#dimitri x byleth

How do I feel about Sylvix and Dimileth?

“ Dimitri, I know you are not an animal…”

“ I’ve become nothing more than the rats I feed on !”

They were not as the world saw them, but rather two adoring spouses, desperately in love. They remained as such for the rest of their days

Dimitri suffered greatly and Byleth was constantly waiting by him, uncertain if the day he will ever look at her or his allies come. But it did at the price of a great sacrifice, yet not in vain. He swore it, them, not in vain and he did as he said.

Though the darkness claw and whisper in his ears, he moved forward guided by the warm loving hands of his beloved, professor.

Comic on thoughts about what dimitri told byleth about being the same during the battle on the bridge and towards the events of the battle of gronder field.

Fire Emblem Three Houses | Dimitri/f!Byleth | AO3
Summary: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd goes grocery shopping at 3:30AM and meets an enigmatic girl in the dairy aisle. It goes from there. (Or, something-of-a-college-cryptid Byleth comes and goes as she pleases and befriends the Blaiddyd heir. Or he befriends her. In any case, it’s an interesting semester.)
Notes:Stress relief fic of no real discernible plot; best described with “head empty, just typing”. I’m serious, please do not think too hard while reading, I got nothing LOL. On the other hand, I had a lot of fun. Approximately (and absurdly) 10k words; more notes on AO3.

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“Hey, Dimitri. One of those nights, huh?”

“Yes. Want a Mad Bull?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

It’s 3:30AM, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is grocery shopping. The cashier on graveyard shift is well-acquainted with him now, at least on a surface level, as one becomes when you’re (usually) the only two people in the store at an ungodly hour. Dimitri buys him energy drinks sometimes. The cashier slips him extra coupons if he’s got them.

A combination of insomnia and nightmares keeps Dimitri up a lot, and while he can mostly regulate the insomnia, some nights are just particularly bad. Alternatively, if he is asleep but wakes up at any point, it’s too difficult for him to fall asleep again, so he may as well get up.  

It’s not the worst, since he’s used to it by now, and at university. There are things enough that he can do during these witching hours, grocery shopping at the 24-hour supermarket being one of them.

On the rare occasion there are other people in and out of the place, but Dimitri only sees them from a distance as they go about their own shopping. At this time, everyone’s minding their own business for one reason or another.

That’s why it’s a surprise when he turns into the dairy aisle to see a young woman standing in front of the cheeses. She’s wearing a soft gray hoodie with pink striping on the cuffs and hem, her hands in her pockets and the hood covering her hair, dark jeans, and knee-high boots. Despite the more casual style, it strikes Dimitri as somehow a little dressy, though Sylvain would snort and say he’d be one to talk. (Dimitri can’t help it. It’s how he was raised; he feels most comfortable in button-downs and crisp jackets. His most casual is a neat sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, like now. And anyway, Sylvain seemed to have fun enough choosing things to add to Dimitri’s wardrobe. At this point, all of Dimitri’s friends borrowed his clothes if they fit—even Felix, who always did so without asking, and sometimes Dimitri never even knew.)

The girl doesn’t even turn despite the sound of Dimitri’s cart, and he thinks that he’ll wait politely for her to finish her selection before making his, pretending to look at the nearest shelf. But she stands there for a few minutes too long without moving, and so after some deliberation and hesitation, Dimitri decides to approach. It’s his last aisle, and he more or less knows what he wants, so he’ll be quick and out of here.

She doesn’t move even as he comes to stand next to her, and he murmurs “excuse me” as he looms a little over her to reach for a block of Gautier cheese. An unfortunate yet unavoidable action based on positioning, because she is spectacularly dead center of the things he wants, and she still doesn’t move despite the proximity.

Dimitri glances at her, wondering if she’s okay. Her expression is totally blank; she’s either zoning out or focusing extremely hard.

Well. It’s pretty late—or early—after all.

He reaches for a second block and puts the two into his cart, stepping away from the girl to turn his attention to the yogurts that he gets for Sylvain on the next section over. He takes two of the mixed berry ones first before debating over the others.

“Plain or spicy?”

It takes him a minute to register the voice and the words, soft and pleasantly mid-tone.

Dimitri turns to find the girl looking at him, and he thinks oh, she’s really pretty, now that he’s seen her in full view, before actually connecting the dots that she’s the one who had spoken.

“Um, spicy?” he offers, and the girl seems to think for a moment before she nods decisively.

He watches as she reaches for two blocks of artisan cheese, flecks of herbs and spices visible through the packaging—not one he’s tried before, or honestly remembered seeing here—and turns to plop them squarely in his hands, balancing them perfectly on top of the yogurt containers.

She then walks away, putting her hands back in her pockets.

“Uh?” Dimitri says belatedly, looking between the girl’s retreating figure and the cheese.

Am I supposed to buy these for her? He wonders, as he puts everything in his hands in his cart. He grabs a six-pack variety of yogurt before rushing after her, but she’s gone by the time he makes it to the registers.

“All set?” the cashier yawns, and Dimitri blinks at him.

“Wasn’t there a girl just now? In a gray hoodie?” Dimitri asks, laying down his purchases.

“Hm? Oh yeah, she walked out without buying anything,” the cashier says, starting to scan the items, “People just come in here to kill time sometimes.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says, looking towards the doors.

He completes his transaction, leaving the Mad Bull for the cashier, who waves his hand gratefully, and makes his way back to his car. The girl is still nowhere in sight; Dimitri realizes he wishes that she were.

He loads his groceries into his trunk and drives back to the dorms.

By the time he finishes finding space in the fridge for everything, it’s a little past 4AM. In about an hour and a half, Ingrid will be up for her morning run, and she always welcomes company. Dimitri shoots her a text for when she wakes up; he’ll pick up coffee and pastries for them too.

For now, he might as well work on his upcoming paper a little more.

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“So, what’s with the special cheese in the fridge?” Sylvain asks later that day, when their childhood quartet all meet up for lunch.

“Oh,” Dimitri says, remembering. “That. Um…there was a girl in the supermarket who just kind of…had me buy them?”

Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid blink at him.

“What do you mean, ‘had you buy them’?” Felix says.

Dimitri recounts the whole experience.

“And you bought them,” Felix says, with his brows furrowed, his eyes and tone clearly conveying what the hell, that was so stupid.

Dimitri just shrugs.

“We should eat it later,” Ingrid says, biting into her burger, and Sylvain laughs.

“Yeah, leave it to Ingrid,” he says. “But we should. To commemorate Dimitri’s weird 3AM experience.”

Sylvain makes a big deal of it when they do eat the cheese later, when their classes have ended for the day and they’re back in their suite. He puts the crackers on a plate and tries to cut the cheese into fancy shapes, which only Dimitri actually appreciates.

“Oooh, spicy,” Ingrid says, as she pops a cube into her mouth. “Hey, this is really good!”

Felix says nothing, but reaches for more. Sylvain laments about the lack of appreciation for his artistic attempts, but also agrees that the cheese is great when he finally eats a piece himself.

Dimitri, as always, cannot really taste the flavor, but he likes both the scent and the texture, at least.

“So Dimitri finally meets a girl, we get a brand new cheese, what else is next?” Sylvain says, leaning back on the sofa.

“It wasn’t like that,” Dimitri protests, then pauses. “But she was very pretty,” he admits quietly, and Sylvain grins. “Like a goddess,” he adds, even quieter.

Sylvain smacks his own face in secondhand embarrassment.

“There, you see? It’s Dimitri’s romantic awakening.”

“Hardly matters unless he gets to see her again,” Felix says lazily, and Sylvain is the one that makes a wounded noise.

Dimitri, on the other hand, merely looks thoughtful. He hadn’t actively thought about wanting to see her again until Felix brought it up. But he thinks he might like to, if the chance presented itself.

“It’s the awakening,” Sylvain whisper-hisses, and no one seems to care.

“Stranger things have happened,” Ingrid says, in response to Felix’s statement and not Sylvain’s, “In any case, you should get this again.”

She tries to eat the rest. Felix fights her for it.

(When Dimitri goes shopping again two weeks later, he can’t find the cheese anywhere. Ingrid looks let down, Sylvain looks surprised, and Felix looks offended.

“What the fuck? Go find your 3AM cheese goddess again and ask her,” Felix says, and Sylvain laughs a little too hard.)

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Dimitri’s not sure why he allows himself to be dragged to parties, but he keeps letting it happen. Ingrid had brought them news that Dorothea was throwing her beginning-of-semester bash, which was always a Big Deal, and several of their mutual friends were going. Ingrid couldn’t not attend, because she was good friends with Dorothea. Sylvain was absolutely going, because he would never miss a party. Felix had not wanted to go, but Sylvain had somehow convinced him, and if Felix was going to suffer, then Dimitri better damn well suffer too, and so he relented from the combined pressure of Felix’s glare and Sylvain’s coaxing.

He supposed he could use the change of pace every now and then. And he could always slip away; people were usually too drunk to notice after a couple hours.

Sylvain borrows a shirt from Dimitri’s closet and wears it with three buttons undone. Felix steals a black jacket from Dimitri’s closet and wears it halfway down his arms. Ingrid does not take anything from his closet this time, but does borrow one of his hair ties.

Everyone tells Dimitri to change when he comes out of his room; Sylvain, as usual, takes control to make Dimitri more “party ready”, which consists of a long blue coat and off-white shirt—with several buttons undone, of course. (Dimitri buttons at least two up again later.)

The party is loud and raucous as it’s meant to be, but he’s amongst mostly friends, and so he’s actually not that anxious. There’s a few people he doesn’t know, but he is otherwise at least mostly familiar with everyone else. Annette bounces up and down when she sees them walk in, tapping Mercedes on the shoulder, who was conversing with Ashe. Dedue appears a moment later, and Dimitri’s main friend group is all here.

“Yay! I’m glad you made it too, Dimitri,” Annette says cheerfully. “Gosh—frowning already, Felix? Here, have a drink.”

Annette proffers her own cup.

“You already drank out of this,” Felix scowls, but he takes it anyway, and grimaces when he takes a sip. “What is this, fruit juice?”

“Felix is too good for Noa liquer,” Annette declares, turning her nose up, “Fine, go get yourself a beer or whatever!”

Felix teases her by holding her cup too high to reach, and she screeches at him until he finally puts it back in her hands. Mercedes chuckles as she watches them, and Sylvain takes the opportunity to compliment her dress with a roguish wink. She returns the compliment easily enough, with genuine warmth, which always throws Sylvain off.

“Dedue! I was surprised to hear you were coming,” Dimitri smiles, and Dedue smiles back.

“Dorothea asked if Ashe and I could make a few things,” he said. “Since I am here, I may as well make sure nobody gets in too much trouble.”

Dimitri chuckles.

“Oooh, Dedue, Ashe, you made food?” Ingrid chimes in, looking excited. While some things had obviously been bought, Dorothea was pretty picky about the specifics of her parties when she threw one. “I’m excited!”

“We did a really good job, if I say so myself,” Ashe smiles. “The meat skewers came out really well, so you and Felix should grab some while you get a chance.”

“Oh, you bet I will,” Ingrid says, already wandering away. “Hear that Felix? I’m not saving you any!”

Felix yells back, and in a second they all start wading deeper into the place, and everyone starts to branch off on their own. Dedue still mostly sticks with Dimitri, though, and the two of them stick to the peripheries.

Dorothea’s parties really span the entire apartment building; her neighbors across the way and downstairs are either friends or people she’s friendly with, so the doors to their apartments are also open for more space. If Dimitri thinks about it, it’s really nice, the way everything comes together.

As the night wears on and he’s consumed a couple drinks that Mercedes had kindly procured for him (with a reminder to drink slow), he begins feeling—looser, braver, almost a little giddy. Dedue is in conversation with Ashe, and Dimitri slips away to the kitchen for a moment, because there had been an extra dish of saghert and cream that he now wants in a very visceral way.

The kitchen is surprisingly empty—except for one person, who has climbed up on the counter, and is perched on her knees as she rifles through the topmost cabinet. The slit up the side of her skirt shows a generous bit of leg with the way she’s positioned, and Dimitri stares before he tells himself not to. The girl takes out two bags of—some kind of snack, and when she turns her head, Dimitri sees that she is holding another bag with her teeth, and also that he recognizes her.

“From the dairy aisle,” he blurts, and she blinks at him before trying to climb off the counter.

She teeters a little and Dimitri automatically moves to help her, in which he actually just lifts her off the counter by the armpits like a wayward cat.

“Oh—sorry,” he says, realizing that the action was way too familiar for someone who barely qualified as an acquaintance.

But she doesn’t look at all offended, and merely sets all three bags of chips down before she speaks.

“Thanks,” she says, then stares at him. “From the dairy aisle,” she states, in a manner that is confirming that yes, that is where they met.

A pause. She is so, so pretty, Dimitri thinks. There is sparkly gold eyeshadow brightening her already-bright green eyes, making her stare more intense. The more they’re at a standstill, the more nervous he becomes.

“I couldn’t find the cheese again,” he blurts.

She nods.

“It’s only stocked the fourth Tuesday of the month,” she says, ripping open a bag of chips, and taking a few to cram in her mouth before offering them to Dimitri.

“Oh,” he says, taking a chip. “It was very good. My friends liked it a lot too.”

She stares for a moment again, then offers him a tiny smile, a brief upturn of her lips. She had expected him to, he realizes, and she’s at least minutely pleased to have that expectation fulfilled. A short laugh escapes him at how odd this all is.

“You didn’t buy anything that night,” he says, though it comes out as a question.

She shrugs.

“I was just there,” she says, offering the chip bag again.

“Just there,” he repeats, taking more chips. At 3:30AM. “To…hang out?”

She gives a brief shake of her head.

“To stare at a specifically stocked cheese, only to give them to a stranger to buy?” Dimitri tries again.

She blinks at him, popping more chips in her mouth.

“Not a stranger,” she says, after she finishes chewing.

“Pardon? Forgive me, I don’t…recall us meeting before that night?” he says. He would have remembered someone like her, he’d think.

“You’re Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” she says, and he blinks at her use of his full name. Her eyes crease in amusement at his expression. “Not a stranger to me.”

Ah.

“But you are a stranger to me,” he says, and she shrugs again, as if saying it’s not like it’s something he could help.

“Byleth,” she offers, putting the open bag of chips in his hands, and opening up another one. (He looks at the labeling on the front. Beast meat and onion flavor. Huh.) “Want to go on an adventure, Dimitri?”

He looks back at her, mouth slightly open. She continues to stare at him, munching away from the other bag of chips, waiting for his response.

“Okay,” he says.

She nods, then rinses her fingers at the sink before motioning for him to follow with her head. She takes the two bags of chips with her as she walks out of the kitchen.

She navigates the crowd until she finds a group of three, all dressed looking as if they could kill, dumping the chip bags into the hands of a redhead.

“Hm? Chatterbox, where did you find these?” the girl says, reading the unusual flavors.

“Kitchen cabinet,” Byleth says, and the girl shoots her a half-exasperated look, but questions no further.

She hands one of them to the girl with blonde curls beside her, and Dimitri proffers the third bag as well, which the redhead also takes with a curious glance at him. Byleth makes to leave, but the boy with lavender hair and sparkly eyeshadow—the same that glints on Byleth’s eyelids, he realizes—stops her.

“Whoa, hold on there, friend! Not so much an introduction?”

“You know him already,” Byleth says, and the boy frowns at her.

“Yuri Leclerc,” he says, turning to Dimitri.

“Name’s Hapi,” the redhead pipes up, still looking at the chips.

“AndI am Constance von Nuvelle,” the blonde says, tilting up her chin with a haughty smile.

“Dimitri,” he says, a little shyly, since they already know him. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure,” Yuri says, with a nod of his head, before glancing back at Byleth. “Are you leaving already? And kidnapping the Blaiddyd Heir?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

A pause.

“Well, carry on then,” Yuri says with a shrug. “Want a drink before you go?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

They wait as Yuri makes his way to the counter full of bottles a little ways away, watching as he makes a cocktail in a shaker with professional ease. He strains the drink into three cups, carrying all of them back, and Byleth and Dimitri take one each.

“You get what I’m drinking,” Yuri says, eyes wicked, and does not offer up what it is. Dimitri sips, and by the way it burns, he can tell it’s strong. Yuri looks faintly impressed with Dimitri’s lack of reaction beyond a few rapid blinks. “I’ll tell the Heir’s friends where he went, if I see them asking.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, realizing that he doesn’t know where any of them are at the moment.

Byleth merely nods, and motions for Dimitri to follow again.

The night air is refreshing, and Dimitri feels pleasantly floaty as he trails after his new friend. They round the Black Eagle complex and head into the dark woods behind; he doesn’t know where they’re going and feels like he shouldn’t ask; he has an idle thought that he should text one of his friends to let them know, but Byleth looks back at him to make sure he’s following and he can only think about how pretty she is. He smiles at her, and she tilts her head before reaching for his hand.

“Hand,” Dimitri says, looking down at them.

“Hand,” Byleth agrees. “The ground is uneven here.”

He looks a little longer and then swings them a little. Byleth looks amused.

He enjoys the silent companionship between them for a little while but quickly becomes curious, so he begins asking her questions. What year was she? A senior. Where did she live on campus? In Abyss, at the Ashen Wolf dorm. Her major? More or less the teaching program, with a focus on weapons and tactics. Technically it was something of a double major, paired with history and international studies. It was complicated. Her weapon concentrations? This year, faith and reason magic. She’d already passed for swords, brawling, and bows.

He stares at her open-mouthed as she answers his questions with easy patience.

“That’s…quite the curriculum,” he says slowly, “When do you sleep?”

She glances at him.

“I manage,” she says, “I could say the same for you.”

He pauses, looking up at the sky as he collects his thoughts, sipping at his drink absentmindedly. She must already know what his curriculum more or less was—the three heirs apparent of Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester attending the same school the same year had been quite the news, and though their ideas of management differed, they did also overlap in areas. A handful of their core classes were inevitably the same before they branched off into their own areas of interest. But in any case, all of them were double-majoring with incredibly heavy courseloads to help prepare for their futures.

“It’s just insomnia,” Dimitri says instead.

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “So, 3AM grocery shopping.”

“So 3AM grocery shopping,” he agrees.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been walking, but even if it’s been a long time, he finds this all terribly pleasant. A distant part of him is aware that he would not be this at ease had it not been for the drinks he’s had tonight. Alcohol is wonderful.

Byleth pushes through some branches, and they walk into a clearing, and Dimitri looks up at an enormous tree, his mouth open.

“Ta-da,” Byleth says, though her inflection doesn’t change, “Biggest tree on campus. Good place to sleep under.”

“Now?” Dimitri says, with some alarm.

“You could camp if you wanted to. But in the daytime,” Byleth tells him, drinking from her cup. “Try it sometime.”

He blinks at her, unsure if this is just a general suggestion or specifically geared advice.

“Not sure I could find it again,” he says, because he doesn’t recall the path they took at all, too distracted by other things. Also, despite the moon, it had been quite the dark trek.

“I’ll bring you,” she says simply.

They go closer to the tree, and Byleth reaches up to one of the lowest branches and snaps off two thin stalks of leaves, inspecting them before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go back.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says, a little dumbfounded, “Okay.”

They make their way back. Along the way, Dimitri finishes his drink, Byleth stumbles over a tree root (her shoes are heeled, he realizes just now, how did she trek all the way in those?), and Dimitri somewhat insistently offers her a piggy back ride. She accepts, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck with both of their empty cups stacked in one hand, and Dimitri feels just a little giddy. He wants to run. (He tells himself not to.)

“You know,” she says after a while, resting her chin on his shoulder, “You shouldn’t follow strangers into dark and unknown places.”

“Not a stranger,” Dimitri says, feeling exceedingly proud of himself for the response.

He feels rather than sees her smile, and is disappointed he can’t see it. When they make it to Dorothea’s, Sylvain and Felix are outside, and the former hollers when he sees him.

“You stupid boar, why the hell didn’t you pick up your phone?!” Felix hisses when they near, and Dimitri’s eyes widen.

Byleth hops off of his back (and Sylvain stares), and Dimitri pulls his phone out of his pocket to see six notifications of missed calls and texts.

“It was on silent,” Dimitri says apologetically, and Felix huffs. “Sorry.”

“Aw, no harm no foul,” Sylvain says, “Dimitri was just occupied, huh?”

“I kidnapped him,” Byleth says, throwing the two empty cups into a nearby trash can.

“We had an adventure,” Dimitri says, enthusiastically.

“Did you now,” Sylvain says, looking at Byleth, who merely stares back and adjusts her posture like a challenge. It only serves to make Sylvain more intrigued.

“This is Byleth,” Dimitri says, “From the dairy aisle!”

“Oh, the 3AM cheese goddess?” Sylvain says with a laugh, and Felix flushes at the stupid moniker as Byleth blinks in surprise.

“Yes,” Dimitri nods, “She says it’s only stocked…uh…”

“The fourth Tuesday of the month,” she supplies.

“What the fuck?” Felix says incredulously.

She shrugs. A chime goes off, and this time Byleth reaches into her bra to pull out her phone. All three boys stare at her.

“Gotta go,” she says, tapping out a quick reply. “Balthus is fighting someone.”

“Ah,” Dimitri says, wilting, his eyes and countenance like a sad puppy.  

“You’ll see me around,” Byleth tells him with a faint smile, and disappears back into the apartment.

“He’s smitten,” Sylvain whispers to Felix, watching Dimitri stare after her.  

“Disgusting,” Felix says back, scowling. “He’s also drunk. Did she say there was a fight?”

They head back in to find the rest of their friends to assure them that Dimitri is alive. There is indeed a fight, but a result of two very brawny guys—one presumably Balthus, the other Raphael—testing their abilities against each other. Dorothea is yelling, trying to get them to take it outside before they break things in her apartment and someone else gets hurt, to no avail.

Dimitri catches Yuri’s eye from across the crowd, who grins and waves in a cheeky sort of manner, pointing back to the ring. Byleth then appears, sliding her way in between them with impeccable timing and launching her own surprise attack. She punches the one with wild dark hair in the gut, then grabs him by the wrist and throws him to the floor. The apartment erupts in cheers.

“Aw, what the hell, Byleth!” Balthus yells, sitting up.

“Didn’t you hear the lady?” she says to both him and Raphael, who is also cheering, “Outside.”

“You deserved that, B,” Hapi chimes in, “You started it.”

“Alright, alright,” Balthus groans. “Round two outside, then!”

Sylvain elbows Felix, and they both look at Dimitri.

“Smitten,” Sylvain says.

“Disgusting,” Felix says, with feeling.

(Alcohol is terrible, Dimitri decides the next morning, when he wakes up with a massive hangover. He ventures out of his room and all three of his childhood friends—who are somehow already up, how was that possible?—stare at him in one coordinated movement to incredibly eerie effect. They also look how he feels.

“We’ve got the hangover cures,” Ingrid says, placing a plate of greasy breakfast food down as Sylvain holds up the full coffeepot and Felix rattles their mega-size bottle of aspirin. “So spill about what the hell happened last night.”

Dimitri demurs momentarily to brush his teeth and wash his face. After, he sits down at their common table, accepts a cup of coffee, and dutifully spills.)

.

It’s two weeks before he sees Byleth again, having not being able to catch a glimpse of her anywhere. Garreg Mach was a big university, and he hadn’t recognized her from campus previously, but…now that he was looking, he’d kind of expected to at least see her on occasion from a distance.

It’s another late-night chore night, and it’s about 1AM when he hauls his basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room. He expects the potential of others doing their laundry since the hour isn’t that late, but when he pushes through the doors he does not expect to see Byleth sitting on top of one of the washing machines, legs drawn up, a hardcover book perched on her lap.

She holds up a hand in greeting, as if she had been waiting for him to walk through the door.

“Hello,” Dimitri returns, blinking a few times, disoriented.

One, her legs are distracting him, because they are so bareand it doesn’t look like she’s wearing pants. Two, while she isn’t disallowed here to do laundry, this is the Blue Lion dorm. She lives in the Ashen Wolf dorm, which is oddly isolated from every other housing, so there is absolutely no reason for her to be doing laundry here, at a location of total inconvenience, at 1AM.  

“What are you doing here?” he ventures, walking over and setting down his basket in front of the empty one next to her.

Byleth lets her legs down so they dangle over the side of the washing machine, just over her sandals. She iswearing pants, he sees—or shorts, rather. They’re just…very short, and her oversized sweatshirt nearly covers them. She looks comfy, at least.

“Reading,” Byleth responds, holding up the book, A Treatise on Srengian Weaponcraft.

“You’re studying—here?” Dimitri asks incredulously.

Byleth shrugs.

“Good of a place as any,” she says.

“I…guess it could be,” Dimitri relents.

It’s not busy at this time, and the machines are top-notch, so the noise they produce could be acceptable enough ambience. He stares at her a minute before he moves on to load his clothes into the machine, carefully measuring out the detergent and pressing his desired settings. Byleth watches him, and when the immediate task is completed, Dimitri nervously faces her.

“I um…I’m sorry for my behavior at the party,” he says, trying not to wring his hands as he thinks about the piggyback ride. “My actions were—overfamiliar.”

“On the contrary,” Byleth counters easily, “You helped me out.”

He brightens a little at that, and she tilts her head at him. After a moment she smiles a little, and Dimitri feels his heart skip a beat.

“How was the morning after?” she asks, and Dimitri coughs at the wording.

“Not ideal,” he admits, rubbing the max of his neck. “My tolerance is not very high. But I recovered.”

“I’ll note that,” she says, with a nod. “Yuri hits hard with his drinks. You took it well, considering.”

He debates whether to bring up his lack of taste, but decides against it. That conversation always goes one way, and he doesn’t want to bring up past tragedies and traumas, right now.

“You were okay?” he asks instead, and she gives him an amused look.

“High tolerance,” she says. “Father’s side.”

“Ah,” Dimitri nods. Not that he knows her very well, but she hadn’t seemed drunk at all—though by the time he’d run into her in the kitchen he wasn’t confident in his own observational accuracy. He doesn’t know where to go from here, and his eyes fall on her book. “So…Srengian weaponry?” he tries, and winces at the awkwardness of the delivery.

But Byleth nods.

“Known for their maces,” she says absently, cracking the text open again, “But their other weapons have some good durability.” She pauses, looking at him. “Might be a worthwhile investment.”

He blinks. The Blaiddyd line is well-known for their greater-than-average strength, and Dimitri is no exception. Still, he hates how easily things break in his hands; even iron and steel can shatter in his grip if he’s startled. But Byleth offers this suggestion so matter-of-factly, as if she were recommending a flavor of ice cream or color of shirt, that he can’t even be embarrassed about it.

“It might be,” Dimitri says eventually. “I’ll look into it. Sylvain has contacts in Sreng.”

“So do I, if you need another,” Byleth says, and Dimitri blinks at her again.

Sreng’s clan politics are notoriously turbulent, and Sylvain only had actual contacts because he had been trying to improve relations as the next head of House Gautier, whose lands bordered Sreng. Otherwise, Sreng wasn’t usually a place people had, or could get, contacts in.

“You…have contacts in Sreng?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“My father used to be a mercenary before a bodyguard,” Byleth says absently, “So I grew up as one, too. We used to travel a lot.”

There’s more to it, Dimitri can tell, but he doesn’t push, purely because he doesn’t know what, exactly, to ask.

“There more I learn about you, the less I seem to know,” he says with a wry smile after a minute.

She stares at him.

“And to me, you feel familiar,” she murmurs.

His eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” she agrees.

There’s silence.

“I only ever seem to meet you unexpectedly,” he ventures, after a long while. The washer beeps, the lock to the door releasing. He goes to open it.

“I’m not a ghost,” Byleth says, watching as he takes out his damp clothes and begins moving them to the dryer.

“That’s relieving,” he smiles. “I also only ever seem to see you at night.”

She only smiles faintly at that.

“Let’s spar,” she says.

“Wha—now?”

“No, tomorrow,” she says. “During the day.”

He’s not entirely sure what brought this on, but he does think he’d like very much to see her fight.

“After one o’clock?” He asks, wracking his brain for his schedule, and she considers it for a moment before nodding and hopping off of the washing machine.

She slides her feet back into her sandals ad begins walking away. Dimitri panics for a moment, because they haven’t hashed out any details.

“Wait! How will we—?”

“I’ll make myself visible,” Byleth says, already halfway out the door as she peeks back, “You won’t miss me.”

And then she’s gone. Dimitri shakes his head as he finishes moving the rest of his laundry. Once he straightens back up, he realizes she’s left her book.

A tether, he thinks.

After a moment, as he waits for his clothes to dry, he picks it up and cracks it open.

A good of a place to read as any.  

.

He tries to not tell his friends after lunch where he’s going (and technically, he doesn’t even know), but his antsiness is apparent, so his secret-keeping fails spectacularly. Sylvain and Ingrid tag team him, and he gives Ingrid a betrayed look.

“Fellas, do we think it’s a date?” Sylvain asks, holding out his hands as if he’s addressing a council.

“It’s sparring,” Ingrid says, “Not a date.”

“Could be a date,” Felix says.

“Only you would consider that a date,” Sylvain laments.

Felix shoves him. Dimitri hurries along, trying to leave them behind in the cafeteria to no avail. He really wishes he had been more insistent on details last night, because in a few moments, he’ll be at a loss of where he should be heading.

It’s a needless worry, because as he walks out, he is reminded of Byleth’s words. In the distance, where the space opens up and there are benches situated along walkways, an enormous amount of birds are flocking.

“Oh,” Dimitri says, and when his friends catch up behind him, they also stare.

“What the hell is that?” Felix says, and Dimitri picks his way towards the mass.

“Byleth, I think,” Dimitri answers faintly. “She said I wouldn’t miss her.”

When they near the birds scatter in one movement, though some brave ones flutter back. Byleth is indeed revealed to have been in the middle—and cause—of that, a bag of birdseed mostly empty in her hands. She nods her head in greeting as Sylvain starts laughing.

“Hello,” Ingrid says, whacking Sylvain once, but he doesn’t stop and doubles over instead, “I think I missed out on meeting you properly at Dorothea’s. I’m Ingrid.”

She holds out her hand, and Byleth says her name in return as she shakes it.

“I want in on the spar,” Felix says, and Sylvain wheezes, his laughter abruptly cut off by Felix’s self-imposed third-wheeling status of this potential date.

“Okay,” Byleth says without hesitation, and Ingrid and Sylvain sigh. Not a date.  

Dimitri isn’t offended, mostly intrigued. Byleth stands, brushing feathers and seeds off of her lap, and sets off in the direction of the gyms and training halls. The others follow, Ingrid and Sylvain too interested to stay behind.

Dimitri had brought a change of clothes, but it becomes evident that Byleth intends to fight in her jeans and nice blouse and heeled boots, so he doesn’t end up changing. There’s no conversation, though Sylvain fills the silence with chatter anyway, as if this is a routine they know well.

Byleth picks up a practice sword and Felix’s eyes gleam; Dimitri picks up a practice lance, handling it with a light touch.

“Best two out of three,” Byleth says, and Dimitri nods.

She lets him take first hit, the two of them warming up as they trade easy blows. She’s quick, but so is Dimitri despite his size. He does well enough at keeping her at a distance, but he misreads her intention and she lunges in close, tapping her blade against his ribs.

“Point!” Sylvain calls excitedly.

“No need to go easy,” she says, “For lances, the moment the distance closes, you have to be quick and readjust, or it’s over.”

“Yes, Professor,” Dimitri says, the title slipping out. “Ah—”

Byleth gives him an amused look but doesn’t comment, getting back into position.

They go again. Dimitri throws away some of his reservations but still not entirely, and she lands the second round too.

“Harder,” she says, and Sylvain whistles as Dimitri flushes.

“I’m concerned about my strength,” he admits, examining the practice lance. Breakage of the practice equipment itself is no matter, but it’s the ensuing issues that can arise.

“Mercenary training, remember,” Byleth says, and though they don’t see it, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid’s eyebrows rise.

Dimitri frowns, but takes a deep breath, and trusts her.

He whirls. Byleth’s reflexes are excellent and she dodges fairly easily, tracking his moments with an even sharper gaze than before. He doesn’t like fighting, but he’s been trained since he was a child; it wasn’t necessary in this day and age to know how to—it was more common to just hire protection detail against demonic or wild beasts, or other enemies—but those descended from the old noble bloodlines especially still held onto tradition, whether as a hobby or actual self-protection. Even so, he can tell the difference between them; she’s seen real battle, and though he has too, not in the same capacity. The way she strategizes and reads his movements in a split second is incredible.

The cracks from their clashing practice blades are louder, and Dimitri registers that his will shatter soon. It’s hard to control his strength when the fight is so exhilarating. He goes for it anyway, jumping back from her slash and spinning his lance in his hands rapidly; Byleth’s eyes narrow, and he lunges.

He just barely sees her move, her timing is impeccable—she jumps, stomping the tip of the lance into the ground before stepping forward and snapping his lance at its weakest point. As her foot hits the ground, she crouches low and sweeps his legs out from under him.

When he opens his eyes, she has her sword under his chin.

“A good move,” she says, “But it’s going to take more than that to catch me.”

She’s not even saying it flirtatiously. She does, however, smile at little at him before offering a hand up, and Dimitri thinks he might be in love.

“Oh, he’s done for,” Sylvain says under his breath.

“He doesn’t deserve her,” Felix scoffs, his tone almost bored, but his eyes are bright at the display of Byleth’s skill.  

Ingrid doesn’t say anything, and when the two boys turn to her, having expected her to respond, they see her typing furiously on her phone.

“Traitor,” Felix says, clicking his tongue.

“Just doing my duty,” Ingrid replies solemnly.

(Felix also loses all three bouts against Byleth, though he comes close the third time. Afterwards, they all end up training together, and even Sylvain puts his mind to it after Ingrid drags him onto the field.

“We’re getting milkshakes,” Ingrid declares, after they wrap up.

She’s sitting on the ground while Sylvain is lying flat on his back. Felix and Dimitri are less expressive, but they too look worn. Byleth is unreadable, but she does, at least, look a little winded. She offers a hand to Ingrid, while Felix rolls his eyes and pulls Sylvain up after he complains.  

“Dimitri’s buying yours, Byleth,” Ingrid says, and the two in question look surprised.

“Oh,” Byleth says, “I—”

“Allow me,” Dimitri smiles.

Byleth blinks at him.

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

Felix and Sylvain look at Ingrid, who looks smug.

“I’ll buy yours, Ingrid,” Sylvain says, with a discreet salute.

“I’m buying my own,” Felix tells them.

They all fall into step. Byleth politely listens to them squabble all the way to the shop.)

.

Byleth comes and goes when she wants to, like a cat or a ghost.

On a few occasions she shows up during their group lunches, stealing fries or other sides off of someone’s plate (mostly Dimitri’s), staying only to chat for a few minutes before she is off again. Sometimes she is in the company of her friends—the ones Dimitri met at Dorothea’s party (who he learns are also her suitemates) or Linhardt von Hevring, who seems to be either half-asleep or hyperfocused on his thesis project. Dimitri actually does see her around campus sometimes now, but he does see her friends more than he does her.

“Dunno what to say about that,” Yuri tells him, when he and Dimitri cross paths and are walking the same way to their next classes, “Half the time she’s not in her room and none of us know where she is. She’s always been like that. That’s just Byleth.”

“You’ve known her long?” Dimitri queries.

“Maybe around—five, six years? Constance, Hapi, Balthus, and I banded together after some…unfortunate circumstances. Byleth helped us out of a tight spot during our last year of high school. Stuck with her ever since.”

“I see,” Dimitri says, and Yuri glances at him.

“You’re not bad, Princeling,” Yuri says after a moment. Most people want to pry into the “unfortunate circumstances” and “tight spot” that he spoke of, and Yuri feels more inclined towards Dimitri for not doing so.

Dimitri winces instead.

“It’s just…”

He trails off. Yuri can guess why.

“Ohh. Yeah, okay. I get it.”

Dimitri blinks at him in surprise.

“You do?”

Yuri doesn’t answer that. There’s little he doesn’t know about the people on campus; the Blaiddyd Heir didn’t question Yuri, so Yuri will not question him in turn.

“Byleth’s Byleth,” he says instead, “Count yourself lucky that she makes a point to find you.”

With that, Yuri nods his head and turns into his classroom. Dimitri stands there, mulling over Yuri’s words, before he realizes that he’s running late and dashes to his own class.

.

There’s a small park nearby that Dimitri goes to as well during the nights he can’t sleep. All it has is a couple of benches and a swingset and a basketball court; a surprising number of people use both during the day, but unsurprisingly, no one’s there at night.

Except Byleth. Dimitri is no longer startled when he comes across her, even though her presence is always more unexpected than not. She’s swinging on the swings, kicking up woodchips as she drags her feet.

“Hi,” Dimitri says, walking closer. “Need a push?”

She nods, and he helps her swing higher. Pretty quickly the height she reaches seems dangerous, but she just calls “higher” and so he keeps pushing, until it seems like she is going to go over the whole set.

“Um,” Dimitri says, pushing her once more, and she glances at him as she surges up.

As she glides forward and reaches the highest point—she jumps.

Dimitri yells, startled, but she soars through the air, serene and graceful with her arms outstretched, hair spreading out behind her. She nails the landing a ways away, and when she turns back to him, she has a faint smile curving her lips, looking—exhilarated.

“You scared me,” Dimitri says, holding a hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, as she walks back to him. “Again?”

He frowns at her. She tilts her head. Something about the way she went through the air—he can’t place that brand of fear. He gives himself a shake, forces a weak smile onto his face.

“Okay,” he says, and she blinks at him a few times before seating herself back on the swing.

She jumps three more times before she’s satisfied, then offers to push him if he wants a turn, or four. He politely declines, but sits on the other swing, and they move back and forth lazily.

“Drink for your thoughts?” she asks after a while, and rummages through her bag that he didn’t see earlier, pulling out a glass water bottle.

Dimitri debates, taking the bottle warily.

“Did Yuri make this?” he asks, shaking it a little, and Byleth smiles at him.

“Constance did,” she says. “It’s pleasant.”

It smells fruity when he opens the top, so he takes her word for it. It goes down easily and doesn’t burn at all, so he assumes (hopes) it’s of the weaker alcohol content variety as well.

“Do you…know what you’re going to do after you graduate?” he asks hesitantly, passing the drink back to her.

Once the question is out, he realizes the truth of it—Byleth will be graduating at the end of this year. The fact saddens him more strongly than he would have thought.

She’s silent for a while, sipping twice from her bottle.

“Yes and no,” she says finally. Opens her mouth as if to speak again, closes it. Turns to him. “You’re thinking about your position as heir.”

“I want it,” he says automatically, then pauses to consider if that’s true. It doesn’t feel like a lie, but…“I…I have never known anything else.”

Byleth looks at him, leans forward a little so that her hair falls forward too.

“That’s okay too,” she says, “To want—or to be okay with—what others want of you, until you don’t.”

He looks back at her.

“How will I know if I don’t?” he asks.

“You’ll know. Or…your friends will be able to tell.” She pauses, swings a little. “It’s hard to say.”

“You seem to have all the answers,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I really gave you any,” she says.

“That helped, nonetheless,” he says, with a smile. “Thank you.”

She smiles back.

They share the drink between them until Byleth speaks again.

“I avoided your question earlier,” she says.

“Technically you answered it,” he responds, drinking again.

She snorts, and laughs a little. Dimitri feels inordinately proud of himself.

“I’m answering it again, then,” she says, though she pauses still. “I might want to be a teacher. I might want to do what my father does.” She cocks her head. “I’ve been given a lot of choices. Theoretically, I could do anything I want.” She looks at him. “I don’t know what I want.”

Dimitri pauses, holds her gaze.

“It’s okay to not want, until you do?” he tries, and she laughs again.

“Does it work like that?”

“It could,” Dimitri says. “Probably?” He pauses. “You could pick one until you don’t want it anymore.”

Byleth swings.

“It could work like that,” she says with a slight nod. She glances at him. “Thanks.”

He gives her a helpless sort of shrug, not feeling like he really gave her an answer, either. He guesses he understands how she felt just a few moments ago, then.

“Bottoms up,” she says, and drains half of the remaining liquid in the bottle, handing the rest to Dimitri to finish up.

He does so dutifully, and she puts the empty bottle back in her bag. After, she kicks off the ground, swinging higher and higher. Dimitri watches her, then gets up, walking a bit of a distance away. She watches him in turn, then flashes him a sort of sharp smile before she pumps her legs once more for momentum, then sends herself flying.

He gauges the distance, adjusting his position, then catches her as she comes hurtling down.

“Oof,” he says, as their bodies collide and he wraps his arms around her.

“Nice,” she says into his neck, then leans back to look at him.

Oh. She’s so close. His eyes widen as he stares, lips slightly parted; her expression is unreadable, but she isn’t looking away, and he can feel her breath on his skin as she tilts a little closer, his heart beating so fast he swears she must hear it—

He lets her down. His brain immediately starts screaming. Idiot idiot idiot, why did you do that, WHY DID YOU DO THAT??? WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT???

Byleth, for her part, looks unruffled and unperturbed.

“Finals are coming up,” Dimitri says, very smoothly.

She nods, walking back to the swingset to take her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder.

“If we’re awake, we might as well study,” she says, very seriously.

He follows her out of the park, walks her back to the dorm partway.

“Good night,” she says.

“Good night,” he echoes, and he watches her walk away until he can’t see her anymore.

When she’s out of sight, he squats down and puts his head in his hands.

(He puts himself on trial tomorrow, when his friends are awake. Sylvain and Felix sit across from him, and their gazes are piercing when he recounts the previous night. Ingrid does not sit at the table because she is more inclined to be sympathetic, and moves in the background making a smoothie for herself.

Sylvainwailswhen Dimitri tells That Part of the story. Felix is silent, just sits there with folded arms and looks so many levels of disappointed, though it’s probably not necessarily just about this one thing.

It’s like that maybe for forty-five minutes, this whole pathetic display. Ingrid leans against the counter, drinks her smoothie, and recounts a play-by-play on her phone into one of her group chats.)

.

Dimitri does not see Byleth again until they are well into finals week, and he tries not to despair.

“Itis finals week,” Mercedes says soothingly.

“And she’s a senior,” Annette adds. “She’s gotta be super busy!”

“Plus, you said you never know when you see her!” Ashe says helpfully, “It’s been longer before, right?”

“But,” Sylvain almost howls, pulling at his hair, “After that? AFTER THAT?”

“Sylvain!” Annette and Ashe scold, but Dimitri feels the same. He doesn’t even have the number so he can apologize, because she always appears and disappears so suddenly that it keeps slipping his mind to ask.

Felix’s frown has grown more severe. Ingrid and Dedue look at each other and back at Dimitri, and say nothing. Mercedes and Annette look at Ingrid almost pleadingly, who gives them a sheepish shrug.

“It’ll be okay, Dimitri!” Annette tries again, and he lets out a sad sort of keen.

“For now, just focus on finals,” Mercedes suggests, “And then maybe it’ll all work out afterwards?”

“It will at least be a distraction,” Dedue finally chimes in.

Dimitri says nothing. Sylvain says it all for him.

.

Dimitri sees Byleth’s friends around a few times, and though he knows them and they know him, he hasn’t spoken to them very much, so he feels awkward asking after Byleth. Yuri, on the other hand, he knows better, and the boy looks amused when Dimitri (hopefully) casually brings her up.

Yuri has nothing new to share though, except he does insinuate that Byleth is hard at work at finalizing her thesis paper. Dimitri calms a little at that—enough to focus better on his own work later. Yuri gives him a look and pats his shoulder lightly before walking off.    

As always, when Dimitri does find Byleth, it’s unexpected.

He’s half dead after finishing his last final, one that took place in one of the more isolated buildings on campus. Pleased that he’s finally done with that, at least, he takes the scenic route back to his dorm—there’s a glass hallway that cuts through a forested area with a river, and it’s especially beautiful this time of year.

As he looks out, movement catches his eye down below, and he’s startled to see Byleth come out from under the old stone bridge and look up at him.

His heart leaps to his throat. She waves, and he waves back hesitantly, and then she motions for him to come down.

Dimitri looks left and right, trying to figure out the best way to reach her, and he goes.

He’s slightly out of breath when he reaches her, and she has a pile of stones in her hand when he does. He blinks at them, meeting her eyes, confused and mildly concerned as to what she might use them for. Is she angry? But she’d waved him down…but was it because she was angry and about to give him a piece of her mind?

“Do you know how to skip stones?” she asks, and it takes him a minute to process.

“I…suppose I’ve never tried,” he admits.

She nods, then proceeds to do so, showing him the method. He watches as she considers the angle, then snaps her wrist as she throws the stone, which skips beautifully across the surface of the river before hitting the other side. Byleth deposits half of the stones into Dimitri’s hand, and they spend the next few minutes skipping stones—or in Dimitri’s case, trying and failing.

He ends up becoming focused on trying to succeed, Byleth keeping him stocked with a steady supply of choice stones. When he finally manages to skip one (though it only skips once before it plops into the water), he shouts in triumph, turning to her excitedly.

“Did you see that?!” he says, and freezes when he catches sight of her face.

She’s smiling, the expression both amused and proud and gentle and absolutely, absolutely mesmerizing.

“It’s nice to focus on things that aren’t exams,” she says, turning back to the river. “You’re all done?”

“Y-yes,” Dimitri stutters. “You too?”

She nods, checking her phone.

“Handed in my last paper yesterday,” she says absently, “Finished up packing up my things today.”

His throat goes dry. It feels like the world is slanting and narrowing to this point, where Byleth leaves and steps out of his life forever (forever?) and this is where it ends.

“Oh,” he says, and it comes out as almost a whisper. He clears his throat nervously. “Oh. I—do you need help moving anything?”

“No, it’s okay,” Byleth says, “I don’t…have too many things anyway. I just wanted to—”

“It would be no trouble!” Dimitri blurts, somewhat frantic. He’s cutting her off, he knows, and it’s stupid to think that if he prolongs the conversation she’ll stay a little longer, but—it’s not exactly wrong, either, is it? “I mean, I’m sure some things would be heavy, and I could—”

She looks a little surprised at his interruption, but blinks it away.

“No, I—”

“It would be faster, probably, but I mean, not that I want you to leave faster—”

“Dimitri—”

“—the opposite, really, but I mean, you’re graduating! That’s exciting, I’m sure you can’t wait to be out of here—”

“Dimitri—”

“You probably have some great summer plans, and I hope you will—”

“Go out with me.”

“Yes, exactly, go out with me, I—what?”

He snaps to attention, thinking surely he must have heard wrong. Despite the fact he was unraveling at the seams, Byleth looks amused, if also a little worried.

“I’m—sorry, could you repeat that?” he breathes, and Byleth shifts her position a little, the movement just slightly unusual.

“Go out with me?” she says again, though it’s pitched more as a question this time.

Oh,Goddess, he hadn’t heard wrong. And…that shifting, the pitch of her tone, was she—nervous?

Dimitri gapes at her and she meets his gaze calmly, though after a prolonged silence she looks to the side, tilting her head down a little as if embarrassed.

“You…can say no, you know,” she says softly, and he blanches.

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—I’d like to go out with you very much,” he says, defaulting to a more formal tone and posture out of desperation.

She looks back up at him and smiles again.

“I’m…glad I didn’t misunderstand your heartbeat last time,” she says, and he both winces and flushes at the reminder of that night.

“I—panicked,” he says, looking away. “But I…regretted it very much, after.”

“I know,” Byleth says.

“Youknow?” he asks, mouth falling open a little.

She only nods, amused again, but offers no explanation.

“Come here,” she says, motioning for him to lean down.

He does, and she kisses his cheek.

“Hand,” she says, and he obeys mechanically, shocked by that simple action.  

Byleth pulls out a marker and scrawls on his wrist. He stares at it incredulously when she pulls away.

“My number,” she says pointedly when he doesn’t say anything. “I do actually have to go, but call me. Or text me. Whatever. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Of…course not,” he says, somewhat in awe. This is happening, it’s really happening.

Byleth looks like she wants to laugh again, but she gives him a little wave and makes her way back up to the building. It takes him too long to recover and realize that he should have walked her back. When he does regain his senses, however, he pulls out his phone, typing out a text as fast as he can.

Can we meet over the summer?

It’s only a few minutes before he receives a reply.

Yes.

Are you free next week?

Yes.

Canitakeyououttuesdayarounclunchtime

There’s a few seconds of pause, and Dimitri suspects she is laughing.

Yes. It’s a date.

He grins stupidly at his phone, rereading the conversation over and over again until he’s satisfied. Then he runs back to his dorm, throwing open the door with wild abandon.

“Guess what!” he shouts into the room, and he’s in luck, because all three of his suitemates are there, each in the midst of something different. Sylvain pokes his head out of his room, Felix looks up from the stove, and Ingrid looks over from the laundry she’s folding.

“Oh, shit, really?” Sylvain says, taking in Dimitri’s expression and also honing in on the number on Dimitri’s wrist. “You finally got her number?”

“We’re dating!” he announces, then pauses. “I mean, well, if I understood correctly, unless she was just—?”

“You’re dating,” Ingrid tells him before anxiety can take him over, grinning widely. “Congrats.”

Felix just waves the spatula in his hand, but he mutters thank the Goddess—about fucking time under his breath.

Sylvain, who is closest, is the first to be subjected to one of Dimitri’s bone-crushing hugs, and even spun around a few times. Felix hisses from where he stands, but is unable to escape being next in line. Ingrid laughs and pats Dimitri’s back when it’s her turn.

“Had a good semester?” she asks fondly.

“It was an excellent semester,” Dimitri says brightly.

“Disgusting,” Felix grumbles, and Ingrid and Sylvain laugh.

.

.

.

Dimitri knocks on the door nervously, trying not to fidget too much as he waits. He doesn’t have to wait long, however—but when the door opens, his eyes go wide.

A man roughly his own height, muscular and rugged with a scar across his cheekbone, a grave sort of face, and an air of someone who demands respect without having to ask for it, stands in the doorway with a large mug in hand.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice rough and deep.

Dimitri’s attention goes to the mug for a moment, which he registers reads “World’s Best Dad” in big letters, confirming his assumptions.

“I’m—here to pick up Byleth?” Dimitri manages, and to his relief, Byleth’s father simply nods and turns back into the house.

“By! Your Blaiddyd boy is here!” then, turning back to Dimitri, “Come in.”

He wonders briefly how he knows who Dimitri is on sight; his name might be well known enough, but he tries to stay out of anything where his image might be broadcasted. He steps inside cautiously, then glances at the man again. There’s something strangely familiar about him that he can’t quite place, and it’s not because of his relation to Byleth, because they look nothing alike.

“The kid’ll be a minute,” her father says, “Anyway, I’m Jeralt. Obviously, I’m By’s dad.”

“I’m Dimitri Blaiddyd,” Dimitri introduces, with a weak smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jeralt just grunts and pats Dimitri’s shoulder in acknowledgement before offering him coffee, which Dimitri accepts out of nervousness. The drink is potent and bracing, without sugar or milk, and Jeralt refills his own mug.

Dimitri peeks at him from over the rim, still trying to figure out why Jeralt is familiar as the man stretches, the multitude of pops and cracks coming from his body making Dimitri wince.

“Don’t get old,” Jeralt tells him, “How reckless you were in your youth doesn’t fuck around when it cashes in.”

“You’re reckless now,” Byleth says as she comes down the stairs. “Cut back on the drinking.”

She’s in a loose blouse and mid-length skirt this time, a pink headband decorating her hair. Every time Dimitri seems her she seems to be sporting a different style. It’s fun.

Jeralt grunts.

“Yeah, well, can’t avoid recklessness in my line of work, and Rhea sure as hell don’t know how to take it easy. Trust me, the drinks are necessary.”

It clicks, then, and Dimitri almost cracks the cup in his hands. He lets out a strangled noise, and both Byleth and Jeralt look at him.

“You’re Jeralt Eisner,” he wheezes, looking to Byleth and back to Jeralt again. “You guard Madam Rhea—you’re the Blade Breaker, Seiros Security’s finest!”

Jeralt drinks his coffee.

“Well, it’s embarrassing to be called that, and also—kid, he didn’t know?”

Byleth shrugs. “Never came up.”

Jeralt sighs.

“Well, there it is, then. Yeah, Rhea and I go…way back, and now I’m in charge of her security company. By’s been trained since she was a kid, so…if you have any issues, she’s got your back.”

Dimitri looks at Byleth, who flashes him a peace sign with a deadpan expression.

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything else to say. She nods.

Jeralt looks amused, then waves them off.

“Anyway, have fun or whatever, and bring him back by curfew if he has one, kid.”

Byleth nods, and Dimitri looks back and forth, unable to fully process the information he’s just learned. But Byleth tugs him along, they’re out of the house and in his car before he regains his senses and looks at her.

“Every time I see you, you surprise me,” he says, and Byleth smiles faintly.

“Yuri says a lady cannot reveal her secrets,” she says, “But I think I’d like to start sharing them with you.”

Dimitri blinks at her, surprised, but then smiles.

“I’d be honored if you did

Fire Emblem Three Houses | Dimitri/f!Byleth | AO3
Summary: Byleth wakes up and finds Dimitri at Garreg Mach some time before the Millennium. For a while, it is just the two of them. It makes…somewhat of a difference.  —Azure Moon reunion, and onwards.
Notes: Is it absurd to post a 19.5k word fic in this format? I sure hope this post supports it; I’m not sure I’ve ever written this long a fic before haha. Guess we’ll find out. I recommend reading this on AO3 anyway, also because my actual notes are there too. :’) Long story short, I am FLINGING this out there after months of working on it, as I started writing this as I was playing through Azure Moon back in December lolol.  _(:3 」∠)_

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“You shouldn’t go there,” the villager warns as Byleth’s gaze towards the monastery sets with determination, nearly begging as he adds, “I won’t be held responsible!”

She doesn’t deign a reply, starting to pick her way towards Garreg Mach, slowly but steadily. The more she walks, the more she feels like she’s coming back to her body, the movement like oil to her machine even as she feels like she’s walking through a fog. She’s still wrapping her head around what the villager said—it’s been five years since Garreg Mach fell—but she can’t quite believe it. Not that she thinks him a liar. Things are simply too strange; she’s been caught in some kind of intricate web since—or even before—she arrived at Garreg Mach, and she has no answers, and Sothis…Byleth knows it was Sothis who woke her, but the goddess is quiet once again. 

And so, amidst all this strangeness, Byleth is alone. 

It’s not fear that drives her towards the monastery, even when the villager had recounted the gutted bodies of Imperial soldiers with a shudder. But it is familiarity. She needs to rendezvous. Even if there’s nothing there but rubble, even if there’s nothing there but monsters and bandits, she has to go, wants to go, to the place that she spent the last year in relative peace, if only so she can think within its ruined walls. 

So she goes, climbing the rocks and rubble and debris, stepping over and past the numerous—too numerous—bodies that litter the ground. She decides on the cathedral for its vantage point, finding the structure largely still intact as she makes her way up the stairs. Even here there are bodies, blood both old and new staining the stone. She doesn’t pause at the fresher red; she has not been afraid of enemies for a long, long time. 

The sunlight filtering in startles her after the darkness, but she adjusts quickly. The view distracts her for a moment, but when she casts her eyes over the rest of the open space, she realizes there is someone else here.

Byleth is calm; her senses are attuned and rarely lapse, despite Sothis scolding her in the past for being dull. Whoever this is—they are not an enemy. 

As she takes her first steps towards the figure crouched in the shadows, she knows—yes, this is not an enemy. She knows him even as his name comes slowly, and she is crossing the distance with an even stride as the sound of her boots echoes in the chamber. 

Byleth sees the grip on his lance tighten, the weapon seeming like the only thing that is keeping him upright. She knows before he lifts his face that five years have not been kind to him, that he is haggard and wounded, possibly beyond repair.  

When he does lift his face, cheeks splattered with blood, a patch of black covering one of his blue, blue eyes, his gaze so bleary and unseeing…it takes a minute for Byleth to place the emotion welling up inside of her. It’s a quieter form of what she felt as she held her father’s cooling body; this boy—no, man—is still alive, but oh does he look like death, like he doesn’t know how to bealive. 

Just as he looks at her, unsure if she is real, she too gazes back, unsure if he is corporeal. 

She takes a few more steps forward, reaching out a hand, hesitating. She’s always dared, but this…perhaps the consequences will be too much. 

“I should have known…” he begins, voice rough from disuse. But in it too is pain, and grief, and a touch of wildness. “That one day…you would be haunting me as well.”

Careful, she warns herself, but still, she dares. 

Gently, ever so gently, feather-light, she traces his cheek to jaw with her fingertips. He shudders violently at the touch despite the mere whisper of it, the sound escaping him caught between a keen and growl.

“Dimitri,” Byleth says, her voice coming out like a sigh, a whisper. Perhaps a prayer. 

He looks at her with both puzzlement and wonder, as if he cannot fathom why sound should be coming from her lips. 

“You…” he says, darkness and bitterness and guilt eclipsing the brief, so brief light in his eye, “What must I do to be rid of you? I will kill that woman, I swear it! Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!”

She doesn’t know what to say—she’s never been good at expressing, but Dimitri has never been one to mistake what she can express. It’s not scorn, but pity, and the fact that he mistakes—misinterprets—it…she realizes he’s not seeing her, not truly. 

“A wish for a world where no one is ever unjustly taken from us…” she sighs, her soft voice an echo of a distant memory, of regret. “Ah, Dimitri. How many have been taken from you?” 

He stares, truly stares, his gaze sharpening. She looks upon him, her fingers still lingering on his jaw; she traces backwards this time, jaw to cheek, then upwards to brush his shaggy bangs from the patch on his right eye with her fingertips.

“It can’t be…” he says hoarsely, and for a moment he looks desperate and afraid to hope. “You’re alive….?!”

“Everything will be okay,” she murmurs, because she wants to believe it, but his face shutters closed, what could have surfaced lost underneath the dark. 

“Hmph. If that’s the case, that can only mean you are another Imperial spy. Did you come here to kill me?” he says, and when she doesn’t reply—”Answer the question.”

He spits out the words like a challenge, growling and angry and ready to attack. But she does not obey, and stares one of her long, unsettling stares, and something, something in him backs down, just a little, just enough. 

“Of course not,” she finally says, and he groans like her refusal hurts him, like he wishes she were here to end him.

He brushes past her—close enough that he just grazes her shoulder, far enough that she could consider the contact her imagination if she wanted to. But she stops him when she speaks again. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she says, her voice soft.

There is a long, heavy pause.

“Am I?” he asks, and Byleth—oh, she hurts, in that internal phantom way, and she feels the trace of a tear roll down her cheek but doesn’t know if it is physical or imagined. She cried when her father died but this man is alive—and yet it hurts just the same.

“Dimitri,” she says, lifting her hand once more, but he sees the movement and whirls, eye wild.

“Don’t touch me!” he all but howls, but Byleth’s hand freezes where it is.

“I won’t,” she says evenly, “But sit with me.”

“No,” he growls, but he makes the mistake of meeting her eyes, and he cannot look away.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” she says, and he flinches at the use of his full name, his royal name. 

He doesn’t move even as he bristles, but she finds that a more positive indication than not. Her vision goes blurry for a second though, and she sways a little, but she steps forward to stabilize herself.

“Stay a minute,” she says faintly, like she’s asking him to stay after class to discuss something, as she did with her students in the past. She tilts, and he sees his arm fly out of his cloak to catch her, and her last thought before she blacks out yet again is that there are some things that do not change after all. 

.

He’s there when she swims back up to consciousness, the sun setting red and gold. She finds that she’s tucked sort-of by his side, not touching, but near enough to, so that part of his voluminous cloak is draped over her. He’s sitting like when she first found him—hunched over, hand gripping his lance, head cowed. But she’s here now, next to him. 

Blearily, she unfurls her hand, the back of her finger resting lightly against his knee. After a moment, he shifts, moving just a breadth away. She closes that distance as well. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, voice rumbling low. 

“What have you been doing for the past five years?” she murmurs instead.

“I have been dead, more or less,” he counters easily, flatly. There is a silence before he speaks again, the words rushing out of him, tinted with anger and accusation, but also—disbelief, still. “And you? Where were you?”

Byleth sighs.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, trying to reach for splinters of memory. “There was—the dragon, and the canyon…I…think I screamed.”

Dimitri goes rigid. She touches her throat lightly, as if she can’t believe she did such a thing. 

“And then…there was only…the darkness, for a long time.”

“Yes,” he says, and she understands it’s not because he’s corroborating her story. 

“Eventually…Sothis was there…” she continues, “And then she wasn’t. And I came here, and you were here…and you’re still here.”

“That, I am,” he says harshly, bitterly. If the use of the Goddess’ name startles him, it’s overshadowed by other emotions. 

“And I’m here too,” Byleth says. 

A pause.

“That, you are,” Dimitri responds, less tightly. 

She looks up at him, but he refuses to meet her eyes again, his hair shadowing his expression. 

“Dimitri,” she sighs, sleep claiming her once more, “Dimitri.”

He waits until her breathing slows again and he knows she’s asleep. He hovers a hand over her cheek, struck by how big his hand is in comparison. He could kill her so easily, right now. It’s in his crest, his blood. 

For once, he doesn’t want to; the ghosts, right now, are silent.  

“Hello, Professor,” he says quietly, the greeting sounding—almost normal, like how he used to greet her around the monastery. “It’s been—too long.” 

He’s not the same, can never return to the boy she likely remembers, especially if she hasn’t experienced anything of the past five years. He doesn’t know how to tell her—anything. Not that he saw her fall and heard that piercing, echoing scream of hers that day, five years ago, and one final, final thread in him snapped as a roar burst out of him when he reached out as if he could save her. Not that in a distant, distant place in him, he’d hoped she was alive somehow, because her ghost was not among the usual chorus—though this was something he hadn’t quite realized himself until she appeared again, and when she did, in thinking that she had finally perished if he was able to see her again, he didn’t know another part of him could wither. 

Dimitri stares as she sleeps, unable to parse what it is he feels about her presence here, amongst everything that’s happened. If she cannot reconcile what he’s become, then nor can he reconcile how she hasn’t changed. She doesn’t fit in, cannot fit in in the blight that is his current existence. 

He won’t, then. He’ll leave her be, and she can do what she will, as she as always done. It doesn’t, and won’t, matter; she is merely someone he used to know.

He moves, intending to get up, but she curls in her sleep, breaching the remains of distance, her forehead pressed lightly against his leg. 

Dimtri is frozen. It would be so easy to move, so, so easy.

Things have never been easy with the Professor. 

In the end, he stays, cloak draped over her form, watching the sun set, listening to her breathing into the night. 

He’s gone in the morning, just minutes before she opens her eyes, the warmth of his body and cloak still on her skin. 

.

When she’d first arrived at the monastery, she had been something of a—ghostly presence. A trained mercenary, indeed, but many thought she could have found occupation as an assassin. Deathly silent in her movements, utterly quick and efficient in her fighting, preternaturally calm and blank. But as more time went by, and as she grew more accustomed to the lifestyle at Garreg Mach and teaching, the Blue Lions especially were privy to the changes in their professor as her main class. Byleth Eisner became more solid, more human to them over the course of the year, and well-loved. 

And Dimitri…he had become particularly adept at reading and communicating with their still-enigmatic professor. He had deeply treasured the times they sparred, the times they had tea, the times she’d help him train orphans in swordplay. Like anyone else, he had loved their professor. 

Like anyone else. 

But now—she feels like the same kind of presence that he found her to be in the beginning: silent, and unsettling, even as he knew that she meant no harm, then. He no longer knows how to read her, and, caught between familiarity and finding her a threat (for even if she means no harm, she is still a threat), he finds himself on edge and wary and overall uncomfortable.

Byleth follows where he goes, mostly, though sometimes she wanders off to some other part of the monastery. She fights the “rats” with him, though her style remains clean and efficient even as he brutalizes his prey. He can feel her eyes on him, though she says nothing.

He continues to avoid meeting her eyes, brushing brusquely past her when she attempts to speak to him. Some days, he’ll give her curt, sharp responses. Neither treatment seems to deter her; she stays with him.

Sometimes, he comes out of a haze, on trial with a jury of ghosts, to find her back or side pressed against his. Sometimes she is asleep. Sometimes she is not. She lets him move if she is awake, does not protest or hinder him. He can never quite bring himself to move is she is asleep. He never stays if she is awake, only when she is asleep, though he is always gone just moments before she opens her eyes. 

He will not say he appreciates her presence. He doesn’t. But she slots herself back into his life neatly. Not seamlessly, not as if she has never left, but neatly. 

The ghosts have grown quieter. 

He no longer knows if that is what he wants, because the ghosts have been his jury since the tragedy. He doesn’t know if he can live without them anymore. 

Dimitri does not worry or search for her when she is nowhere to be seen. He does not feel relief if he ends up spotting her in the distance, trailing among the rubble, as if she is trying to place what it used to be. He doesn't care.

But he looks for her, and ends up watching. As if he cannot help himself. 

A part of him still bristles, shouting that she is an enemy, no matter how she acts—the Imperial soldiers, spies, assassins and Kingdom traitors have tried all manner of methods to kill him, from brute force to the finest seductions. The bodies all look the same when he’s done with them. 

Yet even after all these years, Byleth is still an exceptional swordswoman, and the Sword of the Creator seems even more comfortable in her grip. Maybe that is why she feels—safe. There have been a handful of times where she’s startled him, or moved too quickly, or simply caught him at a bad time, and his lance never leaves his side. But any time he’s swung, she’s blocked it cleanly—though perhaps sometimes she’d had to dig in her feet to account for his strength. Sometimes she merely just steps out of the way, and he misses entirely. It’s one strike, only ever one. 

“You’ve gotten better,” Byleth says one day, as she lowers her sword. “But not more skilled.”

Dimitri glares. As if there is an art to murder. Once, that comment would have bothered him, or driven him to improve. But not now. 

She offers nothing else. They never spar—Dimitri never accepts, the handful of times she’s suggested it. He never apologizes for his lapses; she never expects them, breezing past the moment as if it didn’t really matter to her. Perhaps it doesn’t, even as he cannot understand why.

“You need to sleep sometime,” Byleth murmurs one night, staring at the bags underneath his eyes, lowering his weapon with her own.

Dimitri blinks several times to get his bearings, then grunts. He didn’t sleep well as a student, and since then, he hasn’t slept in years. 

Byleth reaches out—he growls, but does not say don’t touch me, and so she inches closer. He shudders when her fingertips touch his skin, though perhaps less violently than the first time. 

“I’ll guard you,” she says simply, and he barks out a humorless laugh. He opens his mouth to retort, but she levels him with a stare. 

“I’ll guard you,” she says again, and motions to a more comfortable-looking piece of rubble to lean against. He won’t take a bed, she knows, and so she doesn’t bother recommending one. She’ll stay where he wants to stay, and it is always the ruined cathedral. 

He stares at her, considering walking away, but she continues to stare back and he eventually relents. He settles down where she’d gestured to, and she nods in satisfaction. She leaves his line of sight momentarily to patrol the immediate perimeter before returning, sitting on another comfortable-enough piece of rubble, her eyes and posture alert. 

Dimitri doesn’t know why she’s bothering, when he won’t even sleep. Even if he does drift for brief moments, the clamoring in his head will not let him rest. Better to not even attempt to sleep, in the end.

Still. He supposes there is nothing else to do right now, without rats scuttling about to be disposed of, and his body would shut down sooner or later if he didn’t perform at least minimal maintenance. He still had things to do. If Byleth wanted to waste her time guarding, then so be it.

He lets his eyes droop, and eventually, after a long, long while, he drifts.

When he wakes, he’s so groggy that it takes him quite a while to realize that he isn’t in the same position as before he closed his eyes. He’s lying down—and not on the hard ground either. 

He closes his eyes again, a mixture of emotions roiling inside of him. He doesn’t want to turn and look up to see what he knows he will see, and instead turns his head a little bit so that he can hide his face, hair falling over his eyes. Perhaps she’s asleep, and he can pretend like this never happened. 

Unfortunately, he feels her fingers lightly brush his hair back, hand resting on the back of his head. She wouldn’t have gone back on her word to take watch.

Her hand is warm, her lap is warm, and Dimitri cannot handle it. He turns the other way, an accusation on his tongue, but it dies the moment he sees her face, gentle and serene. 

She’s not staring at him—she’s looking forward, still on watch, but does look at him once she feels him turn. She smiles faintly at him, but says nothing, and then returns her gaze forward. 

“It’s still early,” she murmurs. “Go back to sleep. I will guard your dreams.”

She strokes his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp, and he is still so, so tired. He sighs, 

“How can you do that?” he mutters, though it comes out less cutting than intended. 

“I’m here,” she says simply, and he sighs again.

“Yes. You are.”

She murmurs something else but he cannot make it out, already slipping back under.

He doesn’t dream. 

She’s still there in the morning when he wakes. Dimitri rises as quickly as he can, and she also gets up from her position to stretch. Neither say anything about what occurred; Byleth yawns, and then curls up on the ground again. 

“Clear,” she informs him, her eyes already drooping. 

He stares at her. After a moment, he takes off his cloak, wrapping her in it, her head pillowed by the fur around its collar. He sees her smile faintly, but she’s already asleep before a thank you can leave her lips.

He prefers it that way. 

Dimitri is no guardian of dreams, but he stays as she sleeps, as he always does, and leaves just before she wakes, as he always does. 

.

Sometimes, he truly loses himself in the heat of battle.

There are none around the monastery that can give him any challenge—thieves, bandits, Imperial soldiers and spies, they’re all the same as he fells one after another. He pays no mind to Byleth when she joins him for the hunts; she knows well enough to stay out of his way. When he starts, he only knows the heat of bloodlust, and rage. 

He’s grown numb to the corpses he creates; he no longer looks at their faces. But it’s never satisfying, after the battle; he always feels cold, empty, the blood stiffening his body as it dries. 

Dimitri doesn’t know which the worse state to be in is, honestly. He’s never had to think about it before, but now Byleth is here, Professor is here, and thus the paradigm changes. 

Stubbornly, he clings to what he knows. 

He lets his mind go blank during the next wave of Imperial soldiers, cutting down any moving body he sees. He loses track of time—surely there hadn’t been that many, but his sense of numbers have been skewed over the years as well. Ten, fifty, one hundred—how many is too many enemies to face? They’re all weak, so weak, too weak for this world. 

But so are you, the ghosts whisper. After all, you let us die. You let your friends die. You were too soft a prince to be king, and now…now what? What can you possibly be the ruler of?

“Be quiet!” He hisses, swinging his lance, “I vowed I would bring you her head! I will do it if it is the last thing I do! I will not fall until then!”

Dimitri, they moan. Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri. Avenge us. Avenge us. 

“Dimitri,” a voice calls. “Come back to me.” 

The ring of metal against metal snaps him back to attention, and as the haze of battle lifts, he realizes that it’s Byleth in front of him, the Sword of the Creator in its whip form wrapped around his lance. 

“Professor?” he questions, his voice like that of a child. Confused, shaking, high-pitched. 

“Welcome back,” she murmurs, tugging her sword, and thus the lance from his grip.

He lets it go. She catches it before it clatters to the ground, untangling and sheathing her blade to carry his weapon. She reaches out a hand to grab his, but hesitates. He stares at her extended hand blankly, numb, and she wraps her fingers gently around his arm instead, giving it a light tug. 

He complies. He remembers nothing after that, only truly coming back into his body when he realizes Byleth is scrubbing his hair vigorously with her nails. They’re in the baths, only his chest bare, but the whole of him drenched in warm water. 

He…doesn’t know what to ask. Where are we, what are we doing, what happened—he can figure out the answers to all of these with a little thought. So he stays quiet, and allows Byleth her ministrations. It’s actually a little bit painful as she scrubs, but not unwelcome. She holds a hand over his eyes as she dumps water over his head to rinse, and he sees the water run red, then red again. She keeping pouring until it runs clear. 

“Soak,” she says, and he turns his attention to the steaming bath. He looks at her, and she stares back impassively, holding out a towel. 

He understands that she means to stay, and tries to form words as he takes the towel. He is a little embarrassed, even now, but she turns, and he hesitates for a moment before stripping out of the remainder of his sopping clothes, wrapping the towel around his hips, and sinking into the water. She turns back to face him after she hears the water still again, and nods in satisfaction. 

It’s silent, save for the occasional drip or splash of water, and it takes a while before he begins to feel flushed from the steam and heat. He makes to get out, and Byleth offers him another towel, as well as monk robes. He raises an eyebrow, but she shrugs, and leaves him to change. 

His cloak still hangs in the changing room, and he throws that on over the robe before walking out. 

Byleth is nowhere in sight, but he makes his way to the cathedral and finds her sitting on the pews in front. His wet clothes have been wrung out and draped over the pews on the other side, drying. His armor too rests in a neat pile.

She turns and tilts her head at him when she hears him approaching, gesturing for him to come closer. He does. She motions of him to sit, and instead he sits on the floor at her feet, cloak pooling around him. She smiles a wry smile, then pulls his head into her lap, running her hands through his damp hair. 

He closes his eyes, unable to protest; after the bath, he feels dislodged and exhausted.  He lets out a deep, burdened sigh, and she pats his head.

“What have you been doing for the past five years?” she asks, again. 

“I have been dead, more or less,” he responds, again, though the words sound simply tired this time. 

“And what does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, focusing instead on her fingers through his hair. 

“Dedue snuck me out of the prisons,” he says eventually, “And paid for it with his life.”

“…And the others?”

“I’ve been on the run. The Empire reaches far, too far. They can only be dead.”

There’s another silence between them.

“Why did you come here?” Dimitri asks.

“It was the only place I could go,” Byleth says. Her words are matter of fact—because truly, where else would she have gone? She had no home, no attachments to any place as a mercenary, and with Jeralt gone…there was never any other option. “And you? Why was it that I found you here?”

“It was the only place I could go,” Dimitri says too. It wasn't—sentimentality, just a bleak hopelessness that had him moving back towards the monastery. A familiar place, away from the Empire and its prisons, where he could plan and think, at least for a little while. 

Byleth hums. 

“Professor,” Dimitri says, sounding very much like the boy he used to be.

“Hm?”

“Leave.”

She lets out a soft laugh, and despite it all, a vague sort of warmth blooms in him at the sound. 

“No,” she says, so simply. “Sleep, Dimitri.”

It takes a while, but he obeys. 

.

“PROFESSOR!”

He watches in horror as Solon completes his spell and Byleth is swallowed up into the darkness. There is silence, and the Professor is no longer there, and Dimitri—he cannot articulate what it is welling up inside him. The rest of his classmates catch up to him, Dedue and Felix both catching sight of his face, and he doesn’t know what it is they see there. Dedue is impassive as always, but his eyes widen just a fraction, and Felix’s eyes also go wide, then narrow, a scowl creasing his face as he turns back to Solon.

Dimitri’s knuckles are white as they grip his lance, eyes still trained towards the sky.

He’s shaking.

“Boar!” Felix barks, grabbing his shoulder, and flinches almost imperceptibly as Dimitri turns to him, eyes still blown wide with shock. “Pull yourself together! We still have enemies to fight!”

“Enemies,” Dimitri echoes, hollow, “Yes.”

Felix hisses, shoving his prince as he tears his hand away, but Dimitri doesn’t feel a thing.

He doesn’t recall actually fighting, just vaguely remembers swinging his blade, the weapon becoming slick with blood. He doesn’t know how much time passes before Annette’s shriek pierces the air.

“Everyone! Look!”

He looks. The sky splits open, light rendering the sky red, and he waits with bated breath as a hand reaches out of the tear, and then slowly, Byleth steps out of the sky, sword burning bright in her hand, eyes and hair glowing Goddess-green.

Dimitri, practically blinded yet unable to turn his gaze away, wonders if this is what salvation feels like.

It’s almost the same when she appears again, five years later, but Dimitri knows—there’s no saving him, now.

“Forgotten already, your highness?” Glenn laughs, “Don’t you remember my body, at your feet? How cold I was in your hands?”

“My son,” his father calls, “Dimitri—you must not let them get away with this.”

“Oh, my son, my son,” his mother weeps, “Bring me her head—only then can I rest.”

“Please,” he begs, “I’ve made my promises, it was my fault, and I am sorry for it—”

“It was not your fault,” comes the whisper of light.

“It was,” he insists, “I was there, I could have saved them—”

“You could not have.”

He shudders.

“Weak, because I was weak—”

“No. Because it was out of your control. You were a boy. How could you have known? What could you have done?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—”

“I forgive you, if it is truly mine you’re seeking.” the light says. “Peace. I’m here.”

He weeps, apologies and sins incoherent on his tongue.

Byleth cradles his head and lets him confess.

.

He is wary the next morning when they finally cross paths again, back in his black armor with his lance tight in his hand. 

He had awoken with his head still in her lap, her hands still on his cheeks. She had been snoozing lightly, and woke when he moved to look up at her; the two had gazed at each other sleepily for a moment before Dimitri pulled away and left without another word. Byleth let him go, yawning and stretching as she rose from the pew, her first order of a business a bath of her own.

She makes no comment, of course, when they reconvene. He’s at least partially back to his snappish self, but—his gaze lingers, when he speaks rudely, as if he is self-conscious of the disrespect. 

It amuses her, a little, to see the difference, even as it flickers in and out in the coming days. There are still good and bad and worse days, where he ranges from that awareness of his behavior to uncontrolled anguished raving and violence, but. But. There’s a brink, now, which he can come back to, no matter how tenuous and fragile it is at the moment. 

But he retreats again, when they finally confront the root of the infestation of bandits and thieves, and one by one the rest of the Blue Lions house makes their appearance, five years older. There’s no time for a proper reunion in the midst of battle, but Byleth is pleased, and her former students yell and whoop and laugh when they catch sight of her alongside Dimitri. 

When they finally do get the chance to speak after the battle, Dimitri is gone before she realizes. Felix scoffs, and Gilbert, Ingrid, and Sylvain look at each other worriedly. Mercedes, Annette, and Ashe are too excited to see her to fully take note the change in Dimitri at the moment, Annette hugging her so tightly that Byleth cannot breathe. 

Still, she smiles, and though her former students stare in surprise as they always did at the rarity of the expression, they smile back. Plans are made, the monastery regains life slowly, but quicker than she could have expected. Dimitri sequesters himself back in the cathedral at all hours, and the others take their chances to approach at first before keeping their distance after he lashes out, or cows them with his countenance alone.

With how much they were in each other’s company before, since there had been no one else, Byleth feels like she has not seen him in days. She has a new role, with the others looking to her for guidance that they cannot find in Dimitri even as they address him. It feels similar to five years ago, where her role as a professor blended with tactician and commander—but now, she is an adviser to a king, save for an official title. Everyone still calls her “Professor”, unable to shake the habit, or perhaps they too need the familiarity. She hasn’t changed at all in these five years.

When she finally does make her way to the cathedral, Felix is there too and pulls her to the side.

“Do something,” he hisses at her, though his eyes are on Dimitri, “I can’t bear to see that creature in the state it’s in.”

Byleth says nothing, only looks to the prince standing by the ruined altar. 

“He’s gotten better at killing,” Felix says, his brows furrowed, “But in doing so, relinquished what little humanity he had.”

It’s the Felix way, Byleth knows, to be like this. He’s concerned in his own way, for his own reasons, but there is a past between them that she does not know the full extent of that colors it all. The reason why he only calls Dimitri the Boar Prince, and never by name. 

“Such things,” Byleth says after a long moment, as the two of them stare at Dimitri’s back, “Are not so easily undone.”

“I know,” Felix says, almost miserably. “But…”

He stares at her, eyes burning, and she inclines her head. 

“I will not move any faster than I have been.”

Felix frowns, but seems to piece some things together. Have been, she says. 

“You found him first,” he says, slowly. This, they all know, but how long ago, they did not think of. 

Byleth shrugs. 

“Neither of us knew the Millennium would be upon us,” she muses. “I am…glad you all came. He will be too, once he…remembers how.”

Felix snorts, and turns away. 

“As you will, then,” he grumbles. 

“As I will,” Byleth agrees, and leaves his side to stand next to Dimitri. 

Felix watches as the Boar Prince turns to her, temper flaring, but she glances at him but for a moment before turning her gaze to the rubble. 

“Go away,” Dimitri still says, but it sounds defeated, somehow.

“No,” Byleth says, and remains where she is. The two of them stand in silence, until Byleth is called elsewhere. 

Sylvain laughs, when Felix recounts this interaction later to his childhood friends. Ingrid smiles. 

“Still weak to the Professor, I see,” Sylvain says, with a grin. “How long do you think they were here alone together?” 

“Sylvain,” Ingrid says, slapping him on the arm. He winces. “This is not the time. In any case. It’s…reassuring.” 

Felix admits to nothing, but at the very least, he trusts their Professor.

But the Boar is another matter, and always has been. 

.

Byleth makes her decisions and stands by them. She is not afraid of Dimitri, no matter what he has become—she is far more used to being the one that is feared. The mercenaries did not call her Ashen Demon for nothing, sometimes in derision, sometimes in respect, sometimes in awe. Dimitri is called the One-Eyed Demon now, so if the pair of them are demons together, then they are the only ones who can deal with the other and come away relatively unscathed. 

Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid notice when Dimitri takes his prisoner; the other Blue Lions come at the tail-end of the confrontation. Dimitri’s tirade is—difficult to hear; it is difficult to see what he has become, especially to his childhood friends. Felix’s head spins, fury and despair warring, and just as he surges forward, he feels a hand on his shoulder before a figure brushes past him.

Byleth casts judgement on Randolph, quickly, mercifully. She takes note of his last words, flicks the blood off of her sword, utterly calm. 

“What…is the meaning of this?” Dimitri seethes, once he processes what just happened, and he does not back down this time when Byleth turns her eyes on him. 

“…I miss you,” she says, just a little wistful, and they all know what goes unsaid.

His face contorts. 

“The Dimitri you once knew is dead. All that remains is the repulsive, blood-stained monster you see before you,” he growls. They stare at each other for a moment before he spits out his next words. “If you do not approve what I’ve become, then kill me. If you insist that you cannot…then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

Felix mutters beast under his breath; Sylvain and Ingrid watch with pained faces. Annette and Mercedes have tears glistening on their cheeks, and Ashe’s eyes are bright with tears as well. 

But Byleth steps closer, steps directly into his space, all but pressed up against him. Though she is nearly a full head shorter, she stares up at him, and the air seems colder than before. It feels as if the world has slowed and there is only Byleth and Dimitri, Dimitri and Byleth, boring holes into each other with their eyes, or maybe it is just Byleth that is doing the boring. 

An eternity seems to pass before a hiss escapes from Dimitri’s lips like steam escaping pressure, and he looks away first, severe unhappiness evident on his face. He turns sharply on his heel and leaves, and Byleth watches him go. She waits only a moment before she turns to the rest of her former students.

“We bury the bodies,” she says, her eyes distant but her expression otherwise perfectly normal, and the Blue Lions wait only a moment before following her orders. They know not what, exactly, passed between their Professor and future king, but they are glad to not have been caught between them. 

Night finds Dimitri in the cathedral, as usual. Byleth joins him later, much later, when there is no one to see. It is not because of gossip that comes at the late hour, merely because it is so. 

It is quiet; Dimitri has no pleas for ghosts, tonight. They sit in silence, and the minutes pass; there is less tension than one might expect, only a tremulous, wary thread of something waiting to break. 

“I am a monster,” Dimitri says eventually. His voice is steady, sure. “I do not know why you continue to persist. You saw me today.”

“You are not a monster,” Byleth counters, just as steadily. “So do not think it…excuses you for your…poor decisions.”

Dimitri is silent. 

“I know…why you are as you are,” she continues, haltingly, as she struggles to find the proper words. “And so I hesitate to interfere too much. But know…that I will interfere…as I see fit to.”

“Because you are here,” he says, turning to her, an eyebrow raised.

“Because I am here,” she agrees, width a faint smile. 

He stares at her, breathing in deep to let out an equally deep sigh. They stay there, in the cathedral, with Dimitri facing the ruined altar again, Byleth sitting behind him. 

When morning comes and the castle stirs once more, neither are to be found. 

.

Ailell puts Dimitri in a fouler mood, between the heat and the ambush, and even Byleth suffers from the punishing temperatures. She is conscious of every rivulet of sweat that drips down her skin, and pities those who must wear armor. She hasn’t the faintest of how Dimitri is surviving, with his black attire and fur cloak—or maybe his single-minded focus pushes even the heat out of his mind. 

To be fair, once the battle begins, she is no longer thinking of the heat, only how their surroundings affect their troops. They must finish the battle quickly and get out of the Valley of Torment; soldiers from Faeghus especially are not made for the heat. 

Dimitri and Rodrigue reunite, and Byleth watches closely as the prince’s eyes gleam with an old light. She knows from experience to not get complacent, and Dimitri’s minuscule softening is no exception. 

She is even more on watch during their next battle, where Dedue enters the fray, scarred but very much alive. For a longer moment, Dimitri looks like the boy she once knew, the boy they all once knew, and Byleth almost wants to believe that Dedue’s return will be the true catalyst in Dimitri’s health. But such things cannot be so easy. She may be far from an expert of the matters of the mind and heart, but she knows danger when she sees it. 

Yet—Byleth ultimately becomes distracted and heartsick, even without a heartbeat; she can imagine Sothis’ somber countenance even as she gives logical reasoning as to why Byleth must continue to hold her sword despite it, even against former students who now work for the Empire. 

She makes a decision; she will stop the hearts of her former students herself, so that those who have sided with Faerghus and her and Dimitri don’t have to. She can see their pale faces at they recognize familiar faces leading enemy troops, and though something in her keens, it is she who will take the responsibility, it is she who will bear the burden of that weight. As their professor, and friend. 

Still. It is a hard burden to bear, when she looks down at the body of Lorenz Gloucester. It’s been a while, Professor. If this were anywhere but a battlefield, I would offer you tea. I’ve no choice but to follow the Empire, if I wish to live. I hope you will not think ill of me, he’d said. She did not, and how dearly she would have liked to accept his invitation, to spare him from this fate. She allows a moment of grief; nearly all the enemies have been disposed of, and the sounds of the battlefield are only growing quieter. This kill had been…the definitive one, this battle. Her moment of silence does, however, extend longer than she’d expected, caught up in memories—muffled yelling snaps her back to attention, and she runs back to the center of the fortress.

Dedue and Felix parry Dimitri’s wild swings, while the rest of the Lions watch with worried eyes. Sylvain and Ingrid are on standby, weapons drawn, though Dedue and Felix are doing well enough to keep him at bay. 

But this is not Dimitri from the training fields, who tempered his strength; no, this is Dimitri unbarred and unseeing, and even Dedue and Felix will not be able to hold up under barrage from his strength. 

“You stupid boar!” Felix seethes, deflecting yet another blow. He growls, noticing his blade beginning to crack. “Get yourself together!”

“Your Highness,” Dedue intones, but not even he seems to be getting through.

Dimitri is speaking, but his words are jumbled and incomprehensible. Byleth blinks, forcing herself out of her previous stupor; the living need her attention. Later, she will brew a cup of Lorenz’s favorite tea, and find a vase to put a rose in. 

“Professor!” Annette squeaks, finally noticing her, and several eyes flicker to her. “I—we don’t know what happened, the battle ended but he just kept going—”

Byleth doesn’t respond; she knows, she’s seen this before. She passes Sylvain and Ingrid, who both look at her warily and mutter be careful. Like a ghost, she slips past Dedue and Felix, whose eyes widen, but Byleth has become well used to Dimitri’s fighting style that he’s developed over the years, especially in these states. She doesn’t parry his blows; she steps to the side just as he lunges low and then surges forward, wrapping her an arm around his neck, squeezing in an almost-chokehold.

“Dimitri,” she murmurs directly into his ear, lips pressed against his skin. “It’s over.”

He goes rigid, though his knuckles are white on his lance. She continues to murmurs his name into his ear, and it is a long, longer moment before he drops his weapon and falls to his knees. Byleth continues to hold him, bringing her other arm up to hug him properly, and Dimitri lets out a noise between a sob and a scream as he covers his eyes with his hand. 

Byleth tightens her hold and buries her face in his shoulder. 

“We have to keep moving,” she says, muffled by the fur of his cloak, and turns her head to his ear and repeats her words. She’s tired, very tired. 

“Yes,” Dimitri says, voice rough, “We do.”

She untangles herself from the prince, helps haul him up. The others are hovering nearby, unsure where or if they can offer their help. Byleth sweeps her gaze over them, and feels a desperate fondness for these people. 

“Let’s return,” she says, her tone exhausted. 

The Blue Lions offer her tentative smiles or nods of acknowledgement and comply, trailing after her and their ragged prince with their open hands and hearts. 

.

Byleth leads Dimitri away upon return to the monastery, and the Blue Lions watch them go. Neither show up for dinner—Byleth will usually eat with the Lions, and ever so rarely she coaxes Dimitri to the dining hall when there are less people around—and when night falls and both are still nowhere to be seen, the Lions go looking. 

“You think they’re in one of their rooms?” Sylvain suggests, waggling his eyebrow, hands behind his head as he swivels to and fro.

He dodges a swing from Ingrid, but she catches him on the return, and he lets out a yelp of pain. 

Felix’s frown deepens. 

“The Boar is hardly in a state to do anything but harm,” Felix scowls, and Sylvain sobers, putting his arms down. 

Dedue rumbles low in his throat, but even he cannot counter the potential consequences of Dimitri’s…instability. 

“I think the Professor will be fine,” Mercedes says serenely, a faint smile on her lips. “But I think we should still make one more round before we turn in for the night.”

“It’s odd that they’re not in the cathedral,” Ashe muses. “His Highness is almost always there.”

“I think we should check that again first,” Annette declares. “They could have left the monastery earlier. Or maybe we just keep missing them?”

“Let’s go, then,” Ingrid agrees. “But let us take the side entrance—we missed the left terrace, I think.”

So they go, the whole retinue silent as they wind around the side and up the stairs to the cathedral. 

It becomes evident that at least Dimitri is there now, his voice echoing in the open space, tone high and crazed and—broken. The Lions look at each other, moving as quietly as possible as they peek into the cathedral, fearing what they might find. 

But their fears are unfounded.

Byleth is sitting on one of the stones near the rubble, her hair almost glowing in the dim lighting of the remaining sconces. In her lap she cradles Dimitri’s head, who is screaming, or sobbing, entreaties into her hands; her expression as she looks down at him is so tender it burns. She threads her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“You cannot stay here,” Dimitri gasps, as if he is choking on his own tears, “You’ve seen what I can do—”

“I will stay,” Byleth says, and she tilts his face up with both hands. “With you.”

“Leave,” he says, sounding less like a threat and more like an entreaty. 

“No,” she says. 

“Leave!” he screams, surging to his feet and away from her, chest heaving. 

She stares up at him and he stares back, and after a moment, Byleth lifts up her hands, as if to say come back.

“Dimitri,” she says, softly. “Are you afraid of me?”

He hesitates before answering. It is a long moment before he sinks back to his knees, and Byleth lowers her hands with him. Still he does not take them. 

“No,” he says tiredly. Even as her light burns, even as he tells her to leave. It’s not fear that she strikes in him every time she counters him. 

She smiles.

“Nor I, you,” she says. “Come.” 

Slowly, he takes her hands, then lowers his head back into them. 

“I cannot win against you,” he murmurs. 

She strokes his cheek with her thumb. 

“You can, in other fields,” she hums. “But in this, I will not allow.”

DImitri lets out a choked laugh, and the two fall into silence, staying so still they could be a painting. 

The rest of the Blue Lion House take a moment before they peel away from the side of the walls of the cathedral, only daring to speak when they are a safe distance away. 

“Well, that was certainly something to see,” Sylvain says, his tone as suggestive as ever, but his expression belies him. He’s far more pensive, his eyes far softer than anyone’s ever seen them. 

“The Professor will be okay,” Mercedes says again, smiling. “And…eventually, Dimitri will be too.” 

“I agree,” Dedue says quietly. 

“But let’s offer our support where we can!” Annette says, pumping her fists. “After all—even the Professor needs help sometimes. If we can’t exactly help with His Highness…we can at least help the Professor help him, right?”

“That’s right!” Ashe nods decisively. “Which means, we should make sure they eat tomorrow morning, if they skipped dinner tonight.”

The others begin to discuss plans on what they can do, while Sylvain and Ingrid look to Felix. He meets both of their gazes then scowls, crossing his arms. 

“It’s pathetic, to see him like that,” he says, looking away. “And it shouldn’t be the Professor’s responsibility to recreate a man from the pieces he’s made of himself.”

And yet, he’d made the request of her as well. Because he knows that she’s the only one capable of it, even as it is unfair.

“Poetic,” Sylvain comments, and Felix glares. 

“Perhaps not,” Ingrid concedes, “But…nor is our Professor a fool. She made the choice because she wanted to.”

Felix says nothing. He knows. After a moment, he lets out a deep sigh. Sylvain and Ingrid smile at him, which he ignores. Very little gets past childhood friends, anymore. 

The next morning, breakfast is brought to Byleth’s room with an extra plate made up for Dimitri, and she greets them with slow blinks. 

“Let us know what we can do, Professor!” Annette says, determined.

“Anything at all,” Ashe adds earnestly.

Byleth blinks at them a few more times before her lips quirk up into a slight smile. 

“Thank you,” she says.

For the moment, everything seems like it will be okay. 

.

Rodrigue dies.

They watch Dimitri break down again on the battlefield as he holds the man in his arms. The battle against Claude and then Edelgard had not been easy, either physically or mentally. When he finally faces the Emperor, the madness within him flares up again as he issues his threats upon her retreat. But the young soldier girl and her knife and Rodrigue blindsides all of them, including Dimitri, and he nearly becomes undone again.

But it’s different, now, than when he escaped from the Empire’s prisons all alone.

Byleth kills the girl with some regret; she thinks she knows who she might be, but—Byleth too has things to protect, and she is the more skilled of the two of them. Afterwards, she drops to her knees in front of Dimitri as he sits shell-shocked, cupping his face and bringing her own near, forcing him to look at her until he focuses on her—her eyes, her hair, her hands, her scent. 

“Are you with me?” she says, breath warm, “If only for the moment?”

Numb, he nods. 

“We bury him,” she says, her eyes kind but hard, “And then we must leave. Do you understand?”

He nods again. She wipes away the tears that he didn’t realize are sliding down his cheeks and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

When she gets to her feet and turns, she sees Felix first, Sylvain and Ingrid beside him. Dedue, Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette are behind them.

“We bury him,” Felix echoes, his face blank. He does not look at Dimitri, nor does Dimitri look at him. 

Other soldiers come forward who want to help bury a man they admired, a hero of the land. When the deed is done, Dimitri whirls away without a word to anyone, and Byleth glances at him, and then to Felix, who is already looking at her.

“Go,” he says, and he sounds—exhausted.

There is a moment where Byleth doesn’t move, then closes the distance to wrap her arms around Felix, who goes still in her embrace. He pats her back awkwardly, and the side of his lip quirks up at this uncharacteristic display from their Professor. This was treatment reserved for Dimitri. 

“I’m not the one who needs you,” he says, not unkindly. 

She pulls away, stares into his dark eyes. 

“Perhaps not. But you have me, nonetheless. All of you.”

She looks up, nods to the rest of her team, then takes off after Dimitri. 

Sylvain and Ingrid move into the space Byleth had occupied, each putting an arm around Felix. He sighs again, trying halfheartedly to push them away, but they press in even more until he finally leans into them. 

Annette sings, Mercedes prays, Dedue and Ashe stand solemnly in respect.

“You’re all idiots,” Felix grumbles, and they say nothing. There’s no bite to it at all.  But a few moments later, so quietly they almost miss it, he speaks again. “Thank you.”

They don’t even tease him, merely stand in the rain for a moment longer, until Annette’s voice is drowned out by the downpour. 

.

They fight in the rain. 

“You cannot go to Enbarr,” Byleth says, tone hard, as she steps out in front of him, and she can see the raging turmoil in Dimitri’s eye, the tension without release thrumming in every muscle. 

“Get out of my way. Death is the end, Professor, and the burdens of hatred and regret…they fall on the shoulders of those left behind. I must continue down this path—I already told you as much. It is far too late to stop.”

“You’re wrong.”

His lips quirk up into a bitter, scathing smile. 

“Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should move on with my life for their sake. That is merely the logic of the living. It’s meaningless.”

Byleth stares at him and her lips thin. She cannot let him go, will not let him go, and that, at the very least, is not meaningless. 

She puts a hand on her sword, tilting her head in question, then her chin up in challenge, and Dimitri blinks once before something like relief washes over his face as he spins his lance and strikes. He is lost, lost again, and he doesn’t know what to do, but fighting—fighting is familiar, too much so. 

Byleth is skilled with several weapons and far stronger than her frame suggests, but Dimitri’s strength has no equal. And so she applies tactics that she hasn’t needed to use in a long, long time—so-called dirty tactics. She flings mud into his face and trips him into it, trying to hold him there, but he squirms out of her slimy grip and lunges, the two of them rolling once, twice, before Byleth knees him in the stomach. He grunts and she springs away, releasing the bladed whip of her sword. Dimitri deflects it with a well-timed flick of his lance, having seen the move often enough, and catches it with his other hand, fingers protected by his gauntlets though its sharpness cuts into even them. He pulls, and Byleth narrows her eyes as she retracts the whip, bringing him closer, and lifts her leg to kick him. She aims true, but doesn’t pull away fast enough, and he grabs her leg and throws her. She skids in the mud, planting her sword in the ground to stop herself, and leaps up again, expression still impassive. 

His eye flickers warily as he opens and closes his fist, as if he can’t quite believe what he’d done. He spins his lance again and grips it more tightly in anticipation of her next move. She spins her own sword, adjusting her grip, and walks forward slowly, keeping her eyes trained on him. 

Dimitri blinks—and suddenly she’s gone, flashing before him, and the next moment he’s flat on his back. He makes to get up, only to feel a slight pressure insisting he stay down, and when he finally manages to open his eyes and catch the breath that’s been knocked out of him, he sees Byleth with a foot on his chest and the tip of her sword hovering under his chin.

When he looks up at her, she touches the blade to his skin and tilts his chin up, just a little, and smiles, just a little. 

“You cannot go to Enbarr,” she says again, with the tone of one who expects to be obeyed, and he almost laughs.

“Not like this, certainly,” he agrees, groaning. 

She steps off, and Dimitri half-rises from the ground, using his lance as support. He hurts, between whatever move Byleth had just used, and the recent stab wound from that young girl. She hadn’t gone easy on him despite it, and the realization warms him, oddly enough. 

“Tell me, Professor, since you seem to have all the answers,” Dimitri says after a moment, staring at the mud. “Those who died with lingering regret…they will not loose their hold on me so easily. Please, tell me…how do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I save them? Ever since that day nine years ago…I have only lived to avenge the fallen. Even my time at the Officer’s Academy was all so I could secure my revenge and clear away the regret of the dead. It was the only thing that kept me alive…my only reason to keep moving forward…”

Byleth drops to her knees, but he does not lift his head, rivulets of water dripping down his hair and his face. 

“You’ve suffered enough, Dimitri.”

Her voice is soft and sad, but she says them like a benediction. 

“But then who…or what…should I live for?”

There’s a pause before she speaks again. 

“…For what you believe in.”

His head jerks up, his eye swimming with anguish and uncertainty, question ready on his lips. But his breath catches before he can speak; Byleth is staring at him with such intensity that it awes him. 

“For a world where no one is ever unjustly taken from us,” she continues. “For the justice of Duscur. For the man you wanted—want—to be. There are things you believed in and still believe…you need only remember.”

Dimitri gapes at her as she speaks, the each word sinking into him slowly. Byleth smiles at him, tender and sweet, and she puts her hands to his cheeks.

“What I believe in…Rodrigue said the same thing. But is it possible? I am a murderous monster. My hands are stained red. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life? As the sole survivor of that day do I…do I have the right to live for myself?”

She touches her forehead to his.

“Come forward with me, Dimitri,” she whispers, her lips just barely brushing his as she speaks.

Hope flares, and he leans into her hands, covering them with his own, sighing. He’s not sure if he knows how to live for himself, not yet. But he thinks that there are some things he might want to live for.

“Your hands are so warm…have they always been?”

Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. After another moment, he tucks his head into the crook of her neck and weeps. But this time, unlike previous times, he feels just a little bit lighter, and his future just a little bit clearer. 

She murmurs something once, then twice, but both are lost in the sound of the rain and his sobs. 

.

The rest of the Blue Lions minus Felix are waiting when they return to the monastery, watching with slight smiles as they watch Dimitri trail behind Byleth like a drowned puppy. 

Mercedes and Annette wait until they’re closer to exclaim upon their sorry state, while Sylvain starts to laugh.

“What the hell were you doing out there? Mud wrestling?” he says, and Byleth shrugs.

“Something like that,” she says, slicking mud off of her arm. “We need a bath.”

“Together?” Sylvain follows up, waggling his eyebrows.

Byleth folds her arms into her signature thinking pose.

“It would be more efficient that way,” she concedes, and several of them choke.

Dimitri, to their surprise, flushes to the tips of his ears and looks away. 

Sylvainhowls. 

“It sure would, Professor,” he says, “So why don’t you and His Highness—”

“THAT,” Dimitri and Ingrid say loudly at the same time, and Dimitri sputters a little before holding up his hand to motion for Ingrid to continue speaking in his stead.

Amusement mixes with the indignation on her face, because right now, he’s very much the Dimitri they’re all familiar with, and it’s a pleasure to see.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ingrid continues, “We may be low on supplies, but water we have plenty of. And there’s soapwort enough to go around if you aren’t picky.”

“What a shame, eh Your Highness?” Sylvain snickers, putting an arm around Dimitri, not even caring about the mud. “Anyway, it’s good to see you back.”

It’s a casual declaration, and one that Dimitri can’t quite process yet, but he’s whisked away to the baths by Dedue and Sylvain and saved from responding. Ashe opts to make for the kitchens instead, to prepare something for Dimitri and Byleth to eat afterwards. The girls lead Byleth away with offers to help her wash up, and she smiles bemusedly and allows them their ministrations. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Ingrid says, as she works at Byleth’s scalp with her nails.

Byleth hums, and does not accept nor deny the gratitude. Ingrid understands, but feels the gratitude nonetheless. 

“He needs the rest of you too,” Byleth says after a long moment, her voice sleepy. The girls are utterly spoiling her, with Ingrid at her hair, Annette working on her nails, and Mercedes massaging her face and shoulders. This has to be unfair, somehow. 

“We know,” Annette smiles. “But Professor, you’re like…I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he needs you the most.”

“You’re his heart and soul,” Mercedes says, and there’s a pause. “And that’s as dangerous as it is beautiful.” 

The girls are silent for a moment at this truth, and Byleth considers Mercedes’ words. 

“I don’t know if we know how to live any other way,” she says, distantly. “But if that is my place, then I will claim it.”

In