“-seless child, Sitri’s death is all your fault, you couldn't even save your father eithe–”
“-yleth? Byleth.”
A hand, firm yet comforting, rests on Byleth’s shoulder – an anchor that he latches onto as the last vestiges of his dream (nightmare, moreso) scatter in the not-quite darkness of their hotel room. He blinks groggily, the fog of sleep withdrawing ever so slightly with the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
“Dimitri…?”
Even in the dim light of the various appliances scattered about, Dimitri seems to glow. He smiles at Byleth – a kind thing, warm and soft and understanding – and Byleth feels his breath shudder out of him.
Funny, he hadn’t even realised he was holding it.
“What time is it?” his voice croaks, dry with disuse.
Dimitri slides the hand off his shoulder as he turns to grab a phone by the bedside table, eyes squinting in the sudden flash of his lock screen lighting up (totally cute, Bylet’s sleep-addled brain provides). He lingers there a moment longer, as if checking he got the numbers right, before turning back to Byleth. His hand finds its place a little lower this time, around Byleth’s waist, as he gently pulls the other man in for an embrace.
“‘s 4:23.”
“Mm.”
He hums in response, settling his weight closer towards Dimitri. The weight on his waist and the warmth at his back settles his nerves a little, the thunderous beat of his heart gentling into a slower, less insistent rhythm.
Maybe he’ll manage to sleep tonight.
With that thought, he closes his eyes and waits a beat. Behind his eyelids, he starts counting sheep. Loses count of the sheep and starts again, stopping once he gets to 50.
Maybe he’s just jinxed himself into not sleeping, Byleth concludes, as the night seems to stretch on and he finds himself no closer to sleep than however long ago it was he closed his eyes.
Dimitri starts tapping a beat only he can hear into the silence between them with his fingers, a Morse code of worry.
Oh. That long, huh.
“Sorry."
This time it’s Dimitri who grunts in reply, his hand stilling. With slow movements, he grabs a hold of Byleth’s hand and brings it up so that their fingers can entwine, before he presses a soft kiss to the back of his hand. There’s a small fuzzy warmth that blooms in his chest at this, a shot of saccharine to his troubled heart.
“Dima…”
“Did you want to talk about it?”
Byleth takes a moment, stewing over the razor-sharp edges of his nightmare, blood-fresh and raw in his mind. He can feel the fight pouring out of him through its wounds, self-inflicted as they are, and sighs, leaning further back into the bigger man’s embrace.
“Mm, had a really bad nightmare.”
There’s a pregnant pause as Dimitri waits for him to elaborate further, but with nothing forthcoming, the silence settles between them. Byleth struggles with finding the words in his mind (always has), but eventually he speaks.
“It was… about Aunt Rhea.” “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Incredibly helpful descriptors, he criticises himself, but at least it’s a start.
“I dreamt that it was just her, and me. In a room. It was… bright? Like there was a neon light above us.”
Dimitri says nothing but starts slowly tracing patterns on the back of Byleth’s hand, a gesture to indicate that he’s listening and waiting. It’s a small thing but it tugs ever so slightly at Byleth’s heartstrings.
“It started off with her just, staring at me. I felt so… powerless. Like I was a child again, and I’d just been caught eating some candy she’d told me not to touch.”
A brief flash of a similar incident pops up in his mind, the fury on her face as vivid as the day it happened. What followed wasn’t a pleasant experience but it stuck with him, the stinging pain, the flash of anger bubbling white-hot in his veins. He hadn’t been one to cry much as a child (even now, it’s a struggle for him to display emotions openly) but that had been one of the few times he’d felt the need to cry and wail and vocalise his suffering.
“Then she started speaking and…”, he pauses, throat suddenly tight.
“Ungrateful, selfish child!”
Her mouth splits into a sinister sneer, uncannily wide, and her eyes flash a sickly green where the light from above hits them. It feels like he is being flayed alive by her gaze – scraps of flesh peeling and hanging from his prone form – as the taste of copper builds up in the back of his throat.
He wants to scream. He can’t.
“How dare you come crawling back like this, after everything you put our family through!”
“It was like I was nothing to her but a thing.”
Silence. Her sneer drops, her usual serene smile slipping back into place - all teeth, polite to the point of being hostile, and with an air of superiority. Her hand is clammy and cold where it touches him, tracing the path his tears (when did he start crying?) take down the curve of his cheek with a flourish.
“Oh dear child,” she tuts, pressing his tears into the hollow of his throat, “I only want what’s best for you, can’t you see that?”
Letting out a shuddering breath, he continues, “Just like a doll, moved on her whims.”
When no response is forthcoming from him, her hand stills for the briefest of moments before surging forward to clamp down tightly around his throat, righteous fury blazing icily in her eyes.
“Useless child, Sitri’s death is all your fault, you couldn't even save your father eithe–“
“Byleth?”
Dimitri grasps his hand gently, squeezing it to shake him from his reverie, something irrevocably soft and worried etched into the undercurrents of his voice.
“Sorry.” Byleth squeezes back, head ducked apologetically.
“Sorry for what? For having a nightmare?” He can hear Dimitri’s eyebrow raise via his tone rather than by sight.
“For disturbing your sleep.”
Dimitri huffs, pressing a kiss this time to the crown of Byleth’s head.
“Byleth, my love, if you’re apologising for waking me up because of nightmares, I would have to apologise to you a thousand times over instead.”
Byleth sighs. Dimitri’s right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less like an asshole, especially with how difficult it is for Dimitri to sleep on good nights.
“It still sucks though.”
He reaches back to cup the side of Dimitri’s face, another apology. This one, he presses gently into Dimitri’s skin with his unoccupied hand, and oh how his heart swells at the feel of Dimitri pressing back, as if nuzzling into it. My heart, he breathes, my love.
“Well, you can make it up to me when we wake up.”
Dimitri’s tone is final, carrying his characteristic solemnity through the rough baritone of his sleep-addled voice. A chuckle bubbles out of Byleth, indelibly fond and exasperated in equal measure.
“Yes, dear.”
He closes his eyes, buoyed off to sleep by the warmth in his chest and the arms wrapped around him.
—
“Dearest heart, my love, it’s time to get up.” A voice filters in through the curtains of sleep and Dimitri stirs, slowly but surely. Cracking his one functioning eye open, he groans in reply, groping a hand forward to the blurry mass that is Byleth. When his hand whiffs catching anything, he flops it back onto the bed with a discontented grumble.
“Mm, come back t’ bed.”
Byleth chuckles, and Dimitri is struck by the urge to claim that laughter with his mouth.
“C’mon, get up Dima!”
Byleth drifts closer into view this time – within grabbing distance, conveniently – and Dimitri seizes his chance, catching him by the wrist and gently pulling him closer. He presses a kiss into the palm of his hand and the full body shudder that goes through the other man at this, fills him with a sense of pride.
“Join me?”
“Dimitri…”
Dimitri’s breath catches in his chest as his boyfriend leans in close, eyes enrapt as Byleth’s face looms closer to his. Is he about to…? The thought is quickly wiped from his mind, a sharp pain from his forehead distracting him from the lovely view - the offending cause clear as day: Byleth’s other hand.
“Did you just flick me?”
“Yes. Now c’mon, get up you oaf! It’s already 11:30 and I’m hungry.”
He considers pointing out that Byleth had his usual ‘midnight snack’ at 2am the night before, but that would probably end up with either another flick to his head or… Actually, he doesn’t want to consider the alternatives. With a huff, he levels the best pout he can at Byleth – the one he saves for occasions such as these, when he knows he can win by being cute. He even lets go of Byleth’s hand to sell the effect better, his hand coming to rub at his forehead.
All he gets in response is the man’s signature dead fish look. Damn. Time to change track.
“Is the hotel buffet still open?”
Byleth shakes his head, another of his rare smiles tugging at the edges of his lips, “Nope, they closed at 10.” He shoots Dimitri a look (raised eyebrow, lip quirk - it’s the get up before I tickle you out of bed look) before puttering off to finish getting ready.
“What about room service?”
“You’re stalling and you know it.” Byleth’s voice is slightly muffled by the toothbrush he has dangling haphazardly from the corner of his mouth as he leans out of the bathroom to level a glare at him.
Dimitri shrugs sheepishly but acquiesces, groaning as he half-stumbles, half-tumbles out of bed. With a yawn, he makes his way over to the kitchenette, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and placing it down on the counter. As he busies himself with making a cup of tea from the frankly paltry offerings (Earl Gray and English Breakfast, not even a chamomile) the hotel provided, he calls out to Byleth.
“So, what are we eating?”
Without turning back to even see if Dimitri is looking at him, he shrugs and speaks through a mouth full of toothpaste and saliva, “I ‘unno yet, we’ll find something.”
Having completed the extremely arduous process of making tea (placing a tea bag in hot water), Dimitri hovers on the threshold of the bathroom, mug in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face. With the straightest face he can muster in his pre-caffeinated state, he asks, “Can’t I just eat you?”
It’s not a surprise when Byleth chokes, sending him the most scandalised look he can with a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste on his lips, but he can’t help the twinge of his lips as the other man makes a point to spit out everything before turning to face him, voice strained.
“I’m reconsidering going out for food with you if you’re going to keep making comments like that.”
Smugly he takes a sip of his tea, trying (and failing) to hide his smirk behind the rim of the mug as he winds up for another quip, “We could have eaten-out Chines– Hey!”
Byleth, in all his wisdom, has decided the best way to interrupt him is to whack him lightly mid-sentence (rude, he almost spilt his tea), but Dimitri doesn’t miss the way Byleth’s cheeks redden, or the way the tips of his ears turn pink. In a breath, Dimitri etches the image into his memory, proud all at once that he is the one who put such an expression on Byleth’s usually stoic face.
Exasperation dripping from his voice, Byleth dryly intones, “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, I’m breaking up with you. That was the least sexy dad joke I’ve ever heard.”
“It was a great joke, what do you mean–”
Dimitri isn’t even given the chance to defend his pun, instead he’s turned around unceremoniously and pushed back into the living room, Byleth whacking his ass just before he’s out of arm's-reach.
“Oh my god, just go get ready, I’m begging you.”
He laughs as he walks away, mug in hand and a giant grin splitting his cheeks.
_
Buoyed by the feeling of a full stomach and a pleasant afternoon ahead, Byleth decides now is the time to take Dimitri around to do the touristy things they had intended on doing when they arrived, prior to them being waylaid by Byleth’s family.
First on the list, the nearby markets.
As he mentally works out the route on his map app (god knows it’s been years since he was last in this city), Dimitri captures one of his hands and holds it, his gaze expectant. Again, he taps a rhythm with his fingers onto the back of Byleth’s hand, a habit borne of necessity – a reminder to allow himself to be present in the moment. Byleth’s mouth twitches up as he registers the drumming, a familiar and fond feeling warming his chest.
“Okay, I think I can get us there. Mostly.”
Dimitri lifts their entwined hands slightly, shifting on his feet, “Mostly?”
“Yeah, the area has changed a lot since I was last here,” Byleth replies, looking down at his phone again, “I’m not sure if the shortcuts I used to use are still there.”
Dimitri hums, a thoughtful look in his eyes, before leaning in conspiratorially, “Well, only one way to find out.”
With that, they walk leisurely hand in hand through the backstreets and lanes, pausing every so often to photograph the odd alley-cat or dog. Time seems to slip by them as they walk, their conversation meandering as if in tandem with their footsteps, as Byleth recounts memory upon memory round the twists and bends of his hometown.
One particular memory pauses Byleth in his tracks as they come across a small park, hidden in the shade of the nearby houses, but still as verdant as he remembers. No more than a tree, a bench, some grass and a flowerbed, it could barely count as a park, but Byleth had spent many an hour there as a child – whiling away the hours after school, tutoring and hospital visits.
Something bittersweet rests on his tongue as he gazes upon it, memories of his last visit like needles in his heart.
It had been the day his mother – Sitri – had passed, her body finally losing its fight against the cancer that had plagued her for as long as Byleth could remember.
He’d been no older than 12 at the time when he got the call in the middle of tutoring, his father’s voice strained as he delivered the news. After that, the rest of the day had flown by in a blur, vague memories of visiting the hospital after class and an argument between Jeralt and Rhea (he could never remember the words, only the despair and rage) before being driven home by Seteth, holding a crying Flayn.
Once they were home, Jeralt had silently retreated to his and Sitri’s room, the weight of his grief seeming to smother the rest of the house. It felt… wrong. Stifling.
So Byleth had run, ran until his lungs felt like they were giving out, until his vision swam from his heartbeat thundering in his head. After what felt like an age, he finally stopped to catch his breath, heart fit to burst in his chest from how hard it was pounding. As his breath slowly came back to him, he realised he’d made his way to the park, as if by habit.
Sunset rays filtered through the leaves, picturesque, poignant, the breeze blowing through setting the tree to rustling – it was, in a word, perfect. Yet in his mind, it was like a slap to the face. That the world could still go on as it always had, that such a scene could still exist, even though Sitri was gone? How unfair. How cruel.
He recounts pieces of this to Dimitri, who in all his kindness, merely squeezes his hand in reassurance, face solemn but understanding. As Byleth had done for him before, he now comforts his love, providing him an unwavering pillar of support as Byleth relives old hurts – wounds that have scarred over, but that still occasionally ache.
Once all is said and done, he takes Dimitri by the hand and sits down with him on the bench, giving them a much-needed break from walking and standing around. They remain silent, simply being, for a time, before Dimitri breaks the silence with a murmur. “Hey, Byleth.”
“Hm?” Byleth hums his reply, leaning his head onto Dimitri’s shoulder.
“Can we overwrite that memory of yours? Of here, I mean.”
At that, Byleth tilts his head back up, confusion evident, but Dimitri continues, almost rambling as he explains, “I just thought that, we could replace the bad memories with better ones, so if you ever come back here, you’ll be reminded of them instead of, y’know...”
A faint blush dusts his cheeks as he fades off, and Byleth’s heart skips a beat as he realises what Dimitri intends to do. Leaning in, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, he replies, “You can kiss me–mrgh!”
Dimitri barely waits for his response before his lips are on Byleth’s, surging forth like a tidal wave, ravenous and all-consuming. In his wake, he leaves him breathless and scrambling for air, until all Byleth can think of is Dimitri – the hard lines of his mouth on his, the softness of his lips, the feel of his hair between Byleth’s fingers.
And just when he feels on the edge of passing out, Dimitri pulls back a fraction, panting into the space between them. They stare at each other for what feels like eternity, before Dimitri bursts into laughter, and oh how Byleth’s heart aches.
He watches mesmerised – Dimitri, dazzling in the mid-day sun, laughter high on his cheeks and face flushed with joy. Dimitri, hearty and not-quite-hale, but still here. Something seizes within him at the sight, a flash of possessiveness that seems to echo from his core, seeing this man - his heart - in this place, here with him.
—
After this brief respite, Dimitri and Byleth make their way to the markets, hand in hand and ready for some retail therapy. Right as they reach the markets, Byleth’s stomach starts rumbling again so they head straight for the food stalls, Byleth zeroing in on one with his childhood favourite – dragon’s beard candy.
He buys a couple of boxes for later, but cracks one open for the both of them to eat then and there. Dimitri can’t really taste much of it, but it smells sweet and the difference in texture of the crushed peanuts inside to the almost fluffy outside is interesting. He watches, amused, as Byleth practically inhales his portion.
They wander around the markets for a bit, buying knick knacks and souvenirs and many, many other snacks for Byleth along the way. Having had his fill of shopping, Byleth takes Dimitri by the hand again and leads him away from the markets to the edge of the river, towards giant lanterns set up for display. They stop by a small stall selling paper lanterns along the way and purchase two before ambling away towards the water’s edge, just as the sun starts to dip on the horizon.
As the lights flicker to life in the riverbound lanterns and streetlights around them, Dimitri places his arm around Byleth’s waist and presses a kiss – soft, unassuming – to the crown of his head. He leans back, content.
Byleth laughs at that, and for a moment, Dimitri’s heart stutters in his chest - a staccato of adoration thrumming through his veins as the sound washes over him. In the moment, everything seems to slow – as if time itself is pausing so that he can commit this moment to memory; An indelible mark etched on his heart.
A sunset, a bridge, and a man.
Not just any man, his heart whispers. Byleth, it breathes.
In one word alone, he is undone. And by this same word alone, he is remade.
Byleth – his love, his hope, his home.
“Dimitri…?”
Byleth’s voice brings everything into focus again, and his cheeks redden, the embarrassment plain as day on his face. He turns his face to the side, mumbling his apologies, but Byleth takes it in stride – his hand, once poised to cover his laugh, now finds its way to Dimitri’s flushed face. Gently, ever so gently as if Dimitri is a spooked animal, he cups his face and turns it back to him.
Byleth smiles, and like a flower unfurling to the first rays of the dawn, Dimitri too feels his heart unfurl in his chest before the man who is like the sun before him. Awash in the evening glow, there in Byleth’s eyes, reflected like the moon and evening stars above them, is his love.
There is his heart.
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