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The coffee is murky. Oily.
“It is bitter,” Ferdinand says, pulling a face.
Hubert breathes out. Not quite a snort. He sips his cup as Ferdinand sets his own back on his saucer. Between them, the coffee pot sits on the table just off centre to accommodate a couple of shortbread rounds leftover from Ferdinand’s latest bake.
“Bitter goes with sweet,” Hubert says.
“You have no love for sweet things,” Ferdinand grumbles as he drums his fingers on the tabletop.
Hubert’s lips keep trying to twitch upward. He motions to the sugar and cream pots to which Ferdinand scowls and scoffs. Hubert struggles mightily to maintain his unamused expression.
“Adding sugar or cream to this would just make it worse,” Ferdinand says, tapping his fore and middle fingers on the table once with feeling. “Do not worry. I will not waste it. I am steeling myself –”
“Coffee is for pleasure,” Hubert says, lifting his cup back towards his lips to help hide his smile.
Ferdinand boggles at him. Hubert realises his mistake at that reaction but manages to keep himself from choking on his coffee. Ferdinand blinks rapidly. His fingers flatten on the tabletop. His wrist slightly raised.
He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again as he flattens his palm and wrist on the table.
“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, ardent in his inflection and openly concerned, “what is troubling you so?”
Hubert puts his cup down, mostly drunk. He has to be careful not to let it clink against the saucer.
“Nothing is troubling me,” he attempts to say.
“Really,” Ferdinand says, hand pressing on the table as he frowns, “I thought, between the two of us, we were past this.”
Hubert grimaces. This is not an unfair reaction. He taps his forefinger
on the side of his saucer. Looks down. He stares at the shortbread rounds. Edelgard and Bernadetta had greatly enjoyed them for dessert the
night before.
“We are, aren’t we,” he says, unnecessarily.
Ferdinand breathes out. Not a sigh, nor a sound of frustration. Just a noise.
Hubert breathes in.
“I heard your conversation with Byleth.”
A beat. “Ah.”
Hubert licks the back of his teeth. Swallows.
“Do you think about what would have happened if you were part of a different House?”
They are both quiet for a moment. Hubert reaches out and takes one of the rounds. He sets it on his saucer. Across the small garden table, Ferdinand’s hand relaxes. His knuckles lift from the tabletop. Just enough.
“It reassured me that our Professor does think about such hypotheticals,” Ferdinand says, and his matter of fact tone helps Hubert look up and meet his calm, serious gaze. “You, of course, have been committed to our Emperor’s cause before any of us, and I will admit that I have taken some convincing. Not on the overall ideal—I know well how corrupt the state of affairs has been—but rather the methods by which we have had to take to achieve what we have thus far. I fully understand their necessity, and I know this is the path to making sure we may build a fairer world.”
Hubert nods. He knows this. They have spent years now, sitting like this with coffee and tea and Ferdinand’s occasional baking. They have argued and compromised and walked away to moderate and rally their thoughts to do it all again.
“But,” Ferdinand says, and he smiles, thin and a little lopsided, “yes, I do think about it sometimes. It is not pleasant to kill our former teachers and friends. I know this is the right path, but a part of me does regret all the wasted life. Maybe that makes me a fool.”
“By that logic,” Hubert says as Ferdinand reaches out to pick up the last shortbread round, “it would also make the Professor a fool, and Lady Edelgard would take great offence at such an insinuation.”
Ferdinand, holding the round, laughs. It is a bright, surprised sound, and it chases the uncertainty and shadows from his face. He smiles easily again, turning the round over his cooling coffee.
“Well, that gives me some relief,” he says, very lightly.
Hubert nods. He reaches out to pour himself more coffee as Ferdinand dips his round into his coffee. Hubert doubts this will make Ferdinand enjoy the coffee any better, but the sweet buttery biscuit should match well enough. He watches as Ferdinand eats the soaked part of the round, his eyebrows drawing slightly together as he considers.
“How is it?” Hubert asks as he sets the pot back down.
“Well enough,” Ferdinand says, half-shrugging. “You should give it a try.”
Hubert picks up his round. Looks at his coffee. He dips the biscuit briefly before lifting it to his lips. Biting down.
The bitter and sweet flavours go well together.