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The first time Byleth ever sees Claude cry, it is when Hilda falls in battle against Imperial soldiers during their time as students. She dove in front of him, protecting him when their opponent was too close range for him to fire an arrow. The soldier’s attack was so strong it jarred through her axe, putting her off balance enough that a distant archer fired right into the centre of her chest.
Claude had picked up her axe and cleaved the soldier in two, Lorenz taking out the archer with a haunting cry in the distance. He had dropped to the floor, hands shaking, and gathered her in his arms.
Hilda was crying. She was not beautiful in this moment, blood spilling from her lips. Byleth learned she was an ugly crier, face scrunching as she tried to grip Claude’s sleeve. Maybe it was the look of her, so unrefined and with no facade anywhere to be seen, that caused Claude’s breath to hitch and his arms to tremor.
Byleth remembered being frozen. Remembered the cold ache swallowing up her chest as she hollowly observed the scene. The proof of her failure dripped from the edges of Claude’s eyes, blurring his vision as he crinkled them up in a tearful facsimile of a smile. She could hear him, gasping out reassurances, saying Teach would save her, she’d figure it out, they always did, together. Trying to give Hilda vain hope, even as her grip weakened and she gasped out her last breathes.
When her eyes went dull, Byleth dropped to her knees, a random soldier’s puddle of blood soaking through the knees of her tights. Her silent gargle of horror went unheard as Claude snivelled and gripped Hilda even tighter, even closer. His tears streamed down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, small sobs wracking his shoulders and gritting his lips into a mournful grimace.
It took two tries before Byleth could get it right. Two tries before Hilda did not die, where the archer was eliminated and the melee soldier taken care of.
Despite the fact Claude had no memory of Hilda diving in front of him, no memory of the feeling of flesh parting under the weight of her axe as he avenged her, the future Alliance lord began learning the art of the axe, of the close distance weapons, immediately after. There was no echo, no ghost of memory. Yet he was determined. It had to be an axe.
Byleth felt shivers and ghost fingers grip her unbeating heart.
It is not the only death Claude witnesses. It is not the only death Claude cries over. It is not the only death he mourns and screams and sobs for, but it is one of many he will never recall.
So Byleth is surprised, when it is her turn. Her turn to fall. It happens in Shambhalla, when the two are separated from everyone else in search of Nemesis. They are overrun, and she tells Claude to flee. To find Nemesis and their friends and end it all. Because although they overcame their adversaries, she has been fatally wounded.
She knows she will rewind time. But it takes her a little, to remember she will not die this way. She is distracted by the grizzled face above her, blocking her view of the sky. It is one she will never forget.
Claude’s eyebrows are scrunched together in anguish. His mouth is talking, sobbing, screaming, flailing, begging. But it is his eyes that capture her, make her go still in a move that has him clutching at her desperately, has him feathering light kisses, harsh kisses, wavering lips, to her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. Anything to keep her focus on him, to keep her here with him.
She blinks and thinks he shudders in short lived relief. But Byleth still cannot help but pause before doing what she does best, and saving Claude from this pain. His eyes. They are waterfalls of green, a steady stream of stars falling from his tear ducts.
These stars glimmer over his cheekbones. They roll smoothly down his stubbled jaw.
They land on her face. Claude kisses them away, shaking as if he can feel the starburst impact too. How her skin tingles with heat and the sizzle of stars dissolving on her skin. One star, particularly heavy in its fruits, lands on her lips.
Claude kisses her and she feels his whole body shaking, shuddering as he whispers over and over and over “Please, please, please, please.” against her lips.
She takes one last lingering look at him, this desperate Claude who’s eyes shower her in stars, and rewinds the clock.
She realises later that being on the brink of death can cause hallucinations. That she lost a lot of blood. But Claude still confesses to her, still kisses her like stars exploding between them.
When she off handedly tells Hilda one day that she sees stars falling from Claude’s eyes whenever he cries, she is promptly told that that is what it feels like when you fall in love.