[The gardens are quite a nice place, really. Or at least they would be at any other time, but now it's just a reminder of the fact that they're alone and it's...still rather awkward to think about looking at Hubert.

Linhardt doesn't understand it. This is just an act, isn't it? Why does it feel like there's something tight over his throat, something awkward between them when this is all just a prolonged experiment? Could it be that something has shifted between them? That maybe something has caused something else to take root?

...No, that's silly, isn't it? It's all an act. Every last bit of it is, and all of this is just a result of that. A result of what they're doing, and it's nothing more than that, isn't it? It has to be, right?

If that's so, why can't he just talk to Hubert like he normally does? Or even look at him? Why does it feel so strange?]

I don't think I could have gotten very much sleep in such a loud, noisy place like that, anyway.

[Maybe if Linhardt were better at this, he'd realize that he was in over his head. Maybe if he really knew what love was, he wouldn't be having these problems. But Linhardt forces himself to look back at Hubert after saying that much, sighing and trying to just...be casual about it, because everything is certainly fine.]

So thank you for at least keeping me entertained. I couldn't possibly imagine the reaction they'd all have if you couldn't.