#anngrid

“And I thought you were here for nightcrawling.”

Ingrid makes a questioning tilt of head at Dorothea’s statement, in which the brunette dismisses her initial sentences with a wave of hand, trying to distract the blonde. The blonde sees apparent tiredness, though not physical tiredness, but she dropped the topic.

Five minutes biking later, Ingrid is now at the back door of Mittelfrank Opera Troupe, the well-known theater by the town that produces young, esteemed actors and actresses for about twenty years of history. The time is close to 11 PM and it might be a bad idea that Ingrid should to rethink rather than to execute. Her worries, however, exceeded her logical sense, as though there’s no tomorrow.

The address that Mercedes gave her earlier was awfully familiar. Ingrid knows the place—and it is happened to be the same apartment block where Dorothea lives. The blonde has helped Dorothea a few times with late deliveries back and forth her apartment and Mittelfrank Opera Troupe building on some reason she doesn’t want to disclose, and it makes Ingrid understands the obstacle of the specific building.

Ingrid texted Dorothea beforehand so that Dorothea would be waiting for her at the back door of the building since she doesn’t want to bother Dorothea too long from her business. The brunette is dressed in red jersey and pants, with a little hint of fresh paint on the fabric. She must have finished doing props again, as it is late to the night. Ingrid didn’t ask what kind of props and what kind of performance it is, as she wanted to cut the chase. Though, Ingrid can comment whether it is rare for her to see Dorothea wearing pants, as it suited her. Heck, maybe any kinds of outfit can suit Dorothea if she’s the one wearing it.

“So you remembered that my landlord is strict about locks and outsiders, and you asked me to lend you the front door keys because you need to visit your friend, who’s currently ill …”

Dorothea reenacts the statement with similar accentuation, like pages of scripts that she easily memorizes. Ingrid always awed at how easy for Dorothea to mimic people, perhaps it is perks of being in theater for long.

“Is that correct?”

The way Dorothea looks at her way, though, it’s a sharp glare alike hunter to a cornered prey. She’s calculating at something, or suspecting something. Ingrid can make numerous reasoning on the spot that she is not there to steal anything from anyone.

“Y-Yes, that’s right.”

“Are you sure it’s really not a nightcrawling matter?”

“Come on, Dorothea. I don’t even know what nightcrawling means.”

Dorothea slaps herself right on the face, she groans. She is looking disappointed but it quickly fades. “Right, forget it,” the brunette then fishes a set of keys from her pants pocket. “Here you go.”

Their fingers brush. Dorothea’s hand is warmer than the cold metal of the keys. There is a pause between them, in which Ingrid clears her throat while Dorothea rolls her eyes. A dust of pink colors her cheeks.

“I’ll return it shortly.”

“That’s okay, I’d be back soon after midnight. You can leave the locks hanging there and place the keys in the mailbox outside my door.” Dorothea smiles.

“On your own? Do you need me to help you back?” Ingrid offers.

“I’d be tagging along with one of my senior. I need to make sure she doesn’t take any beer stop along the way as it is her big day tomorrow.”

“I see. Thank you so much, Dorothea. I owe you one.”

There’s a long hum coming from Dorothea, “How about watching my performance next Tuesday? We can chat afterwards.”

Ingrid dislikes to be in a debt, so Dorothea’s idea there makes her think of a follow-up idea to repay this generosity. She might not be one with unlimited cash in hand like how she could say Dimitri is, but it’s not like she can’t do something to return someone’s good deeds. On a short notice, too.

“At the café, then? I can treat you for a drink.”

“That sounds like a great offer! That’s my Ingrid!” Dorothea sounds so giddy, so happy about the offer. Ingrid nods, feeling happy as well to see Dorothea beams. “I’ll see you next Tuesday, then!”

x x x

Mercedes said that Annette lives at the first floor of the apartment, the third door from entrance, or if in doubt, Ingrid can check the mailbox for the nameplate. The apartment might be a bit far from the university, but it is the cheapest one available. Ingrid ever wanted to pick there, but it is too far from her delivery headquarters. The entrance is overgrown with whatever vines that the landlord is growing, as if the place is haunted, but the yard area is clean. Dorothea lives on the second floor and this place accommodates a total of ten doors of one-bedroom.

Almost all rooms of the first floor has the lamps dimmed, except the room number three. Ingrid can feel an irritation growing inside her. If Annette is unwell, why she pushes herself to continue study? Then again, Ingrid can’t bring herself to be angry. It is inappropriate to scold someone when they are sick, though perhaps a thorough reprimanding is in order.

Ingrid keeps the lock on the front door hanging just as Dorothea requested. Then she leaves the key at Dorothea’s mailbox, double-checking whether she placed it in the right place. After that, back to the first floor, she makes sure her steps doesn’t create too much unneeded noises as she approaches the only well-lit room.

The short-haired blonde raps on the door, chewing her lower lips as a reply comes almost immediate, and it is not as cheerful as Ingrid pictured Annette usually be. It was strained, a bit weak. “Y-Yes? Who, who is it?”

“Annette, it’s me.”

And the door swings open almost as quick, though just a little peek of the light from the inside, enough for Annette to see Ingrid who’s standing on the other side, but not enough for Ingrid to see how she’s really doing. Ingrid is trying hard to keep her annoyance in check, clenching on the sling of her bag to provide nonexistent relief.

“I-Ingrid? What are you doing here this late?”

“I can ask you the same,” she huffs. “What are you doing while it is late? Weren’t you called in sick earlier to work?”

“I …” Annette coughs. “I, I did. Yes. I’m. I’m not faking sickness.”

“That’s not what I said,” the blonde corrects. “The manager said that you may still be studying despite being sick. I came here to check up on you because I’m worried.”

Annette falls silent. She looks down before the strain of coughs catches on her again. Ingrid pries the door gently, taking Annette’s hand to help her steady. Her free hand runs up to the smaller woman’s back, giving a light pat at times until the series of coughs subsides. Annette is in her pajama, the blanket she was wearing pools on her feet. She feels warm and she is shivering.

“… I take that what the manager said is true,” Ingrid says. “You should rest, or you might get worse and you can’t take your exam.”

“I know that, but-“

“No buts.” The blonde heaves a sigh as Annette tugs weakly to her sweater, a silent form of protesting.

With her foot, Ingrid pushes the door to close. Annette likely won’t budge, so Ingrid keeps her arms around the orange-haired woman, before she wriggles free and started reasoning again, despite her coughing.

“Eh? Y-You might catch my cold.”

“I won’t let you be after I saw you like this. I know you’ll be back studying again if I leave you be.”

“Ingrid—“

“See, you’re coughing again. You need to be in your bed!”

“I haven’t studied enough. I still-”

There’s not much of a choice against someone so stubborn. Hard head for a hard head, it seems. It does reminded Ingrid of Felix, though, but Ingrid is far taller than Annette so there’s no need to wrestle more than it should. Annette was small, almost weightless as Ingrid attempted to carry her in her arms. She is protesting again, muffled in-between her wheezes, but Ingrid didn’t answer. She can’t, of course, carry Felix without Sylvain’s help when she needed to do it, so it is like a new experience to her, to carry someone else.

The center room of the apartment is full of books, stacked up on the table, even to the sofa, and also littered the floor. Ingrid can’t imagine whatever subject Annette is trying to cram in her head despite being beaten down with cold.

The other spot in the room is untouched, perfectly clean. Her bed on the right side of the center room is pristine, Ingrid can only conclude that Annette didn’t sleep there as she is focusing on studying, which is double the bad for her health. For some reason, Ingrid didn’t want to ask whether Annette is eating properly or not since the answer may or may not anger her more.

Why she is angry, though, rather than sad because of worrying? Ingrid questioned herself.

Laying Annette as gentle as possible on her bed, Ingrid kneels beside her, alerted. Annette didn’t seem to be struggling much after she is carried, and only turns to face Ingrid’s direction. The blonde pulls up the blanket there to cover Annette, as she only watched Ingrid with tired, half-lidded eyes.

“… Ingrid.”

Annette reaches for the sleeve of her deep green sweater.

“What is it? If you asked me to give you a book to read, I won’t give it.”

“No, I …” she breathes out shakily. “… Never mind.”

Ingrid takes her hand and place it on the bed, she leans closer. “Please just sleep, Annette. I won’t leave until you are rested, okay?”

“You … you don’t have work tomorrow?”

Tomorrow is Sunday, usually there will be special paid delivery orders. Ingrid would be called to work often, but the boss Jeralt said that it is the day off for all deliveries this Sunday for a reason not stated. Leonie was bummed as she can’t see the boss this Sunday, but the holiday makes her happy so she can hunt something at Sunday morning’s flea market at the Garreg Mach. Ingrid doesn’t have a shift at Lion House on Sunday either so her schedule is wide open.

“I don’t. I can stay here if you want.” Annette blinks at that. Ingrid adds, “I’m still worried whether you’ll go studying again somehow if I leave now, so.”

Annette sinks her head deeper into the pillow, “I … I see.”

The silence pass with Annette clutches on Ingrid’s larger, cooler hand on the side of her bed. Ingrid doesn’t respond much but she lets Annette run her fingers on her palm. Annette is watching squarely at her, cheeks flushes because of fever and her forehead is damp with sweat. Ingrid wants to search for something to wipe her skin, but it can be done later.

“… Please sleep.” Ingrid tries again, this time slower.

She yawns. “Mm.”

Annette finally closes her eyes, and Ingrid waits for another long minutes before she let go of their connected hand, setting her eyes to the particular mess of books in the room.

Ingrid wasn’t sure if it is polite to tidy the books and notes, but the table on the heart of the room seems to be the only table available there, so it is better cleaned for Ingrid to prep food for Annette to eat later. At least she stacks the books not far from the table so that Annette won’t have any difficulties in finding them later.

As she lines up the books, grouping for thin text books and thick reference books, Ingrid reads up a bit about chemical engineering, mathematics, and sees the familiar notebook that Annette ever brought during work at the other day. Ingrid sighs at the meticulous notes, then there’s actually sometimes a note unrelated to the subjects at all at the back of the book. Something about groceries and whatnots.

The blonde closes the book, turns to see more about chemical engineering where she slumps her shoulders.

Someone was learning about chemical engineering before they left in an unfortunate car accident. Ingrid often sees them studying late at night at 24-hour café to ward off slump, and when Ingrid happened to pass the area after work and saw them, they will wave and asked Ingrid to join. They are stubborn, far stubborn than Annette and even Felix. But at the same time, they knew when to stop being so stubborn, as if it is an act plastered there to suit with others.

“You shouldn’t stay too much outside the house for studying actually. You know Felix will scold you when you arrived home late, telling that you better off wandering and forget about the way home.”

Ingrid murmurs. She sneaks her hand inside her sweater pocket, to the unused round key tied with a ribbon beside her bike lock key and her current apartment key.

Why the sentimental rises after simply seeing random bars of formula? Ingrid wanted to laugh at herself. She should focus more on cleaning and checking up on Annette.

Ingrid has yet to apologize for the other day, too—it almost slipped from her mind. Then again, it can wait until morning.

The time already drifts past midnight when Ingrid finishes, blocking the sudden unnerving thoughts to no avail.

Setting the books aside, Ingrid reaches for her bag for a spare towel. She doesn’t want to snoop around at someone’s apartment without permission. Annette was indeed sleeping, judging from her calm, timely breathing. Ingrid wipes Annette’s face with the towel. She wasn’t sure to wipe lower but it should be uncomfortable to sleep with wet clothes …

… On a second thought, that would be inappropriate so Ingrid leave it be.

Ingrid takes the used towel at the other side of the bed, thinking she might use it again later.

“… Ingrid …?”

A weak call to her name in the middle of quiet night is enough to spring her to attention. Ingrid was about to apologize for making the sick girl awake, but then she realizes Annette closes her eyes still, while her hand on the bed search for something.

“Don’t leave.”

It was a stark contrast from the treatment earlier, Ingrid could only think of it as a fever dream. But the blonde slips her hand back on the place again, watching as the smaller fingers curl on her palm. Annette smiles, satisfied. It brings Ingrid to smile as well.

Until her shift ended and even the day has passed for yet another new shift, Ingrid still couldn’t fathom of what happened. The sudden silence coming from Annette is new, she wouldn’t have expected that such cheerful girl like her be so sullen out of sudden.

No, well, Ingrid understands the fact that anyone have their good days and bad days, yet the fact that it is Annette who’s having such bad days has Ingrid to compare between fields of blooming flowers to a complete barren wasteland. Or maybe she has yet to know more about Annette for the orange-haired woman to entrust Ingrid to her problems, while Ingrid should have pestered Annette a lot already for her life story.

“A-Are you okay, Ingrid?”

Bernadetta, with her egg toast ready on respective plates for breakfast this morning, asks. She is confused, Ingrid can tell. Perhaps how she wasn’t chowing down on the meal in front of her garner the purple-haired woman’s worry.

“I’m alright, thank you for asking, Bernadetta.” Ingrid smiles. She moves on slicing her toast to smaller pieces first, watching as Bernadetta is red to her ears for some reason.

Bernadetta is a meticulous eater compared to Ingrid, so far she can tell, just like how her room is composed. Before the entrance, on the top of the shoe compartment, Bernadetta kept two mini cactus. The plants are cared well, seeing the healthy color and how the vines and thorns are not overgrown. Coming deeper inside the room, Bernadetta kept every space clean. She seems to be fond of teddy bears that she lined up some on the sofa right beside the table where they ate. The kitchen area, too, is spotless even though she has finished cooking.

Ingrid does keep her place clean, but she can’t match Bernadetta’s.

“How’s the gardening club? I hope Felix is not there to bother you.”

“H-He doesn’t! He helped me sometimes by bringing in the fertilizer.” Bernadetta explains. Ingrid squints suspiciously at that, but she lets it slide.

Felix has his course in Business Major building a bit frequently now due to some part of Civil Engineering building is renovated. A lone wolf like him happened to come across the green house of Garreg Mach and met with Bernadetta. Felix told Ingrid about the woman’s circumstances and then by the thorough “persuasion”, Bernadetta is now an official member of the university’s gardening club also getting more interest in doing outdoor-related activities.

‘It is better now rather than having a strange woman hovering like a stalker watching the garden but not doing anything about it,’ Ingrid quoted Felix.

“The flower that you said pretty a while ago is now growing nicely, Ingrid.”

“It does?” the short-haired blonde beams. She is happy to know the meek purple-haired woman is enthusiastic about outdoor activities. Bernadetta replies with a quick nod.

“How, how about you go and help gardening club again next Wednesday? I-I’d be happy to have you,” a pause. “A, and I’m sure Dedue and other gardening club members too!”

Ingrid hums, thinking of her schedule in the back of her mind. “If I’m not caught up with deliveries, I’ll go help.”

“Yay!” and Bernadetta suddenly clams up, feeling embarrassed over becoming excited, all the while Ingrid watches her with the same pleasant smile in her face.

At least this exchange is peaceful, Ingrid mused.

Glancing at her wristwatch, Ingrid counts that she still have at least fifteen minutes to indulge on the breakfast before she must head out to do routine deliveries with her bike by the morning. Then after deliveries, she needs to catch up with the seminar after lunch hours. The night shift of Lion House Café will be the end of today’s schedule.

Thinking of Lion House, Ingrid bounced back to Annette. Though, she couldn’t afford to see Bernadetta worried about her again – at least not after Bernadetta exclaimed her happiness.

Time will heal, or better, she could apologize—Ingrid should have disappointed Annette or something. Or she really is a nuisance and Annette couldn’t say it right to her face.

“Thank you for the meal, Bernadetta. I should be off before Leonie called up on me again.”

“O-Oh, Ingrid!” Bernadetta tugs on Ingrid’s sleeve for attention, prompting her to wait as she shuffles to the kitchen. The purple-haired woman takes a box to Ingrid’s hands. Bernadetta is shaking, though she is doing her best not to let the box slip before Ingrid received it firmly.

“Here! A lunch for you! There’s no poison in it! I-I-I made it with love!”

Ingrid blinks. She has a lot of questions, also an option to decline the kindness in her mind, but she accepts the meal anyway, seeing how Bernadetta is … trying her best with this. And most importantly, her personal rule: never let any food to waste.

“T, thank you. I’ll return it after I washed the box, okay?”

“Good luck on y-your work!”

Then again, looks like she won’t be able to dodge questions (and jeering) from Leonie later about the lunch box.

-

The seminar turned out to drag longer than she would expect, thankfully, she has recharged her energy with the rice balls from Bernadetta.

The rice balls are filled with chunks of meat, just how Ingrid would like. Bernadetta sure has known her long enough to memorize her preference of food, something she is grateful of and also something she is not sure of. How to repay a person’s kindness? Did Bernadetta want anything from her? How come this treatment can be something so natural to receive?

Ingrid stays on her chair to text Bernadetta a late follow-up thank you for the lunch, when a familiar cheerful voice called up to her.

“Hmm. What now, texting a girlfriend?”

“Do you really want me to elbow you so badly, Sylvain?” Ingrid scoffs. She raises from her seat, pushes her phone and her handbook to her bag, ready to take off. Though, Sylvain is practically blocking her way and he wants to talk, so Ingrid is going to give it.

“Easy there, pal.” Sylvain is nowhere affected, rather, he seems to be having fun.

The redhead might be a little older, but he is still counted in Ingrid’s circle of childhood friends. At times he can be an unbearable playboy who’ll flirt left to right, then again Ingrid already acknowledged that Sylvain also got some good qualities … that Ingrid can count with fingers, away from his uncountable traits.

Sylvain, Felix and Dimitri would at times nag Ingrid about helping her with her daily expenses, but of course Ingrid would politely decline – close friends or not, it is not good to rely on such connections too much. Ingrid wasn’t able to refuse Dimitri’s offer to be a part time worker on his Café, but at least Ingrid is a bit free from the collective nagging.

“What are you doing here? I thought you have no classes related to Food Science and Agriculture?”

“I just want to say hello—well, after being dragged to help with Professor Manuela’s belonging.” Sylvain cracks his fingers in emphasis.

Professor Manuela was the one holding the seminar just now. She brought some chemical samples with her and distributed a sample batch for the attendees, so Ingrid guesses it is what Sylvain is talking about. Ingrid didn’t see Sylvain be the one distributing the goods, or maybe she stood on the west side and he helped on the east side of the lecture hall.

“You’re unusually edgy though today, what’s up?”

Anything but that question. Ingrid knew that Sylvain won’t budge if she told a lie, so, “Just get into a little problem.”

“I bet in Felix’s dinner that it is another girl problem,”

“That’s not an enough bet – you’re the one making him dinner anyway.” Ingrid chuckles. She straps her bag, strides forward to coerce Sylvain to finally step away. “That’s that, though. Outta my way, please, or I’ll miss my shift. We can talk about this later.”

“Aww, alright, alright. Want me to crash there later with Dimitri? Maybe we can help your customer count-“

“No, thank you. And the boss himself can’t be counted as a visitor, don’t you think?”

-

The night shift of Lion House Café started after 5 PM and last at 9 PM when the café is closing. The hour count is shorter than day shift, but the night shift included the equipment cleaning and filling the stock cards, hence it weighs more on the responsibility. The café is more crowded on weekend nights, so there would be more people assigned to the night shift.

That Saturday, though, Ingrid only sees the count of two people in from a glance to the storefront.

She enters the back room after locking her bike in the reserved parking lot. Mercedes, the second-in-manager of the establishment, greets Ingrid as she gets the café apron from the closet.

The manager of the café is an affectionate, soft-spoken woman in her late twenties. She can be a bit of klutz sometimes, like forgetting the stock card at the break room, or her cardigan on the tabletop counter, but that doesn’t affect her actual management skills. Mercedes always able to exercise cool heads in any situation, and Ingrid respects her for it.

“Oh, Ingrid. You came early, perfect timing,” Mercedes says. Her smile eases from her tight-lipped moment just now. Ingrid wondered of what had taken place.

“We’re a bit low on people since Annette can’t come tonight.”

Hearing the said name, Ingrid is alerted. She feels something sink in her stomach. Her eyes widens to know that a certain diligent worker of the café is absent. Ingrid swallows, hoping that it wasn’t because of the problem from yesterday. “… What happened?”

“She called in sick,” the manager sighs. Mercedes seems restless. “I already told her not to go overboard with her studies.”

Ingrid catches a sense of familiarity in the way Mercedes spoke about Annette, which is maybe the first time that Ingrid ever noticed. Annette and Mercedes are both known to be an easy-going and approachable, they can befriend and get to the comfort of any old and new workers or old and new customers alike.

The blonde decided to let it rest, focusing on the situation.

Annette was sick, no wonder she is not as cheerful as usual. Ingrid put the premise to be her conclusion.

“It will be a bit of extra work to alternate between cash register and making the drinks, but I’m sure you can do it well, Ingrid.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

-

When Ingrid and one other part-timer finally closed the shutter and clean up the main area, Mercedes approaches them with two mugs of steaming hot cocoa in the break room. Spring is already there chasing away the winter chills, but hot beverages will always be a nice treat every now and then. The part timer excused himself first, however, saying that he needs to run somewhere to get a package (in which Ingrid wondered why this late at night), leaving Ingrid alone with Mercedes, sipping slowly to the chocolate treat.

Mercedes, however, doesn’t drink. She sits on the chair across Ingrid, skimming at something on her phone. Ingrid doesn’t feel to bother her boss, even though the silence somehow a bit grim. She must be tired of all the activities today, not to mention, there is a certain name that happened to resurface ever so often.

“Say, Ingrid. Do you happen to live nearby Annette’s rented apartment?”

Ingrid puts down the mug. And it resurfaces now. “I don’t think Annette ever told me where she lived. Or she is in one of the Garreg Mach’s issued dormitory?”

“Dorms like that won’t allow anyone to come back there over the curfew, if I remembered correctly,” Ingrid rolls her eyes at that mention, remembering when the exact dormitory curfew is. Mercedes, as far as Ingrid knows, ever said that she was ‘there for long’ at the Garreg Mach – or she ever worked there rather than studied there, Ingrid missed the details.

Dormitories might be a cheap alternative of housing for students with low allowance, but the strict curfew and unforgiving guards (Ingrid pictured a certain green-haired Professor from Marine Engineering in her mind) will prove it to be a difficult place to be. Ingrid recalled that the given curfew is 9 PM, with a five minute leeway. But then, a night shift work like this will only end around 10 or 11 PM, so it is a no go especially if you juggle with a lot of work or simply loves to take a night stroll to the nearby convenience store for night snacks.

“And … what about Annette?”

“If you lived nearby, I would like to ask for you to check up on her,” Mercedes voices her request, hands folded on the table as she set her eyes squarely on the worker. Ingrid finds herself straightened her posture, her fingers cradling on the mug. “As you may know, she is hard on herself. She might still be studying, despite calling in to be sick.”

What Ingrid sees from Annette is the epitome of diligence, yes. She always come to work early and will never sit still—she will find exactly something to do, and it can be anything. The orange-haired woman might be smaller than any other part-timers, but she loves to make every side is spotless, if not having any other job assigned to her. Ingrid observed it as her kind of habit, so she left it alone.

But to think that she doesn’t have the way to put a stop on herself, it’s … distressing. Worrying. Ingrid, too, is stacking her time with work and studies, but she knew all too well that taking breaks every now and then is as important as anything. Someone ever told Ingrid about it – it’s not like she would forget it easily.

“She is?” Ingrid repeats. “How … how did you know about this?”

At the question, Mercedes falls silent. She draws her eyes from Ingrid somewhere else, looking self-conscious. There is something looming over them, something that Ingrid knows well not to thread into. Much to Ingrid’s relief, though, Mercedes diverts from the point, her small smile from earlier returns.

“In any case, it’s only if you lived nearby. If not, please forget about this.”

It is not the first time for Ingrid to tell her fellow part-timers about her recurring problem, and likely it won’t be the last.

Actually, she can opt to ask someone else, like her childhood friends for example, instead relying on someone else while she is discussing yet about someone else. Then again, Ingrid knew that her childhood friend won’t be of any help to begin with, especially as it is related to this ‘case sensitive’ things.

Currently, there are two young women about her age revolving around her life as Ingrid is busy juggling between college classes and numerous part-time works to pay her tuition and miscellaneous life fees. Ingrid was not one who think about romance, yet, as these two women advanced—in her vocabulary, anyway—Ingrid grasped that she is in a spot where it is no longer one of those ‘casual relationship’ between two girls.

First, Dorothea Arnault. A beautiful, lovely brunette to everyone’s standard specifically to her childhood friend’s Sylvain standard. If Ingrid about to borrow Sylvain’s way of description, Dorothea got a dynamite body and voice of a siren.

Okay, that was not the important point.

Dorothea and Ingrid first met not in the Garreg Mach University, but in that very coffee shop with Dorothea coming as a customer and Ingrid happened to miswrite her name as ‘Dorotea’ on her order of black coffee. The girl was amused, though, rather than angry. Ingrid remembered how she doubled over and told her friend, Edelgard, who’s sitting with a bored look at the corner of the café with her espresso waiting for the brunette to calm down.

After that, Dorothea remembered Ingrid’s name and visited the café often … until Dorothea scribbled her phone number on the in-the-house mug, along with a kiss mark and a sign from the diva.

“—and then, Dorothea asking you for a date again this weekend?” Annette, her aforementioned fellow part-timer confidant, interrupts.

“No, not this weekend. Though she said if I want to see her performance at the Mittelfrank Opera troupe, I’m welcome to visit,” Ingrid replies. Annette gave her a look.

“How’s that different from asking for a date?” the orange-haired woman let out a dry laugh.

“That’s … not that directly, right?” Ingrid furrows her brows.

Annette rests her chin on her palm, her expression alternates between giving Ingrid a sharp glare or just a tired sigh. “Oh, you. No wonder Dorothea is exasperated.”

There are currently only the two of them in a break room for a half hour break. Lion House Café has a little number of female workers in due to unknown reason, mostly Ingrid will be there as the sole female part-timer, or there will be Annette or the second-in-command manager Mercedes, or it is them both.

Annette didn’t take off the store apron and busied herself with something else—notes of something, presumably her college stuffs—Annette would be there to lend her ear. Ingrid didn’t really remember how exactly it is started, then again Annette has been someone who’s easy to talk with.

“Then, is it about Bernadetta?” Annette changes the topic. Her hands folded neatly on the table. Annette sure knows her well.

The second person of interest, Bernadetta Varley, is Ingrid’s flat mates right next door.

As Ingrid is too busy to even know her neighbors, she knew about Bernadetta from her other childhood friend Felix, in which at times Ingrid found it strange when she traced it back as Felix is not exactly a sociable person. Felix said something about a girl who holed up in her room and only going out to take care of plants nearby Business major’s building.

Knowing how Bernadetta holed up in her room reminded Ingrid of her past, she helped Bernadetta to be out. Then, as Bernadetta operated normally now (by normal, she is seen more outside), she repaid Ingrid’s kindness with home cooking, which Ingrid found it hard to decline. Breakfast, often lunch too when Ingrid is around the flat.

The blonde nodded in affirmation. “She started to cook for dinner as well.”

“That’s so sweet of her.”

“But isn’t it … too much? I mean, isn’t it strange? It looks like I took an advantage of her.” Ingrid explains. Annette crooks her brow for a bit, tapping the tip of her pencil beside her open notebook.

“No, you don’t. I think Bernadetta is being kind to you because she wanted to,” Annette’s tone is positive and reassuring. Somehow, Ingrid is close to believe that it is okay. “So it shouldn’t be a problem, just make sure you thank her after every meal.”

“I did, don’t worry.”

Ingrid recounts inwardly how many times Bernadetta stuttered after Ingrid conveyed her heartfelt thanks after every meal. But perhaps, such details is of no concern to Annette. She could only hope that it won’t be a problem later, for her to be cooked a frequent, lavish meal, and on top of it, for free.

“By the way. Do you want some coffee, Ingrid? Dedue has unloaded a new Jamaica beans earlier. He asked for us to give a taste.”

“Sure thing.”

Ingrid watches as Annette bounces on her step as she gingerly reaches for the exit and then to the direction of the espresso machine by the left, bumping with Ashe along the way before the door closes.

Annette happened to be in the same shift with Ingrid three times a week this month, one at night and two for the day shift. Ingrid thought it would be a good chance to talk with Annette now, since the afternoon will be the busiest hour of that café.

Not long, Annette is back with two paper cups of piping hot coffee. She places the cups away from her book, as to avoid spilling, Ingrid holds both cups and wait for Annette to sit before giving back her share of cup.

“I don’t know if you want more sugar or syrup, but please help yourself. I’m trying to memorize the notes.”

“Oh, sorry. Did I bother you with my babbling?” Ingrid shot an apologetic look.

“Not at all!” Annette beams, taking sip on her coffee cup. “Ouch, it is hot!”

“Careful, Annette.”

Ingrid shields the open book, pries it away as Annette tumbles a bit after the stinging hot coffee impact. It would be bad if her notes for tests are ruined, is what Ingrid had in mind first. Then, back to Annette, trying to help the orange-haired woman steady herself before the coffee happened to spill on her clothes.

“Ah, oh, thank you, Ingrid.” Annette says. She put the cup on the table. Ingrid shuffles to get a glass of water from the break room’s dispenser, handing it to her. “God, why am I so clumsy?”

“It just happens, no need to mull over it.” Ingrid tries to calm her down. “Also, it is the least I can do to help since you’re always listening to my problems.”

Annette chuckles, “No need for such formalities. Friends help each other, after all~”

“Then, I’ll help you next to be as silent as possible as you memorized your notes.” The blonde adds.

“If you say so.”

Annette accepted the offer, so it seems. Ingrid glances to the wall clock, there is a good fifteen minutes. It should be enough time for a little study and maybe she can check her phone quietly at the meantime.

Ingrid looks down to the spread books belonged to Annette, noticing the small, meticulous writing across the pages. Sometimes there’s a note with different-colored ink, or a phrase that’s highlighted. There also scatters of arrows connecting points of the lecture. Numerous stick notes jutting out from the handbook is also correspondent to the stick notes glued to the notebook pages. Everything seems to be planned out well.

“Um, Ingrid?”

“Yes?”

“Mind if … you don’t look at my writings? It’s, uhh, messy.” On the response, Annette places both hands on the page. Ingrid blinks.

“But your writings are cute. And everything is in order, unlike me.” Ingrid comments. She blows on her own cup before taking sip. It is bitter, but the acidity level is just perfect. “I hardly take notes during lectures.”

“You didn’t?”

“I’d prefer to be out exercising, but, yeah. I can manage just fine without too much notes. I guess I’m just lazy.”

Annette is scribbling something on the side, another note to a phrase she lined. “People have a different approach on studying, so I can’t really say whether your chosen way is classified as lazy or not.”

“You know, Annette. You’re so convincing,” Ingrid finds herself saying, almost blurting. The orange-haired woman looks up, perplexed.

“It’s not in the bad way, what I meant is when you said something so positive, I feel that everything is going to be okay, and that really is a good feeling.”

There is a pause, Annette’s lips hang open. She breaks away the eye contact to continue on the notes that she left upon listening in. Ingrid was confused of the sudden silence, but she digressed, respected Annette’s choice to remain silent until their break time is over.

Ashe and Dedue entered as soon as the clock struck to 2 PM, seemingly to talk animatedly about types of coffee beans. Ingrid raises from her seat and waves at them, while on the corner of her eyes, she saw Annette closed her notebooks and collected her study kits in hurry. She straighten up, bid a good work to both boys before walking past the door just in front of Ingrid.