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The night of the end of the war is the night the world ends, too. Not in all the ways Dedue’s world has ended before- and it has ended twice before, once when he was fourteen watching all he loved burn to ash and once when he was eighteen watching the last thing he had left slip over the palace wall, trusting him to follow, and all he could think was, good. At least he’ll survive. But all the times his world has ended, it has always been in smoke, in flames, in pain, and he’s not sure he hasn’t lost all the pieces of himself he’s had to pretend for so long he’s put back together.
The night the war ends is different. It feels, for once, like what’s going to rise from the ashes of all they’d known for the last five years is something good, something that will last. Dimitri stumbles from the throne room in Enbarr, lance half-caked with blood, bleeding from the shoulder but alive, alive like Dedue had sworn they both would be, and Dedue allows his walls to drop , if only for a moment.
Dimitri stops when he reaches Dedue’s side, something indescribable in his eye, and clasps a hand on his shoulder. The unspoken communication is enough- Dedue has known him long enough to see the exhaustion painted across his face, the sorrow, the tentative relief he doesn’t think either of them are really sure they know how to accept just yet. He places a hand over Dimitri’s, and for that time, it is enough.
Then it slowly begins to dawn on the rest of the Blue Lions that they’ve won, and cheers are rising and they’re torn apart as their friends- their family- swarm them. The next few hours blur together- Dedue vaguely registers Mercedes by his side for most of the time, half-giddy with their victory and half clearly trying to pretend she’s not thinking of her brother. He does not see Dimitri for the initial celebration, not when Ferdinand leads a small regiment of former Black Eagles to take over the wine cellar, not an hour later when the palace is secured for certain and half their army is shored up in the ballroom to celebrate.
Dedue excuses himself from the celebration early, murmuring apologies when Annette pouts and tries to get him to stay. He’s never been one for crowds; the noise of celebration is beginning to drum into his skull, an inescapable headache he needs to get away from for just a moment. He knows the palace might still be dangerous, might harbor any manner of traps, but a moment of peace is just as likely, and that is enough for him to slip into the halls he had been fighting his way through just hours before.
It still feels a little surreal that it’s over.
He’s making his way along a corridor he’s reasonably sure their group had taken out a regiment of mages in- the bodies are gone, and he’s not even sure if he had been the one to remove them in the blur of palace cleanup, but the bloodstains remain- when he notices a pair of footsteps echoing his own, as familiar as breathing. He allows his guard to drop, turning with a half-smile on his face.
“Dedue,” Dimitri greets, his own smile weary but earnest. “It is… a joy to see you.” He’s cleaned up since they last saw each other, likely thanks to Manuela dragging him to their makeshift infirmary to be treated, and his hair is swept back into a ponytail. There’s still blood smeared over the corner of his jaw; it makes him no less beautiful, Dedue thinks with a pang.
“Your Highness,” he responds out of reflex, pausing when Dimitri frowns. For a moment he’s confused, but- “Oh. Ah. Dimitri.”
The smile that spreads over Dimitri’s face is worth the feeling that twists in Dedue’s chest- the softness he is afraid to let himself accept, rising and swelling and making his throat far too tight. To say Dimitri’s name is to acknowledge that the carefully-placed walls he had constructed to keep himself from shattering had crumbled, and this shapeless, nameless thing between them is all too real, all too tangible, all too reciprocated.
To call it nameless would perhaps be unfair. Dedue knows what he has felt, what he has always felt. He just… doesn’t know how to let himself believe that Dimitri might feel the same.
He doesn’t even know how to let himself feel it, how to do it right (and what is right, anymore, in this world that has so often been wrong?) when he is held together by strings that are in danger of snapping at any second. And how can he let those strings snap when Dimitri deserves an anchor, someone to be his shelter from the storm he lives every day?
Dedue does not often let himself think about the storm he himself lives; it is far easier to pretend to be the strong one. Dimitri has always been his anchor, has always been a focal point so he can shut out the nightmares, the ache in his chest, the flames he still sees when he shuts his eyes, even nine years later. Dimitri has always been the reason he has been able to be strong, so how can he allow himself to be so vulnerable, to trespass the distance between them? How can he take off the armor he has worn for so long?
Then again, the distance between them has not been so far ever since he had seen Dimitri at Myrddin, broken and tired but alive and real, and as it hit him just how terribly he had missed him he had known he couldn’t pretend any longer.
“Dedue,” Dimitri says gently, and Dedue realizes with a flush that he’s been silent for far too long. “Some fresh air, perhaps? I believe I passed a balcony on my way here.” It’s an out, surely; Dimitri knows him, knows when he is worried, knows when he is thinking too much and when he does not wish to talk about it. It almost aches, sometimes, how well he can read him.
Dedue nods, and Dimitri takes his hand, still with that same gentleness his voice had carried, and it’s almost more than he can bear. He swallows hard and follows him, trying to do anything but think about Dimitri’s hand in his own. It’s- it’s more than he can let himself have, right now. Not on a night that still doesn’t quite feel real.
Regardless, it does not escape him how Dimitri must be making a conscious effort to keep his touch so light. It makes something in his chest do a terrible flip.
The night air when Dimitri pushes open the balcony doors is cold, the scent of smoke still acrid. Somewhere, Enbarr might still be burning, Dedue thinks distantly. He feels so removed from the battles that had only happened that day, they might as well have been a dream.
But his dreams tend to end in blood, in the smoke growing and choking and blotting out the sky as fires eradicate everything he loves, everything he has ever loved. This is no dream.
Not when Dimitri is there and undeniably real, not when his hand is warm in his own and despite the exhaustion behind his eye he is smiling. So long as Dimitri is beside him, he cannot lose all he loves.
Putting a name to the depths of what he feels for Dimitri feels a little too much like diving off the balcony headfirst. He drops his hand instead and pretends not to notice the flash of hurt Dimitri can’t quite hide in time.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dimitri asks quietly. He does not have to specify what. They both know that Dimitri can read him better than anyone; it’s pointless for Dedue to pretend nothing is wrong.
“I…” Dedue trails off, unable to meet his gaze. His chest feels a little too tight, and- he can’t. He can’t say what he feels when it is too much, when he has spent too long pretending he is unshakeable. (Dimitri had always seen through him. Dimitri had always been the only one who understood). “Perhaps not right now.”
“Of course,” Dimitri agrees immediately, raising his hand as if he’s about to reach for Dedue’s before seeming to catch himself and dropping it.
Dedue only hesitates a moment before, this time, he’s the one taking Dimitri’s hand.
The action makes him freeze, blinking up at him slowly and it’s almost more than Dedue can take. Something in Dimitri’s expression grows unbearably soft. “Dedue… may I ask you something?” he breathes. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Always,” Dedue murmurs back, equally as soft. There’s a little too much behind the words.
Dimitri pauses, clearly weighing his next words. “Why… why did you come back?”
The question is startling. “What do you mean?”
“Why-” Dimitri seems to be struggling for words. “You died,” he settles on quietly, and Dedue can’t help the way he flinches, almost imperceptibly- just a tightening of his hand in Dimitri’s, but it’s enough for him to notice. “You died,” he is quick to continue, “And yet you are back by my side, when you owe me nothing, when I am hardly worthy of your devotion, when you- you could have so much more-”
“Dimitri.” It is the steadiest Dedue has ever spoken his name; far steadier than he feels in this moment. “I chose this. I chose you. And I would choose you every day, again and again.”
Dimitri swallows hard. “But you- you could go home.”
Dedue has to avert his gaze, emotion welling in his throat hot and tight. He’s not quite sure how long he can mask the prick of tears. He- he wants to go back to Duscur, that much is true, wants to return to the familiarity of a childhood long since burned to the ground, wants to escape the harshness of this country that represents all that he hates. But, even in all of Faerghus’s cold cruelty, he has always had a home.
He has always had Dimitri.
“Dimitri,” he says softly after a moment, meeting Dimitri’s gaze when he is sure he can push back the tears, “I- I would like to return to Duscur more than anything, that much is true. But… the Duscur I knew, the one my heart still longs for, is gone. All I can do now is rebuild.”
“And I will do everything possible to assist, no matter what it takes,” Dimitri interjects, taking a step forward, but Dedue raises a hand to stop him. He needs to say this now, or he never will.
“Wait. Of course Duscur will always be my home… but I did not say it was my only one.”
Dimitri looks like he doesn’t dare to breathe. Dedue’s not sure if he can, either, not quite sure he can bring himself to take this plunge, but… after everything, they both deserve this much, don’t they?
“You…” Dimitri breathes, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, how to articulate the emotion Dedue can read too starkly in his eye.
“You are my home, too, Dimitri. You always will be.”
And- oh. He had thought he’d be able to hold steady, but Dimitri’s mouth falls open in a soft oh and the tears are spilling out before he can quite manage to stop them. Laying himself bare like this- it’s a little too much, a little too hard after how long he has spent trying to force himself to be strong. He scrubs furiously at his eyes as though it will do much, as though he could ever hide himself from Dimitri.
“I- forgive me,” he breathes, shaky. “I just-”
“Oh, Dedue,” and Dimitri’s voice is so impossibly sad, and he’s stepping closer until he’s just a breath away, “What is there to apologize for?”
Dedue swallows hard, Dimitri’s hand in his own his only anchor to reality. He feels an inch from breaking. “I- I am sorry. I should not be so weak-”
Dimitri’s whole face softens, and Dedue cannot look away.
“Dedue,” Dimitri breathes gently, bringing a hand up to cup his face and it’s like every cracked piece of himself he’s held together for so long is finally, finally crumbling, “You’ve been so strong for so, so long.”
His other hand finds Dedue’s waist, warm and steadying.
“You don’t have to be, anymore.”
Dedue’s hands land at Dimitri’s waist, too, because he feels for a moment like he’ll blink and Dimitri will be gone, feels like if he says a word then too much will spill out and he won’t be able to stop, feels like if he doesn’t hold onto him, he won’t be able to hold himself up anymore.
Dimitri doesn’t seem to mind.
“I-”
“You don’t have to be. Never again.”
And Dedue shatters.
Dimitri tugs him into his arms and he’s melting into him before his mind quite catches up with his body, and- oh, when had they wound up on the balcony floor? He can’t quite manage to make himself care, make himself pull away, when it feels like a void is opening in his chest and the pieces of him are scattering, scattering, beyond hope of recovery.
Dimitri catches them, though. Catches him, holds tight and does not falter, and it’s all Dedue can do to cling to him as he shakes apart in his arms.
Vaguely, he’s aware of one of Dimitri’s hands working its way through his hair, of Dimitri’s lips moving where his face is pressed into the crook of Dedue’s neck, murmuring words he does not quite register. He makes out only a few- soft endearments. Reassurances.
Love.
He forces himself to focus on Dimitri, on the way he fits against him, every point of contact anchoring Dedue, bringing him back home. As his shaking gradually slows, he becomes aware of the wetness pressed against his neck, and oh, Dimitri’s crying too. The need to help, to comfort clenches tight in his chest, but even through his tears Dimitri’s voice is unwavering.
“It’s over. We’re okay. Dedue, goddess, Dedue, beloved-”
“Dimitri,” he manages, nearly wincing at how small his voice is, but Dimitri only nuzzles a little further into his neck, arms tightening around him, and his world is narrowed to just the two of them. “I-”
He chokes off, and Dimitri presses a kiss to his neck, and nothing matters but that they are together, that they are sheltering each other from the storm. He can’t help the little sigh he lets out when Dimitri kisses him again, a little higher, his lips a cursive line against his skin.
“You don’t have to say it,” Dimitri murmurs, voice thick. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
“Dimitri…” And it’s a sigh this time, an exhausted exhale of air as Dedue sags forward like his strings have been cut. He’s so, so tired. His heart hasn’t managed to accept that it’s over, but his body had betrayed him already, is betraying him further now. He feels exhausted, boneless; the odd tremor still wracks him and he cannot help the mild guilt when they pass through Dimitri’s body, too, still too frail against him despite the strength, the warmth of his arms.
Dimitri keeps him steady, though. He always has.
“I love you,” Dedue breathes, voice hitching. Dimitri kisses his neck again, lips skirting the underside of his jaw, and he shivers, the contact burning warmth through his veins.
“And I, you, my love,” Dimitri murmurs, lips making their way across his jaw and settling on the scar on his chin. Dedue lets himself relax into the touch, feeling- not exactly put together, not mended, but… more whole. Like the cracks between his pieces have been filled with something molten, like the hole in his chest can foster one of the pieces of Dimitri that he has worked so hard to pick up over the years, to pull back from the brink and rebuild the best he can.
It hits him with a soft sigh, as Dimitri leans up and finally, finally claims his lips, that perhaps they are not so many scattered pieces after all. Perhaps they have shattered around each other, parts of themselves mixing and blending and melting together till they have managed to fill each other’s missing pieces with whatever of themselves they have been able to give. Perhaps- perhaps he does not have to be strong, nor does Dimitri; perhaps they can cover for each other’s weaknesses, can take care of each other- and perhaps he can allow himself to be cared for just as he has always tried to care for Dimitri.
Perhaps they can be weak together, and in that weakness, be strong.
But right now, Dimitri is shifting into his lap, hands cradling his head like he’s something precious, and Dedue can save such thoughts for later. They have a later, now, and he’s almost overwhelmed again, hands tightening at Dimitri’s hips. Dimitri sighs against him, pulling back a little to smile at him, happy and unrestrained and it’s dizzying.
Dedue has to look away for a moment, overly conscious of the heat rising to his cheeks, and turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of Dimitri’s palm. When he looks back, Dimitri’s eye is soft and his hair is half-fallen out of his ponytail and all Dedue can think is that he’s happy. He’s so, so happy.
“I love you,” he says again, just to hear himself say it, just because he can, and Dimitri makes a pleased noise, leaning down to kiss him again. “I love you. Dimitri-”
Dimitri hushes him, smiling a little too widely for his next kiss to be anything but a bump of their mouths together, but it’s perfect. “Dedue…”
He rests their foreheads together, and does not need to say more. It doesn’t matter that, on the horizon, the sun is rising over the half-burned streets of Enbarr. It doesn’t matter that they’re still kneeling on the floor of a balcony somewhere deep in the heart of the imperial palace, or that their friends will likely come looking for them soon. In this moment, Dedue breathes in Dimitri and his racing thoughts are quiet.
In this new, half-formed world, for once Dedue can see a future stretching ahead of him- of both of them- that is kind, a future that will not fade, that will not falter any more than either of them will falter at each other’s sides.
Dimitri leans in to kiss him again and Dedue meets him halfway, and the world is bright.