Chapter Text
The inside joke begins when Annette foolishly asks Felix to help her train.
It’s not really the kind of shared joke between the two friends that makes them feel closer, or the kind of secret agreement that alienates anyone else who just doesn't get it. Annette does not believe Felix is even capable of sharing a joke with her, he only seems interested in constantly teasing her for the ways she enjoys to spend her time.
It’s not her fault he frequently finds her in humiliating situations!
Felix drags Annette, his hardened fingers locked onto her wrist, into the training grounds the very next day. Early enough in the morning to keep any prying eyes to watch the instruction.
He barks out orders for her to grab a training ax, and stand ready to defend against an offensive attack.
So, Annette begrudgingly follows his directions: she settles, arms curved in a battle stance, with the training ax in a tightened clench. She can feel her irritation building, by how he nitpicks her form, by how little he cares for her personal space, and by how he constantly pokes and prods with the back of the wooden training sword to correct her form.
“Lower— no keep your back straight—- no knees slightly bent—“ His voice is grave, as his little patience crumbles, and a troubled sigh leaves his lips.
It is then, when his exasperation is at its limit, that the sword in his grasp crashes to the floor.
He steps behind her, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his body. When his palm presses against the small of her back, correcting her form, Annette has to keep herself from leaning into the touch.
“Good.” His voice finally softens, as she corrects her posture to his liking.
The praise causes butterflies to flutter at the base of her stomach, and she involuntarily jerks away from the palm at her back.
Annette does not dare to flinch in his direction, even if his gaze feels like molten honey on her bare neck.
“Ah…” Felix’s voice is even darker now, and his fingers trail innocently against her spine before settling on her shoulder. He presses down to indicate for her to crouch lower, with his foot tapping the inside of hers to widen her stance. He hums in approval again, and like he is testing it, he repeats: “Good.”
With the additional touches, and repeated praise, Annette cannot stop how she visibly flinches. He is even closer than before, and his clothed calf is still pressed up against hers, his searing palm against her shoulder—
Why is he still touching—
His touch abruptly disappears, even if Annette’s mind continues to spin. She hopes he cannot hear how her heart recklessly pounds in her ears.
She has had enough! “Felix—“
“Shh.” He grasps her elbow from behind, tucking the arm wielding the ax into her side. “Don’t fuss.”
He is annoyingly silent, as he moves behind her. He hums for a final time, with the press of his hand against her top of her shoulder blades. His tone lowers an octave, and it rumbles out of him with intent: “Good girl.”
Annette chokes, a barely there sound squeaks out of her, and the ax in her grasp finally clatters to the floor.
She is never going to ask him for help again!
His laugh is loud, and it's too bad because she wants to hit him even if the sound is like twinkling bells.