"not really paying attention, both doing something else, but still holding hands" from the handholding prompts for Byleth / Hanneman? (either gender or nb works!)
By reading this fic, you, the reader, agree to tell me if I spelled Hanneman’s name wrong at any point. I still mess up on his name, the poor guy XD
(Currently accepting rare ships! Click here for the info post!)
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Hanneman had become so absorbed in the research notes Linhardt had sent that he nearly lost track of time. The clock above Garreg Mach rang out the quarter hour, and Hanneman at last looked around. Goodness, was it that late already? Gathering the papers, Hanneman stood from his desk and moved to the sofa against the right hand wall of his office. There he settled and continued reading.
At precisely ten minutes to noon, the door opened, and Byleth trudged in. Hanneman glanced up at him briefly before returning to the notes. “Good afternoon, love,” he greeted.
Byleth always looked a mess after training with the Knights of Seiros. This time was no exception-- his hair was matted with sweat, red marks up and down his arms were darkening into true bruises, and his clothes were covered with dirt from the training grounds.
Still panting from his work out, Byleth practically fell onto the couch beside Hanneman. He popped open his waterskin and began to drink deeply. Without looking, Byleth took Hanneman’s free hand between them-- the hand Hanneman had intentionally kept free for this exact reason.
A few short months after being given the title, Byleth had resigned as Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and passed the position to Mercedes, instead taking over as Captain of the Knights of Seiros. Hanneman and Byleth had developed a comfortable routine since then. Byleth liked coming to see Hanneman after training all morning, and so Hanneman always made sure to move from his desk in the early afternoon to a space where they could spend time side by side.
They settled now into peaceful quiet-- Hanneman reading and Byleth catching is breath and drinking.
Eventually, Byleth laced their fingers together. “Good afternoon,” he replied at last. He seemed more or less recovered.
Hanneman hummed. “How was today?”
“A few of the new recruits are having trouble with one of our basic formations.” Byleth put down his waterskin and ran a hand through his soaked hair. “I had to demonstrate... five times? Maybe six. I lost track.”
“No wonder you look especially worn. I suspect Shamir would not mind if you asked to push back your strategy meeting so you could rest.”
Byleth sighed. “That is tempting.” He rubbed his thumb over Hanneman’s. “What are you reading?”
Hanneman passed Byleth the first page of Linhardt’s research. “After observing King Dimitri during the war, Linhardt wondered if he perhaps had a major Crest instead of a minor one. He tested a blood sample and found it was, indeed, a minor Crest of Blaiddyd, but that begged the question-- what exactly is the disparity between major and minor Crests? Are some minor Crests more powerful than others?”
“Does Dimitri know Linhardt has a sample of his blood?” Byleth asked as he read.
“Never ask a fellow scholar how he gets his materials.” Hanneman was only half kidding. In truth he had hoped that, by not asking Linhardt such questions, Linhardt would not ask any in return.
Byleth gave an amused huff. “Well, it certainly must have piqued his interest if he was willing to work so closely with blood.”
“I concur.” Hanneman looked up at Byleth. “You don’t have to read the whole thing. I simply wanted to satisfy your curiosity.”
“You know I like keeping up with what interests you.” With his eyes still on the page, Byleth leaned against Hanneman. Their hands remained clasped between them. Smiling, Hannemen returned to his own page. He was all too happy to serve as a pillow.
The clock rang out again as Hanneman passed Byleth the second page and picked up the third for himself. “Do you mind me resting here for a while longer?” Byleth asked suddenly.
“I treasure any time spent with my favorite subject.” That earned Hanneman a mock glare. Chuckling, he added, “Shamir is sure to come looking for you when you don’t arrive at the appointed time.”
“She knows to check here first. Everyone does.”
Hanneman felt a swell of pride. “I suppose you’re right.” He turned his head to press a kiss to Byleth’s cheek. “Stay as long as you wish, my dear.”
Byleth smiled at that. They both turned their attentions back to Linhardt’s notes. As intriguing as the research was-- and as much as he knew to brace himself for Shamir’s impending interruption-- Hanneman found himself reveling at the weight of Byleth’s hand in his own, and thanking the many steps that had gotten them here.
Dudes always want to know if I'm a freak. No nigga, get out my face. I really do be mad about that though. Like why are you asking? You won't be finding out that way that's for sure.
