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Byleth had never been inclined towards physical affection. Neither was Jeralt, usually, but with his son, it had been taken to an extreme. He pulled away from most touch, particularly unexpected touches, as though they burned.
Conversely, there were times when he seemed to crave those touches. Times when he would press into Jeralt in search of affection. When he would refuse to go to his bedroll until he'd fallen asleep curled up on his father's lap as he finished what work needed to be done at his desk. But most of the time, he preferred no contact at all, physical affection being on his terms and at his request. As a non-verbal child, he'd hold his hand out, palm up to signify he sought affection, which largely remained his go-to even when he was more comfortable talking aloud. In fact, Jeralt, who wasn't particularly talkative himself, particularly with such things as requests for affection, had taken to using the same request in return.
This is to say that Byleth's relationship with physical contact was unconventional, and Bradley's comments shouldn't have bothered him as much as they did.
"It's true," the mercenary was saying loudly, emboldened by alcohol in the flagon he was flailing around. Byleth stared at him intensely while Harry rolled his eyes from his seat nearby.
"It's bullshit," Sonya huffed in her usual gruff voice.
"No, no, no it's true, I swear," Bradley insisted, taking another swig from his flagon. "It's just part of growing up usually; fathers are naturally more affectionate with their daughters than their sons as they grow up." Byleth thinks he's taking far too much enjoyment from giving the unpleasant announcement. "Dads don't hug their sons; it's just a fact."
"Aww, is that why you're such an asshole?" Harry asked him mockingly, shooting a grin and a wink at Byleth when the teen looked at him. It helped a little with the anxiety that coiled in his stomach, though not much.
"I'm just saying!" Bradley continued, voice rising over the laughter of some of the other gathered mercenaries. "Byleth's a man now, he shouldn't be looking for hugs anymore - it'll all be handshakes and nods from now on."
Byleth bowed his head and stared into the campfire, keeping his thoughts to himself. The conversation continued around him, but the camp's noise was now sounding so loud in his head that he couldn't make out any of the individual words anymore. He clamped his hands over his ears, closing his eyes tightly and cringing when he was met by the afterglow of the fire behind his eyelids.
"You okay there, kid?" the voice was soft but still managed to cut through the turmoil in his head, and he turned his head to squint at Harry as he sat close by him. "If you need some space, I'll cover for you."
"Thank you," he mumbled softly, voice quiet enough that he wasn't sure the other mercenary could even hear him. Still, he took the offer and forced himself to get to his feet, hands returning to his ears as he made his way through in the direction of his father's tent, ignoring everyone around him.
It was several days before Byleth could bring himself to talk to his father about the discussion. There'd been no requests for affection on either side since he'd come out to him, but it was so rare to begin with that he couldn't tell if there had been a change between them or not. Certainly, Jeralt didn't seem to treat him any differently in the other areas of their relationship.
He wasn't sure why it took so long to feel comfortable bringing it up. If it was his natural difficulty discussing such things out loud or that he was afraid his father would confirm that Bradley had been correct in his drunken commentary and that he didn't want to show him affection anymore.
Either way, it was near a week before Byleth found himself lingering in the mouth of their tent, trying to think how to get his father's affection as the older man sat on the rug, poring over strategy maps for their next mission. Part of him tried to say it wasn't the right time, that he shouldn't disturb him right now, while the other part insisted he was being silly and just putting off having that conversation with his father.
The decision was made for him when he realised the older man had looked up and was watching him quizzically. Jeralt gestured at the rug in front of him, picking up his maps, and Byleth reluctantly took the seat, sitting across from his father, who was watching him in concern.
"What's going on, kid?" he asked him softly. "No one's been bothering you, have they?"
The fourteen-year-old shook his head. People had taken his coming out well, considering who they were. There were some who seemed confused or upset by it, but they didn't go out of their way to misgender him or anything and they weren't people he went to for company anyway. He was more than happy to ignore them. He stared at the floor for a moment, running his fingers through the rug and finding the familiar texture comforting as he played with the long strands, trying to put his thoughts into words.
"Will you still hug me when I want it?" he asked finally, getting straight to the heart of the matter. Jeralt seemed surprised by the question, frowning in confusion.
"Do you want a hug?"
"Not right now."
"I don't know why you think I wouldn't?"
Byleth felt a wave of relief hit him when his father said that, surprisingly strong. His concerns were unfounded, he considered leaving then, but it seemed unfair to leave Jeralt with no explanation.
"Bradley was saying fathers don't hug their sons," he told him in explanation. "He said now that I'm a man, you wouldn't want to hug me anymore."
"Sounds like Bradley's bitter his father didn't hug him," Jeralt commented drily.
"That's what Harry said."
"Bradley doesn't know anything about our relationship," his father told him firmly. "You're my kid. I'll hug you as often or as little as you want; your gender has no bearing on that." He watched the way the relief made Byleth relax. "Do you want me to talk to Bradley for you?"
The teen shook his head in answer.
"He was drunk. It didn't matter." He hesitated for a few moments before holding out his hand. "I think I would like a hug now, please."
Jeralt raised his arm without hesitation, and Byleth scooted under it, squirming until he was tucked against his father's chest as those muscular arms wrapped around him, hugging him firmly and securely against his chest.
Byleth didn't typically like touch. It made him feel uncomfortable and suffocated and like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. But other times, like now, he could understand why people enjoyed it so much.
He'd never had a home, not really. So much travelling around had meant he'd never had a place to put down roots or even that he might return to particularly often.
But here, in his father's arms, he wondered if this was what it might feel like.