A/N: Surprise! I'm back! Wow, it's been a while, but I've finally returned! I love this story too dearly to ever abandon it :)

I hope that you are all doing well, I've missed you! This chapter is a bit of a filler but I hope you enjoy it! Plenty of time with our favorite emotionally-stunted lovebirds :)
As always, sending my love!
xo Ever

The week that passes after the death of Jeralt is a dark one.

It seems even the weather is mourning the Blade Breaker, and as Seteth eats a solitary breakfast in the Dining Hall on the final day of the week, the sky is choked with thick grey clouds, the promise of rain imminent but not yet any more than a threat.

The Golden Deer are restless as they talk quietly at the long Dining Hall tables, exchanging tired looks and checking over their shoulders every few minutes, as if they expect Byleth to walk through the entrance at any minute.

Needless to say, she doesn't.

Seteth goes about his day just like he would any other- breakfast, meetings with the church officials, lunch with Flayn, a walk through the corridor, setting lunch outside Byleth's door with two unanswered knocks.

He's not sure what he expected- her to open the door every day, only for him? That night had been the last time he'd seen her, that night in which he'd held her in his arms and cried for the first time in what felt like years. Her door had remained closed ever since.

Now, he sits in a meeting with Rhea, gazing out the open window and worrying over Byleth just like he always does: worrying if she's eating, worrying if she's sleeping, worrying if she's alright, worrying if she needs him, worrying if she doesn't-

"Seteth? Is everything alright?"

Seteth snaps back to attention at Rhea's lyrical voice, straightening his posture.

"Of course. I'm sorry, my mind was… elsewhere." Seteth doesn't meet Rhea's gaze. Who knows what she must think of him. He has a job, for the Goddess's sake.

"With our Professor, I assume?" This time, Seteth does look up at Rhea, and it takes everything in him to keep his jaw from dropping. "Oh, do not look so taken aback. You have never been one for masking your emotions, and I have known you for a thousand years. Surely you did not expect to hide such a thing from me?"

"I… I do not know what you're talking about." Seteth blanches, a clear indication of his guilt, he's sure, and he's not entirely certain what he has to be guilty about. Love is a distraction, surely, but a one-sided admiration is not a crime. He's certain his feelings are not reciprocated, and if they are, well, then that's a completely different matter.

"Seteth," Rhea says gently, something twinkling in her pale eyes. "You care for her, do you not?"

"I care for all members of the Church." Seteth deliberately looks out the window again, trying to act as nonchalant as possible and miserably failing.

"Do you think me blind, Seteth?" Rhea laughs, the sound like that of a softly falling rain. "I do not think a single person could have seen your dance at the Garreg Mach Ball and not have come to the same conclusions as I have."

Seteth wants to run out of the room, but he takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. This is Rhea, for heaven's sake. He knows her. She knows him. He can't expect to hide this forever.

"I- Yes. I care for her." Seteth shakes his head at the smile on Rhea's face. Why is this so amusing to everybody but him? "I care for her a great deal."

"I thought so. I am seldom wrong, you-" Rhea's even tone is suddenly interrupted by the office door crashing open, the crash accompanied by a squeal of excitement.

To Seteth's absolute horror, his daughter stands in the doorway, her hands clapped over her mouth in surprise.

"I knew it, oh, I knew it!" Flayn tumbles into the office, her eyes alight. "You are in love!"

"Flayn! By the gods, this is hardly- you must-" Seteth can barely speak. Of course the one time he finally confides in someone Flayn has to overhear.

"Father, this is wonderful! And the Professor, of all people- so Claude and Hilda really were right!" Flayn exclaims.

"What do you mean Claude and Hilda? What were they right about?" Seteth's head is spinning. If this gets back to Byleth…

"Oh, nothing, nothing." Flayn waves dismissively and pulls up a chair, the gesture so eager that the chair screeches sharply against the stone floor. "Now, to more important things. We need to talk about how you will win over the Professor, Father. This is a very serious matter."

Seteth puts his head in his hands. What has he done?

The morning of Seteth's birthday dawns like any other. The monastery is silent but for the occasional bird-call, the cool morning fog settling against the gray sky as icy wind begins to curl around the courtyards and corridors of Garreg Mach.

It should have snowed by now, Seteth thinks as he stares out of his bedroom window. It's the Ethereal Moon, after all, and yet the ground is covered with merely a thin layer of frost: not a snowflake in sight. It's sorely disappointing, really, and though he tries to tether his mind in the present, it wanders against his will, traveling back to birthdays spent by the fireplace, wrapped gifts of knitted green mittens, his little family singing him happy birthday.

He doesn't normally acknowledge his birthday at Garreg Mach. He shares the day with the celebration of St. Cichol, and although he and the Saint are one and the same, it sometimes feels like Cichol is constantly casting him in a pitch-dark shadow. He misses the time when he could simply be one with the Saint, when Seteth meant the same thing as Cichol, when he was not so utterly split in two.

"Happy birthday, Brother!"

The shout makes him bristle, and he turns quickly, hoping he doesn't appear too startled. Flayn stands in the doorway, grinning brightly at him, and though it's barely past dawn she's just as chipper as she always is.

"Good morning, Flayn," Seteth says, clearing his throat. Suddenly, he remembers he's wearing nothing but a pair of green pajama pants, and he sighs, sitting down on the edge of his bed to slip on a pair of grey slippers. He may not sleep, but wearing formal attire around his room isn't exactly comfortable. "You really must learn to knock before you enter-"

"I've brought you a surprise!" Flayn chirps, and before Seteth can ask anything more she darts out of the room, chattering excitedly to someone he can't see. What is she doing?

"Flayn? What do you mean?" Seteth stands sharply, one slipper on his foot and the other in his hand, and he's about to stick his head outside the doorway when suddenly Flayn has returned- and she isn't alone.

"I hope this isn't too early. Flayn, are you sure your brother-"

The voice nearly gives Seteth a heart-attack, and he immediately looks around his room for something- anything -he can cover himself with, but it's too late, and when the speaker enters the room he is standing half-naked in those damned pajama pants, his green hair undoubtedly tousled within an inch of its life.

Byleth looks just as embarrassed as he is, and if he wasn't so incredibly flustered he would have acknowledged how cute she looks, blushing from her head to her toes.

"Flayn! Oh, by the Goddess, I'm so sorry, Seteth…" Byleth wrings her hands desperately, looking around the room for a way to escape, but she's just frozen in place, looking everywhere except Seteth's very large and very bare chest. "Flayn, she- she told me you always wake up early on your birthday, and I'm always up early, and so I thought I might- I have to speak with you, anyway, and I thought, well, I might as well…" She puts a hand to her forehead in frustration, and Seteth knows he should say something, but dear Goddess, he very well might die from humiliation before he does.

"Flayn. Out." Seteth points to the door, choking out the words as best he can, and Flayn, to her credit, obeys his instruction, giggling all the way down the hall. "Miss Eisner, as usual, I cannot apologize enough for my sister's actions." Swiftly, he moves to his closet and pulls on the first thing he sees: a loose white shirt that looks far too knight-like and not very saint-like at all.

"It's not a problem, Seteth, really, I'm the one who completely intruded on-" she starts to gesture to his attire (or lack thereof) but only ends up blushing furiously. "You have my sincere apologies."

"I think…" Seteth sighs, sinking down onto the edge of his bed and running a hand through his hair. The gesture is uncharacteristic, he knows, but at this point he's fairly certain they're past professionalism. "I think we should stop apologizing to each other. It seems it's all we do these days." He means the words as a joke, but Byleth doesn't laugh, and he wonders if he's offended her. There's a beat of silence before Seteth looks up to see Byleth handing him something- a box, wrapped in emerald green paper with a little golden bow.

"No more apologies. I whole-heartedly agree," Byleth says, and he thinks he sees a smile dancing across her lips. Gods, he's missed that smile. "In any case, while I'm here… For you. Happy birthday, Seteth."

Slowly, Seteth takes the gift, too stunned to say much of anything. He just holds it in his hands, staring at it, turning it round and round in his fingers. She got him a gift. A gift.

"It's green, see, because…" Byleth blushes again. "Because of your hair."

Seteth bursts out in a laugh before he can stop himself, and he sees her eyes widen with surprise as he does so. Gingerly, he begins to unwrap the box, removing the emerald paper as carefully as he can and slowly opening the lid of the little brown box. He can barely make out its contents, but his hand closes around something small and cold and brittle.

Cautiously, he takes out the brittle-thing and can't hide his smile once he realizes what it is.

On top of his palm rests a teacup adorned with little pink flowers, the very same cup he had given Byleth that first time he'd visited her room. And inside the cup, something more- He takes it out, his breath catching in his throat as he does so. It's a lance spear-head, sharp and long and gleaming in the morning light, and the shape of it is so intricate and twisting he does not at first realize what it is until he does, and then he nearly stops breathing. A star.

"I had the blacksmith help me with it. I thought of it that night, at the Goddess Tower, when we were looking up at the stars and you said- well, I thought you might like it." Byleth looks hesitantly at him, like she's worried it might not be enough, and Seteth's heart feels full for the first time in what feels like years.

"Miss Eisner- Byleth. It's- it's perfect." Seteth looks up at her, his hands shaking slightly as he sets the gift down next to him. "Thank you. Truly."

"Of course," Byleth says, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and Seteth realizes what an awful host he's been.

"Where are my manners? I'm sorry. Please, sit." Seteth reaches over to the desk and pulls out a chair for her to sit on, and she laughs, taking a seat.

"No more apologies, remember?" Byleth winks at him- really, she winks -and Seteth has to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep the butterflies in his stomach from overpowering him completely.

"Right, right. Of course." Seteth sighs, settling back down on the edge of his bed.

"How- how are you?" He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he folds them across his chest and hopes the gesture doesn't look menacing. "It is so good to see you again. Outside."

"I'm doing better," Byleth says quietly. "It… hasn't been easy, but I thought I'd been gone long enough."

"I missed you. That is- we all did." Seteth doesn't even try to take the words back. His tongue seems to become quite loose whenever Byleth is near.

"I've missed everyone as well." Byleth pauses for a moment, her brow furrowed. Seteth feels like she's aged, somehow, since that tear-filled night. "I need to thank you. Don't try to refuse it, please, I- What you did, that night, well… I needed it. I needed a reason to fight."

"Have you found one?" Seteth doesn't know if this is an insensitive question, but he asks it anyway, if only to keep himself from telling her that 'no thanks are necessary.'

"Yes," Byleth says. She doesn't elaborate, and Seteth half-expects her to add it's not you, by the way. In case you were wondering.

"Well, I'm glad. If you ever need anything, you know I am at your service." Seteth doesn't know how he should go about this. Surely they cannot return to their normal, cordial relationship? Not after the dance and the tower and after holding her in his arms for hours on end? "I should let you get back to work, I'm sure you have plenty to catch up on."

"Seteth- can I ask you something?" Byleth's tone is serious, and it makes him stop, his heartbeat skipping.

"Anything." That's too desperate, you idiot.

Byleth swallows hard, as if she's preparing herself to say something she really does not want to. "I know that Rhea has sent out knights to round up Solon and his lackeys."

"What?" Seteth stands abruptly, nearly knocking a stray chair over. This is not at all what he was expecting. How can she know this? "I am… I thought…"

"I'm not angry. I understand your position. You feel that I will run headfirst into revenge." At these words, Byleth looks up at Seteth, her gaze imploring. "But I assure you, Seteth, I am more than prepared to lead my students in this mission. It would be irresponsible for you to leave the monastery, and I am in the best position to lead this fight."

"I- No, Byleth." Seteth just stares at her, the words barely registering in his head. "I can't allow you to endanger your life. Those men… I am certain the only reason they revealed their location in the first place was to lure you out there. The power you possess… For some reason, they are intent on killing you."

"Seteth, please." Byleth stands now, too, her gaze cold and stoic, and Seteth is vaguely aware that the two of them are now doing something like… fighting? Is this really their first clash? "I am not a damsel that needs protecting! The knights are far from Solon's whereabouts as it is, and we need to respond as soon as possible."

"You are powerful, yes, as are your students, but think of the cost! Think of the power Solon and his men hold." Seteth wrings his hands hopelessly. Why doesn't she understand? "They are there for you. To kill you. I am certain they have your death planned to a tee."

"And what if they do? I can defeat them. I can do it." Byleth is desperate, and Seteth throws up his hands.

"Even if you do not believe your motives are fueled by revenge, I can't allow you to put yourself in a position without the required backup."

"I wield the Sword of the Creator, Seteth! I hardly require-"

"For the Goddess's sake, Byleth, I have already lost my wife, and I cannot lose you too!"

There. There it is. What Seteth has been holding back for months now.

He stares at her, unable to speak, to move, to do anything other than watch her emotions shift from anger to shock to sadness to something… something even he cannot name.

"I-" He stutters. He is always stuttering around her, but it's different now, less of a dream and more of reality. Saying it makes it real, and now there is no going back. Now there is only forward, and Seteth is not sure he wants to go that way at all.

Things are easier when they are only in his head. Now, they are in Byleth's too.

"I'm sorry."

That's all that leaves his lips, carried on a voice that doesn't even sound like his own. He feels… hollow.

Seteth doesn't even look at Byleth when he pushes past her to the hallway, leaving her standing alone in the center of his bedroom, of all places. He's still in those damned pajamas but he finds he's past the point of caring, and when he realizes he has the teacup still clutched in his fingers, something breaks inside of him.

Not knowing why or how or what the hell possesses him to do so, Seteth sinks to his knees in the dark corner of the hallway, something pricking at the corner of his eyes. No, not something- tears. Seteth is crying.

It's like a wall has broken inside him, shaken just enough to send the whole thing crashing down. He's ruined this relationship with Byleth, this little push-and-pull, this mess they've found themselves in, and god, what was he thinking bringing up Flayn's mother like that?

"Seteth."

There's a shift of fabric-against-leather and suddenly a hand reaches out to touch his shoulder, the feeling the same one he'd experienced merely weeks before, only then it had been on a dance floor and not crumpled in a hallway.

"Look at me."

Slowly, Seteth raises his chin, more surprised than anything, and looks into Byleth's eyes, who is- smiling? Before he can think more on this expression, she reaches out and touches his cheek, her touch cool and gentle, and he simply melts.

"I have never been very good at comforting others, but desperate times call for desperate measures," she says, her voice soft and lilting. "We said no more apologies, didn't we?"

"We- we did," Seteth says breathlessly, hyper-focusing on her fingertips as her ring finger shifts slightly against his jawline.

"Then I won't apologize for my outburst, or for raising my voice at you." She sighs, turning her gaze to the floor for a moment. "But I am sorry about your wife. She was who you were visiting that day, wasn't she? In the graveyard?"

"Yes," Seteth says, his heart thundering.

"She was a lucky woman." Byleth says each word carefully, like she's choosing them carefully out of a hundred others. "I'm certain she loved you very much."

"Yes," Seteth says again. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I understand now what it is to lose someone, and I know what you must feel, when you see Flayn march off to battle with no one but me and the Deer to protect her." Byleth's gaze hardens, growing more serious. "But you must know that I will never let any harm come to her or to myself. You will not lose me, Seteth."

"I-" he begins, but no more words come.

"For you are my reason, Seteth. You are my reason to fight, to remember and to move on."

There are no words left to say, and in that moment, the last fragments of Seteth's walls crumble away, and everything finally becomes what it always will be.

He places his hand over Byleth's smaller one and tilts his chin higher, closing the distance between them and guides her lips to his own.

Seteth can sense her surprise, but she doesn't back away, and instead, deepens the kiss, falling rather ungracefully into Seteth's lap. He slips an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and she puts her own around his neck, one hand curled around the neckline of his shirt and the other tangled in his emerald curls.

It is summer and snow and peace and war all at once, and Seteth's world implodes. Her lips are soft and cool against his flushed skin, the taste of vanilla and ginger tea sweet on his tongue. He could breathe her in forever.

When Byleth finally pulls away, it is too soon, and when he looks up at her she is smiling wider than he's ever seen her do so before, his tears shining on her cheeks from where their faces had touched seconds before.

Suddenly, something catches his eye behind her, and he stands, moving to the open archway on one side of the corridor, and when he realizes what it is his grin only widens.

Snowflakes, little flurries of soft white crystal, flutter through the air, landing on the barren trees, the benches, the cobblestone ground in a sheet of frost.

"Byleth!" He manages, and she is at his side with inhuman speed, reaching a slender hand out under the archway to catch the snow, flakes melting on her fingertips.

"Beautiful," she breathes, and Seteth watches the way her eyes have lit up at the sight, the blush on her cheeks matching her equally pink lips. "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful," Seteth says before he can stop himself, and Byleth turns to him, that brilliant look in her eyes. By the Goddess, she is the sun. It's no wonder all of Garreg Mach seems to revolve around her.

Then Byleth is kissing him again and he forgets all of it: his worries, his doubts- everything is this moment, this here and now.

"Happy birthday, Seteth. I like your pajamas."

By the Goddess, this has to be the best birthday he's ever had.