Work Text:
Furina had decided that devoting herself solely to directing, without any other interests, didn’t suit her. Surfing was only an option during warm summer days — if she even got lucky with the waves.
So, the board continued to gather dust in the closet for many more months, and de Fontaine turned her attention to unexplored drawers. In one of them, nestled among old blankets and faded pages of papers, lay several balls of yarn with knitting needles still stuck into them. A strong wave of interest swept over her instantly, and by evening, she was confidently casting on her first stitches, which by the next day had turned into something resembling a scarf.
Clorinde wasn’t so much surprised by how quickly her friend picked up new things—Furina always had—but rather by how, in the evenings, she now read various pieces of literature to her, most often before bed. Who could’ve known that de Fontaine would quickly lose interest in music too, whenever she was sitting over scripts, schedules, and now yarn. Thankfully, she had a certain expressiveness, and Furina could be pleased to the point where a smile would appear on her lips.
At first, Clorinde tried to pick something light: novellas, short stories to match the calm mood that settled in during the evenings. But she quickly dropped that idea and started long novels, which de Fontaine ended up abandoning. Furina didn’t criticize, didn’t butt in with her own thoughts—she simply focused on finishing her rows and nodded from time to time, showing she was listening carefully. That kind of reaction was more than enough for her friend.
“He stepped into the house abandoned by all, which in a short time had already begun to crumble before his very eyes…”
Clorinde caught a movement from the side: Furina had shifted closer, her tired eyes trying not to close as she looked at the text. The girl’s free arm gently wrapped around de Fontaine’s waist, allowing her to rest her head on Clorinde’s chest. Furina’s hands let go of the needles and the half-knitted row and hugged the woman back, not realizing she had practically climbed on top of her friend. Judging by the faint smile and the heaviness of sleep, she had found a comfortable position. Clorinde gently moved her back onto her pillow and set the book on the nearby nightstand.
“Looks like my reading really is soothing,” she said in a tender tone. “Good night.”
De Fontaine lifted her limp hands and tried to make one last stitch.
“It’s okay if you don’t finish it by tomorrow. Sleep.”
“No, I’d rather finish it... otherwise I’ll scold myself for doing nothing, and I won’t have time tomorrow—I’ll be buried in play scripts.”
Furina had always been persistent. Five minutes later, the tiredness was gone as if it had never been, and she quickly finished her work. Her hands carefully wrapped the scarf— complete with Furina’s favorite wave-like accents — around her friend’s neck. Along with the warmth that spread across Clorinde’s shoulders and neck came a blush brought on by a tender kiss from de Fontaine.
“Now you can go to work tomorrow without a worry!” Furina said proudly, making a mock-stern face. “I don’t want to have to treat you if you catch a cold. No, I’ll put it on you myself in the morning!”
Clorinde would probably throw a teasing comment or two about the accessory that clashed with the duelist’s strict uniform, but she couldn’t help appreciating the affection woven into it.
She noticed Furina’s sudden, smiley expression — a silent request for her to continue reading. Her eyes found the line where she had left off, and she resumed. The needles clicked no more, and the room was filled only with even breathing and a soft voice.