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Yuri’s nose is tingling by the time he leaves the ball, and the tips of his fingers feel far too warm. He sets his empty glass of wine on a table and takes an entire bottle in replacement, without anyone seeing.
He used to thrive on nights like this, but tonight he just feels empty. The wine sloshes unevenly through his veins. It’s hitting him harder than it should. Maybe he didn’t eat enough, maybe he’s still not quite recovered from Aelfric’s ritual, even though Manuela let him out of the infirmary two whole days ago. He wobbles slightly and catches himself on the doorframe, then heads outside.
The night air is cold and sweet. Yuri inhales, tastes the fresh flowers and old stone on the air. Nothing like the dampness of Abyss, so pervasive you don’t even notice it until you’re aboveground again. For a moment, he misses that darkness, the close walls, the grime. Maybe it’s time to head back below, wash off the stink of nobility, and pass out.
He gets three steps before he hears someone behind him. He glances over his shoulder. “Trying to catch me out after curfew, professor?”
Byleth is wearing the same clothes as always, but he looks different. Ghost-pale under the moonlight. It’s hard to tell if he’s smiling or not. “There’s a curfew?”
Yuri laughs. Raises the bottle to his lips. “That’s the spirit, friend.”
He’s pretty sure Byleth smiles at that. There’s the slightest lift in his eyes. Yuri likes that. He feels a sudden, wine-driven urge to say it out loud, so he points at Byleth and says, “I like that.”
Byleth’s close enough now that he has to back up before Yuri pokes him in the nose. “You like what?”
“Your face,” Yuri says solemnly.
“Oh.” Byleth tilts his head and reaches out. Yuri’s too dazed and sluggish and stupidly comfortable to pull away before Byleth grasps his shoulder. The touch is hot through layers of glove and clothing. “You’re very drunk.”
Yuri laughs, a sort of hiccuping giggle. Leans into the touch. “Yeah.” He nearly falls over when Byleth lets go. It’s weird. Usually he’d be embarrassed to be seen like this—he prides himself on control. But there’s something so soothing about Byleth. He inspires a dangerous trust—and Yuri finds himself fascinated by that danger.
When he’s sober, at least. Right now, he’s just fascinated by the faint curve of Byleth’s lips, and the way his touch lingers on his shoulder. The soft resonance of his voice as he says: “Let me walk you home.”
“Yes, professor,” Yuri purrs, leaning closer. “But I think your room’s closer.”
Byleth is unreadable again, but it doesn’t matter. He murmurs, “All right,” and when Yuri leans towards him, he wraps an arm around his waist in support.
Yuri didn’t expect this to be so easy.
Five dizzy, swaying minutes of walking later, he realizes it’s not so easy after all. Because Byleth guides him to his bed—good—sits him down—great—and then turns to pour a glass of water. Not so great.
Byleth’s room is sparse but comfortable. Yuri’s not sure what he expected, but it might have been exactly this: every book on the desk and every paper on the walls is a reflection of Byleth’s job. Lesson plans, instruction manuals, strategy. Nothing personal.
Byleth takes the bottle from his hands and replaces it with the glass of water. Yuri stops himself from protesting—you sound drunker if you protest—and takes a sip. “You’re sweet,” he says.
There’s a faint laughing warmth in Byleth’s words when he answers, “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” Another sip. Still doesn’t wash out the taste of wine, or cool down the warmth in the air between them. Yuri sets the glass on the bedside table. “Why were you leaving the party early?”
Byleth doesn’t meet his eyes. “I was tired.” He’s not a bad liar, but Yuri’s met better. Yuri doesn’t press him, though. He fancies his own explanation—unlikely as it is that Byleth noticed he was gone—that Byleth was looking for him—well enough that he doesn’t want to know the truth.
Damn. Aren’t you a little old and jaded for a schoolboy crush? he asks himself. He can’t help giggling at the ridiculousness of it all.
“What are you laughing at?”
Yuri leans forward. Takes the bottle in one hand, and Byleth’s wrist in the other. “C’mere,” he says, pulling Byleth down. “It’s a party. You’re not drunk enough.”
“That makes one of us.” But Byleth lets Yuri pull him down to the bed, and he takes a sip straight from the bottle. Then another, when Yuri urges him.
The room warms and spins. Lantern light gleams against the bottle, the metal of Byleth’s gauntlets. Yuri’s struck by the sudden urge to strip those gloves away, trace the bare lines of Byleth’s palms. Follow his veins all the way to his heart. He wants to know Byleth, and there’s no reason for it. No secret mission, no orders from the church.
That’s what he’s missing tonight, he realizes. An agenda.
Yuri leans closer to retrieve the bottle. His shoulder pushes into Byleth’s arm, and he feels Byleth’s breath in his hair. With another taste of wine on his tongue, he murmurs, “I asked Rhea if she wanted me to follow you next. Like I followed Aelfric.”
Byleth shifts next to him, but doesn’t pull away. “What was her answer?”
Yuri pitches his voice higher, sweeter: “‘There is no need, my child.’” He drops the imitation and takes another sip of wine. “Said she trusts you. I don’t know why.”
“Neither do I.”
Yuri leans his head back on Byleth’s shoulder. It’s hard to stay upright, every muscle in his body relaxing. “Does that bother you?”
“That she trusts me?” His voice sounds nicer the closer Yuri gets.
Yuri’s hand drops to Byleth’s thigh. Just because it’s comfortable like that. “That I asked about spying on you.”
“It’s fine,” Byleth says, far too calmly. “Most people here are spying on me.”
“Huh.” Yuri isn’t sure he likes that. He starts tracing the seam right inside Byleth’s knee, just because he likes the texture beneath his fingertips. “Do most people end up in bed with you?”
Byleth covers his hand to hold him still. “You’re very drunk.”
Yuri laughs and frees his hand. Twists around onto his knees, facing Byleth, managing miraculously not to spill the wine. He touches Byleth’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw. Feels the breath quicken under his touch.
“I’m not drunk,” he breathes. “It’s a dastardly ruse to get you where I want you.”
Byleth’s gaze flicks down to his lips. There’s a faint flush across his cheeks. “You should get some rest.”
Yuri just laughs and leans forward, eyes fluttering closed.
And ruse or not, Byleth kisses back.