Dimitri is standing to the side of the club, watching his friends dance with people they have never met before. He smiles to himself as he sees Sylvain shaking his hips ridiculously, trying to show off to some girl who certainly was not impressed by his 'sick moves'.
The music is thumping in his ears, mumbling his thoughts and worsening his ever-present headache. It is a song he has never heard before, a repetitive electronic beat he certainly does not care for. In fact, he rather hopes he is able to return to his room at the guest-house sooner rather than later.
This was not their usual Friday night. When Sylvain announced, on that obnoxious manner of his, they would be going to a club that evening, Dimitri's first thought was that he would not come. He detests such environments, and his head is already pounding with the loud music and bad, overpriced booze, so that might have been the right thing to do. However, his redhead friend pointed out their landlady was tired and stressed, and being out of the house for the night would give her some respite, so the blond relented.
Byleth Eisner. Daughter of Jeralt and Sitri. Since her parents left for the semester, she had been single-handedly taking care of the eight of them, and doing a mighty good job at it. He cannot help but admire her loyalty and service, having taken such responsibility just after she finished her master's dissertation. Time she could have invested in her own work, in looking for a job related to her studies, preparing for the doctoral exams or even merely resting, she invested in looking after the tenants, just so her mother's business would not have to shut down, just so they would not have to find somewhere else to live.
This heartfelt admiration was only furthered by the fact that she was the most beautiful woman Dimitri has ever set his eyes on. Between the green hair and eyes, the toned abdomen and the voluptuous breasts, Byleth was an absolute looker. Just the sight of her, a sniff of her herbal perfume, the sound of her voice, is enough to elicit shameful reactions from the young man.
For this exact reason, he always feels terrible awkward around his landlady. He is aware he must come off as standoffish and entitled, as he always tries to extricate himself from her company, but he does so he can protect whatever is left of his dignity. His friends admonish him frequently over this, but no matter. In a few Moons, he will graduate, and everything will be behind him.
He finishes his drink and places his glass on a table nearby. He sits down on a chair and nods at Ingrid, who is waving at him with Sylvain's cell phone on her hands and Annette jumping behind her. He briefly wonders why the blonde woman was here with them, as she has a fiancé back home and did not care for dancing to electronic music.
At his sign, the housemates walk up to Dimitri and sit on the other chairs around the table he managed to secure. They all looked an absolute mess. Ashe is panting and sweating, Felix's mouth is smeared with lipstick and Mercedes seem to have misplaced her top.
"Another round?" Dedue offers, and, without needing to hear any confirmation, walks to the bar.
After a few minutes, the large, usually imposing, man returns with eight beers and sixteen shots on a tray he still manages to move without spilling anything, despite having had way too much alcohol. Dimitri starts to laugh.
"Damn, Dedue." Annette slurs her speech in that angry undertone she assumes whenever she has a little too much. Her make-up was smeared and her dress was in dire need of a wash. "That's my jam. Gimme some!"
"Ooh, let's dance, Annie." Mercedes declares with that sickening sultry voice, so unlike the normal demure tone she used while sober, as she pulls her friend up and away to the dance floor with a beer can on her hand.
"Are she trying to get us drunk, Double D?" Ashe asks, picking up a glass of his own.
The blond aristocrat cannot help but to share this assessment, but takes a sip of the beer nevertheless. Dimitri knows he is already drunk. His sight is blurry and his steps are wavering.
"So, Dimitri, how are things with Byleth?" Sylvain asks.
Said man stares emptily at him. It takes a while for he realises what his friend has implied.
"What do you mean?" He asks, but he knows what the nosy redhead means.
Ever since Dimitri has told his friends about his crush on their landlords' older, beautiful daughter, all the way back in Year Two, Sylvain has been asking twice a day if he has done anything about it.
"Oh, come on!" Ingrid bemoans as she knocks back her shot. "What about earlier this night? The way she was looking at you?"
Dimitri blushes and nurses his memory of the instance. When he and the other tenants left for their night out, their landlady was standing at the door waving goodbye, a thin shawl protecting her exposed milky arms from the cold winds of late Winter in Garreg Mach. The boys and Ingrid were already at the sidewalk in front of the house, as Mercedes and Annette were still inside finishing up their make-up and Dimitri was halfway between the sidewalk and the front door.
As he nervously played with his keys, his gaze fell over her face. She was watching him with a small smile. The blond man smiled back and felt he was getting red, but he kept looking at her, who, in turn, was staring back at him. The contact broke when Annette showed up and pulled him along with her.
"That was nothing." Dimitri mumbles and takes a shot. He feels it burning in his throat.
"It's our last year, and we're almost done with it. It's now or never, and I think you should do something about it! She's into you, man!" Sylvain says, a spiel he does not tire repeating.
Dimitri shakes his head. Certainly, Byleth does not like him, it is preposterous. Why would she? She is just a college town girl, with everyday concerns and a lot of care to give a bunch of Faerghus brats like them, and he endeavours to have her remain just as she is. He would just bring her problems she never asked for.
Still, he could not deny, not to himself and least of all to his closest friends, how fair he found her skin, how the sound of her rare laughter was clearer than the cathedral's bells, how her touch left a cold feeling on his body and how the smell of her hair made him wish he could feel taste once again.
This was all but a dream, a faint hope he nurtured because he enjoyed torturing himself with things he will never have. What did he have to offer? He had more money than his great-grandson will know what to do with, sure, but he does not have sanity, looks or even a pleasant personality to deal with. If he really loves Byleth, and he is fairly certain he does, it would be more merciful to leave her in the dark, move out of the guest-house come Summer and never speak to her or of her for the rest of his days.