#academy phase

Claude discovered his new favorite fact about the professor quite accidentally. He’d been sitting with Hilda and Lysithea, discussing their latest skirmish and how things could have gone differently, when he saw Jeralt join his daughter at the table, Leonie in tow.

He couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was easy enough to guess. Leonie had gestured at the food, her head tilted in that way that typically indicated inquisitive confusion. Jeralt’s laugh was loud enough to be heard several tables over; he’d reached out with a fork to his daughter’s plate, clearly intending to spear a piece of fish on it, when the professor had blocked him with her own fork.

This went on for a few bouts, the Blade Breaker himself trying to steal a piece of food from the professor, before she gave the most annoyed look Claude had ever seen on her face. “Get your own, dad,” she’d said, loudly enough to be distinct, before picking up her plate and moving to another table, settling down beside Yuri, who gave her a bemused expression before resuming his own meal.

It took a few more weeks of watching – and testing – for Claude to learn that the professor only minded sharing meals when they were things she really liked. Daphnel Stew? No one could touch it. That vegetable pasta salad monstrosity? If someone wanted a bite of that, Byleth had no issues sharing it. She’d gone so far as to push the whole plate at people who asked, before, such seemed to be her dislike of it.

Over time, he figured he had a solid idea of her general food preferences, what she liked the most, what she disliked.

He hadn’t learned a whole lot else about his professor, but at least he had that.

“Heya Teach,” he said, plopping himself down beside her, a plate full of skewered meat in hand. It was a dish he knew that she liked; it was one he liked, as well, so he couldn’t fault her there. “I had some questions about your last assignment, if you don’t mind me picking your brain about them over dinner?”

“I don’t mind,” she said, taking a bite of the pickled rabbit.

This close to her, he could see the way her face softened – just the tiniest bit – with enjoyment. It was… oddly cute, in a way.

He tried a bite of his own, giving a soft hum of approval, before he launched into his questions. He knew she probably was aware it was more information gathering on his part, since some of his questions were about if she’d ever used these tactics before herself, but he was genuinely interested in the battle formations she’d brought up during their lesson, wanting to know the finer details as to why certain ones did better than others.

She would answer him between bites of food, at one point even using a now-empty skewer to sketch out a formation, the movement of the sharp tip drawing his eye and helping him to better visualize what she was talking about.

“Oh, I see now!” He was about to ask another question when he saw Hilda hovering at the edge of the dining hall, looking at him and waving him over urgently. “Looks like duty calls.” Claude glanced down at his plate, a lone skewer remaining untouched. “Say, Teach, do you want this? I don’t think I’m going to have a chance to finish it.”

He didn’t miss the way her eyes honed in on the skewer, or the hesitation when she almost reached out to grab it. “Are you sure? I can watch it until you can get back.”

“Nah, I have a feeling this is gonna take a while. Go for it,” he replied, nudging the plate over her way. Just a smidge.

As he was leaving, he glanced back and saw her pause over the skewer before taking it and adding it to her plate. He was pretty sure it didn’t last much longer.

It was a sure sign of her grief when, after Jeralt’s death, she shoved her bowl of stew at him and left the dining hall, not having had a single bite.

Claude couldn’t bring himself to eat it, instead passing it off to Raphael, who had no problems inhaling what was probably his third serving that evening.

He tried not to think about what it might mean, that she’d given it to him instead of just walking away.

After five years, he’d almost forgotten about the way Byleth treated her food, the fact that she didn’t share her favorite dishes with, well… anyone. They sat across from each other, each with a bowl of Daphnel Stew, and discussed their next move. Claude was nearly done with his, pushing the spoon around to find another piece of onion, when a spoon appeared in his field of vision, dumping a few into his bowl.

He looked up in time to see Byleth giving him a soft smile, one that quickly disappeared as she scooped up another bite of her stew, happily chewing away at the minced meat.

As the war progressed, little instances like that became more common. An extra forkful of pike when he’d devoured all of his, a bit of spiced pheasant and egg, extra cheese from the Gautier gratin.

After a while, he started returning the favor. An extra bit of meat from a Gronder skewer, a spoonful of minced poultry from his stew, egg scrambles and whatever else he knew she liked but had never said outright was her favorite part of the dishes.

It became a habit, after a while, getting the same meal from the dining hall and exchanging for favorite bits from each other’s dishes. He hadn’t even really noticed it had become a thing until Hilda commented on it.

“Sooooo…” she began, drawing the word out in a way that made him cringe. “What’s going on between you and the professor?” Her tone was all sugary-sweet innocence.

He didn’t believe that tone for even a second. “What do you mean?”

“You’re sharing meals, Leader Man.”

“We always share meals, Hilda. Teach and I do some of our best strategizing over dinner.”

“That’s not what I mean! The food itself. The professor never shares dishes she likes, not with anyone! We all know that.”

He paused, looking up from the papers on the desk, and frowned. “She doesn’t like to share her favorite bits,” he finally muttered, so quiet Hilda almost didn’t hear him.

Almost.

She gave a shrill, excited shriek, making him wince. “That’s not true! She would never share any of it with anyone but you!” The grin on her face was so big and bright he almost wondered if he could use it as an offensive tactic. “Are you two dating finally? Is that what’s going on? Ooh, I have gotto tell Marianne, she’ll never believe you finally did it!”

“Wha-… that’s not… no! We’re not… there’s nothing going on…” Claude spluttered, half-standing, cheeks blazing with heat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that…” Hilda crossed her arms in front of her, tapping her fingers in thought. “So you aren’t dating? You should. She clearly likes you, too.”

And without giving him a chance to say anything to the contrary, she left the room, bouncing on her feet and clearly ready to share what she thought was a juicy bit of gossip.

He fell back into his seat with a thump and buried his head in his hands, groaning softly. Was he really that obvious?

Was Byleth really that obvious? How had he missed that sign?

Claude straightened up, one hand curling into a fist as he resolved to figure it out.

He waited to see what dish she chose that evening; he knew that the night’s menu held more than one that they both liked. When she walked off with a plate of the pickled rabbit skewers, he opted for the pike, and then joined her at the table, as usual.

She glanced down at his plate, a momentary look of confusion gracing her features before it vanished as quickly as all her expressions seemed to.

“Hey Teach. Oh, man, those skewers look good,” he said, settling comfortably into his seat. “But the pike just smelled too good to pass up. Shame they won’t let us get two plates at a time… though if they did, I’m sure Raph would eat us all out of the monastery.” He paused, considering. “Well, I don’t think I could eat that much in one sitting anyway, honestly.”

“It was a difficult decision,” she finally settled on saying, picking up one of her skewers and nibbling thoughtfully on the meat. “Maybe…”

“Hm? Maybe what?” he asked around a bite of fish.

“Oh, uh… I was just thinking maybe we could swap. Midway through. If you wanted?”

Claude tried his best to hide his smirk behind the rim of his glass as he took a drink, for all the world looking like he was taking his time considering the offer. “Sure. Then we’d get the best of both worlds, right?”

She gave him a small smile. “Something like that.”

The topic turned to their usual, plans for the next battle, and what was after that, assuming they won. When each of their plates were half-eaten, they exchanged them, not breaking their conversation. Deep down, Claude felt a rush of surprise and… optimism. A cautious sprig of hope began to bloom.

Whatever had happened, whatever was between them, that one moment led to a change to their routine that he’d never in a million years could have expected. They began to coordinate dinners, each choosing a dish that they would swap halfway through.

He could almost feel Hilda’s gloating. She was never going to let him live this down, but…

If everything worked out in the end, it was so worth it.

And here she was now, sitting across from him in the dim light of the tent, a single candle between them as her quill scratched against parchment, her face just as unreadable as ever. Yuri didn’t know why he’d allowed her to come along. Perhaps as a way to get to know her better, see if he could crack her stony exterior. Or maybe for the chance to see her in action, the Ashen Demon he’d heard so much about. He’d gotten a glimpse of what she was writing and grown bored with it fairly quickly when all he saw were lesson plans and a simple ledger keeping track of her month’s expenditures, though he did raise a slender eyebrow at the sheer cost of… everything. And if he’d read it right, the church - despite their full coffers - weren’t providing all that much. She’d notated several personal deposits to the funds, rewards for missions and bounties. Ever the mercenary, this one, he thought with a wry smile.

He was reading - studying, really - by the candlelight, occasionally glancing up at her through long lashes, pale purple eyes studying her. Sometimes she would pause over her inkwell before gently dipping her quill and continuing her work. She hardly seemed bothered by the quiet, and he found that he didn’t mind it much, either. Abyss could be a noisy place, after all, especially with Balthus or Constance around. Being able to focus on his own studies for once was… nice.

It took him a long moment to realize he hadn’t heard the scratching of a quill for some time, and he looked up from his book to see Byleth watching him, and almost curious expression in her eyes. It did not, he noticed, extend to her face. Interesting. “Can I help you, friend?”

“Do you like arithmetic?” she asked, gesturing to his book with the feathered end of her quill.

“Like it? Well, perhaps, but it’s also useful, wouldn’t you agree?”

She hummed softly, perhaps agreeing with him. He noticed then that she’d put away her inkwell, her work stored carefully away. “The numbers are like the battlefield,” she said after a time, deep blue eyes studying his book. “Everything is basically the same, but if you move them around a bit, it changes the meaning.”

Yuri leaned back a little, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “A little strange but… yeah, it makes sense.”

“Oh. Sorry, I distracted you from your studies, didn’t I?” she asked, with that same careful neutrality that never seemed to go away.

He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. There’s only so much one can do in a night, anyway.” He leaned over and pushed the tent flap aside just enough to peek out. “It’s getting dark. I think we’re safe here for the night.”

Byleth nodded once, sharp. “I’ll take first watch,” she offered, making as if to stand.

“No, no, friend, I’ll do it.” Her lips pursed just slightly, the closest he’d seen to a true frown yet. “You had a long day already, didn’t you? Get some rest, you can have the next. We’ll be out here a few days anyway, right?”

“True. If you’re sure…” When he didn’t seem inclined to change his mind, she nodded again before settling her gear around the edge of her side of the tent, a barrier - feeble as it was - against the night and intruders.

Yuri shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was a mercenary by trade. But still… perhaps it was because he’d known she’d traveled with a band, and her father. Surely she’d felt safe enough not to require those sorts of precautions. The fact she took them anyway made him reevaluate his opinion of her. Again.

The professor took that moment to stretch, drawing his eye to her curves, the way her chest strained against her top, how the muscles in her legs rippled beneath the fabric of her tights. He could admit she was attractive. Hell, anyone with eyes could see that, and if they couldn’t, then they’d need to be checked for a brain. But he still didn’t trust her.

“Wake me if you need me,” she said absently, his wayward gaze unnoticed as she slipped into her bedroll and shut her eyes.

“Of course. Good night, friend,” he replied, amused to note that she was already asleep. Or she was really good at feigning it, at least. He gathered his weapon and slipped out of the tent, allowing himself a moment to adjust his eyes to the starlit semi-darkness that blanketed over them.

He found himself thinking back to his studies of her that night, watching for the so-subtle shifts in her expression. She really was good at keeping things from her face, but it was her eyes that gave her away. She really was quite the enigma. He paced their little clearing for an hour or so, until he was sure that there was little need to remain outside the tent. A light sleeper himself, standing watch wasn’t even truly necessary; he’d be awake if a twig so much as creaked.

The professor, though… he wondered.

Yuri slipped back into the tent as quietly as possible, readjusting to the darker confines of the canvas. She was still sleeping, her expression more relaxed than he’d ever seen it before. He’d called her adorable, before, mockingly, but looking at her now, it was somehow the right word. Her deep blue hair spilled about her head like a dark halo, and her lips were slightly parted in sleep.

What would happen, he wondered, if he tried to get close? Would she startle awake? Scream? Panic? Would she sleep through if his hand brushed her cheek, or if, perhaps, he dared to steal a kiss from her? His curiosity got the better of him, his desire to know more about this enigma of a woman making him move toward her, reaching out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. Her skin was surprisingly soft, and cool to the touch. How curious. He was moving to get closer, noting a scar that had caught his attention, when she blurred into sudden movement, a knife at his throat as she pinned him to the ground, fire in her eyes that cleared away to placidity when she saw who she was straddling.

Byleth was off him as quickly as she’d awoken. “Is it my turn for the watch already?” she asked, voice as calm as ever.

He stared at her, wide-eyed and more than a little pleased (and perhaps aroused, though he wouldn’t admit that even to himself). “No, friend, my apologies. You had something on your face. I was merely getting it off.” Not really a lie; let her think whatever she wanted about his statement.

Her gaze studied him for a long moment before she gave a slight nod, settling back in her bedroll. “Please close the tent flap, Yuri. You’re letting the heat escape.” It was all she said before she settled back down, the dagger once more hidden from view.

Damn, she was good.

He laughed to himself even as he did as he was bid, tying the flaps closed to prevent an errant breeze from snaking its way in.

When he finally laid down to get some rest of his own, he did so carefully, so as not to wake the professor. Clearly she wasn’t as deep a sleeper as she’d originally seemed, and while having her on top of him hadn’t been the worst experience, he’d certainly prefer to avoid another knife to his throat.

It was therefore a bit of a surprise when she sleepily turned on her side, one arm flinging out and settling across him, her hand almost instinctively seeking out his beating heart and resting comfortably over it. She gave a little sigh of contentment, and something in him gave a little, traitorous flutter.

He couldn’t like her, dammit. He didn’t know her well enough to even really trust her. Liking her? Out of the question.