003 » i wrote a song about being weak

[bladehand]

fanart by Living201882687.
for dimitri at animehamlet.

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[bladehand]

[ Dimitri is not well. He was never well — Byleth knew that even when the man was a boy who tried to hide his suffering behind a smile — but he sees things, now. Talks to them. Gets lost in his visions and fantasies, swears and yells at them, is tormented by their mocking sneers and grins. Sometimes Byleth plays along with such fantasies; other times, he does not. An old mercenary from Jeralt's group used to say that when a man was mad, it was better to act like his visions were real than to challenge him that they were not, but Byleth hasn't seen much improvement from Dimitri with either approach.

Rot. Gangrene. Disease. Decay. Byleth has seen all of these things and never even flinched at them, but he has no idea how to stop his beloved student from decomposition of the mind.

Today, especially, he does not wish to humor whatever horrors Dimitri has been seeing. He thought he heard a rat when he entered the room, but he doesn't hear it now, which bodes ill for the creature's fate, save that there is no blood on Dimitri's hands (at the moment). The professor stares at him for a moment, his gaze inscrutable, then calmly deposits his blankets on the bed. ]

I said, "I'll need you to sleep with me," Dimitri.

[ The professor walks over, then lowers himself to a crouch, peering at Dimitri where he has huddled under the desk, shivering, pathetic. Still glowering despite the tremble in his limbs. As for the mottled bruising gash over his stomach where the knife was before Byleth extracted it — well, looks like he could use some more healing treatment, if of course Byleth can convince him to accept it.

Is this sleeping with a corpse, truly? A corpse would never look so frightened, so haunted, so alive. No — it isn't a corpse that Byleth sees before him, but perhaps he is guilty of being perverse. Perhaps he is equally doomed.

Even after all these years, the gleam in Byleth's eyes as he looks at Dimitri — it is still so strangely fond. ]

Come out from under the table.