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If he had to pick his favorite type of weather, rain was probably at the top of the list.
Sylvain loved it: light rain, heavy rain, tumultuous rain. He loved hearing the rumble of thunder and opening the doors leading onto his balcony so that he could watch the storm roll in from the safety of his favorite chair. He’d pour himself some tea, grab a book, and lounge while the sky wept around him. He loved watching lightning spider across the sky as the wind whipped around and brought a web of water with it. There was something so clean and pure about rain, like all his worries would wash away with the flood, leaving a clean slate in its wake.
His wife had learned to appreciate his love for the rain, in the early days of their relationship, but she’d be the first to say she didn’t share the sentiment. Her time as a mercenary had soured rainy weather for her, because traveling during a rainstorm was not nearly as relaxing as watching one roll in from the comfort of her own room. Thunder and lightning didn’t scare her, she just got a chill that seeped into her bones every time it rained on her, regardless of how many protective layers she was wearing.
Rain was definitely not Byleth’s favorite kind of weather, but she would occasionally join him in his rainy day ritual if there wasn’t something more pressing that required her attention, if only so she had an excuse to spend extra time with him. Most of the time, though, she left him to his own devices, knowing full well that he’d rejoin the world once the storm had passed.
He’d gotten used to spending most of his rainy days alone, but when they’d figured out that the rain helped soothe their crying daughter to sleep, he’d quickly gotten used to having her alongside him. When she was an infant, Sylvain would rock her back and forth as he stood just inside the door to the balcony, humming old Farghusi war ballads to help lull her back to sleep. As she grew up, rocking evolved into snuggling up under a blanket with her on his lap, and he’d read with one hand and hold her with the other until she fell asleep on his shoulder. He’d stay there until she either woke up, or Byleth came in to relieve him. Once she was too big to fit in his lap, she’d lounge in the chair next to his, legs draped over one arm as she leaned her back against the other with a book in her hand, the picture of comfort. On particularly stormy days, she’d opt for a nap with her balcony doors wide open, and Sylvain would go in and close them before she caught a chill. They had a routine, and they maintained it to a tee until Saoirse turned fifteen and got her first boyfriend, with whom she’d bonded over their shared preference for the rain.
Sylvain had cursed aloud when he found out his silly habit had pushed his precious daughter into the arms of a teenage boy. He’d used the excuse of rain more than once to get close to girls when he was fifteen, it was the only thing he didn’t lie about to get them to pay attention to him. Antony was polite to Sylvain and Byleth and kind to Saoirse, but Sylvain remembered how polite and kind he’d been at that age, despite his ulterior motives, and didn’t trust him one bit.
“She’s a smart girl, darling. Stop worrying about it.”
Byleth had given Saoirse permission to wait out the storm under the gazebo in their gardens with her boyfriend, and although they had a perfect view of the gardens from their quarters, Sylvain couldn’t hear the honeyed words Antony was no doubt whispering into Saoirse’s ear as rain cascaded around them.
“That’s easy for you to say, you hate the rain.”
Byleth scoffed as she took a seat on the couch beside him, her bright green eyes watching him carefully. She grabbed for the blanket that Sylvain always kept close by (for Saoirse, not that she would use it now that she had a boy to help keep her warm) and wrapped it around herself as he draped an arm around the back of the couch and she snuggled into his side, “I don’t hate the rain. It just makes me cold.”
Sylvain smirked and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, “Well, it’s a good thing I run hot then, isn’t it?”
She hummed and laid her head on his shoulder, and they drifted into a comfortable silence as they watched the rain together. It was a gentle rain, like the kind that had soothed Saoirse to sleep when she was a baby, and Sylvain tensed up when he saw the familiar pressing together of bodies that usually came with kissing, as the outline of Antony leaned down to get closer to the outline of their daughter. Byleth’s hand on his thigh brought him back to Fodlan, “She’s a smart girl, Sylvain. Leave it alone.”
“You're telling me that you’re not concerned about our baby girl falling head over heels for her first boyfriend, only to get her heart broken and end up crying for days on end?”
“Of course I am, but that’s part of growing up, dearest. You can’t protect her from every boy that deigns to look her way.”
Sylvain fidgeted with his free hand, “I just remember how I was at his age. I had plenty of girls crying over me, and I liked it that way. I did it on purpose.”
“I know, my love, but you forget that most men weren’t raised by parents like your’s, and Antony is decidedly not you.”
She wasn’t wrong, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to take offense to that last bit of commentary. Sylvain groaned and rolled his head over the back of the couch, “She’s so pathetic when she cries, I feel like my heart is going to shatter into a million pieces every time it happens.”
“You also can’t protect her from tears, Sylvain.”
“She shouldn’t have to worry about tears in the first place.”
He knew those expectations were unrealistic. Saoirse was easily one of the most emotional people Sylvain had ever known, which was amusing considering her mother spent the first part of her life without obvious emotions. Byleth was definitely the least emotional of the two of them, even years later. She stood up quickly and offered Sylvain her hand before he could spiral again, “Why don’t we go join them? You’re going to sit up here and fixate on them the entire time, and rainy days are supposed to be relaxing for you.”
Sylvain felt his jaw drop open, “No. I can stay here. She’ll never forgive me if she finds out I was keeping an eye on them.”
Before he had a chance to settle again, Byleth had him on his feet and was dragging him through the castle. He stammered and stuttered about not wanting to embarrass Saoirse the entire time, only to be met with the familiar look Byleth got when she was about to scold him. As the gardens came into view, she pinned him against the wall, temporarily halting his scattered internal monologue, “Get it together, Gautier. If you don’t calm down, she’ll bolt and take her boyfriend with her. She knows that the two of you have a routine, so just act normal. ”
Byleth swallowed his rising protest with a languid kiss, “She loves you so much, Sylvain. She won’t be mad if we join them, trust me.”
He sighed and relented, willing his anxiety to uncoil as his wife held him there, her expression starting to soften, “Are you ready, or do you need another few minutes to spiral?”
He couldn't help but chuckle at her blunt delivery. Byleth had always been able to see right through him, and he had many years of her sorcery ahead of him, due to an interesting turn of events that had left him with a lifespan that mirrored his wife’s. He didn’t ask any questions, and simply took Seteth’s word for it, but a large part of him had been relieved that Byleth wouldn’t outlive every single one of them. He couldn't help the dopey look that he felt across his face as she studied him, and he leaned down to kiss her again, “I’m ready.”
With that, Byleth pulled her hood up over her head and let him lead her into the gardens, stopping just short of the entrance to the gazebo while she announced their arrival.
Saoirse’s green eyes brightened when she turned to address her parents, Antony’s arm still wrapped around her waist, but appropriately, Sylvain thought. “I’m surprised to see you out here, Mama. I know you don’t care for the rain.”
Byleth smiled sweetly and tightened her grip on Sylvain’s arm as they stepped past the threshold, “Your father was getting antsy, so I made an exception.”
Saoirse’s gaze flitted over to Sylvain, and she gave him the same look her mother gave him when she knew exactly what he was thinking. She broke away from Antony and walked toward them, wrapping herself around her father as she laid her head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry I strayed from our routine, Papa. Forgive me?”
Sylvain’s face was wet from the rain, so nobody would notice if he started crying, except Byleth, and she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised, “Always, my darling, but you don’t need to apologize.”
He felt her chuckle softly against his chest, “You know you’re a terrible liar.”
Guilty.
He’d been really good at lying, once upon a time, but he was physically unable to lie to his daughter or his wife, and they both knew it. She broke away from him then and sighed, shaking her head fondly as she grabbed his hand and gave it a tug, “Come stand with us, Papa. The rain sounds better over there.”
Sylvain didn’t miss Antony tense up as Saoirse led him over to where they were standing, grabbing for him with her free hand while she snaked the one that had been holding onto Sylvain around her father’s waist. Byleth joined them swiftly, nestling against Sylvain as he draped his other arm over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Byleth was right, he couldn't protect her from tears, but he’d try his hardest not to be the one that caused them.
Just like he’d promised her mother, all those years ago.