It was almost the 14th of Pegasus Moon. Hilda, as a whole, really, really liked Pegasus Moon. It had her birthday in it, the weather was chilly and perfect for cozy afternoon naps, and there was usually snow! Snow, which meant that not much at all could be done for fear of slipping or freezing to death. And snow wasn’t a half-bad view from her balcony, either. There was lots to love.

However, there was one major problem. Valentine’s Day. A day of confessions and gift-giving, which meant that Hilda was hounded by the hordes of guys who thought she’d care about them. It took a lot of effort to turn down all those confessions. And all the candy she got during them was usually cheap, bought from the same couple of merchants who peddled the stuff specifically at this time of year.

Not to mention she was expected to give people chocolates to be polite. She hadn’t bothered to do anything last year, and Claude had yet to let it go. Him and the rest of the Golden Deer were getting nothing this year, too. That’d show him!

“He was just looking for something to complain about,” complained Hilda to her stalwart companion in shoveling manure, Marianne.

“It does sound pretty bothersome,” Marianne, ever the sweetheart, knew better than to disagree. Although…

“What do you think about Valentine’s Day?”

Marianne blinked slowly. “Ah, I’ve never really celebrated it… It’s probably better that way…” She had half a smile at that, a sad smile that wasn’t fooling anybody. Hilda knew Marianne had a sweet tooth. Hilda knew Marianne was cute. Why wasn’t she getting any confessions? It was unthinkable.

“Hm.” Was all she said, and then she got back on track. “Anyways, have you seen all the homework the Professor assigned us this week? Where’s their respect for the holiday season?”

....

Later that night, Hilda found herself awake, staring up at her ceiling listlessly. She tossed. She turned. She chugged the glass of water she kept beside her bed. In the end, she groaned and dramatically flung open her door.

There was a problem nagging at her. Marianne and her lack of Valentine's candy. There was only one solution. Hilda would have to take things into her own hands. Literally. No, she wouldn’t stoop to the levels of buying disgusting ugly pre-made chocolates. There was a whole five days left until Valentine’s Day. Plenty of time to master truffle-making. She would do this the right way. Marianne deserved it. This was everyone else’s fault for not appreciating her enough.

The kitchens were open late into the night, and as long as you were polite, no one cared if you were underfoot. Hilda had both napped and snatched snacks from there before. How hard could making chocolates be? 

Hilda perused the available ingredients carefully. She’d need milk. And chocolate… powder? Paste? Whatever provided that distinct chocolate flavor. There was also a basket of peaches lying around. Marianne liked peaches, right? Marianne also liked flowers, and Hilda had seen plenty of edible flowers on the decorative desserts they’d fed her back at home.

The kitchens had plenty of flowers, some sitting in vases for freshness and others dried. Hilda would just experiment. It’d make the truffles prettier, give them a unique touch. She had it all planned out, could see the final product in her mind’s eye. Heart-shaped chocolates with an oozy peach center, topped with a tiny little flower, maybe even adorned with just petals in cute swirls, lovingly placed with the same gentle touch she made her jewelry with.

Hilda lit up one of the stoves and got to work.

....

Three hours later, Hilda was booted from the Monastery kitchens. There was chocolate goo in her hair and splattered all over her face. Her hands were blistered and burned. She reeked of burnt grass. At least five pots were now permanently ruined. This is why Hilda didn’t like doing things. Put in so much effort, and what’d she get? A bad hair day, stained clothes, and nothing to show for it.

After a shower, it was nearly three in the morning by the time she went to bed. She’d have to resort to the library tomorrow.

But first, she had to make it through class. Claude (because it could only be Claude), woke her up by heartily banging on her door. 

“Rise and shine, Hilda! Don’t want Teach to come and break down your door!”

Hilda stumbled out of bed, pillow in hand. She opened her door, threw the pillow at Claude, and slammed the door back shut.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re making me tired, and I haven’t even seen you yet” she complained. When she emerged, fifteen minutes later with hair brushed and a clean uniform put on, Claude was waiting expectantly. He handed the pillow back and looked her up and down.

“Someone had a late night, I take it.”

“Don’t tell me it’s that obvious.” She poked at one eye, where there should’ve been some helpful make-up. If she gave away the surprise, it’d all be over. 

“Not really. You’d need to find someone pretty observant. Like, say, anyone with eyes.”

“This is your fault, you know.” Claude was the one who had gone and implanted all these thoughts about participating in her head.

Claude rolled his eyes, hands folded behind his head as they walked to class.

“Of course it is. I’ll just go ahead and apologize for the selfish, heinous act of wanting my dear friend to not be late to class.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” muttered Hilda darkly. Claude may or may not actually blab to Marianne if she told him what she’d been up to, but he would most definitely use this as evidence she did have effort to spare. The Goddess only knew what she’d get roped into then. 

For now, she had to power through class.

…

Hilda startled awake. “Claude! I swear—”

“Ah! I’m sorry Hilda, I-I thought you’d want to know that class was over.”

Hilda squinted up at Marianne, vision blurry from where her eyes had been pressed into her arm while she napped. She rubbed at her forehead with a hand.

“No, no, you’re right. Thanks.” She did a quick scan for Claude. No one could know what she was about to do. He was talking to Lysithea, and Ignatz was holding out a bow to the Professor. That was both sharp-eyed Golden Deer taken care of.

“H-hilda. Your hands…”

Hilda glanced down. Oh. “Training accident!”

“You… you hate training…”

“And this is why! Look what happens when I train!”

Marianne bit her lip. “Would you, um, I’m not very good at it yet, but, I could heal them for you. As thanks for helping me with chores.”

Hilda blinked. “You can already do burns?”

“I might mess them up. I-it’s probably a bad idea after all.”

“No! Think of my poor, poor, aching hands. You can’t leave them like this.”

Hilda was useless with magic. But Marianne acquiesced, lowering her gaze to where Hilda obediently held out her hands, palms up.

Marianne placed her hands on top of Hilda’s, her palm braced by Hilda’s fingers and her own cold fingers tickling Hilda’s palm, just barely touching them. And then they began to glow, light gathering, heavy and tangible, like the heat that radiated from a fire. It slowly burned brighter and brighter, Marianne’s fingers warming with it. It tingled, though Hilda wasn't even sure if anything was actually happening yet.

The glow faded. Hilda flexed her hands, surprised to feel no lingering stiffness.

“Hey, they’re fully healed!”

Marianne went to move away, shaking her head. “Ah, Professor Manuela would’ve been faster at it, though…”

Hilda humphed, clenching her fingers around Marianne’s hands to hold her in place. Her hands were back to being cool, and a little clammy. She could feel them absorbing the warmth from her own skin. 

“It doesn’t matter. You did a great job! And you were right here. Much less effort than going all the way to infirmary!”

Looking up into Marianne’s eyes to pass on the seriousness of her point, Hilda suddenly felt the urge to… to… to stand right up and kiss Marianne. She was in deeper than she thought.

“Well, I’ve got to head out now. Bye!” 

And so Hilda scooched her chair away from her desk with one quick movement and fled. 

She peered cautiously around the corner into the library. Linhardt was at a table in the corner, snoozing away. The rest of the coast was clear. She strolled in, acting as casual as possible, whistling a little fun tune. Linhardt wouldn’t wake up for anything less than the building catching on fire, so it was fine.

Half the spines of the books didn’t even have titles on them, and the Goddess only knew how this place was organized. Hida resorted to grabbing random books off the shelves and flipping through the pages as swiftly as possible. The longer she was in here, the higher the risk of being spotted.

Entreaty on the Political His— next. On the Biodiversity of Faerghus Mount— next. Hemodemographics: Crests and Blood Types. No wonder Linhardt was asleep. Was everything in here useless drivel? Did the Monastery not care at all about cooking delicious food? She couldn’t just ask any of the kitchen staff because they all hated her now. Maybe—

“Hilda? What are you doing here?”

Hilda froze, book in hand mid-way on the journey back to its shelf. She turned around, holding up the book with a smile.

“Oh, just looking for this!”

Annette cocked her head, eyes scanning the book’s cover. “The Ins and Outs of Cultural Diplomacy?”

“Homework assignment.”

“And you’re doing it?”

Hilda sighed. Annette was too smooth. “Look, I just want a stupid cookbook, okay? Are there any here?”

Annette looked confused, but then her eyes lit up. “You’re making someone a Valentine’s treat!” She was practically bouncing. “That’s so sweet of you!”

Annette elbowed past Hilda, heading for the back wall of the library. There, she rolled over a ladder and climbed up.

“What are you making? There’s a couple different guides up here.”

Hilda trailed after her. “Chocolates.”

Annette plucked a select few thin books from the highest shelf and climbed down, handing them to Hilda with a smile.

“You know, chocolates can be pretty tough for beginners. If you need help, Mercie’s an expert on this kind of thing.”

And so Hilda found herself carrying a stack of recipes and knocking on Mercedes’ door.

…

For all her supposed kindness, Mercedes was a cruel, cruel taskmaster in the kitchen. With a serene smile on her face, she watched maliciously as she forced Hilda to go through the labors of truffle-making. For three days straight they had been meeting up immediately after class, not parting ways until it was time for bed. Mercedes would heal up any burns or cuts Hilda managed to accumulate, part of the pact of secrecy Hilda had sworn her to. Sure, she’d love an excuse for Marianne to hold her hands again, but no one would believe Hilda had been training that many days in a row.

This was her last chance to get things perfect. All or nothing. It was for the best, because even Mercedes sweet-talking the chefs wouldn’t be enough for them to let Hilda back in tomorrow. It wasn’t her fault this was so different from jewelry making. Oh, it was similar. But the differences would slip Hilda’s mind, and boom. Burnt chocolate boiling and bubbling and exploding everywhere.

It was midnight when Hilda finished the last touch. A baker’s dozen of chocolates, some shaped like hearts, some shaped like flowers. Peach, strawberry, noa fruit, caramel. Alternating colors of blue and pink and white marking the truffles with swirls and elaborate designs. And sprigs of lavender here and there.

Hilda split the thirteenth chocolate in half, handing a piece over to Mercedes. They bit into them at the same time. All Hilda could really taste was sweet at this point. She’d eaten more chocolate in the last three days than she had in the entire last 18 years of her life.

“Absolutely delicious! I can tell that whoever you’re making these for is truly special to you.”

Hilda felt her face turning red. “Yeah, yeah. She is. I owe you one, Mercedes.”

Mercedes had also procured a cute box for her from the market, since Hilda was too paranoid to be seen out there.

She carefully packed up the chocolates, wanting to find the perfect arrangement but knowing that if she kept handling them they’d just melt.

“Good luck!” Mercedes called as Hilda marched back to her room. Tomorrow, she’d hand these over and confess. All or nothing.

…

She cornered Marianne after class. The other girl seemed more on edge than usual, wringing her hands together and refusing to meet Hilda’s gaze. Hilda frowned.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry. You’re mad at me.”

“I am?”

“You’ve been avoiding me… ever since I tried to heal your hands. I shouldn’t have experimented on you.”

Hilda couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Marianne, this has nothing to do with that! You did a swell job, we’ve been over this. I would never avoid you on purpose.”

Marianne frowned. “But… you ran away after class every time. I haven’t seen you around at all…”

This was it. “Well. I had something I was working on. In secret. It’s Valentine’s Day, y’know?”

Marianne glanced up, then her gaze went right back to the ground. “I, um, didn’t you say you hated today?”

Hilda gave her a little grin. “Yeah, when it was me receiving a bunch of nonsense confessions. But now I’m gonna do the confessing.”

“Th-then I should get going. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

Hilda took a breath, pulling the box out from behind her back. “You are the way. You’re cute, and thoughtful, and good with animals, and you put up with me. And you deserve the world. So, these are for you.”

Marianne’s eyes widened. “I… are you sure?”

Hilda huffed. “I spent three days learning how to cook these. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

Marianne chuckled, and there. There was what Hilda had been longing to see. That adorable smile that lit up her whole face, wiping away the exhaustion she usually carried. Marianne accepted the box, holding it gingerly, gingerly, opening it with utmost care.

“They’re so pretty.”

Hilda preened, just a little. “Of course they are. I don’t half-ass everything.”

She watched with rapt attention as Marianne examined each and every truffle. “We should eat these together.” Marianne declared, sliding the lid back on. “S-somewhere with a view.”

Hilda beamed. “The Goddess Tower is probably crawling with couples right now. But I’m sure we can find somewhere.”