[ lie back and think of faerghus, or whatever. or maybe that's supposed to just apply to sex. he's done that when he's fucked and when he's fought, and also after both too. either way, at the professor's warning, sylvain digs his fingers into the dirt and doesn't make a sound as the professor tugs the arrow out of his back. he's had worse. his brother's done worse to him. another scar to add to the map of them, drawn all across his body from all the things that tried to kill him and haven't succeeded yet.
he sucks in a breath. it only burns a little with byleth's magic pushing into the injury as the tissue knits back together. fuck, it would be just his luck if it nicked a lung or something. it'd mean more time mercedes won't let him out of the infirmary. more time for felix to stray away from him again. ]
That... [ god, byleth, how could you put him on the spot like this? as though he hasn't imagined a hundred, a thousand times the things he'd want to say to felix over the last five years because there are a hundred thousand things he wants to tell him. that he misses him. that he wishes he'd gone with him. that he wishes felix had asked him to go with. that they should just leave fodlan, run away together and put the messy business of war behind them.
that he'd die, if that was what felix wanted. that he'd die anyways, if felix never came back. ]
That he'll always have a place with... [ with sylvain. ] With us. Even if he doesn't want to come home. Come back, I mean.
[ no, he doesn't mean. he means home. not faerghus or the northern territories they'd grown up in, but the closeness of another person. felix has always been his home. ]
Not that he'd listen, probably. He never does to me. No one should. [ sylvain laughs, dry and pained, as he shuffles a little for byleth to access the second arrow, dug low into his back. god, that'll make sleeping a pain for a few days, but it's not like sylvain gets much rest these days anyways. he leans against the professor's hand as though he can hide his face from the world if he just turns away and tucks himself behind byleth. wouldn't that be nice? ] But at least I tried then, right?
[ He's been working too hard. All of them have, to a degree, but Sylvain isn't like Annette, who would just get frustrated if anybody told her to rest and let someone else handle things. Sylvain needs someone to tell him that he's done enough.
Byleth resolves to be that person, even as he locates that arrow in Sylvain's back, wraps his fingers around the shaft — ]
You did. You tried your best.
[ — and pulls. ]
And sometimes you have to tell yourself that your best was enough.
[ Byleth ebbs healing magic into the wound as soon as he makes it, in an effort to assuage the inevitable lancing pain, but no matter what he does, Sylvain will just have to suffer a little bit. The vagaries of war. Again, the professor runs his hand through the redhead's curls, trying to soothe him through the sting.
His voice is soft as he makes his earnest promises: ]
I'll find him. I promise. If he doesn't come back with me, I won't force him. But I'll find him, Sylvain. You have my word.
[ Sometimes it seems like Byleth hasn't changed at all in the past five years; other times, it seems like he only grew more sensitive, and even more kind. ]
[ only the quietest whine of pain escapes sylvain as byleth pulls the arrow head out. blood spills sluggishly under byleth's fingers despite the magic he pushes in. sylvain's head spins just a little, lolling back against the trunk of the tree while his vision grays and comes back into focus. fuck, injuries are never easy to bounce back from, but this one feels even worse than normal.
his breath comes out harsh against byleth's neck. his hand feels so nice in his hair. he doesn't know the last time someone did this for him. maybe never, honestly. ]
I should've done more. I should've...
[ sylvain squints out into the forest and dreams about the flash of navy in the trees. the blood loss is getting to him. ]
[ A simple Heal spell wasn't enough... Sylvain is still bleeding, and it looks like he's reeling with pain. Byleth silently shifts gears, drawing up the formula for Recover instead, pressing it more firmly into Sylvain's body, weaving together deep tissue and frayed blood vessels with as gentle care as he can manage.
(He's good, the professor is, but no one's as good a healer as Mercedes is, not even Manuela. Sometimes Byleth thinks that the woman's penchant for embroidery and knitting has something to do with it. Maybe he needs to take it up. Knitting. It might make him a better healer. He'll ask her about it when he gets back.) ]
I'm sorry. We'll bring him back, I promise.
[ There's no flash of ink-blue hair in the trees, no sign of the fur-trimmed teal armor that Byleth knows that Felix has taken up recently. But he'll go looking. Byleth knows where all the good mercenary haunts used to be in the area; it might give him better leads than the ones Sylvain has been chasing. ]
I should have done something about this years ago.
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he sucks in a breath. it only burns a little with byleth's magic pushing into the injury as the tissue knits back together. fuck, it would be just his luck if it nicked a lung or something. it'd mean more time mercedes won't let him out of the infirmary. more time for felix to stray away from him again. ]
That... [ god, byleth, how could you put him on the spot like this? as though he hasn't imagined a hundred, a thousand times the things he'd want to say to felix over the last five years because there are a hundred thousand things he wants to tell him. that he misses him. that he wishes he'd gone with him. that he wishes felix had asked him to go with. that they should just leave fodlan, run away together and put the messy business of war behind them.
that he'd die, if that was what felix wanted. that he'd die anyways, if felix never came back. ]
That he'll always have a place with... [ with sylvain. ] With us. Even if he doesn't want to come home. Come back, I mean.
[ no, he doesn't mean. he means home. not faerghus or the northern territories they'd grown up in, but the closeness of another person. felix has always been his home. ]
Not that he'd listen, probably. He never does to me. No one should. [ sylvain laughs, dry and pained, as he shuffles a little for byleth to access the second arrow, dug low into his back. god, that'll make sleeping a pain for a few days, but it's not like sylvain gets much rest these days anyways. he leans against the professor's hand as though he can hide his face from the world if he just turns away and tucks himself behind byleth. wouldn't that be nice? ] But at least I tried then, right?
no subject
Byleth resolves to be that person, even as he locates that arrow in Sylvain's back, wraps his fingers around the shaft — ]
You did. You tried your best.
[ — and pulls. ]
And sometimes you have to tell yourself that your best was enough.
[ Byleth ebbs healing magic into the wound as soon as he makes it, in an effort to assuage the inevitable lancing pain, but no matter what he does, Sylvain will just have to suffer a little bit. The vagaries of war. Again, the professor runs his hand through the redhead's curls, trying to soothe him through the sting.
His voice is soft as he makes his earnest promises: ]
I'll find him. I promise. If he doesn't come back with me, I won't force him. But I'll find him, Sylvain. You have my word.
[ Sometimes it seems like Byleth hasn't changed at all in the past five years; other times, it seems like he only grew more sensitive, and even more kind. ]
no subject
his breath comes out harsh against byleth's neck. his hand feels so nice in his hair. he doesn't know the last time someone did this for him. maybe never, honestly. ]
I should've done more. I should've...
[ sylvain squints out into the forest and dreams about the flash of navy in the trees. the blood loss is getting to him. ]
Professor, I miss him.
no subject
[ A simple Heal spell wasn't enough... Sylvain is still bleeding, and it looks like he's reeling with pain. Byleth silently shifts gears, drawing up the formula for Recover instead, pressing it more firmly into Sylvain's body, weaving together deep tissue and frayed blood vessels with as gentle care as he can manage.
(He's good, the professor is, but no one's as good a healer as Mercedes is, not even Manuela. Sometimes Byleth thinks that the woman's penchant for embroidery and knitting has something to do with it. Maybe he needs to take it up. Knitting. It might make him a better healer. He'll ask her about it when he gets back.) ]
I'm sorry. We'll bring him back, I promise.
[ There's no flash of ink-blue hair in the trees, no sign of the fur-trimmed teal armor that Byleth knows that Felix has taken up recently. But he'll go looking. Byleth knows where all the good mercenary haunts used to be in the area; it might give him better leads than the ones Sylvain has been chasing. ]
I should have done something about this years ago.