It really is such an impressive thing. Every finite detail accounted for. Byleth drinks in every minute conversation he can catch. Even the mundane ones. It's wonderful. He's so enamored that Emet would go to such lengths, but if he really has learned anything about the man, it is that he loves his home, his culture, his people so poignantly it's nearly palpable in just his presence.

He sits, once again, apprehending Emet's hand to fold between his own.

"Were I not on my best behavior I'd give them something really interesting to chatter about." He says, his voice warm with humor and mischief. "Shucking the social rules just for me though... I'm quite flattered. Though I think perhaps I may get distracted looking at your handsome face instead of the play."

He does however, turn his attention to the stage. His hands idly playing with Emet's, moving his fingers, rubbing, or tracing little patterns into his palm. It's all slow and slight enough to not be annoying, not be too distracting.

As a hush falls over the crowd of shades, Byleth leans himself just slightly against his shoulder. Just enough to allow his warmth to be pleasantly felt. This? This is lovely. He allows himself to settle into this play within a play, relaxing his mind into a comfortable fuzzy state where he can just imagine everything is real.