Chapter Text
Edelgard von Hresvelg snugged the collar of her chunky-knit turtleneck sweater higher around her neck and tucked an errant strand of white hair behind her ear. A cursory shake told her the can of Diet Coke® she’d been sipping away at for the last hour was finally empty. In the quiet of her empty apartment, the analog clock ticked away the seconds.
Outside the air was crisp, the autumn leaves just beginning to turn from green to pale yellow, a promising hint of the brilliant sea of red to come. She adored this time of year, the promise of jacket weather and sweaters, of bergamot teas, the resumption of her beloved classes, and the many opportunities to curl up with a good book on a rainy day.
Today was not rainy, however. By all accounts it was thoroughly beautiful. Nevertheless, in spite of the weather and the beauty outside, Edelgard von Hresvelg remained despondent and buried under a mountain of blankets on her living room couch.
The bowl of congealed boxed Mac & Cheese on the coffee table had long since gone cold. The book she’d been reading lay neglected somewhere to her side. A quiet lilt hummed from the record player in the corner of the room.
With a sigh, Edelgard reached for her smartphone.
Without much thought, she thumbed open the icon which indicated her favourite time suck. On command, the app flashed to life. Reflexively, she began to scroll through her timeline, absent-mindedly glancing over the string of banal posts.
Quickly growing bored, she clicked on the first story at the top of her feed. As soon as she saw the streak of pink hair, she suddenly wished she hadn’t.
Hilda.
She pressed and held the story so she could more closely inspect it. Indeed, as she had suspected, the woman was none other than Hilda Valentine Gonneril. The short woman grinned from the other side of the photo, pink hair pulled back in twin plaited braids, and her arms laced round the shoulders of several other smiling students.
In her photo Hilda wore the brilliant white and red jersey of the Garreg Mach rugby team, the word “Saints” printed in bold above the school’s Crest of Seiros.
Edelgard gulped at the sight, doing her best to ignore the way the shirt hugged the curve of Hilda’s chest, or the tight shorts emphasized the swell of her thighs.
Unconsciously, she thumbed the tag beneath Hilda’s grinning face—@hilda.galentine—watching as the name “Hilda <3” sprang up expectantly.
She knew she shouldn’t click on it. Nothing good would come of clicking on it.
Still, when had that ever stopped her?
Her thumb pressed down, and Hilda’s profile sprang up.
She took a deep breath. Edelgard could practically recite the girl’s bio by heart.
“Pummel Princess! ✨👑Garreg Mach Rugby #3 Never met a margarita I didn’t like 🤭”
What stung the most, however, were the words omitted—“🔒@ev.hresvelg 💕🎀”
Her train of thought was interrupted by the rattle of the door. With a scuffle of boots and the jangle of keys, Dorothea Arnault swung the door wide, welcoming a rush of cold air into her roommate’s depression den.
“Hello Dorothea,” Edelgard groaned, acknowledging her friend from her prone position.
“Hello!” her roommate sang, unwinding an obscenely long wool scarf from around her neck, and draping it around a coat hook like a great coiled serpent. “How fares my favourite princess today?”
“Uh, fine…” Edelgard stammered. “How was class?”
Her friend, having tugged off a pair of calf-length boots, walked over to appraise her roommate. The singer wore a button-down dress with red plaid stockings. Atop her wavy brown hair perched one of her customary berets, completing the look of the stylish schoolgirl.
“Class?” her friend raised an eyebrow. “Honestly Edie! I was at choir practice—classes don’t start till tomorrow.”
“Oh, right,” the blonde girl nodded.
“This isn’t very much like you, Edelgard the-anally-prepared,” Dorothea sighed. “What’s got you in such a funk? I swear to Goddess Edie, if you're looking at more pictures of your goddamn ex-girlfriend I will take your phone away from you, so help me Sothis.”
Edelgard furiously tabbed out of the rugby team's page.
“No I was just…checking the syllabus for one of my classes.”
“Bullshit,” her friend crossed her arms. “I know for a fact you read all of them a week ago. Not to mention, you hate reading on your phone.”
“Well I just wanted to be sure,” Edelgard protested, feebly.
“Edie, it’s been like six months since she broke up with you.”
“Five months. And seventeen days,” the blonde corrected her.
Dorothea sighed.
“And here you make my point for me.”
“Thea, I’m not upset that Hilda left me.”
“Which,” Dorothea snapped, “I’m sure is why you’re letting my copy of Punisher get scratched to hell and back.”
“Shit,” Edelgard murmured, having just registered the metronomic scritch, scritch, scritch of the record looping. “I can buy you a new one if it's scratched.”
“It’s fine,” her friend sighed. “It’s just the principle of the thing.”
“Exactly,” Edelgard groaned. “The principle of it. It’s not that I’m mad that Hilda left—”
“—dumped you,” Dorothea interjected. “Let’s not sugarcoat it.”
“Whatever. Dumped me,” Edelgard continued. “It’s not that, it’s merely that I’m perturbed that she left me for a man.”
“Is that what she told you?” Dorothea raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, besides that whole thing with Claude, she keeps posting photos with this Balthus guy,” Edelgard pouted. “See?” she asked, producing a photo of Hilda at the club wearing a conspicuously low-cut black dress. The woman’s hand was wrapped around the waist of a muscly, dark-haired man with abs you could cut diamonds on.
“Please,” Dorothea dismissed her. “Claude would sooner fuck a mirror than a woman, and Balthus is gayer than a Barnes & Noble Starbucks kiosk. If he’s shtupping any Gonneril you’d better bet your pretty ass that it’s Holst. ‘King of Grapplers’ my ass.”
“Dorothea!”
“What?” she shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Fine, well if not Balthus, then who?” Edelgard stammered.
“Well I did hear that she might be dating Marianne von Edmund,” the brunette shrugged.
“By the Goddess,” Edelgard wailed. “Thea, that is so much worse! What does she have that I don’t?”
“Well, for one, she’s probably not a workaholic,” Dorothea said.
“I am not a workaholic!” Edelgard gasped. “How could you say such a thing?”
“Very carefully,” her friend smirked. “I’m going to refer you to my earlier observation about your syllabi and refrain from editorializing upon it for your own sake.”
“I have lots of other qualities though,” the blonde girl huffed. “And I was very attentive to her needs!”
“A little too attentive, maybe,” Dorothea snickered.
“What do you mean?”
“Well I imagine it might have been negatively affecting the performance of the rugby team to have you constantly staring at Hilda’s ass in those athletic shorts,” Dorothea shrugged.
“I was not!” Edelgard exclaimed.
“In every scrum,” Dorothea nodded with rehearsed sageness. “What a sorry sight it was.”
“As if you wouldn’t,” she scowled.
“No, you’re right,” Dorothea agreed. “Catherine is more my type anyway.”
“Catherine?” Edelgard frowned. “Isn’t she, like, fourty? And married?”
“I’m sure she and Shamir could treat me very nicely,” Dorothea smiled.
“Well it hardly matters now since I’m no longer on said rugby team,” Edelgard said.
“Quite, Edie, and it’s no one’s fault but your own.”
The blonde looked down into her lap, abashed. For that comment she had no retort. It was true that despite being the team’s captain and scrum-half the past two years, she hadn’t tried out for the Garreg Mach women’s team this year. She’d told her friends, told herself, that it was because of her academics, her being elected House Leader for the Black Eagles College Cabinet, any number of excuses she could concoct to distract from the blisteringly-obvious fact that she simply couldn’t bear seeing Hilda—let alone seeing her happy, and smiling, in skin-tight athletic wear.
“Listen, you’ve got a lot of things going for you, Edie,” Dorothea continued, attempting to smooth over her last remark. “You’re a hell of a student, your profs love you, you’ve got great friends—if I do say so myself. Those are all worth something!”
“I know, Thea” she sniffled. “I know.”
“Which is why,” her friend added, “We need to get you out of this rut. You’re letting one girl—who, while admittedly extremely hot and possessing definitionally perfect tits, is also kind of a bitch—ruin your life!”
“What do you mean?” Edelgard said. “I’m fine!”
“Uh huh,” the brunette mouthed, already pulling her phone out of her pocket. “That’s exactly why you’ve built a semi-permanent nest on the couch and have taken to rewatching the 1995 Pride & Prejudice BBC miniseries and eating Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup ice cream by the tub.” She looked pointedly at her roommate as she finished tapping out a seven-digit number. “We’re long overdue for an intervention.”
“Hang on!” Edelgard protested. “What are you—”
“Hello, Hubert?” Dorothea cut in. “Yes, it’s Dorothea … no, it’s about Edelgard. Yeah she’s in a bit of a funk…”
“I am not!”
Her friend ignored her. “—yes, about Hilda. I’m hoping you can get her out of the house … No, I’m going to do her depression dishes and then take a bath … I don’t know, take her to the bar or something. Maybe buy her some food … Sure, whatever … Okay, see you soon.”
The brunette abruptly hung up, slipping the phone into her back jean pocket.
“You didn’t have to call Hubert,” Edelgard muttered.
“And yet I did, and you’re going to have to deal with it, because it is a new season, and I’m not having you moping about because of some badly-concussed rugby bimbo—no matter how hot she is,” Dorothea sighed. “We need to get you out there, girl.”
“I am not ‘getting out there’,” Edelgard said. “I am perfectly content with being single for the rest of university—or even my life should it come down to that.”
“Okay spinstress, whatever you say. All I know is that the Magic Wand is clearly not doing the job and if you’re not touched by a woman soon I’m likely going to suffer the consequences.”
The brunette rolled up her sleeves and stooped to gather up her friend’s discarded dishes, making to deposit them in the sink. “You better get ready, Princess, Hubert’s already on his way.”
Not more than fifteen minutes later, Hubert von Vestra was knocking on the door of Edelgard’s second storey walkup. Edelgard, in spite of her friend’s arrival, remained motionless on the couch.
“Muhhh,” she groaned. “Dorothea! Hubert is here!”
“Honestly, Edie,” her roommate chided, making to open the door. “I know you’re depressed, but must I do everything for you?”
With a click she slid open the deadbolt and beckoned the dark-haired man inside.
“Come in, Hubert, come in. She’s rotting on the couch at the moment.”
The tall man nodded awkwardly, and stepped into the tiled entrance. Hubert looked the same as ever—black turtleneck, black slacks, black hair falling over one eye.
“Edelgard, I am here to take you out for your own wellbeing.”
“Must you side with Dorothea, Hubert?” she protested. “All I wish to do is lie here. I am perfectly content as it is.”
“I really think, in this situation, that it would be best for you to get out of the house,” Hubert nodded. “My assessment on the matter is mine, and mine alone, I assure you.”
“Fine, if you insist,” Edelgard said with a dramatic sigh, pushing a small mountain of blankets aside.
“Let me know if you need to get changed,” Hubert nodded.
“I’m sure this will be fine,” Edelgard muttered, looking down at her sweater-and-blue-jeans combination.
“Very well,” Hubert nodded. “My car awaits outside.”
Hubert’s car—a tiny silver hatchback—always struck Edelgard as comically petite in comparison to the towering man. Truth be told, she was hardly sure how he managed to squeeze his lanky frame behind the steering wheel, or even see out the windshield, at that, what with the low ceiling, and his permanent fringe.
Still, the blonde girl was lucky that Hubert, a stalwart friend since her childhood, proved the one person in her immediate social circle both able and willing to drive. Edelgard herself had never got a licence, on account of having spent most of her life moving between the custody of various relations, the infirmity brought on by myriad childhood health complications, and the fact that the prospect of getting behind the wheel of a metal death trap outright terrified her.
Dorothea was not much better, far too gay—as she liked to say—to drive.
Edelgard’s notoriously lazy ex was another story. Not only had Hilda gotten her licence at age sixteen, she equally owned a car. This, Edelgard suspected, had actually been a more precise means of laziness on her part; owning a car prevented Hilda from having to walk or bus to rugby practices early in the morning, though admittedly Edelgard had been guilty of regularly roping Hilda into ferrying her around when they’d been together.
“So, where is it that I am meant to be taking you?” Hubert interrupted her train of thought.
“Oh, shoot…” she muttered. “I don’t know, maybe Abyss?”
“You know I despise that place,” her friend scowled. “Few other institutions see such a devoted clientele of day drinkers and layabouts.”
Edelgard found it hard to rebuke such criticisms of her favourite dive—it unmistakably beckoned a certain demographic. Still, she adored the comfortable cavern-like warmth of the establishment; the warm incandescent lamps, and haphazard collection of art on the walls, the varnished wooden tables, paraphernalious glasses, and books strewn across counters, tables and the bartops.
Unlike many of the other bars frequented by the noble students of other Colleges—and even those bars in her home city of Enbarr—Abyss had no pretensions of dignity or aspirations towards prestige. It simply had character.
Within minutes, Hubert was parallel parking his hatchback into a narrow spot a block away from the bar, and soon the pair found themselves approaching the weary brick facade.
As they pushed through the heavy safety glass-paned door, a woman with shaggy red hair looked up from the bar.
“Hey Eddy, hullo Bert,” Hapi, one of the usual staff, acknowledged the pair. The redhead stood alone behind the bar wearing her customary combination of miniskirt and cropped jacket, over which a grimy checkered apron hung off her shoulders. It was the middle of the afternoon, Edelgard conceded, hence why it might make sense for Hapi to be alone, and—for that matter—for the bar, usually hopping in the evening, to be so oddly quiet.
Edelgard selected a stool at the otherwise empty bar, and clumsily climbed astride it. Her feet dangled a good twelve inches above the ground, while beside her Hubert awkwardly made to fold his gangly legs into one of the few positions the stool permitted.
“Hi, Hapi,” Edelgard sighed, sprawling out across the bartop. Hubert merely grunted in recognition.
Edelgard came here frequently enough that most of the bar staff seemed to know her by name. It helped that she and Constance—another bartender—were both from Ardrestia, and had by happenstance both ended up living in Garreg Mach.
“What can I get started for you two?” the bartender asked, depositing her rag in the sink.
“Can you make a negroni?” Edelgard asked.
“Is that what you folks drink back in Enbarr?” Hapi chuckled. “Sorry, but that’s a bit out of my league—you really think this place has Vermouth? Or Campari?”
“How about a mojito?”
“Nope.”
“Dare I even ask about an Almyran Iced Tea?”
The bartender merely raised an eyebrow.
“Look, Eddy, I can make you a Bloody Mary if you want,” she said.
“Bloody Marys are disgusting,” the blonde girl sighed.
“Then it seems we are at a bit of an impasse.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what drinks you have, and then I can decide between them?” Edelgard groaned.
“K, let’s see,” Hapi said. “We’ve got vodka, gin, Fireball, Bailey’s … rum.”
“Can you make a Dark n’ Stormy?”
The redhead considered the question.
“What is that, rum and ginger beer? You know what? I think I can manage that! One Dark n’ Stormy coming up.”
“Hurray!” Edelgard groaned.
“And for the Bert?”
“I will have a coffee, please,” the latter replied.
“You want some Bailey’s in that?” Hapi asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hubert chided.
“Anything else?”
Hubert rubbed his chin. “I will get an order of the soup, and a plate of home fries for Edelgard,” he whispered.
“Sorry Bert,” Hapi smirked. “I’m fresh out of blanched potatoes and don’t feel particularly inclined to replace ‘em. I can get you onion dip and a bag of tortilla chips instead.”
The tall man bristled in response.
“I suppose that will have to suffice.”
Hapi nodded, and began pouring steaming black coffee into a chipped Garreg Mach University mug.
“What’s gotten into her?” the bartender nodded “She contract mono or something?”
“No,” Hubert scowled. “Edelgard is merely … going through something right now. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“I see,” Hapi said. “Girl trouble, I take it?”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“In that case,” the bartender shrugged, “she won’t mind if I put on the rugby, eh? I think Garreg Mach are playing the University of Almyra.”
“That—won’t be necessary,” Edelgard hissed, interrupting the redhead’s feint for the remote.
“Ready to admit you’re still listless about a certain pink-haired prop, then?” Hapi enquired.
“Not particularly,” the blonde girl sighed. “I rather think I’d prefer sitting here and drinking two, or maybe ten more Dark n’ Stormies.”
“As long as you’re paying,” the bartender shrugged.
Edelgard, for her part, merely scowled and took a long sip of her drink.
In short order Hapi deposited an unopened bag of tortilla chips and a bowl of dip in front of the blonde girl, proceeding to ladle out dollops of steaming tomato soup into a deep bowl before her.
“What’s this, Hapi?” Edelgard stammered.
“The Bert ordered it for you,” Hapi nodded to her friend, who had acquired a sudden interest in the contents of his coffee mug. “Maybe under all that hairspray and guyliner he’s got some feelings after all.”
“Oh, Hubert…” Edelgard murmured. “You didn’t have to do that, I’m fine.”
“Forgive me Edelgard,” he scowled. “But as both an impartial third party, and as your friend, I would beg to differ.”
“Not to intrude,” Hapi interrupted, “but girl-to-girl, I might be able to provide some assistance.”
“Is that so?” Edelgard sighed.
“Yup. Eddy, gimme your phone.”
The redhead stretched out her hand expectantly, gesturing for the blonde to hand it over.
“What?” Hubert protested.
Edelgard looked between Hapi, and the pile of food before her. “Fine,” she sighed, handing the redhead her cell.
“Thanks,” the bartender nodded, thumbing open the device.
“Hang on—how did you know my password?” Edelgard stammered.
“Come on, yours and Hilda’s jersey numbers? You’ve got to get smarter than that, Ed.”
The blonde, scowling, returned to her food and drink. Hapi, meanwhile, began perusing the woman’s phone, making an observant hum here or there as she took in the content therein.
“What are you doing?” the blonde muttered.
“Fixing your sorry excuse for a love life,” the woman intoned. “So help me Goddess, we will get you a girlfriend if it costs me my most reliable customer and my job along with it.”
Hubert rolled his eyes, but refrained from offering any comment on the notion. Edelgard continued to scowl. Undeterred, the bartender resumed her investigation into the woman’s digital footprint.
“Lex? Seriously, Eddy?” Hapi raised an eyebrow, looking up from the woman’s phone. “Girl, you are in the trenches here.”
“Where else am I supposed to meet women?” the blonde stammered.
“I don’t know, ever heard of Tinder ?”
“Tinder scares me,” Edelgard sighed, popping a dip-laden nacho chip into her mouth with a satisfying crunch .
“Of course it does,” Hapi replied.
“It’s just—so … forward.”
“Yeah,” the bartender observed, “I’m beginning to think directness is not really your strong suit.”
“Edelgard is quite inept at expressing any sort of direct emotion,” Hubert interjected. Edelgard swore she might’ve seen the ghost of a smile tug at the bartender’s mouth.
“I am not!” the blonde protested. “And at any rate, I usually have you to help with that.”
“Well, I doubt having Hubert ask out a girl for you is going to prove particularly fruitful,” Hapi replied. “I’m sorry to say this is all on you, Eddy.”
“Fine, well what do you suggest I do then, love guru?” Edelgard asked, scraping the last of the bowl of onion dip. “And don’t say ‘Tinder,’ please.”
“Well, without Tinder your options are pretty limited. This isn’t exactly Enbarr—Garreg Mach is small enough as it is, and what with you being the world’s pickiest lesbian…”
“I am not! And I– I like boys too!”
“ Please , you like boys who are well on their way to womanhood!” Hapi retorted. “You went on what, one date with Ferdinand, and hung around the library with Linhardt for half a semester second year? Don’t know I would say either of those situationships really went anywhere, and between the two of them you could make yourself a fine omelette.”
Hubert stiffened nigh imperceptibly at the mention of the red-haired Aegir heir.
“Face it, Eddy,” the bartender continued. “You are a hopeless, dyed-in-the-wool lesbian, and every ‘man’ you so much as look at has either a sudden homosexual awakening, or else comes out as a woman in the next three months.”
“What about Hubert?” Edelgard half-heartedly retorted. “He and I share a perfectly agreeable and wholly platonic relationship, and have known each other for considerably longer than that.”
Hapi bit her lip in a reflexive bid to stifle a laugh. The sound of Hubert clearing his throat snapped Edelgard back to attention.
“You were saying, barkeep?” Edelgard’s confidant enquired.
“The Garreg Mach dating pool is rather stagnant,” Hapi continued, fingers flying over the keyboard. “And if this town weren’t small enough already, trying to date other women is a whole other degree of limitation. Luckily … I have a solution.”
“What are you doing?” Edelgard asked, warily.
“Making you a Grindr account.”
“Grindr‽” the blonde protested. “Hapi, I’m not a gay man !”
“Well, you certainly are one of those things,” the redhead shrugged. “Plus—Grindr isn’t just for men. You wouldn’t believe the lesbian hookup scene that’s on there.”
“Hook-ups are hardly even remotely my thing,” Edelgard spluttered. “And I already told you—I’m bi.”
“Well in that case the abundance of men shouldn’t be a problem,” Hapi raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure some of them might even like chicks.”
“Oh you know what,” Edelgard sighed. “Give that here.”
“Gladly,” Hapi replied.
She casually returned the phone to the blonde, who hurriedly thumbed to the profile the redhead had created.
“ El, 21, Stuck up princess who needs an older woman to look after me and occasionally put me in my place? ” Edelgard demanded. “Hapi, what is the meaning of this?”
“Complain all you want, I promise that will work,” she shrugged.
“ 4’11”, Bottom ???” she continued reading. “I am not! I will have you know I am at least 5’2”, and I can very much switch if I wanted to.”
“Uh huh,” Hapi nodded, refilling Hubert’s long-empty cup. “I would love to see you try.”
“How do I work this thing?” Edelgard asked.
“Just open the grid, and scroll until you find someone you’re interested in,” Hapi replied. “It’s dead easy—even a grandma like you should be able to manage it.”
“Mhmm,” Edelgard replied, already engrossed in scrolling.
She flicked through the cascading catalog of myriad gay men—or at least, the bare chests and asses of men, for the most part—noting, much to her chagrin, that the presence of a certain familiar set of pecs attached to a profile bearing the name “Balthazar” would seem to corroborate her roommate’s earlier suggestion.
Still, despite Hapi’s insistence that there were indeed women on this app, none sprung immediately to the top of her feed. Just as she was about to set down her phone with a sigh, and declare that she would never again find love in all her days, an icon popped up at the bottom of her screen.
Instinctively, she thumbed open the profile, and a startling sight rose to meet her. The picture depicted a woman at the gym carrying a dumbbell in mid curl. The flex of her arm revealed rippling biceps, across which danced a swirling tattoo—like a flaming whip curled around her shoulder. The angle and harsh lighting obscured her face, showing only her well-defined shoulders, ample bust, and a few locks of dark green hair.
The name on the profile read “Byleth.”
Byleth, 27, TS, Top.
Edelgard stared at the photo for a long time. She tried as best she could to make sense of the words, repeating them over and over again.
“See, what did I tell you?” Hapi asked, leaning over the bar to stare at the woman’s phone. “You gonna message her?”
“H–how do I do that?” Edelgard asked.
“Simple, you just press the button, start a chat and write ‘rail me’ or something like that,” Hapi replied.
“I’m not—I’m not going to do that,” Edelgard stammered.
“Suit yourself,” the bartender shrugged. “As I say, I can only do so much. The rest is up to you.”
With that, the bartender disappeared into the back, leaving Hubert and Edelgard to their drinks. The blonde girl sighed, powering off her phone screen and slipping the device into her back pocket. She stared into her half-finished drink, swirling the contents around in the bottom as she mulled over the newfound possibilities with which she had been confronted. This certainly gave her something to think about.
A couple hours, and several drinks later, Hubert graciously dropped Edelgard back off at her apartment. She hadn’t expected much of the outing, she had to admit, though the break from the monotony of her couch-based summer lifestyle had proved … refreshing. Almost.
A spark of hope existed where once the spectre of a pink-pigtailed rugby player had loomed. That had to count for something.
With a sigh, Edelgard unlocked her apartment door, and pushed inside. The warmth of the interior and the serene glow of lamplight contrasted the chill and growing dim outside.
“So, how was Abyss?” Dorothea yawned, propping herself up on the couch as her roommate made her way in. “Do anything to fix that rotten mood of yours?”
“I guess,” Edelgard shrugged.
“I mean, you seem somewhat improved at least. Hubert didn’t have to wrestle you inside all by himself.”
“I am fine ,” Edelgard retorted. “And for your information, I am also moving on.”
“Oh?” Dorothea asked. “And what has prompted this renewed lease of life?”
“N–nothing,” Edelgard stammered, suddenly embarrassed to relay the day’s events to her nosy friend.
“Don’t be coy, your highness,” Dorothea sighed. “We both know you’re not exactly a good liar.”
“Fine,” Edelgard sighed, pulling her boots off. “Hapi made me a Grindr account.”
“A Grindr account?” Dorothea asked incredulously. “You start taking T or something when I wasn’t looking?”
“No!” Edelgard replied. “She said that there were women on the app as well.”
“I see,” Dorothea grinned. “So this was all some half-baked scheme to mend your heartbreak?”
“I suppose.”
“Well?” her friend insisted. “Did it work?”
“I mean,” Edelgard murmured. “I did see a woman.”
“Did you message her?”
“No,” she admitted. “You know me Thea, I’m just not good at any of that stuff.”
“And you’ll continue to be so long as you don’t put yourself out there,” her friend insisted.
Edelgard knew she was right. Even still she’d never willingly admit that. All of her life she had been the one who wanted to be desired. Perhaps it was a product of her upbringing, though the girl far preferred to be approached than to be the instigator in such things. That, she admitted, was probably why most of her previous relationships had fizzled out, and why so many had struggled to get off the ground to begin with.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” she sighed.
“Sure you will.”
“I will Thea,” Edelgard insisted. “Probably. I need to get some sleep though so I’m not hungover for class tomorrow—it’s my first Politics seminar.”
“Okay well, good luck with that,” Dorothea sighed. “Sleep tight, and don’t let any wet dreams bite.”
“Shut up,” Edelgard blushed, stumbling off to her bedroom. Class. That was just the thing she needed, she mused.