perfectteatime | When You're Gone

When You're Gone

And in the night, I could be helpless
I could be lonely, sleeping without you

The thing about living for a long time is that nothing is novel anymore. There are no surprises. You watch life go and the same mistakes and stories are repeated, over and over in an endless circle. Sure, the names change, the faces are fresh, but after a while even that blurs together. The beginning of the school year. Seven-hundred-and-eighty-two school beginnings, not counting those years he elected to take off from teaching.

Fhirdiad Community College left a lot to be desired. The parking lot was really just one giant pothole. Once upon a time, Byleth had a strange pride in being able to remember where every single one was, but time sucked the joy out of everything, so his car lurches and bounces as he pulls into his very mediocre spot. Or he would pull in, but someone has parked their shitty beater truck there. Probably a new student. He sucks in air through his teeth in mild irritation. It's not even worth calling the parking monitors. He just takes a spot next to it and drags himself into the building, shuffling through the halls, the beaten leather book bag tucked against the itchy argyle sweater vests that he had decided to own twenty of in only slightly varying colors. Dark blue hair pulled into a very messy excuse for a tiny ponytail, it doesn't stop it falling over his eyes, getting trapped behind the scuffed glasses perched on his nose.

A few people greet him, some of the older faculty, but most simply let him pass by. His reputation for being at best terribly dull and at worst outright unfriendly has the desired repelling effect. He slides into his lecture hall, dropping his bag at the desk in the same spot he has off and on for the past eighty years (off and on of course). The floor is visibly worn from it. He settles in, organizing the opening syllabus and paperwork as people shuffle in here and there. A drink of lukewarm tea in a cup that he's had for who knows how long. The bell rings, and he exhales willing himself not to simply walk out as he stands up, scrawling on the whiteboard with immaculate handwriting.

"I am Professor Eisner. Welcome to World History 200. Everything we will cover is in the syllabus but don't think that's an excuse to skip class. I will know if you pay someone to write your essays so don't waste your or my time." Another slow inhale, exhale.

The other thing about living for a long time is that you have to stop feeling things. It seemed like some kind of cosmic joke, that Byleth truly learned to feel but the whole purpose of that reformation seemed to really be only so he could feel pain. The formative years after his marriage had been amazing. He never knew anyone could be so happy. Sure, it was stressful, miserably busy, but he had everyone there to support him. He had Dimitri.

But Dimitri died young, ravaged by the damage done to his body, fell to sickness and slipped through Byleth's fingers. Just like that. The first hundred years after were no better. The worst part however, was not watching everyone grow old, wither and die while he stayed young as the day he emerged from that crevasse that had swallowed him. Perfect and beautiful. No, the worst part was having to remove himself from the world. To cease to exist. Guiding things from the shadows, watching but never able to touch. The children of his friends, and their children's children, thinning the bloodlines until crests were a myth. Until heritage didn't matter anymore. He knew that when the Church of Seiros sat as a lesson of the dangers of unchecked religious power in textbooks, he had done his job.

By that time, all the emotions he had worked so hard to cultivate and learn slowly faded into a sea of gray. Until things were meaningless again. Until he didn't have to hurt all the time anymore. It faded to a dull backdrop of low-level grief that he could tolerate outside of the days, months, years he couldn't get out of bed.

The dry erase marker clacks hard against the tray at the bottom of the board.

"Now. Who can tell me what countries were at the center of power before the Great War of 1207?"

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While Alexander had heard of the eclectic professor Eisner, it's a different thing to see him in person. His handwriting is precise and practiced like he's been doing this for a lifetime. And yet, he doesn't appear to be that old. An early academic, they had told him when he'd asked about the man's accomplishments thus far, and that seems to be the case.

The blond-haired boy sits right in the front. While most people think it's because he's eager to learn, and they'd be right, it's also due to his impaired vision. Both eyes appear to function fine but one is gradually losing vision for reasons doctors can't quite explain. Nerve damage is their best guess but slowly onset; by the time he's in his late 20s, he'll be completely blind in that eye.

Although Alexander had been a 'late bloomer' and filled out nicely, his hair is cut and kept fairly short. It's as long as his parents would allow but he plans to grow it out as a bit of that college rebellion he's heard of. Maybe. He'll see.

"If I may, professor," he starts, before even raising his hand. He does, of course, but keeps talking anyway. "Those countries were-" There's a sigh and roll of eyes from peers as they're not even two minutes into class and there goes Alexander spitting off history facts. There's a reason he's in the 200 level class as a freshman; he had demonstrated his knowledge of his major well. It's as far as he could go without the proper prerequisites though.

"Mmm." Byleth doesn't like this one already. He's too close. His voice and his face and his hair- it's all too close. It's not like Byleth hasn't seen dozens and dozens of people who look strikingly like Dimitri, or any number of his other former friends. It just happens when you live that long. You see and meet a lot of people, and grief does strange things to the mind, on top of that. He's gotten very good at dismissing it, though having someone like this in his class for an entire semester and not just a passing glance is... annoying to say the least. It makes him feel ornery, and these days even having feelings are annoying and cumbersome. He sighs, unable to keep the scowl from his face.

"Did anyone other than Alexander do the prerequisite reading?"

Silence. Nice. He grimaces, visibly and returns to his lecture. More accurately, he dissociates through his lecture, a luxury of having done it countless times. It gives him ample room to avoid looking at the young man in the front row, and he sighs in relief when the bell rings, marked by the shuffling of papers and books.

"No." He says, loud enough to give the entire room pause. "The bell doesn't dismiss you. I dismiss you." He waits for it to be properly uncomfortable before giving a dismissive gesture. "Out, all of you. Do the reading on pages 245 and 246, I will know if you don't."

He has no real way of knowing, but the looks on peoples faces say they believe him, and that's enough.

The frustration doesn't escape him. While Alexander doesn't pretend to be immune to it, he has had his fair share of teachers annoyed by his know-it-all attitude and learned to let it roll off. At least he has the decency to be humble about it, they'd say, but he really was just passionate. This feels... different though. Professor Eisner doesn't seem upset about the fact that his classmates don't have the same knowledge. Nor is he upset that he's the only one eager to participate. Not really. There's an undercurrent of something else there that he can't quite place his finger on.

For the rest of the seminar, he doesn't look back Alexander's way. It's not that he wants to him, of course, but it's not hard to miss the way he appears to be there except not. The bell rings and students are already getting out of their seats to leave, muttering about trivial things when the professor says that and a terse silence settles in. Despite himself, Alexander brings a hand up to hide the amusement on his face at it.

Eclectic, indeed.

Alexander lingers and finally drums up the courage to say, "Professor, I had a question about the material in the syllabus-" He's bracing for more standoffishness but has to try.

Ah, if only he could be so lucky to escape without having to speak to him directly, but Byleth turns, resigned to this. Up close, he looks even more like him. He does want to summon that rudeness from before, the cold attitude that would make this so much easier... but there he is. Those ice blue eyes. The spitting image. It hurts.

It hurts and he realizes he's staring.

"Yes?" He moves his mouth, and it feels like it's all mechanical. Like he's just inhabiting this body but it's not really his own. "Go on then. I haven't got all day." He tries, but there's no bite to it, he just sounds... tired. Sad. And he is. He'd worry about showing too much, but honestly people don't really care as much as one might expect. This man is going to forget him as soon as the semester is over. Maybe leave him a poor review on Rate My Professor.com and then pass from Byleth's life like a ghost in the night.

He is staring, which causes Alexander to question why. Just as soon as he seems to realize it though, he's back to that detached-seeming man. It isn't annoyance in his tone now but exhaustion. Maybe the professor just had a bad night's sleep? It's an easy way to explain his shifting attitude and distant stare. Easy, Alex thinks, but doesn't actually convince himself of it.

"I just noticed that the dates are a little off, like they were copied from last year. Perhaps an oversight by whoever actually schedules things?" He's not saying that Byleth did it, of course, but his actual point- "Anyway, one of the exams happens to fall on a holiday so I thought I should let you know before others point it out and begin to ask. I know it might seem trivial. I just wanted to make sure I was ready for the material coming up and happened to see it."

It isn't actually what he wanted to point out and he's never been a great liar. However, Alexander doesn't want to keep the professor longer than he should if he does need rest.

He listens, taking the syllabus and looking it over. Ah. He's right. The dates are off, and Byleth turns his annoyance on himself for being absentminded. What a pain in the ass.

"Thank you." He says slowly, trying to put his eyes anywhere but on this man's face. Damn it, he's almost identical. "I'll be sure to print a corrected version." He does it again. Spaces out. He's not sure if it's trauma or maybe he's dissociating... terms he's still getting used to. He tried therapy once, and while he eventually gave up, he did retain some things. Either way, he feels... strange. Distant. Detached.

"Was there... something else you needed?"

While there isn't, for a fleeting moment, Alexander almost wishes he did have more he needed. Strange. Concern, he assumes, when Professor Eisner's eyes take on that distant, unfocused gaze and looks seemingly everywhere but him. Or, instead, right through him.

"No, I..." He starts but trails off. There's a brief bit of hesitation as he turns over in his head if he should continue. Even if it feels a bit out of place to say, he can't help himself: "I know it's only the start of the semester, professor, but do take care of yourself."

Ah.

That cuts him right to the core, actually. There's that guilt in full-force. It's not his fault. It's not his fault he looks like your dead husband. Sounds like him. Even acts like him in some aspects, just from that little exchange.

"Okay." The word comes much too late, and much too quiet.

This is going to be a hard semester. And for the next couple weeks, it certainly does prove to be. It's odd that he finds himself both dreading and excited to see Alexander all at once. It's not the most pleasant mix of emotions, and generally he does his very best to avoid him... which somehow seems to be failing because he runs into him everywhere. It seems like giving in, when he finds himself approaching the man and planting a cup of coffee in front of him at one of the tables in the cafeteria.

"I want to apologize for my behavior." The coffee peace-offering is gently nudged forward, as though it's supposed to somehow break this curse. "I have no decent excuse for such a thing, so I thought that perhaps I ought to- ah. Say I'm sorry."

It is odd, isn't it? Even without meaning to and wanting to give Professor Eisner his space after their awkward exchange, it's like he manages to find himself in the man's company more than he doesn't. They end up being in the same section at the library, he bumps into him in a different building where the professor was cross-checking something, and then again on a late-night walk when he couldn't sleep. They didn't talk, really, but it was still enough to make Alexander wonder what it might mean.

Nothing, probably. He wasn't sure he believed in fate. It was a bit of a silly notion, really, and he much preferred to believe that the world was what you made of it. But this is a coincidence he can't ignore as just that; despite himself and his beliefs, it does feel like something more. The next time they cross paths is when he's attempting to study in the cafeteria. While not the most conducive environment, well- The noise was sometimes preferable to the quiet.

He jumps a little when the coffee is planted down in front of him like that. "Oh," is all he says at first. "No apologies necessary, I assure you," he says, fingers curling around the cup carefully. "I just... I had figured that perhaps I had stepped over some line and that I should be the one to apologize."

A dry, humorless laugh comes out before he can stop it.

"Of course." There's that same sadness seeping in, permeating everything. The general malaise of just. Living like this. "No, you haven't. You didn't do anything wrong. You just look like someone I knew. There's no sense in holding that against you."

Admitting it is almost a bit freeing. Yes. He is being absurd. This is stupid. The hapless college student deserves none of this for simply existing.

"It was terribly inconsiderate of me. I do hope you'll be finishing the course. Your work is decent."

Somone he knew, is it? That's interesting. It must have been someone close or cared for, Alexander imagines, because otherwise, he can't imagine such a reaction to his mere presence. There's a pang of guilt for absolutely nothing he can control about the situation.

"I see," he answers, after a few seconds of consideration. "Not to worry though, professor, I wasn't about to let much stop me from finishing the course if I could help it." A compliment, maybe? It might be hard to take it any other way, really, when he smiles like he does.

"And especially if my work is only decent. My pride demands a much better level of quality."

"A perfectionist I see." He can't actually help the brief smile that crosses his lips. It hurts but... it hurts good. "You ought to learn that sometimes good enough is better than trying for perfection. You'll run yourself into the ground like that."

He sighs, gathering himself and preparing to leave.

"I'll see you in class."

---

It does get easier, to his credit, to handle looking at the man. Interacting with him amicably. It still hurts, it always will. It's bittersweet though now. Not as anxiety-inducing.

It's winter now, and Fhirdiad is already under a nice coat of snow as he heads out in the early evening. He'll be late if he doesn't hurry. Fortunately the meeting spot this time is a short walk away. He stops by his car to grab a briefcase from the trunk before making his way around the back of the school.

A perfectionist, indeed. Dimitri prides himself in his skills and this is no exception. While he knows that he still has leaps and bounds to go before he's mastered his field of study, he's certainly determined to be off to a running start where he can. The advice feels like it comes from a place of experience. Had he another student before that had run themselves ragged?

"I assure you, professor, I am fine. I know my limits." But hadn't he said that, too, all those centuries ago?

Summer gives way to a crisp autumn that freezes into winter before long. It feels like the weeks are flying by. While he was told to expect that, he hadn't anticipated it'd be over so soon. He's been doing well in Professor Eisner's class, as expected, but there was still something that just felt off about the man.

You don't need to stalk him over it, Dimitri thinks, but it's too late. Here he is, having trailed the professor unawares when he'd seen him outside a school building late at night. It wasn't intentional, honest. Dimitri had just seen that briefcase and his curiosity got the better of him. While stealth isn't his strongest skill, he's doing surprisingly well thus far in remaining undetected.

Just what is he up to...?

He really shouldn't be doing this so close to anywhere familiar. What was the saying? Don't shit where you eat? Crass but correct. The immense ennui however, keeps him from giving a damn.

"You're not the usual guys." Byleth comments as he sees the two suited men standing under a dim streetlamp. He approaches halfway, dropping his briefcase on the sidewalk.

"Yeah. Bobby's taking some time off. Randolph broke his leg. We're filling in." The man sounds young, and Byleth can see a shock of red hair under his hat. He fights down the rising instinct to want a closer look at his face given every damn weird thing that's happened lately. The other, shorter man stands silently at a distance.

Another, different briefcase is placed where Byleth's was- an exchange, and he moves to pick it up.

"Aw seriously? Bobby told me you weren't a snitch. You seriously that stupid?" The taller man pipes up again, waving a dismissive hand. "You really brought a cop, huh?"

Byleth pivots to look where he was gesturing to see- oh for fuck's sake. What was the Dimitri-doppelganger doing here?! He's not hidden well, and honestly he's not sure how he missed the fact that he was being followed. He should know better than that.

"It's not like that-" Byleth starts in, but he's cut off by a gunshot at his feet. Ah. He even has a silencer. Cool.

"I'm sure it isn't pal, but we have to be thorough. You understand." The redhead levels the pistol at Dimitri, only to be hit by the briefcase hitting him squarely in the jaw, sending the shot wide. "Ahchhgg- fuck! Felix! Do something!"

Felix?

There's no time to dwell on that. Byleth is booking it, grabbing Dimitri by the wrist and dragging him along as well as the man who's supposedly called Felix gives chase.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure where to hide and it ended up being almost nowhere. That was a bad call, he knows, but it isn't as if he was expecting this. Alexander doesn't actually know what he was expecting when he takes a moment to think about it but does it really matter now? In that moment, a shot is fired that he doesn't hear but sees Byleth move away from however slight.

When the weapon is aimed at him, the poor blond freezes like a deer in headlights. Thankfully, his professor thinks much quicker than he can and the man is assaulted by the briefcase. Weren't there sensitive goods in there? Apparently not, if it can be used as a makeshift weapon.

Next thing he knows, he's being grabbed and yanked to follow Professor Eisner as they're being pursued. Now that his brain has caught up to all that's happening, he has to ask: "What is going on?" That seems like a good place to start. While Alexander doubts that he'll get an answer until they're safe - if they end up safe - he can't help himself from wanting to know why the fuck those people 1) thought he was a cop and 2) believed that was worth killing him over.

"Shut up and move!" Is the only answer Dimitri gets for now, as they sprint down a side-street. Sure enough, Felix(???) is right on their heels. The man wielding a sword. A fucking sword! Not a gun. No gun to be had. Only sword. Apparently that's all he needs because a missed swing on Byleth leaves a mailbox squarely sliced in half. It isn't until they're rounding a loading dock on a building that Byleth realizes they're cornered.

Thankfully, a chain from one of the trucks will do plenty for Byleth, and he swings it like it's an extension of his body, wrapping around the sword as it comes down and pulling taught, leaving them both locked in with each other. It's only now that he gets a really close look at the man's face.

Fucking shit it really is Felix? What the hell is going on here?

"Alex! Be useful please!" As in knock him out. Trip him. Something. Anything!

Why is that man wielding a sword? Why is any of this happening? Will that person be properly compensated somehow for their mailbox? These are all the questions that race through Dimitri's mind as he's acting more on instinct and adrenaline now more than anything.

They're cornered, he realizes too, but the professor is shouting at him to do something. Did he just whip a chain and catch that sword? Where does anyone learn how to just do that? What the absolute fuck? Despite the way his brain scrambles to make sense of anything, he continues to act and move without much thought driving behind it.

Alexander sees a narrow drainage pipe attached to a gutter on the side of the building. There's a screech of metal being torn before the poor blond boy is saying, "I'm sorry!" and using it to knock their pursuer unconscious with a swift smack to the side of the head. Thankfully, he doesn't have the actual Dimitri's strength or else Felix would probably be dead. As it is, he's just passed out and likely going to be extremely pissed off when he awakens.

Well. Okay. That was useful.

The unconscious man is, without a doubt, Felix. His base instinct is to help him. The bloody bruise on his head makes his stomach twist. No. Byleth sighs, tossing the chain aside and pulling Dimitri by his arm to squeeze between the back alley of two buildings and slip away. No doubt his partner (with a gun) would arrive. He'll get help, and they'll get away.

It's only when he's finally locking his apartment door behind them that he stops to breathe for a moment. Organize his thoughts... and shoot a glare at the blonde who's standing next to him.

"Why the hell were you following me? You could have been killed."

You know, this isn't how he imagined he'd end up in Professor Eisner's apartment. Not that he, uh, thought about that. Ever. ANYWAY.

The glare causes him to shrink despite being a couple of inches taller than Byleth. It's an impressively angry face. Honestly, he thinks it's the angriest he has seen his professor since meeting. He just wishes it wasn't directed at him.

"Why the hell are people trying to kill you? Me?" he counters. He's still rattled, clearly, but then takes a moment to try and compose himself. "And I wasn't following you." He was. "I just saw you when on a late-night walk and was going to ask what you were doing out so I ended up trailing you and then-" A vague gesture at the air "-all this happened!"

"First of all, they weren't trying to kill either of us until you blundered into my business. Trailing is another word for following, Dimi- ah. Alex." He snaps, barely catching himself, and in that instant he's a little horrified. The anger fizzles quickly, and he just goes to kick around at the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sit." The kicking finally produces a hollow sound, and he crouches, fingers searching along the seams of the floorboards before he's pulling a few up, and pulling out several duffel bags. One of them is tossed at Alex. It's heavier than one might expect. If he's to open it, he'll find stacks and stacks of money.

"That's 750 thousand dollars. Life-changing money. Laundered, untraceable, completely free. Take it, skip town, change your name, never come back here. If you do, they'll kill you and I don't want your blood on my hands."

That slip-up doesn't escape him. Nor does the way that he looks mildly mortified by the fact that it happened in the first place. What name had he been about to call him instead? Dimi... Hm. Could it be? No. How would Professor Eisner know that name? Unless- Ah. He's theorizing and getting far too ahead of himself here. Stay to the present, Alex. That obviously needs his attention more.

"If we're being technical, which I suppose we are." Details. Either way, he does sit as instructed just in time to hear that change in sound where Byleth's foot lands. He raises his hands just in time to grasp the duffel bag thrown towards him. It is heavier than he anticipates, which draws a small 'oof' from him, but then he's being told what it is and-

Why? That's his first question but he's asked that enough already tonight. "And if I don't want to?" he asks, instead. Byleth really should have expected any incarnation of Dimitri to dig his heels in. To look deathly danger in the face and still want to take it on. Seems like that recklessness will never truly leave him, no matter the reality.

The response is honestly baffling. Byleth squints at him, gesturing in a 'what the hell do you mean' shrug.

"Why wouldn't you? It's free money, or death. Not really much of a choice. There is absolutely no way in hell that I'm going to take you with me and babysit you so you don't get snapped by the literal mafia." He's grumbling, pulling up a few more similar bags, and finally a much larger, much older looking suitcase which he hauls up without any issue.

"Either way, we don't have much time. I'm going to have to get a cab to a motel before I disappear so- congratulations, I guess you passed my class."

"Says you," he snaps, perhaps uncharacteristically. "I can take care of myself better than you think." Well, that's... debatable. While a privileged white boy, he did take self-defense classes. He was a top student, actually, as he was in most things he set his mind to. And if he set his mind to this? Alexander thinks he could manage.

"You won't babysit me, I can... I wouldn't hinder you." He'd help, he wants to say, but he can't promise that. He can't promise anything but- He wishes he could. Why? It's not as though he owes the professor anything. It's not as if he even really knows him. But the thought of him 'disappearing' sends a pang of something he doesn't quite understand through him.

"Take me with you," he says, before he thinks better of it. It isn't like Alexander to be impulsive. Not really. But isn't now the time? Shouldn't it be, for the first time in his life? To do something not carefully calculated and thought out? "Wherever you're going, I- I want to go, too."

For a moment, Byleth just stares at him. Why, he wants to ask. Why now? Why me? Why this? He can tell though, it's going to be more effort than he cares to put in to deter him. He just... throws his hands up.

"Fine. Whatever. You can come. For now. We'll get a hotel and figure things out from there." He pauses for a moment. "Do you have a car, actually?"

He isn't expecting Professor Eisner to say yes. It's an impossible thing, he imagines, if this is as dangerous as he claims. Alexander knew it was a long shot but it was the only one he had to keep this man in his life and-

Oh. Well, that was easier than he thought.

"I do," he answers. "It isn't the most... aesthetically pleasing vehicle, but it is reliable." It was one of the few things that was truly his anymore.

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based on actual college experiences

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