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Ever since Claude and the others had returned to Garreg Mach, he had been plagued by nightmares that sent him running from his bed into the night air. He had tried almost everything— tea, drugs, too much time in the sauna, sleeping during the day, reading war journals before bed...nothing gave him a peaceful sleep, and on the worst nights, he only got a few hours of rest before he started the day’s work, groggy and irritable.
Today’s nightmare drove him to the library. He could never remember them fully, could never try and solve what stress made his nights a living hell, but this one was about his comrades, the horrors they had seen during their school days, the memories changing into new terrors. As he walked in empty corridors once filled with life, his skin rippled with half-remembered revulsions. He had buried too many classmates to count.
Even though he was lost in the past, he still should have expected to see Linhardt in the library. It was his usual haunt during school; even before Linhardt had joined the Golden Deer, he and Claude had exchanged cordial nods whenever they huddled in the corners with a candle and a book, long past curfew and acceptable waking hours. Why would it be any different now that they had reunited?
Perhaps it was because Linhardt had left everything behind: his friends, his family, his countrymen. No, he hadn’t just left them behind; he betrayed them for Claude’s ideals, for him . The thought made Claude pause in the doorway to the empty library, watching Linhardt flip a page in his book.
One more page after that and Linhardt looked up at him. “Good evening, Claude. Can’t sleep?”
Leave it to Linhardt to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “And your first clue was...”
“That you’ve been walking around in a zombified state since I arrived.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, hoping it hid his wince. It wasn’t good that people were starting to notice his exhaustion. The rumors would twist themselves until Claude’s nightmares became a losing war. “You caught me.”
“I know your pain. I don’t sleep very well, either.” Linhardt turned back to his book. Claude watched him for a moment longer, ready to leave, but Linhardt closed his book with a restrained sigh. “You don’t have to just stand in the doorway— I don’t own the library.”
Claude took the invitation and sat down next to him. Now that he was seated, he never wanted to stand again; even if he couldn’t sleep, he would rather stay there, staring at nothing. He reminded himself that in a few more hours, he could make himself some tea and drown himself in letters and papers.
Despite that, he wasn’t going to be rude. Talking here was better than staring at his ceiling while the sun rose. “It makes sense that you don’t get enough sleep. You’d think all your naps would cancel it out, huh?”
“Apparently not. At best, it makes my sleep schedule terrible, which is why you see me awake at this hellish hour.” He smiled wanly and turned the book’s cover to face Claude. It was a volume of collected poetry from one of the old masters. Lorenz was a big fan of their work. “Reading drivel like this.”
Claude hummed and ran his hand along the leather cover. “Maybe this is what I need to put me to sleep. Like a little kid. Do you think it’s dull enough?”
“You won’t have any trouble in that regard.”
Claude looked at Linhardt for a long moment and realized that he knew almost nothing about him. Here he was with someone who had given up everything, and Claude, their leader, could barely hold a five-minute conversation with him. His old friends would have seen this poetry volume and known immediately that Linhardt wasn’t interested in it. He clenched his jaw shut as Linhardt yawned. If Claude was in his position, he would feel trapped, Garreg Mach his prison and the army his jailers.
Once Linhardt had set his hand back on the table, Claude covered it with his own. Linhardt blinked at him in sleepy surprise.
“I know this can’t be easy,” Claude said, tone serious, “and I want you to know you’re indispensable.” He winced, his mouth moving faster than his brain which couldn’t catch up in its state. His words were too impersonal, like Linhardt was nothing more than their most talented healer, a faceless pawn. “What I mean to say is—”
“Did someone put you up to this? Hilda, perhaps?” Linhardt laughed at what must have been a look of sheer horror on Claude’s face. “No, I understand completely. And I appreciate you telling me so.”
Grateful for the levity, Claude found himself laughing too. “Should I say it again?” He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and started his well-practiced Lorenz impression. “Linhardt / a green willow mage / the most important of our little...what rhymes with mage?”
“You should leave the poetry to Lorenz,” Linhardt said, half-giggling. Slowly his smile faded, and he smoothed his hair down nervously. “I haven’t laughed like that since school.”
“Me too. It’s lonely here.” Saying the words aloud made them real, made the stress they carried press harder on his shoulders. He had forgotten it all when Linhardt laughed, and now with only the faint hiss of the candle and the dull ring in his ears, it was impossible to ignore.
“How can you feel lonely?” Linhardt asked, a foreign note of bitterness in his
voice. “Your class is here.”
“It’s our class, Linhardt. You’re one of us.” It felt right to touch Linhardt’s hand again, so he did. He didn’t start underneath him this time. “I know I’m not much of a replacement, but I want to be here for you. Not just because I feel like it’s a duty.”
“If it is one of your duties, you’ve been slacking.”
“What can I say? I learned my slacking abilities from the master.” He nodded to him in pretend respect. “Will you let me make it up to you, at least?”
“Sure. In the morning. I don’t fancy shoving five years of missed conversation in five hours.” Linhardt pressed a hand to his chin. “I have an idea that might help you sleep. It helped me before we reunited, at least. Just don’t think I’m too odd.”
“At this point, I’ll try anything.”
“Have you tried sleeping with someone?”
Claude snorted, and he covered his mouth at Linhardt’s dry expression. “Sorry, sorry. Would it make you laugh if I said I was saving myself for marriage?”
“Yes, if I thought you were telling the truth. I didn’t mean it that way, just in the same bed. I get nightmares, and waking with someone next to me helps me fall asleep faster.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Claude said. It seemed a perfectly sound idea. “But who’d want to sleep with me?”
They went through the list: Lorenz valued his privacy and “loathed” Claude as a rule, Hilda’s bed was too full on a regular basis, and Raphael wouldn’t fit in Claude’s bed. Eventually, everyone was ruled out, and prepositioning one of the lower rank soldiers would have been completely inappropriate.
“Looks like it’s me and you, buddy.” Claude clapped a hand on his shoulder and this time dropped his voice as low as it could go. “What are you willing to sacrifice for the cause?”
“It’s hardly a sacrifice.” Linhardt glanced at Claude’s hand on his shoulder, and— oh. He was blushing. Claude’s skin tingled with the desire to tease him about it; Linhardt did have a sly side back in school, now that he remembered, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare him away. Besides that, there were more covert ways to tease.
Claude jumped up and offered Linhardt his hand, a prince offering the fair maiden a ride on his noble stallion. Linhardt gingerly took it, lingering a bit too long once he had stood.
“Your room or mine?”
“You have the largest bed.”
“Wasn’t sure if you wanted to snuggle up.”
Linhardt shrugged and grabbed the candle, leaving Claude in the pitch-black room. He jogged after him, and they were silent as they walked toward Claude’s room. The sky had just begun to lighten, and soon they would both have to start the day’s work.
Claude unlocked the door and ushered Linhardt in, wondering idly how scandalous this would look to any stalkers. At any rate, Hilda would probably know by the morning— therefore the entire army.
“Make yourself at home,” Claude said, and Linhardt wasted no time in plopping onto his bed and unlacing his boots. “Do you prefer the inside or outside?”
Linhardt only shimmied under the blankets to the wall. Claude arranged his own boots next to his desk. Now that Linhardt was in his bed, his stomach clenched with an uncharacteristic nervousness. Nothing would happen, he reminded himself, but it had been so long since he shared a bed with someone. What if he did it wrong, did something weird?
“It’s hard to fall asleep with someone watching and thinking extremely loud.”
Claude apologized, snuffed the candle, and got into bed. His bed was big enough to fit both of them without touching, but the radiating heat of his body felt like pressed skin anyway. He listened to his breathing and tried to calm down.
Then Linhardt flipped toward him and threw an arm around his chest. “Skin contact makes you feel better. It’s soothing.”
Claude turned his head to him, even though his face was only shadows in the darkness. “Linhardt—“
“Really, Claude.”
Claude nodded slowly and turned on his side toward Linhardt. Then he wrapped his arms around him. He was so thin, the fabric of his clothes soft. Every inhale brought the scent of the library, faint candle smoke, and white magic. With every breath, sleep came closer and closer. Finally, he slept.
He awoke to a mess of tangled limbs and someone pounding on the door. Hilda’s voice came through a fog of sleep and Linhardt’s hair. He nuzzled his nose deeper into his hair, hoping the pounding would stop eventually and that he could drift back to sleep.
“Claude! Are you okay?”
Claude bolted up, wincing at Linhardt’s tired groan as he pulled his arms off his waist. He stumbled to the door and pushed it open, frowning.
Hilda sighed in relief when she saw him. “Good Goddess, Claude. Do you have any idea what time it is?” She shook her head, not waiting for him to answer. “It’s twelve-thirty. The afternoon . I never thought I’d be your wakeup call, but…” her voice died as she glanced over his shoulder. Claude turned: Linhardt was stretching, looking altogether like a happy cat.
“I’ve slept better than I’ve had in weeks,” Claude explained. Hilda grinned at him, and he wished he hadn’t bothered.
“You know what? Go back to sleep. Sweet dreams.”
Claude muttered a goodbye, shut the door, and went back to bed. Linhardt had a funny expression on his face like he was failing to force down a laugh.
“You fine with sleeping more?”
Linhardt fell back onto the bed, smiling. “I can always sleep.”