lysithea and Leonie ate, also quietly. About halfway through dinner, Ingrid sent both of them a long and unnecessary apology text. Then Lysithea helped herself to a brisk ten-minute shower, grateful that at the very least, Leonie had separate bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Knowing Leonie’s frugality, she hadn’t been entirely sure — then again, there were clearance stickers slowly getting smeared off each bottle. So perhaps one of the other girls — Dorothea was the most likely candidate — had convinced Leonie to invest an extra five dollars.

Or perhaps Lysithea was being uncharitable. There was even a nice-smelling lotion on the bathroom counter, and the towel Leonie offered her was soft on her skin.

She tiptoed across the hall, finding Leonie on the floor of her bedroom, stretching.

“All yours,” she said tentatively. “Um…”

“Do you need to borrow any clothes? I have spares.” Leonie stood up.

“I have my own.” Lysithea knew better, at this point, then to go to practice without an emergency bag of clothing at the bottom of her softball bag. “Thank you.”

“Hairbrush is on the dresser, if you want it.”

Lysithea thought about protesting, knowing well enough that if she brushed her hair for too long, she would leave dark purple strands of hair all over Leonie’s room. But as Leonie stepped into the hallway, she re-evaluated her own question. For whatever reason, the idea of leaving a little mark of herself in Leonie’s private space felt…appealing.

Out in the main room, the others were having some sort of conversation; Lysithea couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. Instead she stalled for time: she got changed into her spare set of clothes and ran her fingers through her hair, squeezing out the water in Leonie’s towel. Then, slowly, she looked around the bedroom that belonged to her teammate.

Unlike the nondescript dorm Lysithea called her home, Leonie’s bedroom was an odd shape — a closet with a slanted roof, a strange little bump-out where she’d stuffed her dresser, a couple of windows near the twin bed where Leonie had picked out bright blue curtains. The colors here didn’t match in the slightest — grey sheets, yellow comforter, a big magenta-and-orange rug on the floor. Lysithea wondered to herself how many of these things had come with Leonie from whatever childhood bedroom she’d inhabited, how many things she’d thrifted or taken off a roommate who had upgraded to a bigger bed, so on and so forth. She was…fascinated. She liked to think she knew her teammate by this point, but being in someone’s bedroom was so telling of someone’s deeper personality.

Lysithea’s eyes kept going back to the small desk chair that had clearly become a place for storing clothes and other things that Leonie wanted to rewear or otherwise re-use. A backup softball glove sat on top of an old textbook which sat awkwardly perched on a half-folded GMU sweatshirt. On the back of the chair hung a jacket that Lysithea knew was one of the custom team jackets that the team had made when they made division champs the year before. Ingrid wore hers every day; Hilda often used hers to accentuate her outfit.

The door opened slowly behind her. “Oh, hey.”

Lysithea’s heart leaped into her throat. She struggled for an excuse, some clear reason why she was intruding in Leonie’s private space longer than could be considered normal. When she turned around, deciding to claim that she’d misplaced her socks, all of her thoughts came to a halt.

They’d shared a locker room before. They’d shared a showering space before. Lysithea shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the sight of her teammate wearing only a towel. And yet…this was different.

Leonie’s cheeks, nose, and forehead were red, in either a flushed-from-heat or raw-from-scrubbing way. Lysithea always saw her hair beneath a baseball cap or tied loosely over her shoulder or both, but now it hung loose, coppery from being wet, surprisingly wavy. Really, though, Lysithea thought the appeal had to be Leonie’s wide, built shoulders — and biceps — and forearms — and calves. The towel was tied tight around her torso, but still Lysithea could see Leonie’s collarbones. Her eyes were drawn down to the edge of the towel and the barest hint of cleavage. It was absurd to see Leonie draped in a fluffy sage-green towel, like she was suddenly delicate. She was the least elegant and least vulnerable person Lysithea knew, and yet in this moment, Lysithea thought she resembled a wine goblet made of glass.

Leonie didn’t say anything to her. She just shut the door and walked towards Lysithea, holding her gaze. Her confidence would be Lysithea’s undoing. Without hesitating, Leonie put one hand on Lysithea’s waist. The smell of her ocean breeze body wash was so close, and beads of shower water still hung on the tip of her collarbone, and Lysithea’s knees were trembling, and she swallowed, and she almost bent her head to lick the water off Leonie’s neck, and —

And effortlessly, Leonie pivoted Lysithea out of the way and reached into the drawer on her nightstand, coming back up with a bandeau and set of boy-shorts.

Was Lysithea supposed to say something?

She turned her head, stammering: “My apologies. I’ll get out of your way.”

Leonie took her hand off Lysithea’s waist. The absence felt damning. The fact that Lysithea had ever let Leonie touch her in the first place felt even more damning.

“All good,” said Leonie. As Lysithea headed for the door, she heard the towel unfolding and knew full well that if she just turned her head, she would get to know for certain how built softball had made Leonie’s stomach and back. She couldn’t. Instead she just listened to the sound of her teammate getting dressed, biting her lip.

“Is that your team jacket?” she asked weakly, as though the jacket was the only reason she’d stayed in Leonie’s room so long.

She heard Leonie chuck on a pair of shorts. “Sure is!”

A moment later, she pushed past Lysithea, and well. Lysithea supposed she now knew what Leonie’s abs and back muscles looked like, as Leonie hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt yet. In bandeau and shorts alone, she picked up her jacket from the back of the chair.

“When we become conference champs this year, we’ll make new ones, and you’ll have one too.”

“Can I see it?”

Leonie patted the side of her bed; Lysithea sat down, accepting with reverence when Leonie set the denim jacket on her knees. She forced herself to focus. The jacket was her focus right now. The jacket. Not Leonie’s back muscles as Leonie turned to her closet to find a tea tank. The jacket, what could she say about the jacket — well, it was definitely second-hand, and it seemed a little big even for Leonie. The denim was nice and stiff, and the combination of embroidery and fabric paint looked precise, especially considering that Lysithea knew that nothing about Leonie was precise except for her throws.

“You’ll make them with the other new students,” Leonie repeated.

She said so half-heartedly; Lysithea knew very well that she was the only new starter on the team. She just tightened her ponytail. Of course they would make new team jackets, but it wouldn’t be with the other starting team members. Lysithea felt more and more that her place was with the girls who had led the Garreg Mach Gators to the conference championship match before, not in part because the starting lineup kept bringing her places and telling her secrets and making her feel like she belonged with them.

Lysithea was making a fool of herself on about eight different levels. “I should get going.” She turned to flee.

She’d only gotten two steps down the hallway when Leonie called after her: “Woah, woah. You’re not leaving, are you? Didn’t you see the flood warning?”

Lysithea had seen the flood warning appear briefly on her phone, but she’d been too busy snooping in Leonie’s room to pay it any mind. “It’s just — it’s just water,” said Lysithea. “I’ll get one of my suite-mates to pick me — ”

“Hey, no way.” A voice up the hall made Lysithea pause. Raphael stood at the end of the hallway, having heard the two of them leave Leonie’s room. “No one’s driving until it stops raining.”

Lysithea started to protest, but she found it difficult to raise an issue with Raphael’s face got serious.

“It’s not safe for anybody to be driving,” he said in a stern voice, and Lysithea knew there was no fighting him. “Nobody’s leaving this house tonight, I think.”

Reluctantly, she put her bag down and let Raphael coax her back into the main room.

“It’s movie night,” said Raphael. “And if the rain keeps up, no way we’ll have class tomorrow. So take it easy for now. Hang out with us.”

“One of us can drive you back in the morning,” added Ignatz, “as we’re driving Marianne back, too.”

Reluctantly, Lysithea set her belongings down in a corner of the room, setting her jacket on top. She supposed she had no choice.

“Ignatz is letting us watch a non-snoozer for once,” joked Leonie, flopping onto the big navy beanbag in the corner of the room.

“Hey!” said Ignatz. “I thought you enjoyed The Guestbook.”

“I think Raphael and Leonie were asleep for that one,” said Marianne kindly. “But the one before that was nice.”

“Was that the horse movie? I liked the horse movie,” said Leonie.

“Ignatz has a whole bunch of movies he wants us to watch,” explained Raphael to Lysithea. “Except they’re kinda…film major movies, you know? So we’re trying to find ones everyone would like.”

“Marianne picked tonight’s,” said Ignatz, sounding only a little stung. He settled onto the other side of the couch, pushing Raphael’s leg out of the way. “It’s fine, anyways. A lot of my list of classic films are on Sylvain’s to-watch list, too, anyways. I can watch them with him.”

Lysithea had been privately hoping for that opening. “Are you two dating?”

“Who?” said Ignatz, looking to Marianne. “Us? No!”

“No,” said Lysithea, “You and Sylvain.”

Marianne focused on putting on the movie, very clearly abandoning Ignatz to his fate, which was sealed when Ignatz turned pink and Leonie and Raphael both burst into laughter.

“I told you!” said Raphael.

“I — we — no!” said Ignatz. “W-we’re just in a film history class together and — and thought about where our film wishlists might overlap, and — and that’s all!”

“It’s so obvious that he wants to be your boyfriend,” snapped Lysithea.

“Debatable,” said Leonie. “He might just want to fuck.”

Ignatz pulled his legs to his chest and covered his head with his arms. “I don’t think — I just — I’m sure it’s not like that, um, I — I’m not exactly…”

“I don’t know,” said Lysithea, crossing her arms. “The first time I met you and the first time I met Sylvain, he was trying to put his fingers in your mouth. Succeeding, actually.”

Leonie laughed.

“I — I didn’t think — I mean he offered t-to everyone — ”

“If Sylvain tried to hand-feed me a shrimp, I’d bite his finger off,” said Lysithea. “Not bat my eyelashes at him and blush for the rest of the evening.”

“Well,” said Ignatz. “S-Sylvain is…I mean, he’s…”

“He has a crush on you,” said Lysithea. “If you have a crush on him, by all means. And if you don’t, knock it off.”

“Oh, leave him be, Ly,” said Leonie, nabbing Lysithea by the wrist. Lysithea had half a mind to protest, but then Leonie was manhandling her back into the beanbag to sit next to her, practically on top of her. Lysithea shut her mouth, swallowing back her frustration at Ignatz’s ever-irritating indecision in exchange for another few frustrations. Did Leonie really think she was a child who needed to be pulled around? And that nickname — that —

Lysithea turned her head up, one part of her tempted to tell Leonie off instead, but Marianne took the moment as a reason to start the film. After a moment of alarm from the dramatic strumming of strings and flare of light from the television screen, Lysithea finally realized that she was sharing the beanbag with Leonie now. And because of the awkward way Leonie had pulled her around, Lysithea was practically folded into her body, not exactly on her lap but not exactly in her own space, either. It wasn’t purposeful; no longer was Leonie’s arm around her or anything like that. But — but a toned, fuzzy arm was brushing against Lysithea’s arm, and Leonie’s thigh was warm too from where Lysithea’s knee touched it, and maybe, if Lysithea fidgeted even a little bit, her hands would end up somewhere on Leonie’s hip, or she could even maybe skim the side of the bandeau holding Leonie’s breasts beneath her oversized tea-tank, and…Lysithea was frozen.

“Yeah?” said Leonie, glancing down without moving her head.

Lysithea hastily turned towards the film, folding her arms on the other side of the beanbag to feign space between them. “I was — only going to ask if you had caramel corn.”

“No, sorry,” said Leonie. “We can grab popcorn?”

“Ah. Never mind, then.”

Lysithea could feel Leonie’s eyes on the side of her head; she almost turned back but then thought better of it. She didn’t want to know about the way Leonie was looking at Lysithea. Certainly not.

The movie was agonizingly long. Lysithea wanted to say it was the fault of the movie, but perhaps it was also the fact that Ignatz clearly liked this movie, and he would lean over to tell Marianne or Raphael some trivia or comment on film techniques and cinematography. It was also quite possibly because Lysithea was still sharing a beanbag with Leonie, and no matter how she subtly tried to twist herself, she was always in contact with some part of Leonie’s body. She was always reminded of the warmth of a thigh or a hand or a shoulder. She was so warm it was nearly suffocating.

But she wouldn’t move away. She refused. Moving away would reveal her as — as a touch-averse still-teen, or as repulsed by her own teammate. Lysithea certainly was not repulsed. In fact she quite liked the way Leonie smelled, a little bit like the storm outside, a little bit like her sunflower seeds, a little bit like the ocean-breeze body wash in her shower.

When the film ended, it was still raining hard, so the group set up a sleeping space for Lysithea and Marianne to use. The night was late, but at the very least, their classes had already been canceled due to flooding. Lysithea’s phone was flooded with flash flood warnings and texts from Lorenz and her parents, all berating her to be safe. She told them she was fine and that she was staying with friends, who had plenty of food. At least, she assumed as much. Knowing Raphael and Ignatz and Leonie, certainly they had prepared for this kind of event.

As she settled off to sleep, Lysithea waited to relax and found that she absolutely could not. Instead, Lysithea’s body felt coiled tight, like at the slightest touch, she might explode. She put her hand on her chest and applied a little force, making herself take deep breaths and push against the pressure. What was this feeling, exactly?

It occurred to her suddenly and with frustration: she was horny.

Over what? The movie? Certainly not. She’d hated most of it. Over — over…Leonie sitting so close to her. Lysithea bit her lip and turned over, angry when the response to thinking about Leonie again was to make her toes curl. She closed her eyes tight. Oh, this was ridiculous.

But she wondered how Leonie’s skin tasted with that ocean-breeze wash. She wondered if Leonie shaved above her knees. She now knew that Leonie favored tough little boy-short underpants and could guess that Leonie’s pubic hair was a little darker than the hair on her head — if a spare hair in the shower really was what she thought, anyways — and she was intensely curious how that hair would feel on her tongue.

Fuck! Lysithea could hear Marianne breathing slowly across the room, maybe asleep, but maybe not quite. At that reminder, she bit her tongue hard, distracting her horny thoughts with a jolt of pain. Under normal circumstances, perhaps she might touch herself — maybe. She hated the idea of giving Leonie Pinelli the satisfaction. Even if she would never know. And she would certainly not stoop so low as to masturbate only a few feet away from her friend — over Leonie.

Not that Leonie was undesirable. Obviously she was very desirable. But still, she would not give into a petty need for gratification — not with Marianne here, and not in Leonie’s own house. It would be pathetic — and unforgivable, if Marianne noticed. Worse still if one of the men stepped out of their rooms for a glass of water.

Lysithea quelled her burning desires with that thought: of being discovered in a very private moment by a man. There would be no worse offense.

Still, she settled to sleep angry at herself and angrier still at her body and most angry at Leonie, for doing this to her. And yet, somehow she did not grudge the waters outside, which had trapped her in this infernal movie night to begin with.

Perhaps not so infernal after all.

***

Softball was Lysithea’s favorite sport in the world. But yes. It included a lot of time spent waiting and watching.

She swung the bat experimentally, staring down Dimitri. Shamir’s words from practice the day before played back in her head: “your pitcher normally pitches to people a foot taller than you. Let him throw balls.”

She knew perfectly well to let the first ball pass, regardless of what it was — and sure enough, Dimitri’s first pitch flew past her eyes. Lysithea didn’t so much as flinch. They were in a good position, three runs up in the bottom of the eighth inning, Catherine had signaled to Lysithea to have fun, since the boys had gotten Ingrid out at first already.

The second pitch came to her shoulders. Lysithea glanced at Dedue, the boys’ enormous catcher.

“Tell him to throw low ones,” she said. “It would be a shame if I had to walk.”

Dimitri seemed frustrated with himself, which Lysithea appreciated. His third pitch adjusted appropriately, though — it sailed neatly past Lysithea’s chest, and the umpire called a strike.

“Just like that,” she told Dedue. She heard him huff a noise and wasn’t entirely sure if it was a laughter or a noise of frustration. Either way, feeling a lot more confident about herself, Lysithea sucked in a breath and prepared herself.

Dimitri pitched — it was a good pitch, and fast, but all those hours of batting practice with Hilda had gotten Lysithea to a place where she was stubbornly cool in the face of fast balls. Lysithea swung the bat and didn’t bother to see where it flew. She focused on the dark swipe of hair and orange brocaded 27 that was Felix Fraldarius’s uniform, and she ran.

A glance at Shamir, who was signaling ferociously to stay put on first. Lysithea stomping fiercely on first base. The slap of the ball against Felix’s glove. As Lysithea slowed to a stop and turned around, she heard the cheering from her teammates — so she’d been called safe then.

“Not bad,” said Felix, to Lysithea’s surprise.

“Hm,” she said, as she took her place on the edge of the bag.

Petra was up next; as always, Lysithea pitied the pitcher that had to stare into Petra’s sharp eyes and find any weaknesses in her. As Lysithea had done, she let the first ball pass, then the first strike. Petra was even shorter than Lysithea was. Lysithea desperately wanted Catherine to tell her to steal to second, but Catherine was signaling only that she should wait. Oh, how Lysithea hated advancing to another base on a walk.

Dimitri threw a strike, and to Lysithea’s surprise, Catherine signaled to them both — she wanted Petra to bunt the ball. Earlier in practice, they’d discussed that a bunt was probably a bad move, and that the boys were probably fast enough to adjust and nail an easy out at first. Then again, Petra was their fastest runner.

Petra was also a good hitter, and Lysithea could see in Petra’s frustrated gaze that she knew it, too. Still, Lysithea stretched and positioned herself to run.

She heard the ball connect with Petra’s bat even before really seeing it; then, Lysithea was a blur. She stormed past Ferdinand and glanced at Catherine, guaranteeing that yes, Catherine wanted her to stop at second. So Lysithea skidded into the bag, almost tripping on Sylvain as he suddenly appeared at the bag to catch a play.

“Hi, Lysithea,” said Sylvain, as soon as the ball landed in his glove. “You’re looking good today.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. She looked back at first, but it appeared, by the cheering from the boys’ dugout, that they’d gotten Petra out at first.

Lysithea disliked sacrifices. But that was how the game needed to be played, she supposed.

Leonie stepped to the plate. From her position leaning off of second, Lysithea could see her clearly past Dimitri’s hulking form. She could see the glimmer of determination in Leonie’s eye, beyond her helmet. Leonie spat out a sunflower seed, the lone remnant of her on-deck emergency snack.

Dimitri pitched — Leonie let it fly. Strike.

Lysithea stretched her arms as Dedue threw the ball back. Leonie gave the bat an experimental swing, then caught Lysithea’s eye. Back in the dugout, the girls were singing a cheer they’d made up just for Leonie, which seemed to suggest that she had, at some point, hit a ball so hard she’d broken the bat.

“Hit a homer,” mouthed Lysithea, preparing to run.

Leonie ran her tongue over her lips. “What’ll you give me for it?” she mouthed back. A few weeks ago, Lysithea would have had no idea the kind of things Leonie would mouth at her across a softball diamond. Now she was confident she could read her teammate’s lips, even through their helmets.

The girls were still singing about “Leonie the Bat-Breaker, who breaks bats and busts up balls” — apt, for a scrimmage against the baseball team, Lysithea supposed. Leonie glanced at Catherine, read the signals to hit as hard as she could, and then turned back to Lysithea, as if expectant.

Lysithea prepared herself to run and mouthed back, “dinner on me?”

Leonie’s smirk was wide. Dimitri pitched — Leonie swung for the fences.

They were already at two outs this inning, so the moment she heard the ball connect, Lysithea ran; Catherine was swinging her arm to signal Lysithea onwards, so she neatly dodged around Raphael, tagged third base, and sprinted for home.

Dedue had his helmet off. That, more than the screaming — screaming was a given — told Lysithea that Leonie had actually hit the ball out of the park.

Once she crossed home base, Lysithea fell turned and watched as Cyril, in right field, offered to hop the fence to fetch the ball. After some signaling and shouting from Shamir, he left it alone. Instead, Lysithea watched the boys deflate, knowing that regaining six runs in a single inning was unlikely, and that in all likelihood, Leonie’s home run had just won the girls the scrimmage.

Lysithea turned, ripped her own helmet off, and watched Leonie sprint around third base. Raphael gave her a big whoop of encouragement, and Catherine was chanting her name from the coach’s mark. Lysithea was shocked that no one from the rest of the team had spilled out onto the field.

Still, she waited — and Leonie crossed over the plate, turned on her heel, and full-on charged into Lysithea. Lysithea was not normally one for physical contact or being made to feel light and small — but she giggled and let Leonie scoop her up into a huge hug. Sweat and clay and that distinctive shampoo were all caught up in the air; she breathed it in — breathed Leonie in — breathed in the feeling of their victory sweet and assured.

Leonie set her down and clapped her on the shoulder — Lysithea clung to her arm all the way back to the dug-out, where the girls promptly dog-pilled them in a circle, excitedly chanting Bat-Breaker, Bat-Breaker and slamming their hands on Leonie’s helmet.

Lysithea was correct in her earlier assessment: five runs down at the bottom of the eighth, and the Garreg Mach Gator Guys didn’t have much fight left in them. Dedue hit a ball to left field so hard that the boys got two runs out of it, but then Petra dove and snagged Caspar’s other guaranteed run right at the fence. Lysithea was screaming herself hoarse, this time with rabid excitement — and she ran halfway across the out-field to grab the ball back, even though Felix had already planted himself fiercely at second base. Dorothea struck out Ferdinand and Sylvain, and that was that, and the game was won.

The locker rooms rang with song, bright and victorious, the sounds of two dozen girls singing together along with the showers. Lysithea was granted one of the first round of showers; even she raised her voice along with the group. She was never going to out-sing Annette and Dorothea, but she thought perhaps she was a decent addition to the chorus.

As she laughed, as a half-dressed Dorothea and a not-yet-showered Annette jumped up on a locker bench, a weight fell around her shoulders.

“‘Grid and I are heading to set up the afterparty.” A warm voice, and the smell of ocean breeze body wash. Leonie squeezed Lysithea’s shoulders. “See you there, I hope?”

Lysithea briefly panicked — she hadn’t actually intended on attending the afterparty, as she’d largely grown out of parties, past her first year of undergrad. Plus, it was only a scrimmage, and she didn’t care to spend time with the boys after they had lost. Still, as she searched back through the crowded room, she only saw the flutter of Ingrid’s hair ribbon, announcing which way they’d gone.

The afterparty…

Lysithea reached up and felt around her shoulders, realizing in a heart-wrenching moment that Leonie’s championship jacket was currently on her back.

The thought was heady, the feeling intoxicating — Lysithea had to take a deep breath. What — what was meant by the bestowing of a denim jacket onto another teammate? Was it because Lysithea had been coincidentally the one person to share in Leonie’s two home runs? Was it because they’d played well together, the two of them? Was it because Lysithea had finally proven herself, after all this time of practicing together?

Was it an answer to Lysithea’s bold mouthed words earlier — dinner on me?

“You aren’t slipping away, are you?” asked Dorothea, tucking her arm through Lysithea’s. “Oh, please Lysithea, we would love to have you come to the party.”

Well…Lysithea had to give Leonie her jacket back, she supposed.

“If you are prepared to give me a ride there and back, then certainly,” she said.

“Oh, I can!” said Dorothea, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’m not drinking tonight, so I will be happy to ferry you back and forth.”

This plan sounded reasonable to Lysithea. Sub-ideal, but…doable.

***

She was proven wrong.

Lysithea was no novice to a college house party, but halfway through her first year, she’d stopped going to them. She far preferred quiet gatherings with friends. She’d imagined this party as much of the same, as it was being held at the Dimitri-Ingrid-Felix-Sylvain house, and all those invited were members of their two teams.

But the house was too small for a party of so many people, and she’d underestimated just how many people were on the baseball team, and how huge those boys were. Further, she’d forgotten how much her head hurt in the presence of loud bass-heavy music.

In other events, she might have found the house that the quartet shared relatively pleasant. At this moment in time, she found it atrociously small for such an event. Still, she let Annette hold her hand and guide her through the crowd, until they could grab drinks from the kitchen, where Ashe and Cyril were playing bartender. Dorothea started babbling in Lysithea’s ear about how good at drink-making Cyril and Ashe were when they got together; Lysithea had no interest in mixed drinks, but she nodded along anyways.

“Can you get me something sweet?” she asked Cyril, once Annette and Dorothea grabbed their drinks and were swallowed up by the crowd. “Is there something like. Sugary?”

“I’ve got just the thing.” She liked Cyril. He played right field and was, from what she could tell, a kindred spirit, someone equally hard-working and determined to play the game as she was. He mixed her a drink that definitely contained straight chocolate syrup, which felt very out of place in a green solo cup. Still, Lysithea took it gratefully and turned back to the party. Leonie’s jacket was tossed over her arm. She held it tight to her chest, searching, until she found Leonie and Hilda laughing with one another in the middle of the room.

No longer hesitating, Lysithea made her way over.

“Leonie,” Lysithea called, before she could fully fit into the circle. “Leonie, your jacket — ”

“Oh, Lysithea!” Hilda put her arms around Lysithea and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “Nice playing today, girly!”

Lysithea could only gape openly at her.

Leonie laughed but grabbed Lysithea by the wrist. “Come on. I need a partner for a game.”

Helpless, Lysithea let herself be dragged, only to find herself at the other corner of the couch, watching as Dimitri set up a beer-pong table. “Play with me,” begged Leonie. “I trust your aim absolutely. Hilda was supposed to play, but she’s already way too drunk.”

“I don’t want to drink too much,” she said, eyeing the cups that Dimitri was now filling. Truthfully, she thought most alcohol tasted vile. “Are you having anything?”

“Nah,” said Leonie. “Hey, ‘Mitri. Make it water on our side.”

“As you wish,” said Dimitri with a courteous smile. “Or, if you would like, I am drinking for Dedue as well.”

“Saints,” said Leonie. “You’re going to give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“Plays like a boar, drinks like one too,” said Felix, looking very red in the face. “Dedue. Let’s put these softballers in their place.”

“Be kind, Felix,” said Dimitri.

“Yeah, no picking on Lysithea just because she caught a line drive you thought was sure to get past her,” said Leonie.

Lysithea tried to smile, but the attempt was weak. “The concept of this game is incredibly simple. I’m sure we will do quite well.”

She was rewarded — or was it a reward — with Leonie’s arm around her waist. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

The water pong went quickly. Lysithea found that she hated Felix with an intensity that made her certain he was one of her closest friends on the baseball team. Once she and Leonie were crowned victorious, they played a match with Cyril and Ashe, who decimated them and Felix and Dedue after them. Then Caspar and Petra got involved, and Leonie ducked off to the bathroom, and Lysithea spent a little bit of time nursing her chocolate-peppermint drink and listening absently to Ferdinand and Edelgard argue about…about…something.

She was swept into one conversation. She pivoted into another. She sat down in a chair and was joined by someone. She finished her cider, and her mouth was dry, so she helped herself to a bottle of water. Little by little, the night wore on. Lysithea’s chest got tighter and tighter and tighter with each passing minute.

Suddenly, Lysithea looked around, and the world seemed too crowded. There were too many people in this room, and generally speaking these people were large. She was not the shortest girl on the team, but even the shortest girls seemed huge — Edelgard in platform boots, Petra on Ferdinand’s back preparing for some sort of expert-mode competitive water pong, Annette and Hilda sitting on the table in the corner whispering back and forth to each other and laughing, like everything in the room was some kind of a joke to them. The noise in the room rose to a type of thunder, between the music — pulsing beat making Lysithea sway — the chatter — Hilda’s laugh like a whistle breaking through the room — excess noise — cheers as Ferdinand and Petra won their match — everything just became so swollen. Lysithea scouted all four corners of the room and found there were none available: Cyril and Mercedes were having some sort of conversation over a card game in the first, Edelgard and Dimitri were having a slight argument in the second, Sylvain had just dragged Ignatz to the third and was leaning down to murmur some string of drivel to him, and from the fourth Ingrid and Felix were betting on the latest water pong match.

Amidst it all, a hand on her back — Lysithea almost screamed. She whirled, only for Leonie to catch her.

Leonie frowned. “Are you okay?”

Lysithea sucked in a deep breath to say yes, that she was perfectly fine. But truthfully, she couldn’t bear the crowd and the noise anymore. She found herself on the verge of tears.

“Okay, come on,” said Leonie. She didn’t say goodbye or announce their departure, just re-placed her jacket around Lysithea’s shoulders and led her by the sleeve out into the front hallway of the house. “You’re alright. Breathe, Ly. You’re okay.”

“I am,” insisted Lysithea. “Merely — merely overwhelmed with the noise, and…”

“I know. Okay. Give me a second to snag Ignatz, and I’ll drive you back.”

Lysithea nodded, grateful for the few moments to just stand outside the most intense parts of the party and breathe. She couldn’t believe herself. Was it the drink? Surely not — she’d only had the one, and it still sat half-finished in her hand. Was it the scrimmage, exhausting her? Perhaps. Or maybe it had just been a long time since she’d attempted a party of this type, and she’d forgotten how loud and crowded everything could get.

“Alright, let’s go.” Leonie emerged back into the hallway again far sooner than Lysithea expected, tossing her car keys in her hand.

“Where’s Ignatz?”

“Not coming,” said Leonie. “He’ll be fine. Ingrid will keep an eye on him, and frankly — Sylvain’s a real piece of shit, but I think he likes Ignatz more than he likes being a piece of shit, so I weirdly kinda trust him.”

“Are they making out in the corner of the party?” sighed Lysithea.

“I give it five minutes,” said Leonie. “And if they aren’t at that point, it’s because Syl’s lured him back to his room.”

“They’re going to be even worse once they’re together.”

“Well, I mean…maybe. Or maybe not.”

Lysithea wasn’t quite sure she’d heard right, and she was definitively curious.

“What do you mean, ‘maybe not?’” she asked. “I expect the gross behavior to only increase.”

“I just mean, I kinda get where Sylvain’s coming from sometimes,” said Leonie. “Not to say we’re similar or anything, but, you know. Sometimes it’s easier to show someone you like them through actions than to say it out loud, you know?”

“I certainly do not.” Lysithea crossed her arms over her chest. “If I had such an obvious and embarrassing desire to be someone’s arm-candy, I would just say so.”

Leonie laughed, less confident than she usually was. “I guess you would.”

Leonie’s truck was parked down the street. Even outside in the warm, sticky night air, Lysithea could hear the thumping of the party behind them. Surely the neighbors would be furious, if the party went on for too long. Or maybe all of these homes were similarly occupied by university students who expected the street to be loud.

“How incredible,” Lysithea thought out-loud, “that people enjoy themselves in these contexts. I fail to understand what the point is.”

Leonie nodded to herself. “The point’s just to have fun. But I get it. You like being focused on the things that matter, right? Like softball, and school.”

“Well, yes,” said Lysithea. “We only have a short amount of time.”

“Yeah,” said Leonie. She unlocks the car, and they separate, Lysithea to clamber into the passenger seat. “I…you know, my first two years here, I was kinda the same way. I have to play softball and be good at it, or I can’t go to school. I have to be good at school, or else what’s the point of taking somebody’s spot here. I’m going to make my family and town proud of me. But now, I…kinda want to make sure I don’t waste the time I have with people, too.”

Lysithea wasn’t sure what to say about that, so she said nothing. Instead, she watched Leonie start the car and back out of the parking lot with the grace of an expert driver.

They drove quietly, Lysithea rather grateful for the repetitive noises of the tires on the road and the rattly air conditioning unit in the truck. She felt her brain realigning.

“I apologize,” she said finally. “I didn’t intend to drag you away from your fun.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” said Leonie. “I don’t mind.”

Lysithea felt like she needed some sort of excuse. But she didn’t have one. She slowly drank the rest of the drink Cyril had so specially made for her.

“The teams are very good friends,” said Lysithea. “I’m grateful you guys have been welcoming.”

“Of course,” said Leonie. “We’re all — I mean, not quite here for the same reason, but for similar enough reasons. And we all love the game — even if the boys suck ass at baseball.”

“They didn’t make today easy,” Lysithea pointed out.

“Yeah, but the majority of them are a lot taller and hit a lot harder, so.” Leonie shrugged. “Well, we kept our name and our undefeated streak, so that’s what matters.”

Lysithea finished off her drink just as Leonie turned into the closest campus parking. Lysithea gazed at the streetlights, dreading the slow walk home. She almost wished she could ask Leonie to come with her, but technically speaking, Leonie wasn’t allowed to park here. Still, Leonie shifted the truck into park and stalled there.

“Thank you for driving me home,” said Lysithea. “I’m sorry I’m making you go out of your way.”

“Hey, there’s no need for that,” said Leonie. “It’s not a problem. Really. I — to be honest, I’m happy that you trust me enough to let me help.”

Lysithea hesitated with her hand on the door. “I…”

“That probably sounded weird, huh.” Leonie scratched at her hand. “Hey, um. I know it makes you nervous, being the only new recruit to the starting lineup this year, but you’re doing a really awesome job. That play today? Killer. I’m really happy to be teammates with you. And I want you to be comfortable, you know?”

Lysithea let go of the car door and turned more fully to face Leonie. She knit her hands in her lap. “I…like being teammates with you, too. You’re all really skilled. I know I have a lot to learn, but no one needs to underestimate me or treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” said Leonie. After a long second of staring ahead, Leonie turned off her truck and turned to face Lysithea, tucking one knee up on the bench between them. “That’s why I really appreciate you letting me drive you home and all. I know that party was rough for you, and that’s totally fine. You’re not a baby or anything just because you weren’t having a good time. Bernadetta doesn’t like them, either, and Edelgard’s always ducking out early.”

Lysithea glanced at her lap. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course. I just want you to know that I’ve never thought of you as something that needs taking care of or anything like that.” Leonie was talking more than she usually did. She cut herself off and regained herself. “It’s more like, I want to take care of you.”

Lysithea stiffened, instinct telling her to protest. Leonie stopped her thoughts in their tracks by putting a hand on her shoulder.

“In a lesbian way, Lysithea.”

There was a lump in Lysithea’s throat she didn’t know what to do with. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She tried to clear her throat, and instead she made a horrible whimpering noise. She watched Leonie react to that noise by biting her tongue and stifle a laugh.

“Don’t — don’t mock me,” said Lysithea.

“I’m not mocking you.”

“Do you really mean it? You…”

“Kinda think it’d be cool if we were girlfriends.”

“Well then.” Lysithea could not ask for what she was seeking.

Lysithea still was unsure how to ask. So she tilted her head up and looked at Leonie, on the edge of begging, and thank the Goddess that Leonie understood what she wanted and kissed her.

In her first year of high school, before she’d known that she liked girls, Lysithea had kissed a boy on the track team on a dare. She remembered the kiss as wet and weird and sweaty. She remembered the track boy putting his hands on her waist and that his palms had been so damp she’d felt it past the layer of her already-sweaty tank top. She’d been very unimpressed with the notion of kissing, after that.

Leonie, did not kiss like a wet and weird and sweaty fifteen-year-old boy. Obviously.

Instead, Lysithea had the distinct pleasure of being kissed by someone who first of all wanted to kiss her and second of all knew what she was doing. Leonie’s hands sat, precise as ever, on her jaw, exerting the slightest amount of pressure to tilt Lysithea’s face to meet hers. Lysithea imagined what they looked like right now: a painting, a sculpture, something to be hung in a museum. Never before had Lysithea wanted to feel delicate, but here she felt like a floating flower petal cast off the stem — held aloft by the wind that was Leonie.

She could go anywhere. She could be anything. Leonie Pineli wanted to be her girlfriend.

Lysithea was loathe to part, but Leonie clearly knew when a kiss would overstay its welcome, pulling back ever-slightly. Lysithea sat in the same space, opening her eyes slowly.

“You’re so pretty,” murmured Leonie.

“I didn’t think you cared about pretty things.”

“You’re not a thing.”

“Precisely right. I’m not.”

Leonie laughed.

“Well, then…alright,” said Lysithea. “I will happily accept your invitation to be girlfriends.”

Leonie beamed. “Really?”

“Well, yes. You…you are kind, and strong, and reliable. And I enjoy spending time with you more than I ever realized I could,” admitted Lysithea. “Perhaps just not at post-game parties.”

A rumble of thunder overhead, distant.

Leonie ran her hand through Lysithea’s hair and then lifted the edges to kiss it. “Hey. What if…we drove to my place, before the rain comes down and you have to walk back? I’m not…saying anything has to happen, but we’d have time, if we wanted it. To talk. Not talk. Whatever.”

“I already used my change of clothes.” Lysithea swallowed and eyed Leonie. “I would have to borrow yours.”

Leonie’s smile widened.

Lysithea sat back in her seat and buckled the seatbelt. “Well,” she said, heart racing with excitement. “It’s been such a long day. I would hate to have to walk back in the rain and wake up my suite-mates.”

Leonie turned the ignition on again.

***

Lysithea woke up the next morning early, to find it raining again. It might flood, she thought to herself. A dull rumble of thunder came in from the opposite side of the house.

The first time she’d slept over here, it had been because of a potential flood, but she’d been stuck on the floor of the living room with Marianne, frustrated with her body’s betrayal but too stubborn to give into desire with Marianne in the room with her. This second time, the plan had been for Leonie to go steal Ignatz’s bed and for Lysithea to have Leonie’s small twin.

Reality included Lysithea curled into a ball, her back to the wall and her hands fisted around Leonie’s sleep shirt, pulling it so it slid off her shoulder. A little squirming proved that they were exactly as they’d settled the night before, essentially splitting a set of pajamas. Lysithea had the bottoms, Leonie the top. When Lysithea let go of Leonie’s shirt and avoided Leonie’s face on the pillow and sat up, she decided she didn’t want to sleep topless again. It wasn’t so bad when she was curled up in the blankets, but right now she was cold and very aware of her small chest and messy hair when her reflection in the mirror was tossed back at her.

Out in the hallway of the house, she heard movement. Her first thought was Raphael cooking breakfast. Her second thought, judging by the much more tentative feet on the wooden floor, was Ignatz returning home.

It was definitely not still raining — she heard tires whine on the wet pavement outside. It then occurred to Lysithea that Ignatz was walking quietly. Guiltily. Putting together the pieces, Lysithea couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. She combed her hair out of her face and considered going back to sleep. It wasn’t like she could judge Ignatz for using the scrimmage as an excuse to get laid. She had done the same thing, after all, on the very same night…

Oh, absolutely not.

Lysithea tumbled out of bed without tripping on Leonie or the sheets, which she considered a great success. She grabbed the first thing in sight to cover up her breasts — Leonie’s team jacket — and threw open the door.

“Ignatz!”

Ignatz let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream, almost diving into his room but completely missing the door and smashing into the wall. Lysithea wrapped her arms tighter around herself and stalked toward shim.

“Lysithea?” said Ignatz in a whispered voice. “What are you — why are you — ” Like a good boy, he hastily looked to the living room as if he was avoiding looking at even Lysithea’s minimal cleavage.

“Did you get with Sylvain?” She could tell the answer. There was no other explanation for the little kiss-stain beneath Ignatz’s ear and the fact that he was fidgeting with the tackiest charm bracelet Lysithea had ever seen, which included a big S. Lysithea wanted to shake him: probably a dozen other people had a charm bracelet from Sylvain in their ‘gifts from awful ex-boyfriends’ box under the bed. Then again, Ignatz could be stupid if he wanted. It wasn’t Lysithea’s business.

Before Ignatz could come up with an answer, she continued, “it doesn’t count. Yesterday-slash-today can’t be your anniversary, because it’s my anniversary with Leonie, and you can’t have it. I am not sharing such an important date with you.”

Ignatz seemed to put together the pieces, glancing between her and Leonie’s open door and the too-big orange pajama pants that were sitting loose on her hips. “Um. Okay, Lysithea.”

“We won the scrimmage,” continued Lysithea. “Your stupid baseball boyfriend lost. Get a new anniversary.”

“But — ”

“Pick another day!” whisper-shouted Lysithea.

“Um, okay! Okay.” Ignatz adjusted his glasses. “Can I…go shower now?”

“Fine,” said Lysithea. As he turned away, she reluctantly said, “I hope you’re boyfriends now. Better than assholes who just flirt in public.”

Ignatz smiled bashfully over his shoulder. “I’m glad you and Leonie are together now, too.”

Satisfied with her winning the anniversary competition, Lysithea turned back and retreated to Leonie’s room. She found Leonie awake and sitting up, blinking blearily out the window.

“Oh, there you are,” said Leonie, turning towards her. “Thought I heard your voice. Good morning.”

Lysithea shut the door behind her. She liked the look of her girlfriend — ha! — In the early morning, in her beige shirt and her hair a little tangled and pressed into odd shapes in the back and the residue of drool on the edge of her chin. She looked perfect. She looked like she was delicate and vulnerable and all Lysithea’s.

Leonie rolled out of bed like she’d been bit by something, but she was staring at Lysithea. “Man, Lysithea.”

“What?”

“You’re using my championship jacket to cover your boobs, is what.”

Some of the tension in Lysithea’s shoulders released, when she realized that the way Leonie was looking at her was indicative of hunger. Lust, even. Lysithea stood very still and held her head high.

“I needed to speak with Ignatz,” said Lysithea. “But you’re wearing the shirt that goes with these pants, and your jacket was in sight.”

Leonie slowly walked over so she could grab Lysithea’s arms and hold her against the door to her room, eyes wide.

“You know, I love wearing that jacket,” said Leonie, staring at Lysithea’s stomach and the single button she’d fastened just under her solarplexus. “But it looks better on you.” She licked her lips.

“You have my permission to kiss my chest,” said Lysithea. “This being one of many girlfriend privileges.”

Leonie tentatively undid the button and ran a finger down the middle of Lysithea’s chest, drawing a line from throat to belly-button. Lysithea wished to remind her that she’d done that with her tongue the night before, and she was welcome to do it again. Encouraged, actually.

Instead Leonie set her hands on Lysithea’s waist and kissed her lips, hungry. Lysithea eagerly placed her arms over Leonie’s shoulders and drew her against the door, smiling into the kiss. She liked the thud of her body against the door, hoped that Ignatz and maybe even Raphael could hear it and know that Leonie was Lysithea’s very own girlfriend.

“So,” murmured Leonie, nosing at Lysithea’s cheek. “You want to tell Catherine and Shamir, or do you want to sneak around and steal kisses when they’re not looking?”

“I want to tell everyone,” replied Lysithea.

Leonie beamed. “Course you do. I do, too.”

“I should tell my good friends from Leer,” Lysithea sighed. “They’ll want to video call me and make fun of me, as if they haven’t started dating while I’ve been gone. Well. I will tell them all about my girlfriend first.”

She thought of Claude and Lorenz joining a video call, holding hands under the table and pretending they weren’t, while Lysithea proudly put Leonie in the center of her video camera and declared that she had secured the attention of an incredible girlfriend.

Truthfully, she was beginning to be certain that she would never grow tired of saying it.

And it seemed Leonie felt the same. “Hm. Okay, girlfriend. But first. I’m taking advantage of my girlfriend privileges a little longer. Can you list them for me maybe?”

Thunder rumbled overhead, swallowing up Lysithea’s excited laughter, and giving them an excuse to hide from the rest of the day just a little longer.