"Hm? Is there something wrong? I couldn't understand you, do you mind repeating yourself?" Dimitri's words feigned concern, while his face revealed he felt anything but. His tickling deepened from light brushing to squeezing up and down the ribcage--not enough to hurt, but firm enough to be absolutely maddening. He leaned in a few inches more, his face about a foot from Byleth's.

God, his laugh is too cute. The gasping and sputtering is definitely not what Dimitri had pictured when he'd fantasized about rendering Byleth to a giggling puddle on the floor, but somehow the real thing was so much better. It was just so . . . so unabashedly genuine, beyond any pretense--just ticklish joy in its purest form. It was sinfully delightful, and scratched a deep itch Dimitri'd had for so, so many years.