Archive of Our Own

Claude left for Almyra to claim the throne almost immediately after the war ended. And part of her had always hated that he did, sticking her with the newly fractured continent to repair and rule, church included. She’d been quick to pawn off the title of Archbishop to Seteth, unable to justify ruling both on her own, while making the argument of separating church and state. But still, she’d resented Claude for leaving it to her, even if he did have an important obligation.

That is, until the empire and Those Who Slither invaded Deirdru when she was still busy trying to glue a thousand fractured pieces of an army and economy together, and Claude had arrived at the most dire moment with the Almyran forces needed to end the conflict once and for all. He would swoop in at the last moment like the heroes in those story books, wouldn't he? Better late than never, at least.

Finally . The war had lasted far too long, and trying to learn her role while also managing defenses and attending political matters had been proving far too much to handle. The treaty of unity with Almyra had just been the beginning to a golden age, Fodlan merging into that united front over time. Things had finally calmed down. 

Calmed down enough that she actually had time to marry the swordsman who’d proposed to her almost a year ago after defeating Nemesis. The one person who kept her sane in all this madness. She had so little time to train, but whenever she did, she trained with Felix to make sure her skills stayed sharp. To keep her from growing weak and losing her instincts on the battlefield. To let her unleash all the stress that always wound her shoulders tight like a bowstring ready to snap. Outside the training grounds, he was her confidant, her advisor, her lover. Anything she needed him to be, really, and she’s ashamed to admit just how much she needed him. But carrying the weight alone would have been crushing. She can't deny that. So even when things were at their most chaotic, he remained by her side at every hour possible, day or night.

She’d been advised time and time again that it was improper for a queen to share a bed with a man she hasn’t married yet, but propriety was not a language she spoke. She’d agreed to have a room designated for him to shut up the politicians and nobles.

Then blatantly told Felix not to use it.

After all the hell they’d been through and how much she’d done for this country and had agreed to continue doing, she’s not about to sleep in an empty bed because a bunch of pompous traditionalists with sticks up their asses had a problem with it. It didn’t take long for word to get out. Neither Byleth nor Felix were subtle...Or quiet.

She still remembers the day a particularly prickly priest dared mention it to her, and how quickly he’d shut up when she replied with biting sarcasm.

“Oh, dear. I do hope the queen doesn’t punish me for it.” 

But after a few years, she found her footing in the role. She certainly didn’t dress the part of a typical queen, nor did she have the mannerisms. 

“You sacrificed a hell of a lot more for these people than you ever should have had to,” Felix had told her, once. “You don’t owe them your identity.” Those words rang through her ears every day whenever she’d receive a disgusted look or scoff of disapproval at her simply being herself . She wouldn’t become someone else just to fit the image of what they expected. 

And the more time passed, the easier it was to ignore the few who disapproved when she was so highly regarded by the rest of the populace. 

Their son, Andras, was born two years after the war ended. A boy who was the spitting image of his father and as playful and mischievous as his mother. How odd that somewhere along the way, he’d picked up charisma on top of it. The older he grew, the more he reminded her of Dimitri in ways. A bittersweet thought that she kept to herself for a while. Until the days she noticed Felix’s expression shift to something deep and contemplative when their son’s antics would mirror the late prince of Faerghus.

“Does it bother you?” she’d asked him, before realizing what a stupid question it was. It wasn’t like they could change their son, and how cruel must it be for a mother to ask her husband how he feels about their child…

But Felix had taken it in stride, pondering it over a long few moments, surprisingly calm. “No ,” he said. “He reminds me of the Dimitri I knew as a boy. The one you would have known if things had been different.” he looked down for a moment, before lifting his gaze back to her. “ I don’t ever want him to change.”  

She understands the double meaning. And she agrees. 

Twelve years after the conflict ended, she awakes to an empty bed. Not uncommon, Felix had always been an early riser. Byleth strips from her nightshirt, carelessly tossing it across the footboard of the bed as she pads across cool wooden floors to the private bath (a perk she will readily admit she adores about her position). 

The warm water awaits, but before she steps in, she hears the familiar footfalls of his boots as he deliberately makes his presence known. She looks up into the tall mirror in front of her just as Felix steps into view. He’s fully clothed, there’s a bit of sweat at his brow, suggesting he’d taken an early bout at the training grounds. Though his lips don’t move, she doesn’t miss that hunger in his eyes as they slowly move up and down her body. He’s seen her naked a thousand times and still he can make her blood run hot with just the way he looks at her. 

“You come up for a bath?” She says to the mirror, harmless words laced with a less innocent invitation curving on her lips. 

“No,” he says curtly, stepping into the space just behind her, gloved hands settling onto her hips before his fingers start to curl into the flesh. “But I can join you after I take care of what I did come up here for.” 

That’s the first time she notices it. When his head settles on her shoulder, and she sees her face juxtaposed right beside his own. How he’s changed over the years. He’s still as handsome as he was a decade ago, despite pushing 40 years old, and the lines are starting to show. He’s beautiful, perfect, different but ever familiar. The way he holds her eye contact in the mirror as he bites the tip of the finger of his glove, slowly pulling it away is a sure-fire way to rile her up. But this time, she struggles to find the arousal in it she usually does.

Because she sees her face next to his. Because she can see that in these twelve years, he’s aged twelve years (gracefully, but aged nonetheless).

She hasn’t aged a day .

And that’s when she recalls the conversation she had with Alois all those years ago...About her father. The story that Rhea told her about how Jeralt had become a knight. How he had received a blood transfusion from Rhea, and her blood had extended his age far beyond the mortal limit. To well over one hundred years old, not aging a day after he received it. 

Was she also-

Her train of thought is immediately interrupted by the feeling of his hand sliding down her stomach and between her legs, teeth sinking into the skin of her neck as he draws a moan from her. She welcomes the distraction, and she falls into his touch, putting the thought out of mind for the time being.

But it’s back with a vengeance that night to rob her of her sleep.

For months, it eats away at her. Slowly, like a creeping ivy chokes a mighty oak, right under the eyes of every passerby. But she buries it, ignores it. Afraid to acknowledge it. 

Because she can’t . She cannot deal with knowing that one day, he will die. Everyone she knows and cares about will die...and she’ll still be walking the earth in the body of a twenty year old. 

Alone .

She’d never feared dying. Dying was a risk of her job, her lifestyle. An inevitability for all humans. She was not afraid of death.

Eternal life, though. That was a terrifying thought. Death for everyone except her . Even the thought of dying in battle is no comfort. She once fell off a cliff to her death and that didn’t kill her either.

Her boots come to a halt on the cobblestones just outside the open doors to the training grounds. She stares at her husband from afar, watching as he spars with their son, training him in the way of the blade. But such a sight that used to bring her comfort now triggers this new anxiety. She watches her son, bright-eyed and full of life...and wonders if he, too, will suffer the way she will. Byleth does not know how immortality works. She does not know if the reason she does not age is because of her father and mother both passing on Rhea’s blood to her, or if it is purely a result of the Sothis Stone implanted in her chest. She glances down at the scar on her sternum, peeking out from the crease of her cleavage. A mark she’d worn since the day she was born. Her fingers trace across it, conflict causing her brows to knit. When she looks up again, Felix is looking in her direction, a smile on his face that is quickly wiped away when he sees her expression. She bites her lip and immediately walks away before he can question it.

He notices, of course, how her demeanor has shifted. Most anyone could never read her stoic face, but Felix had grown to know her microexpressions as acutely as he knows how to wield a blade. He asks, she says it’s stress. He half believes her, but knows she’s hiding something. He becomes more attentive, at first, waiting for her to open up to him as she usually would. But his patience is not infinite. It isn’t even all that long at all. Within a few days, his concern outweighs it significantly.

“Something is bothering you,” he snaps one day, cornering her in their bedroom. The unspoken question is clear.

“Yes,” she admits, stone-faced. He looks at her expectantly, and she wants to tell him. But she also can’t bring herself to do it. Not yet.

Eventually, she sighs. “I’m just...not ready to face it yet.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted. She can see how it wounds him even past the agitated scowl. There’s a guilt that pangs in her chest, painful . But her throat is dry and clenched with fear. As if it was just a nightmare that would come true if she dared speak of it.

She’ll tell him...but not yet. 

She falls back into routine. Finding every way she could not to think about it, to forget about it. Two months have passed since that morbid epiphany, and she’s deluded herself into ignoring it by refusing to look into any reflective surface. Even turning away from Ignatz’s gaze when he approaches her about a commissioned painting, fearful she’ll see her reflection in the lenses of his glasses. 

The sun sets and darkness spills into the bedroom, the window left open to let in the cool night air. The chill combats the heat that clings to their bodies from fervent activity and heavy breaths. Sweat slicks their skin anyway, as clear as every bruise and bite and scratch on their flesh. Lying next to him in the aftermath of their intimacy is one of the rare times she knows blatant, ignorant peace. The haze of ecstasy is enough to stave the stress and anxiety away, however briefly. A precious few moments where she can lay on her side, holding his gaze as her head sinks into the pillow and he brushes a few stray strands of her mussed hair behind her ear. 

Felix is not soft, he never has been. She doesn’t expect him to be. But it does make the rare occurrences that much more potent. He brushes the back of his fingertips across her cheek and she feels her body tremble in a way entirely different from when their limbs are tangled. She feels as if she could fall asleep right there...until he speaks. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I met you,” he whispers. “It’s like you haven’t aged a day.”

And just like that...those carefully cultivated barricades she’d nailed down come crashing down in wake of the flood breaking through. 

She’s only ever cried once. The day her father died. He passed slowly in her arms, giving his final words. Her tears had come slowly first, before gradually forming into a sob every moment his life faded away. This, however, catches her off guard. A choking sob leaves her first before her face contorts into something pitiful and despondent, turning her face into the pillow to try and hide her tears and muffle her weeping.

Felix is alarmed, shocked utterly speechless at the sight before him. He has no idea what to make of it, until she mutters into the fabric, voice quiet, but clear enough as she tilts her lips away from the pillow enough to let them out. 

“Because I haven’t ,” she whispers, voice thick with despair. 

And then he suddenly understands, with a ferocity that threatens to knock the breath from his lungs. He opens his mouth, feeling the need to say something . To do something about the fact the woman he loves is falling apart right in front of him, but not a word comes out. Felix has never been good at comforting words or condolences, but even if he was...he struggles to imagine what he or anyone could possibly have to say in response to something like this.

Guilt yanks at his ribcage as he realizes that this is not something that he can fix. That he will grow old with her as he promised, but she will live on, looking exactly like this until long after he’s gone. Long after everyone is gone...and it pains him to think that he would be leaving her alone to deal with it.

But what could he do?

For now, he settles for the only thing he can do. He wraps his arms around his sobbing wife, pulling her in close as she tucks her head into his chest. He can feel the warm, wet tears on his skin as he places one hand behind her head, stroking her hair fondly while his other arm holds her tight. His lips tilt down to press kisses into her hair before he settles his chin on top, feeling a pit form in his stomach as her body trembles in his arms. He feels wetness prickling at the corners of his own eyes, but through sheer force of will, he blinks it away. Felix will not break down in front of her when she’s already a shattered mess beside him. Right now, he needs to be the binding that holds her together, that tells her everything is going to be alright...Even if they both know that it’s a lie.

Things will be alright for a while, sure...But eventually, it will end. And he understands so clearly why she chose those words that day.

He’s also not ready to face it. 

A few weeks pass. The grey clouds that seemed to hang over Byleth before have dispersed, but there’s still that somber aura that nips at her heels wherever she goes. A shadow that has clung to Felix since that bitter revelation. It was such a difficult situation to navigate. Part of him wants to be by her side every moment, to make the most of the time that they do have together. The other part of him says that doing so would only make it harder on her, that it would be a constant reminder that this would not be permanent and that it would make it that much harder for her to adjust after he was gone. 

So things stagnate. It’s easier for the both of them not to acknowledge it. To pretend that everything is fine, to enjoy their time together the same way they always have. But it doesn’t last. Every day that passes, he feels the guilt build up further. The shame that he can’t do anything about his mortality or her lack thereof. 

Until one day when Leonie brought up Captain Jeralt. Suddenly, a memory is triggered. Something Byleth had mentioned to him long ago, about how Alois had told her that her father was well over a hundred years old and hadn’t aged a day in decades. How Rhea had told her that it was a result of the blood transfusion she gave him to save him from death. Jeralt receiving her blood had given him an extended life. He doesn’t know if it was really immortality, they never got to find out thanks to that shapeshifting devil-woman and her associates. But it gets him thinking.

“By,” he calls to her from behind, finding her in one of the meeting rooms. His wife turns to him, eyes ever wide and attentive, giving him her full attention without a word. 

Felix hesitates a moment. It was always a difficult subject to discuss. Jeralt was her only family for so long, losing him had been so hard on her. Now bringing it up would only be a reminder that she’d one day lose her new family as well. But he doesn’t know how else to bring it up.

“Your father,” he starts, careful to keep his tone calm and even. “He didn’t age either. I remember you told me that.”

Her expression doesn’t change. Long as he’s known her, not even he can always read her face. Right now, it’s indecipherable. “Yes. But I don’t think that’s why I don’t.”

“I know,” he says. He knows that it’s more likely to be related to the Sothis stone that Rhea had implanted in her heart. That it was due to the literal goddess that had lived inside her for years and had given her the power to turn back time. Though possibile, it was likely not something inherited by her father. In a way, she was as immortal as Rhea. “You said that the blood transfusion from Rhea was what caused it.” 

Her delicate brows knit together, clearly trying to process where he’s going with this train of thought. “...Yes.”

“So then, theoretically, if you did the same for me…”

Green eyes slowly widen as she realizes exactly what he’s saying. Her lips part, utterly stunned silent. All Byleth can do is stare at him in shock for a few moments.

He would offer to share in that curse with her. He would give up a mortal life just so that she wouldn’t have to be alone forever. Perhaps a small part of it is fueled by his desire to stay with her...but to think that he would consider that worth it, even if he outlived everyone else he ever cared about. He may even outlive their son , whom they had no idea if he shared a similar fate yet or not (and for his sake, goddess they hope he doesn’t). 

Her mouth closes, and teeth press down into her bottom lip as she struggles to resist the urge to say, Yes. Yes, please. Stay with me. He looks at her expectantly, there’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, no matter how laden with worry they are. 

But she has to face the reality. The reality that it would never work. Her chin tilts down, eyes closing in solemn resignation as she bites back the sorrow that threatens to drown her. After a moment, she looks up at him again, smile soft, but holding nothing but sadness, though her gaze holds appreciation. 

“I love you,” she breathes. “And every part of me would love to say yes, but...it wouldn’t work.” She inhales, hating that she has to put this nail in the coffin after he’s clearly put thought into a way out. “If it's not my blood that makes me immortal, then it can’t do so for you either. And even if it could...even if the crest stone somehow impacted it...even if I did transfuse it to you...it would be counterproductive.” 

Her face falls again when Felix’s brows pull together. He doesn’t understand why it isn’t worth it to at least try on the off chance that it works. 

“Most don’t know it, but Rhea’s blood didn’t just give him longer life...It gave him her crest...If the crest stone affected my blood enough to cause immortality, then it likely passed along the crest as well. And...that would mean that I would transfer my crest to you.” And she’s seen what happens to those who have two crests. The white hair, how they deteriorate so young, so quickly. She stares at the ground now, voice barely above a whisper. “And if I do that, I risk losing even more time with you.” 

And she won’t do that. She can’t . 

She feels his hand move to her cheek, calloused thumb brushing across her skin. He steps forward, head leaning in to rest his forehead against her own. Her hand moves overtop his own, feeling the cool metal of her father’s ring on his hand juxtaposed against the warmth of his fingers. 

There’s no more time to be sad, she realizes. Letting the inevitable eat away at her will just sour the years they have left. She smiles again, fingers wrapping more tightly around his own. 

No more. She’ll spend the rest of their lives together with all the fervor and affection she had for the last decade.

That had been her intention, anyway. And she tried, but suddenly, Felix was the one who started feeling distant. But it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t constant. One day, she’d barely hear from him, be unable to find him anywhere, he wouldn’t come to bed. Then the next day, he would be at her side every waking hour, as if making up for the time lost. 

One man among the courts had the audacity to suggest that Felix was seeing someone behind her back. That he was sneaking off to see his mistress, and his guilty conscience made him cling to Byleth when he returned. 

She slugged that man on the spot, no care for how many people were around to witness it or for the black bruise that quickly formed over his eye. Not for one moment did Byleth believe that was the case. Even if he did brush it off and act cryptic when she’d ask about it. She trusted him. She knew him. But so many others, simply did not. The king consort was adored by many, but there were plenty who disapproved of him for one reason or another. She can pardon dislike, everyone has their enemies. But she will not stand for her husband to be slandered as a philandering traitor to her face in front of the people.

Word went around quickly. It was hard to say if it had stifled the rumor or kindled it into flames. Whatever was going around the loose lips and wagging tongues of the nobles and commonfolk, they were always cautious not to say a word of it in her presence. Fine. She could deal with that until the rumors died down and things went back to normal. 

But instead, they got worse. 

“You’re leaving?” She asks, somehow hiding the disappointment in her voice. 

“Just for a while,” he assures her. “I just have some important family business to attend to, and then I have to make a stop at the monastery.”

“But old Empire territory?” It didn’t make any sense to her. His family was from Faerghus . Additionally, he and Andras were the only two left of the Fraldarius bloodline. Perhaps it was unsettled business? But it had been so long. She quirks a brow, not understanding. She doesn’t believe that he would lie to her, but if this is the truth, it isn’t all of it. 

“I wish I could say more,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “And I will. But not today. Not yet. I’ll fill you in next time I see you.”

“Promise.” It’s not a question, she’s demanding it.

He nods in response, tilting her chin up with his index finger to place a kiss on her lips. It’s a small comfort, but enough of one to tide her over during his absence. “Promise,” he tells her as he pulls away. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She didn’t see him for three months. 

He wrote to her, but the letters told her almost nothing about what he was doing. They were brief, essentially just reassurance that he was still alive. Rumors started to bubble in the halls again, and Byleth’s prior sadness began to morph into frustration. She was more curt than usual, she lacked the same patience that usually seemed to go on for miles. Knowing where he is, knowing that he’s alive, it should be enough. She trusts him. But it’s so hard not knowing what he’s doing, or why, or how long he’ll be gone. 

After two months, she received a letter from him saying that his business was done, but he was too ill to travel. That he would recover at Garreg Mach and return home once he was on his feet again. It took every ounce of willpower for her not to ride out there on her own to see him. Though she had every confidence in his survival ability, in how strong he was...still, she feared the worst. And had he not known her well enough to know this would be her reaction, she would have been there in a heartbeat. 

But he ended the letter making her promise not to. That he swore he would be back soon. Asking her to trust in him and wait just a little longer. The trust part...that was what convinced her to wait. Because to ride out there would then make it seem like she didn't trust him. It's a dirty trick, and so she can only assume, a necessary one. So she instead takes her aggravation out on the training grounds yet again.

It was the longest three weeks of her life.

True to his word, though, Felix returned to Deirdru as soon as he was able. Some small part of her was still angry with him for being so secretive for so long when he knew she was distraught. She wants to let him know that, but that can wait until later. 

Right now, she just needs to see him. 

Hurried footsteps ring loud on the stone as she races down the stairs to greet him in the foyer. Though she doesn’t run, the urgency in her stride is all too obvious. Within moments, she’s in his arms again, melting against the cloth of his coat as she revels in the warmth of his embrace that she’s gone far too long without. 

They’re content to stay like that for what feels like hours, though only a minute passes. Eager to see him again, to see that he was alright, Byleth’s patience had worn thin. She’s hardly gentle when she grabs him by the jaw, yanking his face down to hers so she can meld her mouth against his own. It isn’t until she’s running out of breath that she pulls away, his firm grip in her hair tugging at a few strands. 

Then she punches him. Not with her full force, but her fist hits his chest just hard enough to make him flinch, and get her point across. “Alright, now fill me in.” Like he promised. 

There’s a huff of a laugh that leaves his nose in response to her adamance, but he doesn’t argue. In fact, he seems rather...light. Even though he has bags under his eyes and he’s lost a little weight, there’s something about the upward pull of his lips that tugs even harder at her heart. “Yeah, I know. Let’s go somewhere private.”

Byleth blinks, unsure if her confusion warrants the concern that builds in her core. Something was off. Not necessarily in a bad way, but the mystery of it all has just gone on too long, apprehension has already curled around her ribs and taken hold. And it wouldn't release her until she gets answers. So she’s practically on his heels when he turns to head down the hall.

They pass a number of suitable rooms on the way, but he keeps moving. Her brow quirks upward, wondering exactly where he’s leading her to tell her this information. Eventually, he turns into a room towards the end of the hall. She follows him in, barely recognizing it. It wasn’t one she really found herself needing particularly often, she wasn’t a crest scholar. But it’s rather small, lined with bookshelves and a desk with various crest sketches nailed on the wall above it. In the center of the room is another device much like the one in Hanneman’s office back at Garreg Mach used to detect crests within someone. Felix closes the door behind them and the silence of the room is almost deafening. 

Byleth turns to face her husband, expectantly. The impatience in her face is clear as day, but she’s also eager, her curiosity ready to boil over. “So?”

He pulls off his glove (though not in that seductive nature she loves just before he touches her), “I’m going to show you first.” 

Her brow quirks upward skeptically, but she says nothing, instead simply watching as he placed his hand on the crest analyzer. There’s a few moments of processing as a symbol begins to form, but when it does, she doesn’t recognize it. Her gaze narrows, trying to decipher what crest it is.

Because it’s not the crest of Fraldarius.

She looks back to the wall behind the desk, at the collage of parchments marked with symbols she never really paid that much attention to. Her eyes scan the images quickly, looking for a match, and she finally spots it in the top right. The elegant slopes of symmetry that she could best describe as crossbow-shaped. Green eyes widen, mouth agape as the word slips off her tongue in a stunned whisper.

“ Cichol …”

She whips around to face her husband, who now looks almost smug he’s so proud of himself, but all she can do is stand there gawking, rendered utterly speechless. “Wh-....But, how?” She stammers, barely able to make her mouth say the words as quickly as they run through her mind. “That’s Seteth’s crest. There’s no way that you could have it unless-”

It dawns on her then. If she looked surprised before, she looks completely astonished with disbelief now. 

The only way Felix could have Seteth’s crest...is if he received a blood transfusion from him. And if Seteth was a Nabatean with eternal life, then…

The realization of it all catches up with her so quickly. Her hands tremble, lip quivering briefly. She could tackle him for looking so self-satisfied if she wasn’t so suddenly filled with hope and anticipation. How could he have the crest of Cichol and not the crest of Fraldarius? It couldn’t be that the device didn’t pick it up, his hair hadn’t gone white. “So, you don’t have…”

Felix shakes his head. “No, that crest is gone.”

“How?” She feels like she might need to sit down, it all feels so surreal.

“I got in touch with an old classmate,” he tells her. “Lysithea’s husband found a way to remove her crests a few years back, it seems. So I had to ride out to Old Enbarr to meet with him. And I asked him to take away mine.”

Byleth can hardly believe what she is hearing. His crest gave him so much strength, was a part of his family heritage and bloodline. Even if he’d all but separated himself from his old life in the Dukedom, even if Andras had inherited that same crest...it was still such a significant part of him to give up. And he gave it up for her . 

“And you went to Garreg Mach to get the transfusion from Seteth,” she finishes in a breath of realization, all the pieces of the puzzle lining up before her. He got rid of his crest first so that he wouldn’t bear two after the fact. In truth, she’s somewhat surprised that Seteth had agreed to grant him immortality. But, then she recalls how Seteth had once been married long ago, and how much he missed his wife.

Perhaps he had done it for her sake...whether because Felix told him, or he simply knew that to be the reason. 

Felix nods again, but a scoff leaves him at the memory. “It was fucking awful, by the way. I have never been that sick for that long. Ever . But after it wore off, it seemed to work.” He steps forward, finally taking his wife’s trembling hands in his own as she looks up at him, still awe-struck. “And it was damn worth it.” 

The floodgates break at that point, and she finds tears streaming down her face for the third time in her life. But she also wears a smile, one of the biggest Felix has ever seen. Her strong fingers fly forward and around his torso, latching onto his coat and pulling him towards her as she presses her cheek against his chest. The utter relief washes over her like a wave, the joy pricks at her unbeating heart in a way that’s still so rare and unfamiliar for her usual detachment from emotions. 

He found a way to stay with her. So long as she could protect him from harm, she could keep him. Forever . She may watch friend after friend die (and now, he too, would share in that sadness...a bittersweet pill to swallow), but she would not find herself standing at their graves alone at the end of it. Knowing that, moving forward seems possible again. 

Felix’s arms wrap around her. There’s no need for words, the desperation in the way they cling to one another says a thousand more than they could vocalize. Eventually, she pulls back, only so that she can reach up and pull him down to her level again, joining her mouth with his with as much passion as she’s ever known. And he returns it full-force, teeth stubbornly tugging at her lip when Byleth finally pulls away for air.

“I missed you,” she grunts, breathlessly, still feeling like this is a dream rather than reality. Her hands slide down to his chest, yanking at the fabric again, as if she’s never going to let him out of her sight again. 

He steps forward, a wicked smirk pulling to his face in response as he advances. Byleth steps back in response, following his lead until the backs of her thighs hit the desk. Strong hands firmly grip around her legs just below her rear, lifting her up onto the table’s surface as he steps in between her spread knees. Already, she can feel her blood kindle, crooked smile gracing her features in response. 

Felix leans his head in close, lips brushing against her ear as his hot breath warms the skin of her neck, voice a low, husky growl. 

“Let me show you just how much I’ve missed you… ”