[He accepts the embrace like it was the only thing he needs; like his form was meant to perfectly slot against her own.

Byleth’s words comfort him, just as much as they shear through his heart.]

I do not deserve that love or kindness. I have so much blood on my hands.

[He is trying to make it all right again, but guilt is not something so easily swept away. It has motivated him in different forms throughout his lifetime — the same happens now, that guilt fueling his redemption. He exhales, a shaky thing.]

Maybe that is what bothers me the most.

[But in moments like these, he feels he can breathe. In her presence, maybe he can allow himself a small amount of reprieve. A tiny mote of selfishness.

It’s this thought that has him making a decision: to shift so that he’s lying on his side on the bench with his head in her lap. It works as a transition in the conversation, too, seeking out comfort from her where he can grant himself none.]

But you always make me feel... better. You are the best kind of distraction for a broken mind like my own. [Maybe she cannot see it, but his smile is rueful.]

Tell me of a story, from before we met. There is still so much of you that I do not know about.