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For the ship thing, 28 for Manuela /Seteth

28 - knocking on the wrong door au

(thank you so much for the request! an absolutely underrated pair so i really enjoyed writing this. i hope you like it!

send me a ship and a prompt! )

Aided by the several bottles of wine that she had consumed after yet another mediocre date, invulnerability coursed through Manuela’s veins as she staggered up the stairs to the second floor of the monastery. To an onlooker, the formerly revered songstress of the Mittelfrank Opera Company and current instructor at the Officer’s Academy would appear to be an inebriated, disheveled mess, with streaky stained mascara and smudged lipstick. But to Manuela herself? Well, quite the opposite. As she attempted to navigate her ascension to the infirmary, she felt on top of the world. She was a goddess. Forget the new Professor; Manuela swore that she could take on any group of bandits or Western Church heretics in her current state.

She felt so beautiful, so confident, so powerful that one of the descendents of the 10 Elites could wield her. Their strong arms, wrapped around her, powerful as ever - well, that would be very nice, indeed. Any sadness or self-pity that she had felt hours before was now completely evaporated, masked by the wine that ran through her bloodstream. Her thoughts of the dullard that she had wasted her evening on were now obscured by the spiced warm wine that had spread feverishly across her body and mind, and the liquid had now turned her blood to golden courage.

On the second floor, a draught always crept in through the windows and the old cracks of the building, and the cold grey of the uninviting stone walls and floors gave little respite to the chill of the outside. Yet none of this deterred Manuela Casagranda - no, far from it.The warm burn of the wine inside of her provided immunity from the cold, and she even went as far as pressing herself to the icy stone to cool herself down. That being said, it could certainly be argued that there was little decision-making in this - in fact, a witness would likely say that Manuela had no agency at all in the decision. She swerved so clumsily and violently to one side, the stone wall was simply the only thing that could, and did break her fall.

She stood there for a while, giggling to herself as her knees gave way and she slid hopelessly down the wall. Her legs extended in front of her, splayed out and outstretched, and they seemed to spin as she attempted to keep her head up to stare at them. A particularly loud giggle erupted from her wine-stained lips, and she pressed her index finger firmly against her own mouth.

“Shhh!” she hushed. Manuela paused, her addled mind attempting to comprehend what had happened, before finally arriving at the realisation that it was in fact herself, that she had silenced, to which peals of laughter (and subsequent hiccups) echoed through the hallway following her deduction. She smiled to herself, staring down the corridor with a glassy-eyed look, before deciding it was probably time for bed.

After several attempts to scramble to her feet, she finally steadied herself, ready to complete the final leg of her journey down the corridor to the infirmary. Staggering back to her office to make sure she was in a comfortable place when she woke up was so often how Manuela’s nights out ended up. That way, she would be sure she was right next to a tall jug of water and a heap of wellness herbs, and if anyone needed her, she wouldn’t have to trek from the teachers’ quarters all the way to the infirmary. There was also another reason - a certain someone’s office was so close by. Every date night would start off the same - Manuela quashing any notion of romance with her green-haired colleague, burying it deep inside of her. Besides, he was so stuck up, anyway - it would never work! Yet, no matter how many times she told herself that, a glimmer of hope always burgeoned inside her on her walk home that she would bump into him, that he would agree to have a drink with her as he promised some time back, as she made the drunken walk home. But alas, still no Seteth. A small pang of sorrow began to knot itself in her belly again. The same sorrow she had felt earlier on in the night - the same sorrow that she had started to drink to forget.

The longer she walked, the more disoriented she became. Manuela was now starting to feel the full adverse effects of the excess alcohol she had consumed. It was late, and many of the candles that usually illuminated the corridor had already been extinguished. Bloody Cyril! Manuela thought. Always so diligent with his duties and responsibilities. Did he really have to make sure the monastery didn’t burn down? As she pressed on, she noticed a small sliver of orange light trickling from under a door. The light was blurry - the alcohol affecting her vision more every second.

But unmistakably, that was her office. Nobody else would be awake at this hour, and in her hazy mind, she definitely didn’t recall blowing out the candles as she left. In fact, it made perfect sense that she had left them on. She was expecting her date to be successful, after all, and she would want to have set the mood for if she brought the gentleman in question back for another drink.

She reached into her pocket for the key, fumbling in the dark to try and locate the keyhole. It must have been almost a minute before she finally inserted it into the slot - and even longer to try and twist it round - Manuela was no thief by any means, but surely it didn’t have to take someone as talented as Ashe Ubert to open the bloody door to the bloody infirmary!

“Why aren’t you opening?” Manuela hissed indignantly to the pesky slab of wood - the more the wine affected her, the more she just wanted to slip into bed and fade into unconsciousness, and the reluctance of the door to open was vastly interrupting her plans. She pressed her weight against the door as she tried to unlatch it, but still nothing - until -

The door swung open abruptly, blinding Manuela momentarily as the orange light of the room flooded her vision. She fell forward, her palms outstretched against something solid - no - sinewy - Had she moved her anatomy model to the entrance of the door?

“Perhaps you would like to explain why you are attempting to break into my office at four o’clock in the morning, Professor Manuela?”

Oh, Seiros above. That voice. Not to worry - she was a woman in her prime. She could easily talk her way out of it, with her sweet talk and good looks. Her natural charm was only enhanced by the confidence given to her by the alcohol:

“Seteth! I - you - an anatomy model - this is not the infirmary,” Manuela slurred out. Alright. Perhaps not.

Seteth’s eyes raked over her, as disapproving and disparaging. That one voice seemed to turn her liquid courage to hopeless steam.

“A keen eye, as ever, Manuela,” Seteth said, before sighing. “Come, sit down,” he said, taking her arm gently and lowering her into an armchair. He sat down on the other side of his desk and poured her a glass of water.

“Why - why you not asleep? ‘S late,” Manuela mumbled, shakily picking up a glass of water and with almost an astounding lack of dexterity, sipping some with a resounding ‘slurp’. Seteth leaned back in his chair, throwing one leg over the other.

“There is a lot of work to be done, Manuela. Including a pile of paperwork that you were responsible for completing, but instead took the liberty upon yourself to go out drinking again,” Seteth responded coolly. Manuela slumped down in her seat, hiding her face with her hand and picking at the wooden armrest. Here she was, talking to her colleague, but it felt as if she was in school again.

“Well, actually, Seteth. I did not intend to go drinking. I had a date,” she mumbled from behind her glass of water. As soon as she spoke, her voice wavered slightly. Heavens, she sounded pathetic. “So please don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.” Her head had begun to pound, drums heavy in her ears. The wine had rushed to her head, catching up to her, and black dots were clouding her vision. Somewhere, somebody sighed. Who? Where was she? She looked around, grasping for some sort of familiarity to anchor her. Trying to clutch to sobriety that was long, long gone. Two lances crossed on the wall. A portrait of a mint-haired girl.

Seteth’s office.

With Seteth. She could hear vibrations in her throat; she was speaking - but what was she saying?

“Manuela - did you hear what I said?” Seteth asked. “Manuela?” His voice was ebbing and flowing as she faded in and out of consciousness. Manuela hummed. Something cold slipping through her fingertips. Her glass - she had forgotten to hold it tight -

“Seteth - I’m scared -” she heard herself whisper. “I don’t want to be alone anymore -”

Darkness.

Manuela cracked her eyes open, her lids sore and heavy. Her hangover had apparently not waited for one moment before it set in. She felt that familiar nauseous churn in the pit of her stomach, knotting and swelling as she joined the realm of reality. However - there was something far more unfamiliar on top of her. A weighted patchwork quilt had been thrown over her. Oh, Seiros. Had she gone home with somebody? What time was it - was she late for work? Seteth would murder her if she showed up late again - oh.

Seteth.

Seteth had been there last night. Manuela forced herself to sit up, gazing bewildered around his office, and her soft groan reverberated through the air as the soft glow cast itself over unwelcome eyes. The room was bathed in a pale and yellow early morning light as the dawn sunshine spilled through the windows. She was the sole occupant of the room. Her eyes fell upon the clock fixed to the wall - half eight. Her first class with those brats was at 9. Another groan. Manuela forced herself to her feet, mooring herself to the desk to have something to lean on in her dizzy state. As she did so, she noticed a piece of paper on Seteth’s desk - addressed to her.

She blinked away more sleep, bringing the paper close to her face so she could read it.

Manuela,

I have seen enough drunken stupors in my lifetime to know that it is likely you will not remember very much of last night. I will not embarrass you by detailing how you arrived in my office, or some of the subject matters we discussed before you passed out, but I would like to make one thing very clear.

Manuela braced herself, prepared for another sanction or warning.

It troubles me to see you drinking to excess alone each night. Anything could happen to you, and I would not want to see any harm come to you. I would not be able to live with myself. If you ever feel alone, or upset again - please call on me, and at least we can be together, or I can make sure I can look after you.

I would like to be there for you. I do not want you to be alone anymore. I am sure that you will not wake up early, so I will teach your 9am class, but I warn you that I will not make a habit of doing so!

S.

Manuela’s eyes remained fixated on the inked letters for several moments, before she lowered herself back into the chair. The words on the page, scribed with such effortless and neat beauty - something in the content - it rang a bell. Had she confessed to him about her feelings? Surely not. There would be something far more evident in his words.

She clutched the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, forgetting about any ache or pain in her body. His words. Seteth’s words. He did not want her to be alone anymore.

And perhaps she did not have to be.

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