ASKBOX MEME : TERROR IN RESONANCE ( accepting )
𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 she’s had the pleasure of seeing sylvain angry on one hand ─ and byleth does, idly, as she’s washed through the portcullis on a gust of biting air, a meagre procession of soldiers trailing at her heels. she is cold, a little winded, and marked by a spattering of blood along her jaw and the hollow of her throat that had caused everyone a bit of a stir when they’d found her, but otherwise unharmed and unbothered. she works the leather off of each of her fingers and peels the gloves from her hands. 𝘰𝘯𝘦. sylvain claps a rallying hand to the shoulder of the soldier at her left and says something she doesn’t hear, smiling. to her it looks more teeth than kindness, but he hides it well.
one time she can recall seeing sylvain truly angry. years ago, when they had barely known each other and she had barely known it at the time. she looks at him closely, feeling almost resigned to the stormy furrow of his brow that nobody else seems to notice, and he looks anywhere but at her. even so, when byleth grazes past him to retreat somewhere deprived of cold and chatter, his stride falls into place with hers perfectly. they walk, wordless, until they’ve turned deeply enough into the belly of the monastery that byleth’s tongue loosens.
‘‘ sylvain, ’’ she sighs. sylvain grinds to a halt like she’s wrung him back by the scruff of his neck.
‘‘ i shouldn’t have to say this, ’’ he says, and finally turns to look at her. his eyes are gloomily lit in the candlelight, fuming with what might be a thousand other things he’d like to say, but even so his tone is carefully clipped. ‘‘ but don’t do anything on your own. is that clear ? ’’
she is not as practiced as sylvain. byleth feels a hot, searing indignation pooling up in her throat, tightening at her temples, going cold in the pit of her belly, and does a very poor job of keeping it off her face. a litany of retorts rear their heads in her mouth, but none of them seem sufficient, and his stare is so level it almost makes it worse.
‘‘ ...there was no time, ’’ she grits out instead.
‘‘ you should have come and found me - found anyone - ’’
‘‘ you and i both know how long it takes to deploy a group of soldiers. those people would have died. ’’
‘‘ you could have died. ’’
‘‘ i didn’t, ’’ she snaps, but something inside her quickly loses its footing : sylvain hisses a sigh out through his nose and turns away, scrubbing a palm across the back of his neck, and byleth stagnates. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. well, they needed plenty of things ─ she was not the lone pillar of this resistance. they needed to save lives. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. but she was raised like one, shaped like one, born and bled like one.
so much had changed in those five years. could she stand to stay the same?
‘‘ sylvain, ’’ byleth murmurs. his chin turns, almost like a twitch, but he does not look at her. ‘‘ sylvain, ’’ she says again, a little more insistent, her palm catching his elbow as it goes to fold across his chest. he does turn to her, at least. he looks irritated, still, but perhaps a little less like he’d like to give her a good shake.
‘‘ i am sorry, ’’ she says carefully. if she said it the wrong way, held the words too harshly in her mouth, it felt like they might do more harm than good. ‘‘ i... forget sometimes. what it means to have other people rely on me. i won’t forget again. ’’ sylvain’s eyes are still gloomily lit in the candlelight, and he is as infuriating and discerning and difficult to pry apart as ever, but the lines of his face are no longer bogged down by anger. he appraises her up and down, like he’s thinking of what to say.
‘‘ you look a mess, ’’ he points out finally. begrudgingly. out of the fire and back into the frying pan, at least.
‘‘ well. ’’ byleth glances down at herself, scrubbing her hand over her cheek halfheartedly. all this standing around was only encouraging the blood stains to stick. ‘‘ it isn’t my mess, if it makes you feel any better. ’’
he grants her a tiny, wry smile. ‘‘ barely. ’’
