[Something he read in Jeralt's diary too, not that he's prepared to tell him that; hopefully he just chalks it up to how long Claude has known the other him. He peels off his cape, folding it neatly, then sits down to remove his gloves and boots.]
It's fine, honestly. Oh, and-- I'm an early riser, but don't let that alarm you either. I just like to get up with the sun.
[The greaves and vambraces were removed, along with his boots, gloves and cloak. All were neatly set down beside his bed, ready to be put on in the morning, and with an air of practised experience, began to unlatch the armoured corset around his waist and carefully removed that as well.
It had been a while since he had been so 'dressed down' in front of someone who wasn't Jeralt. It was an odd feeling, and the space between his shoulder blades itched from the exposure, but he shrugged it off.]
[Claude's stripped down to his breeches and a loose white tunic, and is in the middle of unfastening his earring, when he glances at Byleth.]
Hm? Clothed, at least at this time of year. [It's way too cold for him to do otherwise, especially out in a tent like this.] Knock yourself out with whatever your preference is, though.
[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.]
[Claude hadn't meant to watch Byleth strip, exactly, but the movement catches out of the corner of his eye as he finishes removing his earring and carefully sets it aside. He looks up, noticing a scar that definitely was not present on the Byleth that Claude knew.
Instinctively, a hand reaches up as if he wants to touch it, and then he's reminded this isn't his Teach and he quickly drops it again.]
Byleth, where did you get that injury? [Not here, he assumes, but before.]
[Had Byleth gained a wound he'd neglected to notice? Since Claude was gazing at his lower back, Byleth pressed his hand against it, feeling nothing but the raised and somewhat tender bump of Arval's scar. Was this he was asking about?]
The pain's minimal. And so long as I'm mindful to stretch in the mornings, the stiffness is also negligible.
[Pointedly, Byleth seemed to be delaying in answering Claude's original question, because he was uncertain on how to even word it. He could just brush it off as something gained in combat, but Claude would know Byleth wouldn't be so sloppy as to let an enemy so close to his unguarded flank, especially as he also knew of Byleth's ability to manipulate time. Yet, trying to explain how the wound was gained from an ally stabbing him in the back (almost literally) may accidentally smear Shez's reputation, who had already apologised profusely for the event despite it not even being his fault.
Byleth was also a very poor liar, and Claude didn't deserve to be fed lies.]
As to how I obtained this injury... one of our allies had been possessed by an entity linked to those dark mages, and they attacked me when my guard was lowered.
I see... It's always them, isn't it? In the Fódlan I left behind, we pretty much destroyed them for good, except maybe a few pockets of resistance here or there. But, that's not much comfort to you, I know.
[It's frustrating, that even if they go back to their worlds, he won't be able to help with that. Suddenly struck by an idea, he gestures for Byleth to come closer.] Can you come sit with me? I want to try something.
[No, in Byleth's Fódlan the threat still very much existed. While they had killed Thales, they had no idea what other leaders remained or where they had even come from or what their overarching goal was... but, those were troubles to ponder another day, when they can be actioned on.
For now, Byleth nodded and got up to round the bed and seat himself beside Claude.]
Just hold still for a sec, but tell me if it hurts.
[That's all the warning Byleth gets before Claude sits back to get a better angle, then presses his hands to Byleth's back. He uses the pads of his fingers to start to massage the scar tissue in slow movements, with light pressure.]
[Byleth turned his head slightly when Claude leaned back, watching him in his periphery in the same way a wary horse would eyeball something approaching its flank. Though the touch was expected, he still twitched slightly when Claude's (thankfully warm) fingers pressed against his back and began to gently massage the tender scar tissue, easing any knotted tension that had instinctively bunched up there.
He wasn't sure what to make of it, initially. When people touched him, it was always very brief or very business-like, either to nudge him aside or to treat whatever injuries he may've accrued during battle. This gentle, lingering touch on such a vulnerable spot had him... unsure. Not in a bad way exactly but- just unsure.]
...it feels a little strange, but it doesn't hurt.
[It actually didn't. If anything it felt nice. Byleth hadn't realised how stiff his lower back muscles had actually been, braced around the injury, until Claude started prodding at it. Slowly, the lingering tension in Byleth's frame melted away, and he turned his head so he couldn't see Claude at all: a sign of complete trust.]
[Claude glances up to assess Byleth's reaction and whether he has permission to continue, and when he says it doesn't hurt, offers a small, relieved smile, adding a little more pressure and beginning to make a circular motion with his fingers.]
Good. I'm no expert, but I overheard at the infirmary once that this sort of thing can help scar tissue heal better.
[And it does feel like there's a lot of bunched-up tension there, from the way Byleth seems to relax into it, so even without the old injury, this woukd be beneficial. He's grateful, honoured even, to possess such trust.]
You've been through a lot... and no doubt you'll go through a lot more in the times ahead. So knowing when to give yourself a chance to relax is a good thing.
[He's partly chatting to fill the silence, but also partly praising him for stepping up earlier to help people have fun. It's nice to see him want to enjoy himself.]
[Byleth was used to existing beneath a constant level of pressure - it was the norm when you were a mercenary, even as infamous as he and Jeralt had been. The pressure to succeed, the pressure to keep winning, the pressure to remain employed so you could supply your men, maintain your weapons, feed your mounts, the pressure to fight and win and win and win or, on some days, just survive. True, Jeralt visited taverns often, and they skipped the tab and had a few nights where the company got wasted and rowdy... but no one had ever truly relaxed. You couldn't. Mercenaries weren't afforded the luxury.
It was different here, though. Though the pressure remained, it was far more thinly spread yet precisely crushing in different ways. Byleth was given a stipend to feed himself, he didn't have to worry about the elements, and neither did he have to worry about the camp being overrun by wild beasts, bandits or rival mercenaries. He just had to be on guard for when the next Oracle came, or if a new threat emerged from the fog of war. He could now, in the vast amounts of free time given to him, relax.
Problem was, he was bad at it. Inexperienced. It made him feel unproductive or agitated - sometimes surly, thought he was only beginning to realise this. That's how he'd been when he had first arrived here: snappish, uncooperative, and judgemental. When they'd lost the Oracle, and Byleth had been quick to dismiss the others' lamenting - viewing their griping as unproductive. Claude had tried to tell him it served a purpose, an emotional one, but Byleth hadn't really taken it to heart... until much later, when he'd processed that he had been much the same. He'd been hurting and angry, but utterly incapable of recognising it in himself. He felt embarrassed about himself, looking back.]
But, I'm beginning to understand how vital morale is to maintaining a fighting spirit within our faction. I didn't understand before, I was quick to judge and dismiss, but... after some self-reflection, I realised that I was suffering from a lack of morale, and it made me... aimless and dispirited. A dangerous state to be in for a mercenary.
Yeah. You're not just a mercenary, but a person with thoughts and feelings just like any of the rest of us. Even the god among our number isn't above such things.
[Set perhaps even moreso than any human, with how wild and unpredictable the god of war's mood swings can be. Claude pauses in his ministrations to move to Byleth's shoulders next, alternating between squeezing and pressing the muscles there with some force; perhaps he can take some literal weight off them by helping to relax.]
But at least you know now that you have something to work on, instead of running into a figurative wall at a critical time. And now you know you have people to help you, too, even if Jeralt isn't here for you to lean on.
[Byleth was more than aware of the mercurial and emotional nature of gods; what Byleth lacked in expression Sothis made up in spades, able to run the gamut of amused to haughty to irritable in the span of a minute. It was enough to give Byleth whiplash, sometimes.]
Yes. I still find myself missing Jeralt, though. He always understood my moods without needing an expression to work from, and I never had to fear miscommunication, but... it's not so bad, leaning on others, even if it takes a bit of time and work. I was initially unsure with you and Dimitri, because of our differences but, now I'm glad I decided to trust you both. You, especially, Claude. You've been... mn, kind.
[His tone was a little awkward. He really wasn't used to such heart-to-heart talks - he and Jeralt tended to skirt around them. It made him feel curiously exposed, amplified by Claude's proximity and contact, but he valiantly pushed down the squirmy, weird emotions that made him want to grab his cloak and pull it over his head to hide: irrational, pointless. Also it'd force Claude to stop his ministrations, which he really didn't want.]
I hope that you know... I'll also be willing to help you as well. In whatever you need. Be it confirming whether or not you snore or listening to your thoughts as well. Or if you just wish to... talk.
[Even more awkward! But he's trying!! He's trying, Claude!!!! (His face is red, yet still somehow utterly blank...)
I don't know if you want to hear all the thoughts rattling around in my head. If I got started, I'd talk your ear off for hours, and then you really wouldn't get any sleep.
[He's joking, but he'll keep it in mind for the future. Consciously or unconsciously, his desire not to be too familiar with Byleth too quickly has perhaps turned into putting up a wall between them instead. Friendship should be give and take, after all, and Byleth has offered him plenty of trust while Claude has been less forthcoming as a matter of habit.
He tilts his head slightly to look at Byleth -- is he blushing? -- before he decides to resume the massage, tactfully deciding not to point it out. It is cute, though.]
Honestly, I'm glad you showed up. It was tough here, before, not really knowing who I could trust. The other place was even tougher. I might act all tough and adaptable and like all of this comes easily to me, but I'm just keeping it together so other people do the same. It's important to stay level-headed in a long conflict.
I agree, but I hope you're not putting too much pressure on yourself. In my timeline, King Dimitri was notorious for trying to shoulder the burdens of the Kingdom all by himself, and this eventually culminated in irrationality and self-harming behaviours - until his friends intervened, that is.
[Not to say King Dimitri and Claude were identical in how they were acting, but Byleth was keenly aware that Claude was an expert at deflection and pretending everything was fine - perhaps to his detriment. Where King Dimitri was bullheaded in his stupid selflessness, Claude was... sneaky.]
I'd hate to see you walk down the same path, Claude. I understand the need to be the voice of reason within a faction that's dominated by impulsive hotheads, but you shouldn't sacrifice your own wellbeing for it. You're not the leader of Meridian, that responsibility shouldn't be yours. It should be Cyrus's.
[Also, Byleth was of the mind that some people you just had to let them crash and burn before they learned something. The downside was that in this case, them crashing and burning had the risk of dragging them all down with them, annoyingly. This wasn't a mercenary outfit, where you could just kick those troublemakers out, or take them round the back of the tent and beat discipline into them. It was a complicated situation, and Claude was doing admirably to juggle it, but... it shouldn't rest all on him.]
It is his responsibility. But as you can plainly see, sometimes he favours a hands-off approach and leaves everything to us Shardbearers instead. If we don't want everything to fall to infighting every time, someone has to put order to the chaos around us.
[And it's why Claude is here to keep an eye on things, even if he doesn't agree with the nature of the campaign to begin with. Though, while the topic of Dimitri has come up...]
I think you should continue to keep an eye on Dimitri, though, Byleth. He says he's overcome a lot of hardship to get to the place he's at now, but I think... [He's on the verge of saying something, but seems to think better of it.] Nah, I shouldn't say too much. I just think if anyone can support him, you can.
[He gives his shoulders one last squeeze, then lets go.]
[Admittedly, Byleth had been easing the gas on his observation of Dimitri ever since he'd gained his position within Springstar's military. He seemed happy with his new duties, and far too busy to be entertaining Byleth, but if Claude mentioned it, then... well, Byleth will try to set aside some time for him.]
I do. I hadn't realised how tense I'd been before.
[Byleth rolled his shoulders, feeling how much looser they were, and half-turned to give Claude one of his almost smiles.]
Good. [Claude returns the smile.] And I don't have any old injuries like yours, but sure.
[If Byleth wanted him to lean on him more, who is he to say no to a free massage? He removes his tunic, and much like he said, aside from a few old nicks here and there, he really doesn't have any noticeable scars to write home about. Then again, that's not surprising for an archer who tries to position himself as far away from combat as possible. Even the battle with Nemesis had been more about outsmarting him than getting in close to overpower him. He turns, shifting on the bed to offer Byleth an easier angle.]
[Byleth has never massaged anyone in his life, but how hard could it be?
Once Claude was ready, Byleth leaned back to survey the objective. As Claude said, there was no prominent scarring to be wary of, and when Byleth experimentally pressed his fingers into the meat of Claude's shoulders-]
Hard. [Byleth spoke without thinking, and clarified as began to massage Claude's shoulders in earnest:] You're carrying a lot of tension.
[Claude keeps his back turned, trying to stave off the instinctive tension that anything like this presents. It's Byleth, so he'll do it without question, but it still doesn't mean he can relax right away.]
Sorry. [He takes a breath, lowers his shoulders a bit, forcing himself to loosen up a little like he might for his morning meditation.] How's that?
Better, but there's no need to force yourself. I don't mind waiting for your body to adjust to my proximity.
[Byleth was patient. With this in mind, he paused his ministrations and let his palms rest flat against Claude's back, over the shoulder blades. He could feel the muscles shift as they went through the mechanism of breathing, faster than Byleth's body did it - but he noticed that with other people: they always seemed to be set at a pace a few clicks faster than him. In pulse, in breathing, in when they needed to eat or sleep...
Notably, though:]
Hm. I thought you'd be able to feel the heart beat from the back, but it appears not.
[Claude's taken aback, glancing slightly over his shoulder. Right... For someone without a heartbeat at all, noticing it in others must be fascinating. Even if being scrutinised like this makes him feel like a specimen of Professor Hanneman's that he finds particularly interesting.]
You'd feel it easier from the front, on the left side of my chest. You can try it, if you really want?
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[Something he read in Jeralt's diary too, not that he's prepared to tell him that; hopefully he just chalks it up to how long Claude has known the other him. He peels off his cape, folding it neatly, then sits down to remove his gloves and boots.]
It's fine, honestly. Oh, and-- I'm an early riser, but don't let that alarm you either. I just like to get up with the sun.
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[The greaves and vambraces were removed, along with his boots, gloves and cloak. All were neatly set down beside his bed, ready to be put on in the morning, and with an air of practised experience, began to unlatch the armoured corset around his waist and carefully removed that as well.
It had been a while since he had been so 'dressed down' in front of someone who wasn't Jeralt. It was an odd feeling, and the space between his shoulder blades itched from the exposure, but he shrugged it off.]
...a question. Do you sleep clothed or naked?
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Hm? Clothed, at least at this time of year. [It's way too cold for him to do otherwise, especially out in a tent like this.] Knock yourself out with whatever your preference is, though.
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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.]
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Instinctively, a hand reaches up as if he wants to touch it, and then he's reminded this isn't his Teach and he quickly drops it again.]
Byleth, where did you get that injury? [Not here, he assumes, but before.]
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[Had Byleth gained a wound he'd neglected to notice? Since Claude was gazing at his lower back, Byleth pressed his hand against it, feeling nothing but the raised and somewhat tender bump of Arval's scar. Was this he was asking about?]
Do you mean this?
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[If they were back home, he'd ask Marianne or Flayn to take a look... but they have no such luck here.]
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[Pointedly, Byleth seemed to be delaying in answering Claude's original question, because he was uncertain on how to even word it. He could just brush it off as something gained in combat, but Claude would know Byleth wouldn't be so sloppy as to let an enemy so close to his unguarded flank, especially as he also knew of Byleth's ability to manipulate time. Yet, trying to explain how the wound was gained from an ally stabbing him in the back (almost literally) may accidentally smear Shez's reputation, who had already apologised profusely for the event despite it not even being his fault.
Byleth was also a very poor liar, and Claude didn't deserve to be fed lies.]
As to how I obtained this injury... one of our allies had been possessed by an entity linked to those dark mages, and they attacked me when my guard was lowered.
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[It's frustrating, that even if they go back to their worlds, he won't be able to help with that. Suddenly struck by an idea, he gestures for Byleth to come closer.] Can you come sit with me? I want to try something.
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For now, Byleth nodded and got up to round the bed and seat himself beside Claude.]
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[That's all the warning Byleth gets before Claude sits back to get a better angle, then presses his hands to Byleth's back. He uses the pads of his fingers to start to massage the scar tissue in slow movements, with light pressure.]
How's this?
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He wasn't sure what to make of it, initially. When people touched him, it was always very brief or very business-like, either to nudge him aside or to treat whatever injuries he may've accrued during battle. This gentle, lingering touch on such a vulnerable spot had him... unsure. Not in a bad way exactly but- just unsure.]
...it feels a little strange, but it doesn't hurt.
[It actually didn't. If anything it felt nice. Byleth hadn't realised how stiff his lower back muscles had actually been, braced around the injury, until Claude started prodding at it. Slowly, the lingering tension in Byleth's frame melted away, and he turned his head so he couldn't see Claude at all: a sign of complete trust.]
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Good. I'm no expert, but I overheard at the infirmary once that this sort of thing can help scar tissue heal better.
[And it does feel like there's a lot of bunched-up tension there, from the way Byleth seems to relax into it, so even without the old injury, this woukd be beneficial. He's grateful, honoured even, to possess such trust.]
You've been through a lot... and no doubt you'll go through a lot more in the times ahead. So knowing when to give yourself a chance to relax is a good thing.
[He's partly chatting to fill the silence, but also partly praising him for stepping up earlier to help people have fun. It's nice to see him want to enjoy himself.]
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[Byleth was used to existing beneath a constant level of pressure - it was the norm when you were a mercenary, even as infamous as he and Jeralt had been. The pressure to succeed, the pressure to keep winning, the pressure to remain employed so you could supply your men, maintain your weapons, feed your mounts, the pressure to fight and win and win and win or, on some days, just survive. True, Jeralt visited taverns often, and they skipped the tab and had a few nights where the company got wasted and rowdy... but no one had ever truly relaxed. You couldn't. Mercenaries weren't afforded the luxury.
It was different here, though. Though the pressure remained, it was far more thinly spread yet precisely crushing in different ways. Byleth was given a stipend to feed himself, he didn't have to worry about the elements, and neither did he have to worry about the camp being overrun by wild beasts, bandits or rival mercenaries. He just had to be on guard for when the next Oracle came, or if a new threat emerged from the fog of war. He could now, in the vast amounts of free time given to him, relax.
Problem was, he was bad at it. Inexperienced. It made him feel unproductive or agitated - sometimes surly, thought he was only beginning to realise this. That's how he'd been when he had first arrived here: snappish, uncooperative, and judgemental. When they'd lost the Oracle, and Byleth had been quick to dismiss the others' lamenting - viewing their griping as unproductive. Claude had tried to tell him it served a purpose, an emotional one, but Byleth hadn't really taken it to heart... until much later, when he'd processed that he had been much the same. He'd been hurting and angry, but utterly incapable of recognising it in himself. He felt embarrassed about himself, looking back.]
But, I'm beginning to understand how vital morale is to maintaining a fighting spirit within our faction. I didn't understand before, I was quick to judge and dismiss, but... after some self-reflection, I realised that I was suffering from a lack of morale, and it made me... aimless and dispirited. A dangerous state to be in for a mercenary.
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[Set perhaps even moreso than any human, with how wild and unpredictable the god of war's mood swings can be. Claude pauses in his ministrations to move to Byleth's shoulders next, alternating between squeezing and pressing the muscles there with some force; perhaps he can take some literal weight off them by helping to relax.]
But at least you know now that you have something to work on, instead of running into a figurative wall at a critical time. And now you know you have people to help you, too, even if Jeralt isn't here for you to lean on.
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Yes. I still find myself missing Jeralt, though. He always understood my moods without needing an expression to work from, and I never had to fear miscommunication, but... it's not so bad, leaning on others, even if it takes a bit of time and work. I was initially unsure with you and Dimitri, because of our differences but, now I'm glad I decided to trust you both. You, especially, Claude. You've been... mn, kind.
[His tone was a little awkward. He really wasn't used to such heart-to-heart talks - he and Jeralt tended to skirt around them. It made him feel curiously exposed, amplified by Claude's proximity and contact, but he valiantly pushed down the squirmy, weird emotions that made him want to grab his cloak and pull it over his head to hide: irrational, pointless. Also it'd force Claude to stop his ministrations, which he really didn't want.]
I hope that you know... I'll also be willing to help you as well. In whatever you need. Be it confirming whether or not you snore or listening to your thoughts as well. Or if you just wish to... talk.
[Even more awkward! But he's trying!! He's trying, Claude!!!! (His face is red, yet still somehow utterly blank...)
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[He's joking, but he'll keep it in mind for the future. Consciously or unconsciously, his desire not to be too familiar with Byleth too quickly has perhaps turned into putting up a wall between them instead. Friendship should be give and take, after all, and Byleth has offered him plenty of trust while Claude has been less forthcoming as a matter of habit.
He tilts his head slightly to look at Byleth -- is he blushing? -- before he decides to resume the massage, tactfully deciding not to point it out. It is cute, though.]
Honestly, I'm glad you showed up. It was tough here, before, not really knowing who I could trust. The other place was even tougher. I might act all tough and adaptable and like all of this comes easily to me, but I'm just keeping it together so other people do the same. It's important to stay level-headed in a long conflict.
[And many Meridian... are not that.]
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I agree, but I hope you're not putting too much pressure on yourself. In my timeline, King Dimitri was notorious for trying to shoulder the burdens of the Kingdom all by himself, and this eventually culminated in irrationality and self-harming behaviours - until his friends intervened, that is.
[Not to say King Dimitri and Claude were identical in how they were acting, but Byleth was keenly aware that Claude was an expert at deflection and pretending everything was fine - perhaps to his detriment. Where King Dimitri was bullheaded in his stupid selflessness, Claude was... sneaky.]
I'd hate to see you walk down the same path, Claude. I understand the need to be the voice of reason within a faction that's dominated by impulsive hotheads, but you shouldn't sacrifice your own wellbeing for it. You're not the leader of Meridian, that responsibility shouldn't be yours. It should be Cyrus's.
[Also, Byleth was of the mind that some people you just had to let them crash and burn before they learned something. The downside was that in this case, them crashing and burning had the risk of dragging them all down with them, annoyingly. This wasn't a mercenary outfit, where you could just kick those troublemakers out, or take them round the back of the tent and beat discipline into them. It was a complicated situation, and Claude was doing admirably to juggle it, but... it shouldn't rest all on him.]
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[And it's why Claude is here to keep an eye on things, even if he doesn't agree with the nature of the campaign to begin with. Though, while the topic of Dimitri has come up...]
I think you should continue to keep an eye on Dimitri, though, Byleth. He says he's overcome a lot of hardship to get to the place he's at now, but I think... [He's on the verge of saying something, but seems to think better of it.] Nah, I shouldn't say too much. I just think if anyone can support him, you can.
[He gives his shoulders one last squeeze, then lets go.]
How do you feel? Better?
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I do. I hadn't realised how tense I'd been before.
[Byleth rolled his shoulders, feeling how much looser they were, and half-turned to give Claude one of his almost smiles.]
Thank you. Do you want me to return the favour?
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[If Byleth wanted him to lean on him more, who is he to say no to a free massage? He removes his tunic, and much like he said, aside from a few old nicks here and there, he really doesn't have any noticeable scars to write home about. Then again, that's not surprising for an archer who tries to position himself as far away from combat as possible. Even the battle with Nemesis had been more about outsmarting him than getting in close to overpower him. He turns, shifting on the bed to offer Byleth an easier angle.]
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Once Claude was ready, Byleth leaned back to survey the objective. As Claude said, there was no prominent scarring to be wary of, and when Byleth experimentally pressed his fingers into the meat of Claude's shoulders-]
Hard. [Byleth spoke without thinking, and clarified as began to massage Claude's shoulders in earnest:] You're carrying a lot of tension.
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Sorry. [He takes a breath, lowers his shoulders a bit, forcing himself to loosen up a little like he might for his morning meditation.] How's that?
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[Byleth was patient. With this in mind, he paused his ministrations and let his palms rest flat against Claude's back, over the shoulder blades. He could feel the muscles shift as they went through the mechanism of breathing, faster than Byleth's body did it - but he noticed that with other people: they always seemed to be set at a pace a few clicks faster than him. In pulse, in breathing, in when they needed to eat or sleep...
Notably, though:]
Hm. I thought you'd be able to feel the heart beat from the back, but it appears not.
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[Claude's taken aback, glancing slightly over his shoulder. Right... For someone without a heartbeat at all, noticing it in others must be fascinating. Even if being scrutinised like this makes him feel like a specimen of Professor Hanneman's that he finds particularly interesting.]
You'd feel it easier from the front, on the left side of my chest. You can try it, if you really want?
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