‘ oh! ’ he’s surprised by the gesture to say the least. up until about a half second ago, he hadn’t taken the blue lions’ leader as one to openly express this sort of affection. in truth, he did harbor something soft for the guy, which often surfaced in teasing and- yes- some flirting, but to know that such sentiments were returned is something entirely different. staggeringly different. 

speechless isn’t a trait virtually anyone would associate with claude von riegan, and yet he’s managed to be rendered such. his mouth opens, then closes once more as his brain begins catching up with the sensation of lips against his cheek. he can only stare as the blond pulls away from him.

he decides, then, that he hates the vulnerable uncertainty (the hurt, even) that crosses the dimitri’s expression. no, that won’t do. not at all. he finally shakes himself out of his stupor to move. he reaches outwards to take his face in his hands, leaning ever-so-slightly upwards in order to kiss him proper.

h*ld my hand instead

❝ playing at regret, your beastliness? ❞ oh, how sardonic he is !! pressing at a steadily bleeding wound / as if to goad it to bleed more / as if to stifle the never ending flow so as to KEEP HIM ALIVE just another day longer. another moment longer. another. another.

is it a question of forgiveness? is it a question of resentment? or is it simply the question of : a chasm between them, yawning and pleading and full to the brim with FEAR/REVULSION/SOMETHING LIKE LO———— so many years have passed. so much time has passed. so many things have happened and he does not look at him because he cannot look at him and has he ever looked at him? has he ever seen him, truly?

yes ( … ) yes. there is no one who knows dimitri better than he. that’s the problem, isn’t it?

❝ you turned your fears into corpses and dragged them around as if you were reenacting a LYNCHING, ❞ is it cruel? yes. is it true? yes. he remembers it, he remembers it always, it is something which FOLLOWS HIM with a dogged determination and inasmuch as he turns away / when he looks : it remains. the bloodshed. the terror. the smile on his face, the triumph, the bloodthirsty ————

how sick it all is, indeed.

but the truth of it all is that there is a HORROR INSIDE OF HIM at the monster whom his best friend had become on that battlefield all that time ago and there was a seed planted, then. something took root within him : poisoning his memories of someone he once held dear / holds dear / had once been so singularly important to him.

but the truth of it all is that he understands. deeply. absolutely. there is something that took root inside of him and furthermore there lies an ENDLESS WELL OF DESPAIR that he teeters upon. peering into. looking within. he does not fall because he cannot fall / yet it would be so very easy to give himself over to it. to that rage. to that oblivion.

there are ghosts which haunt him and the eyes that gaze back at him in the mirror ARE NOT HIS OWN and who has he become? who has he become? who have they become?

❝ trying to appease the dead when the living are right here. how pathetic. ❞

@heroichoice {[ hi it’s my first time writing with a fancy blog ~_~ I hope this works!!!

unprompted // ALWAYS ACCEPTING. 

She only has a second to wonder what he wants before his hand is on her face—and then, by the time she’s truly processed that, he’s already leaned in and placed his lips on hers, and Byleth can only blink, eyes widening in a rare moment of emotive surprise. It’s a soft touch, almost as if he’s scared to push any harder, quick and chaste and so gentle that it somehow paradoxically hurts. He doesn’t linger long; at least, not long enough for her to respond. By the time he’s pulled back, she’s still staring, and there’s a strange feeling of warmth rising up to her cheeks where his palm still sits. He’s so much closer than he ever normally is, and that in combination with the adoring look on his face only serve to make her face feel just a bit hotter.                            ( she doesn’t think she’s ever felt that, before, and even though the red of her face is so much more subdued than it would be on anyone else, its appearance alone is something different.                                                                    he’s always managed to elicit different responses from her. )             One second passes after another, though Dimitri doesn’t appear to be in any rush as his thumb moves ever so slightly against her cheek, and Byleth finally unfreezes to put her hand on top of his. Barely, just slightly, she allows herself to lean a little bit more into the touch, and a small smile is pulling at the corners of her lips. It’s a little … embarrassing? Maybe?—to have him focused so entirely on her, but it’s also … nice. The kiss, his touch, just being with him is all so nice, and her mild expressions really can’t do her emotions justice in how content she feels at this moment.              Still, they can’t just stay like that forever, no matter how pleasant the thought is, and Byleth is curious about whatever prompted this ( not that she’s really complaining ). She stays like that for just a bit longer before gingerly taking the hand under hers off of her face, still holding it even as she lowers it between them, and her head tilts to the side as it so often does when she wants to ask something.                                                                  “Was there something you needed me for, or was that it?” 

‘ you’re up pretty late. ’ he observes, tilting his head as he slips quietly to dimitri’s side. he’s tempted to reach out, to touch, but there are some lines that can’t be crossed. ( well, not crossed yet. some things take time- or never come.) instead, he clasps his hands behind him as he watches his classmate’s expression.

in truth, he only has some knowledge of the faerghus’ ruling family. or rather, he knows the history (recent and otherwise), but it’s different in its entirety to see the living proof of the things he’d heard in front of him. the end of the blaiddyd bloodline, witness to the murder of his parents. even now, it’s strange to connect the stories to the living figure before him, no older than himself.

of course he’s intrigued, of course he’s drawn in. the heir to the throne takes great pains to be good, to be kind, to be noble in every sense of the word (and, indeed, he’s good at it), but can’t quite hide that dark something lurking deep under the surface. no doubt he keeps those reigns in check. and claude had always been a natural at sniffing out when someone was hiding something.

but seeing dimitri standing there, alone in the dark courtyard awash in silver moonlight, sends a pang through his chest that he can’t quite identify. hence, why he approached in the first place.