Henceforth

[incontrast]

Title: Henceforth

Rating: G

WC: 2196

Summary: There was really nothing to say, he knew; nothing would fix this, nothing would make her pain go away. [FE3H spoilers]

Byleth hadn’t said a word the entire way back. It felt wrong to shatter that heavy silence, but the two of them had come as far as the threshold to her room and Dimitri wasn’t sure what was expected or desired of him now, if anything, or whether he had already overstayed his welcome by escorting her this far.

Before he could find the words to ask as much, Byleth unlocked the door with slow, heavy movements, as though her hands were numb. She entered without looking back, but she didn’t close it behind her. After a moment, he followed.

They were both soaked from the rain. Despite his best efforts to shield her with his cloak, her dark hair was plastered to her face, her clothes clinging to her frame. Everything about her looked so much smaller than usual, limp and lifeless.

Dimitri watched as she stood there, but she still didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t make any indication of whether she wanted anything more from him. For the last half hour, it was as though walking was the only thing she could manage—and he wondered if she would have even done that much, had he not guided her the whole way.

As she stood there dripping water on the floor, Dimitri stepped around her to light the lantern on her desk. Her eyes followed his movements, but when he turned to her again, the soft glow only made her large eyes look even more distant and empty.

Since she didn’t seem affected by his interference either way, he decided to keep going. He reached towards her, pausing halfway as he indicated her clothes with a glance.

“May I?” he asked softly. “You might catch a cold.”

Another pause, and then a stiff nod. Dimitri willed his clumsy hands to be as gentle as they were able as he helped her peel her coat back from her shoulders. He hung it on the coat peg in the corner, and then turned back to find her yet unmoved from her spot, her arms at her sides and her eyes fixed vacantly on the floor.

It was so familiar that it sent chills down his spine. Her mask of an expression, the weight of her movements, the total disinterest in everything she reluctantly did. Dimitri was guiding her along the same way his personal attendants once had, when he was too broken and empty to focus on anything other than his pain and his memories. He wasn’t sure how long his own grieving spell had lasted; weeks, months, or maybe it was still technically ongoing.

He knew she would want—and need—time alone, but every instinct he possessed screamed at him that it was too soon. Byleth didn’t look bitter and withdrawn yet. She looked lost.

He closed the distance between them slowly, avoiding any sudden movements. “Professor. Do you have any dry clothes?”

It took her a moment, but recognition flickered faintly across her eyes and again she nodded slightly.

“If you’d like to change, I’ll wait outside,” he offered. Another slow nod.

Out on the walkway, Dimitri closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, eyes closed.

He should have prevented this.

If anyone could have, should have…

His mouth curled into a bitter smile, and then an angry grin as his jaw locked. He had considered himself an avenger ever since that day, and yet— Laughably, he had thought he could free the dead from their torment when he couldn’t even save someone else from a similar fate.

In the grand scheme of things, he was powerless. Weak. All the terrible things the dead hissed and howled in his ear at night were correct, after all. Was he really even doing this for his loved ones? Or was all this effort nothing more than an attempt to soothe his own guilt, so that if he died a failure he could at least comfort his ego with the petty excuse that he had tried?

He ran a hand down his face, fingertips threatening to bruise where they pressed too hard into his cheekbones.

After a long moment he forced his grip to loosen, his hand to fall away. He pushed carefully off the door and walked to the edge of the porch, staring out at the curtain of rain with unseeing eyes.

This wasn’t about him. This was about Byleth, and anything he could do for her during this terrible time. He certainly wasn’t about to fake any smiles, but attention spent on wrestling with his own feelings was attention that he was denying her. His demons could wait.

Minutes later, the quiet click of the door opening a couple inches was his invitation to go back in.

He entered as Byleth sat down on her bed, hands limp in her lap and eyes still downcast. She had changed into an academy-issued night shirt, although it looked several sizes too big and served as her excuse to seemingly wear no pants with it.

She looked so…vulnerable.

Dimitri felt more than a little intrusive as he stood there, seeing her in such a state, but he couldn’t look away. He lingered in the middle of the room, uncertain of what else to say. There was really nothing to say, he knew; nothing would fix this, nothing would make her pain go away. Any words he spoke would surely be for his own sake, to convince himself he’d made some sort of difference.

Instead, he retrieved the blanket that lay over her desk chair—he imagined her working on papers late last night, bundled up and at ease and totally unaware of what the next day would bring, and his chest tightened with a fresh wave of guilt—and approached her again. He leaned over and draped it around her shoulders with slow, careful movements. When he folded the ends in front of her, she grasped them lightly to hold it in place. It wasn’t much, but it was a small sign of life all the same.

“I understand if you want some time alone,” he murmured. “If you need anything—anything at all, I’ll be just outside. Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

It seemed like a more helpful solution than simply leaving her be, and less obtrusive than just inviting himself to stay in her room any longer. And while it was likely a baseless concern at the moment, he didn’t like the idea of her being totally alone as she was. If acting as sentry was all he could do for her right now, he would do so gladly.

Byleth didn’t answer. Dimitri gave a shallow bow.

“I’ll be going, Professor.”

He was still turning away when her strong grip stopped him.

He looked back to see her fingers fisted in his sleeve. Her knuckles were white. Byleth’s lips parted as if to speak, only to close again as her grasp abruptly gave way. Her hands retreated to her chest, inside the blanket, as she seemed to curl in on herself slightly.

Dimitri read each movement with sympathy. He knelt so he could look up into her eyes. “Would you like me to stay?”

Her head lifted slightly, about to nod, but instead she answered, very quietly, “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

Sitting on her bed felt too presumptuous, and his clothes were still wet besides, so after hanging up his cloak and jacket, and then removing his gauntlets, Dimitri pulled the chair closer to seat himself there instead. Byleth was already closed off again, head hanging and her body language distant. There was nothing else to say or do, so Dimitri likewise remained silent and still but alert for the instant she might need anything else.

He made sure not to doze off, although his head was a mess of noise that wouldn’t have let him sleep anyway, but he’d been staring at the opposite wall for so long, lost in his dark thoughts, that he hardly took notice of Byleth’s movement until she’d climbed to her feet. He broke from his trance and straightened up with a concerned frown.

“Professor? Do you need—” His voice caught as she placed a hand on his shoulder, although the greater shock was the unmistakable look of pain twisting her expression—her face was flushed, her eyes brimming with tears, and her lips quivered as she took a trembling breath.

“Dimitri,” she croaked, and then she finally shattered.

He rose up to meet her as a sob folded her in half, a high-pitched and broken little noise that he would never have expected to hear out of her. All his doubts about propriety and presumptuousness were forgotten—he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she buried her face in his chest and cried.

These weren’t the stunned, silent tears of before. This was agony, despair, anger. Her wails pierced him like knives, muffled in his shirt but still loud, still broken, their edges still sharp and raw. Her nails scratched his back and she shook so badly that he felt it in his marrow.

Dimitri embraced her as tightly as he dared, but Byleth only seemed to shake harder and cry louder. He didn’t bother with words. He just held her, bracing her head in his palm, and before long he felt her sag against him and give in to his support entirely. Her weight was nothing in his arms, but the warmth of her was everything, all that he wanted to protect and reassure and soothe.

When her sounds eventually died down and she still clung to him, making no move to release him or back away, Dimitri whispered a gentle word in her ear before leaning down to slip his arm behind her knees and pick her up. Her hands moved to his shoulders, resting rather than grasping, and he realized she trusted her weight to him.

He sat back down in the chair, maneuvering her carefully so that he cradled her against his chest without setting her in his lap—and nearly lost his grip when she immediately hid her face in his neck. Her skin was hot and wet, her breath heavy and humid. When she drew her legs up to her chest, he had no choice but to seat her in his lap to make room, where Byleth curled in on herself even tighter and pressed even closer. Her sobs were smaller, quieter, but her arms folded over his shoulders with almost desperate force.

“I know.” He rubbed the small of her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He spoke slowly, quietly, hoping something would give her even a little bit of solace. “I know it hurts, Professor. You’ll be alright. I’ll stay as long as you need.”

Byleth only sniffed, but her grip eased up a little.

Dimitri kept his movements to a minimum, only changing them up every once in a while, always mindful of keeping them slow and as gentle as he could. He rubbed her back, her shoulders, stroked her hair. He was conscious of her bare legs and how warm her thighs felt against his and he tried not to be. When he placed his hand over hers, she grasped his fingers. It wasn’t the strong grip she used when correcting his stance or disarming him while sparring. It was weak and uncertain, searching.

Everything he’d come to acquaint with and admire about her—her confidence, her composure, her strength—had come crashing down. She must have seen so much death as a mercenary, surely losing comrades from time to time, and yet…this was clearly the first time it had ever affected her so deeply. Possibly the first time she’d ever been affected at all.

He pressed his mouth against her hair as he went on murmuring comforts, all of them as heartfelt as they were useless, until the tension in her shoulders finally released, her breaths evened out, and she slipped into some semblance of sleep. He could set her back in bed, he knew; make sure she was comfortable and warm, and then take his leave like he surely ought to. But even in sleep, her hands grasped him tight, small but strong, and Dimitri couldn’t shake the thought—delusional though it probably was—that she wanted him to stay even now. And why shouldn’t he—should her sleep be plagued with nightmares, who was he to abandon her? Why shouldn’t he stay and be there if she needed someone to wake up to? And why waste the sleepless night ahead alone in his own quarters when he could be of more use here?

Decided, Dimitri carefully shifted his hold and prepared to remain exactly where he was until she awoke, however long it took. In the meantime, he would organize his thoughts concerning what he wanted to say to her tomorrow… Not too much, he knew, not yet; he would make no grand promises, no guarantees of success when he had yet to achieve his own goals…but at the very least, Byleth would know she wasn’t alone.