‘ Try me. This is a torch song. Touch me and you'll burn. ’
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@torchsung
‘ Try me. This is a torch song. Touch me and you'll burn. ’
ind pri sel multimuse, written by hope (she/they, 21+)
also find me here

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There it is: the truth that Felix has held close to his chest for years laid bare, or at least the very basics of it. Sylvain doesn't need to know the details. Just the fact that he knows is bad enough, because Felix never wanted to burden him with this to begin with. If he can spare him from trying to imagine the horrors of that day— more so than he probably already is, anyway— then that will be something, at least.
Even so, he lets Sylvain take his hand and try to gently pry open his fingers. The crescent moons he'd dug into his palm sting a little, but he ignores them. He'd pushed the other man away after every other one of these nightmares, but evidently, he'd only been able to do so for so long. Felix isn't normally a very tactile person, but the touch feels...grounding, in a way.
"I didn't want you to know about it. No one else should have to live with— have to see that." Felix shakes his head. It's bad enough that he'd dragged Sylvain out of Faerghus with him, and now he's pulling him down into this mess, too. "There's nothing to help. We can't change what happened. There's no bringing him back. Dimitri is dead." He closes his eyes, just briefly. "...Sorry."
Every second Felix doesn't totally shut down and push him away is a win as far as Sylvain is concerned. He holds his hands, loosely, so he can pull them out of his grasp if he needs to, and just breathes. He's had his suspicions that these dreams had something to do with Dimitri's death, but he'd never imagined that Felix had gone back to the battlefield and seen his body. The thought turns his stomach.
"I'm so sorry, Felix." The only thing worse than knowing that Felix has been living with these images in his mind is knowing that he's been doing it alone. That Sylvain hadn't even noticed he'd gone back. How could he have missed that? "I shouldn't have let you go. I had no idea. But I should have..." He can't remember what he'd done the night after Dimitri died. It's a blur. But he should have kept a better eye on Felix.
"I didn't mean to help Di...Dimitri, Felix. I meant to help you." He shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize. This...fucking sucks."
@torchsung asked: “ will you just…hold me? please. ” (Sylvain to Felix) | accepting
For once, Felix hesitates. He's not exactly the type to hold someone— especially not since Glenn died, anyway— but he also can't really bring himself to deny Sylvain anything right now. Not after what he'd just gone through.
Not for the first time, he wishes that his friend had just taken the professor up on her offer to stay behind while the rest of the class went to that damn tower to take care of Miklan and his gang. But Sylvain is Sylvain, and he never would have let his friends deal with them in his place, so of course he'd come along— and now he's sitting in his room back at the monastery, alone and upset. How is Felix supposed to help with any of this?
He settles for putting his hand on Sylvain's back. It's not exactly a hug or holding him, but it's something. Goddess, he feels so useless.
"I..." He's what? Sorry? No, he isn't sorry that the brother who'd made Sylvain's life a living hell for years is dead, so he's not even going to try to say that. If anything, he's pissed that Miklan is still finding ways to make his brother miserable from beyond the grave, but he chooses not to mention that for the time being. "You deserved better than this, Sylvain."
Sylvain sniffles. He hadn't meant to ask Felix to hold him. Or maybe he had. He can't remember. His head is spinning, and he's starting to regret drinking so much. Ingrid had been right. He'd thought it would help, but now he just feels unsteady.
"I..." His breath hitches, and he feels tears burn in his eyes again. "I don't. M'a fuck up." He hides his face in his hands. Suddenly, he's ashamed that Felix is seeing him like this. "M'sorry. You don't have to stay." He says, even though he wants him to. He doesn't want to be alone.
@torchsung asked: “ of course i came. you called me. what’s wrong? “ (Ferdie @ Dorothea) | accepting
"Ferdie! There you are! I thought you were..."
Injured? Dead? Both? Dorothea isn't exactly sure what she'd thought. All she knows is that she'd lost sight of him in the chaos of battle, and her mind had automatically jumped to the worst possible conclusion. That's what war does; it takes and it takes, and she'd been worried that Ferdinand had become its latest victim. Whatever issues she might have with him and regardless of their past, she would never wish that upon him.
However, seeing that he'd more or less appeared out of nowhere when she'd called his name, he seems to be okay. Dorothea breathes a sigh of relief as she glances him over, for once grateful that his ridiculously earnest attitude is still intact. If it wasn't, then she'd be even more worried.
"Nevermind." She shakes her head. "You disappeared during the battle and no one knew where you were. Are you alright?"
Ferdinand looks over Dorothea carefully. He'd been surprised when she called out for him. She usually seems to do her best to avoid him whenever possible. And she'd sounded so distressed, he thought something must be wrong.
"I'm fine. I was checking the perimeter for an ambush, before we let our guard completely down, but it seems like they are truly gone." He frowns. "Are you sure you're alright, Dorothea? You look pale." He reaches out for her. "Maybe we should have one of the healers take a look at you."
"I know, Dimitri, and I do appreciate it. I apologize for not being good company right now." This is the most she's spoken since her father died, Byleth thinks; she hasn't exactly been one for conversation in the days since then. Perhaps it's no wonder that Sothis is so worried about her. "I don't want to seem ungrateful. I am glad you're here."
Even almost a year into her employment at Garreg Mach, it still amazes her how much people seem to...well, care about her. That certainly couldn't be said for the mercenary known as the Ashen Demon, at any rate. Byleth had only ever had her father, but maybe she won't be as alone now that he's gone as she once might have believed. The biggest example of that right now? Dimitri attempting to make tea for her.
"Oh, I..." Byleth blinks. Truthfully, she'd never given much thought to her tea preferences; she'd always prepared whatever she knew her guest would enjoy. "Chamomile or angelica are fine, thank you."
"You don't need to apologize for anything, Professor." Dimitri says, already working on preparing the tea. "I didn't come here seeking good company. I came because I thought you might not want to be alone." Dimitri remembers what it was like in the days after his father died. How he couldn't bring himself to seek anyone out, but being alone with his thoughts was awful. Even now, Dimitri always asks Dedue to stay with him on the anniversary of that day.
He steeps some of the angelica, just to make his point. It isn't as if he can taste the tea one way or the other, so it doesn't matter. He likes the way chamomile smells, and he'd read once it was meant to have soothing qualities. He's not certain if it works, or if the company over a cup of tea is what helps more, but regardless. He'll try something new for the professor.
"Here you are." He says, presenting her with a steaming mug when the tea is ready. "Feel free to eat, as well." He says, pointing out the plate of food he'd brought her. "I ate already. I wasn't sure if you would want me to stay or not." He hesitates. "To that point, please tell me if I'm intruding. I only have my own experiences to go on, and I'm sure there are differences in what each person needs at a time like this."

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@torchsung asked: “ what can i do to help? ” (Dimitri to Glenn) | accepting
Glenn looks up from the reports he'd been going over to see Dimitri standing (somewhat awkwardly, in his opinion) in the doorway of the war room. He knows better than most that recovering from the dark place that the prince had been in (and will likely always be part of him) will take time, but he's so relieved that any progress has been made at all that he'll take what they can get. The different between now and even a week ago is night and day.
If only his father was alive to see this. The thought makes Glenn's chest ache for a moment, but he tries to shove that grief aside. There will be time for that later, when they aren't in the middle of a war and his brother isn't still laying wounded downstairs. Besides. Dimitri's already carrying enough on his shoulders; he doesn't need that adding to it any more than it probably already is.
"I'm not looking at anything you probably haven't already seen yourself, so don't worry about it. Byleth's humoring me by giving me busywork." Glenn sets his papers aside for the time being. "I doubt you came all the way up here just for some reading, so talk to me. What's going on, Dimitri?"
Dimitri's stomach twists with a complicated mixture of emotions when Glenn turns around to face him. There's the usual sting of grief and pain that he's used to accompanying that face. He braces himself for harsh admonishments, even as he reminds himself that this Glenn--the real Glenn, he reminds himself--has never pleaded with him for blood. Then comes the relief. Glenn is alive. Dimitri is not the sole survivor of that day. He's not alone. And finally guilt, the same cold grip of it that comes every time he thinks about Felix, too. Glenn lost his father because of Dimitri. Glenn knows better than most the cost of trying to serve him. He's surprised the man can even look at him.
He shuffles anxiously in the doorway. Maybe this had been a bad idea. The professor had encouraged him to come speak with Glenn, when he'd sought out Felix and found him resting in Sylvain's room, the other man keeping a tired vigil by his bed. He'll try that conversation later. But for now, he owes an attempt to Glenn.
"Maybe so." He says, thinking of how the professor has been taking work out of his hands, when she finds him working late into the night on all the war preparations he's been neglecting. He owes her apologies, too. Goddess, he's made a mess of everything. "I..." He feels ill. His eye burns with tears threatening to spill over. What can he even say to make this right? What hope can he have that Glenn won't despise him, as Felix surely does? "I'm so sorry, about Rodrigue. I never wanted--" His voice cracks, and he has to duck his head to hide his shame-reddened face. He can't even apologize correctly, it seems.
It doesn't take Sylvain long to put two and two together, because of course it doesn't. He's always been clever; infuriatingly so, really, despite his insistence otherwise. In fact, Felix wouldn't be surprised if he'd suspected these dreams involved Dimitri long before this latest incident. Even so, he can't bring himself to even look at the other man.
"I did." His voice is numb now, too emotionally drained to continue putting up a fight about this. After keeping what he'd seen that day bottled up for so long, it's as though he's watching himself talk about it through someone else's eyes. "I see what those Imperial bastards did to him every damn time I close my eyes."
Isn't this what he deserves, though? He'd failed to save Dimitri from the boar, and this is his punishment: reliving that moment for the rest of his life. His nails are digging in to the palm of his hand hard enough to cut through his skin. At least Sylvain hasn't asked for details. If there is a goddess, and she has any concept left of mercy, he won't ask for them. Felix has already told him enough; there's no reason for that day to haunt him any more than it probably already does.
Sylvain forces himself to take slow, calm breaths, even as his mind races, wondering what he can possibly do to help Felix with this. He knows how he cared about Dimitri. He knows his greatest regret in life is not being able to help him. He'd even suspected that these nightmares had something to do with Dimitri, before tonight. But he'd never imagined that Felix actually saw his body.
He has no idea what that must have been like. The closest frame of reference he has is when he faced Miklan and his brother had transformed himself into a demonic beast. But even that was different. His stomach turns just thinking about it. "I'm sorry." Sylvain breathes, not sure what else to say. What can he say? Felix hasn't been openly sentimental for years. He doubts empty promises that it will be alright will help.
Sylvain looks down to where Felix's nails are biting into his own skin. He takes that hand, too. Gently, so Felix can pull away if he wants, and attempts to loosen the painful ball of his fist. "I can tell this wasn't easy. Thank you for telling me." He breathes. "This isn't just yours. When you hurt, I hurt, even if I don't know why. All I want is to be able to help." He's not sure if he's supposed to ask if Felix wants to tell him what he saw. He's not sure he wants to know. But he is fairly sure that if Felix care bear to tell him he'll do it himself, so Sylvain doesn't ask.
@torchsung asked: “ thank you. for always being there for me. ” (Sylvain to Glenn) | accepting
Glenn blinks, momentarily taken aback by the gratitude, but then softens just a little. Truth to be told, he wishes he could've done more Sylvain when they were growing up. While he himself isn't that much older than the other man, even he had recognized at a young age that something bad was going on at the Gautier estate— and even if he hadn't, Felix raising all kinds of hell whenever Sylvain showed up with bruises and bandages would've made that abundantly clear. The Fraldarius family had done what they could, but it had never felt like enough.
Thankfully, however, Sylvain is in a much better situation now, and Glenn couldn't be more pleased to see it.
"Oh, don't get all sentimental on me, Gautier," he says, elbowing the redhead lightly. "Someone had to look out for your ass, I guess. Besides, Felix wouldn't stop yelling at me if I didn't. Speaking of my brother, I'm the one who should be thanking you."
"I mean it." Sylvain says, trying to ignore how his face gets hot talking about this. He's not sure what made him say it, other than the fact that in the years he'd thought Glenn was dead, one of his biggest regrets was that he never got to thank him for everything he did for him as a kid. And now he has that chance, so how could he not take it?
"Even if you hadn't been the one to find me on that mountain..." He shivers at the chill that runs through him just thinking about it, "I just...I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. So. Thanks."
It's his turn to blink in confusion, though, when Glenn is thanking him. "What for?" He asks, not feeling as if he's done anything in particular worth gratitude, especially when it comes to Felix.
For a long moment, Felix says nothing, even as he lets Sylvain take his hand. How can he even begin to explain what the root of these nightmares is? Yes, Sylvain knows that Dimitri died that day at Gronder, but he doesn't know how; Felix isn't sure if he heard Hilda's description of the execution after the battle, and he certainly doesn't know how to describe the aftermath.
He should be stubborn about this. Living with the memory of what he saw is hard enough, and he can't put that on Sylvain too. But in the back of his mind, he knows that the truth is going to come out eventually— whether he wants it to or not. Hell, he'd apparently been shouting Dimitri's name in his sleep. What else has he said that he isn't even aware of?
"That's...I..." Felix has never been good at maintaining eye contact under the best of circumstances, but now he can't bring himself to even look in the other man's general direction. "...During the war, after the battle at Gronder Field, I..." Fuck, why is it so hard to just spit this out? "...I went back."
Sylvain is relieved when Felix at least allows him to take his hand. His thumb traces gently over his knuckles, willing Felix to relax. He's wound so tightly, always is after whatever these dreams are. And Sylvain is tired of guessing and hoping he's helping.
He can't seem to look at Sylvain, and that's okay. If it lets him talk about this Sylvain will take it. He sits still, except for the movement of his thumb on Felix's skin, afraid now that he's talking that any small movement will spook him into silence again. This is delicate work, and Sylvain is determined not to fuck it up.
It takes him half a heartbeat to process what Felix is telling him. "You...oh." He breathes, trying to stay neutral, to not let the horror creep into his tone. His stomach twists at the images he's conjuring in his mind. They're not all new, of course. Of course he's wondered what became of Dimitri, what his childhood friend's final moments were like. He's had his own dreams about it. But there's always been the comfort of knowing it wasn't real. This... "Fe, I...you saw him?"
"Your nightmares aren't like this," Felix counters, which is probably a juvenile point to make, but whatever. It's different when Sylvain is the one being haunted by the war, even if he feels useless when it comes to actually helping him. A problem he can swing a sword at, he can handle; not being able to protect someone from their own mind makes him fell so powerless. "And they don't happen every other night."
Then Sylvain drops the words he'd long been dreading to hear: I heard you call out for Dimitri tonight. Felix stiffens immediately, his gaze fixated on the wall instead of his partner. His heartbeat picks up again. Shit. It was bound to happen eventually, but...he can't do this. He can't burden Sylvain with what he saw that day. He can't.
"I..." Felix closes his eyes and clenches and unclenches his fist in his lap. He can't even deny it at this point, because Sylvain isn't an idiot and any excuse is going to fall flat. "It's..." How is he even supposed to talk about this? "I can't...you don't deserve to have to live with this too."
"No," Sylvain agrees, "they're not." He sighs. "But I don't think it matters." He frowns. "When I asked you to stay here, with me, that meant I wanted us to be able to share our burdens. I need you. Why should it be a problem when you need me?"
He sees Felix stiffen, and worries for a moment he's pushed him too far. Maybe he should have waited for the morning to ask him about this. But he's tired of watching Felix suffer and not being able to do anything about it. If neither of them is going back to sleep tonight, which seems likely, then he might as well try to help.
"Fe. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to put into words." With slow movements, so that Felix can pull away if he so wishes, Sylvain reaches for his hand where it clenches and unclenches in his lap. "But please, don't leave me in the dark out of some misguided attempt to protect me. Please. Trust me when I say I can help you carry this."

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Byleth glances up at Dimitri as he speaks. He'd never really spoken about the aftermath of the Tragedy, and she'd never asked; it would have been incredibly insensitive, for one thing. But now he's brought it up of his own volition, and she owes it to him to hear what he has to say. Based on what she knew of the events in Duscur, talking about his own grief after what he'd gone through can't be easy.
"You haven't burdened me with anything," she says, shaking her head. Byleth certainly isn't going to press him for more details, but she does understand what he's getting at. Sothis has been saying the same thing. Being isolated like this probably isn't helping her, but she isn't sure what else to do. The idea of speaking to others right now feels...daunting, at best. "I appreciate you sharing that with me, and the sentiment."
Truthfully, she doesn't really feel like having tea either, but it will help Dimitri to feel like he's helping her, so she won't deny him that. "Alright. It's in there." She nods towards the cabinet. "You can take whatever you'd like. There should be some chamomille left."
Dimitri sighs. Even with the professor's reassurance, Dimitri feels guilty for placing his own grief on her shoulders. The deaths that day are his to bear, no one else's. The professor shouldn't have to worry over him, especially not right now.
"Still. I only meant, I'm here for you." He opens the cabinet and pulls out tea, softening a little. He feels his cheeks heat as the professor mentions chamomile. Of course she has his favorite. The fact that she knows that makes him feel warm and cared for.
"You always drink chamomile for me. What's your favorite. I would prefer that, today, if that's alright?"
"I can apologize for waking you up all the damn time," Felix mumbles, running a hand through his hair. How many time has this happened now? He'd lost count. It's pathetic that a damn dream of all things has him this worked up, but it isn't as though he can do anything about it now. At least his heart has stopped trying to burst from his chest. "This shouldn't be your problem."
While Sylvain lights some candles in the room, Felix tries to focus on his breathing. In and out; in and out. Being in a blind panic won't help anything right now, though he's calmed down considerably since he'd first woken up. Even so, he knows full well that no one is going back to sleep at this point. He couldn't even if he wanted to, because he knows what he'll see if he does.
Dimitri. What he'd seen that day has been haunting him since the battle at Gronder, and he knows Sylvain is going to try to ask him about the dreams again soon enough. Honestly, he'd be more surprised if he didn't. Still, though, Felix refuses to share this particular burden with anyone else— especially not someone who'd been the former king's friend as for long as he himself had.
Finally, he uncurls just a little, but he still can't bring himself to meet Sylvain's eyes. Felix doesn't like making eye contact under the best of circumstances, so this mess makes that almost impossible. "...If you want."
"You can." Sylvain agrees. "But you don't have to. I get it, Felix. I have nightmares too." He sighs. This has been happening for a while now. He's probably let it go on too long without confronting Felix about it, but he hasn't known what to do. He's not going to let it go this time, though. Felix isn't okay, and Sylvain is going to do something about it.
"Felix...I..." He sighs. "I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but...this keeps happening. And I'm worried about you. You won't tell me what's wrong, and I don't like you struggling and not telling me. So."
He shifts, trying to catch Felix's eyes. "I heard you call out for Dimitri tonight. And I already thought that might be what these dreams are about. I just...you know you can tell me anything, right? You shouldn't have to carry this kind of thing on your own."
Of course the students would be worried about her. It had been selfish of her to think that wouldn't be, in her grief. She hasn't even been teaching her classes as she normally would, instead allowing Manuela and Hanneman to take over for her while she tries to process what had happened. Those are two more people she'll need to thank— and apologize to— once things are back to normal. If they'll ever be back to normal.
Byleth gives Dimitri a small nod. She's not exactly the most verbose on a good day, but now, she can't seem to find the words to say anything with. It's rude, she knows that, and that only serves to make her feel worse. The prince had gone out of his way to come see her and make sure she's doing the minimum to take care of herself, and she can't even muster up a proper response for his efforts?
"I appreciate the thought. I didn't mean to worry you all," she finally says. "I'll be back to teaching as soon as I can. Right now, I..." Can't do anything but think about her father and weep. Feel nothing but guilt for not being able to stop it. All of the above. Byleth shakes her head. "I probably won't make for good company right now, but I won't stop you if you'd like to sit."
"It really is alright, Professor. I'm not here to try to rush you back to teaching, or make you feel guilty for anything that you're feeling right now." How can he explain it? He doesn't want to make her grief about himself. But to have someone who understands...isn't that all he'd wanted as a child, after losing his own father?
"I wasn't very good company either, you know. After the Tragedy of Duscar." He shakes his head, trying to ignore the bead of pain that forms at the memories. "If I'm honest, I don't remember much about the first few weeks, but I've been told I hardly spoke. What I do remember of that time is loneliness. It's why Dedue's friendship meant so much to me. I felt as if no one in the world could understand what I was experiencing."
He shakes his head, realizing he's perhaps said too much. "I apologize, Professor. I didn't mean to come and burden you with my past. I only meant...you aren't alone." He clears his throat. "Would you like some tea?" He asks, moving towards the cabinet he's seen her retrieve it from during past visits.
Fuck. There's no way Sylvain is going back to sleep now, and there's no way that Felix can pretend the dream never happened, either. The last thing he wants is for his partner to get involved in this more than he already is, because no one else should have to live with the image of that day.
They must have stabbed Dimitri with every lance in the Imperial Army, but Felix still recognizes him even though he's laying face down in the mud. He would have recognized him even if there was nothing left to see. It's undignified. It's wrong. He's going to be sick. He—
Sylvain is talking again. Felix only half listens to what he's saying. He's curled in on himself slightly, facing away from the other man because he doesn't want to see the look on his face right now and know that he's the one who put it there.
"You can do what you want," he mumbles, running an unsteady hand through his hair. Felix has never been a very tactile person— not since Glenn died, anyway— but he knows it helps Sylvain, and he's already put him through enough for one lifetime. "Dammit. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up with this shit. Again."
Well, that's not a yes, so Sylvain drops his hands into his lap. He can't tell if touch would help Felix or not, but he doesn't want to make things worse. Felix is still clearly distressed. The last thing he needs is for Sylvain to push him into accepting the type of comfort he thinks Felix needs.
"You don't have to apologize, Felix. You can't control your dreams." He takes a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do. "Will you take some more deep breaths with me? I'm going to light some candles, okay?" It's clear neither of them is going back to sleep any time soon, so he might as well make it where he can actually see Felix.
He has no idea how best to help with this. Felix is much better at helping him with his nightmares. But Felix won't tell him what he needs, which makes everything so much harder. He knows this has something to do with Dimitri, but he also knows Felix is going to fight him tooth and nail when it comes to actually talking about it.
"Let's just sit for a minute, okay?" He offers, watching Felix's back. He wishes he could see his face.
@torchsung asked: “ shh… it’s okay… breathe with me, okay? in… and out… good job. “ (Sylvain @ Felix) | accepting
Hilda was wrong. She had to be. It must have been someone else that she saw. There was no way that he had been killed. None. Felix had torn away from the others no sooner that the words "Dimitri" and "executed" had left Hilda's mouth, despite Byleth and Claude attempting to stop him. He was running, fast despite his exhaustion and the minor wounds he'd sustained in the battle, not knowing where—
There was a clearing in the trees a small distance from the field, and the pit at the bottom of his stomach told Felix what he would find long before he saw the blood and broken remains of the former King of Faerghus.
Could he have stopped him? Could he have saved...
"Dimitri!"
Felix wakes with a start, bolt upright and drenched in sweat. There's a presence next to him that takes him a moment to register in the midst of his disorientation; he doesn't even realize where he is at first. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he feels nauseous. A dream. It was just a dream. That damn dream again. He's in Gautier, and Sylvain is saying something next to him. Reminding him to breathe, he thinks. In and out, in and out. He tries.
Fuck. How many times has this happened now? He shouldn't be so shaken by a damn dream. Sylvain doesn't deserve having to put up with this. But every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is...
Dammit.
"I'm..." Felix scrubs a shaky hand down his face. His heart isn't trying to beat its way out of his chest anymore, at least. "...Sorry. You should go back to sleep."
Sylvain stirs when Felix starts tossing in his sleep. It isn't the first time this has happened, since they've started sharing a bed, and Sylvain hates to admit it, but he's fairly certain it won't be the last time.
He's there as soon as Felix wakes up, helping him breathe. Goddess, one of these days his heart is going to pound right out of his chest, at the rate it's going. This can't be good for Felix. But he'll never talk to Sylvain about the dreams, so he doesn't know what to do.
This time, though, something slipped out. He's thought he'd heard it before, but this time it was unmistakable. Dimitri. Sylvain's own chest aches at the thought of him. But he and Felix had always been...different.
"I'm not going back to sleep when you're like this, Fe. We've talked about this. You're shaking." He frowns. "Can I touch you?" He asks, deciding to take things slow. He wants to confront Felix about the dream, but he's afraid of pushing too hard too fast, and spooking him. Instead, he approaches him like a skittish horse. Voice gentle and low, movements slow and predictable.

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@torchsung asked: “ hey, i got you some water. drink it all, you’ll feel better. “ (Dimitri @ Byleth) | acceptitng
Byleth barely looks up from where she's sitting at her desk when she hears Dimitri's voice. In truth, she hasn't moved much from this spot— let alone her room— since they'd gotten back to the monastery. Her father is dead, and everything feels hollow. If it wasn't for the fact that it had never worked to begin with, she'd be certain that her heart would never feel right again. How can it, after what had happened? Jeralt is gone, and despite her efforts to save him, nothing could ever bring him back.
Logically, she knows that Dimitri is right. Drinking water is important, and it might help alleviate some of the headache she's had for the past week. Even so, she can't work up the energy to accept it.
You can't simply give up in taking care of yourself like this, Sothis scolds her, though not unkindly. He's right. Go on, take the water! Your father would not have wanted this for you.
Well, that does it, then. Byleth reaches out to take the glass from Dimitri and places it on the desk in front of her.
"Thank you," she tells the prince, not quite meeting his eyes. It's the most she's spoken since that day. "I...apologize for worrying you."
Dimitri hesitates. He hadn't been sure if the professor would accept the water or not. It's perhaps a bit presumptuous of him to bring it to her, and insist on her drinking it. But he's...well, they're all worried. She hasn't set foot out of her room since Jeralt's death. Not that he's seen, anyway. And he's been paying attention.
"You're welcome." He murmurs, feeling frozen to the spot. He isn't sure if he's welcome to stay or not. "You needn't apologize, professor. What you are going through is...beyond difficult. I only wanted you to know that all of us are thinking of you, and we are here to provide whatever aid might be required." Perhaps he should only speak for himself, and not the entire blue lions class, but his promise is sincere.
He takes a step back. Then pauses. "I don't wish to intrude, but...I wondered if you might wish for some company? If the water isn't appealing to you, I could make some tea. Perhaps I could find something for you to eat as well? Only if you'd like that. Ask me to leave and I will be gone in moments."
Oh. Dimitri is worried. Ridiculously, there's a part of her that's actually relieved to hear him say so. After all, it wasn't too long ago that he'd hidden his feelings away and claimed to feel nothing for his friends (although Byleth had long suspected that not to be true, no matter how much the prince insisted otherwise). At the same time, however, there's also a sense of guilt for having caused that distress in the first place. It's her job to worry about everyone else, not the other way around.
"I'm sorry for worrying you, Dimitri. I promise I'm alright," she says, trying to catch his eye. Her body feels...heavy, like she hasn't slept in three days, but otherwise fine. Byleth would gladly work with exhaustion over an injury, so that's at least one other piece of good news. "Honestly, I don't remember what happened either. But I'm glad everyone's alright and the battle is over." She props herself up on her elbow. "I do what has to be done. We'll be able to rest once this war is over."
Dimitri runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. The professor is awake. A weight he hadn't fully realized was resting on his shoulders eases, just a bit. She's not going to disappear. She's not going to join the chorus of voices that haunt his waking moments, and that torment him in his dreams. Not yet, anyway. He's determined to make sure she doesn't ever.
"You needn't apologize to me, professor." Dimitri shakes his head. It was one thing for Mercedes to tell him that she'd be alright, and another entirely to see her eyes open, to hear her voice. It eases the tightness in his chest. It's probably unfair of him to rely on her so much, but he can't seem to help himself. She's his tether, at the moment. He allows her to catch his eye, only briefly, and then has to look away. "Professor, you really must rest. Mercedes said the collapse was due to exhaustion." He feels shame darken his face "No doubt from taking on my neglected responsibilities." He considers her words. Once the war is over. Dimitri wonders what kind of place there might be for him, in a world at peace. It's difficult for him to imagine it.