Archive of Our Own

Ugh.

So, why does that guy gotta have it all?

That’s what Sylvain asks himself as he watches the Professor from the other side of the courtyard. He is talking with one of the Eagles kids, the one with the spiky hair... You know the one, right? Of course Sylvain knows his name, he just can’t be bothered to remember it right now.

Any time the Professor gets on his peripheral Sylvain just can’t think about anything else but how much he dislikes the guy. It is a very childish, immature, stupid thing from him, yeah, he knows, but just... Screw the guy. For no reason in particular, really.

He just has to be so dang perfect every time. Everyone loves him. Fucking Felix likes the guy, and even being his childhood friend, Sylvain isn’t sure Felix likes him above minimum tolerance.

Is Sylvain jealous? Yes, of course! He would never say it out loud, but of course he is jealous of the guy that gets all the love and attention without seemingly any effort. And not only that, he also gets the super-rare Crest of Flames. And the Sword of the Creator. Who is this guy, seriously, and why does he get everything, even with being so unremarkable himself. It’s not fair, and it makes Sylvain want to throw a tantrum and stomp the floor with his feet like a little kid. Which only makes him feel worse because that’s embarrassing behaviour for someone like him.

Well, whatever. The dashing Professor can do whatever he likes and Sylvain will just have to get green with envy and get over it, because what else is he to do. Is not like he can just blow up at the guy for no reason except his own jealousy.

With a heavy sigh he gets ready to exit the courtyard, his evening stroll already ruined, and decides to maybe go bother some ladies so he can blow away the bad mood the Professor has put him in.

“Excuse me, Sylvain?”

Ooooor, maybe not.

He turns, brown eyes wide open when he hears the voice of the Professor just behind him. Hands on the nape of his neck, fake smile at the ready, Sylvain tries to act as casual as possible, as if he wasn’t just trying to blow a hole on the Professor’s skull with his stare just half a minute ago.

“Professor!” He exclaims, a cheerful infliction on the word. “Good evening! Are you enjoying your free day?”

He doesn’t even think the words, they just come to his mouth on reflex, years of sweetalking carrying him through the motions of a normal conversation; far away from the crude “ Fuck off ” that gets on the tip of his tonge for a second before speaking.

“Yes. Well,” He seems reluctant to talk, for a second. Hm. As charming as he is, the Professor really isn’t that good at making conversation, which always perplexes Sylvain because he just doesn’t understand how anyone could stand (or worse, enjoy!) a conversation with someone like that. “I found something lying around that I think might belong to you...”

“Oh?” That does surprise Sylvain a little.

“You found some modesty lying around and thought I could use it?” , he thinks to himself, a dark part of him laughing at his own self-deprecation. Instead he keeps his lips sealed in a thin, tense, still very much fake smile, waiting for the Professor to search through all of his pockets. That coat of his always looks so impractical, but, well, the storage capacity seems to be great...

Finally he finds the item and extends it to Sylvain, who observes... A bag of tea leaves. Huh.

“Um, sorry, but this isn’t mine.” He admits, and although he tries to sound as polite as possible (the Professor might be insufferable, but at least it seems like he’s trying to help), there is a fragment of annoyance in his voice.

“I see.” For some reason, the answer seems to perplex the Professor, who just pockets the item away. Inner Sylvain is shouting about that tea already being inconsumable, outer Sylvain just keeps the smile, which is starting to get heavy (rare thing for him, so used he is to keep it going for long periods of time). “Sorry. I heard from someone that you liked tea, so I thought...”

“No worries.” He interrupts which, rude, but also he just wants out of that conversation. “I do consider myself a tea connoisseur, but that just isn’t mine” Do I Iook that much of a mess that I could be dropping my tea collection on the floor? “Try the Von Aegir kid. Maybe it’s his.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.” The conversation seems to be over, so Sylvain gets ready to make a strategic retreat (aka turn and run), but the voice of the Professor  surprises him again. “Would you like to have a cup with me some time? Since you enjoy it. The tea.”

Huh, what?

For a second, Sylvain just looks at his Professor with a blank expression. The smile has fallen, but there is no frown to replace it. Pure and genuine confusion is the only thing that can be read in his eyes as he observes the Professor, trying to read on him any trace of mockery, because, that has to be some kind of joke, isn’t it?

And yet, the Professor’s face is as unreadable as always. How can anyone find this guy charming or even interesting, when he has the expressiveness of a brick wall.

Sylvain decides that this guy is just too boring to actually try to mess with him like that, and so the invitation to a cup of tea must be genuine. Maybe. He might have noticed Sylvain’s dislike of him and is trying to build a bridge between them or something. Who knows.

Fat chance , Sylvain thinks, out of pettiness and with a bit of mockery himself.

“Yeah, sure.” The fake smile returns to him. He kicks himself a bit for having dropped it. “Not today, tough! I already have some other plans for the evening.” That’s a lie, but lying in social interactions is as natural as breathing for Sylvain at this point. “Thank you for the invitation, though. Let’s do it some other time!”

No, never, over my dead body.

“Yes.” The Professor nods, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t want to keep you any longer, in that case. See you in class, Sylvain.”

“See you in class, Professor!”

Turn and run. Except that Sylvain doesn’t actually run because that would be pathetic. He just walks fast.

Maybe the Professor was just trying to be kind, maybe he craves external approval just as much as Sylvain does (whoa, that came too close to actual introspection); either way Sylvain doesn’t care. He doesn’t like the guy so, as much as he is willing to remain civil and keep the minimum of surface courtesy with him, he’s not about to be his tea buddy, or whatever.

He might be the guy who has it all, but he won’t have Sylvain.

~*~*~

Since the Professor is so cool and great and everybody loves him, there is no way for Sylvain to play hooky during the lessons, so he just has to bear with them.

Most of the time he just makes stupid doodles on the margins of his notes, or plays with his writing tool, balancing it on a finger or his upper lip. Sometimes Ingrid gives him a mean look because of it, but since he is not actually disrupting the lesson, she mostly leaves him be.

As bored as he gets during class, he is not that much of an asshole to bother his classmates during it. Maybe if he was in another, less straight-laced class (namely, the Golden Deer, who seems like a very animated bunch) he would be a bit more of a rebel, just because the ambience would be lighter, but being in the Blue Lions means that trying to be the class clown will most likely end up with him being reprimanded by Dimitri and his disappointed-mother voice.

This class in particular, however, has him paying a bit more attention. The mid-summer heat makes him sweaty and uncomfortable on his seat, and his mind can’t wander around that much when everything he can think of is how fucking hot it is in here. Felix laughs at him for being unable to resist the bare minimum of heat but, hey, that’s what you get when you spend your whole life living in the coldest place of the continent.

He is not the only one affected by the recent heatwave, he can tell, but he is the most miserable of the bunch. So he taps his foot with impatience on the floor as he prays for the class to end. It’s getting so long already. Today’s lesson is very dense, too, something about magic formulae... It beats getting to the field to do combat practice in the sun, but...

“So, if we apply this formula instead, the result will be different. Does anyone know which spell would be cast in this case?”

The voice of the Professor has a strangely cooling effect, being as deadpan as always, so Sylvain finds himself paying more attention than usual, even if it’s just because doodling doesn’t seem as fun as usual today. He has taken off that impractical coat, thank the Goddess (Sylvain was sweating on behalf of the Professor just by seeing it on his shoulders), so he must be suffering from the heat too, although he does well hiding it.

The class remains silent. Either this question is a real difficult one, or everyone is too affected by the heat to make any coherent thought. Or, a mix of both. Eventually, Annette’s hand rises, as is usual in class. She is probably the most studious of them all and loves answering all the questions the Professor throws at her.

“Yes, Annette.”

“Since it has the base of a wind spell and that symbol accentuates it... It becomes an alternative to Excalibur.”

Huh . Sylvain frowns slightly. His eyes go to the blackboard in which the different symbols are scattered. He has to squint his eyes a little to make sense of them.

Huh.

“That’s... Not right, sorry.” The Professor seems a bit discouraged. He doesn’t seem to like having to turn down a student’s answer, especially Annette.

“Maybe because she usually doesn’t get things wrong...” Is what Sylvain thinks, giving another view to the blackboard. Yeah. Yeah, because it has the base of a wind spell, but actually...

“Huh? Oh, well, err...” Annette seems to panic for a second. She isn’t used to getting it wrong, poor girl. “Then, maybe...”

She is choking a bit on the answer. Unusual for her, but, yeah, this heat will get to most people. Sylvain feels a bit bad for her, watching her scramble for an answer that doesn’t seem like it will come anytime soon, even more as she starts getting gradually more nervous.

Sylvain raises his hand.

The whole class turns to him with the sudden movement. The Professor’s eyes seem to widen for a second... Which, for him, is like if they were bulging out of his skull.

“What, is it that surprising that I want to answer?” , a bitter side of Sylvain thinks, and suddenly he is really invested in getting this right just to prove himself to this asshole Professor of his.

“Yes, Sylvain?” Why are you saying it with that much doubt, you ass.

“It’s Bolganone.”

The tone of his voice is so certain, as if he was stating something as obvious as the colour of the sky. He can feel the gaze of his classmates on him as he answers, but he pays no mind, instead meeting the eyes of the Professor, as if defying him to prove him wrong.

An infinity seems to pass until the Professor’s answer arrives.

“That is correct.”

A bit of murmur lifts through the class, and an incredulous “ WHAT!? ” from Ingrid, who certainly thought that she wouldn’t see the day in which Sylvain participates voluntarily in class and gets a right answer.

Sylvain feels a little proud. But also, “Hey, why is everyone so surprised!? ”.

“Would you like to expand on your answer?” Ask the Professor, regaining some of his composure. Huh. First time he has lost it. Who is dropping things on the floor now, bi-

“Dunno. That’s how I’ve always written it.” Sylvain shrugs.

And that’s true, because that is how he was taught to him, and it wasn’t until he came to the Academy that he learned that there was an easier, more common way of spelling the Bolganone spell.

“Very well. Let’s continue...”

The lesson continues and, for some reason, time passes a bit quicker for then on. Sylvain feels calmer, at least, and the heat doesn’t seem to be getting to him that much now. He also pays a bit more attention, maybe because he still feels the rush of adrenaline of getting a right answer. Who knows, maybe he should pay more attention in class! Ha! Imagine..!

“Sylvain, can I keep you for a moment?” Says the voice of the Professor, once class is finally over and everyone is picking up their things to get out.

It takes him by surprise, especially since the Professor goes directly to his desk to ask. Sylvain knows that the Professor likes to keep some people after class from time to time to expand on some topics that might be of interest to them, sometimes prompted by the students, other times by himself. This is the first time that happens to him, though.

And he doesn’t really want to. One-on-one with the Professor doesn’t seem like a good time to him. Now, if it was Professor Manuela...

“I’m sorry, but I just want to go back to my room... This heat is too much for me, I’m all sweaty and...”

“Please, I insist. I’ll try to be quick.”

“Please ” isn’t a word Sylvain was expecting to hear. It tugs at his heartstrings a little, and he suddenly feels like an asshole for trying to blow the Professor away. Ugh.

“Okay...” He says, reluctantly, taking a deep breath. “Does this have to do with the Bolganone thing?” Of course it does, what else would this guy want me for?

“It does. Please, come with me.” With quickened steps, as if conscious of the amount of time he has with Sylvain, the Professor goes back to the blackboard, Sylvain in tail. “You knew it was Bolganone. Do you know why?”

“Ugh...” Sylvain has to make an effort not to frown. He really didn’t want to have to actually put an effort... “Well. The base of the circle is the base of a wind spell,” he points to the magic circle drawn in chalk on the blackboard, “but this symbol... It usually makes things, well, bigger, but not here. Is also used on fire spells some time, so... Professor, I really don’t know. It was kind of a fluke.”

“Not a fluke.” The response is firm. “When interacting with some certain wind symbols, this one can be used not as “ expand ”, but “ combus t”...”

“Oooooh, so that’s what causes the explosion.” Sylvain’s eyes widen. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Now, if we add...” The Professor goes back to his desk, takes a little notepad and comes back, erasing one of the symbols to draw another one in its place. “This one. What would this one be?”

“This...” Sylvain takes a closer look at the symbol. He has seen it before, but it seems so... out of place, for some reason? Reason, reason... Ah, of course. “This wouldn’t do anything. This has the components of a white magic spell, so it wouldn’t do anything written like this.”

“Right. So, how would you make it work, preserving this one symbol?”

“You’d need to take these three,” He swipes the side of his hand over the board to delete the symbols and accepts the piece of chalk that the Professor hands to him “and replace them with some other more... Er, light-appropiate, I guess. And with this you’ll get to Aura.”

“That is right.” Sylvain passes the chalk back to the Professor, only then noticing his lavender stare fixated on him. Lavender. Blue? Huh, weird eye colour this guy has... “Well done, Sylvain. You are great at this.”

To Sylvain, those words are like a punch to his stomach.

They surprise him even more than if the Professor had actually punched him, and for a second he feels disoriented. Well done? Great? Praise? What?

He is not used to parise. In the slightest. He is not used to being told that he has done well, or that he is great at anything. What he is used to is being told to put more of an effort, to stop screwing around, to be more serious... All the things that imply that he is not enough and that he will never be enough because he is that much of a screw up and he is worthless .

Well done? What does that even mean?

At the same time that he experiences this shock, a part of him that he hates (he hates a lot about himself, but this one in particular) perks up. The part of him that wants to be recognized, wanted, loved, and that hearing that praise wants to roll on the ground like a dog, pant and beg for belly rubs.

Dangerous, so dangerous. So pathetic.

The summer heat hits him again, this time even more than before, and that’s the reason suddenly his blood feels like it is boiling and his cheeks heat up.

“All right, all right, that’s enough praise...” Jeez, that was embarrassing. Getting so worked up from a few words.

“I think,” In a pensive gesture, the Professor takes a hand to his chin “that you might do well if you wanted to focus on studying reason. You might have a talent for it.”

“Me?” He almost wants to laugh. “Ah, no, Professor. Sorry. That’s too much work for someone like me.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by that...”

“Well, you know.” Again, almost a laugh. “I’m not the studious type. Someone like Annette or Ingrid are better for...”

“Don’t concern yourself with other people. I see your talent, and I believe you might be able to achieve something great with just a bit of guidance. I won’t force you to do it, of course, but I’ll be glad to help you in case you want to improve your magic understanding... Although I think you understand it pretty well already and you only need a bit of a push.”

Holy shit what is happening.

Sylvain feels like he is about to self-combust. It’s the heat, the heat.  That is the most words he has heard the Professor speak outside of his lessons, and for some reason they seem so... emotional? It’s almost like he actually wants to help Sylvain, like he actually cares.

Is this how everyone else got charmed by him? That would make sense. Deep down, Sylvain knows it is very much impossible for the Professor to be selfless enough to care for the wellbeing of that many people. They are paying him to be a teacher, of course, this is all part of his job description. Of course! So it makes sense that he’d want to help Sylvain with his academics. He shouldn’t take this like a personal thing. 

Phew, that was close! He was almost inclined to like the Professor.

“I’ll think about it.” He says, in the most non-committal tone possible, not enough of a jerk to tell the Professor to go munch on weeds instead.

“Great.” The Professor nods. Sylvain thinks the conversation is over but, once again, the Professor’s voice reclaims his attention at the last second. “One last thing, now that I have you.”

“No you don’t.” , almost escapes his lips. Because the Professor might think that he has it all, and it might seem like he does, but he’ll never have Sylvain.

“Yes?” He asks, instead.

“I’ve observed that you seem to have some difficulty reading the board on occasions, and your accuracy seems a bit off at times. You might want to talk with Professor Manuela about getting glasses.”

Fuck this guy.

~*~*~

As the months pass, Sylvain starts feeling a bit silly about his resentment towards the Professor. Don’t get him wrong, he still hates him. Of course. But he is self-aware enough to know that the reasons he dislikes the Professor are rooted in childish jealousy.

It hits him especially hard one time in his room, when he is doing maintenance on the Lance of Ruin. He can’t look at the thing without thinking of Miklan and the beast he became upon wielding it. And thinking of Miklan means remembering all of the abuse, and the threats, and the mockery, and the insults, and... Everything his lovely brother ever did to him. That also gets him thinking about the unfairness of it all, about the reason for such a rough treatment, something as ridiculous as his crest.

And, not wanting to delve more into this issue because he doesn’t feel like having another Miklan-induced breakdown at that moment, his mind pivots at how his feelings towards the Professor are not that... dissimilar, as those Miklan once felt for him.

Don’t get him wrong. Miklan was an absolute piece of shit. And while Sylvain is also one, he is for different reasons, in his humble opinion, much lesser ones. He’s not going to be shoving the Professor down a wall or abandon him in the middle of an iced tundra or beat him to an inch of his life and-

Okay, hey, we said no breakdowns today. Keep it together.

Well, Sylvain is not going to do any of that or act on his darker impulses, but he gets to thinking and he finds that his childish jealousy is, as much as he hates to admit it, not that dissimilar from Miklan’s.

After all, it is not the Professor’s fault that he was born with the Crest of Flames. And it was that same crest the reason that he was so “special”. The reason why he was trusted with the Sword of the Creator, the reason why the Archbishop seemed to trust him so much, and the reason he excelled in combat... That was all... Because of the crest, right? And that was why everyone liked the Professor so much, because he was... 

“No, that is not right. ”, Sylvain reflects, his stare still fixated on the twitching end of the Lance on his hands.

The Professor is special, because of his crest, and Sylvain is smart enough to know that it isn’t right to hate on him because of that. Hell, he has been a victim of the crest system himself, and the last thing he wants to do is feed into that rotted system.

“So what do we do now. ”, he asks himself, slowly rotating the Lance, if only to keep his hands occupied. “ Let’s separate the guy from the crest. ”

Who is that man, without his extraordinary Crest of Flames?

Who is... Byleth?

In order to answer this question, Sylvain decides to start paying attention to his Professor.

Instead of trying to hide away from him, Sylvain starts to tolerate the Professor’s presence around him. He studies him in class, paying attention to him rather than his boring lectures ( why are they studying theory on horse-riding, that is just stupid and very much useless), follows him with his gaze when he sees him running around the monastery and, on one occasion, he accepts his tea-time invitation.

“I’m glad we finally found the time.” The Professor says, as he is pouring Sylvain’s cup (in quite a clumsy way, Sylvain has to add, biting his tongue as to not correct the man that was basically raised in the wilderness about his tea time etiquette).

“Sorry for the wait, Professor. You know how it is... I usually have a pretty busy schedule.” Sylvain’s words come with a bit of bite in them. It is true that his usual schedule is packed with meetings and invitations from a wide number of women, but he also has no real trouble ditching some of them whenever he doesn't feel like attending. With perfect posture he takes his teacup and lifts it to his lips, briefly taking in the aroma of the leaves before the first sip. Recognizing the flavour of a Bergamot blend, a surprised expression comes to his face. “You’ve got excellent taste, Professor. This is great tea.”

“I’m glad it is to your liking.” The Professor lets himself rest on his chair, taking his own teacup with him. “I don’t know the first thing about tea, so I had to ask around for recommendations. I didn’t want to disappoint.”

“You did well.” 

Before Sylvain can think about it, his eye closes in a wink. He finds himself winking more than necessary lately, and it worries him that he is starting to develop some kind of tic that triggers on any social interaction of his, no matter if the gesture is appropriate or not. He hopes on this occasion it can be interpreted as a friendly thing.

They drink their tea in silence, enjoying the brevage and the few pastries the Professor bought (and for which Sylvain feels guilty about, because it’s common sense that if someone else is hosting tea, it’s your responsibility to bring the treats). At first, Sylvain thinks nothing of it, but as time passes the silent atmosphere starts getting to him. The silence is too heavy for his liking, and nervousness starts to get to him as his mind scrambles to think of any topic for conversation.

“By the way, have you already chosen who is going to represent our class on the White Heron Cup?” He asks, in the most casual tone he is capable of, as if the prolonged silence and heavy stares from the Professor weren’t hacking away at his composure.

“Is that why you’ve finally accepted my invitation? So you could present your candidacy directly to me?”

Sylvain almost chokes. Oh, hell no , he has no interest whatsoever in participating in that thing. The tone of the Professor’s voice is flat enough that he doesn’t know if he is joking, or if the implication that he has accepted the tea invitation out of self-interest (as true as that might be) has offended him in any way.

“No, no, of course not! Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation.” He feels a pang of irritation having to explain that in social meetings such as these you have to be, well, social, and not just stare in silence. “But I sincerely hope you’re not seriously thinking about me as a candidate. I know how to dance, of course but I, ah... You know. With my reputation, I'll most likely be made a laughingstock. Besides, wouldn’t a girl be better for this? Say, Annette? She seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing...”

“Really? I was thinking of choosing Felix.”

The sound coming out of Sylvain’s throat is not human and can not be described. He manages to both inhale and spit the tea at the same time, coating the table as well as his lungs with it. He chokes on his tea, that comes out of his body with the spams of his coughing fit, both from his mouth and his nostrils. Tears appear on his eyes as he asphyxiates, and his face soon turns almost as red as his hair.

Panicking, the Professor is immediately over him, offering his help and a handkerchief, as well as his apologies, but Sylvain rejects everything with a hand gesture, going for his own handkerchief on his breast pocket.

A few minutes passes until he regains control of his body again, although his nostrils still burn and hurt, and his throat is hoarse from all the coughing. The handkerchief is ruined. So is this tea party, because Sylvain feels like his dignity has been crushed to pieces and the Professor looks like a kicked puppy, as if he felt genuinely guilty from making Sylvain choke on his tea.

“Oooooughh, I’m sorry, Professor.” When he regains the ability to talk, Sylvain tries to reassure the other man. “That... surprised me.”

“Yes. Well. Sorry.” The Professor seems to regress to that barely-talkative state of his. “I was... joking.”

Felix as a dancer... He’d sooner betray Fearghus and exile himself out of the Kingdom than do a funny dance for a silly school contest, probably.

Although the tea party is quickly cut short after that, it still feels like an eternity in the heavy silence that follows. Sylvain ends up excusing himself, wanting to change his clothes for some non tea-stained ones, and the Professor just nods in understanding as Sylvain gets up from his chair and waves him goodbye.

As he walks towards his dorm, he reflects on his meeting with the Professor.

“What a shitshow. ”

You know what. Maybe Sylvain just needs to stay as far away from the Professor as possible. His jealousy is childish and stupid, and he hates himself for it because he feels like an asshole for having such bitter feelings towards someone whose biggest crime is probably not having the most remote idea of what “ social etiquette ” is, but you can’t win them all.

Just let him go. Whatever. His obsession with the Professor isn’t going to go nowhere healthy and it will end with him choking on tea. He’ll just have to accept himself as an asshole and move on.

As he thinks of all of this, his resolve to stay an asshole getting stronger with every step he takes, his path crosses with those of Felix and Ingrid, who seem to be having a nice discussion in front of the greenhouse.

“Whoa, what happened to you!?” Although he tries to slip away, Ingrid catches him and immediately notices the tea stains on his white shirt. “What have you done now, and to whom? Just so I know what I’m apologising for next time some girl comes asking for your head.”

“Oh, please leave me alone, this has nothing to do with...”

As Sylvain’s gaze rests on Felix, who is staring at him with a face of pure disappointment, a sudden image comes to Sylvain’s mind. Felix dressed with the dance attire, the metallic adornments clinking as he shimmies his way through the dancehall, hips swaying and ponytail twirling in the air with every graceful move.

He breaks out laughing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Asks Felix, a disgusted expression on his face.

Sylvain would love to know, himself.

~*~*~

He tells himself that it’s time for him to stop obsessing with the Professor, because evidently that isn’t doing him any good.

He goes back to his strategy of avoiding the guy as much as he can (which has its limits because, you know, he’s his Professor and all that), quickly leaving any room the Professor happens to come in at the same time as Sylvain, making hard turns on the halls of the monastery any time he sees that dark coat on the distance, and running out of the classroom as soon as the lessons end. This makes a lot of people quite concerned with him, apparently.

“Are you okay, Sylvain?” Ashe asks at some point, coming out of nowhere around a corner and almost giving Sylvain a heart attack, because for some reason the boy doesn’t make any noise when he walks. “I’ve noticed you’re acting... Weird, in class? Are you having trouble with any of the lessons? Maybe I could help...”

Bless this kid’s heart. Sylvain pats his hair, kind of like if he was petting a cat more than another guy almost his age, and tells him that everything is going great. Ashe looks at him as if he had absolutely lost his mind, but, whatever. Maybe he has. Sylvain is one bad day away from losing it, at this point in his life. The bridge to the cathedral looks more beautiful each passing day and he likes to go there to contemplate both the scenery and the fall from time to time.

He tries to keep it together, tough.

Until one day he finds, in front of the door to his room, a small wrapped bag. He looks down the hallway, half expecting to see some girl peeking out from behind a column or something like that, but he’s alone at that point, so he examines the mysterious package closer. He is used to getting love letters and gifts, but girls usually prefer to give them face to face...

There is a tag attached to the bag, and as he turns it to read it, his eyes widen with surprise.

“I apologise for last time.

Hopefully I’ll be able to make it up to you on another occasion.

Byleth. ”

A gift from... The Professor? That was something he wasn’t expecting. His handwriting is... Not very pretty, to be honest. He writes putting too much pressure on his pen, as evident by the density of the ink, and yet the letters, a bit scattered and not making a straight line at all, are kind of small, as if he hadn’t had that much confidence while writing them...

Sylvain opens up the package to find a nice bag of Bergamot tea leaves.

A few seconds pass, as his heart gets caught on his throat. Then, he sighs.

“You really shouldn’t leave tea on the floor...” He says, to no one in particular.

Is easy to see how anyone could interpret Sylvain’s behaviour as him being angry or upset after his last tea party with the Professor. He really didn’t think that maybe the Professor felt bad about it, and that Sylvain’s avoidance might have... actually upset him? Enough to apologise with a gift, at least.

“Man, I really am an asshole. ”, he says, as he gets inside his room and leaves the gift on his desk.

Another introspection session seems to be in order.

He feels bad about hating the Professor, now. At this point it’s obvious that, as much as a clueless dork that he is, he is very obviously not a bad person. On the contrary, he seems like a caring man that actually tries to make things better for his students... Sylvain included.

The reasons Sylvain hates him for are completely out of the Professor’s control. He can’t help to still feel that disdain and irritation towards the man, but at the same time... he gets it. He gets why the Professor is so popular, why everyone loves him so much. Why he really is the guy who has it all, and he probably deserves it too.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hands on his face to protect himself from the outside world, Sylvain forces himself to confront the fact that, maybe, he likes the Professor too.

Can you hate and like someone at the same time? Seems illogical. Then again, Sylvain can recognize that he probably has a very fucked up concept of relationships, by virtue of most of his having been born out of interest.

“Hate his crest, hate his blood. ”, he says to himself. “ Hate the system that makes him special. Hate the circumstances. But don’t hate the man for having it all. ”

Don’t hate Byleth.

This internal debate keeps ripping him apart for some days, until one day when he is sitting in class, eyes fixated on the man imparting the lesson as he ask a question to the class, and he decides to do something stupid and, for the second time in the entirety of the school year, he raises his hand.

“Sylvain.” Byleth says his name, tone a bit surprised, giving him permission to answer.

“The answer is 264.” He replies, confidently, looking directly at Byleth’s eyes.

There seems to be a moment in which time itself stops, as he looks into those lavender, blueish eyes. Such an unusual colour, compared to Sylvain’s. Same as his hair. The guy really is full of unique details, all over him.

Time resumes as the Professor announces, voice firm.

“No, that’s not it.”

Wait wha-

“You were off by quite a bit...” Frowning, the Professor turns toward the blackboard. Noticing something, he uses his pointy stick to point towards a number on the board. “Can you tell me what number you see here?”

“Erhm, four?”

“That’s a nine, Sylvain.”

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Fuck the Professor. Fuck everything.

Class erupts in moderate laughter, people trying to be polite, except for Felix who is openly laughing at his misery. Ingrid, Sylvain’s desk mate, turns to him.

“You really need glasses, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Would you like to move seats to the front row?” The Professor asks, and he truly seems concerned, which only makes Sylvain’s face grow redder. “I think you got the operations right, but... Class, please, calm down.”

Can we get to combat practice? I need to stab Felix or let him kill me. Right now.

“I think I’ll stay right when I am, Professor, thanks.” Sylvain answers as he makes a ball with a piece of parchment and throws it towards Felix, failing by a wide margin. “If that’s a nine, then the answer changes to...”

He gets it right that time.

He gets mocked a bit during the rest of the class, but he is able to survive that. When the class ends, instead of turning and running away, he goes straight to the Professor’s desk.

“Hey, Professor. So, remember when you said I could use some extra lessons in reason? Well, I, uh... I’m willing to try?”

Byleth’s lips turn into a smile. So soft that it’s barely there, and yet it is so gentle. That’s probably the first time Sylvain sees one of the Professor’s famous smiles, and now he understands why Dimitri was so excited about them.

“Of course. I’ll be glad to help a student as brilliant as you. Please, take a seat. Let’s see, where to start...”

~*~*~

Sylvain feels liberated once he manages to get past his issues with the Professor and allows himself to appreciate him.

He stops avoiding the Professor, talking with him from time to time outside class and occasionally grabbing lunch with him. His extra lessons in dark magic, that he accepted on a whim, actually turn out to be interesting, and he finds himself being able to cast magic sooner than he thought. He gets very surprised whenever Annette goes to him to ask him questions about magic, even more when he is able to hold a debate with her about some complex mechanics of spell casting.

“I see, so that’s how you do it...!” She says, eyes bright, quickly writing some notes on the margins of her book. “You know, Sylvain. I’m so glad you decided to give magic a try. You have a... unique perspective, but that’s why it’s fun comparing spells with you.”

“I’m... Taking that as a compliment.”

Compliments.

Sylvain has to get used to them, because that’s also new. Ingrid says that she is “proud of him” for trying to put an effort into his classes, Felix scuffs and tells him to not get sloppy with his spearwork (which is probably a good thing coming from him?) and at one point in time Dimitri makes a big deal of stopping him in the middle of the corridor to tell him how happy he is with his current development and that he wishes Sylvain the best and that he will always support him in this new phase of his life.

“... what the hell was that.” He finds himself saying, once Dimitri leaves him be and continues down the corridor almost skipping as he walks, Dedue giving him an approving nod as he follows His Highness.

“I believe everyone was a bit worried about you.” Although it was a rhetorical question, he gets an answer from Mercedes, who had been present during Dimitri’s motivational speech and couldn’t help but overhear. “I heard something from Ingrid... They were worried that you were just... throwing away your time at the Academy, you know? You didn’t seem interested in class, and were always goofing around, and... This is just my personal opinion, but you looked so... Miserable. Like you really didn’t want to be here with us all. But something has changed, has it not? Because now you look... Well... Happier!”

That is what sends Sylvain spiralling down his own mind as if he was falling through several flies of stairs. Happier? He seemed happier? Did that mean he didn’t look happy before? Were people aware of that? And now, is he happy? It can’t be something that simple as flipping a switch, happiness is not such an easy thing to...

“You did a good job today too, Sylvain. I’m proud of you.”

Next day in class, when the Professor praises him again for his progress, he reaches the metaphorical bottom of the staircase, and his body receives the compliment with the same force shock as if he actually had fallen down some stairs.

Maybe it is so easy. Maybe he... Maybe he needed this.

The Professor. Well, not particularly him , Byleth, but someone as caring and patient as him. Allowing himself to enjoy the Professor, that strange entity that seems to improve the lives of everyone he gets his hands on, is... Nice. The hatred and irritation that he harboured towards the Professor gets less and less powerful with each passing day..

He still gets pangs of jealousy from time to time. When Felix compliments the Professor’s swordplay and tells Sylvain to improve his. When he overhears some girls talking about how the Professor is the most popular crush between the students. When he finds Byleth and Dorothea in the reception hall one day, the latter blatantly flirting with the Professor, all smiles and giggles as she twirls a strand of hair with one finger.

That makes him stop on his tracks, although he has a date in the dinning hall to attend to, and he stares .

The Professor sure is popular, to have Dorothea trying to seduce him like that, huh. Of course he is. He is the guy who has it all. He can probably get any girl he wants, too.

His stare might be more obvious than he thought, because Byleth’s head turns and soon he feels himself staring at those peculiar eyes of his. Are there lavender, are they blue. Who knows. Depends on the lighting. They are looking at him, and not at Dorothea.

The guy who has it all. Having it all, who would want someone like...

Sylvain hurries to the dinning hall.

~*~*~

Jeralt dies.

It comes so out of nowhere, nobody seems to know how to react to it. He was a living legend and, suddenly, he just... Died.

Sylvain senses a feeling of dread over it, as if his death marked the start of something... Bigger. Darker. Worse.

He might not be the only feeling that way, because the whole monastery seems to drown itself in a sour, darker tone.

Not only because of what happened to Jeralt, of course. The fact that the church had been tricked not once, not twice, but three times already says a lot about what might be happening on the inside. Whatever enemies the church has (on which nobody has no information about, isn’t that great!) seem to be starting their plans... What does that mean for the Academy? For its students?

Sylvain worries about it, but everything comes secondary to whatever the hell is happening with the rest of the Blue Lions.

The death of Jeralt had been a harsh blow to everyone, but even worse than it is... The Professor’s sadness.

It’s the most expressive he has ever been, and it tears at everyone’s hearts, seeing him so... Sad, despaired, tired. For the longest time Jeralt was the only person in Byleth's life. Of course he would be devastated from his father’s death. He died in his arms.

Sylvain feels so out of place whenever Byleth is in the room or is mentioned. His whole deal is using a cheerful and flirtatious persona to mask how miserable he feels on the inside, but putting that stunt in front of Byleth seems almost like an insult to the Professor. So he really doesn’t know what to do and, as men and especially Sylvain are animals of habit, he goes back again to avoiding the Professor.

He fears that if he confronts him he’ll say the wrong thing and will hurt the Professor even more. That is the last thing he wants.

He blows Felix’s offer for a sparring session when he considers that the Professor might be in the training grounds and goes to his room to sulk for a bit. As it has become usual any time he needs time to himself, he grabs his Lance before letting himself fall onto the bed.

... of Ruin. His Lance of Ruin. He was talking abou-

I am an impure man and I deserve to be smitten by the Goddess.

He sighs, watching the thing twitch and move. It’s so creepy. Disgusting. Just like himself.

“I am not a good person at all, huh.” He says. To the Lance, perhaps. To someone else. Sometimes he feels like there is someone else listening on the other side. Miklan, perhaps, hearing his voice from somewhere in hell.

What must it feel like to love a family member, and then grieve their death.

He has seen his friends having to grieve their families, after the Tragedy. Glenn’s death was devastating for Felix and his family, and... and for Ingrid, who lost something else than family when he died. Dimitri had lost... everyone, and it very obviously still haunted it to this day.

Sylvain hadn’t lost anyone in that way. Sure, Glenn was a dear friend of his, but they weren’t as close as he is with, say, Felix or Ingrid.

But family. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about the woman that had given birth to him. His father is an asshole. And Miklan...

After all that he had done to him during his childhood, he had no love for his brother. Him dying was the best thing he could have done for everyone, including himself.

And yet.

When he thinks about his brother’s death, the memory brings him no happiness at all. Maybe because of the terrifying circumstances he died. Maybe because he was present when he transformed into that terrible beast, when he stupidly had to deal with the consequences of ignoring everyone’s warnings about the Lance. He was there, he helped strike down his brother. And he felt no happiness about it. Relief, maybe, once everything was over. But, over all, the feeling that took priority was...

Guilt.

Thinking about Miklan always brings up so many negative feelings. And so much guilt .

If Sylvain was never born. If he hadn’t had a crest. What could have happened to his brother. Would he have led a different life? Would he still be the same piece of shit?

Who knows. Sylvain still feels guilty all the same. Because deep down (and not so deep) he has the feeling that his life, his worthless life... Ruined Miklan’s.

Hah. Ruin. Like the Lance. Of Ruin. Ha, ha. Funny.

“I wonder” Slowly, he traces the edge of the Lance’s blade with a finger. He feels the pressure of the metal, ready to draw blood. Somehow, it feels like he’s tempting it, in a way. “If you’ll also bring ruin to me, some day. Or if I’ll do it myself.”

The Lance twitches, moving in an uneasy manner, as if...

“Augh!”

Sylvain shouts, when one of the Lance’s smaller blades lunges at his hand, slashing the flesh and opening it to the bright red of blood.

“Ouch, what the hell!?” He quickly throws the Lance away, making it scrap through the floor, and jumps from the bed. His palm is bleeding, blood seeping through the wound, that seems... Shit, that’s not good. He’s not going to die or anything, but he doesn’t want to dirty the carpet with his blood.

He quickly finds some cloth to tie around his hand and, almost running, gets out of his room, beelining towards the infirmary and hoping that nobody decides to ask what happened.

“Are you going to the infirmary? ” The mocking voice of Lorenz, the guy with the most punchable face he knows, appears on his mind. “ Why, you’re finally going to get your glasses fitted? Congratulations! ”

“Shut the fuck up.” He mumbles, in retort of the weird visual of Lorenz laughing at him on his head. “I don’t need glasses. I don’t need glasses...”

Fortunately, nobody decides to question him when he crosses the courtyard almost running and gets into the faculty’s building, climbing the stairs to steps at a time, and...

He stops himself just a few steps from the infirmary. The door to the previous room is half open. Inside, he sees a familiar dark coat.

He freezes in place when he sees Byleth in Jeralt’s old office. He has his back to him, so Sylvain can’t see his face, but he has seen the expression of tired sadness enough times to imagine it vividly.

Once again, his stare might be too obvious, because suddenly Byleth turns around, locking eyes with him.

There is a resounding silence between the two of them, for a second.

“Professor.” Sylvain finally catches himself. “Sorry. Uh. I didn’t mean to snoop, or...”

“What happened to your hand?”

The Professor quickly crosses the room towards him, and that’s when Sylvain remembers his bleeding hand. He takes a peek, having refused to look at it as he was making his way towards the infirmary, and notices that the blood has seeped through his improvised bandage and is dripping towards the floor... Perhaps the wound was worse than what he thought in the first place.

“Ah, shit... I mean...” He tries to remember that he is technically in front of one of his teachers, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind the cursing.

“Allow me.”

He says that, but doesn’t wait for any kind of permission before taking Sylvain’s hand with his own, quickly removing the makeshift bandage. Before Sylvain can say anything he gets a warm feeling in his hand, and the wound starts to close itself to the effect of one of Professor Byleth’s healing spells. Right. He can do that. That’s useful.

“Huh, maybe I need to learn some white magic too...” Sylvain wonders.

“We can do that, if you’re interested. I’m sure you’ll do great with it as well.”

Probably not. White magic needs a certain devotion to the Goddess that Sylvain most definitely doesn’t have... But he’s not about to tell that to the Professor.

Ah, right. The Professor. Awkward.

“Thank you so much...” He sighs with relief once the wound is closed and the spell finishes. The magic surging from the Professor’s hand makes his own all tingly for a second.

“Is everything okay? What happened?”

Sylvain wants to stab himself in the chest. Why is the Professor asking him if he is okay.

“Ah, don’t worry, I just... had an accident doing some weapon maintenance.” Why does that sound like an euphemism when I say it. What is wrong with me. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“I’m glad then. Please be careful in the future.”

Sylvain nods.

A stretch of silence. 

Awkward.

“So...” What are you doing shut up shut up SHUT UP AND RUN AWAY! “How are you , Professor? I can imagine it has been... Difficult.”

“I’m...” He seems to think about it for a second. Sylvain worries that he has messed up. He probably has. Oh, he definitely has- “I’m hanging there. Taking it slow, as you might have noticed. I’m sorry if the classes haven’t been-”

“Please, Professor.” Sylvain interrupts. Rude, maybe, but he doesn’t care right now. “Don’t apologise for... that .” Something crosses through the Professor’s eyes. Pain, perhaps. It’s always a challenge to read his emotions. “For once, we should be the ones supporting you, instead of the other way around... So, please don’t worry about us. Take all the time you need, and... Know that we’ll be there for you, for whatever you need. All right?”

... whoa.

Sylvain doesn’t even know where that came from. Words were spilling out of his mouth before he noticed. He thinks about it. That was... Too cheesy. Embarrassing. It sounds like something he would say to a girl to get her to fall in love with him.

Except that, weirdly, he means it. In a way. He wants to help the Professor, even if he really doesn’t know how to do that exactly. And he knows that everyone in the Blue Lions wants to do the same.

So, for once, he isn’t lying. He is being sincere .

He is afraid that Byleth won’t think he is, though.

“Thanks, Sylvain.” The Professor answers after a few seconds of doubtful silence. “I don’t want to impose any burden on any of you, but... The sentiment is appreciated.”

Pretty words in response to Sylvain’s, he thinks for a second. He feels strangely shoved away, and that makes him feel conflicted.

But he won’t push it, of course. 

“All right. Well. If you need anything... You only have to ask.” The Professor nods. “Then I’ll... Leave you be, Professor. Thanks again for the healing.”

“Thank you, too. See you in class, Sylvain.”

“Yeah. See you in class.”

There is a strange feeling in the pit of Sylvain’s stomach as they say their goodbyes. He feels like he should say something else, do something. But he doesn’t know what that is, so he just steps away, and the Professor does the same. He then notices that his hand was still over the Professor’s.

As he takes a step back, ready to make his way back out of the building, he takes a last glance towards the Professor’s face.

He definitely doesn’t look like the guy who has it all anymore.

“How dare they. ”, he thinks. “ How dare they take anything away from him. ”

~*~*~

They don’t talk that much anymore. That’s in part because there’s not really that much time to talk, but also because Sylvain’s feelings toward the Professor sour again the moment he sees the neon-green hair.

What’s that.

The GODDESS gave it to him?

Oh so he’s like, so much more powerful now.

Yeah of course. He’s the guy who has it all.

The Archbishop is all over Byleth. So is everyone else, for that matter. Of course, Sylvain is also remotely interested in the whole colour-changing-hair thing, but, what . What is that even from. Is he even human? He feels like people should be asking more questions, but no one else is doing that now.

They also have other problems. Like the fact that Dimitri seems... Weird... He gets snappy and almost hostile at times, and he has some questionable choices of wording at some points, something about crushing skulls...?

“Why the fuck is no one tying him up and shoving him in a cage.” Felix says, at some point, ignoring the conversation he was having with Sylvain to look at Dimitri at the other side of the training grounds.

“Ooooh, kinky.” Sylvain, stupid as he is, can’t come up with any other answer than that apart from “ What the fuck Felix ”.

“Don’t. Fucking. Don’t, just, don’t. Come on, you’ve seen him. Not even his lapdog can contain him now. He should be leashed.” The joke writes itself.

“Hey, stressful times” While it’s true that Sylvain is concerned, he isn’t about to indulge Felix’s obsession with comparing Dimitri to a boar. “We’ve had a rough couple months. Don’t put more stress on him.”

“Tsch. Whatever. You’ll see.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. See what? Dimitri turning into a vicious bloodthirsty beast?

Because that’s exactly what he sees just a few weeks later, on the Holy Tomb. His jaw just hangs open as he sees Dimitri crush a man’s skull with his bare hands.

Edelgard is the Flame Emperor.

She is declaring war on the Church.

The Empire invades the monastery.

The Professor falls off a cliff and dies.

What?

Byleth falls off a cliff and dies .

And then, everything goes to shit.

~*~*~

Five years is a long time to reflect. It’s not so easy when the whole continent is thrown into the most vicious, violent, disastrous war, though. Sylvain does try to have some sessions of introspection talking to the Lance of Ruin, but they don’t work that much.

Still.

He has to put himself in front of an army. One that is fighting for the survival of a Kingdom whose King might be dead, but what is he to do? Surrender himself to the busty lady that took over Fhirdiad? Run away to Sreng and hope that its prince has enough fond memories of him to let him stay there without chopping his head? Indulge himself in the vice of drink and women?

That last one would probably be a tempting option, if not for Felix and Ingrid. He’s not about to let them go die on a battlefield, of course not. So he joins them in the fight. Felix fights for a King that he despises (os so he says, but, c’mon, he is so hopeful that Dimitri will return that it’s almost hard to watch), Ingrid fights for the same honour that got her fiancée killed and Sylvain fights just for a chance that none of the other two have a terrible death. It gets harder every day, as the Empire pushes the Kingdom to its very limits of resistance.

And then, one day, Ingrid suddenly comes to Sylvain with the most absurd of ideas.

“The five year-old class reunion.” She says, with a smile that reflects maybe too much hope, perhaps a bit of delirium. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about it?”

“I don’t think this war was taken into account when we were making that promise.” He says, a raised eyebrow and a hand on his hip. “You can’t be serious. What are we going to do, weep over the ruins of our old classroom, or-”

“Sylvain Jose Gautier, so the Goddess help me if you don’t get on your horse right this instant. We march to Garreg Mach, immediately. Let’s GO.”

Ingrid is scary. Being a general in the war had only made her scarier.

So Sylvain gets on his horse and the two of them, and Felix who joins them while mumbling something about boars, make their way to Garreg Mach.

Surprise, surprise.

The boar is alive.

I mean, Dimitri.

But also.

The Professor is alive.

I mean, Byleth.

Because he’s not anybody’s Professor now, even though everyone keeps calling him that. Well. He certainly isn’t Sylvain’s Professor, that’s for sure.

The reunion is, at first, a moving thing. Sylvain is delighted seeing all of his old classmates, hugs are exchanged, everyone is alive and that is honestly a miracle, but he’s not about to question it. Nobody really addresses the boar in the room, for the time being.

“Profess- Hey!” He goes to give Byleth a hug, but he catches himself at the last second, because he doesn’t know if that’s appropriate, and instead sweeps his hair with a hand. “You’re... alive.”

“So it seems.” The other man nods.

He has probably already heard quite a few comments about his... being alive situation. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like a single day has passed from him.

“You look- You’ve grown.” Byleth corrects himself.

“I look what?”

“Taller.”

Maybe? He hasn’t had the most impressive change out of the bunch, to be honest.

“As long as I’m still dashingly handsome.” He jokes, with a wink. Huh, that felt weird. It had taken him quite a bit to get rid of his inappropriate winking tic, so hopefully it won’t come back now.

“Yes. Well.”

Byleth looks at him. He looks at Byleth.

...?

“It’s nice to see you again. Ingrid! Hello!”

What .

Byleth goes in search of Ingrid, leaving Sylvain questioning what just happened.

~*~*~

After that first encounter, Sylvain allows himself to have hope for the first time in five years of war. Hope that somehow they can turn the war in their favour. Hope that the war will end. Hope that, somehow, everything will go back to normal at some point, and all of them will get their happily ever after, and he wouldn’t have to worry himself with combat, and blood, and grim, and not letting his friends get killed.

There are a few problems with all of that:

1.- Dimitri is a fucking mess. Sylvain has the feeling that if Felix wasn’t so occupied being moody and rude and actually worrying for Dimitri (even if he won’t admit it), he would be yelling “I told you so!” to anyone and everyone. He is very obviously not okay, revenge being the only thing fueling his body, and besides that he doesn’t seem to have any interest in being King of any country at all.

2.- The war is still going on and it doesn’t magically resolve itself in two days, what do you know. They still have to fight, through the blood and grim and all that, which means Sylvain’s efforts of protecting everyone haven’t come to an end yet. Worse , there are now more people he cares about that he doesn’t want to see dead. He will never forgive himself if any of his classmates end up on one of the ever growing pile of corpses the war keeps on producing.

3.- Sylvain is an idiot, and he gets jealous of Byleth once again.

Don’t ask him what of those three issues he has a problem with the most.

But once everyone gets settled on the monastery once again, and the gears of a half-ridiculous, half-desperate counter-offense start turning, he finds himself... Annoyed, at the lack of consequences the last five years seem to have had on the Professor. Ex -Professor, goddessdamnit.

He said that he had been sleeping for five years. Five years . FIVE YEARS of fucking sleep!? What the fuck, what is that, what kind of cheap excuse is that- Not even the Herving kid would sleep that much, and he always seemed to be having chronic sleep issues.

To Sylvain, it sounds like a lie, but everyone takes it like the absolute truth so, sure , whatever, the Professor was sleeping for five years, aham. Instead of helping any of them with the war. Instead of trying to find Lady Rhea or do any of the duties she had imposed on him as the new head of the Church before her disappearance. Instead of any of that, while everyone else was getting blasted on the battlefield, being slashed by any number of swords, getting arrows to the chest, he was sleeping .

And now that he has oh-so-coincidentally woken up just in time for the class reunion, he seems so... Over the war. He obviously hasn’t experienced any of it, so he is acting as if the last five years didn’t mean anything, he is here now so everything is back as it was! Hey, let’s go have a nice cup of tea and chat about how cute the cats of the monastery are!

Is Sylvain a hypocrite for wanting everything to go back as it was, but also hating that Byleth acts that way? Probably! Maybe! Maybe he is just jealous because everything seems to revolve about Byleth now. Again.

Everyone flocks around him as if he had all the answers, or just because they want his attention. He answers every question and tries to take care of everyone, just as always. As if truly nothing had changed, as if the last five years didn’t mean anything , and now that he is here, everything is fine again.

It drives Sylvain nuts. It makes him feel conflicted. After the war started... Those were some rough times. He almost didn’t have time to grieve the Professor’s apparent death when he was suddenly grieving Dimitri’s. At some point he had gotten over it . His relationship with that man had its ups and downs, but he had made peace with the fact that, after all, the Professor had always put his students first, and had died trying to protect them. He had made the silent promise of winning the war for him, even though he wasn’t that sure that victory was possible.

But the guy is alive. The guy is fucking alive. All of those feelings, out of the window! Bring back the jealousy, now up it to a thousand!

“This isn’t the time for this. ”, he tells himself. “ There is a war going on. Keep your head in the game. Be professional. ”

That’s what he tries to do, all through the war as they, miraculously, manage to take victory after victory from the Empire, the Alliance and everyone in their way.

“Great job out there, Sylvain.” Byleth approaches him after battle, every time (he does so with everyone, not like Sylvain is special...), and always offers him some kind of compliment.

He hates it just because he feels like a kid being praised by his Professor again, and that part of him that is so starved for compliments makes him feel strangely fuzzy any time it happens. He just dismounts his horse to take a look at Byleth. His face is covered in dirt, meaning that he has fallen to the floor at some point during battle, and his clothes are splattered with blood both from enemies and allies alike... Probably some of his, also.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without your directions, though.” He takes the compliment, and redirects it.

“My directions wouldn’t be worth anything if they weren’t carried by someone as capable.” What is this guy and his need of always praising everyone. Jeez. “Are you... Okay? You took a few good hits.”

“Aaah, don’t worry about that.” He says that, even though his body is still hurting because of the Death Γ he just took to the chest. He is a bit amazed that a spell with that name isn’t particularly lethal. As long as they aren’t Dark Spikes, though... “A bit of healing magic and some rest and I’ll be ready for our next battle.”

“Do you want me to...”

“No need for that!” It’s not the first time Byleth offers him some extra healing after battle, and also not the first time he rejects it.

“If you say so...” He seems like he wants to say something else. “Please, be... Be careful in battle. There... there is a point in which no healing is sufficient. I wouldn’t want you to get to that point.”

Huh . Sylvain almost wants to arch an eyebrow when seeing the stone-cold Byleth get so coy about death, even though the battlefield has been obviously plagued with it.

“Don’t worry, I don’t play on dying.” He says, sensing Byleth’s concern (and, again, he feels like an asshole for his feelings about someone who obviously cares for his well-being).

“It’s not about planning it, you just keep...” He frowns, then cuts himself, leaving Sylvain wondering what he was about to say. “Sorry. Please, just be careful out there.”

“Of course. I’ll be.”

Their little chit-chats after battle is when they talk the most, probably, as Sylvain keeps trying to not interact with him outside of battle, always coming with an excuse to turn down any invitation to have some tea or join him in the dining hall. He can’t always turn him down, though, so he does find himself eating with Byleth from time to time, sometimes also in company of Ingrid or Felix (which, honestly, helps make the whole thing easier on him).

“You always seem to know what kind of food we like, huh.” He can’t help but say on one occasion, taking a long look at the roasted pheasant on his plate.

“Of course. I have memorised everyone’s favourite meals and plan all my invitations accordingly with the dining hall’s menu.” Comes the answer, from a barely smiling Byleth (which, on his face, means a big-ass grin).

“You’re... kidding, right?” With him, it was hard to tell.

“Don’t be ungrateful, Sylvain.” Ingrid stops inhaling her food just to say that, and Sylvain knows that if she wasn’t so occupied with her meal, he would find an elbow on his ribs. “Every meal with the Professor is a good one, whatever the meal. But it’s especially nice when it’s as tasty as this!”

“To you, everything is tasty...”

The question of Byleth really memorising everyone’s food preference lingers on his mind for a bit longer than he’d like to admit. Sure, the guy is a caring individual and loves all of his students, yadda yadda, but surely no one is that dedicated, right? Right?

Sylvain is in denial because, of course. Of course Byleth would do that kind of research, just so everyone has a great time hanging out with him. He has to be so damn perfect all the time.

He is the guy who has it all, after all. Something as trivial as that must be easy for him.

~*~*~

As months pass by, and the victories keep on piling, Sylvain has to give up before the evidence. Whether it’s because of his tactical genius on the battlefield, because he is a master with the sword or because keeping track of everyone’s favourite food somehow makes the army work better, Byleth is the best thing that could have happened to this war.

Sylvain can’t tell what his magic recipe for success is. What he can tell is that, under his guidance, they start to slowly turn the tide of the war. Especially... When Dimitri comes back.

The price to pay for that is a tall one. Felix shuts himself in his room for a few days, not letting anyone talk to him, and when he comes out he seems just as angry with the universe as always, but also, he feels... Like he has a better sense of responsibility, now. Sylvain doesn’t want to be insensitive around him, so he restrains of making any comments about it, only offering his closest friend all of his support.

So, the King is back. Dimitri is back! And so is Dedue, for that matter. Now the class is really reunited, and seeing his former class leader, now King, coming back to his senses fills Sylvain with a warmth that makes him think that everything up to this point has been worth it.

It’s time to take Fhirdiad. Somehow, even though there’s still a war to win and an Empress to defeat back in Enbarr, this feels like the highest point of the war. As if everything had been leading up to this point. Atop of his horse, Lance of Ruin firmly on his hand, Sylvain readies himself at the gates of the capital city with the rest of his friends and allies.

“It’s time!” Dimitri’s voice booms at the front of the army, as he raises Areadbhar to the skies. “Let’s take back our Kingdom!”

The army roars in response, and the battle starts.

It’s brutal.

Nobody could anticipate what awaited them in Fhirdiad. Those giant mechanical constructs... The magical weapons capable of reaching them at any point in the city... Their enemies are well prepared, and their defences seem impossible to pass, at first.

It is a long battle, as they one by one take care of the magical constructs that threaten to flatten them on the ground at every attack they make. Sylvain takes a bad hit from one of them, one that seemed just so close to collapsing, but Anette’s magic doesn’t manage to do the trick... So, before the construct can turn to the magic user, Sylvain intercedes, Lance and the ready and, bam! The damned thing hits him with its gigantic sword, bending the metal of his armour in a way Sylvain is sure can’t be good for his ribs. At least that gives him the opportunity to launch the Lance of Ruin straight at the thing’s core, shattering it and making the mechanical monstrosity collapse on the spot.

“Sylvain!” Annette’s worried cry comes from behind him. “Hold on, I’ll heal...!”

“Don’t! I’m fine!” He shouts back, making his horse turn. Since he took the attack directly, horsey is fine, luckily (his name is Horse Luis). “Go support Felix! The sooner we deal with these things, the better!”

Annette hesitates for a second before nodding and running in the direction in which Felix is battling another of the metallic constructions.

Sylvain knows that he has taken a bad hit, but also that healing magic isn’t the best idea in the state his armour is in. He can feel the metal bent into his body, poking at his flesh, which is already bruised if not bloodied by the hit.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his cheeks inflating slightly with the gesture. There’ll be time to worry about his ribcage later. As long as he can keep on fighting, that’s what he’s got to do. He just hopes his insides don’t spill out whenever he takes off the armour.

He keeps on fighting, dispatching enemies as quickly as he can atop of his horse. Although their army had a terrible start with those construct thingies, they seem to be getting their second wind. The constructs keep falling, and so do the enemies: Ashe drops the enemy mages from a distance before they can act, Dedue holds the line with his shield as Annete fries enemies with magic from behind him, Ingrid is everywhere with her pegasus spearing any unfortunate soul that happens to be in her way, Dimitri and Felix are being completely maniacal weirdos destroying the constructs one after another, Byleth is... Is... Where...? Where the hell is that guy now....?

He usually stands in the middle of the group to give commands easily, always keeping an eye out for any enemies that might try to infiltrate their line of attack, but this time seems to have drifted a bit from his usual position, in order to search for an alternative route to get to Cornelia, avoiding the constructs and the magic projectiles. As satisfying as it might be reducing all the constructs to scraps, avoiding them might be the smartest choice, so Sylvain’s all for that.

The battle continues, and Sylvain soon starts to realise that his injury might be worse than he expected. The adrenaline of battle keeps him going, but he can’t ignore the persistent pain on his left side. With every breach he takes, he feels something (armour, bone? Who knows) digging inside him, forcing him to be almost short of breath lest he be in even more pain. He knows his movements are getting sloppier, which poses a risk as the battle goes on and they start getting closer to Cornelia.

“Last push ”, he tells himself, as he spurs on his horse so he can pierce the chest of the swordmaster in front of him, then turning around to regroup with the rest of his allies as they start enclosing the city centre, where Cornelia awaits.

Just a bit more, and then... The Kingdom will at last be free. Then... Well... Then, they’ll still have to deal with Edelgard and her forces in Enbar and, brr, does that mean they’ll have to fight Hubert again ? Bastard can’t just leave them alone.

He’s getting distracted. 

“Can you keep going?” Byleth’s voice comes to him, as Sylvain finds himself closer to the clust of where their forces are. He nods. “Good. Go left, Ingrid should be there and between the two of you can take the...”

It’s almost too quick for the eye, but Sylvain sees something glistening behind Byleth for a second, and before he can register it he’s throwing himself in front of the man.

He doesn’t even move the horse to intercede, he just jumps out of the horse, the spike in adrenaline blurring both his rationality and the pain of his side, and that’s how he ends up with an arrow breaking through his damaged armour, lodging itself in between his ribs with a painful “thud”.

Similar sound, a bit more clanky due to the armour, is what his body does as he falls to the floor in front of Byleth. As Sylvain lifts up his head, he sees an horrified expression on the face of his Professor, eyes wide in both horror and surprise. For once, it’s easy to read the emotion on that handsome face of his, and that makes Sylvain a little proud.

... He is delirious. He might be dying.

“You didn’t see that coming?” He forces himself to talk, and gets a bit scared at how short of breath and weak his voice sounds. “Who is the one who needs glasses now...”

His arm feels terribly heavy as he lifts it up to point in the direction of the archer that just made his shot, half hidden behind a bench of the street not too far away. The other half of his body falls to the ground in the same second as the Sword of the Creator rips him in half with a horrifying snap, but Sylvain doesn’t even pay attention to that as he lets the last of strength leave his body.

“Sylvain!” Byleth kneels next to him, panic in his eyes as he examines the other man. The dark colour of his armour made it difficult to see, but now he sees the broken part of it that wasn’t able to distinguish during combat. The arrow is still inside Sylvain’s body, but the injuries are various, so the blood keeps escaping from him. “I didn’t realise you...” He makes a gesture with his left hand, as if crushing something, but when nothing happens his expression grows even more worried. “Shit, I’m out of...!”

He blabbers something, but Sylvain doesn’t really listen because he is amazed at the fact that he just heard Byleth curse. He is always so propper, that takes him by surprise. Furthermore, right now he sees... Full of emotion, which is something rare to see. Huh. What do you know. He really cared for Sylvain after all.

Nice to know someone does.

“Mercedes! Where is Mercedes!? Tell her to come immediately!” He shouts at someone, Sylvain can’t see who. He feels a pair of arms lifting him slightly, but that only makes him wince in pain, so the movement stops. “Sorry. Sorry. Sylvain, are you there?”

“Yeah...” The response comes even weaker than before. “Hey, aren’t you... aren’t you busy? We almost have her... C’mon, stop wasting time with me... I’ll be fine.”

“Why do you always have the one to...?” Again, he cuts himself, making a gesture of both pain and frustration. “Sylvain. Hey. Please, stay with me. Don’t die, okay? You can’t die now.”

“Really? Is the best time to die, I think. If I fall here... I’ll know that Fhirdiad is free... And everyone is alive, so... Please. Please, go finish this. Forget about me. Just...”

“I...” Some heavy noise in the background makes Byleth turn his head, as if he just remembered that he is still on the battlefield. “Listen, I need you to keep alive.”

“And I need you to put an end to this, okay?” Sensing the other man’s dilemma, Sylvain tries to put on his best smile. As practised of a gesture as that is for him, it still takes him a bit of effort. “Don’t worry so much about me. It’s not worth it. Please, go help the rest... Dimitri... His Highness, he needs you right now. I’ll be just fine here.”

Byleth seems torn. In a miserable, masochistic way, that makes Sylvain happy.

He cares. He does care. The guy can have anything and anyone in his world. And he cares about someone like me.

I am such a terrible person. How can you hate someone like him.

“Hey... Professor.”

He feels like he hasn’t used that word in ages. Byleth puts all of his attention onto Sylvain, a hand slowly moving a strand of red hair out a face that keeps getting paler by the second.

“Let’s have some tea when this is over.” Sylvain continues. He closes his eyes, too tired now, the last image he sees being the face of the Professor over him. “I’m sorry I always rejected you. It was stupid of me. I... wanted to hate you so much, but I guess that is really impossible. So... Let’s do it when we get back to the Academy. Let’s have some tea.”

“Yes.” Byleth’s voice sounds... Calm, now. Reassuring. “I’ll end this quickly. So we’ll be back and have tea. Until then, please. Stay alive, Sylvain.”

“Yeah...”

“Don’t die. Please. Please, don’t die.”

Sylvain feels his body being rested on the floor again, then he hears running footsteps that eventually fuse with the white noise of combat.

Everyone is going to get so mad at him.

Ingrid will be wondering where he is, what happened to that “Don’t get far from me” thing.

Felix will be furious. They promised to die together. Sylvain can only hope that he doesn’t decide to follow him.

Dimitri will blame himself. Even taking Fhirdiad back, losing someone else... That’ll probably hurt him. He feels bad for not being there for His Highness.

Byleth... The Professor... He has just told him not to die, but...

Well, that isn’t in Sylvain’s hands, is it?

He feels bad, leaving everyone else behind, knowing how angry they’ll be with him once they realise.

And yet.

In the middle of the battlefield, completely alone in between the chaos of combat, his body grows colder, but a smile remains on Sylvain’s lips as he lets himself fall into the respite of death.

~*~*~

He was so certain about his death that Sylvain feels almost betrayed when he wakes up back at his room on Garreg Mach.

He opens his eyes to the familiar ceiling, the comforting softness of his bed below him, the sweet aroma of the oils he uses to perfume the room, the pain of... Ow. Owowowowowowwwwwwch, that hurts.

Everything hurts, his whole body, but especially his chest. He feels an enormous pressure, and when he tries to move he feels weirdly constricted and his flesh burns .

“Sylvain!”

A voice that he knows well welcomes him into the land of the living again, and he sees Ingrid quickly rising up from a chair on the side of the room and approaching him, clasping her hands over her mouth as an incredulous expression blooms on her face.

“You’re...! You’re finally awake! Thank the Goddess...”

“Hey...” He forces himself to talk, finding his throat extremely dry, voice horse and rugged. He hopes it’s at least a bit sexy. “Not that I mind a beautiful girl in my room, but... What is going on...?”

“That’s the first thing you have to say? Oh, you...!” She cuts herself with a sigh. “Hold on. I’ll get you some water and ask someone to fetch Professor Manuela. I’ll get you up to date in a second... Please don’t move, okay? You got seriously injured in the last battle.”

It must have been that way because, according to Ingrid, he has been in bed a few days with no signs of waking up. Apparently, as soon as they finished Cornelia, before they could actually register the victory, Byleth had started shouting at everyone to get help for Sylvain. They found him lying around with an inch of his life, and thanks to a consistent effort from Mercedes and Flayn they managed to barely patch him up enough so he could be transported to the camp hospital to get treated. All in all, it was a true miracle the fact that he managed to stay alive after all of that, but his body had been wrecked in such a manner that it had him knocked out for several days.

“I... When they found you, I thought you were...” She isn’t able to finish the sentence. She has moved her chair right next to Sylvain’s bed, and he holds her free hand with all the strength he can muster, as her other hand tries to dry the tears that traitorously escape her eyes. “Damn it all, Sylvain.”

“Sorry...” He tries to apologise, and that seems to upset her, judging by the way she squeezes his hand.

“Don’t apologise! I don’t want to hear it! Seriously. What is the point of winning the battle if you’re just going to turn up dead after it?”

“Don’t say it like that... We got our Kingdom back. That’s what matters.”

“Well, you also matter, you dumb oaf!”

Sylvain’s brain is not clear enough at the moment to come with any kind of retort for that or put a mask to hide his expression of disbelief, so he just keeps quiet and stares at his friend, who seems like she wants to say something, but doesn’t dare to.

Fortunately, the awkwardness of the moment is cut short by Manuela entering the room after a brief knock. Seeing Sylvain awake makes her smile with relief, as she herself wasn’t that sure about the boy’s state.

“Oh, hello! Good to see you awake, Sylvain. Ingrid, dear, do you mind giving us a bit of privacy while I check on him? You should go tell the rest of your friends that he’s awake, okay?”

Ingrid nods and gets up, squeezing Sylvain’s hand one last time before leaving the room.

“Hello, Manuela.” As the woman approaches, Sylvain tries to reconstruct any bit of his façade he might be able to. “So, you’re taking care of me...? Lucky me.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boy.” It sounds like a reprimand, but her face contains a smile. She’s just glad the kid is alive. “You’re my patient here, so none of that, okay? Now, I have a few tests for you, so please...”

The rest of the day is quite tedious. After Manuela’s examination he was deemed healthy enough to not have to stay in bed, but moving around actually hurt a lot, so he was recommended to stay inside his room if possible. Whatever happened to him must have been rough, judging by all the limitations she gives him. He is expected to visit the infirmary twice a day for a bit of healing, in order to make his body recover faster.

“Although, you’ll still need natural rest, so no funny business, ‘mkay?” Manuela warns him.

Being trapped inside his room means that there is nowhere to hide when Felix storms into his room (and almost breaks the door down) to yell at him for being so reckless and almost getting himself killed and yadda, yadda, all that was expected from him.

“So don’t fucking do that again, okay?” That’s how he ends the whole speech.

“Okay.” Sylvain almost feels forced to say that. “I mean, no promises, because in battle isn’t really on me whether I die or not, but...”

“If you’re going to die, then die, but don’t worry people like this.”

“Oh? Does that mean you were worried about me?” After all the shouting, he decides he also has the right to take a jab at Felix. That makes the other boy's face turn suddenly red.

“Wha-!? I...! Well, whatever. Yes. Yes, I was worried. Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all. You know, you’re almost cute like this, Felix.”

“Go to hell.”

That’s the most... caring interaction he’s going to get from Felix, so he’s taking it.

He gets more visits throughout the day. Mercedes, Annette and Ashe come by to leave him a care package consistent of home-made cookies, a way-too-many bunch of books to keep himself entertained and a black, crunchy, foul-looking thing in a plate that after some time passes Ashe comes by to collect again with a sad expression on his face and the promise of actual food at some point.

Dimitri comes by in the afternoon, accompanied by Dedue (of course, duh), who brings him some bright-red flowers to decorate his room with. Not that Sylvain is very fond of flowers, but he appreciates the gesture. Dimitri sits by his bed and talks to him for a while, recounting what happened after the liberation of Fhirdiad.

“I can’t believe I skipped your pseudo-coronation.” Sylvain says, with a frown.

“Well, it wasn’t that impressive. We’ll have the real one after the war... I hope you’ll be able to accompany me on that one, Sylvain.” The smile Dimitri offers to him is so radiant and sincere... Sylvain suddenly realises how much he had missed Dimitri during the last five years.

“It’ll be my honour, Your Highness.”

They chat a bit more, until Dedue informs the Prince that they have some kind of appointment to discuss the movement of troops and they have to get going. That piques Sylvain’s attention, especially recalling what he has been told about the next move their army has to make.

“So, we’re going to Derdriu next?” He asks, as innocently as possible, as if that would make his very obvious injury behind his yet-more-obvious wrapped torso disappear.

“I... well, that is our plan...” Dimitri seems doubtful. “I don’t know if you’ll be in condition to go, Sylvain. Just the trip might already be a bit too much for your body as it is right now, but...”

“Ah, don’t worry! I’ll recover in time, you’ll see!” He winks, this time being conscious of the gesture! His winking tic remains tamed as for now.

“We’ll have to see.” Sylvain feels like a little kid being promised cookies if he eats all his veggies... Which, by the way, where are they, because he was promised food a long time ago and he is starving... “Tough, you’ll probably have to discuss it with the Professor.”

The Professor, huh.

Maybe on purpose, maybe not, he hasn’t been thinking about the man up to this point. He feels a bit... Embarrassed, thinking about what he told him in what he thought were his last moments. Though, Byleth had said some embarrassing things himself.

“Don’t die. Please. Please, don’t die. ”

The last words he had heard from him. He really wanted Sylvain to live, huh? He can’t feel but wonder if his body somehow resisted death just because Byleth had told him to. 

Anyways. Very embarrassing on Byleth’s part, begging someone not to die like that... Definitely embarrassing, yeah. No wonder he still hasn’t shown up to visit him. Not that Sylvain is waiting for him to come, or anything.

“Speaking of the Professor, he said he wanted to come visit, but Seteth required him so he hasn’t been able to...” Dimitri speaks those words as if he had just read Sylvain’s mind. “He was really worried about you, you know?”

“Huh. Well, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for the time being, so he knows where to find me.”

With that, Sylvain is left alone once again. He stays in bed for a bit, just staring at the ceiling. When he gets bored enough he tries to get up, but finds that doing that on his own is actually much harder than he thought. The pain on his torso is constant, yet he can more or less ignore it, but any time his muscles try to make an effort his body punishes him for it, as if urging him to stay in bed. Even with that he still manages to get up, even if it’s only to move around for a bit and stretch his legs.

He gives the Lance of Ruin a look. It’s propped against the side of his wardrobe, twitching and being creepy as always. Someone must have carried it there in his stead, which makes him feel a bit of unease, remembering what happened to Miklan.

“Well, as long as they don’t try to use it in combat, it should be good, right? ”, he tries to tell himself, as he approaches the relic.

“Hey.” He says, grabbing the thing as he sits on his desk’s chair. “I’m alive, huh. I guess there is no ruin for me, at least this time. But seriously, an arrow almost did me in... You might think I’m stupid, throwing myself in front of an arrow like that. Well. I am. But we can’t let our beloved Professor get killed, now, can we?”

The Lance’s silent response is just its smaller blades moving with snapping sounds. It reminds Sylvain of the legs of some kind of bug. He remembers Miklan finding a stray beetle that somehow managed to get inside their house when Sylvain was still a kid. He caught the beetle and tortured it for a bit, watching its legs squirm in a similar way as the Lance does, before chucking it inside Sylvain’s clothes. Or did he make him eat it? He can’t remember in this particular instance. Either way, Sylvain fucking hates bugs and Ingrid always made fun of him for it.

What was he talking about? Oh, yeah.

“Let’s be more careful next time.” He gets up to leave the Lance in its place again, almost petting it as he does so. “I don’t want to make everybody worry for me again.”

He takes a look at the intimidating tower of books that Ashe left him with and eyes the titles. Of course, most of them are chivalry novels, but there are some other ones that seem to be magic theory and the such, which he suspects are Annette’s contribution to the reading list. Rolling his eyes, he just chooses one at random and goes back to bed. We idly wonders what happened to that one novel Bernadetta was writing. Did she ever finish it? He almost doesn’t remember the plot, but he would’ve loved to read the complete work.

He entertains himself with the reading, as much as he can. The book isn’t bad, but he isn’t much in a reading mood, so it becomes more of a drag that he wants to, and soon he finds himself bored of the book, his eyelids feeling heavy as his body tries to get him to sleep instead of reading. The written lines blur with each other and he swears he has just read the same paragraph like, three times in a row...

Then something hits him, the smell of food. His body wakes up instantly and his stomach gives him a pang of pain, upset for the lack of food up to this point. He looks at his room’s door expectantly, almost desperate for actual food (Mercedes’ cookies were nice, but... not that much filling), and then he feels silly and his face grows red when he realises just how dumb getting that excited for the smell of food is. “ I feel just like Indrid. ”, he thinks, remembering any time the girl’s face lit up at the mention of food.

A knock on the door. Aha! So the food was for him! He gets up from bed, again with a painful stretch of his muscles, and goes to open the door, having his best smile prepared and a thank you ready at the tip of his tongue...

Only for both of them to drop to the ground, along with his heart, when he sees Byleth at the other side.

Byleth looks at him almost as surprised as he is, as if he wasn’t expecting to find Sylvain in his own room. He carries a cart that Sylvain has seen in the dining hall some time for transporting food, and sure enough there is a whole meal in there, and Sylvain can’t see what it is because it’s covered but it smells amazing.

How the hell did he carry that up the stairs.

Back to Byleth. Sylvain knew that he was going to show up at some point, but for some reason he doesn’t feel ready to meet him now . Not that he has a choice, anyway, because it has already happened.

“Sylvain.” It’s Byleth the one who speaks first, after a maybe too long pause between them. “It’s good to see you’re awake. Dedue informed me you still haven’t had anything to eat, so I... Is it okay if I come in? I still have to have dinner myself so I also bought my own meal... I-if that’s okay.”

There is no escaping from his invitations to eat, is it?

“Yes, of course!” He finally snaps out of his initial surprise to get out of the way. “Please, come inside. Man, I’m starving...”

There isn’t that much space for the two of them to eat, but they manage to make an arrangement for it. Sylvain ends up back in his bed, a pillow behind his back so that he can keep propped up and eat that way, and he feels absolutely disgusting eating on his own bed, but there is not that much that he can do about it, because Byleth insists that he stays that way.

“Wouldn’t that be better for your wound?” Byleth asks, after Sylvain’s initial complaints.

“I guess... It’s just... I don’t want food to get everywhere.” If the dorms get an ant problem because of this... “Anyways. What’s on the menu?”

Each of them gets a delicious portion of Garreg Mach’s famous meat pie, and Sylvain enjoys it greatly. He’s not sure that’s the best food to help him recover, but he’s not protesting. The meat is wonderfully cooked and the flavours fill his mouth, the crust crunches satisfactory with each bite and, well, he somehow manages to make not that much of a mess even with the added difficulty of the pie’s stuffing trying to get everywhere.

“You really have everyone’s favourites memorised, huh.” He says at some point, when he grows tired of eating in silence.

“Well. It’s also one of my favourites, too.” Byleth sounds almost shy admitting it, and that forces Sylvain to stifle a laugh.

He does seem to enjoy the food, too, but his attention is mostly on Sylvain, making sure he’s not uncomfortable and that he has no trouble eating, offering a glass of water when needed and being very conscious of any spillage that could potentially ruin Sylvain’s bedsheets. He even peels and slices an apple for Sylvain to have for dessert, and the redhead finds the gesture oddly considerate.

“Thank you.” He accepts a smaller plate with the sliced pieces of fruit. They are a bit uneven, but it’ll do. “You know, even if I’m bedridden I still can move, so there’s no need for something like this...”

“Ah, sorry.” Byleth frowns slightly. “I... Sorry.”

There is an awkward stretch of silence for a while. The most noticeable noise is Sylvain munching on the apple, which he gets conscious about after a while. Byleth’s bright green eyes are fixated on him in a way that makes him slightly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t dare to say anything about it.

“Is it okay if I stay for a bit longer?” Byleth asks, as the apple’s consumption comes to an end. “I... wanted to talk to you for a bit. But I understand if you’d like to be left alone.”

Sylvain thinks a bit about it. Most of the day he has been on his own and he is pretty bored of that, but Byleth is company doesn’t exactly mean a good time. He also has a feeling that whatever the other man wants to talk about is probably going to be an uncomfortable topic for him.

“You know what. ”, he tells himself. “ Better to get this over with. ”

“Feel free to stay.” He finally says, as he lets himself sink into the pillow behind him. “What do you want to talk about?”

For a second, Byleth hesitates. He looks down at his hands, for once not gloved as to eat better, then back at Sylvain. As Sylvain follows his gaze, he briefly thinks of those same hands holding his body as he was dying on the battlefield not so long ago.

“I’m... sorry about what happened in Fhirdiad.” He speaks in a softer voice than usual. Almost a whisper, yet Sylvain hears it clearly. “You got yourself hurt on my stead. It’s my responsibility to make sure that none of you get hurt and I... I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you.”

Sylvain feels bad. He feels like he has let down his Professor, somehow. And yet, there is still a pinch of anger, that part of him that is so annoyed with the guy.

“Hey. We’re in the middle of a war. You can’t seriously hope that nobody will get hurt.” He tries to sound as calm as possible, but a bit of his irritation slips onto his voice, and he despises that. Why is it so difficult to maintain his carefree appearance with this guy. “It’s a miracle that none of us have gotten seriously hurt up to this point, you know?”

And it’s thanks to you, because you’re so damn good at everything that you do.

“And yet, this time, I...” Sylvain thinks he sees pain flashing on the other’s green eyes for a second. “I was careless. And almost lost something precious because of it.”

Something precious.

“Are you referring to me?” The question escapes his lips before he can think about it.

Byleth sits stunned for a second, as if the conversation just took a turn he was not expecting. He takes a second to think, before nodding.

“Yes. You... your life. I wouldn’t want you to die, Sylvain. Not any of you, of course. But you...” He seems on the verge of saying something, but at the last moment he backtracks. “You are always the first one to jump in between an enemy and a friend. Is not that you’re carless, on the contrary. You’re always at the ready to get hurt, if needed. To me it seems, almost... Not like you want to die, but that you really don’t care if you do. It makes me worry about you, because then... Things like this happen. And this time we managed to bring you back at the last moment, but if... If you had died, Sylvain, I would never forgive myself for letting you throw away your life like that.”

“Throw away? ” The thought angers him. “ He thinks I’m throwing away my life? ”

“Well, I wasn’t throwing it away .” He says, and this time his anger is much more palpable. “I was trying to protect you . Because you also aren’t invincible, you know? Yes, you’re great at everything and a genius in combat and the second coming of the Goddess or whatever, but you bleed like the rest of us and can get killed like the rest of us. And you are the one that is making any of this even possible. Before you came back, this was a lost war, and now we’re liberating cities and taking fortresses like it’s nothing! So, whatever. If me dying means you get to keep helping our cause to win this war, so be it. And the same goes for everyone else. I... also don’t want anyone to die, dammit! And I can’t be as great as you are, so I just do what I can. If that means take an arrow to the chest, so be it. I don’t care.”

As he talks, he gets progressively more angry. When he finishes he feels a pang of pain, he finds himself short of breath. The damn wound is burning like crazy. Maybe he got a bit too excited. Is not that his mask has slipped, is more like he has thrown it to the floor and it has broken forever.

“Well, I care.”

Sylvain wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting, but it wasn’t that . His anger quickly dissipates, and he now looks at Byleth with both surprise and fear. He feels vulnerable , for a second.

“I care about what happens to you, and I care about your life.” He continues. “And so does everyone else, in the same way you care for them, believe it or not. So I don’t want to see you bleeding to death. And I’ll continue to do the best to ensure that doesn’t happen. I want you to live. That’s why I can’t let you throw yourself in front of any attack as if nothing matters.”

“Well...!” He tries to respond, but finds himself out of words. Instead, he just looks at Byleth with an expression of disbelief. “Why would you care that much?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“I for one would love to know it. Why would you care for someone like me? I’m an undependable man, I act like a jerk with most women, I’m not even that good at combat... The only thing useful about me is that I have this damn crest that allows me to use the magical lance that killed my brother.”

“Why must you devalue yourself so?” For a second, Sylvain feels bad about how heartbroken Byleth sounds. “It’s true that you might have questionable..  conducts, but  that isn’t everything there is about you. I think you’re a great man with a great mind, as much as you try to sabotage yourself to make it seem otherwise. You are by no means bad at combat, you’ve saved all of us innumerable times, with or without the Lance of Ruin. And you... With your friends you are always so kind, and loyal. You won’t leave anyone behind. You care for them as much as I care about you, and that is something that I lo... I appreciate about you. I do not need a reason to care, but I do just because... of who you are. Even if you don't let me see your true self that easily, I can still catch glances at it from time to time. And I... really like the person I see then.”

Sylvain is broken, destroyed. The sincerity of Byleth’s words hits him worse than a million Dark Spikes Τ. He grasps his bedsheets on his fists with such force he fears he might tear them.

Who is this guy. How does he dare. To say such kind things about Sylvain.

It makes him wish that all of it was true. That he really cares about him, about his life. That there is someone who really wants him alive. That his life has meaning because of it. Not just to propague his family’s Crest. Not just to die in combat fighting for his country. He so desperately wants to be a man deserving of such kind words and care.

He feels himself on the verge of crying. His eyes itch with tears and his throat closes. Deep breaths, he takes, trying to steady himself, trying to retain the bare minimum of appearances that he can, even if he feels like it’s useless at this point.

“I’m sorry.” After a while he hears the voice of Byleth, who sighs. “That... maybe that was too much.”

“It’s just... I...” Gah, his voice sounds so pathetic, trembling like that. “Just give me a minute, please.”

It’s not a minute that passes, but a few of them, before Sylvain can collect himself and, when he feels like he has contained the tears, lifts his head to look at Byleth again. He is looking at him with an almost sad expression on his face, and now Sylvain feels bad for making the other one feel bad about his crying and... Ugh. He just can’t win with this guy.

“Sorry.” He finally says. “Forcing you to say those things about me and then break down like that...”

“No, I’m the one that should be sorry.” Why, why, WHY are YOU apologising!? “I... that must have been uncomfortable for you. Would you like a handkerchief?”

This time, Sylvain doesn’t have any of those on his person, so he just sighs.

“Yeah...” He accepts the one that Byleth extends to him, quickly drying his face with it. The cloth smells... Surprisingly nice, given who its owner is. “Thanks. You really, really are a caring guy, huh?”

“I guess I never noticed if I’m one or not.” He thinks for a second. “I never had that much in my life to care about. My father. My job as a mercenary. But after coming here and meeting all of you guys, I...” His eyes flicker for a second. “I really want to make a future in which all of you can be happy. That includes you, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, yeah...” He feels bad when he uses the handkerchief to clean his nose. Ugh... He’d make sure that he cleans it well.

“Even if you hate me.”

That makes Sylvain freeze, both hands on the cloth on his nose, and look at Byleth with widened eyes. There is the most barely trace of a self-deprecating smile on the other man’s lips.

“You told me yourself on Fhirdiad.”

Did he? Sylvain tries to remember their last conversation there. He was most likely delirious because of the loss of blood, so who knows. He finally recalls, after a bit of thinking, and he feels a bit of guilt.

“That... Isn’t what I said, exactly.” He answers after a pause. “I said that I tried to hate you. And that it was impossible in the end. So I... don’t really hate you.” And the admission hits him harder than it hits Byleth. “You were just so... Agh, so perfect. It seemed like you had it all, and I was jealous of you. So for the longest time I tried to... I don’t know, I made this image of you in my mind and I antagonised it. But I know better now, I think.”

“Then you don’t... hate me?”

He sounds almost like a little kid, full of shyness and innocence, and maybe a bit of hope. Sylvain feels a shoot of pain go through his heart. Damned invisible emotional Dark Spikes Τ.

“I do not. And I mean that, truly.”

“I see.” The expression on Byleth’s face turns to a sheepish smile. “Well I, myself... Ah...” He hesitates for a second. “Sorry, forget that.”

“I’m hoping the no-hatred is mutual?”

“Of course!” He quickly nods. “To be honest, I always thought there was something a little... Off, with our interactions. But I, as you might have realised, am not very good at... Being social.”

No shit.

“Despite that, I’ve always wanted to get closer to you.” Byleth continues. “I’m... Sorry if I didn’t act correctly, with you.”

“No...” Sylvain sighs, taking one hand to scratch at his neck. “I was the asshole, so don’t worry about it. Would it surprise you, I’m also not very good at “being social”. Excluding flirting, I guess. But that is another problem on its own.”

“I’m also not good with flirting, as it would seem.”

“Is that so? Girls always have a good impression of you, and you have a nice face, so...” What is he saying. He clears his throat and decides to ignore the intense stare Byleth is giving him, whatever it means. “Back to topic. I... I think I understand now, so I’ll be more careful from now on, okay? I still won’t let anyone die if I can help it, but I’ll try to think before I act, and all of that. Is that okay?”

“It’s a start.” Feeling like the conversation is coming to an end, Byleth gets up from the chair he had positioned next to Sylvain’s bed. “I’ll leave you to rest now. We’ll probably have more opportunities to talk in the future, if you’d like so...”

“Of course.” Sylvain nods. As Byleth starts picking up everything in order to get ready to exit the room, a thought crosses his mind. “Hey, um, one thing... Since we’re being so... Open with each other and all that.”

“Yes?”

“I hate calling you “Professor”. Is it okay if I use your name?”

That surprises Byleth, who looks at him with a look of pure perplexity, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from Sylvain. He takes a second to pick himself up.

“Of course.” He ends up saying. “I’ve grown accustomed to the title, but... I guess I’m not really a professor anymore.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Sylvain actually feels relieved with that. “So, er... Thanks for the food and the talk, um... Byleth.”

The name sounds so weird coming out of his mouth, for some reason. As if it were a forbidden word.

And yet, it also feels just right.

“It’s nothing, Sylvain.” The ex-Professor smiles slightly as he turns towards the door. As he is about to exit, however, he turns towards Sylvain. “Oh, one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“You owe me a tea party.”

A few seconds of stunned silence.

“You promised, remember? Back in Fhirdiad. It was your idea.”

I didn’t promise shit. I was bleeding to death. I just wanted you to leave me to die and go.

Instead of saying any of that, Sylvain just sighs so deeply his chest hurts.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll have a tea party. I owe it to you.”

That response seems to satisfy Byleth, judging by his smile.

~*~*~

Sylvain’s recovery is slow, but steady. Following Manuela’s instructions and trying to keep movement to a minimum for a bit, he is soon able to get up and go on walks, which helps his state of mind immensely. Fresh air! The sun on his skin! Stray cats hissing at him from every corner of the monastery! He had missed them. How could Bernardetta spend so much time in her room without losing her mind.

The short walks end up becoming freedom of movement in no time, which means he can go anywhere on the monastery as long as he doesn’t try to start doing push-ups along the way (which he wouldn’t because he isn’t mental in that way). That also means that he is greenlighted to start attending the war councils again, and just in time to get to the part where everyone was about to get going to Derdriu without him .

“C’mon that isn’t fair!” He protests, standing up on his chair and slamming the table with both hands, which makes Seteth shoot him a glare as his inkpot spills a bit on the council’s minute he is writing.

“Please don’t pay it with the table.” Asks Flayn, also upset on behalf of her brother.

“You are in no condition to fight, Sylvain.” Dimitri reminds him. “Don’t try to convince us. Professor Manuela has been very clear about it, and you still have a few weeks of rest before you can get back to combat.”

“But...! What am I going to do here, just, watch the hours pass and fish in the pond as you all are fighting the Empire to the death on the other side of the continent!?”

“I’m sure the Gatekeeper will appreciate the company.” Mocks Felix, who will eat his own leg before admitting that he doesn’t want Sylvain anywhere near a battlefield out of worry for the guy.

“Just know that if I get left behind, he’ll have plenty of things to report the moment you guys come back.” Sylvain frowns. “I’m climbing the walls and following you the second you step out of the monastery.”

“Sylvain, please understand that this is a decision made out of worry for your person.” Gilbert talks with that solemn tone he always does, and Sylvain can’t help but feel like he’s being scolded. “Having you on the battlefield would be a distraction for some of us, and that might put other people in danger, not only yourself. We’re not doing this to exclude you, but to keep you safe and to ensure everyone can keep peace of mind knowing you’re in a safe place.”

“Still, I...”

He knows it seems like he’s throwing a tantrum, but he can’t help it. Staying in the monastery while everyone else goes to do battle might kill him. Not knowing what is happening, who is in danger, who is okay... And what if something happens and he is not there to help, to protect.

As he tries to find any other argument that might help him win what he knows is a lost battle, his eyes meet Byleth’s from the other side of the table. The green-haired man hasn’t been specially talkative this meeting (even less than usual, which is to say, he has barely talked at all), and Sylvain then realises that he might be the only chance he can get of making it to this battle.

So, mustering all the experience he got from years of being a scumbag to women... He shoots Byleth the most pathetic, dishonourable, pleading look that he can.

Byleth’s face changes all of a sudden, the blank expression he was holding melting away in a second, and he looks both surprised and almost pained, as if Sylvain had just hit him with some kind of spell. Sylvain tilts his head to the side, just barely, as if asking, “ Please? ”

“W-Well, uhm, m-maybe...” Byleth starts talking, his gaze now avoiding Sylvain. “We could bring him to Derdriu. Not to battle. But he should be able to make the trip with us.”

“Professor!” Dimitri seems personally offended by Byleth’s words. “You can’t be serious.”

“He’ll be just coming with us to the city. If somehow his health improves enough to make him able to join us in battle, I won’t refuse to have him. But there shouldn’t be any harm in allowing him to come with us. I think all of us understand how he is feeling, and we should commend his desire to help, but not his recklessness. All in all,” He clears his throat for a second. “he should accompany us, as long as he keeps his health as a priority and doesn’t expose himself to any unnecessary danger.”

He looks back at Sylvain again, just a quick glance, so he is able to see Sylvain’s bright smile forming on his lips.

“Thank you, Byleth.”

The last word drops like a bomb on the table. Shocked expressions all around, as no one has ever really used the Professor’s name, maybe out of habit, maybe out of respect. In any case, that’s something that causes perhaps more of an impression that it should, and Sylvain feels self-conscious about it as he sits back on his chair, his plea already over.

On the chair next to him, Ingrid stares daggers onto his back as the rest of the table (mostly, Dimitri and Seteth) tries to counter-argument Byleth, already knowing that once the man has made his stance on something, that becomes the plan.

“So, two things.” She says, as Sylvain turns to her. “One, since when are you on a first name basis with the Professor?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “I’ve always found it weird we keep calling him that. He is not our professor anymore, after all.”

“Fair, I guess. Number two:” And her eyes show the most genuine curiosity. “I can’t believe the puppy eyes worked.”

“What?” Sylvain scratches the side of his neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just gave him the most puppy eyes you have ever given someone. And it worked! Honestly, I’m almost a bit impressed. I thought that trick of yours didn’t work on anyone anymore. And to think the Professor fell for it...”

Sylvain decides to not pay attention to Ingrid’s mumbling, mostly because he’ll feel bad about it if he thinks too much about it, and instead keeps himself entertained seeing how Dimitri slowly turns to Byleth’s side on the argument and Seteth is left alone sighing and throwing death glares towards Sylvain’s direction. He has the impression Seteth never liked him that much, for some reason (called Flayn).

In any case, he gets permission to accompany the army to Derdriu, although it’s made clear to him that he won’t be participating in any battles in his current condition. He hopes he’ll be able to change Byleth’s mind about that as they approach Riegan territory, but as their forces are getting ready to breach into Derdriu to help Claude and the Alliance’s forces, Byleth makes it crystal clear:

“I’ve put my confidence in you by allowing you to come with us with the premise that you’ll keep yourself safe. If you so even try to get a foot outside our camp, not only will my trust in you be broken, but also any possibility you’ll have to join the front lines under my command ever again. Am I understood?”

His tone of voice is firm enough to make Sylvain reconsider pulling any stunt, so he just exhales with defeat, his shoulders dropping a bit as he does so.

“Yes, yes.” He says. “I just... Don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“It might surprise you that the reason you’re not allowed on the battlefield is that no one wants you to get hurt either, myself included.”

Something hurts on Sylvain’s chest as he feels almost forced to admit to himself that, yeah, his friends do care for him and don’t want to see him hurt. His time recovering from his injuries has made that obvious. They care. They want to see him alive and healthy. He matters to them, even if that seems unbelievable to him.

And Byleth cares too. That much has made itself clear to Sylvain, and it’s Byleth’s care the one that hurts the most for some reason, and yet there is a part of him... That is so happy about it..

“I’ll be a good boy.” He finally says. “And I’ll be ready with any healing spells that might be necessary. Making those white magic lessons worth it, y’know?”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Byleth smiles, and Sylvain feels a bit proud about it. “Well then, I’ll see you after the battle.”

“See y-”

“Keep here being a good boy .”

Sylvain is cut short by Byleth’s answer, who quickly turns around and goes to join the rest of his army. All alone, Sylvain’s jaw hangs open for a while. What in the- It is one thing if he calls himself “good boy” in a mocking way, but if another person says it... Especially Byleth... Well, it must be one of his weird jokes. He seems to have a very strange sense of humour, that one.

“Whatever ”, Sylvain thinks, as he watches the army march towards the not so far city of Deidru.

After several hours of combat, a messenger comes by to tell the camp that the city has been retaken and the battle won. As the camp explodes with cheering and shouting, Sylvain gets on his horse and makes his way towards the city as quick as possible, ready to join his friends, provide any healing support that might be necessary and make sure that nobody is dead, “ Please please, please nobody die, please ”, he prays to the Goddess.

Lucky him. No one in their class died, Mercedes explains to him as he joins her group of healers, and after he gets that reassurance, he gets to work in helping whoever he can.

His healing magic isn’t especially strong, and he knows that he still has a lot to learn about that, but he had been studying it with Byleth’s help after he received permission to come to Derdriu so he could be useful after battle, so he applies himself to it with all his might. He is only able to heal mostly superficial injuries, helping here and there to alleviate the workload of more experienced healers, and he is doing just that when a high-pitched familiar voice comes from behind him.

“No way! Could it be... Heeey, Sylvaiiiiiin!”

He turns in time to see none other than Hilda running in his direction. Seeing the girl puts a smile on his face immediately, as she is, as always, a sight for sore eyes.

His eyes drop to her chest as she approaches. He mentally slaps himself and corrects his line of sight to the girl’s face as she reaches him and gives him a big hug. That’s a tight hug. She has... grown...

“Ooooh, I’m so glad to see you! I didn’t see you in battle with Dimitri and the rest, so I feared the worst! Where were you?”

“I’m... recovering from a wound, so I wasn’t allowed in battle.” He feels a bit silly saying that, especially to the Queen of Faking Injuries to Avoid Battle. “So, you were also defending the city?”

“Yeah... It should’ve been Holst, but he’s busy dealing with the border. You know how it is.” Sylvain has the feeling that the dynamic of the Almyran border is very different from the one his family has with Sreng’s, but he decides against pointing it out.

“Anyways, it’s good to see you. I’d say that you look just as great as always, but I’d be lying. You’re even more beautiful now!” He winks. Shit. Fuck. His winking habit is coming back.

“Awww, aren’t you sweet?”

They chat for a bit. Hilda seems genuinely glad about their reunion, although Sylvain is pretty sure they were never that close. Apart from a bit of flirting back in their academy days, they didn’t really interact that much (and even then, any flirting was mostly playing on both parts, as they both knew that the other’s intentions were never sincere). He suspects that Hilda is probably needed somewhere else and she’s just avoiding responsibilities by talking to him.

In any case, he is glad to talk to her for a bit. That is, until Byleth appears out of nowhere, startling Sylvain when he talks from behind him.

“Ah, Sylvain, you’re here.” He says.

“Ah, uh, yeah.“ Sylvain moves a bit and turns towards Byleth, feeling a bit nervous, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. “I came once the battle was over. I’m just... catching up with Hilda.”

“Hello, Professor!” The girl speaks with a big smile. “Have you finished talking with Claude?”

“We only had time to greet each other. There are things that need to be taken care of on both sides... We’ll have our talk once everything is settled. And I believe you’ll also need to be present.”

“Meeee? But I have nothing to contribute to your complicated conversations...” Instead of responding, Byleth just silently stares at Hilda for a while, until she sighs. “Ugh. Fine, fine. I’ll join in. Just let me catch my breath, yeah? Sylvain here was telling me about how he is helping the troops with the healing process.”

“That’s right!” Although Hilda has been distracting him for a while, so he hasn’t had that much healing done. “I... hey, are you hurt by any chance? I kinda want to show you how my white magic is doing.” Just so you think I haven’t been slacking off.

“I...” The other man hesitates for a bit. He doesn’t look especially hurt. “Sure. I haven’t had any serious injuries, but...”

Before he can finish his sentence, Sylvain finds a wound on his arm, where someone had managed to cut his clothes, and puts his hand over it to cast an easy healing spell. He feels the magic flowing, its warm, comforting feeling, and lets it pour over the wound and the rest of Byleth’s body, wherever he needs it.

It feels good. Once the magic recedes, there is a second where he feels short of breath and almost a little dizzy. Whoa, that’s new. Perhaps he has done more healing than he thought, or maybe he put more effort on healing Byleth that he should have... He did kind of want to impress him, after all.

“How was it?” Sylvain asks, quickly disregarding his dizziness and doing his best to hide it from Byleth. If the other notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I feel better. Well done...” The pride blooms in Sylvain’s chest, again. Then, something flashes in Byleth’s eyes, and Sylvain suddenly notices a hand on top of his head, petting his hair. “ Good boy .”

This time, the words hit him so much harder. They made his heart explode in a frantic beating for a second, his face goes red and a shiver shakes his whole body.

“Oh, my.” Hilda murmurs, putting a hand over her mouth, but none of the other two really hear her words.

“T-that’s...” Sylvain manages to talk, somehow despite the embarrassment. “H-hey, please don’t call me that, okay?”

“Oh? Sorry, I thought you’d like it.” In Byleth’s lips there is almost a smile, and Sylvain kind of wants to wipe it out, but doesn’t know how. “Does it bother you?”

“It sounds a bit condescending.” He says, although that is not exactly it . “Besides, it’s embarrassing. I’m not a dog. Or a child.”

“I see. I won’t do it anymore, then.” And Sylvain feels somehow conflicted about that, but mostly relieved. “My apologies. It was just a bit of teasing.”

Since when do you “tease” people.

“Well, no more of that.” Sylvain clears his throat and tries to regain any dignity. He then remembers Hilda is still present, her eyes wide open as they go from one man to the other, and a barely contained smile behind a hand that does nothing to cover it.

“As you wish.” Byleth nods. “There are some more things I need to take care of, so I’ll see you both later, I hope.”

“Of course.” When Hilda talks, the smile can be heard in her voice. “See you later, Professor.”

“Yeah, uh, see you, Byleth.”

Once again, that word drops like a bomb, at least for Hilda. The Professor seems much more casual about the use of his first name, as he just nods and goes away, but Hilda has to contain a gasp as she hears it. There are a few beats of silence before she excitedly turns to Sylvain.

“So,”

“Oh, please, don’t.” He tries to hide his face with both his hands, but Hilda still can see the tips of his ears reddening. “Please.”

“Okay, okay.” She laughs a bit, feeling pity for the obviously embarrassed guy in front of her. “But let me enjoy this a bit. So, “Byleth”, eh?”

“It’s just weird calling him Professor!” “Sylvain almost shouts the words, coming out of his hiding spot behind his hands. “And how come you call him that? You weren’t even in his class!”

“To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure of what his name was.” Fair point. “Mostly because everyone calls him “Professor”, but, yeah. I mean, you two seem... close, so I guess it’s not weird if you call him by name, huh?”

“I don’t know about that “close” thing...” Sure, lately they have been getting along, but they are not besties or anything like that.

“Now, now, Sylvain.” She winks at him. “There are no secrets between beautiful people, so no need to be coy with me, huh? It’s okay. I know things in Fearghus aren’t as open as in other places, but...”

“And... what do you mean by that?”

“Well, of course, I’m telling you that... Oh. Ooooh, wait.” Her face changes, smile dropping to a perplexed expression. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“What are you talking about...?” Sylvain is completely lost now.

“Nothing, nothing... Don’t mind me.” She seems pensive for a second. “Hey, do you know, there were a lot of rumours about you floating around the monastery back in the day.”

“Believe me, I know.” He sighs. He doesn’t really get what this conversation is about.

“But there is one of them... That now I see it’s true.”

Sylvain just waits, a confused expression on his face. Hilda’s smile returns, this time just as mischievous as it is playful.

“You really need glasses, Sylvain, because you’re totally blind!”

~*~*~

People are still confused about the whole “The Alliance is dissolving” thing when they get back at Garreg Mach, but, honestly, there are more important things to focus on for the moment.

The war seems to be reaching its end, finally.

... Hopefully.

As the Empire gets pushed back into its old borders and great plans of marching towards Enbarr to finish this once and for all are made, the atmosphere at the monastery is... Lighter, somehow.

Perhaps because after helping Derdriu and getting the old Alliance’s help meant more rations and happier people, maybe because the end of the war being finally at sight lifts people’s spirits, or maybe all it is just the calm before the storm.

In any case, things around the monastery are better. Sylvain’s injuries heal, finally , which means he is ready for combat and he tries to make up for lost time by training with Felix.

“Seeing you getting serious about training creeps me out.” He says, and Sylvain can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Isn’t it a good thing, though?”

“I guess.”

Felix wipes the floor with him but, hey, at least he is getting his training in. He also keeps up with his magic studies, and includes some white magic on his course, seeing as how it was useful to have in Derdriu. A lanced knight that uses magic on the side doesn’t seem to be that usual on the battlefield, so he feels proud of himself being able to do both things.

It calls for a celebration, he thinks at some point after for once on his life seeing his hard work give results, and so he clears his schedule, asks Mercedes to teach him a bit of cooking in order to make some cookies and then spends a good part of an evening looking for the perfect tea blend before making his way towards Byleth’s quarters.

“Hello?” He greets, after knocking on the door. “It’s me, Sylvain. If you’re not too busy... Is it okay if I have a bit of your time?”

There are a few moments of silence, and for a second Sylvain fears that Byleth might not even be in his room at the moment, until the door opens to a surprised-looking Byleth.

Sylvain gets surprised, too, when he realises the other is wearing casual clothing... Or maybe even, his sleepwear! His hair seems a bit tousled, strands of green poking here and there, and on his facial expression Sylvain does catch a bit of drowsiness... So maybe he was sleeping. He would feel terrible if that were the case.

“Were you sleeping?” He asks, after a few seconds of Byleth not saying anything at all.

“Hm?” The other man blinks a few times, until the question registers. “Ah. No, it’s okay. Is there anything you need? How can I help you?”

“Ah, no, well...” He suddenly feels silly, his confidence merming by the minute. “I was just hoping to have that tea party I owe you...”

“Oh.” Byleth’s face lights up at that. “Oh!” As he repeats the sound, he takes a look towards the inside of his room. “Yes, of course, ah, just, give me a-”

“W-we can also go to my room, or...”

“No, no, just a second...”

And so Sylvain finds himself in Byleth’s room, heating up the teapot with a bit of magic as the other man tries to clear a table so that the two of them can have their tea.

He can’t help but look around the room, thinking that it is his first time there, and suddenly feeling self-conscious about it. It isn’t the most organised space... Almost every surface available is full of books and papers, a big map of Fódlan full of markings rests on the wall, and the room smells of fresh ink, as if Byleth might’ve been writing not so long ago. There is no decoration at all, and the bed is... Ugh, is a mess. Byleth tried to hide it by stretching the sheets a little, but Sylvain can tell from its state that making the bed hasn’t been a priority on Byleth’s list of chores in a long time. It also makes him think that the man was probably napping when he knocked.

Part of him wants to apologise, excuse himself and let the poor man sleep (he probably is sleep deprived and exhausted, with everything that has been happening in the past few months), but he is also probably in too deep already to do that.

As the aroma of tea hits his nostrils, he realises there is no way for him to retreat now, so he accepts the seat Byleth offers him and he seats, at least enjoying the rare sigh of the so-esteemed Professor on his casual clothes. A loose grey-ish shirt that shows an indecorous amount of cleavage and some pants that might be a size or two too small for him, judging by the cut of the legs.

Showing not only his clavicles but also his ankles... Shameless! Scandalous! Someone call Seteth, this is a violation of the Church’s values and morals!

He stifles a laugh, and that makes Byleth give him an inquisitive look, but he doesn’t ask about it, instead focusing on the tea and pastries.

“Are these from Mercedes?” He asks, after tasting a cookie.

“I actually made them myself!” He is so proud about it, and his voice makes it obvious. “It is her recipe, though. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow it, but if they taste anything like hers, I’m counting it as a victory.”

“They are really good.” Heck yeah. He’ll have to give his thanks to Mercedes next time he sees her. “I’ve been thinking about it, but you really are the kind of person who can do almost anything...”

“Oh, well,” He starts feeling embarrassed about the compliments. “I guess I’ll do fine if I put in the effort, which is the difficult part. Thankfully, I’ve lately learned how to do that, thanks to a certain Professor.”

“Is that so?” A smile dances in Byleth’s lips, as he takes another bite out of the cookie. “I’m glad, then. But you must’ve also been a great student. Very skilled. Except with a bow... Maybe if you put on some glass-”

“No! Nope! I’m DONE with that joke, seriously!”

Byleth laughs softly, so Sylvain can’t really get mad about it.

They talk for a while, about this and that. Sylvain feels himself enjoying the time greatly, and some pressure on his chest lifts. He wasn’t sure how well he would do being social with Byleth, after the breakdown he had with him in his room, but it feels like his relationship with Byleth has changed since then, and he feels... At peace. It’s a weird sensation he often doesn’t get to feel while he is socialising. Only a select group of people (Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri when he’s not being overly princely) gets him to not be so anxious when talking to them, and he rarely feels relaxed enough during socialisation to... scandalous! Putting his elbows on the table! Does he have no manners!?

Byleth doesn’t seem to give a shit, so Sylvain doesn’t either.

It’s fun. It’s a fun time. Both of them try to avoid talking about the war, about battle and death, hell even about training or any serious or formal topic, instead opting for lighter topics. Byleth goes on a tangent about the monastery’s cats, and Sylvain isn’t really a fan of them but the man talks so passionately about the furballs that he can’t help but be impressed about his cat knowledge.

He does care not just about everyone, but the cats too. Damn. What a guy.

That gets him thinking and his brain decides to take a turn into a familiar territory of his.

“Oh, by the way.” He says, after a sip of tea. “I was meaning to ask, is there anyone you’re interested in, Byleth?”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean the cats?”

“No, sorry.” He smiles slightly, a bit excited for any kind of gossip Byleth can provide him with. “I’m talking about girls. I get that there’s probably not much time for them with everything going on, buuuut... There are a lot of cute girls in our army, right? I remember you telling me once that you weren’t very good at flirting... Perhaps I can be the one to teach you about it, you know? Be the professor for once.” A wink escapes him. Damn it. “How about it? I know I’m terrible to women, but at least my methods work... Perhaps we can use them for a good cause, for once.”

“At least you’re conscious about it...” About his mistreatment of women? Of course, it’s not only conscious, but also intentional. Sylvain has to work on that. Maybe. Some day. After the war. “I... well.” Byleth takes a pause, as if thinking. “Yes, there is someone I’m interested in.”

Jackpot! Sylvain is so excited about this, suddenly. Perhaps because Byleth isn’t obvious at all with his emotions, the thought of him being interested in a girl is something so strange.

“I see, I see...!” Sylvain knows he’s making a big deal about it, but he can’t help it. A big smile appears on his face. “Can’t you tell me who she is? Oh, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course.”

“Hmmm.”

“But a little hint, at least. How is she? What do you like about her?”

“Very pretty.” Byleth takes a sip from his cup, the wait making Sylvain almost start shaking with excitement, like a puppy waiting for his owner to throw a ball. “Has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Aha, aha.” A list of candidates appears on Sylvain’s mind. At the top it’s Dorothea, and he vaguely recalls seeing her flirt with Byleth at some point. But Dorothea... Nah, no way! He can’t see Byleth getting with her. “But it can’t only be that, right? I mean, you don’t seem like the kind of guy to like someone just based on her appearance.”

“Maybe so.” Byleth is smiling slightly, as if he was making some kind of joke that Sylvain has no context to understand. “Aren’t you getting too much into this?”

“Probably.” He nods. “But still. I need to know more...! It’s going to eat me alive, otherwise.”

“Well, what about my privacy?”

“I...”

“Just teasing.”

It seems like Byleth is also having a good time talking about this, although Sylvain still feels like he’s out of the joke, somehow.

“So you won’t tell me who she is?” Sylvain says, leaning back on his chair. Terrible manners, yeah, yeah, who cares.

“I think it’s better if you find out by yourself.” Oh yeah? The game is on.

“Well, then. I might need something more than how beautiful her eyes are.”

“Hmmm.” Byleth thinks about it, for a second.

“At least something like, her favourite food or something like that. Since you seem to know what everyone’s is.”

“You do realise that you were the one telling me to do that, yes?”

“Eh? Sylvian tilts his head. “I told you... what?”

“You don’t remember it.” Byleth lets his cup, mostly empty now, rest on the table. “It was one of the first interactions we had, when I came first to the monastery and was still figuring things out. You told me that the best way to get someone to like you was inviting them to a meal, and advised me to know their favourite food in advance.”

“Huh.” Sylvain tries to remember. He might have said something about that at some point, perhaps.

“I immediately tried to invite you, but you told me it’d be better if I invited a girl instead.”

“Yep. That checks out. Sorry about that, I was... Well, I was a jerk to you back then.”

So, to think Sylvain himself had been the instigator of Byleth getting to know everyone’s culinary preferences... He feels a bit proud about it, and at the same time he feels dumb as rocks for forgetting about it and then teasing Byleth about it on several occasions.

“So, the person I’m interested in rejected me the first time I invited them to a meal.” Byleth continues, ignoring Sylvain’s inner musings.

“Awww.” He feels bad now. Doesn’t seem like good advice if two people rejected him. Something fizzles on the back of Sylvain’s mind, an inkling of an idea that he quickly discards. “I’m guessing she accepted at some point?”

“Hm, yeah. It took a while. They kept denying my tea time invitations, too.”

“Hey, her loss! It’s a great time, I tell you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Someone like that, someone like... Oh! OH, oh, Shamir! Yes, of course! She is stoic and reserved, so she might have rejected Byleth a few times at first, but they seem to be on good terms... Perhaps? Both of them have the expressiveness of a brick wall, so it’s hard to tell. But she seems like a good fit for Byleth.

“I never got them to accompany me into the sauna, though.” Byleth keeps talking, as the gears on Sylvain’s mind keep turning.

“Well, I know it’s a mixed bath, but, still, I feel like most girls would feel self-conscious if a guy invited her to a sauna...” Or so he thinks, but Sylvain hasn’t ever been there himself. Putting himself in that much heat, voluntarily? No thanks. He’s sure he would collapse just stepping inside.

So maybe it’s not Shamir. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be afraid of a bit of nudity. Or, embarrassed in any way. Maybe she’s bad with heat, just like him...

Just like me, huh. Like me...

“The thing is, Sylvain,” Byleth’s voice reclaims his attention, just as he gets to the verge of an unthinkable thought. “I don’t remember ever saying this person is a woman.”

Not a... woman...

That means...

There are a few seconds of silence. Byleth looks at Sylvain straight in the eye, not breaking eye contact even when he takes the last few sips of his tea. Sylvain also maintains his gaze, thinking, until he gets to the obvious resolution that, if that person isn’t a woman, then he’s a...

Guy... who rejected Byleth continuously... can’t get into the sauna... and has the most beautiful eyes ...

He can still feel Byleth’s gaze fixated on his eyes.

Sylvain’s heart feels like it’s gone for a second. He can’t feel it. Then it comes back, full force, pumping blood straight to Sylvain’s face in a way that makes him sure he can hear his own heartbeat. Hell, even Byleth might be able to hear it.

It can’t be.

No way.

Not possible.

So he tells himself, repeatedly, as he tries to contain his inner panic so it doesn’t spill outside.

“I see.” He says, simply.

The room grows dead silent after that.

Sylvain tries to calm down, but no amount of tea can help him with it. He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t know what , and his mind is too occupied to think about words to say.

After a while of this, Byleth turns toward the room’s window, taking a look at the darkening sky.

“It’s getting late.” He says, in a perfectly calm voice. “Perhaps we should call it a day. I enjoyed the tea, Sylvain, thank you so much for bringing it. I... I hope you had a good time too.”

“I...” Even if he has just drank way too many tea, Sylvain’s mouth feels dry. “Yes. Yes, I...”

“Think about what you’re about to say. ”, a part of his mind, the part he has trained to survive social interactions since he was five, manages to slap himself awake.

He takes a deep breath.

“I did have a good time.” He manages to say. And he means it. “Thank you for having me.”

“Anytime.” Byleth smiles at him. It’s a smile so warm, Sylvain notices just then, that gets inside his heart. “Anytime, Sylvain.”

Sylvain collects his things and gets out, suddenly very conscious of the evening’s chill as he makes his way towards his dorm.

His mind is blank, pure white noise, until he gets inside his room. Then, he almost collapses on the floor, and he has to kneel, taking two hands to his face to feel his cheeks heating up when he thinks about the implications of what Byleth had said.

The person...

The person that Byleth is interested in...

Is...

“Me?”

He asks the question to nobody. He doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t want an answer, because he fears what it might be.

~*~*~

Sylvain feels like he’s spiralling for a few days after that.

What does it mean Byleth is interested in me.

Perhaps he has misunderstood. Perhaps Byleth being “interested” in somebody was him being interested in their development as a person, and, uh, he wants this person to reach their full potential and...

He quickly discards that way of thinking, because that is absurd. They were clearly talking about a romantic context.

But the thought of Byleth having those kinds of feelings towards him... What? It didn't make any sense, at all. Why? Why on earth would a guy like him take interest in someone like... Like Sylvain?

The only thing Sylvain has to offer is his Crest. But... Between two guys, that is... There is no possibility of... crest babies between them. Byleth is also Dimitri’s most valuable general and the Church’s head (at least, in Rhea’s absence), so he would not get any social advantage from marrying Sylvain, really. Well, he would officially get into nobility and acquire the noble title of Margreve (whenever Sylvain gets the title himself, if he gets it), but... That also doesn’t sound right.

So.

The logical conclusion.

Is that Byleth has heard rumours of how amazing Sylvain is in bed and wants to go for a ride.

There are a few whispers around Sylvain when he hits his head against a wall repeatedly as he gets to that thought.

His head hurts after that, but who cares.

He finds himself sitting on a bench on the courtyard, a hand on his forehead where it hurts, as he tries to rationalise whatever Byleth’s feelings might be.

First of all. The fact that Byleth is interested in men doesn’t surprise him, somehow. He is well aware that there are... people like that, and honestly, what right has he to question other people’s preferences when his romantic life is... Such a fucking mess.

Suddenly, he remembers Hilda’s words back in Derdriu.

“There are no secrets between beautiful people, so no need to be coy with me, huh? It’s okay. I know things in Fearghus aren’t as open as in other places, but... ”

Oh, Goddess. He might be blind, after all, but there are no glasses capable of fixing his issue, he is sure of that.

Hilda very clearly thought that Byleth and him were... Involved. Or at least, shamelessly flirting in front of her. Which, Sylvain realises, probably isn’t that far from reality, because he is now recontextualising some of his interactions with Byleth, and he suddenly realises that the guy has been flirting with him for a long time .

And he wasn’t able to take a single hint. Ugh.

So it’s for real? Is this seriously a thing that is really, really, happening? Byleth really is...

As Sylvain spirals and starts delving into an existential crisis and/or panic attack, he is unaware of the presence approaching him, until a boot lightly kicks his own feet, and he lifts his head to see Ingrid looking at him with a hand on her hip and an arched eyebrow.

“What is wrong with you.” She says, less like a question and more like an acusation. “You’re being creepy, all gloomy like that. And people say you were headbutting walls? Have you finally lost your last strand of sanity?”

“I might be about to.” He admits, before running a hand through his face as he groans. He looks at the woman currently looking down on him. Sweet, sweet Ingrid. They have been friends since... forever. And she has always been there for him, so... “Hey, Ingrid...”

Hey, Ingrid! Hey! You know the Professor that everyone loves so much? Yeah, THAT Professor, did you know that he is, like, totally in love with me!? Yeah, me! The good-for-nothing bastard known for his skirt-chasing and for breaking the hearts of so many, many women. Isn’t that amazing!? Haha, hey, what are you grabbing Lúin for-

“Never mind...” After a second thought, he just sighs.

“Never mind what?” She frowns. “If you’re going to say something, out with it, Sylvain. Knowing you, I can figure out the source of the problem, but...”

“Oh, you know nothing. Believe me.”

“Well, then, tell me!”

Sylvain sighs, again. Ingrid is probably the best, if not the only, confident he might have, seeing as Hilda is on the other side of the continent and probably very busy with the Alliance’s separation... No, scratch that. “Hilda” and “busy” don’t belong in the same sentence. Knowing her, if Sylvain were to write to her for advice in this matter, she would steal a wyvern from her family’s state and make her way to Garreg Mach just to avoid the whole Alliance mess. Or, maybe not, because that also seems like too much work for her.

“C’mon.” Ingrid kicks him again, this time with a bit more force. “If you’re not going to tell me, that’s fine, but don’t keep me waiting.”

“Okay, okay...” He gets up from the bench, and cringes a bit when his knees make a worrying snappig sound. “Not here, though. Let’s go somewhere private. And... Please, don’t get angry.”

“No promises”

They end up in that one secluded space just outside the monastery where people go when they want to be left alone, luckily no one is here at the time. Sylvain would’ve preferred his own room, just to make sure nobody could hear them, but he also wants an open space so he can run away from Ingrid if necessary.

He feels... scared of this conversation. The reason is probably because Ingrid might beat him to a pulp for somehow deceiving Byleth into liking him. No other reason at all, of course.

Sylvain sits on top of a rock in the ground, Ingrid doing the same next to him.

“So,”

His throat closes. His mouth is dry.

“So,” He tries again. “someone has recently... Informed me that they have feelings for me.”

A beat or two of stunned silence.

“So?” Ingrid breaks the silence with the question, an irritated tone to her voice. “And the sky is blue and the grass is green, what else is new? I don’t know how girls keep falling for your cheap act, but-”

“It’s not like that!” Sylvain feels, for the first time in his life, offended by the accusation. Ingrid seems a bit taken aback by his reaction. “Not this time. I... I didn’t try to get this person to fall for me. And. Well. This is someone I actually care about. For once.”

“Oh.” Ingrid’s expression softens immediately. “Oh. Well, I... Congratulations? Sorry. I. Whoa.”

“I know, shocking.” Sylvain sighs. Ingrid’s reaction is a bit frustrating, but he understands. “This person is... Well, I guess I consider them a friend. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it that much. But is someone whose feelings matter to me. So I don’t want to... Hurt them. And, at the same time. I don’t... I don’t really get it , I guess. Why this person is interested in me. I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’m deceiving them. I mean, what’s good about someone like me? Them falling for me... Just doesn’t make sense.”

There are a few more seconds of silence, in which Ingrid considers Sylvain’s words, finally taking him seriously.

This is the first time, as far as she knows, where Sylvain seems to have genuine relationship problems. She has been there for him though and through, same way he has in return (even if Sylvain himself isn’t probably aware of how much his presence has always been a pillar in Ingrid's life), and so it surprises her how seriously he seems to be taking all of this. At the same time, she feels... Glad. Glad that someone has managed to break through Sylvain. And glad that there was still enough genuine love remaining in Sylvain's heart to take this person’s feelings into consideration.

As much as she argues with him about his issues with women, Ingrid always knew that there was more to it than just “the thrill of the chase”, or whatever. She is aware Sylvain has a very messed up view on relationships, but she never had the tools or the ways to help him... She never addressed the issue, and whenever she tried... Well, turns out Sylvain is a master of deflecting. It’s genuinely scary how well he can act like a completely unbothered airhead, even when his eyes betray him having a panic attack on the inside at the mere mention of trying to approach the way he treats women or his dishonest nature.

This might be the first time Sylvain is being so vulnerable with her. This might be her only chance to... Do something, finally, to help him. It is not the time for anger, or reprimands. She thinks of him like a scared horse... Approach him incorrectly, and he might kick you and run away.

“Why wouldn’t it make sense, Sylvain?” She asks, as gently as she can, as if she were talking to a child.

“Because I’m... You know...” He frowns. “I’m a mess.”

“That... is true, but you also have a lot of good things about you, you know?” He gives her a somewhat incredulous look. “C’mon. It’s true, you might not be the best person at times... But when you’re not busy being a flirt, you’re actually a pretty decent guy. In my opinion, at least. Or do you think I’ve put up with all of your issues for this long just because I have nothing better to do?”

“I’ve always thought it was more out of a sense of responsibility...”

“No, silly.” A soft smile adorns her lips as she shakes his head. “It’s because I care about you, and the guy you are behind all the flirting and all of that. You’re a great friend. You’re caring and kind, even if you try to act like it’s no big deal. For those of us who manage to get past that façace of yours, it’s very clear the kind of person you are. And, honestly... I can see someone falling for that person. The true Sylvain, not the one you present to people.”

“I...” His cheeks redden slightly, and that makes Ingrid smile a bit more. “I don’t know about that. I’m the same person, in both cases. I’m still a flirt and a jerk, and...”

“Yes, you are. And, Goddess, I pray for the day in which you decide to stop that. But, for what I understand, this person clearly isn’t interested in that part of you.” A thought comes to her mind. “Who is it, anyway? I’m guessing is someone I know?”

“Yyyyesss...” He drags the word more than it is necessary, which makes Ingrid slightly suspicious. “About that. That also makes me a bit conflicted. Because this person is. Well. Huh. It’s a man.”

“Ooooh.” Ingrid’s eyes widen with surprise. “Well, at least that makes things a bit easier on you, right? Then you know he doesn’t want it just for your crest.”

“And that’s... Supposed to make it easier, how?”

“You do know that in healthy relationships people don’t want to take any benefit or advantage from their partner, right?” She starts to worry when Sylvain gives her the look of a kicked puppy. “Sylvain, this guy really likes you for you . As surprising as that might seem to be for you. But, hey! It’s nice knowing someone genuinely likes you, right?”

“I don’t know...” He sighs for the umpteenth time. “I guess that is the problem. That I feel like that’s wrong. I feel... undeserving of that affection.”

“Well, you’re not.” Ingrid gets up, surprising Sylvain. “I know life hasn’t been kind to you in this aspect, but you’re also the one making things difficult for yourself! You should allow yourself to accept this, even if it feels undeserving. I’m telling you, it isn’t! You deserve good things, Sylvain. That doesn’t erase the bad things you’ve done, but, still... Being miserable your whole life isn’t going to make you repent in any way. Isn’t it better to take this chance, and... give it a shoot! And maybe that’ll stop your serial flirting, and you’ll probably feel better about that, I think.”

“I... Wait.” He realises something, and frowns. “You’re acting as if I should accept this person’s proposal.”

“Well, yeah!” Then she also frowns. “Wait, that isn’t the issue? I thought you were all depressed because you felt like you were deceiving him or whatever.”

“That’s part of it, but... Well, first of all, he hasn’t exactly confessed his feelings to me or anything, it's more like... I wasn’t getting his hints so he threw me a big one and I managed to catch it. So, officially, there is nothing to accept.”

“You are not planning on leaving him hanging and never acknowledging his feelings, right? Right?”

“Hmmm...” That had been one of Sylvain’s proposed solutions to the problem: Never confront Byleth at all until the end of the war, exile himself to Sreng, befriend a pack of wolves, never interact with another human again.

“C’mon, Sylvain...” Ingrid facepalms. After a short pause, she crosses her arms and looks at him again. “I’m almost afraid to ask this, but... What are your feelings about this guy?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Do you like him back, or not?”

The question, as obvious as it is, catches Sylvain completely off-guard. Liking? What? Liking Byleth? Huh, huh?

“N-no way!” The words escape him before he can think of them. “I don’t... see men that way!”

“You sure about that?” Ingrid arches her eyebrow. “What about Yuri? You were fussing about him for quite a while.”

“Well, I thought he was a girl at first! Can you blame me!?”

“Fair.” She thinks about it for a bit. “Felix?”

“What do you mean, Felix !? He’s like a little brother to me!”

“I know, I know... It’s just, the whole, “dying together” stuff, is... Till death do us part, you know. Oh, I know!” A grin spreads through her face. “What about the Professor!?”

“What about him!?” At this point, Sylvain’s cheeks are as red as his hair.

“C’mon, don’t deny you at least have some kind of man-crush on him.” Seeing the boy’s reaction, Ingrid’s smile only widens. “No judgement. Everyone has probably had a bit of a crush on the Professor, anyways.”

“W-well, not me!”

“Sure, sure. If you say so. By the way, is it hot in here or is it just your face that is heating up?”

“Stop it...!” As Sylvain tries to cover his face in embarrassment, Ingrid only laughs.

“Okay, okay... It was only an example, you know. Just to... broaden your perspective. Ah, you still haven’t told me who the guy is.”

“And I’m not going to.”

“C’mooooon, spill it!” Ingrid gets to him, playfully nudging his shoulder and shaking him. “If not, I’m going to assume you’ve got a big crush on Seteth, and I’ll tell Flayn!”

“Are you crazy!? That’ll get me killed!” He tries to shove Ingrid away, without much success, and they end up almost playfighting. “Besides, I told you, I’m not crushing on anyone!”

“Then just tell me! Or I’ll be taking guesses! Is it Gilbert? The Gatekeeper!” She fakes an enormous gasp. “It’s Hubert! A forbidden love history!”

“Stoooooop!” He begs, as the terrifying image of the Empress’ right-hand man comes to his mind. He did get kind of hot after cutting his hair, but- Stop! What is he thinking!? “Okay, okay! I yield! Just, stop it!” He finally grabs Ingrid’s wrists, and she just stares at him with a big grin. “Just, don’t freak out. And, please , don’t say anything to anyone , ever .”

“Sure, sure. So?”

Sylvain’s cheeks are burning. He tries to meet Ingrid’s expectant gaze, but he is unable to do it fully, so he just looks at a random bush on the way.

“Is... um... B...”

“Balthus?”

“BYLETH! IS BYLETH! THE PROFESSOR! HE TOLD ME I HAVE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL EYES HE HAS EVER SEEN WHILE WE WERE HAVING TEA!”

“Wha- WHAT!? WHAAAAAT!?”

Flabbergasted, gobsmacked, astonishingly astounded, rendered speechless does Ingrid find herself, as she can’t do anything but match Sylvain as they scream at each other for a while.

How they end up hugging and laughing, Sylvain crying maybe from joy, maybe just due to being overwhelmed by his feelings; she doesn’t understand, nor does she care to.

She’s got a good feeling about this, somehow.

~*~*~

Talking to Ingrid was one of the best decisions Sylvain could’ve ever made, because his chest feels definitely lighter after that, perhaps due to the amount of crying involved at the end. Why he was crying, he can’t exactly explain, but he feels better.

Ingrid plays nice with him, assuring him that she won’t say a word and that she will support any decision he comes to... But she also threatens to stab him through the chest if he ignores the Professor’s feelings and refuses to have a serious discussion with him at some point.

That doesn’t mean that everything is fine and dandy, as Sylvain still has to do some work on figuring out what to do, what to say and, suddenly for the first time, how he feels about the whole ordeal.

His relationship with Byleth had been bumpy from the beginning, and he had only recently started to feel comfortable around the guy. He... does admire him, of course (his self from five years ago would’ve kicked him in the shin just for thinking that), but there is a big stretch from liking someone to...

“Have some kind of man-crush on him! ”, the gleeful voice of Ingrid reminds him in his mind.

However, as much thinking and reflection Sylvain wants to do on this topic, the reality of life is quite cruel, and he is reminded of this as he gets ready with the rest of the army to march towards Embarr.

Oh, yeah, there is a war going on.

He mentally kicks himself.

The atmosphere on the way to Embarr is gloomy and somber, as everyone gets ready for what might be the final battle, once and for all. Sylvain has to remind himself to be professional, and so he has to push whatever is going on with Byleth out of his mind, at least for a bit.

Or, well. He tries.

It’s inevitable that he should see Byleth as their army prepares to take Embarr. They don’t interact that much, even when they are in the same groups. The only things Sylvain gets from him are a nod and a smile for a greeting, a “ thank you ” as Sylvain passes him a plate at dinner time, some approving comment as Sylvain helps with the horses’ maintenance.

A graze from their fingers, as objects get exchanged. Maybe their shoulders touch, as they pass each other. A lingering gaze that might stay on Sylvain a few seconds more than it would be appropriate, sometimes. A quiet laugh, when Sylvain says something funny in a conversation Byleth isn’t taking part in.

Sylvain starts noticing those things. It makes him feel... Giddy. His heartbeat spikes whenever that happens. He finds himself also following Byleth with his gaze whenever the man passes him by, maybe they’ll lock eyes for a bit.

Maybe, maybe ...

“I told you!” Ingrid shouts, punching him in the shoulder as they both eat their mostly-cold pea soup a bit far from the rest of the camp, as to not be heard. “Yes! Victory! I knew it was a crush!”

“Not so loud!” Sylvain quickly tries to silence his excited friend. “Do you want everyone to hear!?”

“C’mon, nobody followed us here.”

“Maybe Hubert is hiding in a bush, trying to set an ambush...!”

“He is not, but I am.”

Out of the shadows comes Felix Hugo Fraldarius, cold bowl of soup in hand and a judgemental glare on his eyes as he approaches out of nowhere, making the other two have a synchronised heart attack.

“I knew something was going on, with you two suddenly disappearing from camp.” He takes a seat on a tree stump in front of the other two, seemingly not giving a single shit about Sylvain’s anxiety. “So, who is the poor victim? Sorry, I mean to say, the crush .”

“How long have you been listening for!?” Sylvain shout-whispers at him, getting a dry “ heh ” in response to his panic.

“Doesn’t matter. You fooling around with other people is no news, but if Ingrid is excited, then it must be serious.”

“It is! Because he is serious, for once!” Ingrid responds, excitedly.

“Colour me impressed.”

“Fuck off!” Sylvain tries to flick a pea at Felix, but the other man evades it without a problem.

“Sylvain is crushing on the Professor!”

Felix chokes on his soup.

“And it’s mutual !”

A pea is expelled from Felix’s nostril at great velocity.

It takes a while for the three of them to calm down. Felix and Sylvain are both red-faced, the former because of the choking and the latter from embarrassment, and Ingrid laughs at both of them, enjoying her soup in the meanwhile. They are by no means being quiet at this point, so they get a few weird glares from some soldiers, but nobody else dares to intrude in their conversation.

“You’re fucking with me.” Is what Felix says, once he manages to stop breathing soup.

“Aaaah, no. I’m not.” Ingrid also recovers from her last laughing fit.

“You swore secrecy.” Sylvain gives her an indignant look. “I’m never trusting you again.”

“C’mon, this is Felix. He doesn’t count.”

“This is for real.” The mentioned is still processing the information. “You’re not kidding. Just... what . I figured you just had the hots for some random girl in camp, but that is...” He takes a second to think, and suddenly his face wrinkles. “You know what. That explains some things.”

“What exactly does it explain?” Sylvain, defeated, just sighs.

“Hm. I wonder.” He gives a half smile that Syvlain would like to punch out of his face, if not was it so rare to see Felix smiling. “So, what are you going to do? Ask for his hand in marriage when the war is over?”

“Man, I don’t fucking know.” Sylvain has never sounded so tired, as he rubs his face with one hand and groans those words. “I still might run out to Sreng and befriend a pack of wolves.”

“No you won’t.” Ingrid’s glare is enough of a threat for him to reconsider.

“Yeah. Well. I’ll think about it when we get there. First we need to finish this war.” He sighs, already tired of a battle that still hasn’t begun. “What are you two going to do after the war?”

“I will become a proper knight.” Ingrid answers without hesitation. “I’ve been talking with Ashe about it. We both have more than enough merits due to our participation in the war, but we want to do things right, you know? And I won’t be happy until I get officially knighted by Dimitri.” It seems like Felix is about to say something, probably about knighthood, so Ingrid quickly turns the conversation to him. “What about you, Felix?”

“Hm.” He contemplates his bowl of soup for a bit. “So.”

“...so?”

“I... you know what? Forget it. I don’t know. There’ll be a lot of work to be done, and I still have to deal with my father’s workload. So. Not looking forward to that.”

“You were about to say something else, were you not?” Asks Indrid.

“Was not.”

“Allow me to share a tip that someone once told me:” She clears her throat, preparing for her best Felix impression. “Go get a husband . Or, a wife., I guess.”

“Fuck off!”

“You first! That was rude , you know!? I’m still waiting for an apology!”

Sylvain contemplates as his two closest friends shout at each other. Oh, how much he adores the both of them. Although they both will probably kick him in the shin if he dared to say that out loud.

Instead of doing that, he laughs out loud as the other two fight, and he makes a silent prayer to the Goddess that all of them will be able to reach the future they hope for.

~*~*~

The battle of Embarr.

It’s even worse than Fhirdiad.  The Empire has clearly put all of its remaining force into making sure that the city doesn’t fall. Still, it is not enough. Slowly but surely, the Kingdom's forces keep advancing towards the imperial palace.

The streets are littered by the corpses of foes, friends and, more importantly, way too many demonic beasts. Even now, the sight of them triggers Sylvain’s trauma back from Miklan’s transformation, but he had to get used to them in recent times, like it or not.

Between them and the multitude of ballistas, catapults and fire orbs, the city is getting destroyed, no matter how. To Sylvain, it seems like Edelgard might be getting desperate. And, honestly, she has reasons to.

Dimitri is a beast on the battlefield. His resolve has never been stronger, and so he cuts through rows of enemies with ease. Following him are Felix by land and Ingrid on the sky, helping to clear a path. Dedue maintains the line of defence, and behind him Annette and Ashe make sure no enemy gets too close or too far from them. The group is closed by Sylvain and Byleth watching the rear, dispatching any enemies that might try to get the most vulnerable members as Mercedes heals them.

“I see Hubert!” From the skies comes Ingrid’s shouting, her being a bit battleworn but still very much standing. She points with Lúin. “He’s just past that arch.”

“Don’t get too close to him!” Commands Byleth. “He is a powerful mage and he surely is prepared to get us as soon as he sees us. Let’s regroup before the last push!”

That they do, on the path just before the mentioned arch. Sylvain gets there after getting what he thinks should be the last of the mages. Or so Sylvain hopes.

Please Goddess, let that be the last of them...

As they close in a circle, Byleth shouting precautions about how to proceed and to be very careful with Hubert, Sylvain senses something in the air... Shift. A sudden pressure, charged with very, very powerful magic. He is sure he isn’t the only one noticing it, as he hears Annette shout a “ Huh!? ” in surprise. He feels goosebumps from the raw magical power as he looks up, from where the magic comes, and sees a giant meteorite approaching their group.

“No way.” He whispers, completely incredulous. That is a spell of such a high level, and... from that distance!? Hubert really is a monster.

“Come close to me, now!” Shouts Byleth, even if grouping seems like the worst thing to do right now, but nobody opposes him. “SOTHIS!”

As he screams the name, one that Sylvain definitely doesn’t recognize, a pulsing green energy surrounds Byleth... And an enormous magical shield appears on top of all of them, protecting them from any magic. Sylvain recognizes this spell from having seen Byleth cast it at some point in the past, in very dire situations, but he has no idea what it is or how it works. What he knows, is that it might not be enough .

The meteorite approaches, and the shield, as powerful as it is, is already cracking. There is no way it can repel the rock coming towards them, and grouped as they are...

Sylvain looks at the meteorite, calculations flying through his mind in an instant. No way to protect themselves from it at this point, such a large projectile... Then...

Disobeying Byleth he splits from the group, which makes him get shouted at by several people, but he ignores that as he positions himself in a way that lets him attack the meteorite from the side. His fingers start moving, drawing runes on the air, a magic circle forming as he works, his mind having a million thoughts in the same second because what is this , he has been seeing fire orbs being shot all day, and they do have the mechanical advantage, but if he manages to simulate that in a way that...

Right.

The first lesson he learnt from his Professor.

Fire magic and wind magic are but a symbol away from each other. When you mix them together, in a certain way, the air combusts . If that combustion can be controlled, the explosive force redirected, and applied to the basics of basics, just...

His gaze centres on the point of the meteorite he wants to hit. His accuracy has never been the best but just, just this once.

This wouldn’t be a problem if I wore glasses.

He finishes the spell. A sudden explosion forms from his fingertips, so violent that it hurts him, and he finds himself blinded by the explosion of light, the world becoming one bright white-ish hellscape for a second (his mind suddenly remembers the vast expanse of snow at the north of Gautier territory, how the pure-white snow reflected the light in such a bright way). He still hears his projectile go off, he hears it whistling through the air just a second before his ears start ringing. The force of the explosion makes him fall from his horse, that even with all its training still panics at the sudden blast, and as Sylvain hits the floor there is a second where he can’t tell up from down and left from right and, “ Oh, that was a bad idea, that was a bad, bad idea... ”

And yet, while Sylvain can’t see the product of his efforts, the rest of the Blue Lions watch as Sylvain’s sudden projectile impacts the rock that was about to fall upon them, altering its trajectory just enough , and making just enough of an impact so that it fractures, transforming the ominous meteorite into a rain of rocks that, yeah, surely it hurts, but it’s a lot more manageable.

“What did he just...” Annette is amazed, as she looks at the sky, not recognizing the spell that Sylvain just casted out of nowhere.

“Felix, Dimitri, go now; the shield will protect you from his magic for a while still.” Byleth says, trying to stop his own astonishment to recover and not let a single opportunity for Hubert to do something like that again. “Mercedes, with them in case they get hurt; Ashe you go as support; and Ingrid, keep watch on Mercedes. Dedue and Annette with me.”

He doesn’t waste a second on barking those orders, then starts running towards Sylvain, who is still on the floor some metres away from the rest. One of the fallen rocks managed to break through his magic shield and hit him in the head, on top of everything, so now he is also bleeding from his head... That can’t be good.

“Sylvain, can you hear me?” Byleth drops to the floor next to the fallen knight, no hesitating one second before putting a hand to his head to cast a healing spell.

“He’s still conscious.” Points Dedue, the moment he arrives. “Professor, please, allow me to go with...”

“Hubert will cook you alive with magic if you approach him.” Byleth answers not even looking at him, his attention fully on Sylvain. “And Dimitri will lose his shit if that happens, I’ve seen it before...”

“... excuse me?”

“Let’s not let him get a last laugh out of us.”

“He has a pretty creepy laugh, so I’m all for not hearing it.” Adds Annette.

“Sylvain. Hey.” Byleth tries again to get a response from the redhead, shaking him as softly as possible as he calls his name.

Sylvain is just starting to get out of his stupor, so Byleth’s words still sound very, very far away. Black dots and weird colours dance in front of his vision, and he feels like he has his ears stuffed with cotton, yet the ringing on his ears is perfectly clear. He vaguely feels someone touching him, and very slowly he manages to make sense of the figure in front of him. Green hair, green eyes, a concerned expression looking right at him.

“I... Oof.” His own voice sounds muffled. “What happened...”

“Okay, he’s here.” After applying another heal, Byleth gestures towards Annette to take his place next to Sylvain. “Stay with him for a bit, make him drink a vulnerary if needed. I’ll go join the rest. Once he is able to get up, take him and join us.”

“Got it.” Annette nods as Byleth takes off, leaving her and Dedue to tend to the still-confused warrior. “Umm, hey, Sylvain. Is there anything you need?”

“Hot...”

“It’s not the time for flirting!”

“No, I... I am hot...”

“Not the time to boast, either!”

“I think he means to say that he is feeling too warm.” Assists Dedue.

Between the two of them they manage to get Sylvain back on his feet after a little while, when the world finally stops spinning for him and the ringing on his ears cease. Cheers of celebration can be heard as they finally rejoin their group. The battle is over, Hubert lies on the floor and Felix cleans the blood from his sword before sheathing it again.

There is little time for celebration. The war is still not over, as the imperial palace looms over them, making everyone aware that their biggest challenge yet still awaits inside.

Even so, they have a moment of respite before raiding the palace. Everyone gets ready, tending to their wounds and checking on their weapons. Dedue quickly runs to join Dimitri’s side, leaving Sylvain and Annette to their own... at least for a few seconds, before Byleth approaches them.

“Are you okay?” He asks immediately, looking at Sylvain.

“I’m all good, no need to worry.” He answers with a smile and-GODDESS DAMN IT his stupid winking tic is acting up again. “I just, uhm... Miscalculated my own proximity to the explosion. By the way, that... Helped, right?”

“It did, but... I believe I’ve told you several times to not act like that on your own.” Uh-oh. Is Byleth mad? Sylvain can’t tell, as the tone of voice he is using is too flat.

“C’mon, at least I didn’t jump in front of the rock... This time.” He remembers his conversations with Byleth, about how he... Always had a tendency to put himself in danger in place of others. “There was no way we could've taken that attack. So I... I thought of a way to help to, at least, reduce the damage. And it worked, right?”

“Even so...”

“Oh, yeah, that was amazing!” Annette cuts in, talking over Byleth. “What was that spell!? You’re way more proficient with fire spells, but I’ve never seen you use that one...”

“Well, that’s...” Sylvain isn’t certain on how to answer that. “That was not a spell. I just... Kinda improvised something.”

“You just created your own magical effect in the middle of combat?” Asks Byleth, and his voice loses that flat tone as it gets quickly replaced with... It’s not surprise , it’s something more...

“I, uh...” Sylvain feels flustered, all of a sudden. “Well, I’ve been... thinking, for a time now. About how fire orbs are always attached to a place and can’t be moved around like other assault weapons. And, uh, making some kind of... Portable version of them could be useful, so, I have been studying them for a while, and...  I've been trying to replicate their effects with on-the-spot magic... This is an incomplete... Ah, I wouldn’t call it research , but just... Ah, it’s just, whatever. It’s a thing that I had on my mind for a while, and I didn’t think it would be helpful with the war being basically over at this point, but I guess it did, huh?”

He feels embarrassed, somehow, admitting that he hasn’t actually spent all of his free time being a goofball, but has been doing “nerdy things” that ultimately didn’t take him nowhere... And he feels even more embarrassment when he sees the way both Annette and Byleth are looking at him. This time, he recognises the feeling.

Admiration.

“You managed to replicate the effect of a fire orb all by yourself!?” Annette shouts, excitedly, her voice squeaking a bit. “That’s AMAZING!”

“You’re amazing.” Adds Byleth.

The compliment makes Sylvain feel hot all over again. His face burns, so does his chest, and he has to contain himself to not start playing with his hair and giggle like a dumb teenager. He is too old to be teeheehee-ing whenever the cute boy praises him, or so he tells himself.

Is this what actually liking someone does to you? Makes you feel so silly all the time?

“W-well,” He tries to compose himself. “I’m just glad I managed to help in any way. “Although I definitely didn’t think about not getting caught in the explosion, haha...”

“Yes...” Byleth puts on a solemn expression. “It is a shame your eyebrows got scorched.”

What.

A feeling of absolute panic invades Sylvain, fear dominating every nerve on his body as he takes a hand to his face and...

“Not funny!” He glares at Byleth, who offers him a smile in return.

“Ooooh, that would’ve sucked!” Annette laughs at Sylvain’s reaction. “Although you might have burned your face a bit. Your skin is a bit red... You should maybe see Mercie about that.”

“Yes...” He is still glaring at Byleth, who... Honestly, seems on the verge of laughing , and that is something Sylvain wants to see, even if it’s at his expense.

“I’m sorry.” The other man apologises. “Don’t worry, your face is just as pretty as always.”

Sylvain would be mad if not for the feeling of butterflies on his stomach and the urge to teeheehee that invades him. Goddess damn it. This whole “liking someone” thing sucks. How can just a few words make him feel so... Happy, and embarrassed, and vulnerable, and stupid, at all the same time.

“If you’re done mocking me.” He says, after taking a shaky breath. “I’m going to go see Mercedes. We still have a war to win.”

“Right.” As soon as he says that, Byleth’s expression changes drastically to the seriousness he is more used to. “Please make sure you two are ready for combat. We are so close to finishing this. And, after the war...”

His eyes meet Sylvain’s. There is a silent understandment between the two of them.

“Let’s do this.” He says. Byleth nods.

~*~*~

There are a lot of things to do after the war finishes.

At first, as Dimitri and Byleth come out from Edelgard’s throne room, nobody dares to speak. Dimitri’s solemn expression reveals how heavy the death of Edelgard weighs on his mind. There is a wave of sadness, and everyone reflects on the consequences of this war, the prices that had to be paid, the people who didn’t make it.

Then, after Dimitri announces the end of the war, his voice powerful as the roaring of the more ferocious of lions, the sadness dissipates into pure relief and euphoria .

Shouting, cheering, victory chants come from everywhere. Sylvain, who was healing Ingrid’s injured leg, finds himself hugging his friend, and the both of them cry and laugh with so much relief, and the thought that “ It’s over, it’s over, it’s finally over and we made it out alive. ” Ingrid can’t really walk at the moment, so Sylvain gets her on his back and they go in search of Felix, only to find him dipping Annette into a kiss that absolutely no one was expecting... Except Mercedes, judging by her “ I knew it! ” screams. Gilbert falls to his knees.

Dimitri is celebrated as the Saviour King (he is not officially a King yet, but nobody points that out), and Byleth becomes the new Archbishop once they free Rhea from the Empire’s prison and she decides to pass on her title to him. That means that Byleth has very little time to himself, between tying up loose ends from the war, taking over the church, figuring out how to organise Fódlan’s new order...

Sylvain is busy, too. He, along with the rest of the Blue Lions, assist Dimitri with everything they can, but he also has some issues to resolve in Gautier territory. With Dimitri ascending to the throne and Felix taking the title of Duke Fraldarius, Sylvain’s father seems to think his son should follow.

“It’s time for you to settle down.” He says to his son, as both of them contemplate the snowy landscape from one of their estate’s balconies. “It seems like things in Fódlan are changing. It’s time you take charge of house Gautier to lead us through that change.”

“Right.” Sylvain doesn’t even bother looking at his father as he leans against the balcony’s bannister. “I guess this is the moment, huh. And what will you do in retirement, exactly? Take up fishing?”

“I’ll be making sure that you don’t ruin our family.” The man’s stern tone turns even more severe as he says that. “For starters, I’ll have to find you a wife, if there is still a single woman left in Fódlan that won’t start running away at the mention of your name.”

“Good luck with that, father.” The words don’t come without irony, which only helps in worsening the older man’s mood. “I don’t think I’ll be marrying any noblewoman soon, less so one you’ve chosen for me.”

“Fool.” At this point, the man turns towards Sylvain. “It’s time you stop your games and flirtations. You know what is your duty as a-”

“What I know,” Sylvain also turns toward his father, standing up as tall as he is. “is that I’ll never accept a proposal that comes out of interest. I’m done with being approached as a benefit. I will not marry some random woman that only wants me for my blood, just so you can have grandchildren with a crest.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” The man sighs. “Marry the Galatea girl. You’re close with her, right? I’m sure her family won’t oppose it... And she has a crest, too, so-”

“Leave Ingrid out of this.” Sylvain frowns. “She has her own life. She is not a product to exchange, same as I. And I just told you, I won’t marry just to pass on the crest. If I marry someone... I want to be someone I care for.”

Someone who cares for me, too.

“If you believe you can just do whatever you can, then you’re truly stupid, son.” At this point, the man’s face contorts into expression of anger not that dissimilar as the one his son is also wearing. “For people like us, feelings like that don’t matter. Power matters, and power is in the blood. I cared for someone once, and see what good it did to me. A crestless son.”

Sylvain is taken aback by the mention of Miklan’s mother. He doesn’t know much about the woman, as she had always been a taboo in the house, but as he grew up he had learned that his father had actually loved the woman, and was devastated after her passing. Devastated enough so that his personality changed to the cold, unloving man Sylvain had always known, the same man in front of him.

“If you’d cared about him. If you tried to love him, instead of throwing him away the moment I was born. Then his life wouldn’t have been what it was. It’s your fault what happened to Miklan. I refuse to make that same mistake. I won’t allow this damned crest to ruin anyone else’s life. It has already ruined enough. Yours included, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Those are the last words Sylvain directs to his father before taking his horse and leaving house Gautier.

His destination is quite far from home, and it takes him a while, but he sighs with relief when, after some harsh days of crossing Fódlan on his own, he finally arrives at Garreg Mach Monastery.

It’s weird, he reflects as he takes Horse Luis to the stable, how the monastery feels more like “home” than the cold estate he had been raised in. Cold both in the physical and emotional sense. At times he missed the cold from the north, but he very much preferred the monastery’s sunny skies.

He makes his way towards the inside of the monastery, being greeted by a very much familiar voice.

“Greetings, Master Gautier!” The Gatekeeper salutes as he passes by. “It’s... a surprise seeing you here! I don’t remember being told anything about people from the Kingdom visiting...”

“Please, call me Sylvain.” He takes a hand to his hair, combing it. “And, uh, well, I’m just visiting. For... pleasure, you could say.” Hopefully. “Is it a bad time? I wanted to say hello to By-uh, the Profe- eeh, the Archbishop.”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see one of his old students come by! He should be in his office at this hour, I think.”

After thanking the Gatekeeper, he starts walking in that direction. The monastery seems busy, which is a good thing. The people of Fódlan are probably in need of the Goddess’ help and guidance after five years of war... And surely the monastery’s funds are doing a bit better thanks to the flow of people and coin. Sylvain remembers someone saying that the Officers Academy will reopen next spring, so that probably means that Garreg Mach is doing good.

He encounters some familiar faces as he walks through the monastery, one of the more surprised ones being none other than Seteth, when they cross paths as Sylvain is about to get to the second floor of the main building.

“It’s... a surprise, seeing you here.” Says the man, clearly bewildered with Sylvain’s presence.

“Yeah, well, it’s... A long story.” He can feel perfectly how the other man’s stare judges him harshly. “I promise, I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“So you say, but...”

“You never liked me that much, huh?”

The silence that happens between the two of them is telling. After a short pause, Seteth clears his throat.

“Whatever brings you here, I hope you can conduct yourself. Especially in the presence of the Archbishop. He might have been your teacher, but don’t forget what his new station is. Treat him with the respect he deserves.”

“Of course, of course.” Sylvain nods. “I’ll do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me... Ah, please tell Flayn I said hi. I’m guessing I’m still not allowed to talk directly to her.”

“No.”

At this point in life, Sylvain just takes the blunt rejection and keeps walking. He knows that after all this time, Flayn won’t have any issue with talking to him directly, but getting on Seteth’s nerves is always a bit funny.

He finally reaches what he supposes is Byleth’s office, in the room next to the audience chambers. There is no door to knock in, so he feels a bit disrespectful as he enters directly, and... There he is.

Byleth, dressed fully in his Archbishop’s regalia, leaning over a desk, face deep in concentration as he reads several documents.

He doesn’t notice Sylvain at first, so he has a few seconds to admire the man.

The last time they saw each other was during Dimitri’s coronation. Byleth had to be there, of course, but he had been so busy at the time that almost immediately after the ceremony Seteth had come by to scoop him in a wyvern and take him back to Garreg Mach. Between that and the fact that everybody wanted a word with the so-loved Professor, there hadn’t been any time for the two of them to actually talk. And Sylvain knew that a talk was due. (If nothing else, because the threat of Ingrid stabbing him through the chest became more real with each passing day.)

As usual, Sylvain’s stare is noticed, and a pair of beautiful green eyes meet him when Byleth lifts his head.

The expression on Byleth’s face turns to the most pure of surprises, as if the Goddess herself had just walked through the door. Then it changes to happiness, a wide smile on his lips and a spark on his eyes.

“When did he get so expressive. ” Wonders Sylvain, feeling a smile appear on his lips too.

“Sylvain!” Byleth wastes no time on getting up from his desk, dropping all documents without concern, and almost runs to the redhead’s arms.

Sylvain isn’t sure why did he open his arms for a hug, the gesture being almost instinctual, but he sure is glad for it when the other man envelopes him in his own arms. Fuck, his heart is beating so hard all of a sudden.

“Hi, um...” He hesitates for a second. “... His Grace.” Byleth takes a step away, although he doesn’t break contact, hands still on Sylvain’s arms, and shoots him a quizzical look. “Seteth just told me to treat you with respect and such...”

“You’re only allowed to call me by name.” The response comes with a slight smile. “I’m... happy to see you, Sylvain. But, why are you here?”

“I... might be staying a few days in Garreg Mach, if that’s okay.” Byleth instantly nods. “I. Uh. I guess I should say I “ran away from home”, kinda. Not really, but. I.”

He thinks about what he is about to say, heart pounding in his chest.

“I wanted to see you.”

That also seems to take Byleth by surprise. There is a few seconds of silence, the implication of the words sinking in. Then, Byleth’s warm smile returns.

“I wanted to see you too, Sylvain.” He takes a look over his shoulder, toward his desk. “I think I’m due for a break. What do you say we get a cup of tea?”

“Seems like a wonderful idea.”

Turns out, Byleth inherited Rhea’s old room along with her title, which meant that the third floor of Garreg Mach was pretty much his. Sylvain kind of wants to ask what became of Rhea after the war, but he also feels like that might be a bit of a heavy topic to bring up, so instead he helps Byleth prepare the tea in his new room.

It’s definitely bigger than his old one, and It’s way more tidy, too, probably thanks to Ciryl. There is still the occasional piece of cloth thrown onto the floor without care, and a table that is a mess of books and parchment... You can take Byleth out the mercenary life, but you can’t take the mercenary out of Byleth, it seems.

They enjoy their tea as they talk, catching up on each other’s lives. Is that how Sylvain learns that apparently Felix and Annette are going to be instructors on the next year’s academic course, which is... surprising, to say the least.

“Felix !?” He says, for a second thinking he has heard wrong. “As a teacher . For children .”

“As a combat instructor .” That makes more sense. “Same way as Jeritza was. Perhaps you’d be interested in a teaching position, too. Hanneman is still enthusiastic about teaching, but he’s getting on in years, and Manuela was offered a position to help in the revival of the Mittlefank Company, so...”

“I... don’t know if I’d be a good teacher.” Just the thought of it makes Sylvain feel anxious.

“Really? I always thought you had a brilliant mind, and I’m sure that if academic life interested you, you’d do great... Weren’t you doing some kind of research on fire orbs? I remember you telling us something like that in Embarr. I’m still impressed about what you did there, even if you gave me a heart attack at that moment.”

Oh, gee. That. Sylvain remembers, yeah. He hadn’t put more thought on it after the war, to be completely honest.

“Besides,” Byleth lifts his cup to his lips, gaze almost shy as it moves from Sylvain to the tea. “it would be nice to have you around.”

That makes Sylvain question if maybe he should get into teaching. The life in the academy is probably much better than up north in Gautier trying to maintain the border with Sreng.

“You're far too kind.” He says, as Byleth takes a sip from his tea. “To be completely honest... I never saw myself doing that kind of stuff. Learning magic always seemed too much of a bother. Books about magic theory were... still are, to be honest, a bit boring for me. I was surprised when I found that I enjoyed conjuration, even more when I had fun with it once I managed to get the basics and started to get more creative. Huh, I got this spell to heat the whole house back at home, but my father told me to save it for the winter... He was probably scared I’d burn all of the expensive rugs and tapestries by accident. Aaaanyway, what I’m trying to say is...” He clears his throat for a second. “I... don’t think I’d be able to do any of that if it weren’t for you. You helped me get into it and... gave me the push I probably needed to get serious about my studies. That’s what a teacher is supposed to do, I guess, but... I can’t help but to be grateful. In a way, I feel like you saw something in me that not even I could see. And I am grateful that you put the effort in to get me to put in my own effort.”

“Hm.” At that, Byleth smiles. “You’ve grown so much, Sylvain.” The gentleness on which those words are spoken easily gets to Sylvain, making him melt inside. “I’m glad I could help you, as an instructor. But don’t forget that any progress you’ve made is thanks to both your own talent and your hard work.”

“Yeah, yeah... please don’t lecture me.”

“Sorry.”

“After all, you stopped being my Professor so many years ago.” Even if, for Byleth, it’s probably more like a year... “But also, um... I feel like you’ve helped me more than just being “an instructor”. And I... There are some things I wanted to say to you, and that is one of the reasons I came here.”

There is a deliberate pause. Once again, Sylvain can feel his heart racing.

“... go on.” Byleth nods slightly. His body doesn’t give much indication of any emotion, and yet Sylvain thinks he can feel a tinge of nervousness.

“My father wants me to step up as Margrave.” He starts. “And... He wants me to marry. You know. To be more “proper”. And to have the whole package: Noble title, noble wife, noble children, preferably bearing crests...” He takes a deep breath. “During my whole life, I... I was waiting for that moment. Dreading it, in truth. I knew it was coming. I knew it was part of my responsibility, as a noble. It seemed so unfair, always. Just because I was a noble, my whole life was already decided for me. I despised not having a choice. That’s part of why I... fooled around so much with that many women. Out of spite. Of course, there are also other motives. At this point you must be more than aware of how I feel about  the crest system, and specifically, the whole.. Breeding part of it.

>>When I met you, I was so jealous of you. So angry, too. Just by chance, you had escaped the prison I was born into. You had all of the good, without any of the bad. It seemed so unfair... You were the guy who had it all. A crest, a wonderful reputation, power. Freedom. And everybody loved you. Meanwhile, I... I was just a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep his pants on. The only good thing about me was my crest.

>>Or so I thought. Because, you see, it’s true that I have grown. And it’s... thanks to you. You’ve made me see that there are so many things that I can do. That there is more worth to me than just my blood. That I... That I’m worth something to people. To my friends, my allies, to... to you. And that this worth is not based on how useful I am, or how good I am at doing magic, or giving lip service, or how handsome I am, or even throwing myself in front of a sharp blade instead of someone else.

>>That people can like me ... Because of who I am, not because of what people can obtain from me... That is something I’ve learned because of you. And, for that. For that, I’m infinitely grateful to you.”

He looks at Byleth but nothing but pure love in his eyes. The adoration he feels towards the man in front of him can’t be measured. Sylvain moves to the edge of his chair, so he can extend an arm and... Take one of Byleth’s hands, as the surprised professor can’t do anything else but listen to Sylvain pour his heart out for him.

“I’m also grateful to you for... For loving me. Because I was always afraid that wouldn’t be possible. That people just tolerated me. But, no. You’ve made me feel loved , cared for . And, honestly? I don’t think I can live without it now. I can’t go back to my noble life without you, and marry some woman that won’t love me . No. I can’t do that. I...”

“Oh, thank Sothis.”

The words almost seem to have escaped Byleth’s lips without consent, the quickness they are pronounced with, and the fact that Byleth himself looks surprised after saying them. Sylvain looks at him also surprised, not completely understanding the muttering.

“Sorry. I...” Byleth clears his throat, and for a second he looks... embarrassed. “My apologies. I... I was afraid you hadn’t noticed yet. My... feelings.”

Sylvain can’t blame him. It did take him a long time to notice Byleth’s flirting, after all, and even more to come to terms with it, and even after that, the topic had never been discussed clearly between them.

“It is true that it took you practically spilling them to my face for me to get it.” Sylvain tries to defend himself and- fucking hell the winking tic is here again, Sylvain just can’t get rid of it. “But I’m not that short-sighted.”

“Actually, I think your vision problems are related to-”

“Let’s not do that right now.” Sylvain gently pats the hand he is holding.

“Right. Well then.”

Once again, Byleth clears his throat. He looks at Sylvain, green eyes almost melting as his gaze interlocks with that of the other man, and he squeezes their hands together.

“Allow me to make my feelings perfectly clear. I do love you, Sylvain, I have for some time now. And all the things you’ve said... They are true. Your station as a noble and your crest are irrelevant to me, as my feelings do not care about blood. I do like your wit, though, and your... handsome face, as you’ve said.” A wave of embarrassment washes over Sylvain as he says that. “But over all, I love you, Sylvain, the kind and loyal man that you are.”

“And in return, I... I love you, too.” Sylvain feels his face growing hot as he says that. It might be the first time he says those words actually meaning them. “I do. Really. And I... I’ll be very happy if you allow me to stay by your side.”

“Of course. Nothing could make me happier.”

Byleth smiles as he says that, and Sylvain can’t do anything that is not smile in return. The feelings inside him make him feel... giddy, fizzy. Silly, somewhat. He kinda wants to start doing laps around the monastery, as he feels like if he doesn’t burn his excitement away he might explode.

“Give me a second.” Byleth suddenly gets up, and Sylvain misses the touch of his hand in the same second he stops feeling it. He walks to the bed-side table, opening one of its drawers to retrieve something, and then back to Sylvain. “I hope this doesn’t come as me going too fast but, here."

He gives the object to Sylvain. A ring, a beautiful one, silver metal and small purple-ish gemstones in the shape of a flower... It looks like a woman’s ring, but...

Wait a second.

The fragment of Sylvain’s mind capable of logic manages to surpass his overexcitement to figure out what this ring means , and then his cheeks gain another shade of an even more intense red, as impossible as that sounds.

“A-are you...” He looks at Byleth with nothing but disbelief. “Are you proposing!?”

“You don’t have to accept.” The other man says, the answer being an affirmation of itself. “Do it only if you feel comfortable with it. But I’d like it if, when or if you go back to your father, you do so wearing that ring, so he knows that any marriage offers are off the table for you.”

“I... I don’t know what to say.”

As he says that, Byleth kneels in front of him. Lovingly, he helps Sylvain to put the ring in one of his fingers. It’s a tight fit, but it looks great on him. As he finishes doing so, Byleth takes one of his hands to Sylvain’s face, fingers brushing his skin with an electrifying feeling as the hand cups his cheek. The gesture feels so natural, as if that is where that hand belongs, and it’s so full of love; Sylvain feels totally pampered by it and that feels so good .

“Say yes, then. Because there is nothing in this world that I want more than to be with you.”

So much love drips from those words, Sylvain absolutely drowns on it.

It feels good to be loved. To feel wanted. He realises that now, after a life of pushing people away, of making himself unloveable, of trying his hardest to always be the guy who people aren't supposed to love.

Sylvain can be loved. He can love, in return.

He will love, for many years to come, the man that, even after having it all, decided that he wanted him.