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Descending a long, pitch black stone staircase with 40 pounds of fish is not actually as easy as Byleth imagined it would be—which in retrospect was pretty foolish considering it’s a challenge even without slippery seafood in tow. But it’s more than worth the trek if it means sharing the wealth of the Fish Bounty Festival with the hungry Abyssians, whose diet usually consists of stale bread and dirty water. And sure, maybe it’s an added bonus to see the way their Savage Mockingbird leader would sort of widen his eyes in surprise and soften his expression into a warm smirk that Byleth would like to believe was reserved only for him.
As Byleth reaches the bottom of the stairs and steps into the warm torchlight, he’s greeted with a loud whoop and a whistle.
“Whooooa, struck it big there pal, huh?” The guard pushes himself off the wall and claps Byleth hard on the back.
“Lots of fish in the pond today,” he replies, shifting the weight in his arms. “Not as many people participating in the festival this year.” Since...everyone’s at war, his mind supplies bleakly.
“Alri-hight, more for us! Are these all herring? That’s the boss’s fave, you know.”
“I do,” he replies with a hint of a smile that the guard misses. “Can I bring these somewhere?”
“Yeah bring ‘em to Balthus, he’s somewhere in the marketplace.” The guard cocks his head toward another flight of stairs—this one luckily illuminated by torchlight. “He’ll get someone to start a fire.”
“Thank you. You’ll come down, won’t you?”
“Oh...I’ll try. Shift doesn’t end till ten.”
Byleth nods, walking past him. “I’ll bring you one.”
“Two?”
“Two,” he replies, already descending the stairs.
Making his way through the sparse alleyways of the marketplace, it doesn’t take Byleth long to spot the 6 foot 7 inch shirtless man with his wild shoulder-length mane. He’s muttering something to someone—Hapi—with his eyebrows knit in some sort of anxious furrow. But before Byleth can make out any of the conversation, Balthus locks eyes with him and expertly wipes away any trace of worry from his face.
“WHOA!”
Or maybe he’s just really excited to see some food.
“Heya, Chatterbox,” Hapi says, turning around with a cool smile.
“Hello, Hapi, Balthus. Have you all had dinner yet?”
“Like hell we have, pal!” Balthus claps him on the back even harder than the guard, and Byleth has trouble not stumbling forward. “Lemme take these from ya!”
He grabs the bundles of tied up fish with ease, slinging some over his shoulder as he looks closer at them. “Are these Albinean herring? Aw, that’s—”
He trails off, something dark crossing over his features. That same worry between his brows.
“Ah,” Balthus mutters, avoiding his gaze. “He’ll be bummed to miss this.”
Byleth eyes the both of them warily. “Where is he?”
Balthus heaves a weary sigh. Perhaps Hapi would’ve too, if she could.
“He’s pretty sick, pal.”
Something inside Byleth stutters. Maybe it’s his heart, if a heart with no pulse is capable of such a thing.
“Sick?” he prompts, trying to appear as calm as usual.
“Yeah,” Balthus replies. “He’s come down with somethin’ nasty the last few days, but you know Yuri, never quitting, always giving more of himself than is healthy. Anyway, he... He collapsed when he was working on the library repairs.”
“Collapsed?” Byleth echoes, feeling suddenly hollow. “So is he in the infirmary?”
“Nah, he came to pretty quickly. But I forced him to rest. Very much against his will.”
“He’s not exaggerating,” Hapi chimes in. “Literally carried him over his shoulder.”
“Did you have him take any herbs or medicine?”
Balthus clicks his teeth. “I tried. But we’re sorta low supply and he wants to save it for someone else who might need it.”
“How very Yuri of him,” Byleth replies dryly.
“Yep,” says Balthus, nodding all-too-knowingly. “In any case...let’s get these fish on some sticks and start roastin’ ‘em, yeah? I think we’ve still got enough firewood, so—”
“Do you have a cauldron?” Byleth interrupts.
Balthus blinks at him. “Cauldron? Uh, yeah I think so, somewhere. Why?”
“Yuri’s sick. I’d like to make a fish stew instead.”
Balthus blinks again—likely because he’s still not accustomed to Byleth’s directness. Most people aren’t. “Yeah. Yeah sure, pal. I’ll go look for one!”
—
Byleth returns to the surface just before the food stalls at the marketplace close up shop for good. He buys tomatoes, carrots, celery, and whatever spices the peddler has on hand and tips him some extra gold for his troubles. By the time he’s back in Abyss, everyone is crowded around a roaring fire, grateful smiles abound. Friendly chatter echoes on cold stone walls as they watch Byleth cook, some of the children helping out eagerly with the easier tasks. And when they finally eat, everyone is merry and laughing and thankful as ever.
Byleth really likes the Abyssians. They live hard lives, the ones they left behind somehow worse, and still they smile. It warms Byleth’s unbeating heart.
After dinner, families gradually retreat to bed and drunkards head to the pub, until the only stragglers that remain are Balthus, Hapi, Constance, and Byleth. And for a few minutes, it almost feels like old times. Almost.
Eventually Hapi and Constance retreat to the women’s dormitory and Balthus stands up with an exaggerated stretch.
“Okay, pal. I’m gonna go finish whatever Yuri was fixing up in the library. Mostly so he won’t be tempted to keep working on it in the morning.” He gives a showy roll of the eyes. “Feel free to stick around. There’s always an extra cot for you somewhere. We’ll make room.”
“Thanks,” Byleth replies. “I think I will stay for a bit longer.”
Balthus considers him for a moment and seems to catch his drift. “Sure,” he says slowly. “But, uh... You won’t find him in the dormitory though. I brought him to a small single room. Back corner, third alley down.”
“Thank you, Balthus.” With a grateful smile, he rises, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re a really good friend to Yuri, you know. He’s lucky to know you.”
“Aw, shucks,” Balthus mutters, rubbing the back of his head. “No need to get all sentimental on me. He needs someone to look after him once in a while.” He pauses, glancing Byleth over carefully. “So. For that reason... I’m glad you’re here.”
They share a serious look, Balthus willing him to understand something before leaving him with those final words. And he does understand. Byleth has always felt connected with Yuri, in a way he could never describe. There’s always this electric charge between them when they share a glance, a magnetic pull no matter how close or far apart they might be. It fills Byleth with some sort of confidence that Balthus sees it too.
“Thanks. So am I.”
—
Everything is swimming. Yuri’s eyes are closed, yet he can’t keep them still behind his eyelids. Sweat creeps down the sides of his neck, raising goosebumps in the trails they leave behind. Limbs sink into the rock hard mattress as if kept down by an invisible force. And yet somehow he’s still able to toss and turn—it just takes triple the effort.
It sucks, really. Before, he was just bothered by the inconvenience of it all, but now he’s starting to pity himself. He feels weak. And alone. How bothersome.
He’s used to carrying on through illness or injury. He’s had to. Either for his own survival or for others. It’s just the way this rotten world works. But right now, half asleep and feverish in this cold, dank room, he allows himself a brief moment of weakness...and he thinks how nice it would be to be held right now. Someone lovingly carding their fingers through his hair, kissing his temple. It’s a pathetic desire for an adult, for the leader of the Ashen Wolves during a war no less, but this time he doesn’t think of his mother. No, this time...he allows himself to think of someone else.
With a tiny creak, Yuri hears the door open behind him. In his sickly stupor he almost misses it, but he’d never allow himself that luxury. He has to stay alert. Even for harmless pains in the neck like Balthus.
But when he turns around and blinks away the dizzying sleep from his eyes, it’s not Balthus who stands at the door.
Yuri almost laughs. “I must be dreaming.”
The gentle silhouette stands quiet in the doorway, torchlight illuminating mint green hair in a halo. Despite being almost in shadow, it’s obvious who the figure is. The only question is whether or not he’s real.
“Are you the angel I prayed to the goddess for,” Yuri rasps, “or have I died in my sleep and you’re here to collect my soul?”
“You sound terrible,” the figure says.
“So neither, got it.”
Byleth crosses the room in quiet strides, and upon reaching Yuri’s bedside, lays slender fingertips across Yuri’s sweaty forehead.
“You have a fever,” he tuts, brushing a wet strand of lilac hair out of his face.
“Mhm.” He wants to close his eyes and lean into the touch but Byleth’s hand is already back at his side.
“You should be taking better care of yourself, Yuri.”
“Ugh. You sound like Balthus.”
Byleth lowers himself down onto the far edge of the bed. Yuri wants to ask him to come closer.
“What are you doing here?” he asks instead.
“I caught a lot of fish.”
Yuri blinks at him. “Uh-huh.”
“I was going to roast them all but Balthus and Hapi said you were sick, so I made stew instead. It’s still hot.”
Yuri stares. “You made me soup?”
“Yes. It’s herring.”
The sweet gesture instantly makes Yuri feel overwhelmed with warmth and softness and it’s so nice and...in its wake, it leaves him vulnerable. “Well, won’t you make a fine husband to someone one day,” he deflects.
“Are you hungry?” Byleth asks, ignoring him.
Yuri hesitates. “Has everyone else eaten?”
“Yes. But even if they hadn’t, you have to eat too, you know.”
Yuri rolls his eyes. “I’ll survive.”
Byleth sighs quietly, probably steeling himself to argue against Yuri’s stubbornness. Yuri saves him the trouble.
“I know, I know. I’m resting, see? I’m taking care of myself.”
“Balthus carried you in here.”
Yuri clicks his teeth. “I told him not to tell you that.”
“Hapi did. Just...” He stops and heaves a heavier sigh. One that Yuri’s not sure he’s heard from the man before. “Put yourself first once in a while, okay? You’re not any good to your people if you wind up dead.”
“You’re one to talk,” Yuri mutters. He can’t help the bite in his voice, expression darkening as his mind drifts to those five lonely years.
“I know,” he replies quietly. “And I’m sorry.”
Yuri swats his hand through the air. “It’s fine, it’s fine, we’ve been through all that. Yes, I’m hungry. I’m afraid I won’t be able to taste much though,” he adds, tapping his stuffy nose.
Byleth cracks a fond smile, and it makes Yuri want to melt. Forget the sickness, this man will be the death of him. “That’s okay. There’s a spice shortage anyway so it’s kind of bland.”
“Oh good,” Yuri says, smiling back. “I’ll be getting the genuine experience, then.”
“Would you like me to bring it here?”
“Nah, I’ll get up,” he says, suppressing a grimace as he swings his aching legs over the edge of the bed.
“Are you sure?” he asks, concern just barely visible over his blank features. But Yuri knows it’s there.
Reaching up, he thumbs across Byleth’s jawline reassuringly. “I’ve got a cold, friend, not the plague,” he whispers sweetly. “I’ll be fine.”
It’s dark, but he can almost see a blush on that porcelain skin of his. Or maybe this fever really is making him see things.
Byleth stands and offers him a hand as Yuri makes some snide remark about how chivalrous he is, and the two of them make their way to the central marketplace.
The warmth feels nice on Yuri’s skin as he settles down on a log close to the fire. Smoothing down his damp hair, he imagines he must look a fright, and with no makeup to boot. Normally he’d feel a little self conscious about that, but for some reason with it being just the two of them, Yuri just feels...comfortable. Which is a little weird, considering Byleth of all people is the one Yuri should make the effort for, since he’s—well, never mind.
The taller man fills two stone bowls and sits close next to Yuri as he offers him one.
“Having seconds?” Yuri teases, grabbing his bowl and nodding toward the other.
“No,” Byleth replies simply. “I waited for you.”
And Yuri chokes on his first spoonful. It’s things like that—those little remarks Byleth makes... The way he just says things so openly, without any snark or lies to hide behind, without any ulterior motives—it knocks the wind out of him.
“Is it that bad?” Byleth chuckles nervously.
“Ah, no. Sorry, I—” And then he devolves into a nasty coughing fit, struggling for air for real this time. Nice.
“Are you alright?” Byleth asks, placing a hand on Yuri. He rubs his back in tentative circles.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Yuri splutters, waving a hand. “You don’t have to...um...”
He trails off, suddenly very distracted by how...relaxed he feels. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, focusing on the soothing patterns Byleth traces across his back. He knows the feeling of healing magic all too well.
“...Um. Worry about me,” Yuri finishes, eyes still closed. “Sorry. Feels nice.”
Byleth hums. “I must have the magic touch, huh?”
Yuri’s eyes open so he can grimace. “Ugh. You’ve been spending too much time with Alois.”
“That’s who I was with when I caught all the fish.”
“It shows.”
Byleth huffs out a laugh—such a magical sound—and for a while they just sit in comfortable silence, Byleth continuing to rub healing circles into Yuri’s back, fish stew forgotten.
It’s nice, just the two of them with the sounds of a crackling fire and distant drunkards laughing at the bar a few alleys away. For once in a long, long while, Yuri feels at peace.
“You know,” Byleth ventures, “you can rely on people to help you sometimes. Me, especially.”
Yuri hums, leaning against Byleth and resting his head on his shoulder. “Don’t need it.”
“It’s what friends do,” Byleth replies.
And that sentence doesn’t sit right with Yuri. It settles deep and sour in his stomach. So he turns to look up at him, eyes full of whatever deep emotion he allows to bleed through his usual cheeky smirk. “What friends do, huh.” And maybe it’s the fever that fuels him, but he decides to reach up and thumb across Byleth’s lower lip. “Is it?”
Byleth swallows thickly, lost in Yuri’s gaze. “Is it...” he echoes.
They drift closer, as if by a cosmic gravitational pull—and it’s always been that way, hasn’t it—until their lips are mere inches from each other.
“What’s your intention, Professor?” Yuri whispers, grinning dazedly. “I’ll get you sick.”
Byleth breathes steadily as if trying to hold back a tremble. “You have healing magic too,” he replies.
“Ah, that’s right,” says Yuri. “Friends do that kind of thing for each other, huh?”
“Yeah,” Byleth mutters, and it’s cute—he’s never seen him so dumbstruck before.
“Well let me ask you, then. Do friends do this kind of thing too?”
Yuri leans in to close the gap—and kisses him.
It’s gentle and sweet, and Byleth exhales softly against his lips.
They pull away slowly and Byleth can only crack a helpless smile as he snakes his hands up to hold Yuri’s face. “I suppose not,” he says. And he pulls him in for seconds.