Archive of Our Own ^beta

For their birthday, every student up until now has organized a party for themselves. Some have invited members of all three classes (particularly in the case of Flayn and Raphael – though the only guy that came to Flayn’s party was Sylvain. And unfortunately for him, Seteth), while most have invited only their own. Claude’s not inviting anyone. He’s not doing anything at all. His birthday will be in less than two weeks, yet he’s made no mention of a party, nor any other type of activity to celebrate. Isn’t he the party-loving type? He’s made that much clear in the past. It’s odd for him to do nothing when he has the perfect excuse to – too odd. So, Byleth decides to investigate.

She invites him to a tea session in the Monastery’s garden, making sure to prepare chamomile – his favorite. Pastries, tea, she takes care of everything with maybe less than half of her attention put into it and most of it going to just how she’ll ask. Claude’s not the type to give a straight answer (unless he finds it funny). Maybe she could use one of those herbs Rhea gave her some time ago, to relax him just enough to give a straight answer… She does still have some with her.

“Or you could just ask,” comments Sothis from inside her head. “Come on, it’s a simple matter! I’m sure he’ll answer.”

Or that too. Maybe she’s right. It’s a simple enough question, he’ll surely answer at least this much. Probably.

… Or maybe it would be best she’s not too direct.

There’s already a few tables occupied when she arrives at the spot she's chosen. Their occupants are all students having tea and chatting, or simply reading on their own. Just a couple of them seem to notice her. But they’re so deep in conversation that they just take their gaze away without greeting her, focusing their attention on the person they’re with. She leaves them be, making sure to set everything up by the table furthest from everyone else, scattering the pastries and cookies around its surface and settling the warm teapot in its middle. Not exactly the most private spot, but it’s too late to change places. And even if she could, she wouldn’t want to: she’s heard so many student gush about how beautiful this place is. Lorenz and Ferdinand especially have sang the praises of its beauty more than once. They praised the bushes of colorful flowers that encircle it; the fragrant whiffs they could often catch when the wind so decided; the pavilions that cover each table, both for the protection they offer from the sun, and for their subtle floral decorations (carved into the wood, apparently). Byleth hadn’t even noticed those. Though to be fair, she can’t even see this garden’s beauty, no matter what she’s heard. It’s just a place like any others, really. The one thing she too can appreciate is the fragrance that at times reaches her. Regardless, if the students like this place so much, why would she have tea anywhere else?

Claude arrives just a couple of minutes late, smiling that ever-present grin of his.

“’Sup teach,” he greets her, taking a seat before her. “Missed me?”

“We’ve seen each other this morning.”

“Aw, too shy to say you missed me? Don’t worry teach, I got you.”

A wink, and he shifts his attention to the food and drinks waiting on the table, sweeping his gaze across them. Byleth watches him in silence, resting her cheek on her hand. Now, how to approach this? She taps her fingers on her cheek, much too-busy trying to figure out a way to go about this to speak. He doesn’t seem to mind. He looks much too-focused choosing something to eat for that, really. His gaze stops to fix on a bun. Simple, without chocolate nor fruit on it – a Faerghan delicacy, if Byleth remembers right. He picks it up and brings it to his lips, raising his gaze back to her. And maybe, that’s what draws her to speak.

“Say, Claude.”

“Mh?”

He looks at her expectantly, chewing slowly. He’s barely bitten a tiny bit of the pastry off.

“What are you going to do the week after the next?”

His lips quirk up at the edges in an held-back smile, as if she’d asked something silly, and not simply his plans for the week.

He swallows down his bite of food and cocks his head. “That’s a bit vague, teach.”

“Yes, because I’m asking for the whole week.”

Asking for a single day – and the one of his birthday at that – would be way too risky: she can’t have him understand why she’s asked, after all. Even if he somehow managed to forget his birthday (which… doesn’t sound like something Claude would do), he’d realize what she’s thinking for sure if she told him the exact day. Claude hums, taking another bite of his pastry. Bigger, less careful. It takes him longer to chew, forces Byleth to wait for an answer.

“Well, it depends,” he says at last. “Any reason you’re asking?”

For a moment, she just eyes him. Were he anyone else of her students, she wouldn’t do that: it makes them squirm and look away every single time. And to make them uncomfortable, to be seen as a demon yet again, is the last thing she wants. But Claude doesn’t squirm; he never does. He looks perfectly at ease before her gaze – merely curious, if him staring back is anything to go by.

“Yes, because of class reasons. No, I’m not telling you what I’m organizing.”

“’Class reasons’? You can’t just say that! You got me way too curious now. Come on teach, aren’t you going to share with your favorite student?”

“No.”

“Ah! You didn’t deny I’m your favorite.”

He pushes the rest of his pastry into his mouth with a smug grin that disappears as he chews, yet remains apparent in the curve of his lips as he does so. Maybe, that’s why he’s her favorite. Byleth looks down, picking up the first pastry her hand stumbles upon and biting into it. Everyone’s been welcoming and friendly with her, but none the way Claude has. He’s… not the most honest person. With eyes sharp as her blade, he rarely gives others a real smile. But he never treats her as if she were a demon – nor as if she were his teacher, despite the way he calls her. It’s as if they were equals. And as teasing as he may be, she could swear the trace of affection in his voice is laced with a timid truth, terrified to come out. Her father aside, he’s the first person to have ever made her feel so… accepted. She lifts her gaze back up, only to find Claude staring at her with rosy cheeks, his cup held in mid air.

She blinks. “Is something the matter?”

“You’re… smiling.” He clears his throat, bringing the cup closer to his lips. “Rare sight.”

He takes a sip of his drink, shifting his gaze to the side, where a cat is sitting by another table. It’s meowing, looking expectantly at the couple sitting there for pastries that would probably do it no good, no matter if neither students are giving in. Though they do glance at it at times, they both remain strong. For how long has it been meowing? Byleth hadn’t even heard it. She hadn’t noticed her own smile, either.

“So, will you be busy two weeks from now?” she says.

“For you? Free as a bird.” He brings his gaze back to her and winks, already going back to his usual grin. “Your class excluded, that is. Unless that’s an invite to skip it together?”

“I can’t skip my own class.”

“Manuela does.”

True enough.

Though that’s only when her hangover’s too awful. Byleth has never suffered anything like that, and she has no plans of doing so now. She finishes her pastry and picks up another, leaning back on her seat.

So Claude really isn’t planning anything for his birthday. He wouldn’t just make it a surprise for everyone else, would he? She can kind of imagine him doing something as ridiculous as that, but that’s probably not it. He’s just… planning nothing. And that won’t do. Everyone else celebrated – Even Edelgard! – and he certainly won’t be the only one who hasn’t. She’ll make sure of it.

But for now, she just shrugs in response. They pass onto other subjects, and while Claude does try to figure out what she’s planning with some nonchalant prodding, she doesn’t say a thing. In the end, he’s forced to let it go.

So, a birthday party. How does one go about organizing one? Laying down underneath the soft blankets of her bed, Byleth stares up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to go about it. It’s not like she’s been to many birthday parties. How did the other students do it? There was always cake (though it was always a different flavor. Is there a secret rule? Do they just get something the one being celebrated particularly likes, or consider a flavor everyone would like?), a song everyone looked oddly awkward singing, and… what else? It can’t possibly be that simple. But it’s a start, at least.

In the morning, she can’t immediately start organizing. There’s a class she has to teach, and she has no intention to skip it. She pushes the thought of Claude’s birthday to the back of her mind as soon as everyone has sat down, starting to explain possible battle tactics to use in case of disadvantageous terrain. Just as always, her students’ attention is fixed on her (though they do still look sleepy... as always). Today, Claude’s gaze is the most intense of all. Inquisitive, searching for something other than what she’s explaining, as if it could convince her to fess up without a word. It makes her line of thoughts interrupt, her discourse come to a halt. She turns her back to it and forces the words back to her lips, drawing schemes of the various tactics she goes back to explaining. She goes on for a while with no more interruptions – if not a couple from Lysithea to ask questions. Until it’s another the voice that speaks up.

“Will we be trying these?” asks Claude.

Byleth draws the final line to the scheme she’s drawing and turns his way. “Unless trouble comes next time we’re on a mission, no.”

“Aw, I thought for sure we would be doing that. You know, since you’re organizing something for the week after the next?”

That seems to startle the rest of the Deer awake. Hilda straightens up, and all eyes seem to grow sharper with interest.

“Uuh, you’re planning something, professor? I didn’t know anything about that!” says Hilda.

“Yes, how come Claude knows about it, and we don’t?” asks Lorenz, glaring at Claude.

His lips shifting into a frown, he crosses his arms atop his desk. He doesn’t glare at Byleth, but he does look as if he were barely stopping himself from doing so.

“I’m sure there’s a very good reason,” says Ignatz. Timid, fixing his glasses but not looking Lorenz in the eyes.

“Can’t we go back to our lesson? I’m sure the professor has her reasons,” echoes Lysithea.

Tapping her fingers on the table, she stares at Lorenz with a scowl that might have been more threatening, were she not puffing her cheeks like a pouty squirrel. Maybe that’s why Lorenz doesn’t listen.

“Professor, I’m sure you understand that at the very least I should be told,” says Lorenz.

“What, like you’re more important than us?” asks Leonie.

“I mean, as the noble heir of house Gloucester–”

“Seriously?”

“I… hadn’t even started explaining yet?”

“Alright, alright, enough!” exclaims Lysithea. “Let’s just get back to the lesson.”

Leonie doesn’t even turn to glance her way.

She huffs, keeping her gaze on Lorenz. “You’ve already said too much.”

Lorenz gasps, but just as he opens his mouth, so does everybody else. They all start to talk over each other, crushing whatever hope still remained that the lesson could continue. And in the midst of hope’s ground shards and the screeching chaos, Claude just grins. His eyes are fixed on Byleth, his chin resting on his hand.

“You can stop them at any moment,” says his gaze. “Just tell us what you’re planning.”

Challenging, twinkling without a single attempt to hide how he’s thriving in the chaos he’s sparked. He’s smirking, already victorious. But if he thinks Byleth will let him win this easily, he’s greatly mistaken. She takes her sword out of its sheath, staring right back. Lorenz’s the first one to notice the glint of its iron, stopping in the midst of whatever he might have been saying (hard to tell, when everyone’s voices have been trying to tower over each other’s).

“Professor?” he asks, uncertain.

That gets everyone’s attention. One after the other they stop talking, directing their attention to her. She still looks firmly at Claude, at the frozen smirk on his lips.

“Change of plans,” she says. “We’re doing some practical training today.”

From the corner of Byleth’s gaze, Lysithea glances down at her notes, then back at her. “But professor, we’re still not done here! You haven’t told us how to apply this yet.”

Now, Byleth could try to scramble for an explanation. But that would be risky – especially with Claude here – so why bother, when there’s a much more effective way? She doesn’t answer – not with her words. She simply gives Lysithea a sideway glance, and marches out of the classroom. There’s a couple of surprised exclamations coming from behind her, and a quiet snort that barely reaches her ears. But footsteps do hurry to follow.

One to zero, she thinks to herself.

First things first, the cake. Now, Byleth could technically try to understand whatever unspoken rule is behind one type being chosen over another and get one on her own. But why would she not ask her class’ resident expert instead? With all the sweets she eats, she must know the rules to choose a cake for a birthday party. Hopefully, one specifically fit for Claude. Byleth doesn’t try to approach her right after the lesson, when all her students are still close by and Claude’s gaze is still lingering on her: she waits; pretends she has no specific plans for the day but training, remaining at the training grounds to do exactly that. Claude remains, too. He watches her, leaned back against a column with a relaxed smile on his face, and his arms crossed. His eyes are less intense than before, in a half-baked mask that doesn’t manage to hide their focus. They seem to be trying to strip her mind naked, to dive into it and figure out what she’s planning. It ruins the fluid movements she’s used to perform, turning them not quite jerky, but unacceptable all the same.

A stab, a parry to an imaginary opponent’s attack, a roll and a slash. That distracting gaze remains on her. Would Claude just follow, if she went to talk to Lysithea while underneath his gaze? She was hoping he’d leave her be after a while, but he doesn’t seem to be planning to do so. He doesn’t even seem to mind having nothing to do but watching her. She stops, sheathing her sword and turning to him, to that undying grin.

“Are you going to watch for long?” she asks.

He cocks his head. “Why, distracting you?”

Byleth just stares. Unimpressed, having no intention to answer that. Claude chuckles.

“You could just leave, you know?” he says. “Ah, unless you don’t want me to see where you’re going… or who you’ll be going to. But that wouldn’t make any sense, would it, teach?”

“You’re overthinking.”

In the right direction, but Byleth can’t let him know that.

“Am I? Then maybe you could ease my mind. After all, why would you keep your plans a secret?”

There’s a concrete note of distrust in his tone that slams into Byleth’s heart. Heavy. Cutting.

“I’m telling you, you’re overthinking. Do you really think I’d be planning something bad?”

Claude turns his gaze away. Just for a moment, just long enough for that mechanical grin to come back.

“I never know what you’re thinking.” He steps away from the column, stopping right before her. “But if you don’t plan on telling me, I’ll just figure it out myself.”

He towers over her, turned shadow with the sunlight shining behind him; a darkness cut by a whetted grin, and emerald eyes staring her down with sharp fear. Instincts from the past call for Byleth to cut him down, scream that fear makes people desperate and their moves erratic.

She reaches out instead.

Lands a hand on his arm, holding it in a loose grasp. Claude doesn’t move. His eyes dart to her hand, widening just a fraction. Next she knows, they’re back to how they were before.

“Try your best, if you want,” she says. “But don’t ever think I’d hurt you.”

Beneath her hand, Claude’s arm relaxes. He looks away from her and takes a step back, shedding the look of a shadow; turning back into her favorite student.

“I know that,” he says, scratching his cheek. “I… swear I do.”

She shifts to the side, searching for the wounding fear that was into his eyes. There’s nothing.

“Good. Good luck then.”

She turns around to Claude’s uncertain, thin grin, marching out of the training grounds. Until she’s closed the doors behind her, his gaze burns into her back.

I need to be careful, she thinks to herself, walking along the path before her.

Claude’s too smart for his own good. Quick to jump to hurtful conclusions maybe, but she can’t fault him for that: she was the Ashen Demon, after all.

Students greet her as she passes by, a blur of faces she doesn’t pay much attention to. That’s not to say she’s not being careful of her surroundings – quite the opposite, with Claude’s words still fresh in her mind. But as long as none of them is the person she’s looking for – or Claude himself – they’re no threat. She answers them with distracted nods of her head, eyes darting around in search of white long hair and focused pink eyes. Sometimes, when Thomas was absent and the library too-loud, she saw Lysithea seeking a place to study outside, trying to flee from the chattering that inevitably infiltrated the place. But she’s not anywhere in the courtyard, sitting beneath a tree or on a bench with a book in hand. In the library then.

Byleth reaches the place without trouble (namely, without meeting Claude), and stops by the opened door to inspect the room. Linhardt’s sleeping soundly with his head on the table, his mouth slightly agape. Apart from him there’s just a couple of students in the library, so focused on whatever it is they’re reading that they don’t even react to her appearance. One of them is… Dedue, if she remembers correctly. She hasn’t talked to him more than maybe a couple of times and seen him around on his own even less: usually, he keeps by prince Dimitri’s side. It seems he still does know how to live separately. His brows furrowed, and a finger following along as he reads, it’s a coin toss whether he’s liking the read, or wanting to burn the tome with his sight alone. Byleth certainly knows the feeling.

After spending her whole life as a mercenary, to teach here at the Monastery she’s had to read a frustrating mountain of tomes much higher than the books she’s read all throughout her life could make up. Sure, she knew many things already, but mostly just when it came to combat and leadership, not everything else she needed.

She turns her attention to the other student in the room – exactly the one she was searching for. Lysithea looks focused, but not enough not to raise her gaze when Byleth steps closer. She doesn’t look any less murderous than Dedue.

“Yes, professor?” she asks, anticipating Byleth.

Her index taps underneath the line she was reading in an annoyed memo and her eyes narrow impatiently. Byleth still forces her to wait just the time to cast a quick glance around. The coast seems clear.

“What’s the best birthday cake?” she asks.

Lysithea’s finger goes still, her annoyance fading in favor of a confused stare. “Uh? What kind of question is that? There’s no ‘best birthday cake’! Every cake is perfect… as long as it’s sweet, that is.”

Every cake? That explains why they change from party to party: they’re all good enough.

“I see. So any cake would do.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

“You said every cake is perfect.”

“Yes, but–” Lysithea huffs, crossing her arms on top of the tome. “Professor, what are we even talking about? Why the question?”

For a moment, Byleth just studies her. She seems genuinely frustrated for some reason, and while Byleth can’t risk Claude finding out what she’s planning, he and Lysithea don’t really seem to get along much, so this shouldn’t bring any risks. Claude does seem to like her, but Lysithea clearly doesn’t appreciate his teasing. Unfortunately for her, teasing is as natural as breathing, for him. (Besides, even if this were risky, she does need to invite the Deer, so there’s no hiding what she’s planning from them.) 

“Claude’s birthday is in less than two weeks,” she says. “I’m planning a surprise birthday party.”

So keep quiet, she hopes her gaze conveys.

“Oh, you’re right.” Lysithea tilts her head, resting her cheek on a finger. “There was so little fanfare about it I completely forgot. One would think Claude would be more annoying about his birthday.”

Much more annoying. His silence isn’t really a welcome surprise, though. It’s eery, coming from someone always searching for ways to have a party.

“So, the cake,” incites Byleth.

“Right. Well… he certainly seemed to like my cake, the other day.” She scowls, shaking her head. “I don’t know what it was, ask him. He made it.”

She points at Dedue, who’s just now raising his head. His brows are still furrowed, but he’s no longer oozing murder. He just looks resigned.

“It was a traditional Faerghus recipe,” he says.

Probably not the kind of sweet anyone in the Golden Deer could make then. Though then again, Byleth never had any intention to invite only her class.

“Could you make it?” she asks. A blink. “Oh, and your class is invited. But keep the secret.”

A deep breath, and Dedue nods. “I’m not going to deny a professor.”

“Thank you.”

And with this, the cake is taken care of.

Usually, Byleth goes to sleep fairly early. Today, she spends the evening trying to think about what games they could do at Claude’s birthday party (that’s a thing that’s done, yes? She can kind of recall playing games during a mercenary’s birthday, but that wasn’t really a party… Claude would probably appreciate games regardless of whether it’s normal or not, though). Staring down at the blank paper before her, by the time her yawns grow frequent and her limbs heavy she’s barely managed to jot down a single thing: chess. That’s it. She doesn’t even bother writing down the few games she at times played with her father (like hide-and-seek or tag) – especially not with Lorenz, and probably Ferdinand, attending the party.

The next day is awfully calm. Claude tries to redirect her to speak of what she’s planning only a couple of times, both of them mere half-hearted attempts she easily shuts down. And it’s… good, yes. But it doesn’t feel so.

“Claude,” she calls him after the lesson, to make him remain.

He does so without a word to her, only saying goodbye to the rest of the class with a cheery voice, and a wink to Lorenz. She waits until everyone else is gone to speak up again.

“I said to try your best, didn’t I?” she says.

Claude’s brows relax, in just a tiny sign of surprise. “You did. But didn’t you want my trust?”

Would you really be willing to give it to me?

“Not when it’s clear it’s still bothering you. Just consider it a game.”

Claude chuckles. “Bothering me? No, not at all. But good to know I’ve got your permission, teach! Not that I’d need it.”

He leaves with a small wave, hiding his lie before a tiny truth, and behind his turning back. He’s good at it, lets not a sign show. But Byleth knows.

In the evening, she tries to think of what games to play once more. Quill in hand, she sits down before the paper she’s left on the desk and it’s single, mocking word: chess. It goes no better than it did yesterday. Only, this time she stares blankly at the paper for long enough that Sothis stirs in her head. She appears by Byleth’s side with a chuckle, hovering over her shoulder.

“This again?” she asks. “Are you truly struggling so much to think of a mere game to play?”

“I didn’t play much as a kid.”

Now she doesn’t play at all. Maybe she could join her students next time she sees them playing one of their games. It might be especially nice to play chess with Claude. He might enjoy it, too.

“A pity.” Sothis sighs, leaning back with a leg resting over the other. “A childhood spent with no leisure is a childhood wasted.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t play at all. And I often sparred with whoever accepted my challenge back then, too. I enjoyed it.”

They went extremely easy on her, she can see that now. But what else could they do when she was nothing but a child? It’s already a miracle some of them (other than her father) would actually accept her challenge. Maybe they knew it would be helpful. Even as a child, her father’s job easily put her in danger, no matter if she stayed behind at camp. Had they not trained her young, she would have probably died.

A hum, and she writes down: “sparring?” The students might find it interesting, when it’ll be all three houses attending Claude’s birthday party. Hopefully. The Deer and Lions will surely come, but she needs to invite the Black Eagles as soon as possible. She jots that down too, just in case she forgets.

“Oh, you poor child,” sighs Sothis. “Fine, I can see you need my help. A fine birthday party needs performers! Poets, musicians, dancers! Only then will it make for a worthy feast.”

For a moment, Byleth does consider writing those down. But though she might be no expert, Sothis’ ideas don’t sound right.

“None of the other students’ birthday parties had those, though,” she points out.

“Dull, all of them! The youth these days…”

In the end, much to Sothis chagrin, Byleth doesn’t write her suggestions down.

The next morning, Claude comes to the lesson late. He sits down as if he were right on time underneath his classmates’ amused or annoyed gazes, and says not a thing. Calm and grinning, ever grinning. Amused. He stares at her during the lesson just as he did the first day of this charade, but not a single word leaves his quirked-up lips, if not a question about who Byleth believes would win in a fight between them and the Eagles.

“You,” she answers.

And with that, they go back to the lesson. He doesn’t say anything else, and she doesn’t question his lack of attempts to figure out what she’s doing (not out loud, at least), forcing her gaze not to linger on him. Though the whole time she teaches class he’s right there, sitting at the edge of her vision. Grinning.

After it, he doesn’t follow her – she makes sure to check. She’s freer to go downtown than she thought she’d be, bringing along a backpack to hide his gift in. With the lessons over (not just hers, but the other professors’ as well), she’s far from being the only person heading to town from the Monastery: most of them are students; just a few are knights. Still clad in their uniforms, the former stand out in the crowd of people roaming around in somber clothing, if less than the knights and their shining armor do. None of the faces atop those tidy collars are familiar, though. A comforting thought, with what she needs to do.

Her quest is a mix of two tasks: seeing if she can find a fun game for everyone to play and have fun (without scandalizing anyone), and searching for a good gift for Claude. Not a good-enough gift he’d politely smile at and thank her for, but a true smile-inducing one; something that will make his eyes glimmer, and his grin fade into a sincere smile filled with glee. Boardgames, riding boots, and exotic spices would all be good options, were it not for the fact that Byleth has already gifted him those – and not even for his birthday. She just felt like gifting him something. But now, what’s left that he might like? It’s fine to repeat gifts, but certainly not for this occasion.

Sothis has gone back to sleep, leaving her to walk through the streets without aid nor a mere idea as to where to even look, turning her head around to check every shop she comes across (real shops, not stalls like the ones by Garreg Mach’s entrance), and stopping before all of them. Clothing stores, armories, toy shops – no matter. If she goes through them all, maybe inspiration will randomly strike. Not that she simply hopes on a miraculous thought: she tries her best to think about the matter. But even with the help of multiple shops’ assortments of stuff, not a single good idea comes to mind.

She sighs, sitting down on a bench to rest for a moment. Not her body, but rather, her mind. To cleanse it from the annoyance, the frustration, all of it. Daring leaves tickle the back of her neck, bringing her to shift slightly to the left. Is she to just continue her search without a lead?

“Oh, professor!” exclaims a cheery voice.

Byleth turns her head to see Hilda waving at her, with a smile on her face, and countless shopping bags in her hands. Dressed not in her uniform, but in a rose pink dress that stops above her knees, she strolls Byleth’s way and sits down by her side with a light thump.

“What are you doing?” she asks, settling her bags down on the ground before her.

“Looking for a gift,” answers Byleth. Hilda might be Claude’s closest friend, but while she's the riskier one to tell, she needs to be invited in advance, just like everybody else. Though in truth, as of now Byleth’s invited only the Blue Lions. And Lysithea. She really should have asked Lysithea to – carefully – spread the word. How had she remembered to ask Dedue, but not her? “It’s almost Claude’s birthday.”

“Aw, that’s sweet!” Hilda claps once, her hands clasping each other while the sound’s still echoing in the air. “Adorable, professor! Though you don’t really seem to be searching hard.”

Byleth shakes her head. The leaves tickle her neck yet again with the movement. “I was just taking a short break.”

“Well, that’s super important! But, like, unexpected. You don’t rest much.”

“Mh.”

Byleth nods, slow, in recognition. The leaves still tickle. Leaves. Plants?

Oh, she thinks, blinking, I know what to gift him.

Claude might have been joking when he suggested to poison the other students, but Byleth’s not blind: she’s seen him harvest plants when he thought no one was watching, has seen him wobble back to his room with reddened cheeks, and his breath scented by herbal freshness. He might not have used it on anyone yet, but Claude absolutely does experiment with potions and poisons.

“Do you already have an idea on what to buy him?” asks Hilda, leaning back on her seat with an almost… excited smile. “He’s such a secretive guy that I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t know! But don’t you worry professor, I can help. All I ask is that you tell me what you’re organizing for our class in exchange.”

She bats her eyelashes, leaning closer with sparkling eyes. Byleth just stares. Organizing for–? Oh.

“I’m organizing nothing.”

Hilda pouts. “But–”

“But Claude’s birthday party. A secret party, so don’t tell him.”

Hilda’s pout morphs into a smile. “Oh. My. Goddess. So Claude totally misunderstood what you’re–? Ah! That’s going to be a fun one to see him realize.” She chuckles. “I bet he’s soo sure of himself, probably thinking he’s figured you out.”

“Right. So, Hilda, do not tell him.”

“Yes, professor!”

She says that, yet she looks all too delighted, as if she could go tell everyone about it right now, without taking a single precaution to avoid Claude finding out about it.

Byleth stands up. “Tell your classmates about it and that they’re invited. But be careful. If word reaches him, your grades drop.”

Hilda’s look of delight fades, replaced by an exaggerated pout. “Yes, professor…”

Leaving her to sit with the results of her shopping spree, Byleth heads to the closest library, a building just a little way off from the central plaza. It isn’t a big place by any means, but it’s impressive enough that she stops by the door for a moment, taking in the sheer amount of books those shelves manage to contain; the way they reach up to the ceiling, threatening her with a rockfall of paper and leather. She makes her way through the path left in between shelves to reach the counter, not bothering to read the labels distinguishing each section she passes by. She’s already roamed around for way too long, there’s no point wasting any more time when she already knows what to ask for.

The man behind the counter lifts his gaze from the book he was reading, a tome that barely fits upon the wooden surface before him. He looks at her as if she were a wild animal finding itself among civilization. He looks her up and down, then behind her, as if he thought there would be someone else apart from her. But of course, there’s no one. It takes the man a few second of silence to figure that out, but he seems to get it at last, as he speaks up.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I need a book on poisons.”

“You have a clear idea,” dumbly states the man. He looks on the verge of saying something, but a glance at her sheathed dagger, and he swallows, taking his gaze away from her. “Yes, I… I do seem to recall possessing a book about that. Just a moment.”

An half bow, and he scurries out from behind the counter, disappearing in the midst of books. The scraping noise of metal getting dragged along the pavement and of feet stepping onto something hissing in protest at the weight atop them – more than once, in quick succession – comes along with his disappearance. The book has to be quite high up, as the sound of the man’s steps resounds through the room eight times. After that, all is quiet, turning Byleth’s wait into one without hints as to how long it will last. Not long, thankfully. With a book in hand and a wobbly smile, the man’s soon back behind the counter.

“It’ll be one gold,” he says, extending his hand.

Byleth readily hands it to him. Books might be expensive, but her students deserve something worth gold. One coin, or even more. The man turns the coin in his hand and studies it closely. A glance up to Byleth, and he puts it away into his purse.

“Thank you,” he says, handing her the book. “And have a good day.”

A nod and, hiding the book in her backpack, Byleth turns to head back to the Monastery.

All in all, things are going fairly well, she thinks to herself, stepping past Garreg Mach’s gate.

She barely has the time to finish the thought that someone calls her.

“Professor.”

A masculine voice, stern. Annoyed? Seteth. He’s standing by a merchant’s stall, a fishing lure in hand, and a shopping bag in the other.

“Yes?” she asks.

Seteth put the lure away into the bag he’s holding. “We need to talk. Come with me to my office.”

And though her secret is still in her bag, Byleth nods. What else can she do? She follows after him in silence, keeping a hand on the strap of her backpack, and the other by her side. Has she done something she shouldn’t have? All she’s been doing is her job (and trying to organize this party). Yet Seteth walks stiffly, holding onto his bag as if he were trying to resist strangling her. Not that he’d manage. Students watch them pass by with curious gazes, already muttering between each other. Claude is one of them. Sat on a bench with his arms behind his head, he offers her an amused grin when their gazes meet, winking at her.

“Professor,” calls Seteth.

He’s turned to look at her, more distant than he was last Byleth looked his way. A last glance at Claude and that gleaming smirk, and she hurries up.

Seteth’s office is as tidy as ever, with papers resting in a neat pile upon his desk. He doesn’t sit down. He leans against it, crossing his arms and looking at her almost with the same distrustful gaze he did when she first came to the Monastery.

“It’s come to my attention that your relationship with some of the students has grown… questionable,” he starts. “I’m sure you’re aware that can’t be allowed.”

What?

Is it because of their tea times? She’s been organizing those for months now, and he’s never said anything.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she says.

“Is that so? Then let me refresh your memory.” He breathes in deep, as if trying to give himself the courage – or patience – to say what he wants to. “This morning I saw Claude sneaking out of your room. Does that ring a bell?”

Byleth freezes. Claude has gone into her room. When...? She should have been more careful. Should have expected it really. She hadn’t even thought to lock the door. Seteth looks at her questioningly, but no answer comes to her tongue. He sighs.

“I cannot believe I have to say this, but relations between students and our staff are severely prohibited. Cease whatever this is as once.” A pause. “And by the Goddess, make sure there’s no… consequence to what you’ve done.”

Consequence? There certainly will be consequences. For Claude. She’ll make sure of it. Sure, she was the one to encourage him in this odd game of sort, but she hadn’t expected to get scolded by Seteth because of this. If he really wanted to sneak into her room, he should have been more careful.

“There were no ‘relations’,” she says. “He must have sneaked into my room while I was going to class.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Seteth frowns, lowering his voice. “Though then again, that wouldn’t be unexpected of him… Regardless–” And to this he raises his voice once more. “–I’m sure you understand I can’t just take you for your word.”

“I know. But shouldn’t you punish him either way?”

Seteth raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You’d want for that?”

“You might not believe me, but he did sneak into my room. Maybe you could assign him to take care of the wyverns for a week?”

She just knows how to make the punishment worse for him then. All in good fun, of course.

Seteth nods. “Very well then. But do keep in mind what I’ve said, regardless of whether you did something or not.”

“I will.”

The next day, Claude’s grin is not nearly as amused as it was before. It’s fixed, unlike his gaze on Byleth. He stares down at his nigh-blank paper instead of at her, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. Byleth pretends not to see his distraction, going on with her lesson for the rest of her students. She ignores him when he mutters something to Hilda – who chuckles and shoots Byleth an amused look, as if she should agree with whatever it is she finds so entertaining – and ignores him still when he lingers by his desk even when everyone else has gone out of the room. She keeps her attention on the blackboard instead, erasing the schemes she’s drawn on it slower than she could. Only when Claude’s footsteps start and fade into the distance does she move, heading to the stables.

Just as Seteth must have ordered, Claude’s there, brushing a wyvern’s side with a wet cloth just outside the building. He’s not grinning, doesn't look smug nor amused, a sight so rare that Byleth halts to take it in. His brows furrowed and his lips curled down, he– is he pouting?

Cute.

But he sees her all too soon, and the pout is gone.

“Ah, teach!” he greets her, grinning. “What has you standing there like a startled wyvern?”

“You were pouting.” A moment, images of their last tea time together coming back to her mind. “Rare sight.”

He turns back to the wyvern, huffing a breath from his nose. “You might need to get your eyes checked, teach.”

Byleth hums, stepping up to a closed stall and opening its metal door. It screeches against the pavement, just as the wyvern does when it sees her. Its tail swishing behind it, it readily steps past the confines of its stall and out of the stables, pushing its muzzle against Byleth’s chest. Through it all, Claude’s gaze has gone back to burn into her back. She pretends not to notice – a task which has by now turned oddly easy – and saddles the eager wyvern, mounting it. When she turns his way to do so, his eyes have gone back to the wyvern he’s taking care of. His hand is still working onto the exact same spot.

But when she spurs the wyvern to fly up, to twirl and dive with eager roars, his head rises to watch. Not too overtly, but it’s easy to notice, when most of Byleth’s attention is on him (it helps that the wyvern is doing a well-enough job flying with minimal directions). Envy, annoyance, whatever he might be feeling isn’t easy to find. Or maybe, she’s just too far above to see it. She guides the wyvern to dive in his direction, to his widening gaze. Closer, whirling with seemingly no control. To his credit, he doesn’t shut his eyes in startled stupidity. He stares right into her eyes, taking a step back but not letting himself take another. A tug on the reins and a squeeze with her thighs, and the wyvern halts its controlled fall with a few swings of its wings, making Claude’s hair sway. He laughs with such truth his eyes squint, with such disbelief the cloth falls from his hand. And Byleth’s heart grows full. She can’t even tell with what, it’s never felt like this before, this reaction wasn’t even what she was searching for.

But it feels good.

Without any further attempts on Claude’s part to figure out what she’s doing, and only the Black Eagles invitation left to take care of, the week passes by quick. Manuela readily agrees to join their classes the day of Claude’s birthday, to have them spar together just as Claude must be convinced Byleth was organizing to do. The games Byleth just gives up on. Chess or sparring, take it or leave it. Both options are better than those Sothis has kept trying to have her accept, at least.

The students of all three houses start to head out of the Monastery in tiny groups and keep doing so throughout the whole week, coming back with too-many shopping bags to contain only gifts for him in the case of some (Hilda especially; but Annette and Mercedes too), or a single bag in the case of others. Even Dimitri has gone out with Dedue in tow, coming back with a bag in hand each, and a new spear in Dimitri’s bagless hand. Edelgard has set out to search as well. She’s come back with Hubert by her side holding just a single bag for her. No one worries Claude might notice, when he’s stuck taking care of the wyverns every day.

By the time Claude’s birthday comes, everything is ready.

Hopefully.

In the morning, Byleth and Manuela lead their classes to the training grounds to spar, explaining to them the rules that entails – though they must know them all too well by now: no killing, no maiming, no ignoring an eventual surrender to keep sparring. It might seem stupid when they’ll be sparring with wooden weapons, but some of them would be more than capable to deal actual damage even with weak weapons such as those. On the way there, both classes look as determined as they do surprised. The only one that shows no sign of surprise is Claude. He grins, giving Byleth a gloating look and muttering something to Hilda, who rolls her eyes in response.

The lesson goes on without an itch. Not a single student gets injured if not in their pride, and no harsh word is exchanged. It’s a far more peaceful lesson than Byleth had dared hope. She keeps them going until the sun has risen up high in the sky, and the toiling of the bells announces it’s time for lunch. By now, The Blue Lions should already be waiting for them.

“Good job, everyone,” she says, stopping their duels. “Put your weapons down. You may go eat.”

Hilda’s the first one to obey, putting away her wooden axe and wrapping an arm around Claude’s shoulders.

“You heard her!” she says, holding him still. “Come on everyone, chop chop!”

Maybe, if it had been anyone else Claude would have grown suspicious. As things stand, he just raises a brow.

“You heard them,” he echoes, making no move to get out of her grasp. “Chop chop!”

Behind his back, Dorothea and Hilda shoot each other an amused look. Hilda only lets him move when the rest of the students have gotten past them, guiding him to walk at her pace. She blabs about clothes and jewels she’s found and just had to buy, and Claude actually seems to listen, nodding along with a tiny smile. They’re the last students to enter the dining hall, with only Manuela and Byleth coming in behind them.

“Surprise!”

Claude startles. He falls back with a gasp, and, due to a chuckling Hilda letting go of him, crushes butt-first into the ground. Students are looking at him from every direction, save from behind: from before him, from the sides. The ones that have walked in just before him have hurried to leave open a path wide enough to let him see the Blue Lions standing behind a long line of tables that have been dragged together to form a single, humongous one. Dedue is in the middle of them all, behind a cake the top layer of which is filled to the brim with dried fruits. Most students laugh or chuckle, or at the very least look amused. Dimitri is one of the few that looks worried.

“Claude, are you alright?” he asks.

He starts coming closer, but Byleth beats him to it. She grasps Claude beneath his armpits and drags him back up, letting go of him only when he looks stable enough. Claude turns to her, bewildered, his lips parting to speak. But she does so before he can.

“Happy birthday, Claude.”

Claude’s lips close once more. The bewilderment fades from his features, and a quiet chuckle is what ends up leaving his lips first.

“Really? For how long have you– Oh, I see how it is.” He grins, sharp, and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you had me fooled! I should have known.”

“Just enjoy the feast, Claude.” Byleth gives him a slight push on the chest, encouraging. “Don’t make them wait.”

“She’s right, you know?” joins in Hilda, looping an arm around his and dragging him away from Byleth. “Come on!”

Claude snorts. He gives a last glance to Byleth, but a tug from Hilda, and he focuses on everyone else at last. They set the cake aside just enough to eat a proper meal first, each chatting with those closest to them. With a table such as this, the distance between some people is long. But they’re all here for one thing, and that’s what matters. And their reason looks… not much different from the usual, if one doesn’t look too closely. But, sat before him, Byleth is close enough to really see him. The sharpness in his grin is gone. There’s a blush to his cheeks, an uncertain glint in his eyes, glimmering with a sharp-edged glee – as if he couldn’t believe this was all for him. That doesn’t change when they awkwardly sing for him and incite him to blow on the candles (though he’s hesitant to do so, even looks a bit pale after the fact), nor when they get to eat the cake.

They set the plates aside when all is done, pushing dishes and glasses away from before Claude and taking out their gifts. From pouches, from beneath the table, even from next to someone’s seat, gift upon gift appears for Claude to reveal. His gaze goes to the one in Byleth’s hands first.

“Mine first!” exclaims Hilda, setting a tiny bag down.

It’s the same bag the shop gave her (only, with a tiny bow tied to it), as reveals the name written on it: “The Golden Relic”. Didn’t Byleth pass by it, the other day?

“Sure, sure,” says Claude.

Yet, he seems to struggle to look away from Byleth. He opens the bag, taking a small black box out of it. It’s topped by a tinier bow than even the one on the bag, though of the same color. Inside it there’s a golden necklace, with a wyvern as its pendant. Its wings are spread, its neck curled up and its maws open in a silent roar.

“I’m surprised you remembered to check if they removed the price tag,” he jokes, already closing the necklace around his neck. “Impressive.”

Hilda chuckles, bringing her hands behind her back with a delighted smile. “Aww you fell for this too! Did the professor turn your brain into mush or something?”

“Uh?”

“I made it.”

“Oh.” Claude brushes his finger against it, featherlight, his smile softening. With the sight of him, Byleth’s heart softens, too. “Did you?”

“Yep! So you’d better appreciate it!”

Claude chuckles, raising his gaze. “Thank you.”

The other students are already eyeing each other once more, trying to understand – or maybe decide – who should go next. Claude doesn’t even seem to notice: his attention has already gone back to Byleth. His gaze glimmering with a hope he doesn’t dare speak, his head slightly tilts. Another glance between the other students, and they all look at her, too. So, Byleth takes it as her cue.

“Here,” she says, setting her gift before him.

Though it’s wrapped in colorful paper and adorned with a tiny rosette, the shape of it really isn’t that hard at all to figure out. But that’s not what matters here. She’s already taken care of everything that needed to be a surprise.

“Mh, I sure wonder what it could be,” muses Claude. He taps his fingers on the gift’s surface, as far away from the rosette as he can. “Oh, how hard it is to figure out!”

Dramatic, he brings a hand to his forehead, leaning back on his seat.

“Are you trying to fall again, or to open it?” asks Byleth.

Claude snorts. “How mean, teach!”

But he does start to unwrap the gift. Slow, much slower than he’s been with Hilda’s own, with oddly timid hands that take care not to break the paper. He rolls his eyes when the title is revealed, though the wide smile on his face betrays him.

“Really, teach?” he says. “Come on, I didn’t poison anyone!”

“Don’t make me say something you’ll regret,” she answers.

He shakes his head, making the motion of closing his lips with a key and throwing it away. Only to speak the very next second.

“Thank you.” He lifts the book closer to his face, inhaling the scent of paper with his eyes closed. They open once more, and his voice lowers to a barely-heard murmur. “Just how much thought have you put into all this…?”

“Just as much as you deserve,” says Byleth.

And she means it. The way Claude turns back to her at her words, with slightly parted lips and cheeks turning rosy, only cements this convinction further, filling her heart to the brim.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Or mouths it, maybe. Byleth hears it regardless, sees it in the blooming smile on his face, softer yet, more blinding than the sun. She smiles, too.

He deserves it all.

“Come on,” she says, landing a hand on his shoulder. “Open the rest of your gifts, then you’ll get to choose what to do. Chess or sparring?”

Claude tilts his head. Still smiling, still looking up at her with a glimmering softness that keeps spurring her on to smile.

“Sparring? Again?” he asks.

“That, or chess,” she specifies again. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Except musicians, or poets or even dancers. But those are still a no.

Claude laughs, fully, leaning with his cheek against her stomach as if he needed the support.

“Oh teach,” he says, chuckling against her. “Never change.”

She hums, lowering her hand to rest on his head. “I don’t plan on it.”

He raises his shimmering gaze to her, leaning his head back. There’s an adoring light in it, a silent request to keep by his side, if just as long as they’ll be at the Monastery together. So Byleth does. So she will, for as long as she can. She shifts her hand from his head to his shoulder, and stays by him as he opens his gifts.

As he does, Claude’s smile is beautiful.