Work Text:
“You could always dye it.”
Byleth blinked slowly at Hubert, and after they processed his suggestion their eyebrows furrowed in thought. They had been just short of full resignation for days now, trying to convince themself their new hair color was something livable. The idea of dyeing it had not occurred to them.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Byleth said, the hint of a pout on their lips. Hubert smirked at the expression, a quiet chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.
To think he once thought of his dear professor as unreachable. Unreadable. The subtle changes in demeanor had started before their ascension to godhood, of course, but the muted facial expressions that were once for Hubert’s discernment alone were on full display for everyone. While he’d miss the one-sided game he had grown so adept at, he knew this development was for the best. Ironically, with how Byleth now more closely resembled the church monsters, their humanity only seemed to come more to the forefront. It brought a sense of relief to Hubert that he wouldn’t admit out loud.
“I would be willing to offer my assistance, should you require it,” Hubert replied.
Byleth tilted their head slightly, their eyes twinkling with something Hubert had not yet seen from them. “Looking for easy access to my throat?”
Such an offer, given without ulterior motive, would have never happened a mere few months prior, and Hubert felt a bit vulnerable at having his genuine offer called out. At least his professor was kind enough to give him a foothold back into their sarcastic banter, but those words said in jest only seemed to further highlight for Hubert the intimacy of the proposal he made.
He must not have realized that he had taken too long to reply, because Byleth smiled to themself, a bit too smug for his liking, before following up with, “You know how to dye hair?”
Hubert tensed up a bit, already taken off guard and not prepared to answer that particular question.
“In theory. I’ve studied the process before,” Hubert said. Acutely aware of Hubert’s reaction, Byleth chose not to ask after the implicit story in those words. When his childhood friend had finally returned to him, body broken and hair ghost white, he felt so powerless to help her. It had been one of many dead ends he pursued in an attempt to offer her solace.
“I would appreciate the help,” Byleth said with a small smile. Hubert’s lips twitched up unconsciously to mirror the expression.
Byleth’s students all had different reactions to their dramatic change in appearance, but it was clear that universally the change was regarded as an indication of new power, new strength, regardless of whether it was for the best or not.
Byleth felt anything but powerful and strong as they sat unblinking at themself in the mirror, brushing their hair out with shaky hands, with the unfamiliar desire to cut it off, rip it out, burn it up. Now with Sothis’s absence there was finally enough room for them in their own mind, and they felt so small inside themself. Every new emotion would flare up with such intensity it threatened to overtake all the empty space, surrounding them and forbidding escape to any place outside themself.
What had Rhea done to their body, which had already never felt like their own, to stake such a claim on it? Having Rhea’s hands on them in wake of their fusion, singing sickening melodies and promising safety in her arms, had already been too much. But after reading through their father’s diary they had come to realize that Rhea had her hands all over them from the beginning, even before the beginning. From conception Byleth’s body belonged to Rhea.
And now it looked like Rhea too.
I hate her, Byleth thought. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
The sound of something snapping brought Byleth back to reality as they glanced down at the broken comb in their hand. Sighing, they set the two halves aside.
“My, what a rare display,” a familiar smug lilt came from the doorway. Byleth turned around in their chair, hand instinctively flying to their waist to grip at their sword handle. Processing who their visitor was, their hand hesitated, fingers twitching before dropping from their side entirely. Hubert noted the whole action with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Professor, most of our peers would be more on guard upon realizing it was me in their room. Are you sure it’s wise to forgo readying your weapon?”
“Hubert,” Byleth breathed out admonishingly. “What do you think you’re-”
“I did knock,” Hubert interrupted. “Twice.” He waited for Byleth to untense and slump back into their chair before adding, “Now, who is this ‘her’ we are hating?”
Byleth shut their eyes tight and bit the inside of their cheek. Of course they had said that out loud. Even in their most personal moments of hatred for her it seemed their body and voice betrayed them, acted outside their own will because of Rhea.
“Are you always so expressive behind closed doors?” Hubert asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” Byleth said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I… I’m...” For all the times Byleth had caught him off guard lately, he felt pacified seeing them so fragile and easily decipherable. Pacified, and something else.
“Now, don’t tell me I’m the only one to see you like this,” Hubert said, a lot less sarcastic than he had planned. “I’m already so wounded that you don’t seem to consider me a threat anymore.” He invited himself in officially by shutting the door behind himself, crossing the room at a meandering pace as he studied the space.
It was very utilitarian, sparsely decorated with any personal possessions, although there were quite a few items Hubert recognized as various gifts from fellow Black Eagles. His stomach dropped a bit at the idea that he had never given anything to Byleth for them to display, but then his eyes landed on their bedside table, empty save one book. The detailed history of the Adrestian Empire contained within that tome was a dry read, but he remembered the cover being a lot less worn and the pages a lot less dogeared when he had given it to them.
Byleth took a deep breath, regaining some of their usual blank composure. “It does always seem to be you who finds me like this, doesn’t it?” Their eyes went to the floor. “You already know who she is.”
“And did I not tell you how dangerous those sentiments are to express out loud?” Hubert whispered, leaning to place a hand on the surface of the desk where Byleth was still seated. With Hubert usually warnings were thinly veiled threats, but for once the opposite seemed to be true.
“With the wrong people, maybe,” Byleth said, eyes fixed on Hubert’s hand as the fingers flexed across the desk surface.
“I hope you are not implying I have anything but deference for the esteemed Archbishop,” Hubert said, a smile pulling at his lips at the idea. Perhaps he should take his own advice and hold his cards a little closer, but while there was little he’d reveal to Byleth still so early on in his machinations, he would show them this sliver of solidarity.
Byleth raised their head to meet his eyes and gave him a small smile. “Tell me what business a man as pious as yourself has sneaking into my room.”
“I did knock,” he reminded them before continuing, suddenly standing a bit more rigidly, “I had hoped to follow up with you on something we discussed the other day.”
Byleth’s brows furrowed for a moment before their eyes lit up ever so slightly in recollection. “Oh?”
“Please, contain your excitement,” Hubert said. “I’m afraid that matching your original hair color isn’t a viable option. No such hair-safe dye is available.” He didn’t need to mention he had looked into every possible option before coming to this conclusion, even mixing some of his own concoctions before giving up. Every pigment with a brilliant enough blue was either not safe as a powder or liquid, couldn’t sink in and actually dye the hair, or not accessible within Fódlan. And while he’d never admit he’d be willing to shell out the gold to import such a pigment, he knew it wouldn’t be sustainable in the long run.
“I did, however, procure some dye while I was in town. I thought black would be an unobtrusive and neutral option, although I don’t expect you to commit to my choice in color.”
“Let’s do it,” Byleth responded, jumping out of their chair and reaching to grasp Hubert’s hands, eyes sparkling with far more emotion than Hubert had ever seen.
“W-what did I say about containing your excitement?” Hubert tried to joke, but he had lost his nerve at the sight of a large smile from Byleth, and had no choice but to break eye contact. He cleared his throat, and tried to regain some control over the situation. “I never said I was free to do it now.”
“You didn’t need to,” Byleth said. “Why else would you be here?”
He could only grimace at that.
Byleth waited for Hubert while he went to his room to retrieve the dye he had bought. When Byleth looked at their window and saw Hubert approaching, however, he had more than just the dye in his arms. He had several black towels, a long toothed comb, and two extra pairs of old gloves members of the cleaning staff would use.
Byleth opened the door again for Hubert and he set the items down on the now cleared off desk. Byleth themself had stripped off most of their normal adornments, opting for some monastery issued loungewear. It was the first time Hubert had ever seen the skin of their arms and legs, littered with battle scars both faded and fresh.
“You’ve been planning this,” Byleth said, a neutral observation, but it still managed to fluster Hubert nonetheless.
“I offered my assistance, did I not? I don’t do anything halfway,” he said firmly. “And when have you ever known me to not plan ahead?”
“You’re very sweet, Hubert,” Byleth replied simply.
“I just hope you don’t regret baring your neck to me so easily once we’re underway,” Hubert whispered, trying to maintain his intimidating persona. But once the words were out of his mouth he found his eyes drawn to that newly exposed flesh of their neck and he found himself swallowing hard.
Byleth just laughed at him. Hubert’s heart practically seized in his chest at the sound of their genuine mirth, and his face reddened with embarrassment that he was the cause of it.
He began to make preparations for the process by draping the towels on and around the desk chair Byleth would be sitting in for the session, and draping a towel across their shoulders for added protection. He explained how things would progress for the next few hours and what steps Byleth would need to take to care for their hair once they left to wash it out. He then invited them to take a seat.
Hubert turned to face away from them as he stripped his gloves off. With his back to them he wasn’t sure if they were trying to sneak a look at him or not, but he was still careful to hide the unsightly flesh of his exposed hands. Dark magic had certainly taken its toll on his body, discoloring his skin and pulling it taut, his veins like spider webs across his arms. They didn’t look like human hands anymore.
Byleth sat with their hands folded neatly in their lap while Hubert scooped some of the odd smelling black goop out of the jar with his newly regloved hand. He started with a sectioned out area towards the front of Byleth’s hairline and spread the substance through their strands, starting from their roots and out. Hubert’s hand in their hair was firm but surprisingly gentle, meticulous in his coverage.
Hubert found his breath was caught in his throat as he watched that first fraction of Byleth’s hair slowly blacken under his touch. His hands, wringing the light from their locks, dragging Byleth down into the shadows where he dwelled. He moved onto the next section, and each runthrough with his fingers gave him another rush of gratification. He almost felt manic at the idea that he was partaking in the desecration of something sacred to the church. That helping Byleth reclaim their body was taking something away from Rhea just as much as it was giving something to his professor.
“She’s going to hate it,” Byleth whispered, staring intently at themself in the mirror. Hearing that just excited him further.
“Who knew you were a creature of such spite,” Hubert whispered darkly in their ear, and Byleth shivered as their gaze shifted to meet Hubert’s eyes in the mirror.
“I want her to see me for the first time. I want her to see Byleth. Not her dear one. I want her to see me and I want her to hate it,” Byleth said, voice shaky and quiet. It seemed he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself.
“I dare say I’d love to see the look on her face when it happens.”
“So you do hate her,” Byleth stated.
“Oh, absolutely.” Hubert knew it was a mistake to be so open, to indulge himself like this, but he couldn’t stop himself. “She’s a witch. A blight upon this land.”
“You look far too happy when you say that.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hubert said, and they both took in the image of themselves in the mirror. They were both so caught up in the moment that the figures looking back at the both of them seemed briefly unfamiliar. Far too defenseless, far too content in each other’s presence. Both too focused on the other person’s expression to keep their own in check. Hubert was unconsciously rubbing his fingers in small circles atop Byleth’s head, not doing much for the dyeing process but his professor seemed to melt into the touch. “You’re human after all,” Hubert teased.
“I hope so.” Byleth’s eyes fluttered shut, and Hubert’s playfulness left him. He leaned back and continued his task with a renewed vigor, going through now with the comb he had brought, the teeth digging in firmly to coat every strand.
There were millions of reasons for Hubert to hate Rhea, all of them worth going to war over, but at that moment Byleth’s current state was at the top of the list. He slathered the dye on any remaining patch of green, reaping the goddess right out of them, bringing Byleth back down to Earth with his own hands, his own human hands.
Byleth would choose humanity when the time came. Hubert was sure of it. He hated how sure of it he was because it went against every instinct he had as Edelgard’s protector and spymaster. But he couldn’t imagine any other possibility, couldn’t dare imagine a world where Byleth chose her.
But maybe in such a world that wouldn’t be Byleth at all. Maybe Rhea will have succeeded in whatever twisted experiment she was using Byleth’s body for, and the parasite of a goddess will have snuffed out the last of this body’s humanity.
He couldn’t allow such a thing to come to pass. He’d stop it with his own human hands, pluck Byleth’s hair out like weeds from the soil, reach into Byleth’s chest and pump their blood by hand if it meant they’d have a beating heart. He’d let these gloves become stained black with dye and red with blood if it meant Edelgard’s dream for a new world had a place in it for Byleth Eisner as a human being.
I hate her, Hubert thought.
“Ouch.”
Hubert lessened his grip, suddenly aware how rough his treatment of the professor’s hair had become as his thoughts wandered. It took him a moment before he realized the comb in his hand had snapped, although Byleth had not seemed to notice yet. He slipped the still wet halves into his pants pockets before Byleth opened their eyes.
“I apologize,” he said earnestly.
“You’re fine,” Byleth assured him. “It looks great.” They both looked at the wet mop of gooey hair swept high upon Byleth’s head.
“I’d wait for the end result before you give me any undue praise,” Hubert said, finally backing away from Byleth, content that he had done all he could for now with the dye.
“So… now we wait?” Byleth asked, idly kicking their legs.
“Now you wait. I’ve taken enough time out of my very busy schedule for this obligation and I really must be returning to Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said as he began to strip his gloves off, this time not bothering to hide the action from Byleth’s curious eyes. But Byleth said nothing and gave no reaction at the sight of his purple flesh as he swapped them out for his usual pair. “After it sets for an hour you can go to the showers and wash it out. I brought this second pair of gloves for you to wear while you do so.” He gestured to the additional old servant gloves he had brought with him. “You can return the towels after you wash them.”
Byleth gave that small pout that Hubert had grown so fond of before Hubert saw himself off, but he couldn’t muster up a chuckle at it this time. He needed to put some distance between himself and his professor until he could wind himself down from whatever frenzy had just overtaken him.
Rhea hated it like they both knew she would, silently and indignantly, and Byleth couldn’t be more overjoyed by the result. Hubert had remarked that the dye hadn’t quite the effect he was hoping for, as instead of a jet black there were still visible cool green undertones.
“Just like your hair, then,” Byleth said with a grin.
“What? No, not like… Well, while I suppose there is a superficial similarity between our hair it’s obvious that the shade of yours is-”
“We match,” Byleth interrupted.
“And it pleases you to think that?” Hubert asked, his words laced with venom.
“I don’t mind matching with someone I care for,” Byleth said. “In fact, I quite like it.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you ever think through the implications of things you say,” Hubert said with an annoyed huff. Byleth just gave a slow blink before the two continued on their way to class.
The thought that Byleth resembled Rhea had been a source of strife for the both of them for weeks now. But Byleth resembling him? Why did that thought make his heart beat faster?