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Dimitri felt like he was underwater. He hated the sensation whenever it happened, but it was especially frustrating when he was supposed to be spending time with people he cared about.
It wasn’t that he was doing anything special. The Professor was always interested in sharing meals and Dedue rarely, if ever turned down invitations himself. He cared about them deeply and wanted them to be aware of it. Instead he was watching their lips move, each sound garbled and leaving him having to lean in hoping that he will hear better.
Dedue tapped his hand lightly on the table and Dimitri looked down at his plate. He realized he had not even touched the gratin in front of him. He wasn’t certain if Dedue was able to read his mind or if he had attempted to tell him already, but he appreciated the cue. He grabbed his fork and took a tentative bite, grateful that it was warm against his tongue, even if he couldn’t taste it.
He continued to watch the two of them, nodding his head periodically. He was grateful that they did not make eye contact with him. It prevented him from tilting over the edge and giving into impulses like screaming or clawing at himself.
Several bites in he declared himself full enough, pushing his plate toward the center of the table. He smiled politely, unable to look either of them in the eye as he turned toward his side. He grabbed the small bag he had set when he took a seat, fumbling through the loose papers shoved inside. He wanted to make a note that he had eaten in his logbook, which was probably at the bottom of the bag.
He continued to rustle the papers aside, frowning when he realized that the logbook was nowhere to be seen. He took a shaky breath, tugging papers out to confirm his worst fear: that it somehow didn’t make it into his bag.
He opened up his mouth, unaware that he made a noise until Dedue turned to him, saying something. He turned to both of them, his throat scratching as he forced the phrase, “I must depart,” before he grabbed his bag and rushed out of the dining hall.
His mind raced, pressing his hand against the canvas in a last-ditch effort to find his logbook somewhere. He began to race around the monastery, keeping his posture perfect and his face neutral even though his mind oscillated between the places he could have left it and how mortifying it would be for someone to find it.
Dimitri began to walk up and down the dorms, stopping short when he realized that he was seeing the same doors over and over again. A tremor thrummed deep in his hands, Dimitri bringing his hands to his face and feeling them shake as he shut his eyes. The corners of his eyes prickled as he attempted to take deep breaths, his hands going still and his eyes no longer tearing up.
As his body calmed down, he could finally recall where he was before he went to lunch. He was at the training grounds. It was enough for him to head in its direction, feeling his bag hit his hip like a drum to stay grounded. The sight of the massive golden doors brought relief to Dimitri. He pressed himself against them to enter, taking in the comforting scent of stale air and sweat.
When his eyes refocused to the darkness of the training ground, he saw Felix standing in front of a dummy, a training sword steady in his hand. He lowered his sword, taking one of his hands to adjust the strap of the worn bra top he only wore when he trained.
Dimitri hunched over himself, nearly holding his breath as he traipsed across the edge of Felix’s view. He scanned the floor, hoping that it had fallen out of his bag at some point when he was leaving the grounds.
“It’s not like you to bother skulking around, boar,” Felix snapped before he struck the dummy.
Dimitri flinched. Of course Felix was able to be clear enough over the din of his mind. He curled his hands like claws, briefly wondering if Felix saw the bumbling monster that he knew he was.
“I’m…” Dimitri started, his tongue too thick to clearly form the word. He cleared his throat and tried again saying, “...I’m searching for something.”
“Which is?” Felix asked.
Dimitri bared his teeth, quickly catching himself and pressing his lips together. He considered revealing to Felix the logbook, truly asking himself how he would react to knowing that Dimitri needed such a thing. Felix would probably admire the concept enough, though Dimitri could only imagine what he would say seeing the ridiculous checklists he maintained. Crammed in the margins were notes regarding his meals, potential ways to start conversations with strangers, even checklists to remind him to say hello to his classmates.
They were vulnerabilities he couldn’t afford, particularly to someone who already had such little faith in him.
Felix rolled his eyes, tossing his sword aside before he walked over toward his things. He pulled Dimitri’s logbook out of his own bag, tossing it halfway between the two of them. Dimitri scrambled over toward it, bringing the book close to his chest before he looked up at Felix.
Felix crossed his arms, his lips forming a straight line as Dimitri caught his breath. He eventually pulled himself away from Felix’s glare, choosing to flip through the logbook to make sure that there weren’t any missing pages.
“Is all the information up to date?” Felix asked.
Dimitri glared at him, slamming the book shut. “Of course it’s up to date,” he snapped.
Felix flinched. Dimitri couldn’t imagine why. Felix just had to read several pages to know all of his potential vulnerabilities, both on the training grounds and off.
“You aren’t eating enough,” Felix finally said.
Dimitri returned to his book, relieved that he was getting toward the last portion of the book and it looked like nothing was out of place.
“You won’t be able to train at the level you need to if you keep this up,”Felix added, “And you can forget me hauling your ass to Manuela’s because you passed out.”
Dimitri focused on running the pages against his fingers, trying to focus on the feeling of the paper racing across his fingertips.
“Boar, are you listening to me—”
“I get it, I’m weak!” Dimitri snapped. His voice echoed off the walls. He got up, slamming the book closed again.
Felix raised his hands. They shook as they appeared torn between encircling Dimitri and lifting them up as some form of defense.
Dimitri leaned back, ready to turn and leave the training grounds until Felix finally landed on reaching out, his hand hovering above Dimitri’s forearm.
Dimitri stared at him, his body still ready to run away. He eventually lowered his foot, staring at Felix’s hand, bracing himself to be hit. He certainly deserved it after raising his voice.
“You aren’t working your legs out enough, either,” Felix grumbled.
Dimitri’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?” he asked.
“Your routine is a mess,” Felix snapped, “Or do you like being built like a triangle?”
Dimitri wasn’t sure how to tell Felix that he had no idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked in the mirror and didn’t see a black fog where his body should be. Instead, he stared blankly, focusing on a dummy that was right over Felix’s shoulder.
Felix rolled his eyes, his hand slapping Dimitri’s arm for a brief moment before he said, “Fine, I’ll show you if you need it so badly,” Felix grumbled.
Dimitri shakily nodded his head, removing layers of his uniform and piling it next to Felix’s. He removed most of his uniform, keeping his black undershirt on as he walked toward Felix again.
Felix was hardly a great instructor, but he was firm. He went through several leg exercises, reaching out and adjusting his stances as Dimitri mirrored him. Dimitri found himself torn by every touch, the contact making his skin burn, even under the layer of fabric. He swallowed back every reaction, his mind wandering toward splittered memories. Even with no clear memory to ground him, he could remember a time that Felix’s touch was uncoordinated, his voice prone to being overcome with giggles. Dimitri listened with rapt attention, even though he too would become overwhelmed with laughter, himself.
But when the memories faded out, Dimitri remembered that he hadn’t heard Felix’s laughter in years. His face was an unmoving scowl, his blunt fingernails digging into Dimitri’s sleeve.
“Why are you freezing up, Boar?” Felix asked.
Dimitri opened his mouth, the only sound he could produce being a gurgling noise. Felix’s grip tightened and Dimitri’s mind chanted run, run, run. He flung his arm back, ignoring the sound of ripped fabric. He charged toward his bag, shoving his logbook and uniform pieces into it before he rushed toward the door. He refused to turn back, terrified of losing a moment of time to keep going, the word run drumming in his mind.
He swung the door open, the daylight burning against his exposed skin. He kept moving forward, hoping that Felix would make no effort to follow.