Flowers of the night

Prompt: skinship
Missione: M1 (week 5)
Parole: 2302
Rating: pg13
Warnings: mention of war, hurt/comfort

A volte a Byleth manca Garreg Mach. Ci sono mattine in cui si sveglia poco prima che albeggi, quando dalle finestre comincia a entrare una luce fioca da far dubitare se la notte stia già lasciando il posto al giorno oppure no, e il suono degli uccellini sembra arrivare da lontano. Quando i muscoli del corpo sono ancora intorpiditi dal sonno, in quel preciso momento Byleth ha la sensazione di scivolare a fatica fuori dal sogno in cui è ancora un mercenario improvvisato professore, lì responsabile di giovani con grandi sogni, grandi obiettivi. Chiuso in una quotidianità semplice, diametralmente opposta a quella in cui è cresciuto, eppure a suo modo piacevole. Sente la mancanza di quando la voce di Sothis era la normalità nella sua testa, quando bastava affacciarsi nell'immenso cortile del monastero o andare in alcuni specifici luoghi per essere certo di incrociare suo padre.

Byleth si ricorda della torre, di promesse; di quando è tornato al monastero e ha ritrovato un Dimitri diverso, ombra di se stesso, e ha visto come la guerra distrugge un giovane più di quanto avesse mai notato durante i suoi anni da mercenario con suo padre. Forse una parte di lui rimpiange il periodo precedente, persino: quello in cui provare emozioni era qualcosa di cui non sentiva la necessità e, per estensione del non averlo mai fatto e di non essersene mai davvero dovuto preoccupare, non percepiva nemmeno di avere qualcosa di assente. Byleth immagina chiunque gli direbbe che una persona deve provare qualcosa e in una certa misura lo comprende. Però conosce anche il fascino dell'assenza di dolore o di quello sordo che è solo una vaga sensazione.

La guerra ormai è lontana. Byleth ha imparato presto che i morti non tornano in vita - non sua madre, non suo padre. Il regno è sereno, guidato da un re che farà grandi cose e avrà cura di ogni singolo suddito, perché è così che Dimitri è sempre stato. In un certo senso si può dire sia così che lo ha visto crescere.

Fuori la luce sembra farsi più forte e rischiarare il cielo. Byleth abbassa lo sguardo e, lì accanto, vede il viso di Dimitri addormentato: i capelli lunghi e biondi sparsi sul cuscino, il volto finalmente rilassato. Troppe notti Byleth lo ha saputo insonne e rare volte gli è stato permesso di restare fino a quando l'altro non ha preso sonno. La loro è una posizione complessa e rispetta il fatto che, a volte, il re ancora fatichi ad accettare di poter avere una debolezza e - soprattutto - di poterla mostrare. Se non al mondo, almeno alle poche persone fidate di cui si è circondato.

In momenti come questi, in cui può prendersi tutto il tempo che vuole per osservarlo e vegliare su un sonno che spera almeno sia senza sogni, a Byleth torna in mente la prima volta in cui Dimitri gli ha permesso di vederlo di nuovo. Oltre un'armatura, oltre una benda sull'occhio e oltre orrori che Byleth può immaginare ma a cui nessuno, mai, può essere davvero pronto.

*

La battaglia non è stata facile. Sono tornati tutti vivi - non del tutto sani, ma vivi - ma il prezzo da pagare è stato alto, specie dal punto di vista del morale. Byleth li vede e capisce, senza bisogno di chiederlo o di ascoltarli parlare, che sono tutti sfibrati. Dimitri più degli altri, perché quando qualcosa ti logora dentro ancor prima di cominciare una battaglia, dopo non può che lasciare una voragine che diventa difficile sanare. 

Può solo immaginare in quali abitudini sia incappato Dimitri negli anni di vuoto che per Byleth sono stati solo poco più di un battito di ciglia. Ha il ricordo di un Dimitri rigido, ma nel modo morbido dato da un pudore tutto suo e sporcato da una severità acerba, dovuta più all'educazione e al rispetto dei ruoli che ad altro. Se all'epoca per Dimitri sarebbe stato difficile lavarsi con qualcuno dei suoi compagni, farlo davanti a Byleth sarebbe stato impensabile. Ha sempre dato per scontato che fosse una questione di ambiente in cui è cresciuto - forse gli usi del Regno di Faerghus e quelli dell'Alleanza hanno sempre differito anche in questo, a giudicare da come Felix sarebbe inorridito (e da come farebbe lo stesso ancora oggi) all'idea mentre Claude l'avrebbe addirittura proposta.

Anche adesso nota una certa ritrosia in come Dimitri si guarda intorno mentre si libera del mantello prima e dell'armatura poi. Ogni strato in meno sembra farlo sentire vulnerabile e ci vuole un po' perché alla fine si conceda una nudità completa. Lo spazio che hanno a disposizione non è certo paragonabile a quello di un grande palazzo e in generale le forze per ricostruire ciò che di Garreg Mach è stato distrutto si sono concentrate altrove, rendendo il tutto molto più spartano di un tempo. Però svolge la sua funzione e tanto basta.

Dimitri non chiede se l'acqua sia calda o meno; Byleth immagina che nel suo vagare come un fuggitivo abbia smesso presto di concedersi il lusso di un bagno caldo o con sali e oli pregiati. Per questo ne intuisce la sorpresa quando con le gambe entra nella vasca e poi, lentamente, si immerge: l'acqua non è bollente, ma Byleth si è assicurato che risultasse almeno piacevole e calda abbastanza da rilassare i muscoli. E' consapevole, tuttavia, di avere l'attenzione di Dimitri sui propri movimenti nonostante l'altro gli dia in parte le spalle. Eppure, quando Byleth immerge solo le gambe fino al ginocchio, Dimitri si volta a guardarlo confuso.

In un primo momento lui ignora quella sua confusione. Arrotola con calma le maniche fino al gomito e solo poi incontra lo sguardo dell'altro: c'è un muto quesito nell'unico occhio azzurro che può vedere, ma Byleth non offre alcuna risposta a voce. Si limita a muoversi con lentezza per sistemarsi alle spalle di Dimitri, seduto sul bordo e con le gambe allargate, perché il principe possa stare tra esse e facilitargli il compito. Lo vede irrigidirsi e sa che ha compreso le sue intenzioni - lavarlo, non perché futuro re ma perché possa avere un momento di pace. Almeno lo spera.

Byleth immerge le mani nell'acqua, ai lati del corpo altrui. Si assicura di scaldarle, consapevole di una temperatura corporea non elevatissima. La prima cosa che fa è spostare la chioma bionda di lato, scoprendogli una delle spalle e la parte superiore della schiena. Vedere delle cicatrici non lo stupisce: Dimitri ha smesso di essere un principe da rinchiudere e proteggere dentro le mura di un castello molto presto - troppo presto - e di certo non può esserlo diventato dopo. Ognuna di esse potrebbe essere considerata da alcuni soldati o dai mercenari una medaglia al valore, Byleth lo sa bene perché è cresciuto tra loro e si ricorda le frasi che sentiva dire da bambino e che ha capito del tutto solo diventando grande: se hai una cicatrice vuol dire che qualsiasi cosa dovesse o volesse ucciderti, non c'è riuscita.

Ne sfiora una con le dita e sente Dimitri rabbrividire impercettibilmente sotto il suo tocco. Non batte ciglio, però, recuperando uno dei panni puliti a disposizione vicino al bordo della vasca per immergerlo nell'acqua fino ad averlo completamente zuppo. Lo strizza un poco, prima di portarlo sulla spalla destra dell'altro e passarlo lentamente sulla pelle chiara. Non sfrega per nulla, lasciando che il panno sia come una carezza piena, lenta a lenire ferite che non si vedono e che non hanno nulla da spartire con quelle già cicatrizzate.

Per un tempo abbastanza lungo non ci sono suoni a riempire l'aria se non quello dell'acqua ogni volta che Byleth immerge il panno e del gocciolio che ne consegue quando lo tira fuori strizzandolo. Sono due persone troppo silenziose per poter essere quelle che si preoccupano di evitare si creino momenti come quello - forse un tempo Dimitri lo avrebbe fatto, avrebbe messo a proprio agio chiunque con la cordialità, ma questo Dimitri non ne ha le forze. A Byleth sta bene così, non sente il bisogno di avere qualcosa di cui parlare. Gli è sufficiente prendersi cura di lui in un modo simile a quello con cui ogni tanto passava il tempo con Jeralt, nel condividere spazi e momenti a loro modo intimi. Anche se Dimitri di certo non è suo padre.

«Perché lo stai facendo?» domanda proprio il principe, a bruciapelo. Byleth ne è abbastanza sorpreso ma non lo dà a vedere, aiutato dal fatto che l'altro gli dia le spalle, né ferma il movimento della mano. Con calma passa di nuovo il panno sulla schiena e risale appena, verso il collo, rigido come se Dimitri si aspettasse di essere assassinato lì e ora, dove "lì" è ovunque e "ora" è in qualsiasi istante. Anche e soprattutto quando meno si può prevedere.

Soppesa per qualche attimo le parole con cui potrebbe rispondere: Sothis avrebbe sicuramente diversi consigli da dargli, tutti molto altisonanti o consolatori, adatti a prendersi cura di un animo umano che si conosce bene. Ma Byleth, per quanto possa essere migliorato rispetto a quando era un ragazzino in apparenza senza emozioni, non è ancora capace di sondare gli animi degli altri in quel modo e di poter quindi capire come dar loro sollievo con ciò che preferirebbero sentirsi dire. L'unica freccia al suo arco è la sincerità, nel bene e nel male.

«Perché ne hai bisogno.» replica soltanto, vedendo l'altro girarsi per guardarlo da sopra la spalla. Riconosce sul suo viso l'espressione allarmata di chi è stato colto in fallo e non può concederselo, o più semplicemente non può sopportarlo. Perciò mantiene quel contatto visivo, ferma la mano e il panno bagnato contro il collo dell'altro, solo per dirgli: «Nemmeno per i mercenari la guerra riempie ogni secondo, Dimitri.» lo chiama per nome, per aggiungere valore alle proprie parole. O, forse, solo per ricordargli che prima di essere un assassino, un principe caduto, un fuggitivo, una testa desiderata dai suoi nemici... è un uomo. Una persona. Qualcuno a cui hanno strappato tutto, fatto un buco nel cuore e lasciato lì a spirare a terra senza colpo di grazia. Sarebbe facile per Byleth descriverlo così, per assicurarsi che il suo ex studente comprenda; lo farebbe, se fosse sicuro di fargli del bene in quel modo.

«La guerra non aspetta che nessuno si faccia un bagno, se è per questo.» quasi lo ringhia, Dimitri, pieno di rabbia e di rancore. Byleth non sa se qualcuno saprà mai cancellarli. Se Dimitri concederà a se stesso di lasciarli sopiti, se non altro.

«E' vero.» conviene con lui, posando il panno di lato lì sul bordo dove lui stesso siede. Porta entrambe le mani ai lati della testa altrui, le fa scivolare lentamente sul suo viso, guidandolo piano a inclinare il capo all'indietro. Avverte una certa esitazione all'inizio, ma poi Dimitri muove la testa fino a quando non possono guardarsi e i capelli biondi sono sparsi sulle gambe di Byleth. Lo osserva, scrutandolo alla ricerca di risposte che sul viso altrui sono troppo nascoste ancora. Scosta una mano solo per portarla a spostare una ciocca, poi un'altra e un'altra ancora, fino a scoprire il viso nella sua interezza. E' solo un attimo, ma gli sembra di intravedere l'accenno di un po' di colore sul viso di un uomo che per lui - fino a poco tempo fa - è stato quello di un ragazzo. Eppure ritrova in lui il Dimitri che ricorda, in tutto e per tutto: cresciuto, temprato, ferito.

L'unico occhio visibile è limpido, più pieno di vita di quanto lo stesso Dimitri possa credere. Ed è in quel momento che Byleth si concede un sorriso lieve, senza quasi rendersene conto. Un incurvarsi di labbra che gli ammorbidisce i lineamenti e a cui Dimitri reagisce mostrando una sorpresa genuina. Byleth allontana la mano, la immerge tenendola a coppa per raccogliere un po' di acqua, e con attenzione gliela riversa sui capelli attento a non mandarne sul viso.

Vede Dimitri rilassarsi piano, non del tutto forse, eppure è una piccola vittoria; anche quando lo guarda come se si sentisse perso, ormai disabituato nell'affidarsi a qualcuno, tanto da fargli chiedere quanto realmente profonda sia, quella voragine che gli hanno scavato nel petto.

*

«A cosa pensi?»

La voce di Dimitri lo coglie di sorpresa, distogliendolo dai propri pensieri. Ritrova il suo viso sporcato dal sonno, ma anche da un sorriso lievissimo, un risultato immenso che in più momenti Byleth ha pensato non avrebbe raggiunto mai. Di essere arrivato troppo tardi, anche quando a lui sembrava di non essersene andato mai.

«Stavo pensando a quando ti ho aiutato a lavare i capelli la prima volta.» replica, sincero, riconoscendo quasi subito il mutare dell'espressione altrui in un vago accigliarsi che non è altro se non un imbarazzo che una volta si sarebbe tradotto in uno sguardo sfuggente e un tono di voce più basso. Quel ragazzo è ancora lì, Byleth lo vede molto più spesso di quanto si possa credere. Anche in piccoli gesti, come sentire la mano di Dimitri posarsi sul suo fianco con l'esitazione di chi non pensa di poter osare tanto; così lui l'asseconda, avvicina il corpo al suo. Se il regno sapesse di quella loro vicinanza ci leggerebbe senz'altro della malizia - eppure Byleth non avverte in Dimitri il desiderio di un corpo, ma più quello di una vicinanza, di un conforto. E' come se riuscisse a ricordarsi di com'era solo nell'intimità di una stanza e di un abbraccio. Byleth non può dire di comprenderlo appieno: ha dato pochi abbracci nella sua vita, quasi tutti senza riconoscerne il peso e il significato, mentre i rari casi in cui l'ha fatto sono stati troppo tardivi.

Però, nel suo piccolo, sente che la vicinanza è qualcosa che fa bene a entrambi: anche senza un nome, un'ufficializzazione. Gli basta dare quell'abbraccio, sentire Dimitri rilassarsi nel calore di un'altra persona e sentirlo vivo.

Prompt: Zitti e buoni (“Tu portami dove sto a galla, che qui mi manca l’aria”)
Missione: M4 (week 5)
Parole: 8097
Rating: teen
Warnings: post time skip, light petting

Byleth expected somehow that his former students would keep their promise from five years ago, but to be completely honest he basically learnt by chance and from a passerby that it’s been five years already. He barely remembers the fight, Rhea, the fall. And a very long sleep.

They just managed to settle in Garreg Mach now that bandits are not a bother anymore. Very few casualties, nothing more than scratches Mercedes will be able to heal in an instant. All the former Blue Lions members are so different, so grown up and yet Byleth feels this familiar feeling now that they are reunited. He is sure that there is a lot they lost— dear ones, freedom, faith even— but they still have that hope in their eyes, their will to fight. Not that he could actually see a real difference: some aspects are the same to him because, to Byleth, it was nothing more than a blink of an eye.

The only empty one is Dimitri. From the moment they saw each other, something didn’t sit well with Byleth. Being seen as a demon on the battlefield is (was) a usual occurrence for him. Some of his enemies during his mercenary days might have seen a sort of reaper in him, maybe a ghost. But for one of his former students— for Dimitri to have that eerie conviction that Byleth would haunt him… that left him speechless, somehow. Five years ago it was not so rare for him to let long silences fill the air while his students were talking to him, but never like this. It was a habit, it was a lack of experience when it came to social gatherings.

His reunion with Dimitri felt like no matter what he could have said: in Dimitri’s eyes he was the embodiment of an endless nightmare.

“Professor,” Mercedes’ voice catches his attention “are you feeling okay?

Is he? What does ‘okay’ mean? Maybe physically, considered how long he slept?

“There are no issues.” he replies, not failing to notice the small, polite smile on Mercedes’ lips. “I’m glad to hear it.” she says “Annette was going to check the kitchen to see if there is something edible. Ingrid is making sure there are rooms that can be used in the dormitories for tonight.” she goes on and there is something incredibly reassuring in the way she is taking care of this, as if they are not checking a place that holds a lot of memories or rooms that weren’t once occupied by today’s enemy.

“I think your room is in good conditions if you want to rest a little.” she adds. Does he want or need to? He shakes his head, eyes wandering around. There is so much to do and within a very limited time— but, above all, there’s a more worrisome matter than his rest. After all, Byleth slept for five years and he surely doesn’t need to do it now.

“Have you seen Dimitri?” he asks once he’s sure that no, he is nowhere close to where they are. Mercedes slowly shakes her head, a hint of worry in her light blue eyes, as if it’s her fault. “I’ll look for him.” Byleth declares. Mercedes never follows him.

In fact, Byleth finds him quite easily. Not that surprising since part of the Garreg Mach is not exactly practicable and some areas have several people in it that are making sure they have the primary necessities at least for a few days, until they will manage to have merchants back there as much as possible without catching unwanted attention.

Surprisingly enough, though, Dimitri is at the Cathedral. Some people noticed him but didn’t dare to approach him, that much is obvious by the way they are stealing glances at him. Felix is not too far but the scowl on his face tells Byleth that the swordsman probably tried and failed or is irritated just by looking at the other. Byleth moves, step by step, until he is close to Dimitri: his eye, free from the eyepatch, seems to observe something in front of him and, at the same time, it’s like he can’t see anything at all. He’s obviously the one who needs some rest but Byleth is sure he would never be able to sleep even if he tried. Not like this, not when he seems to carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

“Dimitri” he calls him, yet doesn’t get a reply. Only a glance. Dimitri saw him but clearly doesn’t want to talk and completely ignores him.

In the end, after minutes or maybe almost an hour, Byleth has to surrender. He leaves.

*

Little by little, Garreg Mach becomes lively once again. All of the people who are there keep themselves busy with every task that needs to be taken care of, which helped a lot. Some of them were assigned to the stable and the horses, led by Ingrid and Sylvain; under Felix’s guidance (more or less) some others gathered all the weapons that could still be used; Mercedes and Annette have been incredibly good at managing all the other resources, being them the healing potions and the antidotes or food. Especially after all of them managed to send away the bandits that were making it impossible for the merchants to reach their location.

The only unchanged fact is Dimitri. The guy who was once a leader and that should still lead them all barely talks to anyone. The longest conversation Byleth heard has been a brief, abrupt reply to a couple of them. Even Felix, in his own way, has tried to convey to Byleth that Dimitri now is nothing more than a beast unable to communicate with humans. And Byleth gets what he means, in a sense: Dimitri is like a feral, wounded animal that doesn’t want to let anyone close enough to save him or heal him or whatever he needs. He doesn’t want to ask for help. Maybe he only wants blood and revenge— yet Byleth can’t help but wonder what will be there after that?

Will the voices Dimitri seems to hear be the only thing left? Byleth knows about them because he caught him off guard a couple of times, long enough to grasp nothing more than a few words (forgive me, leave me alone). Not to mention Dimitri’s reaction when they reunited.

Byleth has not a clear idea about what to do. For him, to have Sothis’ voice in his head, her soul within him, had always been a comfort and never something to be afraid of. Not even once he thought that she was there because someone had cursed him or because he was going mad.

Is that what’s happening to Dimitri? Is there really a moment when a person can be beyond salvation while still alive?

Byleth wishes he could ask Sothis.

*

At some point, it becomes painfully obvious that the only place where Dimitri is somehow talkative and back to a vague shadow of his past self, as if the battlefield is what brings him peace. Byleth knows how this works— he saw too many men being eaten up by the sense of guilt, by the horror the battlefield offers. In his experience and by his father’s teachings there are very few people who are able to kill and enjoy it, few humans that can only survive through cruelty and hate and blind anger kept under control with bloodlust.

Dimitri isn’t (wasn’t?) like this. He might have changed, but Byleth still thinks of him as someone with the right believes. Despite this, is he supposed to take away from him that single, fickle moment of peace or should he leave him be? And besides, should he prepare himself for the chance of having to take him down at some point?

“Greetings, Professor.” the Gatekeeper’s voice a clear sound in the complete silence of the night. The chill weather is nothing vaguely appealing for a stroll when the whole Garreg Mach is already asleep, so Byleth can get the surprise he hears in the young guy’s voice. “Nothing to report.” the Gatekeeper adds, only to suddenly remember something and speak again “No, wait,” he begins “there is, in fact, something I have—” 

“If it’s about Dimitri, I already know it.” he stops him, no harsh words or attitude, But he would prefer it if he could take care of it without others knowing that the prince and supposed king is wandering around at night like a lifeless, soulless body. “I was going to meet him.” Byleth lies, and he is quite awful at it (he never really had the need to learn how to) but he’s also lucky to have the Gatekeeper’s unwavering trust. In another situation, he would feel guilty seeing the smile the young man gives him; just this once, Byleth ignores it.

“Do not worry, Professor!” he hears him say, as if encouraging him when Byleth is already walking away in another direction. The Ashen demon doesn’t look back but feels grateful. It would be good if everything could be so easy. Instead, the only simple thing is to choose the direction to follow to go after Dimitri; luckily enough even if he didn’t actually see him, Byleth can guess that to have shown himself where the Gatekeeper could notice him easily, he must have gone either to the stable or near the greenhouse. 

He is not surprised to find him close to the latter place, the one he would have never chosen normally yet seemed the most obvious option now. Dimitri in the greenhouse was a rare view back then but that is also the place where Dedue was often seen. And even if Dimitri now is closer to the water than to the building, the proximity remains. The cold night doesn’t seem to bother him and the sky is clear. Dimitri looks completely still from there so, for a moment, Byleth wonders if it’s better to observe him from a certain distance or not— he has never been good at judging the appropriate distance with others. Sometimes too close without even noticing it and sometimes so distant that it looked like he didn’t care at all.

He breathes in, then out. A white, tiny cloud of condense leaves his mouth and he feels a familiar feeling against his leg: one of the cats that used to be around in the monastery is showing affection in the same exact way as it did in the past, making it harder for Byleth to discern past and present. A small smile curves his lips and he bends enough to give the cat a brief pat on the head. Apparently, the movement is enough for Dimitri to notice him.

If a single glare could kill, Byleth supposes that no sword or magic could have saved him right now.

“Go away.” Dimitri tells him, only two words before he turns back facing the water. Byleth stays still for seconds, then walks to close the distance between them. He can easily see Dimitri’s shoulders stiffen and he can almost feel how tense the other is. Despite the obvious uncomfortableness, the prince’s hand never tries to reach for a weapon or for Byleth himself. Instead, he stubbornly looks at the still water slightly illuminated by the moon. 

Byleth does the same and lets the silence cradle them both and, a bit later, even sits. He can feel Dimitri forcing himself to not follow him with his eye and only when Byleth is sitting and taking off his boots, he can feel the other’s gaze on him. Byleth’s foot has barely touched the water that a strong hold on his shoulder tells him Dimitri just touched him— and pulled him behind with not much care. Byleth looks up at him and finds a very complicated expression he’s not able to completely understand. Dimitri gives him the impression of being conflicted between worry, fear and anger.

“What are you doing?” he asks him, sharp. There is no trace of the kindness and politeness that was once there. “I was going to put my feet into the water.” Byleth explains it as if it’s not obvious enough just by looking at them. Judging by the expression Dimitri makes, it clearly isn't. Yet, he doesn't really call him out, doesn't try to stop him from doing it— at least that's the beginning of it. Byleth doesn't even manage to put both his feet completely underwater, that one hand is holding his arm and is abruptly pulling him behind as if to prevent him from immersing his legs. Byleth looks up at him, to study Dimitri's face but he finds nothing that can help to understand his intentions: only irritation and a sort of frustration he can't exactly associate with something he did.

"Don't do it. It's winter." Dimitri says, rasp voice and ice-cold gaze. "Faerghus is always cold." Byleth says back. He doesn't want to highlight the fact that as a former mercenary he hasn't really had the chance to pick when and where to take a bath, at least a quick one to be sure blood wasn't on his clothes anymore, especially when they were about to enter a village or to meet a client. There were times when the mere thought of actually wash himself up made him almost wish to just stay stained. Especially when he was younger and battlefield was something he wasn't used to.

"Why are you doing this?" "Because you won't talk to me. So I will wait until you do."

The reply seems to shake Dimitri in a way Bylet didn't expect at all. The only eye he can see, the one not hidden by the eyepatch, goes wide for nothing more than a couple of seconds, but that's enough for Byleth to recognise the old Dimitri he used to talk to. A lost child is what he can see in front of him and what he hoped he would never see. Would Dimitri not be like this if Byleth hadn't slept for five years?— no, a voice tells him, and it's not about Sothis this time he was lost the moment he found out about Edelgard.

Dimitri's hand is still holding his arm, not too tight, not enough to physically hurt. Byleth looks at it and then lets his gaze wander until it finds Dimitri's troubled face. Did his words really have this much impact? Is it because Dimitri didn't expect someone to care anymore?

"There is nothing you can do, even if we talk." despite the obvious confusion, Dimitri somehow is able to try to reject him. He even lets him go, as if suggesting that Byleth can do what he wants, but it won't change anything. He pulls his feet out of the water (not that he had managed to actually immerse them like he wanted to) and carefully wears his boots. Once he is done, he still stays where he is. Probably Dimitri thought he was about to leave, because the stiffness of his body is back, tense about unexpected things about to happen, like he would be while fighting an enemy maybe. But Byleth doesn't try to physically connect to him— he stays there, eyes on the water, not a single fish visible because of the darkness.

"Is there someone else you talk to?"

Byleth knows that this is a huge, dangerous bet. If Dimitri really hears voices, supposing he has not a personal Sothis it means that this could get ugly. But Byleth has a vague idea of what this could be and he hopes to be proven wrong. Because a mistake in his judgment would still be better than the other option.

Dimitri's look is outraged for a split second and unequivocally scared immediately after. Then, far from what Byleth could expect to see on his face, there's pain. So much that Dimitri's expression is way more similar to that of a beast than to a human. Byleth sees him bring his hand to his head, as if a sudden, unbearable sound is killing his hearing. It feels natural for Byleth to reach out with his hand, out of worry, but the way Dimitri dismisses his gesture with a brusque, violent slap is nothing that could be anticipated.

"Don't touch me!" Dimitri shouts, scaring the few night owls around and the cat that was still there where Byleth had patted him before. Byleth has no idea what his own expression is like, right now, but it seems that whatever Dimitri notices on his face is something he didn't want to see. Something he wanted to avoid.

Something that ends up breaking him.

"I'm sorry." he mutters, the hand he brought close to his head now pulling a bit of the blond, long hair and the other covering part of his face "I'm sorry" he repeats. And Byleth knows instantly that he's not really the one Dimitri is apologising to— not completely, not only him. It's about a lot of people, some of which Byleth probably doesn't know. People Dimitri has killed during these five years of nothing for him, people Dimitri has seen as they were killed to protect him. To give him a chance. People Dimitri let down, even if unconsciously or unwillingly. To Dedue. To Felix. To Ashe, wherever he might be now. To the whole, former class of the Blue Lions, the same people he can't stand to look at in the eyes now. And to Byleth, too, because he probably thinks that somehow he expected the prince of Faerghus to do better than this, to never fail, to never lose.

To Edelgard, maybe. Is there a part of Dimitri that thinks he could have done better and avoid all of what happened, as much as Byleth thinks that he himself could have done the same and made it so that his father was still alive?

Byleth stands up, carefully. He moves his hand again, even slower than before, like he would do with a scared child or a wary cat. He can feel his fingers brush against Dimitri's hair so he dares more and manages to put his hand on Dimitri's. He feels him jumps, even if vaguely. He can feel the other's body stiffen more.

"You can still be forgiven." he murmurs because there are a lot of things he could tell him but Byleth doesn't want to lie— he could tell him that it wasn't his fault, but Byleth knows that when it comes to wars and fights nobody is innocent. He could tell Dimitri that he doesn't have to be sorry but, at least in the eyes of some of those people he wants to apologise to, he surely has to.

Words, Byleth learnt since he went to Garreg Mach for the first time, can have so much weight that they become more dangerous and lethal than weapons. They can't be used carelessly.

"I'm not angry." he adds and lightly pats the other's head. He's not sure this is the best choice, since Dimitri may look like one now, but he surely is not a child anymore. Yet, Byleth never really had to comfort someone like this before.

It takes a long time for Dimitri to say something, to breathe steadily again. When he speaks, Byleth wishes he kept staying quiet.

"They will haunt me for the rest of my life."

*

Since that night, something has changed. Byleth isn't sure what, but it happened. In the beginning, when days after that he found Dimitri walking around the area closest to where Byleth sleeps, he thought that it was by chance. He had caught sight of the prince going around when everybody went to sleep and, more than once, Byleth wondered if it were those voices again, telling him to wander like a ghost in the monastery. Sometimes he followed with his eyes only, while some other times he told him he was going in the same direction or only half of the way with him just to keep an eye on him. Once, Dimitri looked so out of it that Byleth thought he had become a sleep-walker.

Then, it happened before he could actually realize what it was. One day, when he was about to nod off at his desk after hours spent going through strategies on a map of Fòdlan, a quiet knock on the door woke him up. Byleth needed a couple of seconds to focus on the door and then moved, silently, reaching it. He opened it slightly, sure about the very few chances of this being an enemy but confused about the identity of the person on the other side. All the more surprised when he caught a glimpse of blond hair. So he opened the door more and noticed that Dimitri looked... tired. Without asking any question, Byleth moved a bit in order to give the other enough space to actually enter his room. Dimitri looked confused (conflicted) for a second before he forced his own body to move and take those steps he needed to get inside. Byleth closed the door slowly, as if he worried about Dimitri feeling trapped somehow.

Dimitri didn't sit immediately but took his time to look around the room. Byleth let him, not that he had something to hide anyway. His room had never had that much inside, nothing too personal at all if not for the awful number of books he began to borrow from the monastery library when he was a teacher. But other than that, a change of clothes and his sword, there was never something that really screamed about that room being his. Not the way the students' rooms did, anyway.

"You look tired." he told Dimitri at some point, since it wasn't going anywhere by just staying silent and waiting. It was like Dimitri didn't even hear him. So Byleth took his seat on the bed and waited. Waited. Waited. Until, when he was about to try again, Dimitri sat on the floor and slowly, quietly put his head against the bed, not too far from Byleth's leg.

What he was supposed to do, if not mimicking the only gesture that had worked before?

Byleth moved his hand and patted Dimitri's head. Like before, the man stiffened and then relaxed— something almost imperceptible, but it was there. A small sign of trust, maybe, or a vague surrender.

"Do you still hear them?" Byleth asked, because despite that being the most awful thing to ask to someone who just managed to let this go a little, it was stupid to hide it or to pretend he didn't know about it. Dimitri never gave him the impression of someone who wanted to ignore the voices (if anything, he was the first one to not do it) and Byleth was never good at pretending anyway.

He felt him tremble under his hand and, for a second, he regretted it.

"I always hear them." Dimitri admitted, such a quiet voice for a grown-up man of his size that Byleth thought it was still them in school, still them five years ago, before everything went wrong in a way he still can't completely understand. "This makes it bearable." he added, to Byleth's surprise.

This? A small pat on the head was all he needed to make the voices disappear enough to get some sleep?

"You can stay." Byleth told him, because it was the most natural thing to do "As long as you want."

Dimitri stayed. That night, and many others after that. It’s not a habit, but it’s not something that catches Byleth off guard either by now. They never agree to it during the day, nor there is a sign of something going on between them. As a silent agreement, they just behaved as usual— if there is a difference it is only that Dimitri now at least answers to those who talk to him. It would be wrong to say that he can easily have conversations about small things and, in fact, whatever leaves his mouth is still war-related or about a strategy. But it’s better than nothing.

The thoughts distract him to the point that he notices Shamir only when she’s basically next to him. Byleth feels her gaze upon him and looks up from his position, seated on a bench in the room they are using as an armoury now. She seems to study him for a bit, then sits next to him, her bow on her legs as she begins her daily maintenance. Byleth looks at the sword he stopped taking care of before she came. Surprisingly, though, it’s Shamir to break the silence.

“You are not as sharp as before.” she tells him, not even trying to sugarcoat her words. Not that Byleth expects her to— after all if there is something familiar about her is the fact that she is very mercenary-like, which makes her someone that makes it easy for Byleth to talk to. Or a company that feels natural as much as that of his former companions. 

“Five years ago you would have noticed me immediately.” she adds, her eyes still on the bow as if she doesn’t need to look at him to talk about this specific topic. As if it’s something impersonal. The silence falls on them, still quite comfortable despite her words. Byleth has nothing to say back, because it’s true that he was distracted, even if he doesn’t think this means anything like being less sharp than before. Also because before is an abstract concept for him.

“How do you comfort someone?” he asks instead. The question is so odd that even Shamir stops her hands to give him a look that seems to tell him are you seriously asking me this? Surely she’s not the most… warm person in the world, but she’s a mercenary and she knows the world they both used to belong to and this means that no one but Shamir can understand how difficult it is for someone who grew up in that world to get the meaning of a lot of things that most people are used to. Like comforting each other. 

Byleth notices her going back to the bow. It might be obvious that she doesn’t feel like she should try to give him advice but she’s trying nonetheless.

"I don't think I'm the best choice here," she points out "but I suppose it depends. Some just want to vent. Catherine needs a good fight to feel better." "I want them to rest, not to fight." Byleth says, because Dimitri fights enough as it is— with enemies, with himself, with the voices. He doesn't need to add more.

"Is it an adult or a child?" "Would that be different?" "It would. You were in a group of mercenaries. Almost all of them men, I suppose." Shamir keeps talking and keeps her hands busy with the task Byleth abandoned long ago at this point. He offers nothing but a small nod, to not interrupt her, and he's sure that it's enough and that Shamir caught it with the corner of her eye.

"Then you surely know how men comfort themselves. With a brothel close to them or without one."

Byleth looks at her, studies her even. He does remember listening to small talk in his group and some stories about women they had intercourse with or, sometimes, men. When brothels and villages were not close enough.

"That... is not the comfort I was talking about." he says because Dimitri barely allows himself to knock at the door of his room, how is he supposed to ask for that kind of comfort— and Byleth, on the other hand, knows nothing but the bare minimum about sexual things and for sure he doesn't want to try out just because of curiosity or because of Shamir misunderstanding. "I want to make things easier." he tries to explain, but it's hard when he doesn't want to expose Dimitri.

"In my experience, what makes most of the things easy is to think less and act faster. That's the basic rule on the battlefield and it saved me enough times to make me think it's a good life rule too." she tells him before standing up, bow in one hand and eyes on him.

"That's the only piece of advice I can give you. What you do with it, it's your choice."

Byleth follows her with his eyes until Shamir is nowhere to be seen anymore, past the entrance of the armoury. He's left with a lot of questions, only an answer he doesn't really get and preparations for the umpteenth battle.

*

It's not like Byleth doesn't think about it. Shamir's words keep coming up in his mind when he's alone in his room and all the other thoughts leave him alone. Battle after battle Dimitri seems more powerful and more tired, a soul moved only by its thirst for revenge. It doesn't look good but it serves the purpose— he's unstoppable on the battlefield, so much that he could easily go alone against a bunch of enemies and Byleth wouldn't need to spare a glance at him to make sure he's safe. During the day, he seems to regain some trust in his allies but he's still far from the forgiveness Byleth hopes he will allow to himself one day.

Sometimes Byleth notices that he's more tired than ever and he knows he's not the only one to pay attention to all the small details that betray the prince. Mercedes surely noticed Dimitri's conditions before anyone else, but she's discreet enough to not approach him in front of anyone. Instead, she waits for the right chance to insist on healing him, usually after a battle. Byleth is quite sure that she doesn't heal only the visible wounds but tries to give him some relief too. How much Faith magic can do in that case, Byleth is not sure even though he can use it a little.

During the nights, though, the situation is different. Dimitri's visits to his room didn't exactly increase in number, but they surprisingly kept going on. Every time Byleth thinks he somehow managed to at least comfort him with those vague, uncertain pats on the head, he convinces himself that Dimitri will not accept the idea of having shown such weakness to someone or to have allowed himself a moment of rest. Whenever Byleth tells himself that Dimitri won't come anymore, the prince chooses that night to show himself— dejected, conflicted, but still there.

Like a few minutes ago, when he opened the door to find Dimitri there and let him enter the room, closing the door behind him. By now, Byleth supposes that at least half of the former Blue Lions saw him coming here, even if in the middle of the night when almost everyone is supposed to be asleep, but (thank the Goddess) nobody approached the topic. Dimitri wouldn't be able to stand it, for sure.

Something Byleth noticed easily is that Dimitri never uses his bed: he never sits on it but does it on the floor, not to mention the sleep. There hasn't been a single time when Dimitri fell asleep there. His guard isn't up like it used to be, but being so vulnerable to sleep in front of someone? It doesn't look like something he's able to do anymore and that makes Byleth feel like he should help even without the slightest idea of how to do it.

Shamir's words were clear enough, but how to make this work it's another whole story.

"How are you feeling?" he carefully asks Dimitri, looking down at his hand going through the blond hair. Dimitri's chest rises and falls, his breath steady, the features of his face quite relaxed compared to the first time. It's been more than a month since then.

Despite his question, he doesn't open the eye that is not covered by the eyepatch. There is only a small sound that escapes his lips, and Byleth supposes that it's better than a lament or an angry and frustrated expression of nightmares and voices in his head.

"You could rest on the bed for a little while." he tries, but Dimitri vaguely shakes his head. He still keeps his eye closed, but offers a reply "I can't. I will go away before dawn."

It doesn't come as a surprise, because that's what he always does. Byleth stops his hand and the reaction is immediate: a light blue eye looks up at him, a confused expression appears on Dimitri's face. There is an unasked question in the silence between them, one that Byleth can easily guess and that he knows it won't be voiced out. Because Dimitri was barely able to accept the fact that he instinctively came to him, he wouldn't be able to do such a thing as to ask why he stopped like Byleth's attentions are due.

"I don't remember my mother." Byleth offers, knowing that it sounds completely unrelated. Yet he knows that Dimitri's attention is on him "It was my father that raised me." he keeps telling him and sees the slight nod from the other. Frankly speaking, he's not sure this is the right way to reach the main focus of this conversation he started, but he supposes that telling him out of nowhere that Shamir told him to basically comfort him through sex isn't very... appropriate either.

"Mercenaries don't know much of despair. At least," Byleth corrects himself "I think they didn't show much of it even when they felt it." and, after all, isn't he the same? The first time he cried, it was for his father, but before that? Nothing really moved him that much. Even if he could be considered a special case, probably. "So I'm not sure what to do to help you with the voices and the nightmares." he admits. Because this is what made him look for advice in the first place.

Dimitri's expression is a dumbfounded one, he's visibly in disarray.  Was what Byleth said so weird?

"You..." Dimitri begins as he brings his hand to cover his face, as if he just now realised something he should have taken into consideration long ago. "Are you really..." he tries again, yet stops in the middle of the sentence, making it hard for Byleth to understand what he wants to ask or to convey. "You are already doing. There is nothing more that I could ask you. You—" he says, pained voice as if every word hurts and makes him bleed. This is not what Byleth wanted to achieve.

"You should." Byleth cuts him off "You should ask for more, if that is something I can do. I might not be used to comforting someone, but I know for a fact that a good fight can take your mind off somewhere else. It works for me. Having something that makes it easier to not think at all." he tells him, because this is how he grew up and that is one of the few truths he can offer.

Dimitri does look conflicted and Byleth can even guess why: part of him must be so tired of everything that the mere thought of having a brief moment of peace must be appealing to say the least. On the other hand, he must probably feel… shame? Guilt? In any case is it something Byleth could erase or force out of his mind for a little bit? He doesn’t nor can’t really go there and approach Dimitri in a sexual way. The implications are too many, their relationship like a thin layer made of glass that could be easily destroyed at any step.

“…When we met close to the water” Dimitri says when Byleth is almost convinced he made the wrong call by telling him to be more daring in this situation “you looked comfortable with the idea of immersing your feet.” “I was. It’s just water.” “It is not.” Dimitri says, a shade of anger in his voice, something he’s trying to control because of who Byleth is and because of where they are.

“It’s like being underwater all the time.” Dimitri whispers, pained and afraid and weak. Vulnerable. “It’s dark and I can barely breathe. How you manage to bear with it enough to go near it willingly, it’s beyond comprehension for me. All the voices are already more than I can—” “Then don’t listen to them” Byleth stops him and he knows it’s easier said than done, that when something is in your head it’s almost impossible to completely ignore it. He puts his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and stops there, for now, making eye contact with him.

“You didn’t tell me this but when you are here, you don’t hear them as much as you do when you are alone, right?” or while he sleeps, from what Byleth managed to grasp from a conversation here and a tired admission there. Dimitri nods, bashfully. He clenches his fists, as if he’s holding back on something. “Dimitri…” “I can’t. What more can I ask, how much more will I sacrifice others for my well-being?”

This isn’t going as it was supposed to. Byleth never wanted to make him feel worse. He moves his hand a little, slowly, from Dimitri’s shoulder to his cheek. It’s nothing but brushing fingers against his skin but it makes Dimitri go stiff first and then relax a little bit immediately after. He reminds Byleth of a cat, in a way.

For a long time, there’s silence between them and Byleth doesn’t do anything more than that— caress his face and keep an eye on him to see every reaction and behave accordingly. That’s how he notices the small apologetic smile curving Dimitri’s lips the moment it appears.

“You are too good on me.” he whispers, as if apologizing for making Byleth do it. “You have spoilt me since the day you came here five years ago. You spoilt all of us while still making us learn how to fight and how to act on a battlefield we have known in the wrong way until then.”

“I only showed what I was used to.” Byleth corrects him, gaining a questioning look “Battle. How to survive against an enemy that wants your blood. Yet I never really… taught you anything else.” he admits and he feels guilty about it, because maybe someone who was more used to live than to kill would have done a better job. Maybe would have led Edelgard in a way that would have saved them from all the pain they are feeling. Maybe that someone could have taught Dimitri to learn how to ask for help, how to let it go, how to live with regret without letting it devour him.

“The only reality I was familiar with was that of a mercenary.” Byleth keeps talking as his hands cup Dimitri’s face. The fact that the other is not distancing himself could mean that this is still okay. “Even I recently had to learn from Shamir how we comfort each other sometimes.” “You didn’t know before?” “Not really. I heard some of my father’s companions talk about it when I was younger, but…” but there was no need for him to try, because he never really felt bad for what he did on a mission.

“Is it—” Dimitri begins to speak, so softly that Byleth wonders if it’s the reason why he closes the distance between them of a few inches. “Never mind.” “Focus.” Byleth says instead. Surprise arises on the prince’s face, making him look younger. Before he can say anything, Byleth speaks again while his thumb slowly caresses the other’s face “Leave them out: the voices and the nightmares and the questions.” he adds but tries to not sound like he is ordering him, like Dimitri has no choice. Byleth barely knows what he’s doing, only counting on instincts and a vague idea of what he is supposed to do in an intimate situation. “Focus on me.”

When his lips touch Dimitri’s, they are chapped from the cold.

*

At first it’s more like them exchanging clumsy gestures that are supposed to show affection than anything vaguely romantic or intimate enough. The atmosphere feels very different from how it should be between lovers and Byleth can feel that they are both uncomfortable in a sense. The kisses are hesitant, way too quick and nothing more than a brush of lips against lips. Dimitri has shut his eye, clenched his fists more, like they are going to brawl— it doesn’t help that they keep their positions, Byleth on the bed and Dimitri on the floor, even if the prince is so tall by now that the difference is not too terrible to deal with.

It got better when Dimitri managed to relax enough to not make Byleth feel like he was doing something wrong. He tried his best to do only pleasant things despite not being an expert at this. There’s been really nothing but slow caresses and tentative kisses that remained chaste until now. Byleth would call him to catch his attention and ask him to join him on the bed at least, yet feels like Dimitri just succeeded at ignoring all the things that were taking a toll on him and doesn’t want to take the risk of everything getting worse again. So he touches him, lightly, his hand going from his cheek to his shoulder and along his arm, until Byleth reaches his hand. He holds it, as gently as he can, and pulls a little bit. He feels Dimitri’s holding his breath for a split second and then releasing it the moment he realizes that this is not because of something he did but an invitation.

Unexpectedly, he surrenders and moves. He doesn’t exactly sit as if he doesn’t want to take up all the space, but it’s better than before. Byleth closes the distance once again, one hand still holding Dimitri’s and the other one on his cheek, one of his fingers giving small touches to his earlobe. He notices the tiny gasp of hair because it’s against his mouth, just before he kisses him again. They are still completely dressed and Byleth doesn’t intend to do something about it— it’s not about naked bodies or sex at all. He is not even sure if Dimitri feels that urge and Byleth himself does not, for now (but again, he never really thought about sexual stuff so this might only be him). He just wants him to feel good in the biggest sense of the word.

Dimitri moves enough to not kiss him but not so much that it would be impossible to have that contact again. Byleth’s eyes are immediately on him and, to his surprise, Dimitri has opened his own. There is a not so vague embarrassment on his face.

“You…” he begins but looks as if he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he wants to ask if Byleth did this with others before, if he’s used to it?

“Never did it before.” he tells him, just in case that’s the question “Does it bother you?” “Not bothering but...” he sounds hesitant “this kind of affection should be addressed to another person and in a proper way.”

For a moment, Byleth as an adolescent Dimitri in front of him, one who was able to talk about the proper etiquette of courting without feeling embarrassed in front of people like Sylvain who insisted on playing around with as many women as possible (true experience or just pretense didn’t matter). On the other hand, he was able to stay true to his values no matter what others had to say or what they thought of him. It’s a glimpse, barely visible, a dim light that still manages to not be completely engulfed by the darkness.

Byleth doesn’t know what he should reply. Is it Dimitri’s way to tell him that more than this is not exactly acceptable?

“If you have a person you want to—” “No, it’s just” he cuts him off abruptly “this” Byleth feels Dimitri’s hand touch his face for the first time since he began to come to his room at night to run away from what was hunting him “makes it easier.” the prince admits with a soft voice. The feeling of guilt, as if taking advantage of Byleth, is so easy to spot in his words that Byleth wonders if he did something in a wrong way to give that impression. The touch on his face, though, is incredibly caring. Byleth moves his head in order to leave a small kiss on that hand. “That is what I want.”

To make it easier, to be there, to be of help. For the years he wasn’t able to.

“Is it okay?” he murmurs, inches from Dimitri’s lips once again. Instead of answering, Dimitri kisses him. And Byleth somehow knows (feels) that it is okay to be a bit more daring, to silently ask for permission to kiss him more, to kiss him deeper. Passionate is not the right word to describe it, because it’s not the passion and the fire of lovers and desire, it’s more like the need and the closeness. Dimitri parts his lips and Byleth tentatively slips his tongue in his mouth. It’s clumsier than before, if possible, and a bit sloppy too. Dimitri’s hand on his cheek stays there, still, but the other shyly hugs him around his waist.

The feeling of warmth is more pleasant than anything Byleth has ever felt before and it makes him lose focus on anything but Dimitri. He hopes it’s the same for him.

*

Dawn comes in the form of timid rays of light through the small curtain of the only window in the room. Byleth thinks he slept three hours at best, so lazily and slowly opens his eyes. Next to him, Dimitri lays on the bed, clothes on and an arm around Byleth's waist. For the first time since they meet again like a cursed man and his personal ghost, he’s sleeping peacefully enough to not move too much and not look like something is killing him in his dreams (nightmares) over and over again.

Byleth moves, trying not to wake him up, until he can just brush Dimitri’s blond hair from his face to look at him better. His breath is steady, his body relaxed. The warmth of another person, something Byleth rarely shared with anyone else but his father, feels pleasant.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for Dimitri to wake up but he doesn’t immediately distance himself from him. Maybe he will do it in a bit, still not ready to admit he desperately asked for help. Or maybe he won’t.

“Are you okay?” Byleth asks, low voice as if sharing a secret. Only when he thinks Dimitri just fell asleep again, the voice of the next king of Faerghus breaks the comfortable silence.

“I can breathe.”

That is enough, for now.

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Prompt: Cafuné (m2)
Nickname utente ldf/lettera iniziale: sakurai
Parole: 1221
Warnings: pre time skip. Not sure there really is a day when parents go at the monastery but this is all very self indulgent, so yeah. Let’s pretend.

Sun is setting already and Linhardt loves this moment of the day, when there are no more classes to attend - with no expectations of him staying awake the whole time - and he has the free time he needs to do one of the two favourite activities he treasures so much: sleep or study out of his curiosity and not because he has to. He has to admit he is not at all interested in how to fight and kill and all those stuff, but magic and healing and how to win without much effort… that’s a whole different story. Not to mention the interesting crest the professor seems to possess.

«Linhardt!»

A loud voice echoes in the corridor, way before its owner reaches the door of Linhardt’s room. The heir of the von Hevring could recognise that voice everywhere, not only because he’s fond of it, which is something he avoids telling to the boy who is about to disrupt his peace, but mainly because it’s the voice he knows better. The perks of having a very loud childhood friend who talks non-stop, he supposes.

A few seconds more and Caspar opens the door, a big smile on his face as he slams it behind him, walks towards Linhardt’s bed - where he is and not without a lot of obstacles called: books on the floor - and lets himself fall on said bed. He doesn’t even ask for permission nor he checks if there is enough room on it for him; there isn’t, but Caspar doesn’t mind. Linhardt doesn’t either, but moves the book he was reading away just in case.

«You are surprisingly… woundless.» he notices, a flat tone while looking at the other. Caspar is practically unable to stay still when he arrives like this, full of adrenaline and stuff to tell Linhardt; it’s not surprising how he manages to undo the bed while turning and adjusting in order to look at Linhardt, weight on his elbows and light blue eyes on him.

«Why do you want to see me with wounds?!»
«I don’t, in fact. It’s a lot of work and I’m tired.»
«You always are.» Caspar says while chuckling «You should exercise more.»
«You can exercise for me, thank you very  much.» Linhardt replies, his eyes on his book once again, a small note of sarcasm in his voice. He ignores Caspar when he starts telling him (for the umpteenth time) that he should strengthen himself because that’s a conversation they have had too many times already - and seriously, it’s useless at this point, as much as asking Caspar to stop involving himself with fights.

When Caspar goes silent, that’s when Linhardt looks at him: he sees the other now with his head on the pillow, closed eyes, as if suddenly asleep. There is no way Caspar, who moves continuously when it comes to sleep together, is unconscious already. So Linhardt waits and it doesn’t take long before Caspar speaks again.

«Do you think our parents will have the time to come at Garreg Mach this year?» he asks without looking at him. Linhardt knows what he’s referring to: every year the monastery hosts the parents for a day, which is both the occasion for the families to reunite with their children and the chance for them to know how many progresses they are making. And for public relations as well, of course.

Linhardt is not sure about what to reply: frankly speaking, he doesn’t really feel the urge to see his parents. After all it’s not like he has this relationship made of small talk and shared secrets with them; it’s already complicated enough to be an only child who should bring them honour by fighting (and be a healer who prefers to study and observe) and give them an heir (which is impossible considering how he does not like girls) as it is. He doesn’t need a day to show them everything he is not. Yet, he can understand how this means so much more to Caspar.

«Maybe? I haven’t heard anything from mine in the last letter they sent.» Linhardt chooses a neutral answer out of concern or something along that line. Caspar grumbles against the pillow but doesn’t say anything, just hides his face - or tries to suffocate himself, Linhardt hopes this is not the case.

Should he comfort him? Their friendship has never really been the one where people comfort each other and share small secrets and talk all night long. Not that Caspar is able to keep things to himself, in Linhardt’s opinion, but…

He moves his hand, slowly, until he touches Caspar’s neck. The other doesn’t seem to mind at all, considering how he stays still, something unbelievable per se. Linhardt looks at him, almost expecting a reaction from him, but then he brushes with his fingers against the skin, goes up until he meets the hairline which, in Caspar’s case, it’s basically the beginning of his shave. It’s a funny feeling, both the sensation under his index and middle finger and the way Caspar shivers imperceptibly.

This must be one of the most intimate gestures Linhardt has allowed to himself since figuring out how he likes guys and how much he likes them when it comes to Caspar. He still hasn’t told him and doesn’t know if he will ever do it, yet the thought of distancing himself has never crossed his mind - it would be impossible, with Caspar being the kind of best friend who would ask again and again for the reason and Linhardt not having the patience to deal with it.

So he keeps going on with that gesture of pure affection, his fingers climbing up from the shaved part to where Caspar’s hair grows a bit longer, that tiny bit enough for Linhardt’s fingers to go through it. Caspar’s shoulders relax gradually, he can see it clearly and it also encourages him. It’s strange how much silence fills the room now, despite Caspar being there, at least until a small, satisfied sigh escapes his lips. Linhardt stops his caress - because, let’s be real, at some point this is what the gesture became - and Caspar opens his eyes in response, frowns a little bit.

«Why did you stop?»

It’s such a stupid question that not even Linhardt has an answer; so he shakes his head (seriously, Caspar? Do you have to hear a direct answer to know that normally guys don’t do this to each other? he would like to ask him but does not) and moves his hand again, slowly and tenderly through Caspar’s hair.

«Stop acting so spoiled.» it could sound like he’s scolding him but, really, none of them takes it seriously. Caspar laughs like a kid and goes back to hug the pillow and half hide his face against it.

Linhardt can’t say this is completely okay - would it be, if both of them knew what the gesture really means? - but there will be time to think, to decide, to confess (eventually).

For now, the perks of being a quiet and sometimes enigmatic childhood friend are stroking the one you adore the most as if it’s the most natural thing to do.

If you have a very dense friend, that helps too.