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The midsummer afternoon air was buzzing with heat, the cicadas stirring up the trees and the sun beating down on the stone walkways of Garreg Mach Monastery. It was the sort of day that most people likely would have preferred to spend inside with the windows cracked to allow breezes to filter into the rooms or holed up in their classrooms with the students practicing Wind or Blizzard spells. Very few people would consider a heat wave like this tolerable, much less enjoyable. But to someone who had grown up in the desert, this was just the sort of temperature that Claude flourished in.
Okay, he could have possibly done without the humidity. Even just stepping outside and walking down the cobbled paths around the Academy grounds had a light sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, but he knew a thing or two about beating the heat. Less clothing was better, and so he had ditched his usual uniform jacket and even the cloak that went over his shoulder to mark him as a house leader, leaving those in his room as he headed out in his yellow shirt and a pair of brown trousers that he didn’t care too much about getting sweaty. He got a few odd looks as he passed the other students, fanning themselves in the shade, but Claude didn’t much care if he seemed odd in his dressed-down clothing, complete with gladiator sandals. He wouldn’t have gotten a second glance if he was wearing his training leathers atop this getup; people would have just thought he was headed for a workout where his clothes might be a sacrifice to whatever he was doing. Though they might have thought him insane for heading towards the training grounds in this heat, at least his clothing wouldn’t have come under scrutiny. In truth, the training grounds were exactly where he was heading, but nothing stuck to a person’s skin quite like leather and in heat and humidity this intense it would have been an absolute nightmare to get his archer’s armor cleaned off later. Besides, it wasn’t like he was planning on sparring anyone, just working on a bit of target practice. It was rare that the training grounds were abandoned, but on a day like this? Anyone who came out for training without the knowledge Claude had in avoiding heatstroke would have to be crazy.
As he pushed open the doors leading into the room they used for combat practice, he was hit right in the face with a dose of that craziness.
Seeing Felix there actually wasn’t too much of a surprise. The man was almost religious in his adherence to his training schedule; Claude wasn’t so stunned to see him there. But what really shocked him was the fact that Felix wasn’t squaring off against a training dummy. No, in fact, Felix had a sparring partner, and that sparring partner came in the form of one Prince Dimitri. Claude had to do a double-take as he listened to the clang of their weapons smacking off one another, seeing multiple things wrong with the image before him. One, they were both using real weapons, but he supposed that probably wasn’t too uncommon between the pair of them, who had been training together since childhood. Even if that was a bit questionable, he probably could just let it go. But what he did find off-putting was the fact that, while Felix was just in his training leathers with clothing underneath that much resembled Claude’s outfit, Dimitri was wearing his full soldier’s attire, heavy breastplate and gambeson and all.
Claude lingered in the doorway, blinking as he played spectator to their fight. Or, more aptly, to Dimitri. Sure, it was always fun to watch Felix when he went toe to toe with someone and really went all out for it, and he never held back against Dimitri. But the Prince gave just as good as he got, using the longer reach of his weapon to keep Felix at bay and working hard to get a good swipe in. Dimitri’s blond hair was wet and sticking to his forehead with sweat rolling down his face and a feverish flush in his cheeks. How he hadn’t melted in that getup of his, Claude could not comprehend. He was even wearing his gauntlets and gloves. Gloves!
It was only when Felix managed to smack his sword against Dimitri’s armored side, calling an end to their bout as he landed a decisive blow, that Claude shook himself from his shock enough to close the door behind him. The pair, who hadn’t noticed him come in, did glance up as they heard the echo of the closing door, but Claude just offered them a small nod. The Prince nodded back to him while Felix sheathed his sword and stretched his arms over his head, walking over to the water cooler to get himself a drink after their exchange.
“Be ready to go again in five minutes, boar,” the swordsman instructed. “Your footwork is sloppy. Fight like that on our mission at the end of this month and you’ll get yourself killed. Do better. I expect more of a challenge,” he said in his scathing way. Dimitri gave a little nod, clearing his throat and resting the point of his lance on the ground.
“Of course, Felix,” Dimitri responded, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Eyes which followed Claude as his rival House Leader went to pick up a training bow and quiver. Claude glanced back over Dimitri’s way as he secured the quiver around his hips, offering the Prince a small smile. They hadn’t really spoken since that House Leader bonding mission, nor had Claude quite come to terms with the realizations he’d had about Dimitri while on it. He knew that Dimitri was incredibly shy and that Claude made him nervous; the Prince had admitted as much to him. Claude had to wonder if there were things Dimitri had to come to terms with, too, after that misadventure they’d had. If the Prince would make good on his request to become better friends when he still had shyness and nervousness to conquer and, apparently, didn’t know what to say. Dimitri, however, seemed to take Claude’s smile as an invitation to rally his courage and muster up a conversation. Hefting his lance so it rested on his shoulder instead of the ground, Dimitri walked his fine way over. Claude straightened up a bit and swallowed down his own nervousness and his smile warmed.
“You sure you don’t need to be over there by the water cooler, your Princeliness?” Claude teased, arching his brow. “Seems like Felix is really going to put you through your paces today.” Dimitri laughed, a subdued sort of noise, though one that set Claude’s heart beating double-time nonetheless. How the hell had it taken him only one night to develop a romantic inclination towards this block-headed prince? And that night was so long ago, too. Claude imagined he might have been over it by now. His imagination had had very different, very wild opinions to fill his head with over the course of the past weeks, instead.
“We’ll have another break after our next bout,” Dimitri responded with a little shake of his head. “And besides that, Felix likes his space. I thought I’d come over and say hello… it has been a bit since we got the chance to speak together,” he said. The rigid formality to the way the Prince spoke was something that Claude used to think made Dimitri sound rather dull. Now he heard it differently. There was something just so earnest and charming in that tone.
“You’re right, it has been a while. House Leader business keeps us pretty busy, doesn’t it?” he asked, and Dimitri nodded in affirmation. Aside from their usual duties, Claude knew that all three of them worked a bit harder than their peers just because they had something of an image to maintain. They didn’t get a lot of free time to spend outside of their house, either. Taking into account all the duties he and Dimitri both had to keep up with, Claude really did think that this might be the first time since last month’s mission that they’d actually had a chance to visit with one another, nervousness aside.
It was a shame that Felix was only going to give them five minutes.
Wanting to make the most of it, Claude cleared his throat and straightened up a bit, mind scrolling through topics like fingers through a filing cabinet until he landed on one to pull out for the Prince. “I see you’re still working as hard as ever,” he praised, wondering just how Dimitri would handle a compliment. Claude took a moment to intentionally sweep his eyes over Dimitri’s form. It was disguised, somewhat, by the armor the Prince was wearing. But Dimitri had long legs and nice shoulders and even with his hair sweaty and stringy like this, Claude found him attractive. Dimitri seemed taken aback. Claude was not oblivious to the way that Dimitri’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and Claude himself wondered if it had always been this warm in the room. His face and ears felt hotter than they should and he hoped that he wasn't blushing. “No days off for you?” he asked. Dimitri shook his head and when he spoke he simply addressed Claude’s question in lieu of providing any sort of reply to the compliment. The way Dimitri just let the praise drift by without acknowledging it told Claude plainly enough that the Prince had no idea how to respond.
“Not for me, I’m afraid,” he answered instead. “I strive to be an example for my peers, both as their House Leader and their Prince. I do my utmost to avoid slacking off.”
Claude chuckled and gestured up to the sky, where the sun was bearing down on them. “I think anyone would have forgiven you for taking it easy today,” he remarked, but Dimitri shook his head.
“And yet, here you are,” he returned.
“I know how to handle the heat,” Claude said with enough authority that Dimitri did not question it. Or perhaps Dimitri was more insulted by Claude judging his preparedness for the weather than reading in to every little word Claude said in an effort to poke holes into his back story. Claude scolded himself for being paranoid while Dimitri furrowed his expression into a pout, rather adorable in Claude’s opinion.
“I am managing just fi-” Dimitri began to say, only to have his words interrupted by Felix who was calling him over for their next bout. Claude shooed Dimitri off with a wave and a tease.
“Sure, sure. I just feel sorry for Cyril who’s going to have to mop you up from the floor after you melt from wearing all that armor,” he jibed. Dimitri might have been formulating a response to that when Felix called for him again, and so instead the Prince just sighed and gave a fond little smile as he shook his head and wandered off towards his training partner. As Felix and Dimitri squared up against one another, Claude took a mark in front of a target and decided to just spend a while putting arrows into it. Nothing fancy or over the top, nothing that he would have to focus on too much. If he tried to do stuff like that today, he wouldn’t be able to watch the sparring match out of the corner of his eye…
It was quite the spectacle. The clash of steel on steel resonated around the grounds as Dimitri and Felix flew at each other again and again, sharpening themselves off the other. Felix was a lithe and fast flurry of swordsmanship as he always was, but most of Claude’s attention was on Dimitri. His style of fighting was so different from Felix’s and Claude could not determine if that was because they used different weapons or had different gifts given to them based on their Crests. That difference mattered little to Claude in that moment, because he wasn’t analyzing their combat. He was merely watching, and Dimitri gave him quite a lot to watch. His stance was rooted and powerful when he braced himself to block, but he wasn’t so stiff that he couldn’t move when he needed to. When he struck at Felix, it was always with a quick jab, poking into one of the miniscule gaps that Felix left open in his defenses. Those were rare and the fact that Dimitri could spot them spoke to both just how well he knew Felix and his own skill as a fighter. But Claude observed more than just Dimitri’s stance and footwork. He marveled when Felix’s blade clashed into Dimitri’s lance and there was not so much a quiver in the Prince’s arms as he absorbed the blow. Claude remembered how firm Dimitri’s biceps were last time he had squeezed one and yet this was still something stunning to witness. It wasn’t like Dimitri was built, he wasn’t meaty like Raphael. But there was still so much power in the Prince and Claude swore he could feel it exuding into the room as he lowered his bow to his side and simply looked on in amazement.
Perhaps the heat was getting to him. That definitely had to be the reason Claude felt so hot as he started speculating on just how long arms like that could hold him off the ground. A while, probably. He remembered how toned Dimitri’s back had looked when he’d seen him shirtless. The image was burned into Claude’s memory even if he had done his best not to stare at the time. Strong arms, broad shoulders, steady grip… When Claude caught himself wondering what it would be like to get tossed over Dimitri’s shoulder his eyes went wide and he swore he heard a crunch as he rapidly stepped on that thought. Claude was definitely a curious person, but there was a difference between idle curiosity and the curiosity that killed the cat. Wondering about things like this was going a step beyond the usual sort of risk that Claude was comfortable taking. He made himself turn around and focus on his marksmanship again before he got too carried away.
He was still in the middle of giving himself a mental lecture when there was a crash from behind him some five minutes later. Claude turned his head and widened his eyes when he saw Dimitri on the ground, flat on his back. Felix didn’t yet have the point of his blade against the Prince’s chest and Claude thought he spotted a flicker of surprise on the swordsman’s face before he got his sword up and against Dimitri’s sternum. “You’re out,” Felix panted, and Dimitri grumbled and batted away Felix’s sword with his gloved hand. From what Claude could gather, Felix had swept Dimitri’s leg and Dimitri had gone down. No wonder Felix looked surprised if that was the case; Claude was surprised, too. Dimitri’s footwork was always so steady, it didn’t seem like he would actually fall for a maneuver like that. Felix had probably been doing it just to throw Dimitri off his game and when it actually worked he had been a beat behind in claiming his victory. Felix stalked off towards the water cooler again while Dimitri stayed flopped on the ground. Claude had never claimed to have the gift of divination, but his prediction that Dimitri would end up as a puddle by the end of his training session that day seemed to have come to fruition.
“We’re done for today,” Felix announced, sheathing his sword once again. He went on to mutter about boars and hardly a challenge and don’t want him in my sight anymore and other typical Felix-isms as he took his canteen and left the training grounds, presumably off to… well, Claude didn’t actually know what Felix did besides training. Maybe the temperature was forcing him to call it quits today, too, and he was off to pick out a patch of shade to brood in. Claude didn’t really care. He was more concerned about how Dimitri was still flopped on the ground, breathing heavily with his eyes closed as sweat ran down his face. If Claude didn’t know better, he would have thought Dimitri actually was melting. At any rate, the Prince didn’t seem much inclined to move. He seemed like he’d rather lay there and bake like a potato inside that metal garb and the longer he laid there the more Claude’s amusement transitioned to worry. He didn’t say anything; Claude simply went over to the water cooler, fetched a couple canteens, and knelt at Dimitri’s side.
Dimitri’s expression of indignation and splutter of shock brought some of the amusement back, though, when Claude dumped the contents of the first canteen over the Prince’s face. “C-Claude! What are you doing?” he demanded. Claude arched his eyebrow and tried to look serious despite the smile that threatened his lips.
“Saving you from heatstroke, your Highness,” he said, ditching the empty canteen on the ground. “Come on, arms up!” he ordered as he started tugging at Dimitri’s breastplate. Dimitri spluttered now for an entirely different reason, batting Claude’s hands away as he sat up. The Prince gave a dizzy little wobble and Claude sighed. He had known from the start that Dimitri wasn’t going to handle this weather well, and he had been doubly assured of that fact when the Prince skipped his water break just to spend time talking to Claude. It was a loveable sort of idiocy, but idiocy nonetheless.
At least Dimitri was making the effort to get out of his armor now. He heaved his breastplate off and let it thunk on the ground and Claude swore he saw steam rising off of the Prince’s gambeson. Claude wordlessly encouraged the Prince to take that off as well with a little motion of his hand. Dimitri might have been blushing – it wasn’t obvious from his features considering how they were already flushed, but the way those blue eyes cut away from Claude so quickly was telling. Dimitri began to mess with his gauntlets which were strapped on atop his gambeson. It would be impossible to remove it without getting the armor on his wrists off, first. Dimitri’s fingers were clumsy, though, and eventually Claude just reached forward, grabbed one of the Prince’s hands, and held it in his own. His right hand began plucking at the buckles and ties while his left held Dimitri’s still, squeezing his fingers gently. Dimitri said nothing and neither did Claude, but Claude was convinced that his thoughts were loud enough for Dimitri to hear even without him giving voice to them. Claude’s internal dialogue, should Dimitri have heard it, would have been something like “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH” as he found himself in the position of holding Dimitri’s hand and removing his armor. The fact that Dimitri wasn’t doing a thing to stop him was an added layer of both delight and panic. Claude’s fingers were almost shaking too much to get this job done, but he eventually managed it with one and the second was easier. He dragged Dimitri’s gloves off his fingers, moisture making the leather stick, and then Dimitri was free to lift off the quilted armor that was as suffocating as a heavy blanket in this heat. Dimitri heaved a sigh of relief as it came off, but Claude was very distracted by the way the Prince’s undershirt was sticking to his skin. There was absolutely nothing left to Claude’s imagination, and yet his imagination took that image and ran wild with it. It was only his subconscious that had him picking up the canteen at his side and pushing it into Dimitri’s hands so the Prince could take a drink. Claude got fixated on the bead of sweat that was running down from Dimitri’s temple and over his sharp jaw, and so he almost didn’t hear it when Dimitri lowered the empty canteen from his mouth, wiped the water from his upper lip, and muttered his thanks.
“Huh?” Claude asked, blinking out of his daydreams. Dimitri seemed to catch him in the act because there was something amused and unnameable in the Prince’s blue eyes as Claude shook himself. “Oh, I mean, of course. Come on, we need to get you into the shade,” he said, hopping to his feet and coaxing Dimitri up after him. The Prince was a bit wobbly even still and Claude offered his arm. Dimitri declined it with a little shake of his head and Claude knew he probably shouldn’t be as devastated as he felt. The Prince was probably just clinging to any facet of his pride that he could as he swayed his way over to the nearest patch of shade and flopped again. Claude scooped up another pair of canteens before he joined Dimitri there.
“You need to rehydrate. I told you before,” Claude scolded, and Dimitri let out a little huff.
“You did,” he conceded, knocking back another long swig of water as he slouched against the wall. Claude sipped at his canteen while Dimitri drained his in a matter of moments. When it was empty and useless to the Prince, he just dropped it on the ground and let his head tilt back against the stone wall. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it was at least cooler than the rest of their surroundings. The flush on Dimitri’s face wasn’t as pronounced as before but it was still present, and so Claude nudged Dimitri with his elbow.
“Hey, if you’re feeling faint, let’s get you to the infirmary before you pass out. I don’t think I can carry you,” he said. Dimitri offered a weak chuckle.
“I am fine, Claude.”
“Are not.”
“I concede that I’ve been better,” Dimitri huffed, cracking open one eye to look at Claude from the corner of it. “But I just need a moment. I will be fine,” he insisted, and after giving Dimitri’s face another assessment Claude determined that it wouldn’t hurt anything to sit here for another couple minutes. Dimitri wasn’t displaying any true signs of heatstroke. Heat exhaustion, certainly, and while that was only a step under heatstroke the Prince’s life wasn’t in danger. If Dimitri started acting confused or began vomiting, Claude would have to go sprinting across campus to get Manuela. But for now the Prince really did seem like he just needed a moment, as he’d said.
So Claude gave Dimitri some time, watching as the Prince’s eyes closed again and he just focused on breathing and cooling down. His breathing was steady and his flush had confined itself to his cheeks rather than his whole face; getting water into him and pulling him out of direct sunlight had been good moves and had likely come just in time. Left to his own devices, who knew just how long Dimitri might have laid there and roasted? Claude felt a little rush of anxiety and he nudged Dimitri with his elbow again just to see if he would respond. Dimitri did so with a little hum, peeking over to Claude with an expression that read ‘what is it?’ Claude gave a little shake of his head and a smile and Dimitri settled again, shifting around and trying to get comfortable against the wall. After a solid thirty seconds of watching the Prince shuffle between one shoulder and the other, though, Claude took matters into his own hands again. In a move so bold Claude wouldn’t have done it if he stopped to think about it, he reached up, grabbed Dimitri by the bicep, and tugged him down. Dimitri was still floppier than usual and so he provided very little resistance as he landed with his head in Claude’s lap. The burning red had swallowed Dimitri’s face again and he let out a noise akin to a squeak. It was likely he had meant that to be a word or at least something that wasn’t a squeak, but Claude’s move had stolen the air right out of Dimitri’s lungs. Claude knew this because he felt pretty breathless, too, with Dimitri’s head on his thigh. They spent a moment just staring at one another, neither of them moving or speaking. The air between them felt as fragile as a thread made of glass. Dimitri cleared his throat, and it snapped.
“C-Claude?” he questioned once again, and Claude knew he needed to say something in return. His tongue darted out and ran across his lower lip as though to prepare it for word while his mind scrambled.
“Y-You…” he began, but he hadn’t thought of a way to end the sentence and so the word just hung there on the frayed ends of the broken moment. He was definitely ready to panic. If Dimitri pulled away, or scowled at him, or said something scathing, Claude didn’t think his little heart would be able to take it. He knew that his feelings towards the Prince were more than platonic, but he had no way of knowing if Dimitri felt the same. They had hardly even spoken to one another! If Dimitri rejected him for this, Claude was doubtful that their fledgling relationship could recover. He stared down into Dimitri’s blue eyes and his heart raced. Claude didn’t think he breathed again until he saw Dimitri’s expression soften and his posture relaxed. The Prince merely gave Claude a smile, one full of wonder and hope and promise, and settled right where he was.
In the end, Dimitri didn’t demand an explanation. He closed his eyes again and didn’t even flinch when Claude’s fingers carded once through his soaking hair. Dimitri hummed a noise in the positive in response to this, and so Claude repeated the action, again and again until Dimitri melted in his hold. Ten minutes passed them by with nothing remarkable occurring. Time was punctuated only by the fluttering thrum of Claude’s heartbeat and the warmth that pulsed through him along with it.
“Someone could come in here and see us,” Dimitri said at length. Claude chuckled and shook his head in denial of the thought. They had nothing to worry about, didn’t they? After all,
“What sort of crazy person would come to the training grounds on a day like today?”