Archive of Our Own ^beta

They’re losing. Horribly.

Byleth grits her teeth as she cuts down an enemy, and then another, and another, and another .

They’re ridiculously outnumbered, and her troops are diminishing by the second.

She is a fool.

They had suspected that the remaining Imperial army would make their move, but for an attack of this scale? She didn’t expect such large numbers from what little that remained of them, and not to mention overlooking their alliance with the Agarthans.

She should have prepared. She should have kept more troops. She should have known .

Are a mere few months of peace all she could offer her people?

Byleth pushes her thoughts away as the Sword of Creator whips around her, taking out a handful of enemies. It’s useless to think of what should’ve been done now.

More enemies come and the iron taste of blood fills her mouth. She’s at her limit, but she can’t stop. She ignores the sharp pain in her right knee as blood sluggishly drips down from a wound, making her way to what’s left of their frontlines - a place where she’s not supposed to be. Byleth can already hear the chastises of her beloved friends and advisors. 

( “Your Majesty, it is best that you remain far from the frontlines.” Seteth stated at the roundtable.

“I agree,” Lorenz sympathized before Byleth had the chance to protest.

All the Deer were present–all except one of course–along with her closest advisors as they frantically made preparations for the upcoming battle. They only had a few days.

Byleth had looked around the room and felt nothing but guilt. Many of her dear friends had scattered all across F ó dlan and made lives for themselves in peacetime, away from war. Even so, they had all come back to aid her in this final battle without a moment’s hesitation.

“We need all the strength we can get in order to push them back,” Byleth tried to object.

“Many of us will be at the front, including myself,” Holst said. He had been working alongside Byleth since the end of the war. If he weren't the head of House Goneril, she would have certainly tried to make him one of her official advisors. “The ultimate goal of the enemy is your head, Your Majesty,” he continued. “I believe it would be optimal to go with Seteth’s strategy.”

Beside him, she saw Hilda nod her head. Byleth took in the whole room, and it seemed like everyone was in consensus.

She breathed out a sigh. “Very well.”)

She understands the precautions her friends had decided on, but sometimes risk is necessary for victory. They don’t doubt her capabilities, she knows that, but a more unreasonable part of her thinks they should have had more faith in her (she knows a certain someone would have).

After all, despite the cuts and burns that scatter her body, and the bone crushing fatigue that weighs down on her–she’s still standing. If it’s truly her head they want, they better try harder to get it.

Byleth continues forward, narrowly finding strength through the occasional surge of her crest. If only she hadn’t used up her divine powers, she would have more energy to spare. That means no more second chances. If she were to try to perform another divine pulse, she’s certain she wouldn’t be able to recover.

In the distance, she finally catches a glimpse of pink hair–Holst, and by the look of it, Hilda as well. They both look worse for wear, but they still seem to be holding their ground despite the heavy increase of retreating allies. 

Byleth’s sword thrusts forward, cutting down a mage aiming for the older Goneril’s blind spot. Holst cleanly slices through the warrior in front of him before snapping his gaze towards the fallen mage, and then to Byleth. 

He grins. “About time, Your Majesty!”

Byleth offers him a huff amusement despite herself. She’s grateful for his understanding of the current situation, and being easy going enough to look past prior strategy (goddess knows she would’ve suffered an earful had it been Lorenz or Seteth). They give each other a short nod before engaging in battle once more.

A wind spell slashes her right arm, and an arrow pierces her left–the more enemies she faces, the more they chip away at her. Byleth’s chest heaves with each breath while nausea and dizziness threaten to shut her down. She looks around the field and still finds it teeming with enemies.

She sucks in a breath, pushing herself to slay another, and another, and another –when she hears the sudden sound of war horns in the distance.

Byleth freezes. 

That sound…another army approaches.

Her mind considers the worst–more enemy troops. 

The thought suffocates her. She’s rooted in place as her head uselessly scrambles for strategies, but none offer her any hope of victory. It’s total defeat–

“Sorry for the late arrival, Your Majesty!”

Byleth is ripped from her thoughts. That voice–

Her eyes dart upwards and she sees a brilliant white wyvern in the dawn painted sky. Its rider is the King of Almyra, clad in his familiar Barbarossa attire as he leads his large army into battle as new allies.

Relief threatens to bring Byleth to her knees, overwhelming her as she feels the tide of battle finally turning in their favor. Her gaze locks with his and she remembers just how much she had missed his face.

Claude smiles at her. “Let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

She responds with a smile.

They both rush into battle and the arrival of the Almyran army boosts morale greatly. Byleth feels her body tremble as her exhaustion catches up with her, but she pushes through, driven by the victory close at hand (and a sudden eagerness to be in his arms and kiss him senseless).

The battle comes to an end shortly after. The damage done was almost devastating, but victory was ultimately theirs.

Byleth trudges through the field, fallen enemies scattered all around. Her legs threaten to fold beneath her as she makes her way back to base. She takes a moment to rest, placing her hand and leaning lightly on a nearby tree as she tries to regulate her breathing. She doesn’t want her people to see her in such a state.

Before she can will herself to move again, Byleth hears the soft beat of wyvern wings behind her.

“Are you alright, my friend?”

She turns around and watches as Claude dismounts his wyvern, the morning sky shining radiantly behind him.

“That was one hell of a battle,” he says, approaching her. He stops a couple feet away and takes in her battered appearance, frowning. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

Byleth shakes her head, dismissing his apology. “Your arrival saved us. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come when you did.”

Her death would have probably been the result, but she leaves it unsaid. It lingers in the space between them instead, creating a slight tension. They’re both fully aware of the horrible outcomes this battle could have brought about, but somehow, they are still here.

The air clears quickly as he offers her a lighthearted smile. “Well, who would’ve thought the King of Almyra would handsomely come rescue the Queen of Fódlan? That’s definitely one for the history books.”

Byleth’s chest swells at the sound of his familiar mirth. She smiles–she truly did miss him.

Claude’s gaze softens as he reaches out his hand. “Let’s go. We should probably get those wounds checked out.”

Byleth takes a tentative step towards his outstretched hand, but just as she expected, the world tilts the moment she moves. She sways back as consciousness begins to slip away from her. She prepares to hit the ground with a thud, but warm hands catch her instead.

Wide, emerald eyes frantically look down at her through her swimming vision, and it’s almost comical how beautiful she finds it. She wants to stare a little longer, worried that he’d be gone again when she wakes up, but darkness quickly fills her vision and her body finally succumbs to her exhaustion.

Byleth winces when consciousness finally comes back to her. She slowly opens her eyes and everything spins for a moment before she registers the ceiling of her tent–she must be back at the base camp. Her head feels a bit foggy, but overall, she feels much better than she did before.

“Finally awake?”

Byleth’s gaze moves towards the sudden, familiar voice to find Claude sitting by her bedside. He’s dressed out of his armor and into more casual wear as he holds what looks to be battle reports.

“You had me worried there. I was beginning to think that you would be asleep for another five years,” Claude teases. 

A smile tugs on Byleth’s lips. “I haven’t been asleep for that long.”

“It’s been a whole day, my friend,” Claude states. “It’s already half past midnight.”

Surprise crosses Byleth’s face. She didn’t expect to be out for that long. Many things must be taken care of after a battle, especially one as important as the last. She can’t believe she slept through all of it.

Claude laughs at her expression, bringing her out of her thoughts and filling her chest with warmth.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures, reading her thoughts. “Everything has been taken care of.” He places the reports on the table at her bedside. “The whole camp seems to be asleep anyways. If there’s anything that needs your attention, it can be done tomorrow. Just focus on getting some more rest for now.”

A soft breath of relief passes through Byleth’s lips. Her cloudy mind wouldn’t be able to handle paperwork anyways. She’ll have to remember to thank the others later. 

For now, all her attention focuses on the company in front of her. Her gaze lingers on Claude’s face as she takes in his appearance. He looks just like he did the last time she saw him, save for his deeper complexion acquired under the Almyran sun. It’s almost as if time hasn't gone by at all.

Byleth thinks back to their months apart where she was blindly finding her way as a new monarch, and letters between them were scarce due to the demands of their positions. Her chest aches thinking about it. She didn’t realize how painful it would be to be away from someone who had always been around, especially someone she loved so dearly.

But now here he is in front of her, as if he never left. She had missed him so desperately, she wonders if he had felt the same.

“I didn’t think you would still be here,” Byleth muses quietly. 

Claude tilts his head slightly, his expression curious. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you would’ve left after the battle.”

Byleth’s tone wasn’t angry or accusing, and she didn’t feel those emotions at all in the slightest. She understands their circumstance and what it takes to see brilliant ambitions to fruition. She would never be upset at Claude for doing what needs to be done for the sake of his - no, their dream.

She can deal with the heartache. 

“Wait,” Claude says, holding up a hand. He looks at her, bewildered. “You thought I would just leave after being away for months?”

“The life of a monarch is a busy one,” Byleth replies, matter-of-factly. “And surely that includes the King of Almyra.”

“But surely ,” Claude begins, mimicking her choice of words, “the Queen of Fódlan remembers the promise I made to her.” He keeps his expression light, but Byleth can see something deeper in his gaze. “I told you nothing would stop me from coming back, my friend.”

Byleth’s pulse quickens at his words, touched. The stirring thoughts of embracing him and kissing him senseless return to her. It was an impulse that caught her off guard and perhaps would have acted on if it weren’t for one thing–she’s filthy. She didn’t get a chance to wash up after the battle.

Byleth moves, her wounds stinging as she tries to sit up.

Claude jolts forward in surprise, hands hurriedly reaching out. “Woah–!” he exclaims, his voice filled with concern. “Easy! It’s dangerous to move suddenly like that.”

Byleth hears him stand when she swings her legs over to the side of the cot. 

“Wait, By –where are you going?”

“The bathhouse,” she says without missing a beat. “There’s one by the base.”

“The bathhouse?” Claude repeats incredulously, his brows furrowing as he makes his way to the other side of the cot

Byleth nods. “I didn’t get to wash up earlier.”

Claude stands beside her, staring with wide eyes. She stares back, watching an endearing little crease form between his eyebrows, deepening with worry. 

“You shouldn’t push yourself, your wounds will reopen,” he says, his arms crossing. “Someone should at least go with you to help you out.”

“Okay,” she replies. “You can come with me.”

Claude’s eyebrows shoot up, taken aback. “What–? No, no, I can probably get Marianne or Hilda—” he starts, his expression dumbfounded.

Byleth shakes her head. “The last battle must have taken a toll on everyone. I don’t want to disturb their rest.” She looks up at him. She doesn’t mind if he accompanies her–they are engaged, aren’t they? “I’m sure it would be alright for my fiancé to help me.” 

Byleth doesn't miss the slight dusting of pink that appears on Claude’s cheeks as he opens his mouth to say something, only to end up clearing his throat a couple times.

Byleth takes in his wide eyes and slightly flushed appearance. Perhaps she was a bit insensitive? She softens her gaze. “But I’m sure I can manage,” she adds, her tone light to ease the tension.

She moves to stand, but Claude quickly steps in front to stop her.

“No, no–you’re right. I’ll… come with you,” he says, color still lingering on his cheeks as he tries to regain his composure. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his tone more lighthearted. “Honestly, By–I know you’re part goddess, but even she was done in by someone’s sword eventually. You shouldn’t overdo it.”

Byleth’s chest warms at his concern. She didn’t think her injuries were so serious that she would need someone to accompany her–that is, until a sharp pain blossomed in her knee the second Claude helped her up. She would’ve completely toppled over if he hadn’t been supporting her.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes wide with concern as he steadies her. He tightens his hold around her waist, being mindful of the injuries on her arms.

Byleth winces. “Yeah, just a little…sore.” She attempts to stand upright, leaning heavily against his support. The moment she shifts her weight, the pain flares again, threatening to bring her to the ground. “I didn’t realize it was this bad…”

Claude’s brow furrows as he assesses her condition. “Are you able to step forward?”

She tries to move, taking a tentative step, but her knee buckles beneath her, sending another jolt of pain through her leg.

Claude steadies her again. “Okay, so that’s a no,” he quips lightly. 

Byleth chuckles weakly. “Seems like it.”

She looks up at Claude and he looks a bit hesitant, his expression conflicted. After a moment, he takes a deep breath. “Hold on a sec,” he says, his voice uncertain but resolute. Before Byleth can protest, he sweeps her off her feet in one smooth motion.

A small sound of surprise escapes Byleth’s lips as she finds herself cradled in his arms. Her pulse quickens, her face flushing slightly.

“Is this alright?” Claude asks a bit stiffly. He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “This should make it easier.”

Byleth’s hands instinctively link behind his neck, holding on for balance. She looks up at him, her cheeks still warm.

“It’s fine…” she murmurs as she nods her head, unable to say anything else.

“Okay,” he replies as he adjusts his grip, his arms strong and steady beneath her. “Let me know if it gets uncomfortable.”

Byleth nods again, her mind drifting back to the battle grime still clinging to her skin. This whole endeavor had started because she wanted to clean up, and now here she was, in close proximity to him. Her foggy mind can’t help but hope it isn’t too unpleasant.

She takes a deep breath, quieting her spiraling thoughts. She steals a quick glance at Claude and she notices the concentration in his eyes as he carefully makes his way out of the tent. The feeling of affection comes in stronger than her initial concern, and suddenly being in his arms feels more comforting. 

That’s right–there’s no need to be unsettled, she reminds herself, 

He is her fiancé after all. 

She really is a fool.

Byleth slides further into the bath. The white magic infused water soothes the ache of her wounds, but also clears up her foggy mind. The clarity gives way for reality to hit her like a wall. 

What was she thinking? 

It’s true that modesty had never been a major concern for her. Growing up as a mercenary, privacy was a luxury rarely afforded. Bathing in rivers or huddling around campfires with her fellow mercs meant she had long since shed any embarrassment about her body. It was just another tool for survival. 

But this… this is different.

This wasn’t just a casual, functional dip in a stream, surrounded by comrades who had become as familiar as family. This was her, bare and vulnerable, with a man she loved, respected, and was engaged to. The thought makes her chest flutter and her skin tingle with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

They had both stolen brief, cryptic moments of intimacy during the war–secret glances across the roundtable, lingering touches that spoke of things they couldn’t yet say aloud. She had even kissed him before his departure to Almyra, a kiss that had been both a promise and a farewell. Yet, this form of intimacy was one they had never come close to touching–completely new terrain.

Byleth sighs, her breath stirring the steam that rises gently from the bath.

The man in question had stepped out to give her space to undress and to retrieve some soaps and towels, promising a quick return. 

She debates telling him that she can manage on her own, that he doesn’t need to trouble himself. But the reality of her situation won’t let her. Simply getting undressed and lowering herself into the bath had been quite a painful ordeal. Her wounds flared in pain protesting every movement, and she had nearly lost her balance more than once because of her goddess damn knee. The thought of trying to wash herself–of moving her battered body with any degree of precision–seems impossible now.

Byleth sits up slightly, pulse kick starting as soft, echoing footsteps pull her from her thoughts. She listens as the footsteps stop right before the entrance to the communal bath, where she sits alone.

“Hey, I’m back,” Claude’s voice calls out. “I have everything. Can I come in?”

Byleth takes a deep breath, her pulse thundering in a way it never has before. “Yes, come in.”

She hears his soft, tentative footsteps approach her bare back and a ping of anxiousness shoots up her spine. Byleth looks over her shoulder, watching him as he makes his way over, carrying the promised soaps and towels. 

Their gazes meet for a brief moment, and Byleth notes Claude’s carefully neutral expression before his eyes flick away and her own eyes suddenly decide to focus on the steaming water surrounding her. She hears him set the items down on a small stool near the edge of the bath as he softly clears his throat.

“I didn’t mean to take so long,” he says lighty, as if to ease the tension. “I couldn’t find any soap in the convoy so I just took mine. I hope you don’t mind smelling like Almyran Pine for a few days.”

Despite her anxiousness, a smile softly touches Byleth’s lips. She can still feel her pulse continue to race, but the familiar lightness of Claude’s voice seems to calm her nerves a little.

“That’s fine,” she replies evenly, feeling her nervousness settle slightly. “Better than battle grime and dirt.”

Claude chuckles at her quip, causing her smile to grow wider. 

“Very true,” he sympathizes, his voice closer as he settles behind her. “How are the injuries? The healing magic should have started working by now.”

Byleth sighs softly, wishing that she could tell him that she feels well enough to wash up on her own–but the light throb in her arms remind her that she would be lying if she did. 

“The pain has dulled, but… it’s still a bit difficult to move,” she admits reluctantly, gaze fixed in front of her as she hears Claude reach for something on the stool.

“Alright,” he says softly as he dips a small basin in the water. “Lean forward a little. I’ll help you.”

Byleth hesitates but does as he says, her movements slow and deliberate to avoid aggravating her wounds. She feels water run down from the top of her head and down her body as he slowly pours water on her, her hair sticking to skin as it becomes damp. Byleth stays still, anxiousness still prodding at her chest.

“I’ve never done this before,” Claude murmurs, his voice sounding low and focused enough that Byleth can already picture the way his brows are furrowed in concentration. “So… if I’m doing something wrong, let me know.”

Byleth nods silently as she hears Claude lather his hands with soap, the familiar smell of Almyran Pine filling the room. His hands gently run through her strands of hair before moving up to her scalp, his movements softened by a gentle care. 

A silence settles between them, slightly tense given the unspoken intimacy of the moment, but Claude, never being one to stay quiet for long, carefully breaks it.

“From what I gathered after the battle, I heard they tried keeping you far away from the front lines,” he muses, his tone slightly teasing. “Funny how I found you exactly there when I arrived.”

Byleth huffs slightly as Claude continues his careful ministrations through her hair, his hands faltering briefly every so often. “It was a poor strategy,” she states bluntly, fighting back a shiver as his hands start gently working the soap through her scalp. 

Claude chuckles, a low and warm sound. “I can see the logic behind it—but I know it must’ve driven you crazy.” He pours more water on her head, meticulously rinsing her hair clean. “It’s a good thing you were out like a light, my friend. I could tell Seteth and Lorenz were about ready to give you an earful.”

“I’m sure they’ll be just as ready in the morning too,” she replies, her tone dry but laced with humour. “But since when have you started siding with them?”

She turns her head to the side slightly, intending to give him a teasing look over her shoulder, but hesitates halfway. A sudden reminder of the vulnerability of the moment prods at her, and she quickly focuses her gaze back on the steaming water instead, a light blush rising to her cheeks.

Claude doesn’t seem to notice her brief hesitation and lets out a small, incredulous huff. “Siding with them? I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies smoothly, his voice light with mirth as he rinses away the last of the soap in her hair. “But I have to give them some credit since they were trying to keep my fiancée safe.”

The words land unexpectedly warm in Byleth’s chest. She smiles, but she’s briefly reminded of his earlier words–

“Are you alright, my friend?”

“It’s been a whole day, my friend,”

“It’s a good thing you were out like a light, my friend,”

The name “my friend” had always felt natural between them–a nickname he used since the war. But now, with the weight of their relationship and everything they’ve endured, it feels oddly out of place. 

“Oh?” she says lightly, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease him. “I was starting to think you still saw me as just a friend.”

Claude’s hands still for a moment, and the pause in his response is almost imperceptible—but she catches it. “You know I don’t mean it that way,” he replies, his tone dipping into something softer as he realizes what she’s referring to. “Force of habit, I guess.”

Byleth hums, her teasing smile lingering. “I don’t know,” she muses. “You’ve been consistent with it since you got back. I think it might’ve even been the first thing you called me when you arrived.”

“It was ‘Your Majesty’, actually,” he quips and Byleth can hear the smile on his lips. He puts the basin down. “But you’re right. I suppose that title doesn’t cover everything anymore, does it?” Through her peripherals she sees him dip a soft cloth in the water, before wringing it out with a steady hand. He gestures gently to her arm. “I’m done with your hair…do you think you can lift your arm?”

Byleth pauses, caught off guard after getting carried away in their banter. She nods, her pulse thrumming slightly as she slowly lifts her arm out of the water with a slight wince. Claude places a stable hand underneath, supporting her arm as he begins cleaning her skin with the soft cloth, his touch warm and gentle.  

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, his gaze briefly flicking to hers. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she replies softly, her voice almost catching in her throat. “It’s fine.” She watches him carefully drag the cloth across her skin, being mindful of the wounds that mar her arm. His eyes find hers, and their gazes meet once more for a moment–before they simultaneously look away.

After a breath, Claude clears his throat softly, breaking the silence. “Well, if ‘my friend’ doesn’t cut it anymore,” he starts, picking up their earlier conversation, “what should I call you then?”

Byleth’s mind spins for a moment, distracted as she feels Claude’s hesitant fingers move her hair to her shoulder to wash her back and shoulders. She stays impossibly still, closing her eyes as she wills herself to think of an answer. Thankfully, something comes to her–

“Wait, By– where are you going?”

A smile forms on her lips as she recalls the earlier moment. “I liked what you called me earlier—‘By’.”

“‘By’?” he repeats, and the way the nickname rolls off his tongue feels warm and familiar. A fond huff escapes him. “I didn’t even realize I started calling you that.” 

“I like it,” she states. “It’s simple.”

“Well then,” he says, his voice light and fond. “‘By’ it is.”

Byleth tilts her head towards him as he gently moves the cloth across her other arm. “And what about you?” she asks, curiosity lacing her tone. She tries to imagine what nickname she might give him, but it proves harder than expected 

Claude hums out in thought. “‘Claude’ is fine,” he says warmly before hesitating for a moment. “Or maybe…’Khalid’. ‘Khalid’ works too.”

“‘Khalid’?” Byleth echoes, the unfamiliar name rolling off her tongue with a slight hesitation.

Claude’s voice softens “Yeah. It’s my Almyran name. I guess I never got the chance to tell you–though you would’ve found out soon enough after reading the battle reports.”

Byleth repeats the name again, determined to get the subtle intonation right. “Khalid,” she murmurs, the sound of it filling her heart. “It’s a good name.”

In the corner of her eye, she sees a gentle smile form on his lips. “It’s yours to use, By.”

A comfortable silence falls over them as Claude finishes rinsing the soap off her body. Byleth, deep in thought, stares straight ahead, absentmindedly thinking of other names of endearment. A few come to her–darling, beloved, honey– but she can’t seem to take them seriously.

Eventually, one comes to her mind. She repeats it in her head, liking how it sounds, but unsure if it's a bit too trite.

“Alright, I think we’re done,” Claude says as he places the wash cloth aside. “Your towel and spare clothes are on the stool behind you–I’ll step out so you can finish up. Let me know if you need anything.”

Byleth nods, humming in acknowledgment. “Thank you, my love–”

The words escape her lips before she realizes, soft and unthinking, but they hang in the air with startling weight. She hears Claude’s movements falter behind her as he moves to clean up the supplies.

“‘My love’?” he echoes, his voice playful, but there’s a warmth beneath it. “That’s new.”

Byleth fights the urge to hide her face in her hands, though the rising blush on her cheeks is impossible to miss. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she mutters, though her voice lacks its usual conviction.

His face appears in her peripherals, a teasing grin on his face. “Well, you can’t take it back now. Go on, By, say it one more time for me.”

She glances at him sideways through narrowed eyes. “Claude—” she starts, exasperated, but he cuts her off with a soft chuckle.

“Alright, alright,” he relents with a grin. “I know I’m teasing you, but I actually like it. It has a nice ring to it–don’t you think, my love ?”

Byleth shakes her head, biting back a smile as Claude steps back, clearly satisfied with himself. “I’ll be right outside,” he repeats, his tone gentler now. “Call if you need me.”

Hearing him turn, Byleth shifts to stand, moving carefully as her body protests the motion. She starts to rise, but the moment her weight shifts onto her injured knee, a sharp, searing pain flares, and her leg gives out beneath her.

Before she can even process what’s happening, she feels hands reach out to steady her–Claude’s hands–but the momentum sends them both tumbling into the bath with a loud splash.

Water sloshes over the edge, and for a moment, everything feels chaotic—until they settle, the reality of their position sinking in. Byleth finds herself leaning back against the side of the bath, with Claude leaning over her, one arm braced on the edge of the bath and the other around her waist to keep her steady. One of her hands presses against his chest for balance, her fingers instinctively curling into the damp fabric of his shirt.

Time seems to still.

Claude’s emerald eyes are wide, searching hers with a mixture of worry and something unspoken. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice is low and rushed.

Byleth doesn’t answer. Instead she blinks up at him, her gaze lingering on his face, surprising herself with how calm she feels despite the intimacy of their position. Instead of panic, her longing from earlier–from the past six months–comes rushing back to her, and any embarrassment she may have felt seems to melt away. She missed him–did he miss her?

Claude’s eyes continue to search hers in his concern before his expression shifts as he fully registers their predicament. His cheeks flush a deep red, and his eyes quickly flick away, his composure cracking for once. “I, uh—sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just…didn’t want you to fall—”

Byleth tilts her head slightly, her voice thoughtful. “Your heart is beating fast,” she murmurs, her fingers pressing lightly against his chest. Her gaze softens as she studies him, her fingertips reaching up and gently brushing against his jaw. She tilts his face back toward her. “And your face is red.”

His gaze locks on hers and she watches as his fluster grows into something a little more softer. “Yeah, well. I’m not made of stone, By,” he says, his voice low and slightly strained.

Byleth’s expression is calm, but there’s a glimmer of something deeper—admiration, longing, affection—that seems to catch him off guard.

“I missed you,” she says quietly, the weight of the words hanging in the air.

“And you think I didn’t?” he counters, his voice sincere, lacking its usual mirth. “I couldn’t go a day without thinking about you. It was hard enough leaving in the first place… but being away from you? It felt like I left part of myself behind.”

Byleth’s chest tightens at his words, and she feels the longing she’s kept buried rise to the surface. She doesn’t hesitate this time—she leans up slightly, her fingers still resting gently against his jaw.

“My love,” she whispers, her breath brushing against his lips.

The words on her lips seem to undo him. He closes the remaining distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that feels both tentative and overwhelming. The world around them falls away, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the two of them. 

The kiss deepens gradually, a shared vulnerability passing between them. It’s a quiet, unspoken promise—one of love, of longing, of everything they’ve both kept unsaid.

His eyes search hers, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite the blush still coloring his cheeks. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he quips. 

Byleth chuckles softly, her own cheeks warm but her heart impossibly light. “I think I have some idea,” she replies.

She leans forward, pressing another light kiss to his lips, feeling lighter than she had in months. Despite the aches in her body, despite the trials they’ve endured and the battles still ahead, she feels a sense of peace she hasn’t known in a long time. Her other half had returned to her, and that was all she needed.