#pwease help him out linhardt pensive emoji.........

[boundlesshart]

"hello, claude." for once, linhardt actively approaches the leader of the golden deer. sitting across from him in the library, the former eagle continues: "from tomorrow onwards, i am going to be a deer... that being said, i require two hours of nap time during class, complete control of what i do on my freetime-- oh, and you still owe me a thorough investigation of your crest."

Claude slams his journal shut as soon as Linhardt takes a seat across from him (afterwards wincing internally–that ink is still wet). His eyes are already wide from shock, but the other student’s message make them even wider. “What? You’re joining us?” How long has it been since the class rosters were shaken up like this? An easy grin finds its way to Claude’s lips, he can’t help but laugh. “Huh! I would have thought the idea of changing your schedule would have scared you off from joining us. Glad it didn’t.”

Linhardt’s demands don’t surprise Claude in the slightest, though he can’t help but snort at how Hilda it all is. “’Complete control of what I do in my freetime’? What, does Edelgard yap at you in between breaks? Or does Hubert hide under your bed and time your naps…” He laughs to himself at the mental images, waving his hand. “Come on, who do you think I am? Do what you want. Though you ought to know that as a House Leader, it behooves me to check in on my fellow deer when they are slacking in class or being a general nuisance. You can ask Hilda all about it. So while we’re making negotiations, let’s make a mutual agreement to not make more work for the both of us. Meaning you better keep up your grades… and start learning what personal space is.”

At the mention of Claude’s crest, his right hand briefly touches his left elbow. “As for my crest…. well, can you start today? You study white magic, don’t you?” Claude lifts his left arm with stiff movements, hardly bending at the elbow. His hand carefully rolls back his sleeve to his upper arm to reveal bandages wrapped around his elbow. When he unravels them, they expose a large, angry red and purple bruise blooming just above his elbow. “My bowstring slapped me, and my crest didn’t activate.” The distinct bitterness in his tone is soon wiped away when he pushes his bad arm towards Linhardt, whining, “Manuela treated it naturally, but it still hurts like a bitch. Can’t you abracadabra this away or something?”