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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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.

"That's fine. The worse it looks the better. We're going to drive that. Come." He shoves a few bags at Dimitri. He's not wasting any time, and to be honest they've probably wasted enough already. The drive over is silent. Byleth stays focused on the task at hand, and when they reach Dimitri's car, his is abandoned.

"This is your last chance. You can take that money and walk away, no questions asked, save your life. If you stay with me, you're probably going to be miserable." Because Byleth is miserable and miserable to be around.

Unfortunately, the silent ride over gives him too much time to think. What is he doing? What is about this man that compels him so? Alexander's never felt such a strong, near instinctual pull towards anyone in his life. Granted, he probably never allowed himself to. He had to focus on his studies, make the family proud, and do what was expected of him.

Maybe that's why. None of his life until meeting Professor Eisner had truly felt as if it were his own. This was one of the first choices in a long, long time that he could say he made for himself. Was it a good one? Maybe not. But would he rather risk it and know or shy away and regret what could have been?

He chooses the former. "It isn't much of a life to save," he answers grimly. "Besides, I sincerely doubt you'd make me as miserable as you claim. I wouldn't go with you it felt like you truly meant it." He may be calling his bluff but he's always been one to say what he sees as he sees it. Byleth may be miserable but Alexander is getting the sense it's only exacerbated from shouldering too much on his own.

"My answer is the same. I'm going with you."

The answer gets a humorless laugh from Byleth. What an interesting answer. It frustrates him just how much Alex reminds him of Dimitri. Far beyond the face or the voice. But he can't leave him to perish either. The thought actually leaves him sick.

Not much of a life to save, huh? Byleth doesn't have much of one either. Still, it bothers him to hear that from someone so young. He wants to shake him and tell him how stupid he is to waste so much potential.

"What makes you think I don't mean it?" He hates to be called on a bluff but... "Never mind that actually. It's not important."

"Very well." He stands in front of Dimitri's car, extending his hand. "Give me the keys. I'm driving."

Well. That's that on that.

It's not important, he says, but Alexander believes it must be quite the opposite to sidestep an answer. He's not going to pry. The last thing he wants to do is force the professor to share anything he isn't yet comfortable with. Besides, they'll have time to get to know each other now. Won't they?

"Is there a particular reason why?" he has to ask. Alex didn't mind, not really, but it was interesting how much control the other man wanted over the entire situation.

"Because I've been driving for a long time and because I said so." A very mature answer. He holds his hand out for the keys insistently. "Come on."

He considers just driving all night, but using Dimitri's car will buy them some time, so instead he heads to a motel, parking off in the very corner of the lot. He just. Keeps the car keys. His now.

The room they get isn't terribly nice. Byleth's insistence on being cheap despite being utterly loaded is just a little old habit that won't quit.

"You take the bed. I'll sleep in the chair."

"No," comes the answer, easily. It's not like Alexander to be defiant. Heaven forbid. Something about the professor though spurs him into spitefulness. Maybe he's just not used to being truly told what to do and no one is actually here to enforce that he listen. While any pushback would normally be met with resistance, he wonders how far he can take things.

So that's Alexander, taking up the chair before the other man can.

They are both being extremely mature men here, clearly. Granted, the blond feels like he should explain just a bit.

"If anyone deserves to rest, professor, it's you. I just happened to get caught up in all this but I can't imagine how long you've been dealing with it."

"What th- are you fucking kidding me?"

Seriously? Seriously? He's not sure if it's the fact that this also reminds him of his Dimitri or if it's just the sheer fucking audacity.

"Like hell. Get up. Get into that bed or so help me-" Calm. Be calm. What is it about this man that gets him from zero to one-hundred so quickly? He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'm going to count to three, and if you are not out of that chair when I hit three, I will make you get out. One... two..."

While Alexander can't say he enjoys upsetting anyone ever, this does feel somehow relieving. It's a reaction he didn't expect from the otherwise normally stoic man. Although a flare of anger, it's still something and Alexander has to stop himself from smiling. He doesn't do a very good job of it.

"Oh, will you? I'd like to see you try."

While not as muscular as the Dimitri the professor had known once upon a time, Alexander isn't anything to sneeze at either. He's still large, impressively built, and going to be a bitch to try and get out of this chair.

Or so he thinks.

Dimitri's challenge hits him and slides off like a wet noodle. Byleth just stares at him for a moment before just walking over and picking him up like he's nothing and tossing him into the bed before sitting down to occupy the chair himself.

This is childish, yes. In his defense, he's stressed and he doesn't feel like taking the high road.

"Don't test me, Alex."

There's a sound that escapes him - something akin to a yelp - as he's tossed aside like he weighs no more than a feather. 'That's new' is what he thinks at first. What he thinks next is nothing fit for polite company and what causes him to turn his back to Byleth instead of any true embarrassment about being so unceremoniously manhandled.

"Duly noted," he huffs, childish even still. For a tense moment, it seems like that's it. But before long, the boy adds: "I do have to say, you're the first to actually be able to put me in my place physically."

"I work out." That's the only answer he gets, but Byleth can't really help but feel a little satisfied with himself. That'll show him. He tries to not let himself be reminded of how often he'd roughhouse with Dimitri.

"Anyways. You should rest. We'll need to leave early tomorrow." He's settling himself into the chair, for another night of probably not sleeping.

"Hm," is all he responds with. As if that explains much. Alexander doesn't question it though. At least, not in this moment. He supposes now that he's made his choice to follow the professor, he'll have time to ask more questions eventually.

"I hope you'll do the same if you'll be driving." Look, he knows how much sleep deprivation sucks when you're behind the wheel.

"Yes. I'll be fine. Isn't the first chair I've slept in and surely won't be the last." He probably won't sleep well. He rarely does. It's either too much or not enough it feels like, but he's not going to bother telling Alex that. Things are too weird to make any weirder.

Unfortunately, he does end up sleeping. He does and of fucking course he has another of Those Dreams. It doesn't matter which. They all blend together in the end, but they always turn out with Byleth, kicking and fussing, muttering Dimitri's name into the 3 AM darkness.

They are weird, aren't they? That realization begins to sink in the longer he lays on the bed and stares at the wall. Sleep finds him intermittently but there's too much buzzing around in his head for it to last any reasonable length of time.

He happens to catch the sound of Byleth moving. Restless. It makes sense that he would be, as well, but it's the name he says that sticks out. At first, Alex isn't sure he heard it right but after a pause- There it is again. Ah. His middle name? It can't be a coincidence, can it?

Despite his better judgment, he sits up and softly, silently treads towards where Byleth sits. If it's a nightmare, it might be bad to wake him. Who knows how he could react, really, but- He also doesn't like to see the man like he is. Alexander settles on a gentle hand against Byleth's leg, testing, to see if it rouses or settles him.

He didn't start having the dreams again until... this man. At the soft touch against his leg, he does seem to settle for a moment, huffing a sigh in his sleep. Then... a soft laugh.

"Again?" His words are slurred with sleep. "Mmmh. My love..." He shifts, his hand moving down to rub over the top of Alex's. The groan that comes out is definitely... yeah. That's definitely a thing. He finally wakes though, halfway through feeling up this poor man's hand. When his eyes open, there's a very clear glow to them at first, an eerie green light as he blinks and takes in the dark shape standing over him.

It's instinct that takes over as he's up, just like that, and throwing all his weight against the other man, snarling as he shoves him to the floor. And oh- he's got a knife? Where was he hiding that? Well, it doesn't matter, because currently it's pressed to Alex's throat, resting against his pulse. Byleth stops himself though, recognizing the face below him as he catches his breath from the surge of adrenaline.

"Oh fuck. It's you." The knife is set aside at the very least. "What do you think you were doing?"

Oh, that's- Yeah, that sure is a whole reaction that Byleth is having to his touch. Uhm. Hm. How to unpack any of that? The sudden pivot from dream horny to horror movie time is a bit jarring though. Even more jarring? Being suddenly flung to the floor and feeling cold metal pressed against warm skin.

"It's me," he answers, perhaps a bit more sarcastically than a man with a knife to his throat should. He breathes out a sigh of relief once the pressure of the blade is removed. Jeez. "You were talking in your sleep," Alex finally says. "I just... wanted to make sure you were alright."

Just like Dimitri, he's a fucking terrible liar.

He was talking in his sleep. Again. He winces, and it's only then that he realizes that he's hard and he's sitting on this man and there's no doubt that he can feel it too. Gathering himself quickly, he stands. He'd have offered him a hand up but he's quite busy trying to pretend that he doesn't have a raging hardon.

"Sorry. Not used to having other people around. Get back to sleep."

Liar that he is, Byleth is willing to let it slide in the interest of... not having that conversation. He sits back in the chair, with a weary sigh.

Honestly, in the spike of adrenaline at his life being threatened so swiftly, he hadn't actually noticed. At least, not at first. Now it's about the only thing he can and it makes his heart race in a different way. Not good, not bad, just... different.

"I doubt either of us is going back to sleep anytime soon," he can't help but say. Alexander because he just had a knife to his throat and Byleth because... all of what's going on there. "Is talking in your sleep a regular occurrence?" He asks, despite the fact his eyes are firmly directed towards the ground.

At least he's trying to not draw attention to it.

He squirms, trying to get comfortable, but Dimitri is right. He's going to be awake a while longer before he calms himself again.

"I don't know. I haven't slept with someone in the same room in ages." Ages is a nice relative term. It can mean weeks or months or years... or actual ages.

"Is you grabbing someone's leg in their sleep a regular occurrence?"

Relative, yes, but also vague enough to leave him suspicious. Granted, a lot of this situation - and mystery clouding his professor - is suspicious in and of itself. Downright concerning, even, but... He's here. It was his choice.

"Only when I hear a familiar name, I suppose." Just going to throw that one out there.

"Familiar name? What are you talking about?" He squints, looking at him with no small measure of suspicion for that at least. All right, so he's piqued his interest a little. He does remember what he was dreaming about...

Maybe this man has a friend named Dimitri? It's such an old name though.

"Dimitri," he answers. "It's my middle name." What are the odds, right? He imagines higher than he wants to admit, after all that's transpired, but maybe it is just coincidence.

"My parents said that they wanted me to take after King Blaiddyd. Kind, compassionate, and able to make my way despite whatever might happen."

Wow. Well. What does he even say to that? He just wilts on the chair, looking like someone just let the air out of him.

"Ah. Yes. That's... that makes sense." Because of course.

"My late husband." He finally says after a long moment of silence. Why is he bothering to explain himself? Who the hell knows. "His name was Dimitri."

Because of course, it'd be his late husband. That's... Alexander isn't actually sure how to feel about it, really, a strange mish-mash of feelings all competing one another. In the end, he settles for sympathy to take the forefront.

"I apologize for pushing things," he says, eyes downcast. "And I am sorry for your loss." Now, though- Now, he almost has to know.

"But if you could indulge me one last thing, I- I think it might help me sort out things mentally." Here goes nothing. "What was his full name?"

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