[Byleth had a high tolerance for temperatures - any temperature was comfortable unless things began to edge into the extremes - so he usually slept in his tunics. It meant he could leap into action quickly if need be, and if they were in very dangerous locales, he even slept with his boots on (granted with the shoelaces untied to allow for blood flow).
Here, though... if Claude was with him, he could afford to unwind. He didn't have to be dressed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He could relax... a little. A fraction. A smidge.
He decided to compromise. He removed his dark grey tunic and folded it up, but left his breeches on. For someone who had spent the majority of their life battling against everything ranging from wild beasts to wild mercenaries, Byleth had surprisingly few scars - not to say he didn't have them, but they were faint and silvery, with the exception of one: an ugly, bright pink scar that ran along his back, starting from his penultimate bottom right rib and slanting sharply downwards in a diagonal slash across his spine, to settle just shy above the left side of his tailbone.
A memento of Arval's attempted assassination, of course.
It was still a little stiff at times, but nothing a few stretches in the morning didn't alleviate, and Byleth was unbothered by its existence. He set the tunic down on top of his folded up cloak, and paused to lift his arms high above his head in a stretch, his spine clicking loudly.]
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[Byleth had a high tolerance for temperatures - any temperature was comfortable unless things began to edge into the extremes - so he usually slept in his tunics. It meant he could leap into action quickly if need be, and if they were in very dangerous locales, he even slept with his boots on (granted with the shoelaces untied to allow for blood flow).
Here, though... if Claude was with him, he could afford to unwind. He didn't have to be dressed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He could relax... a little. A fraction. A smidge.
He decided to compromise. He removed his dark grey tunic and folded it up, but left his breeches on. For someone who had spent the majority of their life battling against everything ranging from wild beasts to wild mercenaries, Byleth had surprisingly few scars - not to say he didn't have them, but they were faint and silvery, with the exception of one: an ugly, bright pink scar that ran along his back, starting from his penultimate bottom right rib and slanting sharply downwards in a diagonal slash across his spine, to settle just shy above the left side of his tailbone.
A memento of Arval's attempted assassination, of course.
It was still a little stiff at times, but nothing a few stretches in the morning didn't alleviate, and Byleth was unbothered by its existence. He set the tunic down on top of his folded up cloak, and paused to lift his arms high above his head in a stretch, his spine clicking loudly.]