Chapter Text
They had been trying to reach her for over a week - she had the voicemails and missed calls as evidence. She knew it was irresponsible to screen their calls, but her father was always one for “sticking it to the man” so, in some twisted way, she found it a way of honoring his memory. It’s what she told herself when she heard the solemn tone in the department coordinator’s voice or when the head of the history department sent another bouquet offering his support. Either way, it had taken eight days, ten voicemails, and, finally, one call from her father’s Master’s Teaching Assistant to convince Byleth to make the trek to the university.
“Teach,” he had said through the phone, voice devoid of its usual flirtatious and teasing tone that he used for her. “It’s time.
“I’ll be there on Monday around seven,” she responded as blankly as possible. Claude had sighed and in her mind’s eye, she could see him running his hands through his hair in frustration. If he was there with her, he would make a comment about her perpetual need to shut down when her emotions threatened to burst, and she would toss something back about him being too nosy for his own good, and it would inevitably lead to her father kicking them out of his office so they could fight in the hallway. But Claude wasn’t with her, and neither was her dad. He wouldn’t be with them ever again.
“I’ll be there.” She hung up.
She passes the coordinator on the way to her father’s old office and she gives her a tight-lipped smile that presents more as a grimace.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” Leonie says. “He was kind to me. I’m going to miss him very much.” She doesn’t respond and just nods, afraid that if she opens her mouth and acknowledges his death it will make it all the more real like it was at the funeral a few weeks ago. Leonie thankfully doesn’t press further and lets Byleth make her way to his office in relative silence.
The door is already open when she arrives and she’s unsurprised to find Claude twirling in his own desk chair, soft rock music emitting from his phone, his yellow shirt clashing with the horrendous purple walls of the office. It’s a scene that she’s quite familiar with except one of the main characters is missing. She almost smiles but the muscles in her face don’t remember how to anymore and protest the movement. She pushes the door further open as a way to announce her presence and he looks up, capturing her eye.
When she first met her father’s TA, he immediately rubbed her the wrong way. Dark hair, a strong build, tan skin, a killer smile, and bright green eyes, Claude was annoyingly handsome with a natural aptitude for information and an intelligence that rivaled her own. He and Jeralt got along frighteningly well and soon, he had become part of their family, adding a place setting to their weekly dinners. He challenged her, finding a counterargument to everything she’d ever say, and had started to lovingly call her “Teach” when she was proven wrong.
Maybe that’s when she had started to like him and accept him into their lives. He coaxed more laughter out of her than anyone else ever had, something that Jeralt had taken note of. In one of his better moments in the hospital, Jeralt had grabbed her hand, his grip weak and chill. You two will be alright, kid, he had murmured. Take care of each other. Claude was the first one she called when everything had taken a turn for the worse, and the one whose arms had held her when her father slipped away. He didn’t judge her when she didn’t cry at the funeral and didn’t pressure her when she didn’t call him back. He was her friend, a truer one than she’d had in years.
“Hey, By,” he says, ceasing his spinning. “Twizzler?” He holds out the red licorice and she takes it, happy to have something to occupy her hands. She looks around the room and is grateful to see that he had taken it upon himself to start packing things up, leaving only a few things for her to review on Jeralt’s desk - his former desk. Picking up an empty box with her free hand, she carries it over and settles into his desk chair.
“Are you getting booted as a TA?” She asks Claude, staring at the collection of personal items assembled before her.
“No, Seteth is going to let me TA his class.” She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
“You know he hates when you drop his title.” He shrugs and spins again.
“I don’t call him that to his face.” She laughs slightly, the sound feeling foreign. “Okay, maybe I do sometimes but we’ve got to keep him humble or else.”
“Or else what?” He rolls his eyes, the green of them swirling.
“I don’t know but something bad will happen if he’s not kept in check. All that power could go to his head.” He waves his hand and she stifles a laugh instead. He catches it and the corners of his mouth raise. She turns away from him and peruses through the photos her father had kept in his office: two from her childhood where she went fishing with her dad for the first time and her first regional fencing win. One photo of his wedding to her late mother. Another photo at her college graduation and another of herself, Claude, and Jeralt on their university-approved trip to London. Claude had one arm around her shoulders and the other behind her father’s head, gifting him with some lovely bunny ears. She can see the happiness radiating off of them and it makes her stomach churn. Shoving the pictures and the rest of his things into the box, she stands abruptly.
“Is this all of it?” She gestures to the other boxes on the floor. He nods and taking the hint, rises to his feet as well and starts to stack the boxes into his arms. Byleth picks up the remaining ones before heading out the door. She hears Claude lock up, hears Leonie wish them a good night, but the sadness in her throat threatens to choke her if she dares to open her mouth. By the time she gets to her car, she’s flustered and the sky is dark.
Silently, the two load up her trunk, the box of personal photos at the top. Claude reaches in before she can close it and pulls out the photo from London. His smile is light, reveling in the fond memories, and she thinks he’s beautiful.
“One of the best moments of my life,” he admits to no one in particular. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” Her walls are down and in a moment of true tenderness, she places her hand on his bicep.
“We can go again,” she tells him and she feels him relax under her palm. “You and me.”
“Yeah?” She’s shocked herself with her admission but for once can’t push herself to take it back.
“I promise.” She squeezes his bicep once more before dropping her hand. He goes to place the photo back. “Keep it,” she tells him. “I want you to have it.”
“Are you sure?” She smiles at him before nodding.
“I’m sure.” He tucks the photo into his back pocket before closing the trunk door.
They’re face-to-face, closer than they’ve been in a while, but she can’t get herself to move. She needs to get back on the road, but she’s pinned by his gaze. She’s lonely and sad and afraid and needs someone who cares. In a split second, she has thrown her arms around his neck and he’s holding her as tightly as possible and as gently as glass. She buries her face into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. She doesn’t cry, but she feels the grief in her start to drain away - at least for a little while.
“Thank you for everything,” she whispers against his chest. “I couldn’t get through this without you.”
“You have me,” he responds and she’s warm all over. She pulls back to look at him, struck again by his kindness. They stand for what feels like hours. He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, lingering.
“I should go,” she admits and he nods. “Traffic and all that.”
“Of course.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and the tears almost leak out of her eyes. “Call me when you get home.”
“You’ll be the first one to know,” she promises and he laughs.
“I’ll visit on Wednesday.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She pulls him in for another hug before hopping into the driver’s seat. The radio comes on, and it’s playing the song that Claude had queued up in her father’s old office. She smiles again, her heart full. She watches him in her rearview mirror as she leaves, waving until he becomes a blip on the horizon.