Chapter Text
The atmosphere at Garreg Mach in the wake of battle was one of reflection and regeneration; soldiers and generals alike spent their days recuperating, preparing for battles to come. This month was no different.The Garland Moon had arrived, bringing with it the first glimpses of summer; clear blue skies and cool breezes and budding flowers. Byleth relished these fleeting moments of peace. As it was now, the monastery seemed far removed from the horrors of the war which raged outside its walls. Claude had assured her she could take it easy and leave the strategizing to him. She’d be no good to the cause if she ran herself ragged, he had said. But what of him? It seemed the closer they got to their goal, the heavier the burden on his shoulders grew. The wearier those shoulders became. More than once she had caught him on a late night walk through the monastery grounds, plagued by racing thoughts and unable to sleep. Though Claude had, in the past, insisted on making time for feasts and parties and the like, they had become a rarity as of late.
The last battle had certainly been strenuous for all of them. Hard won, and with very little to show for it. So, at long last, a feast had been planned. To bolster morale, Claude had said. It was the one thing he had to look forward to these days, really. And yet when Byleth caught up with him just before that week’s impromptu war council, he seemed all too ready to give this one a miss.
She wasn’t about to let him get away with it. Claude stepped outside the cardinal’s room to find her already there waiting for him. Before he got the chance to turn her down, she hooked her arm round his and pulled him away.
“Everyone’s waiting for us,” she said plainly, then began marching down the stairs.
Claude simply complied, either too tired or too despondent to bother trying to resist. When the pair reached the bottom of the stairs and Byleth made a hard left instead of the usual right, he questioned her.
“Correct me if I’m wrong but, isn’t the reception hall back that way?” he asked, glancing behind him.
“We’re not going to the reception hall,” she responded flatly.
He gave her a curious look. She offered him no explanation, instead continuing her march, leading him across the green and making a beeline for their old classroom.
It was there that the rest of the Golden Deer, along with a few uninvited guests (namely Sylvain and Manuela), awaited them. Claude cocked his head at her. Undoubtedly, he had already deduced what was going on, but he asked anyway.
“And what’s all this?”
Before Byleth had a chance to answer, Lorenz, who had been the first to notice their arrival, stepped forward and spoke.
“So good of you to join us at last, Claude.”
“Uh-huh. And what exactly am I joining you for ?”
Lorenz cast a brief glance towards Byleth, then continued.
“Those massive gatherings in the reception hall can get rather… overwhelming at times, I’m sure you’ll agree. We thought a more private affair would be more appropriate on this occasion.”
“Not that I’m opposed or anything,” Claude said, turning his attention to Byleth, “but are you really okay with Lorenz taking partial credit for this? This has ‘Teach’ written all over it.”
Just like him to see right through her. He was right, of course, this whole thing had been her idea. With the exception of Hilda, she sometimes felt like the only one who truly noticed the toll this campaign had taken on their leader. As much as he professed to enjoy them, those huge post-battle parties of his weren’t exactly her idea of rest and respite. He had once told her he didn’t enjoy large crowds. She had accused him of lying then, but now… now she wasn’t so sure.
“Not opposed?”, she repeated his words with an air of disappointment, “I was hoping for a more positive reaction…”
He smiled at her. One of his precious few, genuine smiles. Something about it made her chest flutter.
“Sorry. I suppose I’m not used to receiving grand gestures like this. Thank you, my friend.”
He had taken to calling her that, just before the fall of Garreg Mach. She took it as a sign of their growing trust in one another, but still he remained frustratingly reluctant to bare his soul to her. To speak openly of the worries that no doubt plague his mind. To tell her of the countless secrets he kept. Tonight, however, she’d make him talk, and she had just the tonic.
“Better,” she said, flashing him a smile of her own, “shall we go have a few drinks?”
“Certainly, but don’t expect me to get into any drinking contests. I’ve heard how much you can put away, “he said with a smirk, “Tell me, do all mercenaries have such unnaturally high alcohol tolerance, or is that another one of your quirks ?”
‘Quirks ’, he said. As if the unimaginable, divine power she possessed was on par with her higher than average alcohol tolerance. She shook her head as she sat down at the table. Without missing a beat, he took his place by her side.
“I have no idea,” she admitted.
As frustrating as it was for him to hear, she didn’t have many concrete answers to give. She was just as clueless about her own nature as anyone else in this army, and some part of her hoped that her dear leader’s endless curiosity would some day yield the answers she was looking for.
“That’s a shame,” he said, though he swiftly dropped the subject.
Noticing the casual attire the other guests were donning, Claude cast off his pauldron, untied his sash and tossed aside his overcoat. Byleth threw her own coat aside - she hadn’t been wearing any armour to begin with anyway. The dagger strapped to her thigh, however, remained firmly in its place. It never hurt to be prepared.
The two of them sat there for some time, side by side, making idle chit-chat with their fellow classmates. Every now and then Claude would cast his gaze over to Byleth, looking at her wistfully when she could only see him in the corner of her vision. He wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think he was, or perhaps she simply watched him too closely these days. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, many of the guests took it upon themselves to gather round the desks in small groups. The atmosphere saw a gradual shift from raucous to intimate, and as such Byleth and Claude moved to a more secluded corner of the room. There, they sat face to face on some old, dusty chairs the others had pulled out of who knows where.
Claude tugged off his cravat and cast it aside, and Byleth made a point of offering to top up his drink, just as she had been doing all evening. He accepted, as always. Only once she was certain the alcohol had sufficiently loosened his tongue did she make her proposal.
“Let’s play a game.”
“A game?”, he asked, raising his brow in suspicion. “What kind of game?”
“A gambling game of sorts, I saw Yuri and Balthus playing it once. We place bets, but instead of exchanging money, we exchange secrets.”
He smirked, sitting back in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap. From where she was sitting, he looked the very picture of confidence. Just a few months ago she might have believed it, but now she recognised that’s all it was. A picture. The facade of a man that never fretted about a thing, a charismatic leader who never faltered. Ever-smiling, ever-marching.
His smile still didn’t reach his eyes, and his gaze betrayed the apprehension he was so effortlessly concealing. Anyone else might not have noticed it, but one doesn’t spend endless months fighting, talking, scheming alongside someone else without learning to recognise subtle changes in their demeanour.
“I'm not really a gambling man… You know how I like my secrets, Teach.”
“Well, make the right choices and you won’t have to tell any. Aren’t you curious about the potential secrets I have to tell?” she asked with a coy smile. A shameless appeal to his fervent desire for knowledge.
“You got me there,” he admitted with a chuckle, though Byleth could hear the uneasiness behind it. “It’s tempting, I’ll give you that… there’s one problem though, what exactly are we betting on again?”
“Well,” she began, gesturing around the room, “we have plenty of unwitting participants right here.”
“I think I see what you’re getting at,” he said slowly, rubbing at his chin. A few moments of silence passed, his tactical mind no doubt making a hasty cost-benefit analysis of the situation. “Alright, why the hell not.”
“Really?” she asked, almost disbelieving.
He had agreed to this so much more readily than she expected. Maybe he was more drunk than he looked.
“Sure!” he said, a disarming smile plastered across his features. “And I’ll even let you go first, you know, out of the kindness of my heart.”
Satisfied with his answer, and feeling more than a little smug, Byleth glanced about the room and summoned over the first two people she lay eyes upon.
“Hilda! Ignatz! Could you come over here for a second, please? How about a friendly little competition?”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“Too late for regrets now.”
“There’s no justice in a world where Hilda of all people beats Ignatz at a game of darts.”
“He’s drunk, Claude.”
“So is she!”
“Hilda could drink any of us under the table any day.”
“Between you and me Teach, they both performed abysmally. I just never thought that Hilda-”
“You owe me a secret.”
“Ah, this isn’t fair! I was playing at a disadvantage! I would have noticed Ignatz was off his game if you weren’t so captivating.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Ahaha! I assure you, it’s not flattery,” he said, holding her gaze for a brief moment. “But… you’re right, I concede. I am a man of my word.”
He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest and casting his gaze to the floor with a hum. Somewhere in that busy mind of his, she knew he was sorting through every piece of information about himself he could think of, and carefully mulling over which secrets were simply too precious (or perhaps too dangerous) to give away. Trying to figure out a secret to tell that doesn’t reveal too much, but was still enough to satisfy her curiosity.
He leaned in close, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I sleep with a dagger under my pillow every night,” he said finally.
“Why?”
To be honest, she could probably deduce the answer on her own, but she couldn’t shake her belief that it was somehow important to hear him say it aloud. He leaned back, once again flashing her his signature smile and speaking with a playful lilt to his voice.
“Not so fast there, friend! I gave you one secret already. The reason is also a secret, and the explanation for the reason is an even bigger secret,” he teased, regaining control of the conversation with ease. “You’re gonna have to pull off another victory if you want more.”
At that, the corners of Byleth's mouth turned down into a small frown.
She did not win again that night.
Time marched onwards, and Byleth relinquished all manner of embarrassing tidbits as Claude trounced her again and again at her own game.
“A couple months ago I had an… inappropriate dream about Seteth.”
“I once broke a training sword and threw it in the fishing pond instead of reporting it.”
“...I carry my father’s engagement ring into every battle.”
The game came to an end after that.
The evening wore on, yet the conversation did not stop or slow, nor did the flow of ale. Lorenz alone had gone easy on the booze, despite Claude’s increasingly drunken urging that he ought to let loose every once in a while. By Byleth’s estimation he could only have had about a single tankard’s worth of drink, maybe one and a half at a push. At some point, he had even taken it upon himself to make his rounds lecturing partygoers on the importance of proper conduct.
“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Lorenz chided as Claude lay an arm round his shoulders and took another swig, “This behaviour is unbecoming of a man in your position.”
Claude only chuckled and told him to lighten up; the aggravation on Lorenz’ face was truly a sight to behold. He may have shook his head in disapproval, but he did not shrug him off or reject his company. Try as he might to hide it, it was clear he held a certain level of affection for the man. Byleth herself could attest to the ease with which he wormed his way into people’s hearts.
From the other side of the room, Hilda’s voice called out towards them, putting an abrupt end to the quiet moment the three were sharing.
“Professor! Claude! Come over here, we’re playing Dare!”
“Isn’t it supposed to be Truth or Dare?” Claude returned, stepping away from Lorenz at last. He swayed ever so slightly, just enough to be noticeable.
“Yeah, if you’re dull!” Hilda answered, and it was evident in her voice that she, too, was far from sober, “C’mon, this is more fun!”
“Am I to assume that I am excluded from this invitation, Lady Hilda?” Lorenz asked indignantly.
Byleth cast him a curious look. It wasn’t like him to care about that sort of thing.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Claude breathed, putting on an exaggerated look of shock, “ The Lorenz Hellman Gloucester wants to play a game with us reprobates ?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I simply- unhand me at once!”
Lorenz’s protests fell on deaf ears as Claude grasped his arm and dragged him towards the rest of the group.
“No one else is here Lorenz, can’t you spend even one night without worrying about your noble reputation?”
Lorenz looked to Byleth, a silent plea for rescue. She ignored it. It’s not like it would kill him to have some fun once in a while. Maybe it would do them all some good, immature though it may be. A circle had been rather haphazardly thrown together in the centre of the room; throws and pillows laid out on the floor, a bench pulled over from the edge of the classroom. A few of those old chairs from earlier were even thrown into the mix. In the middle lay a single empty bottle. Something about the shadow it cast felt strangely ominous.
Claude took it upon himself to sit down on one of the chairs, Byleth followed soon after. Lorenz, who had since wrenched his arm from Claude’s grasp, stood on the periphery, clearly content to observe rather than participate.
“Alright,” Hilda started, clapping her hands together gleefully, “Here’s how we’re gonna do this. I’m gonna spin this bottle here, and then whoever it points to has to do whatever I dare them to. After that,” she looked to her right, where Ignatz was seated, “you get to spin it.”
“Sounds simple enough,” he said, a slight nervous edge to his voice.
Byleth had heard stories about young girls engaging in a practice known as a ‘sleepover’ when she was young; those gatherings had apparently involved games that were very similar to this. Given her circumstances, she never got the chance to engage with simple childhood delights such as these. Before now, she never would have seen the appeal. Despite herself, she was excited to try it.
That was until it became abundantly clear that Ignatz’s anxiety was more than warranted. Hilda proved herself to be a rather sadistic game master, which resulted in her unfortunate comrades performing all manner of embarrassing stunts in the name of entertainment.
Leonie was tapped to perform a one-woman play, which Hilda stipulated should include at least one musical number. To her credit, it was thoroughly engaging, and resulted in an unsteady standing ovation from her drunken audience. Even Lorenz had felt compelled to throw a rose at her feet in appreciation.
Ignatz was ordered to stand out on the green and loudly profess his love for the goddess; the poor lad came back into the room looking redder than the Valley of Torment, much to the group’s amusement.
Lorenz, still watching from the sidelines, was ordered to strip. A request which he vehemently refused to follow through on.
Lysithea was made to endure a whole minute in the - according to Hilda - ‘most haunted room in the monastery’. She barely made it thirty seconds, though she insisted it had nothing to do with her supposed fear of ghosts.
“I have better things to be doing than playing these childish games,” she said haughtily. An obvious attempt to save face.
Sylvain had the unfortunate luck of receiving several drinking-based dares, one of which resulted in him spilling an entire flagon of ale down his shirt. Some accused him of throwing the dare on purpose. The matter was hotly debated until Claude, in a show of diplomatic prowess, brought the discussion to an agreeable end and allowed the game to resume.
Marrianne seemed to be about the only one who was spared the embarrassment; Hilda deigned only to issue her the most inane of commands, such as going to the greenhouse and picking her favourite flower, or allowing her to do her makeup.
The first dare she issued to Byleth was unique, however, and perhaps the most childish so far.
“Professor,” she started (Byleth honestly wished they’d all stop referring to her as such), “I dare you to tell us… is there anyone you like ?"
What a benign question, she thought. If that kind of ‘dare’ were allowed, she reckoned they should have just played that ‘Truth or Dare’ game Claude had mentioned earlier from the very beginning.
"I like all of you,” she answered plainly.
Hilda shook her head and laughed.
"No, I mean romantically !"
That certainly changed things. A series of oohs and aahs echoed throughout the room. Byleth felt her cheeks heat up. In the back, Lorenz scoffed, making some comment about how they weren’t teenagers anymore. She felt strangely… exposed. This emotion was unfamiliar to her; embarrassment simply wasn’t something she had ever considered in the past. It used to be that she’d answer any question posed to her with a straight face. Simply spoken and completely honest. Why then, was it so hard to answer this question? Had Hilda managed to deduce the object of her hidden affections, or was her question nothing more than idle curiosity? Why was the prospect of saying it out loud so unthinkable ?
“Well…I… think so,” Byleth started slowly.
There was no denying that when the question was posed, a certain individual immediately came to mind.
“Ooh, girl or guy?”
“It’s a man.”
Hilda smiled at her keenly and leaned forward. As if she knew more than she was letting on.
“What’s he like?”
Saints above, the woman was relentless. Couldn’t she simply leave it at that?
“He’s smart and reliable, and…”
Would it be too obvious if she called him cunning? Too revealing to admit she found him attractive?
Byleth wasn’t usually one to find herself at a loss for words, and it didn’t help that the individual she was describing was sitting close enough that she could hear him breathe. The pressure of the entire room looking at her so expectantly, listening to her talk about a secret so closely guarded… it made her feel like squirming right out of her skin. She couldn’t be sure of it without looking in a mirror, but she was probably getting redder by the minute. What more could she really say without revealing his identity to everyone present? She hesitantly looked to Hilda, and prayed that she had done enough to slake her curiosity.
“Oh my gosh,” Hilda said with a girlish laugh, “I can’t believe the professor of all people is getting flustered!”
Byleth finally looked up from the floor, and Hilda addressed the room.
“Who knew she could be so cute?”
The group laughed, and to her surprise, Hilda backed off without pressing any further. She let out a quiet sigh. It seems her intent wasn’t to get her to reveal her secrets after all; she simply found it entertaining to see her once stone-faced former professor blushing like a schoolgirl.
Thankfully, the dares issued by the others were decidedly less painful to endure. It was as if the rest of the group had entered a silent pact to offset the humiliation and suffering inflicted by an increasingly drunken and giddy Hilda. For the most part, the atmosphere remained lighthearted, though Claude made the grave mistake of daring Manuela to reveal her age, predictably souring her mood. At one point, Raphael had ‘dared’ Leonie to fetch him more food from the pantry. She ended up hauling an entire sack, filled to the brim with snack foods snatched from the dining hall, halfway across the monastery. Sylvain made several attempts to dare female guests to go on dates with him. Each time he was promptly rebuffed, and eventually he was evicted from the circle altogether via democratic vote.
Alas, Hilda’s turn to spin the accursed bottle would inevitably arrive, and the crowd would watch on in anticipation as it creeped to a halt. For a second time, it landed pointing squarely in Byleth’s direction. Sighs of relief passed over the room like a wave.
Hilda looked to her, a dangerous glint in her eye. Byleth blanched as she saw her gaze slide over to the man sitting next to her. She knew something, there was no denying it.
“Professor”, she started, an impish expression on her face, “I dare you to sit in Claude’s lap.”
Once again the room erupted into childish teasing and exclamations of feigned indignation. The exception being Lorenz, whose indignation appeared to be all too real. Byleth stared down into the cup clasped between her hands. In the periphery of her vision she saw Claude quickly turn to look at her. She knew everyone else was doing the same. All eyes were on her, and she refused to raise her head and meet any of them.
It was all just a game, she reminded herself. In fact… perhaps this was a chance to re-establish dominance. To remind her comrades that the Ashen Demon doesn’t back down from a challenge. That Byleth Eisner is unshakeable in the face of death and humiliating dares in equal measure.
She downed the rest of her drink in a single go, embracing the burn as it went down, and stood stock straight.
“Alright,” she said, stepping in front of Claude and meeting his gaze unflinchingly.
He laughed, and she could see a tinge of pink in his cheeks. Her conviction wavered. Before she got the chance to lose her nerve completely, she plopped down onto his lap, causing the chair to creak underneath their now combined weight. Hilda was ecstatic.
“Oof! Couldn’t you have been a little gentler, Teach?” he asked with a chuckle as she laid her arm over his shoulders.
“This is surprisingly comfortable,” she admitted.
His hand found its way to her waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“That’s good to know, at least.”
He looked at her with an expression she struggled to read; soft, unguarded almost. He must have been drinking a lot more than she realised, because the detached persona he sought to maintain in sobriety had almost entirely disappeared. He looked tired.
Hilda, clearly still very pleased with herself, once again clapped her hands together.
“Alright! Who’s next?”
The game continued on, but Byleth increasingly found herself unable to focus on what was happening around her. The adrenaline rush had passed, and now she was all too aware of exactly where she was and the person she was sitting on. The group had gotten their laughs in, and had promptly moved on to other victims. Yet here she was, stuck with the long-term consequences of their short-lived mirth.
It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate.
It was… strangely enticing.
She tried not to think about it, but every little movement he made brought her thoughts back to him. He shifted his legs under her. She remembered she was sitting in Claude von Riegan’s lap. He yawned. She remembered she was sitting in Claude von Riegan’s lap. He wearily rested his head against her, and all hope of distracting herself from her current situation was lost.
Only then did she realise she had been carefully avoiding looking directly at him. She willed herself to take a glance at his face. He met her gaze, and gave her another of those simple, genuine smiles. All other things had faded into the background, save for the warmth of his hand against the small of her back and the aroma of alcohol and pine needles.
“It’s rude to stare,” he chided, voice hoarse, eyes heavy. As if he weren’t just as guilty as her.
Those few moments seemed like they’d stretch on forever, but their tipsy reverie was broken when Hilda’s voice cut through the fog and addressed the pair.
“Claude! Professor! Which of you is gonna do the dare?”
Byleth looked to the floor. Again, that damned bottle was pointed squarely in their direction. Before she got the chance to respond, Claude spoke up.
“I’ll do it,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes. “I haven’t done one in a while.”
“Ooh, here’s a fun idea,” Hilda said with devious glee, “Switch places! Claude, sit in the Professor’s lap.”
The group seemed to find that idea hilarious, Byleth did not.
“Hilda, just how much have you had to drink?” Claude asked, accusatory.
“You’re one to talk,” she shot right back.
“Guilty…”
He glanced at Byleth, looked her up and down as if evaluating her physique.
“I’m not so sure…”
“I can handle it,” Byleth said immediately, against her better judgement. Far be it from her to allow him to treat her as if she were some delicate maiden. “I’m strong. I could probably lift you if I wanted to.”
“…I’m inclined to agree,” he conceded.
At that he waved Byleth off his lap. She stood, teetering slightly but maintaining her balance. She was noticeably drunk, sure, but still very much in control of herself. The same couldn’t be said for Claude; the true extent of his intoxication became evident upon watching him rise out of his seat. As soon as he was up, he stumbled. For a moment, she was worried he would topple over completely, and she was in no state to catch him, despite her posturing. He remained on his feet with some effort, turning towards her and gesturing towards the chair.
“Ladies first.”
She took her place on the old chair, and it once again let out a pathetic squeak. Claude, whose head was clearly filled with more liquor than sense at this point, plopped down onto her lap gracelessly. An action which caused the seat to flex under her.
Only now did it occur to her that this might be a terrible idea. The group, oblivious to the potential disaster unfolding in front of them, were caught up in their teasing and goading. Claude, clearly feeding on the energy of his compatriots, threw his arms around Byleth’s neck with dramatic flair and flung his head back.
“Oh, Teach!” he cried, a leading lady in a salacious romance, “What would the church think if they saw us like this!”
The crowd erupted into whooping and hollering, Byleth even heard someone amongst them let out a sharp wolf-whistle. Manuela, whose mood seemingly had yet to improve, scoffed and muttered something under her breath as she took another swig from the bottle in her hand.
Lorenz was scandalised. So scandalised, in fact, that he chose to vacate the room entirely.
As Byleth took stock of their audience, Claude had seemingly taken notice of something behind him, twisting his head around to get a better look. She followed his line of sight, and found it landed squarely on a half-empty bottle of ale that he had earlier abandoned. It took her a few seconds too long to figure out what he was about to do, and by the time she realised what was happening, it was too late to stop him. Unthinking, he reached out towards it, extending his arm as far as it would go and causing the chair to emit a menacing creak as his weight shifted.
“Claude, wai-”
Within seconds, they were on the floor in a heap. The decrepit old chair had finally given up the ghost, falling to pieces under their combined weight. From his outstretched position, Claude had unceremoniously fallen over the arm, coming down hard on his shoulder with a loud ‘oof’. Thankfully Byleth had managed to avoid being crushed by her befuddled cohort, though his legs were now laying across her abdomen.
Byleth quickly snapped upright and turned to Claude, only to find he had been reduced to a fit of laughter. Full on, clutching-his-belly, eyes-watering laughter. Loud, unrestrained, unmarred by pretence. A sound unlike anything she had heard from the man before. Her current predicament was all but forgotten in the face of it, and she forwent untangling herself from his legs in order to drink in the sight of it for a moment longer.
In the meantime, the pair of them had been surrounded. Claude’s fit of laughter passed, and Byleth looked up to see a number of concerned faces staring at her.
“Oh my gosh, are you guys okay?” Hilda asked, frowning down at her with big, watery eyes, “I’m so sorry, professor!”
“I’m fine,” Byleth said simply.
Her rear felt a little sore, but that was nothing to be concerned about. In truth, she was more worried about Claude. Her fall had been cushioned by the seat, but he had fallen onto the stone floor. He seemed fine at first glance, but Byleth was willing to chalk that up to the inordinate amount of alcohol in his system. Ignatz was crouched down near his head, asking him a series of questions Byleth couldn’t quite make out over the fussing and murmuring of the group. His brow was knitted together in concern, but his interviewee didn’t seem to share his apprehension.
Ignatz had a tendency to fret over little things, but still a pang of anxiety struck her as she examined his expression. She had to get closer and ask him what was wrong. Wriggling out from under Claude’s legs, she crawled over on all fours, all desire to project a sense of dignity forgotten.
“Ignatz”, she called quietly. “Something wrong?”
”Oh, Professo-”
Just as soon as she had gotten his attention, he froze up and flushed red. Byleth cocked her head. Ignatz cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses.
“S-sorry. He’s just… very drunk. Maybe it’s time we all called it a night?” he said hurriedly, standing up straight and dusting off his trousers. “I think I’ll head to bed! Goodnight Professor. Goodnight… Claude.”
At that, he briskly exited the classroom. A few of the other Golden Deer wished him a goodnight as he went, and Byleth was left feeling perplexed at what had caused him to become so flustered. The crowd around them had dissipated, too, leaving her alone to ponder it. Mere moments later, a groggy murmur brought her attention back to Claude.
Claude, who was now directly underneath her.
Ah.
Without realising it, her attempt to communicate with Ignatz had caused her to bumble straight into a compromising position. Her hands were now positioned at either side of Claude’s head, and her right knee sat squarely between his legs. He met her gaze, red in the face, with half lidded eyes and lips slightly parted. His hair was an utter mess, and his arms were splayed inelegantly on the stone.
She could feel his breath on her face.
The sight of him like this was more appealing than she cared to admit. Claude said… something, but between his slurred speech and her spinning head she found herself unable to fully comprehend his words. Some blithe comment about her coming on a little strong.
The sound of scuffling shoes prompted Byleth to look up just in time to find Hilda ushering the rest of the group quietly out the door. With a knowing smile, she bid the two of them good night and wobbled out the door, leaving her and Claude alone.
The little minx knew exactly what she was doing.
Ignatz had the right idea. The pair of them had very little sense in their heads by this point. It was time to call it a night. Byleth finally pushed herself to her feet, only to find the world had begun twisting and turning uncomfortably around her. Claude simply groaned, unwilling to follow suit. By the looks of him, if she left him he would fall asleep right there on the cold stone floor.
She hesitated for a moment. Tired, drunk and desperately longing for her bed, she seriously considered leaving him to find his own way to his room. Yet… there was no way he’d make it up the stairs in his current state.
She couldn’t just abandon him.
Claude passing out in the wake of a post-battle feast wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight, but usually it was food he had drowned himself in, not liquor. What would the other lords think if the leader of the Alliance was found blacked out on monastery grounds?
Worse, even, was the fact it was she who had strong-armed him into joining the party to begin with. A wave of guilt crashed over her. In these circumstances, wasn’t it her duty to see him safely returned to his quarters?
Summoning up what remained of her strength, Byleth leaned down and hoisted Claude to his feet, ignoring his dazed protests.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Luckily for her, once he was up he seemed to brighten a little, and he supported his own weight for the most part. With his arm slung over her shoulder, she started the weary march towards the dorms.