[their progress into a relationship is, by all means, a glacial pace kind of commitment. with the war moving along as it does, losses in the battlefield and drawing ever closer to a conclusion that makes all of them restless, there has been a kind of solace found in quiet talks and shared fears and holding each other tight. byleth isn't sure she does very well at expressing how much it means to her—dimitri's almost blind trust towards her and the way his gaze softens when their eyes meet.]
[and while little is questioned in terms of who grows closer with whom, byleth finds solace in knowing that her feelings are very much returned, and that those around her jest and tease dimitri, confirming that yes, in fact, this much is true.]
[ghosts and regrets still haunt the young king to be, however, and byleth is familiar with nightmares that seem too real. she witnesses her beloved's desperate thrashing in his sleep far too often, and tonight, while sleep escapes her, she is not surprised to see him walking about the monastery—his expression that of a man lost, mumbling to himself.]
Dimitri.
[she calls quietly, but loud enough to be heard in the courtyard, and makes her way towards him—a hand immediately seeking his own, concern on her face.]
Can't sleep?
[the answer is clear, but she wishes to give him the opportunity to says what he wishes and keep locked away what he wants.]
[Though he has promised to no longer be chained to the ghosts of the dead, they still choose to haunt him some nights.
As the war continues, battles culminating and climbing towards to the apex of its end, stress and exhaustion is felt across the Kingdom’s ranks. Dimitri feels it just as poignantly as the rest, if not more, and this invites the headaches to become more prominent, to hear and see fragments of the dead after he wakes from harried nightmares.
The chilled, outdoor air of the monastery is a distraction on nights like these. Even when ghosts tail his step from afar, and he has to tell them, in low tones, to leave him be. That he will not be tied to their insatiable will any longer.
But one voice rings brighter in the night, from across the courtyard and pulling his attention in Byleth’s direction. His look, tired and stressed, softens immediately. His hand seeks her own on instinct, drawing her close to him.]
Professor... no, I cannot. Dreams and headaches keep me awake tonight. And bone-deep exhaustion.
[The dead, too, if she had heard his mumblings. But ever one to care more about her than himself, of course he asks—]
And yourself? It is late, and impossibly cold out. You should be warm in your bed.
[her worry is prominent on her face where her words are lacking, frowning at his admission that his head is swarmed with too much noise to allow himself easy rest. she only needs to see his expression before realizing just how bad it really is.]
I wanted to see you.
[it's more than that, clearly. byleth's worry kept her awake, aware of the torment and pressure dimitri must be under. if she can provide him solace, even if temporary, then she can rest easier that way. it would soothe her own nerves, too, to be at his side, as it has become a customary feeling at this point.]
[she looks up at him.]
Let's sit together.
[forceful she remains, despite their more obvious affections for one another, as she leads the way towards the greenhouse. he worries over how cold she may feel, and she's aware that being away from the confines of his room will help him seek solace from his nightmares. the greenhouse offers a happy middle point.]
[He never really has the willpower to deny her. And on a night like this one, a bad night with too many things crowding his head, it is easy to follow Byleth’s lead. Tugged along by the hand, he gives hers a gentle squeeze as they move towards the greenhouse — a sign of quiet gratitude.
The interior of the greenhouse is well-lit no matter the time of day or night, and this illumination greets them as they enter. It’s warmer, too, as expected. A little humid, but better than the bite of the outside air to those unused to it.
He looks at her profile as they walk, seeing tired lines mar even her features. Dimitri is sorry for it, and ever sorry to make her worry on top of all the other responsibilities she has in this war. She gives so much of herself, and he wonders how she can be so strong for all of them. Byleth truly must possess some divine manner of strength, unyielding even under the weight of her own pressures.
A little bench, hiding under the eaves of a large plant with elephant-ear leaves, is as good of a place as any to sit. When they do, Dimitri feels a pang between his eyes, and brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.]
I should ask for one night of uninterrupted sleep, but I think I will be denied it until the end of the war.
[soon as she sits, byleth is leaning forward just so she can look into dimitri's face. he hides away behind a hand that attempts to ease the pain of a likely migraine away. she reaches up — her hand over his — in an attempt to be soothing.]
[she... is not sure of what to say, truth be told. sleeping has never been much of an issue for her, but rather the opposite, at times, meaning that she slept quicker and easier than others. unless she decided to deny herself of it, of course.]
There is much on your shoulders. Everyone is on edge and restless the closer we draw to Enbarr.
[it hangs over them, like a swinging guillotine in the dark. they don't know when exactly it will strike, but they know that it will come down on them at some point. that doesn't really help at all, for as much as they are preparing themselves.]
[her hand drops and rests, instead, on his lap.]
Dimitri, [softly] what if you shared your pain? When restless over a job, my father would speak a lot of it the days leading up to it. At the time I thought it was him being old and silly [haha] but now I see he simply voiced his troubles.
[it's somewhat sad, in retrospect, just how much more she has learned about caring and compassion, now that she's been surrounded by people who admire her and love her. she wishes she could have had a chance to have this kind of newfound sympathy when speaking with jeralt.]
Allow me to share the weight you carry. [a light smile] I am strong enough to carry you, as you know.
[He feels her touch, always a welcome sensation. Dimitri drops his hand down, on top of hers when it rests in his lap, and gives her a fond, sidelong glance. A huff of amusement escapes his lips.]
And yet I was the first to ever carry you, though perhaps you do not remember it.
[Five years ago, when she had passed out after battle — a memory that will never loose itself from his head.
But that was the exception rather than the rule, wasn’t it? She had always been the pillar of the support, not just for himself, but for everyone. Even now, she is the one sitting here, wanting to hear about the ugliness of his nightmares. Whatever form their relationship has started to take, this much has always stayed the same.]
My pain... it is always the same, though. The same nightmares of Duscur, the royal camp set on fire and men swooping in to kill everyone. [He closes his eye, head pulsing again.] The same ghosts that haunt me after I awaken; I see them at a distance now, and they are only fleeting compared to before, yet they are there. I can feel their eyes on my back when they are not.
[He has decided to walk forward, past the skeletons, but many still cling to the footsteps left behind.]
You used to be one of them. Did you know that? If I did not dream of that day, which was rare, I dreamt of other faces lost to me. You, too, looked at me with scornful eyes while I slept.
[Unlike how she looks at him now, in reality, something he could lose himself in if he really tried. Dimitri leans in, instinctively seeking that closeness, until their shoulders touch.]
[byleth ends up putting an arm around his waist when he does lean into her, pressing her head to him in some form of embrace. like this, and her hand under his, she feels a sense of intimacy that belongs to no one but them — no one else gets to be as close to dimitri, and it makes her want to protect him even more, to envelop him with the certainty that while not everything may be fixed, there is room for peace and calm.]
Nightmares are fears we try not to give a name to while we are awake. I could never look at you with hate, even if our paths weren't aligned together.
[this much she knows as truth — despite her obvious feelings for him, now.]
You are the only one left.
[how many had they lost in this war? even those close to dimitri, like rodrigue, a fatherly figure. he was always alone from the start, and even now it must feel like he's piling up more and more deaths for his own sake. she turns her head upwards, to glance at him, still pressed into him—her bangs messy under his chin.]
Many have done what they have because they love you. They do not seek your demise.
[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.
[she adjusts to the shift, removing her hands from him momentarily to allow him to rest his head on her lap. she appreciates when he does these things—an open show of vulnerability, and that despite his most hardened words that he himself seeks for comfort though he believes himself unworthy of such a thing.]
[she rests a hand over his side while the other lands on his head, brushing his hair back with light, feather-like touches.]
[her smile is small.]
[tell me a story, he says. byleth wants to refute back his previous statement, of how there is so much blood on his hands. there is just as much on her own, too, from when she was a mercenary. no one in this war was saintlier than any other.]
Would you like to know about when I was a kid?
[the memories... are painful, filled with regret. sometimes she wishes she could have cherished the times she spent with her father better, devoid of the apathy that she grew up with, with the indifference of having such a renown father figure that everyone wished to impress.]
[so she begins, light and gentle with her words.] I learned how to ride a horse when I was around eight. I always saw my father on one, and I wanted to be just like him. But — you know, I was even smaller back then. [her height and jeralt's never quite matched] So, he got me a pony. Bumkin, because I couldn't really pronounce Pumpkin right.
It made him laugh every time I rode past him in 'Bumkin,' most likely yelling out of fear from how fast I was going.
[byleth keeps brushing his blond hair gently, but swallows thickly.]
My growing up was a blur of days. [she thinks] If there is... anything specific you want to know about, you can ask.
[Of course he wants to know. He wants to know everything about her; Byleth’s air of mystery had always extended to her past. A mercenary with such skill, the daughter of a practically legendary ex-Knight of Seiros. What was it like, growing up in such a way? So sheltered from the rest of the world, knowing what he knows of her?
The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, brushing stray strands aside, is calming. Dimitri closes his eye, kept still by her warmth.]
I can imagine it well. You, galloping alongside your father while mounted on your faithful pony.
[He’s smiling more sincerely now. It really is an amusing thought, trying to imagine her so small, still learning.]
I was even younger when I rode my first horse. Many children in Faerghus are taught how to ride and wield a sword before they also learn how to write — royalty was especially no exception. My father… [It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking about happier times so openly. But just as Byleth shared with him, he will do the same. It’s only fair.] My father placed me atop a warhorse. I was terrified, it was so large, I clung to its mane the entire time he led it around the stables, reassuring me that it would be all right. That riding was in my blood, like so much else in the Blaiddyd line.
[He pauses, letting that settle. Memories weighing deeply on both of them.]
Your father taught you how to wield a sword too, didn’t he? Did you take to it with ease?
[ever wonder why byleth rather be on foot, even if being on a horse would be that much more convenient in terms of saving her energy and being quick about her trips? some things just never change.]
[it's great, she thinks, to hear dimitri speak openly about his own memories of the past, as difficult as they are. the tragedy in duscur made conversations about his father and family a seldom affair, but since they're both sharing — it really is only fair.]
[and while happy it is a memory, it makes byleth... pause.]
[it seems like their pasts and present has been marred with responsibility and bloodshed and just what it means to walk the path set before them. she sees it even now, as dimitri will be crowned king and she will undoubtedly ascend to archbishop of the church of seiros. being taught to wield a sword, the blood that has covered the blades she's wielded, her own inability at saving her father although she could turn back time. she wishes for happier times, together.]
[with a small sigh and a nod, she keeps her face down to look at him, a sad look in her eyes.]
After all this is over, will you be at my side? I—
[she hesitates, closing her mouth and lips a thin line as she tries to find the words.]
[Silence overcomes the greenhouse for a few moments. It is indicative of thought, and he is used to them from Byleth, so Dimitri waits patiently for a response.
When it comes, he opens his eye again, brow pinching. Her train of thought has taken her elsewhere, and while he often struggles to make the connections to follow, it’s far easier this time. Speaking of the past always leads to how one wants it to affect the future — he would know this better than anyone, now.
He shifts, turning to lay on his back. From this angle, he can see her face, gazing up at her with consideration. Her features are cast against the warm illumination of the greenhouse.]
Byleth. [In this moment, the title is dropped. No longer Professor and ex-student, or king-to-be and his loyal comrade and irreplaceable friend. Just Dimitri and Byleth, an intimacy between them that carves out this familiarity.] I do not plan on ever being without you. I…
[I want to make a happy life — with you. His heart may burst.]
You make me happy. Now, just being close with you like this; that is all it takes. From here on out, this will not change. [And yet, this is not just about him, it has not been for a long time now.] But I wish to be strong enough for you, as well. I want to make you happy. Make you laugh. I want to chase after your smile in every way possible. You have done so much for me, and I— I want to be able to return the favor.
If it is happiness you want, I will offer every part of myself to create it for you. It is what you deserve, and more.
[how do you answer a profession of love — because it is — said in such an earnest, honest manner? byleth's eyes are wide as she looks down at him, clearly trying to let the words swim in her head and give her insight on the right thing to say.]
[you make me happy. dimitri makes her happy, too. i want to make you happy. make you laugh. i want to chase after your smile in every way possible. this is exactly what byleth wants, too, her feelings put into words so precisely it's almost shocking that dimitri got them spot on. her father's words i hope you'll give this ring to someone you love as well as i love her, speaking of her mother, and at the time she felt that he was teasing her for a bit — the subject of love embarrassing in a childish sort of way.]
And I will love you in return. [this seems right] More so than what I do now.
[There is nothing else she could say that would shake him to the core as much as that. His blue-eye widens, and he feels his breath catch in his throat, sticking there to act as a bulwark against his heart leaping up in it, too. He meant what he said. He would sacrifice so much of himself to keep her happy, and that alone is a confession — but to hear it spoken aloud is like plucking it from thin air and turning it into reality. He cannot escape the revelation, nor would he ever want to.
He doesn’t deserve her love. She is so very, very beyond him in every way. She is divine, her soul blessed by the Goddess; he is just a broken man who will one day pretend he is fit to be King. No, he doesn’t deserve it, but he cannot help but covet it all the same.
He swallows. Dimitri’s heart won’t still in his chest. He dumbly has no words, but he does not need them.
He reaches up, sliding a hand behind her head, fingers lacing through her hair. His other arm props himself up by the elbow and he cranes his neck, lifting, stealing a kiss from her lips. No warning, no preamble — he’s wanted this for so long.]
[and byleth, too, even if she wasn't aware of what her own desires were at the time. the silence is deafening and heavy, but enough so that she understands where this is going—enough that she understands what she wants.]
[she closes her eyes as dimitri kisses her, and she feels warmth. something just and right about this. saintly as she may actually be, her past is marred with such strong humanity and things that would otherwise mar her sainthood. no, at this time she doesn't need to move further into the divine, but she needs to be tethered to a world where humanity still grips at her strong, where she can be part of the stupid, idiotic mess that is to live with scars and guilt and pain.]
[as they pull away from the kiss, byleth urges him to sit up properly beside her, so that she can press a hand to his cheek—smiling radiantly before pressing forward to kiss him again.]
[now that it's happening, it doesn't feel right to stop.]
[He has thought about this more than once. What it would be like, to have his lips press against hers. The reality is even greater than the imagining, the things it does to his body unquantifiable — his heartbeat, thundering. Blood rushing to the surface of his skin, flushing his cheeks. How he wants more of her, and now awakened to the feeling, he does not know how he ever lived without it.
He sits up, encouraged by her touch, then leans into the second kiss with just as much enthusiasm as before. He is… inexperienced in this — in all things that would encapsulate romance — but it feels right. Every millisecond is the world aligning itself into how it should be.
Dimitri only breaks away to breathe, and his words are equally breathy when he speaks, looking at her with a flushed face, and tilting his forehead against hers.]
I, ah… [Oh, Goddess. Words are so hard right now. It’s like he’s seventeen and useless again.] I have been wanting… to do that for a long time.
[she smiles into the soft press os his forehead against hers, feeling taken by the feeling even if she can't necessarily relate to dimitri's wanting to do this since before now. her affection for him was gradual, growing quietly in her heart with every word they shared and every battle they fought side by side.]
[her hand is warm against his cheek, and she can feel the heat of his face — perhaps mirroring her own — pressed against her.]
[desire is building up, and she doesn't quite know what to do with it.]
[At that question, he pulls back, though not quite far enough to detach him from her hand. His eye has widened slightly, though, searching — trying to parse the, er, meaning behind that question.
His flushed face is not going to abate anytime soon, at this rate.]
Sleeping— er, sleeping in your room?
[Can she hear the gears grinding in his head, overcoming the thud of his heartbeat?]
You want… to share a bed?
[What does she mean? Is he being to assumptive? How else is he supposed to take that after a kiss exchanged? hELP]
[his questions throw byleth on a loop, uncertain as to whether she measured their current situation properly? her expression pinches, showing doubt and confusion, and that trademark look of frustration when forced to look at her options and choose one (player/mc 'choose an option' screen).]
That way we can sleep, eventually. [nods] But before that, we could — keep kissing. [blunt!] It is normal if we are both attracted to each other. [critical hit!]
[Does he not want to? Maybe she should be asking if he's dead inside? Afraid that he’s going to give her the wrong impression, a negative impression, he’s quick to say—]
No, no, I want to. If I did not want to kiss you I would not have… [aaaaa] I would not have done it.
[His face is warm, heated, such a contrast to Byleth’s own expression of consternation.]
I am always wanting to spend time with you. If that is what you want, truly, then I would have to be a fool to say no.
[CRITICAL HIT INDEED. He calms his mind from spinning through all the possibilities — it is quite probable all she wants to do is kiss him and keep warm for the night. Calm down, self.]
[as most times, she takes the lead, standing up and this time taking his hands in hers, urging him to follow. this is exactly the opposite of what she had intentioned — heading back to her room, that is — but it seems to draw a positive reaction from dimitri, previously haunted by ghosts and guilt.]
[she walks with him, pace brisk (as usual), holding his hand. the chilly night air cools the flush on her face and soon enough they reach her bedroom. she removes herself from him and has him standing in the center of the room as she closes the doors, leaving them with nothing but the darkness and the silence of her bedroom.]
[suddenly, her heart feels like it's filling up the lack of sound — and she turns to face him, only to walk forward and close to him, pulling him in for a kiss before he can begin to question this or himself, an earnest kiss that pushes past the boundaries of soft and gentle first impressions.]
[When Byleth closes the door, leaving them swathed only in shadow, a faint nervousness tinges every cognizant thought. He becomes overly aware of where she stands — moving closer to him — and his heart once more thuds hard in his chest, not knowing what to expect. Or perhaps because he does know what to expect.
Much of his overthinking, however, goes flying out of his mind when she completely closes that space and kisses him. There’s no time to question it, no time to ask what she expects from him tonight, only the heated press of her lips against his own.
He can’t help but lean into it — returning it with a fervor that echoes their first. Just like Dimitri cannot help the noise of satisfaction he makes from the back of his throat, an arm reaching out to loop around her waist.]
[this kind of stimulation is new and byleth finds herself enjoying it, a spark of enthusiasm coursing through her as she feels dimitri draw her closer, an arm around her waist — in the noise that he makes, draining her of the air in her lungs like it's not her own to begin with.]
[her face heats up, her hands on his neck and cheek, her kisses earnest and hungry. she breathes against his skin, slowly finding room beyond his collarbone to put her hands on. on his arms, as she pushes him back towards the bed.]
—sit.
[byleth commands, voice low, her eyes opening to meet his own heated gaze.]
[One arm remains looped around her middle while the other begins to trail from her shoulder to the side of her face, leaning in further to indulge himself in the kiss. It would be easy enough to lose himself in this one moment, to be happy enough with just this alone (his heart still feels like it may explode) but suddenly Byleth’s hands are at his forearms—
And pushing him back, sending his balance gently backwards and giving him no choice but to sit on the bed. The mattress jostles a little under his sudden weight.
His voice is a bit breathless.]
Byleth... [He meets her gaze, a smoldering thing. Dimitri feels like he is to await a command, not unlike on the battlefield— or rather, perhaps a little different.]
[she gathers him for context clues, dimitri for once not really expressing more other than her name. there's usually a question asking for her input or an offer of advice—something. but now, this is different. this is new.]
[fumbling lightly with what to do next, she manages to appear to keep her cool and walk over to him and stand between his legs, her hands lifting to cup his face and rest just under his ears.]
...I don't know what I'm doing.
[better to admit this before they push anything too far with the expectation that one or the other would know what to work with.]
But I know that I want to do this with you. [she mutters, nodding. she isn't so ignorant or dumb as to what kind of things people like sylvain get up to.] Would it be okay?
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finalflight2019-11-15 01:54 am
no subject
[and while little is questioned in terms of who grows closer with whom, byleth finds solace in knowing that her feelings are very much returned, and that those around her jest and tease dimitri, confirming that yes, in fact, this much is true.]
[ghosts and regrets still haunt the young king to be, however, and byleth is familiar with nightmares that seem too real. she witnesses her beloved's desperate thrashing in his sleep far too often, and tonight, while sleep escapes her, she is not surprised to see him walking about the monastery—his expression that of a man lost, mumbling to himself.]
Dimitri.
[she calls quietly, but loud enough to be heard in the courtyard, and makes her way towards him—a hand immediately seeking his own, concern on her face.]
Can't sleep?
[the answer is clear, but she wishes to give him the opportunity to says what he wishes and keep locked away what he wants.]
no subject
As the war continues, battles culminating and climbing towards to the apex of its end, stress and exhaustion is felt across the Kingdom’s ranks. Dimitri feels it just as poignantly as the rest, if not more, and this invites the headaches to become more prominent, to hear and see fragments of the dead after he wakes from harried nightmares.
The chilled, outdoor air of the monastery is a distraction on nights like these. Even when ghosts tail his step from afar, and he has to tell them, in low tones, to leave him be. That he will not be tied to their insatiable will any longer.
But one voice rings brighter in the night, from across the courtyard and pulling his attention in Byleth’s direction. His look, tired and stressed, softens immediately. His hand seeks her own on instinct, drawing her close to him.]
Professor... no, I cannot. Dreams and headaches keep me awake tonight. And bone-deep exhaustion.
[The dead, too, if she had heard his mumblings. But ever one to care more about her than himself, of course he asks—]
And yourself? It is late, and impossibly cold out. You should be warm in your bed.
no subject
I wanted to see you.
[it's more than that, clearly. byleth's worry kept her awake, aware of the torment and pressure dimitri must be under. if she can provide him solace, even if temporary, then she can rest easier that way. it would soothe her own nerves, too, to be at his side, as it has become a customary feeling at this point.]
[she looks up at him.]
Let's sit together.
[forceful she remains, despite their more obvious affections for one another, as she leads the way towards the greenhouse. he worries over how cold she may feel, and she's aware that being away from the confines of his room will help him seek solace from his nightmares. the greenhouse offers a happy middle point.]
no subject
The interior of the greenhouse is well-lit no matter the time of day or night, and this illumination greets them as they enter. It’s warmer, too, as expected. A little humid, but better than the bite of the outside air to those unused to it.
He looks at her profile as they walk, seeing tired lines mar even her features. Dimitri is sorry for it, and ever sorry to make her worry on top of all the other responsibilities she has in this war. She gives so much of herself, and he wonders how she can be so strong for all of them. Byleth truly must possess some divine manner of strength, unyielding even under the weight of her own pressures.
A little bench, hiding under the eaves of a large plant with elephant-ear leaves, is as good of a place as any to sit. When they do, Dimitri feels a pang between his eyes, and brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.]
I should ask for one night of uninterrupted sleep, but I think I will be denied it until the end of the war.
[If even then, he wonders.]
no subject
[she... is not sure of what to say, truth be told. sleeping has never been much of an issue for her, but rather the opposite, at times, meaning that she slept quicker and easier than others. unless she decided to deny herself of it, of course.]
There is much on your shoulders. Everyone is on edge and restless the closer we draw to Enbarr.
[it hangs over them, like a swinging guillotine in the dark. they don't know when exactly it will strike, but they know that it will come down on them at some point. that doesn't really help at all, for as much as they are preparing themselves.]
[her hand drops and rests, instead, on his lap.]
Dimitri, [softly] what if you shared your pain? When restless over a job, my father would speak a lot of it the days leading up to it. At the time I thought it was him being old and silly [haha] but now I see he simply voiced his troubles.
[it's somewhat sad, in retrospect, just how much more she has learned about caring and compassion, now that she's been surrounded by people who admire her and love her. she wishes she could have had a chance to have this kind of newfound sympathy when speaking with jeralt.]
Allow me to share the weight you carry. [a light smile] I am strong enough to carry you, as you know.
no subject
And yet I was the first to ever carry you, though perhaps you do not remember it.
[Five years ago, when she had passed out after battle — a memory that will never loose itself from his head.
But that was the exception rather than the rule, wasn’t it? She had always been the pillar of the support, not just for himself, but for everyone. Even now, she is the one sitting here, wanting to hear about the ugliness of his nightmares. Whatever form their relationship has started to take, this much has always stayed the same.]
My pain... it is always the same, though. The same nightmares of Duscur, the royal camp set on fire and men swooping in to kill everyone. [He closes his eye, head pulsing again.] The same ghosts that haunt me after I awaken; I see them at a distance now, and they are only fleeting compared to before, yet they are there. I can feel their eyes on my back when they are not.
[He has decided to walk forward, past the skeletons, but many still cling to the footsteps left behind.]
You used to be one of them. Did you know that? If I did not dream of that day, which was rare, I dreamt of other faces lost to me. You, too, looked at me with scornful eyes while I slept.
[Unlike how she looks at him now, in reality, something he could lose himself in if he really tried. Dimitri leans in, instinctively seeking that closeness, until their shoulders touch.]
I am glad it was never the reality.
no subject
Nightmares are fears we try not to give a name to while we are awake. I could never look at you with hate, even if our paths weren't aligned together.
[this much she knows as truth — despite her obvious feelings for him, now.]
You are the only one left.
[how many had they lost in this war? even those close to dimitri, like rodrigue, a fatherly figure. he was always alone from the start, and even now it must feel like he's piling up more and more deaths for his own sake. she turns her head upwards, to glance at him, still pressed into him—her bangs messy under his chin.]
Many have done what they have because they love you. They do not seek your demise.
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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.
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[she rests a hand over his side while the other lands on his head, brushing his hair back with light, feather-like touches.]
[her smile is small.]
[tell me a story, he says. byleth wants to refute back his previous statement, of how there is so much blood on his hands. there is just as much on her own, too, from when she was a mercenary. no one in this war was saintlier than any other.]
Would you like to know about when I was a kid?
[the memories... are painful, filled with regret. sometimes she wishes she could have cherished the times she spent with her father better, devoid of the apathy that she grew up with, with the indifference of having such a renown father figure that everyone wished to impress.]
[so she begins, light and gentle with her words.] I learned how to ride a horse when I was around eight. I always saw my father on one, and I wanted to be just like him. But — you know, I was even smaller back then. [her height and jeralt's never quite matched] So, he got me a pony. Bumkin, because I couldn't really pronounce Pumpkin right.
It made him laugh every time I rode past him in 'Bumkin,' most likely yelling out of fear from how fast I was going.
[byleth keeps brushing his blond hair gently, but swallows thickly.]
My growing up was a blur of days. [she thinks] If there is... anything specific you want to know about, you can ask.
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The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, brushing stray strands aside, is calming. Dimitri closes his eye, kept still by her warmth.]
I can imagine it well. You, galloping alongside your father while mounted on your faithful pony.
[He’s smiling more sincerely now. It really is an amusing thought, trying to imagine her so small, still learning.]
I was even younger when I rode my first horse. Many children in Faerghus are taught how to ride and wield a sword before they also learn how to write — royalty was especially no exception. My father… [It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking about happier times so openly. But just as Byleth shared with him, he will do the same. It’s only fair.] My father placed me atop a warhorse. I was terrified, it was so large, I clung to its mane the entire time he led it around the stables, reassuring me that it would be all right. That riding was in my blood, like so much else in the Blaiddyd line.
[He pauses, letting that settle. Memories weighing deeply on both of them.]
Your father taught you how to wield a sword too, didn’t he? Did you take to it with ease?
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[it's great, she thinks, to hear dimitri speak openly about his own memories of the past, as difficult as they are. the tragedy in duscur made conversations about his father and family a seldom affair, but since they're both sharing — it really is only fair.]
[and while happy it is a memory, it makes byleth... pause.]
[it seems like their pasts and present has been marred with responsibility and bloodshed and just what it means to walk the path set before them. she sees it even now, as dimitri will be crowned king and she will undoubtedly ascend to archbishop of the church of seiros. being taught to wield a sword, the blood that has covered the blades she's wielded, her own inability at saving her father although she could turn back time. she wishes for happier times, together.]
[with a small sigh and a nod, she keeps her face down to look at him, a sad look in her eyes.]
After all this is over, will you be at my side? I—
[she hesitates, closing her mouth and lips a thin line as she tries to find the words.]
I want to make a happy life — with you.
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When it comes, he opens his eye again, brow pinching. Her train of thought has taken her elsewhere, and while he often struggles to make the connections to follow, it’s far easier this time. Speaking of the past always leads to how one wants it to affect the future — he would know this better than anyone, now.
He shifts, turning to lay on his back. From this angle, he can see her face, gazing up at her with consideration. Her features are cast against the warm illumination of the greenhouse.]
Byleth. [In this moment, the title is dropped. No longer Professor and ex-student, or king-to-be and his loyal comrade and irreplaceable friend. Just Dimitri and Byleth, an intimacy between them that carves out this familiarity.] I do not plan on ever being without you. I…
[I want to make a happy life — with you. His heart may burst.]
You make me happy. Now, just being close with you like this; that is all it takes. From here on out, this will not change. [And yet, this is not just about him, it has not been for a long time now.] But I wish to be strong enough for you, as well. I want to make you happy. Make you laugh. I want to chase after your smile in every way possible. You have done so much for me, and I— I want to be able to return the favor.
If it is happiness you want, I will offer every part of myself to create it for you. It is what you deserve, and more.
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[you make me happy. dimitri makes her happy, too. i want to make you happy. make you laugh. i want to chase after your smile in every way possible. this is exactly what byleth wants, too, her feelings put into words so precisely it's almost shocking that dimitri got them spot on. her father's words i hope you'll give this ring to someone you love as well as i love her, speaking of her mother, and at the time she felt that he was teasing her for a bit — the subject of love embarrassing in a childish sort of way.]
And I will love you in return. [this seems right] More so than what I do now.
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He doesn’t deserve her love. She is so very, very beyond him in every way. She is divine, her soul blessed by the Goddess; he is just a broken man who will one day pretend he is fit to be King. No, he doesn’t deserve it, but he cannot help but covet it all the same.
He swallows. Dimitri’s heart won’t still in his chest. He dumbly has no words, but he does not need them.
He reaches up, sliding a hand behind her head, fingers lacing through her hair. His other arm props himself up by the elbow and he cranes his neck, lifting, stealing a kiss from her lips. No warning, no preamble — he’s wanted this for so long.]
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[she closes her eyes as dimitri kisses her, and she feels warmth. something just and right about this. saintly as she may actually be, her past is marred with such strong humanity and things that would otherwise mar her sainthood. no, at this time she doesn't need to move further into the divine, but she needs to be tethered to a world where humanity still grips at her strong, where she can be part of the stupid, idiotic mess that is to live with scars and guilt and pain.]
[as they pull away from the kiss, byleth urges him to sit up properly beside her, so that she can press a hand to his cheek—smiling radiantly before pressing forward to kiss him again.]
[now that it's happening, it doesn't feel right to stop.]
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He sits up, encouraged by her touch, then leans into the second kiss with just as much enthusiasm as before. He is… inexperienced in this — in all things that would encapsulate romance — but it feels right. Every millisecond is the world aligning itself into how it should be.
Dimitri only breaks away to breathe, and his words are equally breathy when he speaks, looking at her with a flushed face, and tilting his forehead against hers.]
I, ah… [Oh, Goddess. Words are so hard right now. It’s like he’s seventeen and useless again.] I have been wanting… to do that for a long time.
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[her hand is warm against his cheek, and she can feel the heat of his face — perhaps mirroring her own — pressed against her.]
[desire is building up, and she doesn't quite know what to do with it.]
Do you— mind sleeping in my room tonight?
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His flushed face is not going to abate anytime soon, at this rate.]
Sleeping— er, sleeping in your room?
[Can she hear the gears grinding in his head, overcoming the thud of his heartbeat?]
You want… to share a bed?
[What does she mean? Is he being to assumptive? How else is he supposed to take that after a kiss exchanged? hELP]
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[his questions throw byleth on a loop, uncertain as to whether she measured their current situation properly? her expression pinches, showing doubt and confusion, and that trademark look of frustration when forced to look at her options and choose one (player/mc 'choose an option' screen).]
That way we can sleep, eventually. [nods] But before that, we could — keep kissing. [blunt!] It is normal if we are both attracted to each other. [critical hit!]
Do you not want to?
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No, no, I want to. If I did not want to kiss you I would not have… [aaaaa] I would not have done it.
[His face is warm, heated, such a contrast to Byleth’s own expression of consternation.]
I am always wanting to spend time with you. If that is what you want, truly, then I would have to be a fool to say no.
[CRITICAL HIT INDEED. He calms his mind from spinning through all the possibilities — it is quite probable all she wants to do is kiss him and keep warm for the night. Calm down, self.]
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[as most times, she takes the lead, standing up and this time taking his hands in hers, urging him to follow. this is exactly the opposite of what she had intentioned — heading back to her room, that is — but it seems to draw a positive reaction from dimitri, previously haunted by ghosts and guilt.]
[she walks with him, pace brisk (as usual), holding his hand. the chilly night air cools the flush on her face and soon enough they reach her bedroom. she removes herself from him and has him standing in the center of the room as she closes the doors, leaving them with nothing but the darkness and the silence of her bedroom.]
[suddenly, her heart feels like it's filling up the lack of sound — and she turns to face him, only to walk forward and close to him, pulling him in for a kiss before he can begin to question this or himself, an earnest kiss that pushes past the boundaries of soft and gentle first impressions.]
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Much of his overthinking, however, goes flying out of his mind when she completely closes that space and kisses him. There’s no time to question it, no time to ask what she expects from him tonight, only the heated press of her lips against his own.
He can’t help but lean into it — returning it with a fervor that echoes their first. Just like Dimitri cannot help the noise of satisfaction he makes from the back of his throat, an arm reaching out to loop around her waist.]
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[her face heats up, her hands on his neck and cheek, her kisses earnest and hungry. she breathes against his skin, slowly finding room beyond his collarbone to put her hands on. on his arms, as she pushes him back towards the bed.]
—sit.
[byleth commands, voice low, her eyes opening to meet his own heated gaze.]
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And pushing him back, sending his balance gently backwards and giving him no choice but to sit on the bed. The mattress jostles a little under his sudden weight.
His voice is a bit breathless.]
Byleth... [He meets her gaze, a smoldering thing. Dimitri feels like he is to await a command, not unlike on the battlefield— or rather, perhaps a little different.]
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[fumbling lightly with what to do next, she manages to appear to keep her cool and walk over to him and stand between his legs, her hands lifting to cup his face and rest just under his ears.]
...I don't know what I'm doing.
[better to admit this before they push anything too far with the expectation that one or the other would know what to work with.]
But I know that I want to do this with you. [she mutters, nodding. she isn't so ignorant or dumb as to what kind of things people like sylvain get up to.] Would it be okay?
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screams @ byleth
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