The woman he was dreaming about is her? He was begging desperately for her life? Not Patricia's? Edelgard's? Annette's, if not anyone else? She did not believe he thought so highly of her to the point of him dreaming about her death brought such strong feelings of despair. That he would bother to imagine such dreary scenario at all.
Dimitri was a kind person. He is not entitled or cruel, and Byleth never deluded herself with such a preposterous notion. In a purely transactional view, he is certainly a better tenant than Miklan, who was a chauvinistic pig, or Christophe, who insisted in lording a so-called superior academic knowledge over everyone, especially the Eisners. However, even as they spent time together and grew closer, there remained a thin glass wall between them.
It was not a new occurrence. So it is the behaviour of the numerous upper-class students they took into the pension every year, thanks to her father's seemingly unending contact list amongst the who's who of Faerghus. Yet, respect is something that came hard amongst the noble brats, as the man himself often would describe them, and it is hard to find a landlord in Garreg Mach who would disagree with his assessment. It is normal within their business, it was even to be expected, when you work on the service industry next to the most prestigious university on the continent.
Honestly, Byleth does not even resent it, as she is well aware that other houses have it much, much worse.
It does not change the fact, however, that it happens. Every term, and the current term is no exception. Amongst this year's class of cubs, Sylvain, Ingrid and even Felix kept a halo of exceptionality over their heads, a slight but very noticeable distance from the guest-house staff and the other tenants. They were all used to it, but it also made her think that, regardless of how much she cared for his welfare, the Blaiddyd heir would always keep her at arm's length.
In this context, it is frankly surprising he cares enough to dream about her, not to mention beg for her life in exchange of his own.
Byleth stares at Dimitri with her mouth softly hanging open in surprise. The blond man smiles a bit, an uncomfortable expression dangling on his face, and closes her mouth by putting his finger softly under it, as if jokingly trying to reassure her, but actually not standing to see that stupid look on her features. He does not want to see her shocked face, lest it dwindles into disgust or pity.
He motions to take his hand back but she takes it on hers. Her gaze wanders from his scarred hand to his pinched face and back to his hand. A soft sigh leaves her lips as she squeezes the hand on his hold, ever so lightly, as if it is a precious piece of porcelain, like it was the boy's hands that tried to take out the fire that consumed his only mother figure.
"You will never lose me, Dimitri. Not in such a gory manner." She said with conviction. "I promise."
Byleth lets go of the man's hand and hugs him firmly, hoping to reassure him of her presence. The blond aristocrat falls back on his bed and she can feel his chest going up and down from laughing. She lets out a chuckle of her own and lays next to him, her head still on his chest.
"Just you try to get rid of me, Dimitri Blaiddyd." The landlady threatens, jokingly and with a light voice. "I know where you live and I can kick your ass to next Tuesday, you know that."
The man, then, has stopped laughing and is avoiding her gaze.
"Dimitri?" She calls to him and his head turns to her, but his eyes rest on a spot near her shoulder. "Who was taking me? What left you so traumatized?"
Something changes in his eyes. They get darker, colder. The hand on her back turns into a fist and when Dimitri speaks, his voice is trembling.
"It's no one. Don't worry about it." The young man says and his hand relaxes again, but his eyes do not.
"Dimitri, I want to help you, but I can't do that if you don't tell me what is bothering you." The green-haired woman argues. "I get that you might not want to talk to me of all people, but you should at least reach out for a psychologist or something. The school offers a great mental health service, and if that's not good enough, there are other professionals in Saint Cethleann Row. I can find you someone, I can call to schedule a consultation, just talk to someone, please."
"I said don't worry!" Dimitri snaps.
He pushes Byleth violently off him and gets up. Angrily, he puts on his sweater and pants. She stares in disbelief at him. What just happened? All she wanted to do is talk and now he is mad. She sits up straight and cover her lithe body with her arms, feeling small and breakable under his aggressive demeanour.
"So, this is how you want things to go? You have terrible nightmares, I stay up to help you, you almost break my wrist and now everything is roses?!" The woman shouts back.
It might be a low blow blaming him for the wrist, but Byleth is getting pissed. She cannot believe she just spent her whole night worrying about that moron only to now be dismissed like a maid. Her tolerance to servitude had a limit and he blew through all of them.
"I don't need help. I don't need your help." Dimitri mutters and she snorts, finding the idea absolutely ridiculous. "I don't need it. I don't want it, so mind your own business."
The man looks up, angry at her. Blaming her for her very existence.
"Oh, get bent." Byleth shouts and walks out of the room, very aware of the blond staring at her, but convinced to ignore him.