Chapter Text
Byleth is not used to this ceiling yet. The bed is too soft. There’s humming outside coming with the first wakes of dawn, and too much of it. Although her nightgown has been lying at the foot of her bed, the entire night has been spent awake, staring at the ceiling with her armor on. Armor. Her second skin, she’d been taught to think of it as.
Her fingers trace a meaningless pattern on her chestplate. It’s as hard as always, yet for some reason far too rough. All the students wear the same uniform, albeit styled differently depending on who you see. A severe lack of plating. No knee guards, not even chainmail. Exposed skin just waiting to be pierced by arrows or other forms of malicious metal; possibly even poison, if one were to let their guard down. But it speaks true of them well enough. None of them have any true combat experience to speak of. None of them have ever had blood on their hands. Unlike her.
A sigh leaves her nose as she closes her eyes. Lesson plans, choosing an affiliation, living in the monastery, being a professor. All of it so foreign, when in reality, the most foreign thing to be found here is her. Byleth rolls over so that her face is buried in her pillow. The thought of going outside is overwhelming, but staying in this unfamiliar room seems suffocating in its own right. Her head feels like static noise.
She bolts straight up from her bed when she hears two knocks at her door. It’s possible that someone could have tracked her father on their way to the monastery, after all; a surprise attack to lure them out wouldn’t be out of the question. It makes the sight of a smiling Claude von Riegan standing at her doorstep doubly unexpected.
“Top of the morning, Teach,” he says, words and tone easy as always. He tilts his head slightly. “Were you up all night? Doesn’t look as if you were resting.”
“I was,” Byleth lies. Her gaze lands on the neatly folded fabric in his arms. “What is that?”
“Ah, this. Just a special delivery, courtesy of the Golden Deer,” he winks. It seems to be a habit of his, she notices, before his face returns to its usual nonchalant state. “Well, actually, Rhea was planning on giving this to you. It’s your own Officer’s Academy uniform. You’ll be living and teaching here from now on, so you might as well get as comfortable as you can. Really feel at home, y’know?”
Byleth’s brow furrows. Her gloved fingers rub at the snug plates of her forearm. Home.
“Well, “home” might be a bit of a difficult concept for a former mercenary to grasp,” Claude continues, and Byleth wonders if her thoughts were always this open. “And you’re free to wear whatever you want, of course. You can just think of this as a welcome gift of sorts. Personally, I’d prefer a feast, but unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be my call. For now, at least.”
He puts the uniform in her arms. She can see a pair of white knee socks, a cloak, and most bafflingly, a pink headband resting on top. It’s vaguely familiar, she thinks, until she remembers that the last time she’s worn one of these was when she was hardly able to lift a sword. Something about it makes her stomach wither away.
“I’m not used to wearing things besides my armor,” she says. “Changing would take too much time if we are ever to be attacked.”
“Hey, and that’s totally your call,” Claude says, putting his hands behind his head. “To be honest, it really doesn’t matter to me whatever you decide to wear. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that a new change of clothes was all you’d need to feel like you fit in. Figured it was worth a shot anyway, though.”
She looks him in the eyes. As ever, the smile doesn’t reach them. “Is that all you wanted from this?”
“What, don’t believe me? I’m hurt, Teach,” he answers. He and the smile are unwavering in their laid-back confidence and Byleth is not sure if it’s intriguing or irritating. “But if you really wanted to know, I thought I’d get the jump on the other house leaders by presenting you with a token of appreciation from yours truly. You’re fascinating, Teach. And I’d like to spend the next year or so finding out what cards you’ve got up your sleeve.”
When Byleth looks up again, he’s already perfected the timing of his wink. “Besides; you? Me? Golden Deer? We could be great together.”
Her eyes immediately fall back down to the glaring pink headband, foreign as ever in her foreign arms. “I’ll think about it,” she manages.
“Good, good. You do that. And hey, even if you don’t know what “home” means, or if you’ve even got it in you to see it as that… you can at least look the part until you do.”
As he leaves, Claude turns around to wave one last time at Byleth. She waves back, though she doesn’t understand what for. They’re probably going to see each other later in the day anyway.
Back inside her room, she sits on the floor with the uniform pieces neatly spread out in front of her. Never in her life besides in courier tasks had she ever been able to touch, much less wear, such high-quality fabric. It feels like her head is full of nothing but Claude’s rambling voice, thinking aloud as he seems to love doing, as she slowly removes every piece of her armor and pulls on the uniform one by one.
She looks at herself for a long time in the mirror. Her whole body feels uncomfortably light, and her legs are far too exposed. Leggings, and preferably knee guards, must be considered if she’s to ever wear the skirt outside. But, she finds that if she drapes the cloak over her shoulders, it’s not too terrible, if only for the fact that she often bundled up in her cloak with her armor on as well. At last, she picks up the pink headband, only to find a pin drop to the ground when it unfurls.
Her eyes widen. A miniature Golden Deer insignia is right between her fingers.
“You can at least look the part until you do.”
Home. Still so foreign. It couldn’t ever come to someone so easily, to be certain. But…
She lets her arms wrap around her now thinly-covered waist.
Surely there’s no harm in pretending.
BONUS:
“Teach! So you put it on after all, huh? Looks good.”
“Claude. I certainly hope you did not gift the Professor with such menial items as to win her favor. Tell me, should that not be awarded through your ability, and not schemes?”
“Please, Your Majesty, ‘twas only a housewarming gift. I’m rather surprised someone of your stature didn’t have it in you to consider Teach here might need a bit of a warm welcome to adjust. Or was hospitality never your strong suit?”
“More than hospitality, I simply think it suitable to compliment when one looks lovely in a new change of clothes.”
“I did not ask for your opinion, Dimitri.”
"Yikes. That's cold."