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Chapter Text

There’s something deeply unsettling when she meets Claude again after five years.

Maybe it’s his eyes or his uneasy smile, the way he’s laughing when he greets her at the Goddess Tower—hollow like an empty shell, vibrating through the walls and down the steps. He looks like him, but… he doesn’t feel like him.

“I didn’t expect anyone else to be here,” he says casually.

The way Claude speaks is off-putting, like he’s been tilted off his axis. And his eyes… they’re wrong, all wrong. The coolness in which he regards her is like fortifying a re-constructed barrier between them, and she doesn’t like it. Not when she’s been able to experience a relationship without it.

“Look,” he says finally, slightly on edge, “what’s your business at Garreg Mach? I would peg you for a thief but... you don’t look the sort.”

And then it hits Byleth like a ton of bricks—he doesn’t recognize her.

“Claude—”

He’s quick to draw his bow. Byleth’s seen his piercing combat gaze geared towards his enemies so many times, it must be engraved in her memories by now. But she never imagined it would one day be directed at her. “Seems a bit unfair that you know who I am, and I don’t know you. I love a good game but only when it plays to my advantage. Who are you? Are you a spy for Edelgard?”

“It’s me, Byleth,” she says, almost desperately.

Claude’s next words cut through her like a knife, so earnest and true that she doesn’t doubt them for a second.

“I don’t know a Byleth.”

Her insides sink, twisting painfully. She doesn’t think twice and rewinds the clock.

Byleth waits to meet him this time, decides it might be best to wait for the rest of the Deer. Maybe... maybe they’ll remember in place of his forgetfulness. She’s not sure if his amnesia is his only or everyone’s or if it is the consequence of her five-year deep slumber.

She scouts the area for days, carefully watching from the sidelines as Claude singlehandedly defends Garreg Mach against bandits with a wyvern and his bow. Byleth itches to draw her sword and help, but she can’t.

She needs to see the rest of her students first.

Byleth needs to understand how her confidant, her right hand, her friend could forget her so. It physically hurts in a way she doesn’t know how to describe.

The Deer arrive one by one, and Claude looks a bit misty-eyed as he greets them. She carefully keeps herself tucked away in a corridor behind piles of rubble, patiently waiting for the right moment to approach her students as a collective team.

“I’m glad you all remembered our promise,” he says with a laugh. A true laugh. She didn’t know she had a favorite sound, but she thinks it comes pretty close.

“Where’s the Professor?” Ignatz asks.

Byleth closes her eyes as she listens. She clutches Jeralt’s ring hanging from her neck.

“The Professor?” asks Claude.

“Don’t play dumb, Claude—we all know how you feel about your precious Teach,” Hilda giggles, teasing. Byleth can imagine her shoving his shoulder childishly, and she almost smiles at the thought. “But seriously, it’s been five years... and no one’s heard a peep from her. I know you had a lot of confidence that she was still alive, but what if she’s—“

“Don’t say it!” Lysithea interrupts, voice screeching. “I don’t want to believe it. The Professor can’t be dead. She’s way too powerful, and…”

“And she’s the daughter of the almighty Jeralt. If anyone can stay alive for that long, it’s definitely the Professor,” Leonie jumps in.

“You’re right, you’re right! Stop nagging—sheesh! I didn’t mean to get everyone’s panties in a twist.”

Claude is silent, so she takes that moment to remove herself from her hiding spot and walk towards the huddled group in the monastery lobby. A swell of pride and longing surges within her when she sees them, five years older, each more mature and put together. Byleth can’t believe she’s missed all that time.

“Professor!” Lysithea squeals. The team turns to her, and she can visibly see a sense of familiarity and relief across all their faces.

She’s greeted with open arms by the team. But she looks up for a split second and catches Claude’s gaze.

Unfamiliarity and suspicion. Her chest aches.

Why? Why doesn’t he remember?

Hilda nudges him with an elbow, and he glares at her. “Aren’t you going to say anything to your precious Teach? You were moping for forever without her around.”

Claude blinks carefully and then smiles, but she can feel it again—that uneasy hollowness to him that she remembers from the first round at the Goddess Tower. It reminds her of her first encounter with him, back when he was just a snarky teen who still needed saving from bandits. He plays along, and the both of them can tell that it’s just that—pretend.

“Teach!” he says easily, catching her eye. “Glad to have you back.”

Hilda hits him across the back of his head, and he winces with a yelp. “You mope for five years, and that’s all you gotta say? Seriously! Boys are so dumb.”

Claude smirks wryly. “I’ll save my affection to my favorite professor for later.”

Hilda gags. “Gross. Save it to yourself.”

It’s when she takes sight of Marianne’s face that she’s aware that there’s something the girl knows that Byleth doesn’t. The blue-haired noble flushes bright red when she catches the Professor’s gaze and turns her cheek.

Byleth tells everyone to get some sleep, and they’ll regroup in the morning. She refuses to look into Claude’s empty eyes, instead grabbing a hold of Marianne’s hand before she walks away.

“Marianne,” she says gently. Marianne bites her lip. “Let’s talk for a second.”

Marianne nods, and in the peripheral of her eye, Byleth sees Hilda and Claude look their way before parting.

When they’re alone, it’s Marianne that speaks first, but her gaze is glued to the floor. Marianne has matured over the years, and though she holds herself more confidently, Byleth notices that her demure and hesitant habits are still present. “I’m glad you’re alive, Professor. We were extremely concerned about your well-being.”

“I’m glad you’re all safe too,” Byleth responds.

She peers around the monastery, its once safe space now stacked high with rubble, layers of dust visibly present. Marianne has always regarded the Church as sacred, and the idea that she’s hurting makes her ache for all her students. How much had she missed not being there for them?

“How are you holding up?” Byleth finally asks.

Marianne is quiet, and she glances to the floor. “It’s been... difficult and... sad. But I’m glad we’re all together again. Some... have fared worse than others.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I...” Finally, Marianne looks up and catches her eye. “...You can tell something’s wrong with him.”

Byleth turns her head, keeps her gaze locked on the stained glass. “More or less... He’s not acting right.” She doesn’t say that she’s experienced a moment in time where they’d already met, where he didn’t know her at all. “You seemed to know why.”

Marianne hesitates to answer. When Byleth refocuses on the noble, she seems caught in an internal war, struggling on what is and isn’t okay to say. Marianne lets out a heavy sigh. “While you were... away... Claude had so much faith in you. He swore you weren’t dead and that you would come back. I... want to say we all did, but... we also had our doubts. He never doubted, not for a second, and would come visit the monastery every year—

“I decided to visit last year. I don’t know why, exactly, but... something was telling me I should. And… Claude was very sick...” Marianne pauses, torn, carefully selecting her words. “He... said to keep it a secret, but... As a healer, I made some decisions that led to some... regrettable consequences, and…”

“What was he sick with?” Byleth’s voice comes out in a terrified whisper she doesn’t recognize.

“Professor... have you heard of Hanahaki?”

Hanahaki—a rare disease, almost a legend due to its infrequency. To think Claude could be diagnosed with it is baffling, to say the least. To think he underwent a surgical operation is… There wasn’t a lot of information in the one book Marianne had, and per the young noble, an operation meant physically removing the flower that was the root of the illness. And thereby consequently removing memories of said person and the victim’s feelings for them—forever.

Byleth gently sits on her bed in the dark shadows, moonlight glimmering through the window. She stares at her hands, replaying the conversation.

”Who was it? Who was he in love with?”

Marianne looks at her curiously. “Professor... of course it was you. Don’t you understand? He doesn’t remember anything about you. And... I must sincerely apologize. It’s my fault. I... I pleaded with him. I didn’t know when you would come back, and he was so very sick, he was on the verge of dying. And then he collapsed, and I…”

“And he’ll never remember me,” Byleth says, voice distant. “Or fall in love again.”

“If history is right…” Marianne doesn’t finish. They understand the implications.

She stares at her fingertips and wonders about the power within her. Does she have the chance to make it right? How does she make sure he remembers? How often can she rewind the clock? Should she... let it be and rebuild their relationship?

Byleth closes her eyes, memories fragmenting sporadically in the back of her mind. Some of her most favorite are with him, and she’s not sure what to do knowing that their relationship will never be the same. She’s not sure if she loves him, but she thinks... if Claude had remembered their time together, and they had continued this path towards a better future, she could have fallen in love with him.

They could have been together.

He could have never been sick.

A knock at her door pulls her out of her reverie.

It’s late, but she has a feeling she knows who it is.

His back is to her when she opens her door, broad and familiar and God, she misses him.

“Hey—Teach, is it?” Claude grins, turning. His grin is wrong, all wrong. The Alliance leader peers around her, then, “Looks dark in there. Did I wake you?”

Byleth shakes her head. “No, no. I was just... thinking. Come in.”

She turns on her lamp as she lets him into her room.

“I’ll be honest,” he says when she shuts her door, “I don’t... remember you. And I was going to hide it, but you seem to be one step ahead of me. The Golden Deer seem to know who you are and...”

Byleth is silent, lets the walls cave in on her. Where to start? She doesn’t know where to start...

“Who are you?” he asks after a moment, green eyes blazing with curiosity. “I tried racking my brain for hours today, and I can’t come up with anything. I don’t trust you to be quite frank, but something tells me that... I might be wrong not to. You could be lying... But then clearly everyone is a great actor if they’re playing along with you, and I’ve seen Lorenz act before. He’s awful.”

He stifles a laugh to himself, and she almost follows suit.

Then she wonders if it’s worth it, starting from scratch with him, rebuilding their camaraderie. Will he ever remember? Will she be able to... reach those dreams... together with him?

“Claude... Do you still have dreams for a better world?” Byleth finally asks.

Claude stiffens, and a twitch in his face tells her he doesn’t expect her to know him to such a deep and earnest level, that she would have an inkling of what his dreams are.

He squints at her, casually bringing his hands behind his head. “We must have been pretty close,” he comments though he doesn’t confirm or deny her question.

Byleth looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since she’s awaken. She doesn’t remember taking him in at the Goddess Tower, nor in the lobby of the monastery, too focused on his lack of recognition and aloofness towards her.

Five years have done Claude well, and he’s not the same teenager she recalls from her memories. He’s filled in, broad across the shoulders and chest, hair slicked back, jaw angled and sharp and curated with facial hair. Now the official leader of the Leicester Alliance, she can note how his new position of authority has already given him signs of aging, worn weariness lined around his eyes. But it’s him, Claude von Riegan, still the man she’s known since before.

And yet, he feels like a stranger, and Byleth misses the familiarity and warmth of his younger self, however snarky he may have been.

She finds herself reaching out to briefly touch his face, how different it has changed over the years and then stops herself.

Stranger.

There must be a way she can have him now and him then, with his memories and fondness of her intact.

“...Professor?” he prods.

Byleth blinks, a sharp ache in her chest. He’s so rarely ever called her that.

“We were friends,” she says slowly. As she says it aloud, she firmly knows it to be true. What had he said back then, that their bond went deeper than simply friends? That their hearts were connected. “I don’t know if your memories will return, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to give them up—I just... wish I was here to have stopped you from losing them.”

Claude stills, his expression torn between confusion and curiosity and a strong desire to make everything right. “What do you mean?” he says after a moment.

Byleth closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

She’s determined to get her Claude back.

And turns back the hands of time.

She finds him in the library before the war, before she’s meant to receive a revelation at the Holy Tomb. Byleth knows that nothing she does here is going to change the output of that moment in the mausoleum, that Edelgard will still surprise everyone when she reveals herself as the Flame Emperor, and that there will be a Battle at Garreg Mach, but—

Maybe she can fix this.

“Claude.”

He’s got his nose in a book, and Claude perks up at the sound of her voice. He presses the book closed before sliding it on the table. Then turns to her, eyes glimmering, a genuine smile on his lips. It’s him, hers. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Teach?”

She almost smiles, but instead makes a grab for his hand.

Claude’s eyes widen, and his whole body stills. His shoulders tense for a moment, as he searches her face, and then his features soften. “What’s wrong, Teach?”

Byleth shakes her head and searches for the right words to say. Words have never been her strong suit. She finally lands on, “You’re important to me.”

He laughs. “You’re really doing my heart things there, Teach.”

She tilts her head, and his smile fades slowly at the sight of her seriousness.

But Claude’s eyes remain warm, and he firmly returns his grip on her hand. “Teach, I hope you know I’ll take your word on that, and the sentiment is the same. I’m glad to have you as an ally... no, my friend. You understand that, right? Your presence in my life is invaluable.”

Byleth nods, closing her eyes. She knows this because he’s told her this before, though simply a bit later. But she needs to ensure he’s aware of her own sentiments now.  “I’m with you to the end, I promise. Please know how important our relationship is, how much it means to me. ”

Claude gazes at her, moving to brush back a stray stand of hair behind her ear. And there’s a spark in that moment that makes her feel hopeful, that this will end the way she wants it to end. Claude squeezes her hand again. “I want you by my side as I achieve my dreams,” he says softly.

“I’ll be there.”

Claude’s grin is glowing wide across his face. “To the future of a better world.”

After she wakes up from her deep slumber, she finds out he’s dead.

That he not only suffered Hanahaki but absolutely refused treatment.

”He was adamant that you would come back, that he could make things right if you just came back.”

She shuts herself in her room.

She thought he understood. But she can fix this. She can fix this.

Byleth has gone back four times now. She’s not sure which part she needs to fix, what conversation she needs to have, but all of them lead her to one of two paths: (1) Claude is forced to undergo a surgical operation and forgets or (2) Claude refuses to undergo the surgical operation and dies.

She’s tried showing him affection, but how does she fix something she doesn’t know she has to offer? She’s not sure if she loves him. Is it because she doesn’t know, that he keeps dying?

She’s sure, she may in due time.

But she feels the only solve is to tell him that she loves him.

She tries on one turn.

He doesn’t believe her, is almost upset that she says it at all.

Hell, she doesn’t believe it herself.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he says sharply. “I don’t know what you heard, but I don’t need that sort of pity in my life.”

On that attempt, Claude undergoes an operation within a year that he’s diagnosed.

Byleth tries to solve the slumber—maybe if she were present, maybe if she doesn’t fall into that limbo vortex, she can help find a solution.

But it must be fate, because the same scene occurs again and again no matter what she does. Byleth’s dismally reminded of her father’s death, when even the shift of time couldn’t save him.

This though... this must be fixable. She can’t be forced to choose between Claude’s friendship and his life.

She can’t.

On the eighth time, she wakes up, and the world is spinning in multi colors, blood pooling from her mouth.

She stares at her hand, flexing it back and forth, wondering. It must be an overuse of her powers. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She’s aware she’s pushing the limits, and she’s not sure how much more her body can take.

Byleth can’t keep going back—she needs to choose between his friendship or his life.

She wonders if it would be worth it... to start from scratch. To rebuild.

So she tries.

On this attempt, she doesn’t tell him why he lost his memories, they’re just both acutely aware that he did. But he continues to pretend to everyone that he does know her, that they’re close, that she’s his Teach, and though Hilda seems to look at them a bit oddly, she doesn’t verbally bring it up. And the root of his memories, his disease, Marianne and Byleth keep that squarely a secret between the two of them.

It’s better that he doesn’t know why. She’s not sure if he’d really believe it.

Instead, Byleth and Claude pretend things are normal, that they had a relationship, a somewhat sort of special one, enough that he’s vaguely brought up his dreams, and so they try to start at the beginning. They rebuild it slowly, taking their sweet moments between each battle, strategizing each move, savoring the small spaces of quiet between them.

Byleth can tell he doesn’t quite trust her fully, not the way he did before. But there are moments he’ll smile at her, and when it reaches his eyes, her insides stir.

“Thanks,” he says when he sees her enter the Golden Deer classroom with a tray of food and Almyran Pine Needle tea, and she recognizes genuine appreciation across his features. Byleth drops it on the table, then takes her seat across from him, eyes glazing over the tactical diagrams he’s already started working through for their next move.

“You should make sure to eat when you work,” she says quietly in response. “You’re not sleeping enough.”

Claude simply smirks, but there’s a grimness to his words. “Professor, I can’t be the Master Tactician if I’m not always working. These schemes don’t get devised by themselves.”

Hearing him call her Professor is… off-putting. But he seems to not be used to his old nickname for her, despite Hilda once asking him why he’s changed his lingo. She chooses to ignore it, moving to pour them two teacups and placing one directly in front of him.

He raises a brow at the tea, and something softens in his face as he takes in a whiff. “This is my favorite,” he says, his voice treading carefully.

“I’m aware.”

Claude nods, still staring at the cup of tea as if it has done something wrong.

“I’m not like you—I didn’t poison it.”

His head shoots up, and this is one of few times she’s seen him surprised since they started again. Then he laughs, and she feels confused. So she sits in silence, waiting for him to tell her exactly what’s so funny.

“You’re just very interesting,” he explains. “Almost impossible to understand. There are days, when we first… met, where you were eager to be my friend, I guess, because, well, we were once friends. Before the war. And then there are days you have no expression, and I can’t read you no matter how many questions I ask.”

Byleth isn’t sure how to respond to this, so she chooses not to. She doesn’t quite find how it warrants a laugh, but she’ll allow him to explain.

Claude pauses to think on it, leaning back in his chair, casually bringing his arms around the back of his head. He tilts his head, pursing his lips. “You started off as a mercenary, and then you became a teacher—you’re impeccably strong, can wield the Sword of Creator, and you’re a tactical genius… And even though I don’t understand you, you have a strange ability to make me want to trust you.

“And then you do things like gift me my favorite teas and remind me about my very fun hobby, and I forget that I did—trust you.” Claude lets out a sigh before finally taking a sip of the Almyran tea. “I have to admit it feels a bit weird. It’s like getting hit with whiplash.”

Byleth takes that moment to take a sip from her own cup. She can feel his eyes on her, waiting for her next move, and she feels in that moment like a chess piece on a playing board. But she finds she doesn’t mind while she waits for them to get back on the same page again.

“You not remembering me… it’s weird for me too,” she finally says, looking up at him. “My goal isn’t to make you feel uncomfortable. If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Claude only leans forward and grins, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “Professor, I have no problem with being uncomfortable. I grew up in the face of discomfort. And honestly? You don’t make me uncomfortable. I just find you fascinating.”

“Professor,” Claude says calmly one night when it’s just the two of them, and still, it’s wrong, “you should get some rest. We have all of tomorrow to work through this.”

“I’m not your Professor,” she says as her eyes skim over the makeshift soldiers on the table. “Not anymore.”

“But you were a Professor,” he comments. When she doesn’t respond, he lets out a snort, leaning back in his seat. He’s observing her from across the table, but it’s not in the same manner he usually does. Usually, his eyes rake over her with skepticism, but today they’re light and curious and genial. “I’ve always thought it was interesting—when I first met you, I couldn’t believe someone so young could be our teacher. You must have not been too much older than me at the time.”

She looks up and blankly stares at him. “I’ve already heard this argument from you before.”

Claude smirks. “I guess it’s good to know that young affable bratty Claude and I think alike.”

Byleth feels a smile tread her lips, and visibly notices his grin widen at the sight. She overlooks him carefully, and the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, “But you’ve grown well.”

Claude blinks. Then licks his lips, swallowing thickly at her words. “Have I?” His voice is low and quiet in the stillness of the room, and the air between them grows charged with an electric energy.

She suddenly feels like she’s burning under his gaze. Maybe she should’t have said anything, but the words can’t be retracted now.

At her silence, he turns his head, and though she doesn’t notice it, there’s a faint color tinging his cheeks. Claude clears his throat, fingers fidgeting with the makeshift soldiers. “It still feels funny to call you Professor.”

“Then don’t call me that,” she says simply. She doesn’t like it when he calls her Professor anyway. “You can call me Byleth.”

Claude doesn’t respond for a moment.

Then, “Byleth,” he repeats slowly.

“And anyway, we’re… friends again, aren’t we?”

He leans forward, hand covering hers and squeezing. There’s a soft glow on his face from the lamp. “Of course.”

It’s the slight affection in his voice in which he says those two words that make her smile. And yet—she doesn’t think he understands the weight of it.

Her first friend.

He’s back to work in a matter of seconds, and she’s mesmerized by the way his features shift in the low light, how serious and musky and older he looks, determination gleaming in his eyes. She grows dizzy at the sight of him and quickly reverts her gaze to the maps in front of her.

She can’t focus.

“I’ll take my leave early tonight,” she says quietly, getting up from her chair.

Claude looks up and gives her a smile. “Rest well, Byleth.”

She feels warm, so warm.

She wakes up with a tight pain in her chest, like thorns have wrapped around her lungs. She begins to cough, hacking until she senses a small tickle flutter up her throat.

Her hand catches it just in time.

A small yellow petal. She’s not sure exactly what kind of flower it is, but it’s smooth and vibrant in her hand.

A petal… a petal…

She clenches her fingers around it.

Oh.

This can’t be good.

Chapter Text

Here’s what Byleth knows about the lone petal that sits in the middle of her desk, ugly and beautiful all in one soft yellow sliver:

1. It means a flower is inside of her right now.
2. It means she loves someone. And it’s unrequited.
3. If that love is not returned, the flower can grow until it punctures her lungs, and she could die. Or she could get operated on, and she could live and forget. Or she could squash her feelings now and let the flower inside her wilt.
4. Once the flower is surgically removed, all feelings and memories in relation to said person, are removed with it. Forever.
5. There’s only one person she could remotely come close to having any feelings of affection for, and he’s fated to never love her again.

Byleth stares at the petal, willing herself to remain calm.

What was the world trying to tell her? Not only did Hanahaki consume her closest friend, but it was here to take him away from her life in another form? Angrily, she picks the lone petal up and folds it between her thumb and forefinger.

She will not let this illness consume her.

She doesn’t love Claude. No, it’s not that she doesn’t—she can’t.

He’s already fated to never love her.

If Byleth cannot control her feelings, she is doomed to succumb to death. She will not let that happen. She has a war to win. She cannot afford to have Hanahaki.

She’s determined on her next course of action—she’s going to kill these feelings.

Byleth will not allow herself to fall for Claude von Riegan.

It’s not that she purposefully avoids him.

It’s just that, when she’s around him, he has this way of grinning that makes her feel a bit fluttery, and his voice is like a coaxing siren magnetically drawing her in, and Byleth knows none of it is good for her newly determined goal.

So while she’s not actively trying to avoid him, she’s made an effort to stop seeking him out.

Which—cuts down her time with Claude significantly because they have been known to spend their afternoons planning battle tactics together. Now she attempts to busy herself by running them through other parties like Seteth and Judith and Shamir, and only vetting with Claude when they’re not alone.

Byleth thinks it’s sort of working—she hasn’t coughed in half a moon, though she’s not sure if that’s simply because half a moon isn’t quite that long. But she’ll take her wins where she can get them.

They’re closing out their discussion on tackling Gronder Field with a potential third party sighting when a few of the Deer begin showing signs of weariness, their eyes drooping with lack of sleep. Both Hilda and Lysithea lean back in their chairs and yawn, and so Byleth moves to adjourn the meeting.

“Let’s get some rest. We’re useless if we can’t think straight,” she says as she folds the map in front of her. “We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

“Thank the stars!” Hilda exclaims as she jumps up from her chair.

Byleth begins to pack up her belongings when she feels a warm calloused hand against her arm. She looks down to see the stark contrast of his skin against hers and immediately tenses.

“Professor, can you stay behind for a moment?”

Byleth blinks, a swell of panic rising in her chest. Immediately she forces it down, and as she turns her head to look him in the eye, she notices Hilda’s gaze linger on them curiously before making her way out of the room alongside everyone else.

And then it’s just the two of them.

She can’t allow herself to be alone with him for too long, she hasn’t yet been able to completely reign in her feelings.

So Byleth looks up so that their gazes lock, and despite the fact that she can vividly hear warning bells in the back of her mind, despite the fact that his eyes are frustrated and dare she say, hurt, she says, “I’m a bit tired today, Claude. Let’s catch up in the morning.”

A flash of dejected bewilderment scurries across his face, and Byleth aches thinking she’s made him feel that way—unwanted and abandoned—before Claude shifts immediately to a face of impassion. It’s almost as if he hadn’t felt anything at all to begin with, and she’s reminded of his typical nonchalant coolness.

Her insides scream at how wrong this all is.

“Sure. Just don’t oversleep, Professor,” he jokes with a smile, but she knows his facades like the back of her hand and can tell there are miles and miles of distance between them despite only being less than a foot apart. Byleth wants to reach up and stroke the crevices around his eyes, make them crinkle with a genuine grin.

He’s turning to leave, and she chooses to painstakingly watch his broad back disappear in the distance instead.

A sharp pain resonates in her chest. Isn’t this the whole reason she was going to start again, rebuild from the beginning, be his friend? Only for her to shut him out? 

Byleth closes her eyes, and lets out a shaky breath.

She’s never felt so terrified. Is this her only fate? To lose him no matter which way she turns?

Byleth is eating by herself in the dining hall when Hilda slides in front of her with a gleam in her eyes. Whatever the daughter of House Goneril wants to say, she doesn’t say immediately, instead greeting Byleth with a wide toothy smile, cradling her chin in her free hand. “Hey, Professor!”

“Hilda,” she greets with a nod.

“I can’t believe we’re going to Gronder Field for our next battle! Takes you back to the Academy days, doesn’t it, Professor?”

“Like the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion,” Byleth says faintly.

“Exactly! But not quite so joyous—”

“No, it’s a solemn moment, isn’t it?” Byleth’s grip tightens around her utensil, her mind flashing to the young eager faces of her old students. How bleak the future looks to have to face them and know that she may not be able to spare their lives.

“…Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to make you look so sad. It’s a different time, isn’t it?” Hilda eyes glaze over briefly, as if she’s suddenly remembering who she may have to face on the battlefield. But slowly, she shakes her head. “But we can’t think like that right now. We’ll get sucked into an endless rabbit hole if we do.”

Byleth nods in agreement, can tell the girl has more to say than she’s let on.

“Well, anyway—I was chatting with Claude, and he said the most interesting thing! He said, ‘Teachers usually sat out during the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, so at least this time, we have the Professor. She’ll help lead us to victory.’ I said—‘But Claude! The Professor was with us the first time. She was the only teacher who didn’t sit out!’

“And then he laughed in your typical Claude-von-Riegan fashion and waved me off before telling me that I can’t sit on the sidelines like last time, which is, might I say, just plain rude,” Hilda huffs, dramatically waving her hands around. Then her eyes grow sharp as she locks her gaze before her. “But isn’t that so funny, Professor? I wonder why Claude said that. It’s like he doesn’t even remember you being there!”

Byleth has observed Hilda and knows her well enough to understand the Goneril noble is simply trying to set her up in a trap. She’s always been smarter than she looks, and is almost as sly as Claude himself—she’s sure Hilda has already figured their current situation out, but she’s not going to be the one to confirm it.

So Byleth merely shrugs. “Being the leader of the Leicester Alliance must be taking a toll on him. I’m not very surprised at his spotty memory.”

“Sure,” Hilda drawls knowingly, cocking her head to the side. She keeps her voice light as she continues, “If you say so, Professor!”

Byleth raises a brow as she takes another bite of her food. “Was there something else you needed, Hilda?”

The young noble shakes her head, pink strands of hair flying in front of her face as she does so. But there’s a cunning grin curling on her lips. “I just wanted to say, despite whatever is going on between you and Claude right now, and whatever is making you sad—and don't say nothing is going on, because Hilda knows best—you guys need to talk and fix it. Mind you, Claude was getting better, but I’m not sure if you guys got into an argument because I’m feeling real icky when I walk into a room where you’re both there.”

Her spoon stills in her hand. Her mind focuses only on one part. “Getting… better?”

She nods emphatically. “Don’t tell him I said this because then it’ll sound like I care, which, I don’t! But something happened while you were gone. He never told me what, and if I asked him, he’d just wave me off. But he was different. And I think… lost. But now that you’re back Professor, I think he seems happier. Well, he was. But he’s not anymore. So can you please fix it? He’s so annoying when he’s grumpy.”

After Hilda leaves, Byleth tries to keep her focus on the plate of food in front of her because she can’t let herself be reminded of her simmering feelings. To know that he cares about their relationship after losing his memories—that he appeared happier despite the fact that they had become strangers, well. It makes something inside of her feel warm, and that’s the last thing she needs no matter how desperately she wants to undo her mistakes.

If her feelings continue to irritate the budding flower inside of her, she could die.

But she cares about him so much—she doesn’t know what to do.

“Professor, correct me if I’m wrong, but I faintly recall you saying that we're friends.”

Byleth is standing in the door frame of the Golden Deer classroom when she hears him call out to her from within, and she stills, shutting her eyes tight. They are friends. She wants them to be friends, she never meant for any of this to happen.

“We are friends,” she says lightly, forcing herself to turn around.

Immediately her face falls at the sight of him, his features completely set in stone, eyes cold and unfamiliar and this is the Claude she met that first day at the Goddess Tower, and she hates it.

“You’re right, Professor. I forget friendship means avoiding people at every turn,” he says with a breezy smile.

Byleth is silent, and her eyes cast to the floor. She knows that smile. 

She’s sifting through all the possible words she can say, but she’s just never been good with words—what could amount to all these emotions swirling inside her? Sometimes she wishes she could whisk herself to before, when it was just her and her father, and having to deal with the consequences of people’s hearts were never an issue.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shut you out,” she finally says. “You are important to me. You are my friend."

The familiar words she’d once expressed before roll off her tongue like fluid water before she can stop herself. But she knew it to be true then, and she knows it to be true now. Was she really going to let Hanahaki prevent her from rebuilding her relationship with Claude?

But then, was she going to die before this war ended, before she could help him fulfill his dreams?

Something in Claude must shift because he’s letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Can I tell you something?”

Byleth glances up in surprise, and sees a softness to his features that wasn’t there only a moment ago. She nods slowly.

“I’ve always been seen as…different from those around me—an outsider if you will. I’ve been resented and hated, and there have been multiple attempts on my life growing up. I had to learn to pick myself back up and keep fighting. I didn’t have a lot of friends—I didn’t have many people I can trust.” Claude pauses, selecting his words carefully. “I’m not the kind of guy who sees the need to beg for friendship. I’ve done pretty well in my life without having that. But...”

Claude takes a few steps closer until he’s but a foot away, and he seems to consider closing the distance but thinks against it. The moonlight decides to follow the glimmer of gold across his body, and she watches him with half-lidded eyes.

Byleth stays put in the doorframe, fists clenching tightly together as she attempts to ease her nerves.

Claude, as silver-tongued as he’s always been, looks troubled and for once at a loss for words. He pulls at his cravat nervously, fingers fidgeting.

“Whatever past Claude did, he chose to believe in you. And I’m going with my gut to trust him. And it’s not just that—now that we’ve worked together and have fought together, I can see why.” He heaves a large sigh, broad shoulders sagging as he locks his gaze on her, taking a couple of steps closer. Her breath hitches. “Professor, I don’t know why you’re avoiding me. If I did something wrong, tell me. You said we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she repeats firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She doesn’t want to lose him. She’s never once meant to make him feel like an outsider.

His eyes are searching her face, so Byleth tries again. “I’m not always good... with people. I’m sorry for shutting you out. But the last thing I would ever want to do is make you feel like an outsider. Because you’re not one. You inspire the Golden Deer, you’re the driving force of the Alliance—and you care about the people. There are those who look up to you and admire how well you navigate the political boundaries of the Empire and what was once the Kingdom, including myself. That makes you a good leader, not an outsider.”

Claude lets out a huff, a small laugh slipping between his lips. “Thanks, Professor. I unfortunately went through a lot of troubles to get to this point. But what can you do?” He closes his eyes, sighing.

On impulse, Byleth reaches up and grazes her fingers over his cheek, and his eyes flicker open in surprise. There’s a shiver that runs under his skin, and she can feel the tension unravel between them. She is drawn unequivocally to him, and even though she knows she needs to withdraw herself from him, she can’t find it in herself to let him go.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” she murmurs. “But you’ve done well.”

They stay like that for a moment, and Byleth senses a heavy and hot rush of blood coursing through her veins. Claude’s eyes are focused and dark, taking every inch of her in before blinking languidly, and she can’t help but feel the wilting flower inside of her slowly unfurl.

"Friends," he repeats, his words coming out slow and thick, his blazing eyes never leaving hers for even a second.

Byleth swallows. "Friends."

Inside, she can hear alarm bells ringing, but she can’t seem to pull away.

This is not good.

That night, she coughs five petals. She counted. Twice.

The eve before the Battle at Gronder Field, she finds Claude at the Goddess Tower.

When he hears her footsteps, he turns, and she’s reminded of that moment she came across him the first time, when he couldn’t recognize her, and she had decided then she didn’t want to live in a world where their memories of before hadn’t existed. And look where that landed her.

“Professor,” he greets, and Byleth winces inwardly.

Again with that.

“Byleth,” she corrects.

Claude doesn’t seem to hear her as she approaches closer. He’s got a far away look in his eyes as he turns back to the scenery outside. Silence sits between them, and she allows it to simmer as she waits for the next words that seem to be formulating on the tip of his tongue.

“You know—I’m not sure if I told you this before, but I wasn’t born in Fódlan though I am part by blood. Where I come from… our cultures and beliefs are very different, so much so that we consider the people of Fódlan cowards, and the people of Fódlan consider us beasts. And yet—we’re both still human and have that commonality. A world exists outside of Fódlan that is vast and beautiful. There’s a perspective that we could learn from other cultures if we simply broke down the walls that separate us and learn to accept each other.” Claude exhales, bringing his hands up to grip the balcony. “That’s… my ultimate goal anyway—my brilliant ambitions down to the wire. Am I crazy? Is that even possible? To be half coward and half beast deemed by the people before me, I must be insane to try to bring two such different worlds together.”

Byleth leans forward on the ledge, bringing her arms up to lean against the flat surface. “Claude, your dreams are important to me as they are to you. I’m here to help you see them through. You understand that, right? It doesn't matter where you're from, what blood courses through your veins—you are neither coward nor beast. The you who can recognize people's differences and yet still strive to accept others to build a better, less-prejudiced world—I stand by him.”

Claude is quiet, mulling over her words carefully. He inhales a deep breath as he leans back, grip still tight on the rail. The gold of his armor flickers under the reflection of the setting sun like a glowing halo, and Byleth tries to keep herself from turning into him and admiring the low-lit effect. 

“I keep trying to figure out why I lost my memories,” he murmurs after a moment. Byleth stills, unsure if she wants to meet his gaze. She turns to face daybreak instead, watching as the colors illuminate the sky. “I’ve read every book thinking there might be an explanation, but…. No one seems to know how someone could just wake up and forget—a person. A whole fucking person. There’s no recollection of me being in an accident. And it’s like—like there’s this gaping hole, and…”

He lets out a heavy sigh, broad shoulders slumping, gloved knuckles tense against the balcony ledge. A part of her wants to raise a hand and provide some source of comfort but falters half way through. Her hand slips back to her side.

“I hate not having answers.” A huff of a laughter escapes his lips. “I don't understand—you know me like the back of your hand, and you're willing to walk beside me to make a pipe dream come true. If... you were so important to me, how could I forget you?”

Claude turns and finally looks at her, and she so rarely sees him undergo emotional turmoil, but she sees it flicker in that second. His voice is quiet when he speaks again, a whisper to the winds as it dances around them, and she sucks the air in between her teeth at the sound.

“I wish I hadn’t forgotten you.”

The words capture her in a second she wants to lock away forever, and if she had a beating heart, she’s sure it would combust.

“Me too,” she murmurs.

“Professor—”

“Byleth.”

He closes his eyes for a brief second. “Right… Byleth.”

“Yes?”

“Despite this gaping hole, something inside me tells me to trust you. Wholly, with everything I am. That we’re meant to see our dreams come to fruition, together.” His eyes skim back and forth, searching desperately for anything tangible that could help ground him. “I want it to be right. That you’re not simply my friend, but... my partner.”

Byleth decides in that moment to lean forward, until her hand has clasped his. A spark flashes across her skin, but she keeps her fingers still. “I trust you, Claude. With everything I am.”

That seems like the right thing to say, as his fierce and wild eyes soften at her words.

Silence envelops them.

Then gently,

“I believe you.”

He believes her.

She hadn’t quite realized it, but maybe it’s what she needed to hear. That he believed her, that he trusted her—it was like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders, relief and peace taking its place.

There’s bubbling in her throat, and she smiles weakly, her lips upturning just a quirk.

And then she’s coughing, and she lets go of his grasp, bringing her free arm up to stifle her voice. The feeling is hot and sharp like nails clawing at her throat, stuffed full with cotton and then— Her other hand is quick to chase the petals, because heavens, it’s like she can taste them in her throat.

“Are you okay?” Claude asks, voice rising with alarm. “Here I am complaining about something so trivial when you’ve got a cough—let’s return so you can get some rest.”

Byleth nods, careful to hide the petals in her fingers as she brings her arm back down. Glimpses of bright yellow peek from between her knuckles, beautiful and vivid but feeling like lead in her hands. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She loves him. And she thinks she’s past saving.

She’s anything but fine.

If she goes back now, she will love Claude the way he needed before all… this.

Or he may not believe her. Again.

Then she’ll be back at the beginning.

She decides to stay, miserably, because she’s not sure how much longer she can play with this timeline and tempt fate. She could go back, and everything may implode on her, and it’ll be all for naught. She hates how little she knows about the power within her.

So she focuses on the present. Because... maybe there’s a way to make things right without divine intervention.

“Is there any way to restore his memories?”

Byleth has asked this before. She braces herself for the same answer as Marianne slowly shakes her head, peeling a hardcover dusty black book from a shelf in the noble’s room. It is the only book they have that has reported a history of Hanahaki, though ever so shallow. There is so much they don’t know.

Marianne flips through the pages until she comes to the lone page detailing the disease.

They’ve looked through this before.

“It’s said… that in the history of the legend of Hanahaki, less than ten percent of those who have verbally spoken of being diagnosed, have ever regained their memories after undergoing an operation. It’s almost better to not force them to remember, as it simply causes them mental and emotional distress for trying to fill a void that inevitably cannot be filled…” Marianne looks up from perusing the paragraph before pursing her lips. She is hesitant before speaking again. “We could try… telling him… I’m unsure if he will take it well… and it may, as the book says, affect his sanity.”

“Claude’s already frustrated,” Byleth comments softly, looking down at the wooden table.

“Then we shouldn’t try to add on to that,” Marianne responds gently. “At least not until after the war.”

Something feels wrong about keeping the secret from him, given his current frustration. Maybe now that he trusts her, her words won’t seem so futile. But she’s not really sure which outcome is better. What if he spirals after learning of the illness? What if he treats her differently?

“What if… What if I end up returning his original affection?” she murmurs, glancing up. Marianne’s eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting Byleth to say such a thing. “Would it change anything? Would he be able to remember and love in return?”

“I—” She flips through the pages again, before settling back on her bed with a frown. “There’s nothing… documented here about a memory cure post-operation, but… assuming he cannot regain his memories, then I don’t believe it will change anything or if he can even feel anything. He’s experiencing the Hanahaki post-operation void, so he shouldn’t be able to have any feelings towards the original object of his affection.” Marianne pauses abruptly. “Do you… love him, Professor?”

“It was simply a theory.”

Inwardly, she begins to map out her own personal lifespan.

For she will absolutely refuse to undergo a surgical operation, if the flower inside of her continues to grow and burst. She will never forget Claude, and she’s firmly decided she would rather die than let go of him again. Not again.

And if he’s… meant to be void of romantic emotions towards her for forever, then… well… she thinks she may die.

Possibly.

Probably.

For all the effort Byleth has put into this war and into these people, and the scars and nightmares she has gained by it, she cannot believe she may die by the hands of an illness instead. She almost laughs at the thought, if it weren’t so ridiculously masochistic to do so.

One morning, she wakes up, and she’s surrounded by yellow petals.

And blood. Lots of blood.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been coughing in her sleep.

Her throat itches, and she reaches for the glass of water that has been a staple to her bedside since she’d discovered her own illness.

She needs to wash her sheets—discreetly. She’s not in the mindset to want to deal with anyone finding out and worrying when she’s firm in her decision. She refuses to be pressured into an operation, she can’t do that to Claude, not after—her grip tightens around her sheets.

No.

Unless—unless a miracle happens, and he remembers or decides he loves her…

This is the fate she’s chosen for herself.

The illness begins to affect her on the battlefield.

Byleth struggles to defend herself as a prickling begins to grow in her chest. She’s never felt so weak and incompetent.

She grunts as the soldier in front of her impales her leg, before lashing the Sword of Creator at him, killing him in an instant. Still, she should have dodged him to begin with. She would have if it weren’t for—

A shout resounds behind her. Before Byleth’s able to react, an arrow clashes with a spear aimed piercingly at her neck, and then Claude lands with a roar on his beautiful white wyvern. His face is thunderous and paler than she’s ever seen.

All because she cannot for the life of her stop the hacking in her chest. It’s like a thousand thorns are prickling against her lungs, and suddenly she’s coughing yellow bud after yellow bud.

The petals crumble in her fist.

“Get on,” he says fiercely, and he pulls her up by her waist onto Morvarid without a second thought. She almost huffs a complaint, but the glare in his eyes tells her not to argue. Claude sends a signal to Lorenz to finish the battle quickly, and then they’re soaring towards Garreg Mach without a second to waste. He’s throwing her a roll of gauze and eyeing her bloody leg. “Wrap that before you lose too much blood.”

“You can’t leave a battle because one person is injured,” Byleth states calmly, but she moves to wrap her leg without putting up too much of a fight.

Claude grits his teeth at her statement. “They can handle this. It’s only a bandit entourage.”

An hour later, when the healers in the infirmary have properly mended her leg, Claude strides back in. He’d been temporarily asked to leave because he had been pacing a hole into the floor despite her assuring him she was fine. It was only a leg injury.

Claude locks his jaw, swallowing thickly. “What was that?”

“I'm fine.”

A hand presses circles to his temples, eyes blinking shut in frustration. “Please don’t bullshit me. I’m a good bullshit detector. I’m sure you know.”

His gaze pierces back into her, and there’s a storm brewing in his green eyes, and then there’s… fear. She didn’t expect that, not in this present-day Claude.

“I’m fine,” she says again, but softly this time. “It’s just… a cough.”

“A cough.”

“Yes.”

“You’re hacking yourself away on the a battlefield, getting your leg slashed, and almost dying with a spear through your neck,” he whispers fiercely, “and you call it a cough.”

Claude’s shaking his head and starts to pace again, back and forth like a pendulum. His lips are set in a grim line, dark brows furrowed, and he seems to be in such deep thought that Byleth wants to lean in and smooth the wrinkles on his forehead. But she doesn’t.

“I know—I don’t remember everything from…” he waves his hands around, “before. But I see who you are as a leader and as a general now, and you’re not the type to let a cough allow you to get injured and almost die. I know you better than that. At least, I hope I do.”

Byleth is quiet as she watches him.

Claude stops pacing and heaves a sigh before finally taking a seat next to her bed. He gently takes her hand in his. “Byleth… what’s going on? Be honest with me. I can take it.”

She stares at their hands intertwined, how small and pale her hand looks in his grasp. But both marred by scars of the war they’re fighting… together.

Together, they are together, aren’t they?

“You’re dying,” he answers for her, his voice worried and all the same tender. “Aren’t you?”

She doesn’t answer.

“What are you sick with? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She opens her mouth, but again, nothing comes out. How does she tell him? How can she tell him? How does she tell him she's ill because she loves him, and it can never be cured because that's the terrible hand she's been dealt with? 

A hand brushes against her cheek, and then he’s bringing her face up to look at him.

“We’ve all got our own secrets, but don’t shut me out again. I know there’s a friendship we had before I lost my memories, and I know I’m never going to remember it. But we’ve built our own friendship, haven’t we?” he asks desperately as he cradles her face between his palms. When he leans forward, and their foreheads touch, Byleth feels as if the air is stolen right out of her lungs. “Haven’t we, my friend? I can’t finish this war without you. No, that’s not what I’m trying to say—I… don’t see a future unless you’re in it.”

If Byleth could feel her heartbeat, she thinks it would still in this moment.

He brushes a fallen strand of hair out of her face, the rough pad of his thumb grazing her cheek. “You said you trusted me,” he whispers.

“I would trust my life with you,” she immediately responds, voice fierce. 

“Then tell me what’s wrong. How can I fix it?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve tried.”

It can’t be fixed, are the unspoken words between them.

He’ll never be able to know the pain that she went through to get them to this point. How often she has ebbed time to will her way, and how adamantly it refused to listen. This was the path of least resistance, the one that didn’t lead to him drawing his bow at her or worse, end up dead.

She’d rather take death than see him die.

The grip he has on her tightens to a point where she feels like she’s losing circulation. Byleth moves her hand up, grazing over his fingers, and Claude startles before loosening his hold.  “Sorry,” he murmurs. His voice is raw when he finally speaks, as if vocalizing the words is too difficult to even breathe, let alone form into something tangible. “How long do you have?”

She hasn’t seen any full flowers yet.

So time, there’s time.

“I’m seeing this through to the end of the war.”

It’s after they take Fort Merseus, after the team has celebrated, after his hand has held hers in victory, and she’s warm and fuzzy in an unexplainable sort of way—it’s after the celebration that she’s reminded of reality later that night.

A full sunflower falls out of her mouth, vividly yellow like the sun, petals stained with spots of blood and green with phlegm. It is the size of her fist, and she stares at the way it envelops her hand.

It’s so somberly beautiful in its own way, that it almost hurts her to crumple it between her fingers. Another cough prickles her lungs, and she’s hacking a bouquet of flowers, petals hovering through the air, seeped yellow and red.

She’s so close to the end of this war, but she’s losing time.

They’re preparing for Enbarr in her room, books and maps littered across the floor, putting the final pieces together before they head into battle because that’s it—that’s the goal, the end, she’s so close to the end—when Claude pulls a small vial out of his pocket and places it in the palm of her hand.

She’s staring at the vial, crystal-clear with drops of wine-red liquid.

When Byleth finally looks up at him, Claude is fidgeting nervously, though his face is set in stone with a certain aura of somberness.

“Byleth…” he pauses, rubbing his face along the edge of his jaw before shaking his head. Instead, he closes her fingers around the vial and nods towards it. “You won’t tell me what you’re sick with—fine. I respect your secrets though I’m not happy about it. This should help alleviate some of the symptoms. It’s created with some herbs from Al—” He stops, licking his lips, flushing.

“It’s not a miracle worker, and given that I don’t know the root cause, it’s not going to be a cure. But it should help with the coughing. You only need a couple of drops a day.” Claude turns his head to busy himself with one of the books beside his hand, nervously nudging the edge of a map with the tip of his toe.

Byleth’s lips upturn just slightly, and her gaze falls to the vial as she carefully overturns it in her hands. “You made this?”

Claude smirks wryly. “Did you expect anything less of your favorite student?”

“You don’t remember being my student,” she reminds him with a raised brow.

He waves his hand. “My friend, that hardly changes the facts. Admit it, I’m your favorite.”

She chuckles under her breath, simply shaking her head as she watches the red liquid swirl around.

He grins cheekily at her, his green eyes glittering in the dim light. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

Byleth carefully places the vial on her desk before settling back into her position against it. She takes a good look at the man across her, her once student, her friend, her ally, her partner who’s glowing at her despite a somber look in the depths of his eyes. Who, despite not remembering her then, knows her now.

And she loves him, even if he’ll never be able to return her feelings, even if he’ll never remember.

“Thank you, Claude.”

He holds out his hand, and she takes it, and it’s like the whole world slows in that moment with a single touch. He squeezes her hand gently, an affectionate smile on his lips, and she can't help but think how beautiful he looks in the low-lit moonlight drifting through her room.

“Anything for you,” he murmurs.

Byleth wishes she could freeze this moment in time, dreams that in a parallel universe, they could have easily been lovers, where neither became sick with an illness that consumed them and wrecked so much pain simply because their timing was all wrong. Simply because she fell asleep for five years. 

She wishes she could fix this.

Instead, she’s going to do whatever it takes to ensure he can accomplish his dreams. It’s all she has to offer.

Byleth can sense her internal clock ticking, and she’s positive she doesn’t have much time left, but she swears to the Goddess—to Sothis—that she’s going to take them to the end, to victory.

They’re so close.

She’s just heaved what feels like two full bouquets of fist-sized sunflowers, and they’re littering her sink, blood-soaked petals strewn across the white porcelain like a scene right out of a horror novel.

Byleth catches her reflection in the mirror and grimaces. Her skin is pale white, dark purple bags a permanent fix under her eyes, and skinny. So skinny, mere bones, muscles, and skin. A hand lifts to pinch her cheek, and she immediately averts her gaze.

She can’t think like this—she has a war to win. She has dreams to help fulfill.

It happens after they defeat Nemesis.

Byleth doesn’t even have a second to celebrate before she’s kneeling into the dirt, sunflowers spilling from between her teeth—she can taste its strong floral fragrance across her tongue, and a sharp pain hits her insides. The Sword of Creator falls from her grip, and she’s clutching her chest tightly.

She can’t—she can’t breathe.

“Byleth!”

The pitter patter of rushed footsteps are heard in the distance. Blood rushes through her ears. It’s overwhelmingly hot, each breath a struggle.

An arm wraps around her. The world spins.

Claude?

“Byleth—hold on.”

“Claude…” She wants to reach up and desperately grab his face, tell him she loves him. Before it’s too late. Now’s the time—the war has finally ended. “You’re...”

He grasps her hand. “Shh—Byleth, we’ll take you straight to the medic tent. Everything will be alright.” His grip is tight against her fingers, and she can tell he doesn’t believe so.

She shakes her head, body writhing. “You mean... so much to me,” she whimpers, eyes shut tight as a sharp pain shoots through her chest. “...Everything.”

And then she’s choking, her tongue caught on another flower.

A sunflower falls into his lap, and Claude freezes in horror.

“You—Do you… have Hanahaki…?”

“I…” She struggles to say the words, but her mouth feels like it’s bleeding, and her head grows dizzy, swirling in colorful masses. She begins shaking as another flower rises from her chest.

Panic rises in his eyes, and she thinks she sees glitter sparkling down his cheeks. “Byleth—stay with me.”

Don’t cry, she wants to say.

She reaches for him—

Byleth, my love. Please.

And then it goes black.

The sounds Byleth hears is like a whirring to the brain, like someone has stuffed cotton into both her ears and then submerged her whole head underwater. In an alternate reality, she can subconsciously make out bits and pieces of conversation, words pocketed in bubbles around her.

How did this happen? If she had just told me—

Claude, you need to leave the room, and let—

She may be too late for an operation... but we can try.

No, give her a chance. I believe in her. This is the same person who woke after a five-year slumber.

She has to be okay.

She must be back at Garreg Mach at this point, but in another portion of her mind, she feels a netherworld within her grasp should she choose it. It’s been so long since she’s seen or heard Sothis, but she can sense her presence so strongly. It feels warm and inviting.

Byleth had tried turning back the hands so often to fix this, and if she tried now... would it right any wrongs?

She’d tried re-creating a world where Claude would never suffer, and yet… she thinks he still is anyway.

There was always a consequence, and no matter what door she chose, she couldn’t take away his diagnosis of Hanahaki. She’s sure, she could have, if she had chosen a different House altogether. Had she decided to never be by his side, but… she couldn’t willingly do that. Not with everything they’ve been through. Not to her dearest friend.

She wanted his dreams to come to fruition.

She wanted him to be happy and successful.

And though it took her so, so painstakingly long to get her to the point where she knew in her heart she loved him, she still got there, even if it was for the Claude who forgot her, who didn’t know a Byleth.

But he was willing to try.

And she would take him up on that.

Within the void of her mind, a voice calls out to her.

You cannot die a stupid lovesick fool like this.

…Sothis?

I offered my full powers to you. Get back up.

Do not make me feel ashamed. To fall to the hands of death because you were too afraid to speak your mind! How silly!

But... it hurts to breathe...

Get back on your feet. Right now! Your body is still alive and vibrates with energy.

The people of this world need me—or shall I say, they need you? You must try harder from now on and find the strength to move forward, to be honest.

And besides, doesn’t he love you?

And then—stillness.

Sothis?

Silence answers her.

Was it… a conjured figment of her imagination?

It must be.

It must…

In the darkness, a grip tightens around her hand, and she desperately wants to hold on. The hand engulfs her whole, large and warm and calloused from years of war, but still pleasantly soft and feels like… home. Safe.

She could stay there, she thinks, forever.

Byleth.

Stay with me.

I love you. With everything I am.

Maybe it’s Claude’s words.

Or maybe it’s Sothis’s.

Or maybe she’s not ready to die, not yet.

But something inside her feels revived. And she squeezes the hand back.

Their eyes meet the second she wakes up.

Claude moves fast, doesn’t wait for her to react, simply leans in and gently cradles her face with his hands as if he wants to ensure she’s physically before him, alive and breathing. He’s bent over her bed, and he must be uncomfortable in that position, but he presses forward anyway until their foreheads are touching, and she relishes in the hot skin-to-skin contact.

Claude inhales deeply, their breaths intermingling—what’s hers is his—and Byleth can feel his shoulders shaking.

Her hand moves languidly at first, but then she’s clutching him closer.

“Byleth,” he whispers, his voice coarse and raw. “My love.”

A sob sits in the back of her throat, but she thickly swallows it down. Her grip tightens. She feels like crisp, clean air on a spring day, and it feels so good, and like she can finally breathe again.

“I’m here,” she says gently. “I’m here.”

Claude leans back just briefly to look at her, and Byleth moves forward with him automatically, as if their bodies are tied by an invisible string, magnetically drawn together. A whirlwind of emotions dances across his features, and she can’t decide what’s most prominent across the melancholic heartbreak and adoration. Heat begins creeping up the back of her neck the longer he stares, but she can’t seem to avert her gaze.

“Marianne told me,” Claude says after a moment. In the silent words left unsaid, they’re both acutely aware he means his own illness. “I wish I had known.”

She turns her cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.”

“Byleth,” he says quietly, lifting her chin so that she’s facing him once more. There’s a tenderness across his face, eyes sparkling as if she has lit the stars in the sky scattered between his heavy depth of mourning. “History isn’t always right. Maybe less than ten percent of patients fell in love again, but who’s to say we wouldn’t defeat those odds? Byleth, my love, how could I never fall in love with you again?”

Her breath gets caught in her throat, and she takes that moment to search his eyes and feel his beating heart. 

She holds her breath as Claude traces his fingers across her jawline, softly brushing across her brow bone, before finally trickling across her bottom lip. Her eyes close and lips part on impulse. He exhales against her skin, lips following a similar pattern.

And then they’re grazing her lips ever so briefly.

Byleth doesn’t hesitate. She leans up and closes the small gap, hands clutching his cravat to bring him closer. His lips are soft and warm, and they’re both moving against each other desperately, afraid the other might slip from their grasp. His hand pulls her in by the back of her neck, dragging through the softness of her hair, until there’s no space left between them.

“It doesn’t matter that I can’t remember,” he murmurs against her lips. “I love you. I’ll always love you. It’s you and me, Byleth.”

He loves her.

She inhales against his mouth, like she’s needed this for a thousand years. Then exhales, “I love you.”

She can breathe again.