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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"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?"

"His full-"

...

In all of his hundreds and hundreds of years, nobody has actually... ever asked him that? His full name. His full name. He's used to thinking on his feet but-

He sighs. Honestly, they're in this deep already.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."

It seems that Alexander has won one over on the professor. It's a victory he would usually be proud of, but... Now? Now, there's a pang of something he doesn't quite understand. Yet, he presses on.

"Try me," the answer comes, near immediately. "After everything? I doubt anything you tell me now can come as much of a surprise."

He fully expects this man to laugh this off as a joke, and he will let him if he does. But he simply turns his deadpan face on him and tells him... the truth.

"I'm the original Byleth Eisner. I'm over a thousand years old now. Dimitri Blaiddyd was my husband." The 'I never remarried' is implied here, but he shrugs like that's a normal thing to say. Again, he expects this man will take it as hyperbole, a lie or a joke, any of the above suit him just fine.

You know, he... Part of him almost regrets saying that almost nothing could come as a surprise. Because that certainly wasn't what he expected Professor Eisner to say. A descendant, sure. They shared a name and it wasn't unheard of for even generations later for people to be named for their ancestors. Right? That's all it had to be. Or so he'd kept telling himself.

But the pieces of the puzzle do click together more than he wants to admit. How tired and apathetic the professor seems, how intimate his knowledge of the history is even for a renowned scholar. He spoke of it as though he was there and, if what he claims is true, then he was.

"That's..." He starts. Stops. "Actually, that is somehow not as surprising as it should be." Implausible? Certainly. But impossible? No. Nothing is. "I don't suppose you have a way to prove it."

Well. He took that unexpectedly well. The request for truth is... not surprising. Annoying, but what else could he expect really.

"Something that can't be refuted? Sure, but I'm not going to show you that." There's no way in hell he's turning into a dragon in a hotel room just to prove a point. "I can use magic. Most people can't do that these days, right? I suppose you could look in that trunk. Can't prove those are real though."

One of the few he had bothered to bring inside. An old banged up thing sitting in the corner of the room. Inside are his dearest items. Including the now ratty, threadbare cloak that Dimitri once wore in life.

Most people can't, but he does wonder if some still can. If perhaps it hadn't just become so uncommon or impractical it was better to not use it at all. He wonders. He's wondering a lot now, thanks to the professor.

"I..." He starts. Stops. "You don't need to," he finally decides on. "I'd rather you show me whatever it is on your own terms, eventually." Is it that? Or is he scared that what he might see will be exactly what he wishes for? Exactly what calls him to professor Eisner in a strange, unsettling way?

"I'm actually not sure what I expected, really, but none of this was it."

"... That's a strange answer, but all right. I mean, who could really expect anything like this?" He huffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Now you have to answer my question. Why are you here? Why did you choose this instead of taking a load of money and being relatively safe?"

Who could expect anything like this? He also doesn't expect that question even for as fair as it is considering the situation. Alexander takes a moment to consider how truthfully he wants to answer.

"I don't need it, for one," he answers. Professor Eisner may not know this about him yet but while Dimitri comes from comfort, he's always been a more humble man in his living. His truck is a testament to that. "Nor do I want it. It wouldn't feel right." To be given something he didn't deserve was another moral sticking point.

"Also, I..." Another distinct pause as he tries to find a way to say this that isn't creepy. Granted, they might just be totally throwing that out the window by now. "I feel as though most of my life has been going through the motions of living rather than knowing what that meant. Something told me doing this - the unexpected, the dangerous - might help me find what I feel is missing."

"You know holding onto that kind of morality will get you nowhere." Byleth says almost bitterly. The comment that follows though, effectively silences him though, and he stares off somewhere into the middle-distance to digest that.

"Well. Congratulations. You're in some deep shit now. The novelty will wear off, trust me. Soon enough you'll wish you had taken that money." The bite of his words just isn't there anymore though. He just feels. Sad. Tired. "I do not know why you share such features with my late husband, his face, his voice, even his name. I suppose this is just some cruel joke of fate."

It isn't the first time he's heard such jaded words. Really, he almost expected it from how pessimistic the professor has been so far. There's something about it though that still stings slightly. Even now, is he... seeking his approval? While he isn't surprised by the notion, it is a bit laughable.

"Even if it does, I've made my decision and plan to see it through." In that moment, he probably also sounds like his late husband. Speaking of, that is... interesting.

"I wish I could tell you," he agrees. "While I share his last name, too, it was said that he had many adopted children so I had just always presumed..." His parents hadn't really spoken to him about his heritage beyond what they felt he needed to know. He also had never thought to question it; as he mentioned, the multitude of adopted children meant he was hardly the only Blaiddyd anymore and tracing it back to the original family line was difficult due to history's erosion of the truth.

He sighs, both in relent and frustration at the assertion.

"They were my children, too. And I have kept track of lineage. You- you have nothing to do with the family as far as I'm aware. Not unless someone was very, very sneaky." Which is a possibility, but it's... unlikely. Not that it had anything to do with bloodline anyways, but he did like to keep account of his 'family', distant and unware of him as they may be.

"Either way... we eight ought to get to resting or get to driving. I don't imagine our friends will be keen on letting up slip away so easily."

Ah, well- The man has a point. They would have been his children, too. Wouldn't they? He feels a bit silly for overlooking such a thing, but... It's all a bit much to wrap his head around. The Byleth Eisner standing before (sort of) before him.

"Then that makes this even more curious, don't you think?" Why does he look like Dimitri, if he has no relation to him? Of course, he considers... No, that's too far-fetched. Even for him. Granted, this entire situation is what one would call 'far-fetched' yet here he is regardless.

"Driving," he offers. "I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep after all this, honestly." Which isn't any fault of Byleth's, really, just... fact.

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