Work Text:
“Ashe, can I ask you something?”
“Professor?” Innocent as ever, Ashe blinks up at Byleth. He’s clutching a book in his hands, and Byleth recognizes it as the one he and Linhardt were fawning over in the Abyss library the other day. “Um, I promise I didn’t do Caspar’s homework for him…”
Byleth stares. He hadn’t been suspicious until now, but thinking back on Caspar’s better-than-usual grammar and word choice in their last essay… wait, no. “That’s not it. I wanted to ask if you’ve ever been on a date before.”
Ashe drops the book.
“Are you alright?” Byleth prompts, a little worried when Ashe doesn’t speak for several more seconds.
“I’m sorry!” Ashe stammers. “I… I’m not interested in you that way, Professor! Also, I-I’m your student, and you’re my teacher! It’d be immoral! Unethical! Criminal!”
At the back of his head, Byleth wonders why he had thought this would be a good idea.
Claude taps his chin, more mischief than thoughtfulness in the gesture. “Oho, so Teach got asked out on a date, huh? I gotta say, I’m more than flattered that you approached me for advice on this.”
“I asked Ashe first,” Byleth tells him. “Or, well… I tried to. But now he thinks I’m trying to prey on him, and he’s been running away every time I get close to try and explain.” He sighs and takes a sip of his tea, staring into space. It had taken great effort for Byleth to come aboveground earlier than dinnertime, considering how he’s starting to actually like the Abyss, but the fear of someone overhearing their conversation was enough motivation.
Claude shakes his head. “Why are you like this? I’ll ask Dimitri to talk to him for you, then. Anyway, what kind of date is this? My advice will differ depending on the details.”
What kind of date…? Byleth’s never even been asked on a date before, so how is he supposed to know what ‘kind’ of date this will be? He didn’t even know there were different kinds of dates until now. He had more or less just assumed they all followed some predictable pattern he hadn’t been able to learn while being a mercenary. “I guess… it’s a midnight date,” he finally decides.
Claude almost chokes on his tea. “Come again?”
“I was asked to be there after midnight,” Byleth clarifies, not wanting Claude to misunderstand and run away screaming from him, too. “Um… does that mean something?”
“Oh! Yeah! Yeah, Teach, definitely,” Claude says, leaning forward and nearly toppling over the tin of cookies on the table. He grins cheekily up at Byleth, looking far more excited than Byleth’s ever seen him. “Alright, first things first… you have to at least have condoms, right?”
Hilda, predictably enough, spins in a circle and squeals. “A date after midnight? That is so romantic! Say, you’ll tell me all the details, right? Right?”
Byleth attempts a nonchalant shrug. Even now he’s struggling to keep himself from spilling everything to someone, which is a… new feeling, for sure. Most of the time, he doesn’t even want to talk. “If you help me, I’ll consider it.”
“Ugh! Professor, you are such a killjoy. Fine, I’ll bite. What can I do?”
“What should I do?” Byleth asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too pathetic. “I’ve never been… I mean, I don’t know what they might like. And I don’t have any… previous experience as basis. So I’m at a loss.”
Hilda nods, looking like she’s actually listening this time. “Okay, I think I got it. Hmm… this person looks like a romantic if they scheduled it after midnight. So, you should go the extra mile and be romantic, too! Why not try bringing some flowers? You’re always gardening in the greenhouse, after all.”
Why didn’t he think of that? “That makes sense. Thank you, Hilda.” Now the real question is what sort of flowers Byleth should get—he may be decent at tending to them, but he doesn’t know the meanings behind any of the flowers. Since the date is tonight, though, he should probably get something already ready for picking.
Byleth tilts his head as Hilda skips away. If he remembers correctly, the violets he’s been proud of for the past few weeks looked nearly fully-grown yesterday…
He can’t stop pacing.
Why did this have to happen? Byleth had trusted Yuri. They had all trusted Yuri. And then he decides to up and betray them all? Something isn’t right. Whenever Byleth had spoken to Yuri, he had always sounded like he would do anything to protect the people of Abyss. So why…
“Professor?” someone calls. Byleth whirls around, hand already on the Creator Sword, but relaxes when he sees it’s just Dimitri behind him. “I apologize—am I bothering you?”
“No. I’m not busy. Do you need anything?”
Dimitri shakes his head. “You seem… disturbed,” he says, sounding like he’s picking his words with extreme caution. “We all are. But, ah, we have never quite seen you this distressed before, even when Flayn was kidnapped.”
Now this is just embarrassing. Byleth cares for Flayn, of course—she’s one of his students now, after all, although he’s fairly sure there’s not much he can really teach her—but he knows Dimitri’s right. He doesn’t remember the last time he had been this troubled by and for someone—maybe for Father, during their mercenary days, but he can’t remember anything specific. “I’m just worried,” Byleth says, hoping that’s enough. “There are four lives on the line. On my hands. I…”
And how is he supposed to describe how Yuri makes him feel—how Byleth’s chest grows simultaneously lighter and tighter with every glance sent his way, how his lungs suddenly forget they were made to let him breathe? Even thinking the words in his head sounds silly—just imagining saying them aloud makes him want to hide in some dark corner of the underground. Yet… he can’t help it, not when something about Yuri has Byleth drawing closer and closer, like a planet stubbornly rejecting the rule of its revolution and circling nearer and nearer to the sun instead, ready and willing to be burned.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dimitri asks, brow furrowed in concern. “To… take your mind off things, before we set off to the Holy Mausoleum?”
Oh. That’s right. Byleth hasn’t asked everyone yet. “I have a question, if that’s fine.”
“Please.”
“What do you typically do on a date?”
Dimitri turns beet red. “I—I’m sorry?”
Byleth sighs. “Never mind.” Perhaps he shouldn’t be asking his students about this, but he isn’t as close to the faculty members, and bringing this up with Father is already mortifying in concept alone.
“Oh! No, no, let me answer, if it will help!” Dimitri babbles, hurrying over before Byleth can walk away. “Er… I, er… I must admit, I do not usually go on such outings. But, ahem. Perhaps some tea would be in good order. Tea and its calming fragrance certainly makes everything better.”
Tea… Byleth can do that. Certainly easier than the flowers, after all. “Thank you, Dimitri. Both for this and for your concern.”
Dimitri brightens. “It was nothing, Professor!”
The only reason Byleth doesn’t get blasted by a frankly ridiculously powerful bolt of lightning magic is because Linhardt, bless him, just sighs and wrestles away control of the magic from the enemy mage to redirect it elsewhere. “Professor,” he admonishes, as if he hadn’t just performed a rather spectacular feat of skill, “could you please look at where you’re going before you run off into danger? I didn’t get to have my usual afternoon nap with all the noise, you understand…”
“Thank you for that,” Byleth says. He’ll praise Linhardt for the magic some other time—that motivates him far more than anything else, from what Byleth’s learned—but right now, all he can think about is getting to the upper left corner of the mausoleum before his paranoia leaks out of his ears.
Linhardt gives him a stern look, casting a half-hearted Heal spell across one of his deeper cuts. “I know you’re worried about them, but please calm down. We’ll get to each of the Wolves on time.”
“I… I know.” No, Byleth doesn’t. Linhardt likely doesn’t know that for sure, either, though the reassurance is appreciated. But when Byleth had seen Yuri, in that split second before enemy soldiers began filling up the mausoleum… when he had seen his face contract in pain, when he had called please do what you can… “I’m just worried.”
“Hmm.” Linhardt stares at him in the exact manner he stares at people he’s trying to study the Crests of. “You’re quite worried about Yuri in particular, though, aren’t you?”
“N-No.”
“Oh, I heard that. That was a stutter. You definitely are.” Linhardt smiles, slow and languid, and Byleth thinks it could be compared to Claude’s impish grin. “Mind explaining this, Professor? It seems like a rather interesting topic for research…”
“There’s nothing to research.”
“Ah, I see! Because your feelings are already clear to you both? How adorable. I’m positively cooing.”
Byleth just heaves a sigh. “Not to me,” he mutters, forgetting, for a moment, that they’re in the middle of a battle. Besides, he can’t exactly go far with the mages still targeting anyone who comes even remotely close to them with that terrifying thunder spell. “I don’t even know what to do on the date.”
Linhardt blinks. “Date?”
“He asked me to see him here tonight.”
“Oh. You know, Professor, I don’t think this really… fits the bill for a date.”
“I know. ” Why do you think I left the flowers in my room? Byleth decides against adding. He’s more than a little bothered about going through the effort of arranging a (terrible) bouquet and then not even giving them.
Linhardt sighs and shakes his head. “Well, if you want my advice anyway… I think the best you can do is to take care of him a little after this. He looks like he’s always thinking about other people… so it’d be nice if someone thought about him for a change.”
Byleth rolls the thought around in his head. It’s true—Yuri’s always so caught up with other people’s problems that it seems like he hardly has time for his own. And if Byleth’s being honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind taking care of Yuri, whatever that may entail. Whatever Yuri wants… “Thank you,” he murmurs, a little more genuinely. Then, “Could you take care of those mages, though? I think only you would be able to brush off their magic.”
Linhardt frowns, though Byleth knows the compliment is enough to outweigh how tiring the task will be. “Oh, very well, Professor. But only because you asked nicely.”
“My teacher—are you quite alright?” Edelgard frets, helping Byleth up. “You can’t afford to be distracted—this beast is far more different than any of the ones we encountered before!”
“Sorry. Thank you.” Byleth groans as he steadies himself back on his feet—the monster’s wings had slammed into him, and he’d been blown back almost halfway across the cathedral. Probably a good thing he had crashed against the wall rather than Edelgard’s armor, though. “I just… urgh…”
Edelgard narrows her eyes. “This again! You’re more worried about others than yourself, aren’t you? Or, more accurately, I suppose you’re worried about one person in particular.” She shoots someone a pointed look from over Byleth’s shoulder.
“T-That’s not…” Byleth sighs. “Okay. It is.” It isn’t as if he can help it—Yuri and the rest of the Ashen Wolves had just broken free from some dark magic that was draining away their very life force, and now they’re fighting against some giant beast that can distort space itself? It isn’t fair at all. Byleth just wants to make them all tea and tuck them into bed. “But their wounds… They aren’t fully healed.”
“Well, heal them yourself, if you’re so concerned,” Edelgard tells him, then runs off into the fray to bring her axe down on the phantom of Aelfric.
…Huh. That’s not bad advice, actually.
“So this is your room.”
“Sorry for the mess.”
“It’s whatever.” Yuri, lying in his bed, gives Byleth’s room another assessing glance, as if searching for threats. Really, the biggest threat in here is probably all the fragile tea sets that could shatter with one loud thunder spell from the training grounds just nearby. “But really, friend, you didn’t have to bring me here. Isn’t as if Abyss is so far.”
“Maybe,” Byleth allows, “but you’re injured. And I’ve been worried since you disappeared.” He casts Heal over the deep slice in Yuri’s arm, the one Aelfric had made to draw his life from. Closing the vortices didn’t mean it had closed the wound, too, after all.
Yuri shivers, worrying at his lower lip and growing quiet for once as Byleth’s rudimentary faith magic works—he can’t heal painlessly like Linhardt, but at least he can heal, period. “Sorry,” Byleth apologizes again, this time much softer and lower. “I let you get hurt.”
“Seriously? It’s not a big deal.” Yuri laughs under his breath, though there’s pain laced in his words. “I was bound to get hurt no matter what. Just didn’t think it’d be this bad, for sure.”
“Still my fault.”
“Byleth—”
“Don’t,” Byleth murmurs, despite how his throat feels suddenly clogged at how Yuri says his name. “Let me take care of you. You’re always looking after others, so this time let it be your turn.”
For a moment, Yuri looks shocked—which he then instantly covers up with lighthearted scorn and a scoff. “Trust me, you don’t want to ‘take care’ of me. It’s a pain, for one, and—”
“Not to me,” Byleth interrupts. The Heal spell fades, and he brushes his fingers over the skin on Yuri’s arm where the wound used to be, now replaced by a light scar Byleth wishes he could get rid of. “Not if it’s you.”
“…Oh,” Yuri says, very faintly. He’s staring up at Byleth with a strange look in his eyes, one that makes Byleth want to run out of the room before his entire body explode from some unidentifiable feeling he both never wants to feel again and can never get enough of. “Well, that’s… that’s awful nice of you, I suppose.”
Byleth attempts a casual shrug, and gets an awkward one instead. What’s new. “Would, uh…” What had Dimitri suggested earlier? “Would you like some tea?”
Yuri exhales. “This late in the evening? Yeah, sure.”
Byleth digs around and finds exactly two bags of Honeyed-Fruit Blend sitting in his cabinet—Yuri watches him as he boils water and fills up the teacups, and Byleth pretends those violet eyes don’t feel as if they’re searing holes into his back. “Thanks for this,” Yuri says, the casual words belying the clear excitement in his face. “We don’t get much down in Abyss, so.”
“It’s nothing. You can always come up and ask me for some, you know.” Byleth looks down at his tea, trying to gauge if he had put just enough water (and subsequently misses the surprised look Yuri shoots him). “Or I can bring them down for you, whatever you like.”
“You are almost unsettlingly accommodating,” Yuri tells him, sipping his tea all the same. “Are you this nice to everyone else? Constance would be over the moon if you told her that.”
Byleth shakes his head. “I haven’t really gotten the opportunity to speak with them much.”
“But you have with me.”
“Yes.” Because I actively look for you, Byleth doesn’t add. By the subtly smug look on Yuri’s face, though, he supposes he hadn’t needed to. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Your company isn’t half-bad.” Yuri indulges in the tea again, looking happier with every sip. Byleth’s content to just watch, his own cup more customary than anything—this blend is a bit too sweet for his tastes, which is why he mostly gives them to Edelgard or Lysithea.
Besides, seeing Yuri in his bed, peacefully having tea and giving him a curious look… it feels nice. He can hardly tell anyone why, though.
“Are those flowers?” Yuri suddenly asks. Byleth blinks himself back to reality and follows Yuri’s gaze—and nearly snaps the handle off his teacup when he sees the bouquet of flowers from earlier sitting on his desk, already beginning to dry. “You should put them in a vase, or they’ll die soon,” Yuri says, completely unaware of Byleth’s current internal crisis. “Oh, but it’s a bouquet… don’t tell me you received them from an admirer?”
What else is there for Byleth to say? There’s no harm in coming clean, is there? “It was… Well, um. It was supposed to be for you.”
Yuri stares at him. “For… me?”
“You know.” Byleth shrugs again, though this time it’s more to avoid eye contact than anything. “For tonight. The date that wasn’t a date.”
“The date that wasn’t—oh.” Unexpectedly enough, a blush rises to Yuri’s cheeks—it’s incredibly light and barely visible with only a short candle in the room, but Byleth strains his eyes just to memorize the way Yuri’s pink face looks. “Why’d you take me so seriously? Now I just feel bad!”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t apologize, you tool,” Yuri says, but he’s laughing that soft, under-his-breath laugh again, and Byleth is absolutely transfixed on the sound. “I should be saying sorry, for making you go through the effort. But, uh. Thanks as well, I guess.”
“For the flowers?” Byleth frowns. “I would’ve asked someone to arrange the bouquet for me, but everyone was busy dealing with the bandits. So it looks like a mess.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I like it the way it is.” Yuri reaches over and plucks the bouquet off the table, lifting the flowers up closer to his face. “They’re purple.”
“Violets,” Byleth supplies. “I don’t know what they mean, but… they match your eyes.”
Yuri sighs, placing the bouquet down on his lap. “Anyone ever told you you’re a real romantic?”
“I am?”
“Are you?” Yuri smiles, then leans forward to bring his face just a tad bit too close to Byleth’s own for comfort. Byleth’s first instinct is to back away, but instead he remains rigid and frozen in his seat beside his bed, staring into Yuri’s eyes and unable to look anywhere else. “You know, violets are supposed to mean everlasting love. Should I take that as a coincidence, or the work of the goddess?”
Somewhere in a corner of his head, Sothis grumbles something about being a bystander to Byleth’s idiotic antics. Ignoring her, Byleth manages, “What… do you mean?”
“I’m asking, Byleth,” Yuri slowly enunciates, looking fondly exasperated, “if you want to continue our little date here. Doesn’t matter where we are as long as it’s just us two, after all, right?”
“Okay,” Byleth says, still not quite sure where this is going. “Do you… want more tea, or something?”
Yuri groans, leaning back. “Alright, I give up. Do you actually like me, or have you just been confused this whole time?”
Like… Yuri? Byleth likes most everyone he’s met in the academy so far—none of them seem genuinely malicious, at least, and it’s always been easy for him to get along with others. But… no, he’s not confused. He likes Yuri, more than he likes anyone else so far, and even if he doesn’t really know what’s going on, he is at least perfectly, entirely sure of that. So.
“I do like you,” Byleth confirms, being the one to lean forward this time. Yuri, previously looking rather affronted, looks up at him in surprise. “I—I want to take care of you, and to make you tea, and to grow you flowers. Does that make sense?” he asks, half-desperate.
“Oh, I… that’s…” Yuri clears his throat. The blush is darkening, Byleth notes, oddly satisfied with himself. “You sure are more than a bit embarrassing. Guess that’s fine, though—I don’t really mind.”
Byleth doesn’t get the chance to reply before Yuri is pulling him forward by the collar and—meeting his lips with his own in what Byleth realizes is a kiss. Claude had mentioned something like this possibly happening, and of course Byleth knows about it from general knowledge, but he’s never kissed anyone before and he never thought he’d be kissing someone tonight, either. Yet—it feels unexpectedly nice, to feel Yuri’s lips sliding against his, one hand cupping his cheek and the other pulling him ever closer. Byleth braces his arms on either side of Yuri, doing his best to kiss back and savor the feeling a little longer.
When they separate for breath, Yuri takes one look at Byleth’s face and bursts into laughter. “What’s up? Why do you look so dazed?” he asks, his thumb stroking Byleth’s cheek—Byleth tilts his head into the touch. “That your first kiss, Byleth?”
“M-Mm.” Byleth clambers the rest of the way up onto the bed, for the sole purpose of using his now-free hand to join with Yuri’s. “That, ah… That felt good—um, can we do it again?”
“So forward of you. I never would have expected.” Yuri kisses him again, but this time beneath his jaw—Byleth shudders, squeezing Yuri’s hand tighter as his kisses wander lower down to pepper his throat. “You wanna kiss me again? Hm?”
“Y-Yes. Please.”
“Then be a good boy and stay nice and still for me, Byleth.” Yuri grins up at him from beneath long lashes, and Byleth is sure of it now—he’ll never find beauty like this anywhere else in all of Fodlan. “Let me think. You look like a top, but now I’m not so sure…”
A… top?
It takes Byleth a moment to understand what he means, but when he does, he nearly flies off the bed in his haste to grab something from his drawers. Yuri yelps in surprise. “What’s with you now? I just told you to stay still, you silly—”
Byleth proudly presents Yuri with a box he had bought from Anna just this afternoon. “I have condoms.”
Yuri stares uncomprehending at the box for a second, before he buries his face in his hands. “Okay! Great. Yeah, way to kill the mood.”
“The… oh.” Byleth frowns. Claude had told him condoms were essential for safety, and Byleth had sort of assumed he meant them for battle. Later on Claude had clarified he certainly hadn’t meant that, but something similar could probably be used and adapted to staunch bleeding wounds… well, anyway. “I… I’m sorry?”
Yuri just shakes his head and kicks the blankets off himself, waving a hand at the table just beside the bed. “Put those there and let’s get back to where we were, hm?”
Byleth hurries to obey, but even as he settles back in his original position, half-sitting on Yuri’s lap, he has a feeling he’s forgetting something. “Yuri?” he calls, a little softer than he intended—he’s never really said Yuri’s name before, and especially not in such a situation.
Yuri leans up and lightly nips at his neck, nowhere near hard enough to leave a mark. “Yeah?”
“You don’t think this is immoral or anything?” Or unethical? Or criminal?
A beat of silence—then, with another heavy sigh, Yuri wraps his arms around Byleth’s neck. “I like you too, Byleth,” he says, very seriously. Byleth nearly stops breathing. “If you wanted me to tell you that, you just had to ask.”
“Okay,” Byleth blurts out. “Do you like me?”
Yuri grins. “I like you.”
“Do you really like me?”
“I really like you, idiot.”
Something about this feels surreal—Byleth had never imagined someone could like him for him, and now he just feels stupidly happy. He hadn’t even known he could be this happy before, and he leans down to press a brief kiss on Yuri’s forehead. “I like you,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to stroke Yuri’s hair. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
Yuri exhales, moving his hand to touch Byleth’s cheek and guide his face down closer to Yuri’s to meet him for another kiss, this one slower and deeper than their first. “And I’m glad you trusted me.”
If this is how it feels for a planet to fall out of revolution, Byleth doesn’t think he minds the sun’s heat at all.