#im still hopped up on cold brew bear with me

[centrifuge-politics]

Brick Club 4.11.5, 4.11.6

Adding a minor tw this chapter for discussion of suicide, in more of an academic, sociological tone, but still there, starting in the third paragraph.

The Child Wonders At The Old Man and now we meet The Old Man. “We must tell what happened.” Please, do. Hugo says Mabeuf is an octogenarian, but he also said Gillenormand was an octogenarian after telling us he was ninety-one. But, yes, do continue.

Mabeuf, in the company of this revolutionary cadre, gains an unusual steadiness, “having at once the motion of a man who is walking, and the countenance of a man who is asleep. ‘What a desperate goodman!’ murmured the students.” Now, I said a good while ago, that Marius might be the poster child for anomie, a feeling of being helplessly adrift in a time of severe social upheaval, with no established set of social norms to cling to, often leading to anomic suicide. In this case, Mabeuf represents the opposite problem, he becomes overly integrated and bound to the social group he’s found himself in. He begins fatalistic, having sold his last book and having no other means by which to continue paying for the privilege of living. Hearing the encroaching conflict, he wanders out, surrendering his life to the whim of fate. However, it’s this encounter in this chapter that turns him to what Durkheim call altruistic suicide. Academically speaking, this phenomenon arises from a state of high social integration, when the group overwhelms the individual (the spiritual opposite of egoistic suicide, which Marius also dabbles in). This type of suicide is most commonly seen in elderly members of the community who sacrifice themselves for the greater good of their community. Like fatalistic suicide, this happens most often in times of hardship for a particular community.

Mabeuf, seeing this eclectic collection of young, bright-eyes revolutionaries is inspired with a sort of grim conviction. We also see a similar mindset in Valjean when he makes the decision to go to the barricade, and it’s even starker in the musical—“He is young, he’s afraid…and I am old, and will be gone.” The difference is Mabeuf is fully integrated into the group mindset, in which that the individual is not as important as the group, whereas Valjean is only focused on Cosette’s wellbeing and everything else is just a means to that end.

It’s interesting that Marius and Mabeuf, despite the parallels of their story lines, are really at opposite ends of this particular spectrum. Marius is really only concerned with himself throughout his time on the barricade while Mabeuf gets swept into the collective. Actually, the women Gavroche passed in the street earlier might do well to take Mabeuf as an example. It’s all well and good to try and stay out of conflict, take refuge in a garden, books, political ignorance, complaining at how noisy the revolution is, until one day you realize you’ve reached the end of your line. Suddenly all the noisy politics seem very relevant and you don’t have a choice but to take a side. First they came for the poor and I said nothing, etc. For Mabeuf, this comes rather too late and he finds himself between the potential suicide mission of the barricade or slowly starving on the streets. Given the option between a fatalistic or altruistic fate, he chooses the later. It’s no joy, just an inevitability.

(Is that Enjolras in a cap?? Love it).

Hugo insists on maintaining the charade that we can’t immediately recognize any of his characters on description. “A man of tall stature, who was turning grey” with “rough and bold mien” joins the procession and Courfeyrac swings by his rooms (to pick up a hat, very important) to find a “young working-man…who had rather the appearance of a girl in boy’s clothes” asking for Marius.

Everyone is heading for the namesake of this volume, “without really knowing how.” It’s hardly the determined, directed march of “One Day More” but you take it where you can get when the émeute is in motion.

[illfoandillfie]

5 Simple Rules for a Successful Fake Relationship: Failure To Launch

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: Tensions rise as you try to deal with Ben's secret and keep your fake relationship afloat. But when the script calls for an argument, will too much be said?

Warnings: Still pretty innocent. Some swearing, passing reference to Ben smoking, references to sex but not explicitly so, a discussion of a douchbag ex, a public argument.

Words: 6587

A/N: We’re really in it now folks. 

Originally there was going to be more in this chapter but it was getting too long and kind of undercut what is now the end of the chapter, so I rearranged some stuff. But that just means there’s a whole extra chapter that I didn’t think would be there when I wrote the masterlist lmao. 

Taglist:  @laedymoon  @dtfrogertaylor  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor  @hannafuckingsucks  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @tenement-funstah 

@coni-martina @johndeaconshands​

When you finally found the courage to leave the bathroom Ben was waiting for you in the seat he’d vacated earlier, now under a crocheted throw and staring at his phone. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, smiling softly when he saw you. “Sorry,” you blurted out, dropping onto the end of the couch furthest from where he sat. “No worries,” he laughed, “you ready to keep watching?” “Mmhmm,” “Are you alright? You look a little pale,” “Fine, thanks. Just tired. Might call it quits after this ep.” “You wanna share the blanket?” “Nah, I’m not that cold,” your heart was racing with every word of forced naturality, white noise filling your brain and nervous butterflies filling your stomach. Did he always smile like that when he saw you? What other signs had you missed? You tucked your legs under yourself and pulled your phone out, a barrier between you and he, and a way to keep your hands busy as you tried to focus on the show. It was pointless though. It felt like an age had passed since you began the episode. A dramatic shift in your reality had occurred. You couldn’t remember what had been happening when the pause button was hit let alone understand what was going on now. There just wasn’t space in your head, not when you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe and not look over at Ben. God how you wished you hadn’t gone into the kitchen. Ignorance truly was bliss. You rubbed your thumb over the locked screen of your phone, occasionally unlocking it and opening an app before locking it again, the episode dragging on in the background. Finally, it finished, after much too much time. “Ready for bed or d’you wanna squeeze in one more?” Ben asked, apparently completely at ease. “Definitely time for bed,” you yawned as you stood up, praying Ben wouldn’t stop you. “Alright. I’m gonna stay up a bit longer so if the TVs too loud let me know.” “Night,” “Sleep tight, cuddle bunny.” You could feel Ben’s eyes on you as you headed through the doorway, only barely stopping yourself from sprinting to the safety of your room. You weren’t at all tired, but you turned the light out all the same, stumbling towards your bed by the glow of your phone. As you settled again the pillows you let out a long breath, finally allowing yourself to relax. There was nothing else to do but try to distract yourself, until you felt tired enough. You checked your emails again, but there was nothing new besides some spam for bitcoins. Then you opened youtube, hoping to find some sort of relaxing video that would help you get to sleep. It worked for a while, made you focus on counting your breaths and the meditation that was calmly being spoken. But then it stopped working, thoughts of Ben wriggling back to the forefront of your mind, making a lump form in your throat. A little while later you heard Ben’s footsteps pass by your door as he made his way to his room, the low hum of voices on the TV now quiet. You held your breath as he paused outside your room but his footsteps backtracked, a light flicked off, and then the door to your spare room shut behind him. You didn’t dare move until you were sure he was in bed. But he didn’t stir again, and you fell into a fitful sleep, interrupted by dreams in which you and Ben walked around hand in hand, sometimes blissfully happy, sometimes unable to separate, glued together like a bug caught on flypaper.

The sun had risen by the time you called a time of death on a decent night’s sleep, though it was still what you’d normally consider much too early. It was even too early for Ben who, as you’d come to learn in your months crashing at each other’s places, usually woke before you and enjoyed teasing you about being a teenager for sleeping in so late. You tiptoed to the kitchen and tried not to make too much noise as you brewed yourself a coffee. Maybe it was the new morning bringing clarity or maybe it was delirium from lack of sleep, but you felt you had a better grasp of the situation now. The fact was you didn’t like Ben in that way. And he knew that. So the obvious thing to do was nothing. If you said anything, confessed that you’d overheard him, it’d just end up with both of you feeling embarrassed and you having to put what you both already knew into words that would just hurt Ben more. And that would only add extra stress onto whatever dates and staged relationship moments you’d have to take part in. Because you couldn’t just stop pretending to date. Not when your story was creating buzz for your movie. Not when you were looking for a new job and every scrap of notoriety you could find would help increase your chances of actually landing some of the roles you auditioned for. You’d just have to grin and bear it for a few months. But you supposed that’s what Ben had been doing since who knew how long. With coffee in hand you made your way back to your room, fortifying yourself for what was to come.

It was a few hours before you saw Ben, sleep tousled and searching for caffeine. He took one glance at you and then stepped in close, bringing his hand up to your forehead. You were too stunned by the sudden warmth and how all the air suddenly smelt of him to do more than quietly ask what he was doing. “Checking your temperature. Not like you to beat me out of bed. And you still look kind of pale. Are you sure you feel okay?” “I feel fine Ben.” He withdrew his hand slowly but didn’t move away, his eyes darting to your lips and away again. You stepped back. Ben cleared his throat and turned back to the coffee he was halfway through making, “Are you still okay to give me a lift back to the pub?” “Yeah, of course. Just let me have a shower first.” “Yeah, no rush.” You managed to mostly avoid Ben until you were both in the car. The evidence of his breakfast was loaded into the dishwasher when you got out of the bathroom but he himself was standing on your back patio, looking up at the overcast sky as smoke from his morning cigarette dissipated around him. He waved through the window when he saw you. After that all you had to do was wait for him to brush his teeth and gather up his bag while you flittered from room to room making yourself look busier than you were. Once in the car you started a safe conversation about what you’d be doing for the rest of the day. “I’m going over to a mates house in the afternoon to watch the football but that’s about it. What about you?” “Um, nothing much really. I have a couple of scripts to look over but other than that nothing. I’ll probably just go back to bed though.” “Probably a good idea.” “Do I look that bad? I thought the concealer covered the worst of it.” He shook his head with a smile, “No, you look lovely. Always do. But I heard you tossing and turning a bit last night, didn’t sound like you got much sleep.” “Yeah, just had one of those nights,” you tried to wave him off, back to safer waters. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes, I promise I’m okay,” when Ben didn’t stop looking concerned you added, “Just had some weird dreams, that’s all.” “You should’ve come hopped into bed with me. Nothing like a boyfriend to scare off weird dreams.” You forced yourself to laugh along, “Not sure fake boyfriends work so well. And it really wasn’t that bad.” He shrugged, “The offer stands for next time.” You didn’t know what else to say so you fell quiet. On one hand it was Ben. Ben who’d come to be one of your closest friends, who could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, who geeked out about sports and didn’t mind when you teased him for it. Usually you would have called him a dork and made a joke about how you’d hog the blankets or kick him in your sleep if he was unlucky enough to share a bed with you. But now that didn’t seem right. You didn’t want to lead him on at all. Didn’t want him to read more into your dumb jokes than you meant. So you let the radio fill the silence until Ben thought of a new topic. Thankfully the pub wasn’t far away, and you only had to fill a few more minutes with idle chatter until you arrived. You followed Ben inside and up to the bar where an amused barman handed over the keychain as Ben thanked him profusely. “God I would have been screwed if they hadn’t been there,” he said, relieved, as you stepped back out into the grey street. “Good thing they were there then,” you knew your tone was off, knew you should be standing closer to him in case anyone was looking, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take the step, “Where’re you parked?” “Just around the corner. Thanks for the lift, cuddle bunny,” Ben stepped close enough to pull you into a hug. Your chest tightened as you tried to stay relaxed, throwing your own arms over his shoulders like you normally would have. “Have a good day. Get some rest,” he said, kissing your cheek as he let you go. “I’ll try. Have a good day yourself.” With a wave Ben took off down the street and you got back in your car, driving in the opposite direction. It wasn’t until you were back home in your pyjamas that you realised that if Ben had heard you not sleeping, he mustn't have been sleeping either.

 Filming being over was a blessing, even if it did mean you were unemployed. It at least gave you a reprieve from being around Ben, although, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, it also felt weird to not see him every day. He��d become such a consistent part of your life, even without the whole fake dating thing, that the absence of his almost constant presence made you feel a little off kilter. You hadn’t seen him since he’d stayed the night, too nervous about how to act around him now, but you had exchanged a few texts and he called once to check that you’d caught up on sleep. It was the sort of thing a friend might do, so it didn’t make your stomach do flips the way seeing him in person did. But seeing him was unavoidable, especially after Mary called you to organise the next photo session. She gave you the time and the place and then asked if you had any concerns. You paused, weighing up whether it would be worth it to tell her. Would she tell Peter? Would it get back to Ben? “No, that’s all good. Ben knows?” “Yes, Peter’s talking to him about it. We’ve also been talking about the argument you’ll need to have.” “Oh?” “We’re considering planting someone in the area to record it on their phone. Pictures are good but video is better.” “Okay, that, uh, makes sense, I guess. I s’pose that means we should work out what it’s going to be about.” “That would be useful, Y/N. We’re leaning towards doing it next week.” “That soon?” “Yes, that soon. There’s been an upswing in comments online about the relationship potentially being fake and we’d like to try and clamp down on those.” “People are onto us?” “No, no, there’s always a few unbelievers, we were entirely prepared for that. Every Hollywood couple has endured the same sorts of comments at one time or another, no matter how real they were. But there’s been a few more this week than there were before. We hope that if people see you being unhappy with each other, they’ll be less likely to think it’s fake because A, fake relationships should be happy and B, it’ll make you seem more down to earth, relatable. Every relationship has moments when things aren’t the best and your relationship should reflect that to seem natural.” “Okay, so next week we fight. What about this week? Should we still act super happy and loved up?” “Look, there are pros and cons for that. On one hand if you act like everything is perfect now, it’ll take people by surprise when the argument happens which some people will see as normal and some will see as more evidence for it not being real. On the other if people suspect something is happening then the argument story could lose some of its impact when it runs. Either way, if people are talking about you it’s good, so it’s really up to you and Ben how you want to play it. Maybe give him a call and figure it out before you get there.” That made you feel a little better, hopefully any awkwardness or tension you weren’t able to hide would just be seen as a couple going through a small rough patch.

You bit the bullet and rang Ben as soon as Mary hung up, while you could summon the courage. “Hey, Ben, it’s -,” “Y/N!” A few male voices in the background rose up making high pitched oooo noises and someone wolf whistled. “Sorry, I’m just in the middle of kicking these dickhead’s arses in FIFA, gimme a sec,” “Sure thing,” You hung on the line, trying to work out what you were going to say as you listened to the guys trash talking each other and controller buttons being mashed. Eventually there was a cheer from Ben followed by a hearty suck on that, wanker, and then his laughter. “Hey, cuddle bunny,” The teasing voices started buck up again, but they faded as Ben carried the phone into another room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he closed a door behind him. “Have you spoken to Peter yet?” Ben’s voice lowered, “You mean about the shopping photos? Yeah, he called about an hour ago, why?” “Did he mention the fight next week? “Yeah, it came up,” you weren’t sure whether the melancholy tone you heard was in your heard or not, “is that why you called, to work out what we’ll argue about?” “Not really. Um, I was more thinking about the photos this week and the sort of, um, mood they’ll have.” “Mood?” “Well, like, if we’re leading into a fight wouldn’t it make sense to, I don’t know, kind of hint what’s coming?” “I’d just assumed we’d be all over each other like usual.” “Yeah, I mean, not a huge change. We’d still like hold hands or whatever they want us to do but y’know maybe if we just like make things look a bit tense?” “Oh-kay,” there was definitely less of a smile in his voice now than before, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off though.” “You’re a good actor Ben, I’m sure you’ll manage,” “I wasn’t fishing for that but thanks. It’s more that I’ve missed hanging out with you as much since filming ended, it’ll be hard to hide how happy I am to see you.” “That’s sweet” You wondered if that was because of how he felt about you or just a change in routine throwing him off that way it had done you, “It has felt kind of odd not seeing you every day.” “So let’s just see how we feel on the day then, before we decide what we’re going to do.” “Ben you know I like to plan more than that,” “We have a plan. Go out. Hold hands while we go shopping or whatever and some guy takes our photos. Go home. That’s a pretty solid plan.” “Not quite what I meant though.” There was a muffled shout and you heard Ben cover the receiver and shout something back. “Sorry, the boys think we’re having phone sex or something,” he laughed. “No, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting, I should let you go.” “It’s okay, they can play without me for a bit,” “No, no, you go back to your game.” “Wait, we didn’t talk about what we’re gonna argue about.” “We can discuss it while we’re shopping. Wouldn’t want them to overhear you anyway. You go have fun beating your friends, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” You hung up before he could say anything, feeling more unsure than when you called.

The day of the photos you spent the trip into London psyching yourself up, reminding yourself that this was just acting, and acting was something you could do blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back. Besides, if some of your discomfort showed, it wouldn’t matter, at least you hoped it wouldn’t. Ben was already at the designated meeting spot when you arrived in the city, a photographer nearby waiting to capture your reunion. Having someone to perform for helped ease the tension that had been weighing on you. You smiled at Ben as you approached, legs feeling unsteady, heart racing. As soon as you were close enough you leaned in to steal a quick kiss and let him brush a strand of hair behind your ear, almost whispering your greetings. With the hellos out of the way he took your hand and began leading you up the street. “So where are you taking me this time, babe?” “Nowhere specific, babe,” he laughed, “They just want us to like, be out and about. I’ve been directed to walk us up this way, maybe pop into a shop or stop for a drink or something.” “Any idea how long it’ll take?” “Why? you got somewhere to be?” “Nah, just curious. I can stay for as long as the job takes.” Ben’s fingers flexed against yours, but you weren’t sure if it was in response to your statement or just a coincidence. Either way it made you worry that you were putting more emphasis than usual on this being work for you. Ben couldn’t suspect that something had changed, he couldn’t know what you knew about him. You corrected yourself by squeezing his hand and smiling up at him. As you walked you tried to treat it like you were filming a scene in a movie, just with less blocking and more improv. You were playing a role, playing the girlfriend, and nothing outside of the scene mattered, though occasionally you couldn’t help wondering what was going through Ben’s head. Was he trying to remind himself it was all manufactured or was he letting himself believe it was real? You shook your head and pulled yourself back into the scene. Together you ambled past shops, stopping to look in the windows of some, actually going into others. Inside a cute secondhand bookstore you’d seen but never been in before, Ben insisted on buying you something. He jokingly showed you a copy of the Kama Sutra, softly assuring you that the inernet would lose its mind if that book was seen in a photo. You shook your head and laughed and he put it back and let you pick something much less suggestive. You tried to tell him you could buy it yourself but he took it from your hands with a, “nuh uh, I spoil my girlfriends,” taking it up to the counter before you could protest. All the same you repaid the favour by pulling him to a halt outside a donut shop and buying the both of you a snack. It had the added bonus of giving you an excuse to drop his hand, needing both to keep from dripping chocolate ganache down your front as you continued walking. Ben wasn’t quite so neat as you managed to be, a spot of raspberry jam smeared across his lip and chin. As soon as you noticed it you pointed it out to him, earning a groan as he tried to wipe clean the wrong part of his face. “No, to the left more. My left, sorry.” “Why don’t you just get it for me?” “Really?” “yeah, c’mon. That’s the sort of cute couple thing they want. It’ll go over well on twitter with everyone who mashes our names together in hashtags.” You couldn’t think of reasonable argument not to so, with a smile you hoped didn’t seem too fake, you swiped your thumb over the patch of jam, hesitating for a second before you brought it to your lips and sucked it clean. A soft blush rose on Ben’s cheeks before your eyes and, seemingly unconsciously, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. You didn’t want to hear whatever he might possibly say so you quickly turned to set off walking again, “So, our argument next week.” Ben shook his head, “Right, that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s gotta sound believable if there’s going to be a camera.” “Guess that rules out all the which brand of tea is best type arguments,” “Yeah, it should probably be a little more serious than that,” you conceded with a chuckle “Have you ever had a public argument before?” “Umm,” his question distracted you from the tension you’d been fighting since you arrived, “not like a full on fight but there’ve been snippy comments and disagreements. Sometimes they turned into full on fights once we were home. You?” “Once. At her parent’s place during their anniversary party.” “Yikes,” “Yeah, pretty much,” he chuckled, “We found a spare room before we really had it out, but people still heard.” “God that would have been horrible. I think my worst one was when me and my then boyfriend went out for dinner with some other mates. They were new parents and it was like their first night out since the kid was born and they were talking about how wonderful it all was,” “It’s a miracle don’t you know,” You laughed, “So they said. But they were talking about how hard it had been to start having sex again and then my boyfriend said something like it’s hard enough to get Y/N interested and that’s without a kid.” “Jesus,” “It gets worse. He had another dig at me later for not being adventurous enough and I realised it was because I’d said I wasn’t comfortable with something he wanted to try in the bedroom.” “What an arsehole. Please tell me you broke up with him on the spot,” “God I wish. I stayed with him for another two months,” you sighed at the memory, “But what about you though, what happened with the anniversary fight?” “Uh, well, it all happened pretty quickly. One second I was joking about what we’d be like at our anniversary party, the next she was saying she didn’t see us getting married and then we were in her old bedroom tearing into each other. And not in the fun way.” “Oh shit,” “It was for the best. We were way to young anyway but, still, not super fun. I don’t know if that helps us at all, with our fake argument I mean.” “Well, ours both started with small comments, right? So maybe we start with something small, like how you never put the toilet seat down?” you nudged his shoulder. He laughed, “Yeah, makes sense.” “Then we just have to work out what it builds to,” “Uhhh, things couples fight about… moving in together? Sex? Money? Control?” “Not sex. I’m invoking rule one here, sex is off limits. That’s way too close to home.” “Okay, fair enough.” “What about meeting the parents? We’ve apparently been seeing each other for three or so months now, so that’s not an unreasonable thing to argue about.” “Yeah. And we’re already both coping it from our families anyway, so they’d believe it if one of us wanted to do the family meeting thing and the other didn’t.” “Exactly. So, should I be the hesitant one or you?” “Honestly? I normally would have brought a girlfriend home by now. My parents think it’s really weird that I haven’t.” “Okay, so that makes me the hesitant one then.” “You okay with that?” “Yeah, absolutely.” You were slightly relieved at your role, figuring it’d be easier to act averse to the concept than all for it. “Let’s stop in at that café up there, talk though some things we could say. Give them a shot of us feeding each other chips or something.” Ben said with a playful smile, pointing ahead. You nodded, letting him take your hand again, returning the reassuring squeeze he gave you.

You were woken from another dream about Ben by your phone ringing. Groggily you answered. “Y/N, oh my god, is everything okay with Ben?” “Felicity?” you groaned, trying to push away the surprisingly detailed picture of Ben and you and a page from the Kama Sutra that your brain had conjured during the night. “Were you seriously still asleep? It’s midday.” “Shut up, I’m allowed to sleep in. No job, no auditions. And a shit night sleep.” “Was it because of Ben?” “Why would it be because of Ben?” you asked too quickly. “I saw the photos of you and him out yesterday. Is everything okay between you two?” “What photos?” “They’re on the Heat homepage,” You wedged the phone under your ear as you grabbed your laptop from the bedside table, willing your fingers to work a little faster as you found your way to the website. There was a gallery of photos. You and Ben smiling as you greeted each other. Walking hand in hand. Him through a shop window holding up a book and you laughing at it. You licking jam from your thumb. You paused for a second longer on that shot than the others, automatically focusing on Ben’s expression. Did everyone else see the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes? “Why would anything be wrong?” you asked, forcing yourself to move to the next photo, “These all look fine. Normal.” “Really? What about those last few?” Rolling your eyes you keep clicking through until you reached one of Ben, hands in his pockets, frowning a little. The next was you, sitting at the café, looking away from Ben. “Are you going to break up with him?” “What? No, definitely not. We were just talking about something kind of serious, that’s all.” “Break up serious?” “God, Felicity, no,” you almost laughed at the irony of her suggestion, “I guarantee you, we’re not breaking up anytime soon.” An idea came to you. If the world was going to see you arguing about meeting his parents then why not get the ball rolling early, “We were talking about meeting each other’s families. We haven’t done it yet.” “Really?” “Yes, really. He wants to but I’m not super keen to rush into that and it was just a kind of serious conversation. Everything is totally fine.” “Well one of the betting apps has odds up for when you’ll break up. And for who’ll actually end it. Odds are on you, by the way.”

Later that day Mary emailed to let you know the photos were working perfectly – the talk of your relationship being fake had died down – and when the argument would happen. They wanted you to go out to dinner and leave before you were finished, looking like you were on the verge of blowing up. Easy enough. You were prepared. You and Ben had hashed out some things you could use in the argument, without going so far as to write a full script. But the mention of the photos made you curious. What exactly were people saying about you now? Could anyone see what was actually going on, how one sided it all really was? In the days before the scheduled argument you found yourself looking at your own photos more and more. When you weren’t spending your time rehearsing for an audition or with your friends you were on twitter, falling down a rabbit hole of comments and reposted photos. If Felicity, or anyone else you knew for that matter, had found out she would have called you a narcissist. So you kept it to yourself. Your guilty pleasure. Seeing the comments about what a cute couple you were made you feel simultaneously pleased and queasy. You got a strange delight from knowing people believed you enough to speculate about your future, to write fanfiction about you. It was hard to pull your eyes away once you started and it definitely didn’t help you stop dreaming about Ben. The trail of reposted photos in your couple name hashtag led to compilations of screenshots of every comment Ben had left on your photos. All of them flirty and playful and beyond sweet. And he meant them. They weren’t just for show for him, they were real. The queasy feeling grew but still you kept scrolling. Day after Day as you killed time, night after night before sleep took you. Photos posted on Instagram by you or people you’d worked with on The Perfect Match, copied and reuploaded to twitter followed by screencaps of yours and Ben’s comments. Photos of the two of you on set, on dates, cuddled up on your couch. Every single one of them commented on by him. Kiss face emojis or cutesy pet names or sincere messages of attraction, love. The more you looked the more uncomfortable you felt about the whole situation. If Ben really did feel something for you beyond just friendship, then your arrangement wasn’t just unfair it was downright heartless. But, as you reminded yourself, he’d chosen it. If he’d had a crush on you and had still gone ahead with the studio’s plan, that was on him. You could hardly be blamed when you’d been working with half the information. And if it had developed afterwards then it was on him to talk to Peter and call the whole thing off if he had to. You huffed out a breath when you saw the first photo he’d posted of the two of you. The last day of filming, snuggled up in bed. My perfect match. As fucking if. You scrolled further down the hashtag and then back to his photo. The queasy feeling was lessening, being replaced with frustration and anger. Why would he have agreed to the arrangement if his crush was real? Why wouldn’t he have come up with some excuse? You’d expected him to say no anyway, it wouldn’t have surprised you or upset you and they’d had made it clear that you had the option to say no. Who was he to indulge his fantasies about you like this? Without telling you. Was he so sadistic as to enjoy torturing himself like that? If you could only ask him why. Ask how long he’d felt like that. But you couldn’t without admitting to eavesdropping and you couldn’t put an end to it anyway. You were stuck. It was enough to make you want to scream. With a long exhale you made your way to the kitchen for a calming cup of tea. As you reached into the cupboard for a mug your fingers brushed against a handle of his, the one you’d painted for him. You pulled it out and examined the lyrics you’d so carefully lettered. Why’d you have to pick that song of all things? Did he take it as encouragement that you’d picked a song with such lovelorn, infatuated lyrics? You had the sudden urge to smash the mug against the bench top. But you refrained, putting it back and grabbing another.

By the time you were getting ready to meet Ben for the dinner before the argument you were fed up with him and the whole arrangement. You couldn’t open a social media app without seeing a comment or a direct message from someone about Ben, if not from the man himself. You had no one you could talk to about it since, aside from Ben, Mary and Peter were the only people who knew your relationship was fake and neither of them was going to put an end to it if Ben wasn’t uncomfortable enough to mention it himself. Once or twice you’d considered messaging Joe, since he apparently knew everything too, but you’d chickened out every time, not sure how to go about it since you’d never met him and he was likely to tell Ben, even if you swore him to secrecy. You’d even considered telling Felicity but, though you trusted her to keep it to herself, she was kind of getting on your nerves too. Whenever you saw or heard from her, her first questions were always about Ben. She was mostly well intentioned, checking that you were happy and asking how things were between you, but sometimes she was closer to straight up gossiping – updating you on the odds given to those betting you’d still be together by the end of the month, slyly telling you what the latest article in Heat implied. And every time you were reminded of the impossible situation you found yourself in you couldn’t help but blame Ben. You wanted to have a crack at him about it, call him out for being a selfish git. But you had a job to do, and you were nothing if not professional. You went over the plan again – a snippy comment about him not putting the toilet seat down, he’d say something about a bad habit of yours, you warning him no to start something, him starting something anyway by suggesting you weren’t as invested since you refused to meet his family. Lots of crossed arms and unhappy glances and then the strained suggestion you leave. You’d walk back to his car in silence and let the photographer get a few shots before you got in and drove away. Easy.

Ben greeted you outside the restaurant with an easy grin and a complement. “Tone it down, Ben, we’re not meant to be too happy tonight.” “Hey, I’m allowed to be happy until we get into it,” he stopped talking as you went inside and found your table, waiting until the waiter had disappeared with your drink orders before he said anything more to you, “You nervous?” “Not really. It’s just acting.” “So having a public spat doesn’t bother you but you almost lost your lunch over our first date?” You looked down at the menu, “That was just because the whole situation was new and I felt weird about going on a date with you.” “Right,” he looked at his menu too. You didn’t care if it had sounded mean or if he took it personally, it was the truth, “Are you nervous?” “A little.” “Any particular reason?” “Uhh,” he drew the sound out as long as he could, “I just get more nervous before argument scenes than love scenes. I don’t know why. They’re harder to make convincing maybe?” He shrugged and made a face like it was a random suggestion pulled from thin air and not an excuse he’d come up with while stalling for time. You put the menu down and tapped your fingers on the table, looking around at the other patrons but barely taking notice of them. Ben glanced at you but only for a second. It was a relief when the waiter returned with your drinks and asked for your orders, though that didn’t help the strained silence that fell once he’d left again. “So, seen Felicity lately?” Ben asked, making a valiant attempt at polite conversation that you weren’t going to rise to. “The other day.” “How is she?” “Fine.” “That’s good. She still subscribed to Heat?” “Unfortunately. Brings you up every time I talk to her.” You huffed. Ben sighed. Even that annoyed you. You bit your tongue to stop from saying something bitchy before the food arrived. There was a plan to stick to. “How’re you going with auditions?” Ben tried again. “Okay I guess.” “Any callbacks?” “Not yet. You?” “A couple,” he shrugged, “You’ll get one soon, I’m sure. You’re too good an actress not to.” “Yeah, maybe.” Ben took a sip of his drink and sighed again, the noise grating on you, “What’s got into you tonight, Y/N?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice so as not to be overheard, “I know we’re meant to argue but you’re obviously not in a good mood anyway. Did something happen?” “Nothing, Ben. Everything’s fucking peachy.” “Doesn’t really sound like it.” “Drop it Ben.” “Fine. Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and took another drink. You took a drink too, staring at the other side of the room. You hoped that the hired paparazzi was in position and getting some good shots.

The food arrived and you forced yourself to eat some of it, though you didn’t feel like it at all. Ben tried again to get you talking, asking how your meal was but you gave him another short answer. You stopped trying to eat and just moved the food around your plate. He took another drink and gave you a concerned look, “Y/N, if this is about something I’ve done, can you please just tell me.” You couldn’t hold back anymore, all thoughts of the plan, of the argument you were meant to be having, gone, “Of course it’s about something you’ve done.” “Then tell me what it is so I can try to change it.” “You can’t change it Ben.” “Not if I don’t know what we’re talking about. Just talk to me. Do I leave the toilet seat up? Do I load the dishwasher wrong?” He was trying to pull you back on track, “Whatever it is I can fix it. I never want to upset you.” His last sentence was said with such sincerity that you felt your chest constrict, “That’s what I’m talking about Ben. It’s too much.” “Babe,” he reached across to grab your hand but you pulled it back out of his reach, “What do you mean?” “I mean this – us, you and me. You’re so earnest and I can’t keep….” “Y/N, don’t.” “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay Ben. Not when you’re posting on Instagram that we’re a perfect match and you’re calling to check up on me and acting like we’re super fucking serious. You’re clingy and needy and I can’t keep pretending I love you as much as you love me.” You bit your tongue before you could say anything more you shouldn’t and stood up, “I’m sorry. I need some space.” Ben looked completely stunned only managing to blurt your name out once you’re back was to him. With a hand over your mouth you hurried from the restaurant, able to feel the eyes of everyone in the room burning into you. There was a clatter of cutlery as Ben stood up behind you. but you didn’t know if he’d followed. You didn’t turn back.

[derireo]

sylvain - a little help

im being pressured to apply for scholarships ,,, didn’t want to go to post secondary in the first place .. + ive been napping a lot during the day. not good.

sylvain x f!byleth

“ it was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. she couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from dorothea's eyes as she thanked byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this. “

It was a rainy day in Garreg Mach as fat water droplets pounded against the windows of the dorms and the monastery. The sky was gloomy with splotches of black and grey, and the angry pitter patter of rain against the pavement was deafening to the ears.

As much as Byleth loved the rain, her mood tonight definitely matched the weather.

There was a storm brewing in her head. From her father dying and fighting in a war against her former students, only to wake up 5 years later, frozen cold from the river she was pulled out of, it was difficult for Byleth to cope with all the things that had happened when almost everybody already found the strength to move on.

She willingly became the commander for the Church of Seiros, to fight for the liberation of the people who were caught in the tyranny of Edelgard; a former student that Byleth was fond of back then. Byleth found herself re-thinking her choices up until now, as the Church of Seiros neared the end of this war.

It was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. She couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of Caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from Dorothea's eyes as she thanked Byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this.

And Byleth loathed the thought of having to face Edelgard; hated the thought that her former student wouldn't accept the compromise of ending this war peacefully as Dimitri had suggested. Byleth didn't want to kill another one of her friends.

But it's impossible to change fate, just as it is impossible to create a new path that lets everyone live.

Byleth was sitting outside on the pavement, under the roof truss. She was wrapped in the duvet that used to lay on her bed and she had her knees hugged to her chest as she stared  at the rain drops that splattered into puddles.

Looking at the weather, everyone unanimously decided to use this day as a break from preparing for battle, so many people were gathered in the dining hall or were cooped up in another warm area, so it was understandable why Byleth wasn't seen roaming around the monastery grounds.

Byleth didn't feel like doing anything anyways.

She let out a deep breath of air from her lungs and rested her chin on her knees, her mouth formed into a lazy pout as she stared into nothing, the loud crashing of rain becoming white noise to her.

She didn't notice the few people who were quietly approaching her while she let the soft duvet fall from her shoulders. She then stood up from her sitting position, and as if on autopilot, walked out from under the truss and into the pelting rain that immediately left her body and clothes soaking wet.

She sighed again and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to bask in the rainstorm that fell from the heavens. Byleth couldn't remember clearly, but remembered that on the day of Jeralt's passing, it was raining like this as well.

But then again, she couldn't remember many things.

It could be her imagination, but the sight of dark crimson flowing through the cracks of her fingers and staining her clothes was much too vivid for her to forget.

The growing stain of blood that dirtied her father's coat was something she could never remove from her memory.

She would never be able to forget having to watch her father be stabbed through the back twice. Once when it initially happened, and twice when she turned back time with the divine pulse Sothis had gifted her

How could she forget anyways?

The rain continued to beat down on Byleth, but the pain wasn't enough to distract her from her thoughts. Her bare feet was wet with mud, thin clothes clinging to scarred skin, and mint green hair stuck to her forehead.

"You're going to get sick if you stay like that." someone called out from the walkway of the dorms with a voice so soft that Byleth couldn't help but turn her head in their direction. Her nose twitched when she noticed that it was Sylvain speaking to her. The man was leaning against the pillar nearest to her room door with his arms crossed, and the clothes he was wearing was suited for the winter in Faerghus.

Good enough for Garreg Mach weather, Byleth mused to herself and ignored the way the redhead looked at her expectantly; waiting for her to come back and stand under the shelter with him.

Sylvain sighed, "It wouldn't do you any good if you caught the flu." he tried once more, and held his hand out with the palm facing up as he patiently waited for Byleth to make a move. as much as he hated to force people to do things they didn't want to, he couldn't bear to let his friend stay miserable in the rain like that.

But Byleth didn't look miserable. She seemed the slightest bit distraught, but she looked so comfortable in the rain. Her clothes were now heavy with water, and her hair clung to her face and neck, and although it should've been uncomfortable for her to be in this state, she was receiving the rain with open arms.

Before Byleth could even realize it, Sylvain was already in her personal space, out with her in the pouring rain as he smiled down at her. "Gonna have to tell Seteth to scold you for still being a terrible listener." Sylvain joked as the rain began to beat down on him as well, but paid it no mind, and removed his warm Faerghus coat to put over Byleth's head. The rain only seemed to worsen, not that either person minded, but quietly, Byleth fretted for Sylvain's own health.

His teal button up was already clinging onto him like a second skin while his slicked back hair was a sad, flat mess atop his head. That stupidly kind smile was still on his face too and Byleth couldn't help but feel sorry for making him reach out to her like this in the rain.

Silently, her frigid hand went out to reach for his own, and she dragged the both of them out of the squelching mud and rain to under the roof. Her unoccupied hand still held onto the coat that was laid atop her head, and she decided to keep it there while she watched Sylvain shake the water from his hair.

As always, her eyes held no hint of emotion while owlishly blinking at the man before turning around, heading down the hallway. Sylvain had slicked his hair back while she turned, and with a hop to his step, followed after her when his hand fell from her grip.

"As much as I love the rain," she started when they continued to walk towards the dining hall, the roof above them ending and the raindrops replacing them again, "I can't let you guys get sick. It's hard for me to take care of the Knights of Seiros as it is." she mused, Sylvain striding beside her casually with his hands in his pockets, the rain dampening his hair again.

They walked up the cobblestone steps that led up to the dining hall and quietly shuffled in, the sound of Byleth's wet footsteps apparent in the warm room while the squelching of Sylvain's boots had people turning their heads.

"Oh dear." Mercedes gasped when she saw the pair, "Byleth! Sylvain! What were you two doing out in the rain?" she scolded halfheartedly and stood up from her seat beside Annette who was busy slurping at her soup.

Byleth was sheepish when the gremory walked up to her and wiped away the water that was dripping from her face, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. A few of the others took a quick glance at the small commotion while some had taken the initiative and handed dinner towels to both Byleth and Sylvain for them to dry off. Not the most ideal fabric, but it was definitely better than nothing.

"Just chilling." Byleth answered casually while struggling to shove her hands into wet pockets.

Sylvain couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Yeah. Literally just chilling." he mused and grabbed the dinner towel that lay neglected in Byleth's hands, immediately plopping it on the top of her head to manually dry her hair. Although it was a casual thing for Sylvain to do for his friends; taking care of them even when they don't think much of it, the red head couldn't help but stare down at Byleth with a loving fondness in his eyes. With the way she looked up at him with her own curious gaze from below the towel and the hair that stay stuck to her face; he couldn't prevent the erratic beating of his heart.

Mercedes sighed as Byleth and Sylvain continued to drip rain water onto the floorboards, and kindly asked a passing soldier to go fetch some more towels along with Annette.

"I'll go and get her some Onion Gratin Soup," the pale haired woman offered to the dark knight who was still messing around with Byleth's hair, "It'll warm her up, no doubt. Would you like anything, Sylvain?" Mercedes smiled kindly when the man averted his gaze from the former mercenary to her, his hands moving around to lift the soaked mint hair from Byleth's neck to dry the wet strands at her nape.

"Cheesy Verona Stew. Thanks, Mercie." he winked out of habit, causing Mercedes to let out an uncharacteristic gag from the back of her throat before briefly turning around to fetch the food that would help Byleth and Sylvain to warm up.

"Hey, hey!" Annette bounced into the dining hall with towels in her arms and headed straight for the pair. "I've got towels and clothes for you guys! One of the students told me you two came in soaking wet and so I took it upon myself to help out." she declared and happily handed Sylvain and Byleth a fluffier, much larger towel as well as some warm clothes for them to change into.

Byleth pursed her lips once the folded clothes were set in her arms, and she looked under the mock turtleneck to see that Annette had done a little snooping in her room. A fresh pair of underwear was hiding underneath the shirt she was given.

She raised her eyebrows at Annette, silently asking for the explanation.

The little gremory trembled at the blank stare, but she still answered, "Well, the soldier was male and.. well – ugh! look, it's important that it was me who decided to help." she grumbled childishly, "Can't really up and ask Dedue to go and retrieve those scandalous things you call underwear, Byleth!" Annette whispered with wide eyes.

Sylvain whistled to himself, earning an elbow to the gut by Byleth.

Annette wasn't a very good whisperer.

"And how did you go there and back without getting wet?" Byleth inquired, already knowing the answer when she saw Lysithea at a nearby table, eyeing the three curiously. "Nevermind."

"Ferdinand helped with getting Sylvain's clothing " Annette added on hastily when she noticed the redhead check his own folded clothes.

"Carrot Top, huh?" Sylvain chuckled to himself, to which Byleth snickered and smacked the back of his head. "You don't get to say that."

"Aw," Sylvain pouted, rubbing the spot where he got hit. "You can't be saying that I am also a carrot top?"

"I am." she smiled slightly and tilted her head to the side as Sylvain began to dry his own wet hair with the new towel he just received, his skin clinging button up making it difficult for him to raise his arms comfortably.

Silently, Byleth let her gaze roam over the length of Sylvain's rain drenched body before consciously hugging her clothes and towel to her chest to help her snap out of it. "I'm going to go change." she announced and started to head towards the exit of the dinner hall, with Sylvain immediately trailing behind her after he said his thank yous and goodbyes to Annette.

Sylvain peeked over Byleth's shoulder to take a look at what clothes Annette picked for her and hummed, prying apart a few buttons from his shirt in an attempt to get the fabric to stop sticking to his skin. "Wanna show me the scandalous things Annette was talking about earlier?" he offered playfully and bumped his arm into Byleth's to tease her, his grin lazy when the mint haired woman only scoffed and shook her head.

"In your dreams, kiddo." she fired back and pushed Sylvain away from her with a powerful hand before slipping into one of the washrooms that was near the mess hall.

Sylvain could only bite his lip in bashfulness as he stumbled backwards over his feet, the corners of his mouth quirking into a little smile. She's not wrong. He thought to himself and sighed, bumbling around to get into a separate washroom to change into his new clothes.

As much as Sylvain loved the moment where he stood under the rain with Byleth, he hated how his clothes felt against his skin, and the cold air in the washroom only made his body spasm as a reaction. He wrinkled his nose when he shed the articles of clothing and immediately wiped at his bare chest and arms with his new towel to dry off.

"Gross." the man had groaned in annoyance once he had to peel off his pants. The sound of wet clothing thumped against the floor along with the clatter of his belt, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead as he put the towel back to use.

Once he was finished putting on the pieces of clothing Dedue and Annette had retrieved for him, Sylvain threw his large towel into a nearby hamper and kept the dinner towel on his head to help his hair dry.

The air in the dinner hall was pleasantly warm, and it definitely helped bring back the feeling of his fingers. The room was less packed than it was before, save for Mercedes, Byleth, and a few soldiers spread out here and there.

Mercedes perked up when she saw Sylvain enter in with a teal, long sleeved turtleneck, a mahogany long coat, and charcoal sweatpants. "A bit dolled up, aren't you, Sylvie?" she teased the redhead with the nickname and shot an expectant glance towards Byleth who was still sipping at her soup.

Sylvain didn't seem to bristle at the comment, but he looked at his own clothes with a pleased quirk to his lips then looked back up at the two women seated at the table. "Annette did say that Ferdinand picked the clothes for me." he shrugged his shoulders lazily then jutted his chin in Byleth's direction, his mouth slowly curving into a smile when said woman looked up from her soup to look back at him.

"Don't you think our Darling Byleth is dressed up a bit too pretty for such a casual occasion?" he drawled while sitting across from Byleth and welcoming the stew that Mercedes was pushing towards him.

Byleth was dressed in a fitted black mock turtleneck and an open, light grey cardigan that was falling down her shoulders as she ate, exposing that the shirt she was wearing was also a short sleeve. Despite the calm look on his face, his heart was racing at how the clothes accentuated her shape, but also softened her look.

Sylvain broke through the cheese on his soup with his spoon to keep him from staring.

"Hm." Byleth hummed into her spoon of soup with a hint of mirth flashing in her eyes, "I don't know." she mocked him while cleaning up her spoon with her tongue, her eyes showing off an uncharacteristic smile. "What do you think, Sylvie?" she batted her eyelashes prettily at her target and tapped her spoon against her tongue.

The nickname coming out from Byleth's mouth left him a sputtering mess, and he winced when a hot splash of his soup landed on his thigh. He grumbled childishly as he wiped at the wet spot on his sweatpants with a separate dinner towel, and Mercedes and Byleth giggled to each other when they noticed how red his ears were when they poked out from under the towel on his head.

Mercedes smiled knowingly at Sylvain when he finished cleaning up the small mess on his pants, and gave a motherly kiss to Byleth's wet hair as she stood up from the bench, "I'll be going now. Don't go out into the rain until it settles." she reprimanded the both of them as she squeezed Byleth's hand before putting it back on the table.

When the gremory walked out of ear shot, Sylvain cupped a hand around his mouth with a sparkle in his eyes and a grin playing on his lips, "I think Mercie's got a crush on ya." he winked suggestively at the mint haired woman across from him then shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, visibly slouching as the salty sweet warmth coursed throughout his body.

Byleth scoffed playfully and dropped her spoon into her now empty bowl, crossing her arms over her chest to challenge Sylvain with a raise of her eyebrows. "Mercie is too preoccupied with Lil' Annette, Sylvain." she laughed and subconsciously played with the hair that Mercedes had kissed a little while ago, smiling fondly at how motherly Mercedes has become over the few years she's known her for.

And then her face turned serious, and something in Sylvain's stomach didn't sit right with him when he watched her fold her hands on the table.

"I just wanted to thank you." she whispered between them with a crooked smile, her doe eyes slightly sad as she looked at Sylvain, "You didn't have to reach out for me today, but you did, and I think it's going to help me get through this week." she admitted shyly, and a small twinge of pink dusted her cheeks as she glanced up at the man who had pushed his bowl of soup to the side, all of his attention now concentrated on her. The silence that fell between them was comfortable, and Sylvain took it as the chance to reach across the table for Byleth's hand, gently prying it from the other one she was clutching onto so that he could hold her hand in his palm.

"I'm -- we're.. All of us are here for you." Sylvain stumbled over his words when Byleth curled her fingers in his palm, her fingertips tickling his skin as he spoke to her with genuine concern. His smile was kind while he waited for Byleth's answer, and she only nodded, with a private smile shared only between him and her.

"I am so grateful." she sighed wistfully as she began to stand up from her bench. Sylvain could only watch and follow her movement curiously as she walked around the end of the bench with her hand still held in his, pleasantly surprised when she stopped to stand in front of him. His legs were spread on either side of the bench and she had coincidentally stepped between them. Despite her not stepping any closer, Sylvain was getting nervous at the barely close proximity.

His heart was racing again.

His throat bobbed nervously as he tilted his head up to look at Byleth who was snickering at him in amusement, knowing all too well that he was getting nervous for a silly reason.

"Calm down," she laughed happily and squeezed his hand before using the same hand to wrap his arm around her hips, shuffling closer until she was able to wrap her own arms around his neck to pull him into a cosy hug, her body a snug fit against him as he let himself hug her back in earnest, his arms a tight chain above her hips.

"Thank you, Sylvie." she murmured sweetly into his ear once she noticed he was getting comfortable with her in his arms, and let out a gentle laugh when she felt his face heat up, one of her hands coming up to curl around his strong jaw. She brushed the pad of her thumb against the sharp bone and hummed a small melody that Jeralt used to murmur to her when he tried to coaxed her to sleep, sighing softly at how perfect his arms felt around her body

"And stop trying to hide your feelings. I'm not as dense you guys make me out to be." she admonished him with a smile on her face, grinning when Sylvain's arms loosened in shock. Quickly, she pulled the towel from his head off and printed a gentle kiss to his temple where the hair was almost dry before stepping out from between his legs, but before she could move far enough, Sylvain curled his hand around her wrist and pulled her back in between his legs, his lips already grazing along her forearm.

His arm wrapped around her waist once more, and with how tightly he coiled around her, Byleth's cardigan had slipped down her arms. "Okay, By." he mumbled sweetly into her pale skin, his soft lips trailing up her arm until they brushed over the dip between her collarbones. Happily, he nuzzled his nose into the centre of her throat when she didn't push him away, and planted a small butterfly kiss onto her neck.

The scent of her skin smelled so sweet to Sylvain, and when he inhaled, his mind nearly went dizzy with pleasure. Silently, as his body buzzed with excitement, he bared his teeth and grazed the sharp tips along her unmarked skin, and just as he was about to sink his teeth into the sweet flesh, Byleth had tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and tugged him back with a teasing smile on her face.

"But at least show some restraint." she scolded him then proceeded to kiss his forehead, her hand still buried in his hair. "Okay?"

Sylvain's throat bobbed, his gaze filtered through thick eyelashes.

"Okay."

Byleth then let out a playful coo and pat his cheek with her free hand, "Good boy." she praised, combing her fingers through his messy hair one last time before reaching back to pry his clingy arms from her waist. "Thank you for today." she smiled again, and left Sylvain on the bench with his cold bowl of stew to head for the mess hall where Mercedes and Annette probably are.

"I'll see you tomorrow." the redhead had called out breathlessly, and watched at how her lovely figure walked away with a slight skip to her step.

When she was out of sight, Sylvain turned back to the table and held his head in his hands, his body straining with how much adrenaline was running through his body. He reminded himself of how her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and how her body felt so warm against his chest when he held her for a brief minutes and groaned into the wood that trembled beneath his elbows.

"She is so hot." he sobbed into his hands.