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Take care Ferdie

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His talk with Bernadetta couldn't have gone more wrong. Between his poor choice of words and her panic attacks, Ferdinand was left with a sprained wrist and an aching heart. 


He wishes for someone that could try and understand his ideals of nobility, to see past the stereotype and actually see that Ferdinand tries his best to be the best noble he can be. It doesn’t excuse others' poor behaviors, certainly, and he can’t blame other people for not looking through his eyes but still… he can’t help but wish.


A star collides with him as he thinks so, one in the most literal sense.


Dorothea’s surprise easily turns into bad disguised annoyance once she catches sight of his ginger hair.


“Pardon me.”


He apologizes as he brings one hand to his chest in an attempt to prove his honesty, and his eyes shut closed at the sudden pang in his wrist.


“Are you alright Ferdie?”


The singer’s voice suddenly turns soft, concerned mixed into it as she looks between his face and where his other hand has taken his wrist to massage it.


“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”


He’s ready to leave. Dorothea has never liked him buzzing around near, and he doesn’t have the energy for another failed attempt at communication with his peers.  But she stands still, blocking the path between him and the way back to his room.




Confusion rises in his chest, he never seems to understand what she’s thinking. 


She sights, shakes her head and then takes his hand. 


His heart leaps as a blush rises to his ears, this is not exactly correct for a noble like him. She gently pulls him closer as she starts walking fast, and all he can do is helplessly follow. Right before he can ask what this is, she curtly answers.




“I can go myself–?”


“Shh. Don’t talk.” Dorothea interrupts him without even looking back, his heart stammering against his chest as he hears her following half-whisper, “Let me do this before I regret.”

He decides to listen to her, like he should have done in the very beginning of this whole ordeal. 


The infirmary is quiet once they arrive. He lets himself be led to sit in a bed, but Manuela is nowhere to be seen. Ferdinand hears her sight, and then can’t contain himself when she brings a small medical kit.


“I can do it myself.”


“Didn’t I tell you to not say anything?” The singer directs a long stare his way, before looking away like she doesn’t really want to be heard,  “Besides, a long face doesn’t suit you.”


…How can a noble like him act out of composure like this?


He’s flustered after a single comment, blushing strong in his cheeks as he further embarrasses himself in front of her.  Ferdinand appreciates how Dorothea doesn’t comment on it, and instead tends to his wrist with a bandage and bit of healing magic.


“You have my utmost appreciation, Dorothea.”


The nobleman mutters quiet enough, looking deep into those green forest eyes as they seem to doubt. She opens her lips, closes them and then just gives his hand a squeeze.


“Take care Ferdie.”


As he watches her walk away, he can’t help but think that maybe he has some other things to worry about besides nobility, like what a sprained wrist can do to his heart.