Byleth Eisner was bored, uncomfortable, and really wishing he was out fishing right about now.
He could barely hear his own thoughts. The loud music thumped throughout the house, pulsing through the living room that had doubled as the dance floor for the evening. It was a nice place, admittedly, even if it was a bit hard to tell with the only lights provided being flashing multi-colored strobes. Plenty of space for a party.
And was it ever being put to use. The entire house was stuffed with people, a majority of whom Byleth had never seen before. Some he recognized around campus, but no one he could walk up to and chat with readily.
Some kickback. The term generally denoted something more... lowkey. This was a full-on function. Leave it to Sylvain to twist the meaning of something and trick him.
He spared a glance to the bathroom line, which didn't look to be shortening. Fantastic. The urge didn't exist now, but he imagined it wouldn't be long before the seal needed to be popped. His night was already miserable enough.
The same could not be said for his friend, who stumbled to him with a drink in one hand and a very drunk girl in another. "Yooo, Byleth!" He greeted above the music.
Byleth sighed. "Hey, Sylvain."
"Wuzzat?"
"I said hey, Sylvain."
"Ah whatever, I'm just gonna assume you said hey." Sylvain grinned, very much not sober. "How's the party? Havin' fun?"
Not particularly. He wouldn't upset the person who had invited him out of some attempt at kindness, however. "Sure."
"Huh? Lil' louder, man."
"I said sure."
"Guessin' you said yes, so I'll just say that I'm happy for y—" he hiccuped, nearly spilling his drink. "You! Gooo Byleth!"
He'd never actually seen Sylvain drunk before. A little tipsy, sure, but never plastered. For whatever reason, this current display didn't surprise him much.
His inebriated friend gestured to the girl around his arm. "Byleth, I'd like you to meet my good pal and sexy gal friend, Hilda Valentine Goner—Hilda Valentine Gonn—" He gave the girl a look. "How's your name go again?"
"You're impossible," the girl laughed. "Guess!"
"Hilda Valentine... Gonorrhea?"
"Oh my god!" Another laugh. "That's, like, a sex virus!" She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. "You probably gave that to me, you manwhore!"
"I may be a slut, but I am clean," Sylvain clarified. "Byleth, this is my friend, Hilda. She put this this whooole thing together."
Hilda extended a dainty hand, which Byleth carefully shook. "Very nice to meet you." Hilda grinned, chirping gleefully. "You too!"
She very much looked the part of a popular girl. Flashy outfit, acrylics, makeup, the whole shebang. The pink hair was definitely... a choice. Unless it was natural, which he wouldn't judge.
"I've heard plenty about you," Hilda leaned further on Sylvain to get a better look at Byleth. She might have only done it to hear him over the music, but he nevertheless did not appreciate the invasion of personal space. "Thanks for keepin' this whore in line. Good to know he's gotta friend like you."
Insult to Sylvain's character aside, that was nice of her to say. "Thank you."
"Also heard you gotta really hot sister."
And there it was. Byleth shot a glare to Sylvain, who quickly shook his head in denial. He hadn't told her about his sister, even in his drunken stupor.
"So, like... is it true?" Hilda leaned in and asked, like it was some big secret. "Is Byleth Eisner really your sister?"
Was it not obvious? They literally had the same name. He liked to think they looked somewhat similar, too, being twins and all. Byleth didn't believe being shitfaced was enough of an excuse to not connect the dots, but he'd been proven wrong. "Yes, we are."
Hilda gasped. "Oh, wow! That's crazy! I never knew!" Apparently. "What's that like?"
"Having a sister?"
"Having a babe as your sister!"
This conversation was quickly getting uncomfortable. "I mean... she's my sister. She's an adult—she can do whatever she wants. I don't think too much about it." Which was the truth. What kind of brother sat around thinking about his sister's love life?
"Makes sense. Would be, like, really weird if you did think about it a lot." She gave him a congratulatory thumbs-up. "'Grats on not bein' a creep!"
How nice. "Thanks."
Hilda gave him an obvious once-over. "Yaknow, now that I look at you, I do kinda see a resemblance. You're not so bad lookin' yourself, mister brother man."
At least she thought so. What Sylvain had ended up stuffing him in for the evening could have constituted cruel and unusual punishment. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned near the top, a design choice that left him feeling far too exposed below the collarbone. It was the opposite problem down below—the tight pants pressed against his legs felt like they'd rip if he so much as stretched a little.
Sylvain donned a shit-eating grin. No doubt he'd rub that compliment in his face later. Asshole.
He'd been just about ready to excuse himself and find another wall to hug before Hilda leaned in even closer. "So, like, weird question but... do you hear it?"
Byleth's eyes narrowed. "Hear what?"
"You know... your sister. When she's doin' it, and all."
He actually felt his jaw open slightly in shock. She did not just ask him that. "Excuse me?" Sylvain, pushing past his drunken haze, looked more than a little off-put by the question. "Woooah, Hilda, let's not do that."
"Just curious!" Hilda tried to explain. "I mean, she's hot, yeah? She's gotta be having some people over." She giggled, with a tipsy snort mixed in. "So, like, do you have headphones?"
For the first time that night, Sylvain wasn't smiling. "Okay, that's enough. Let's go and leave him alone, Hilda." As he began the process of dragging the babbling girl away, Sylvain bowed his head. "Really sorry about her. I promise she's just drunk, she doesn't mean it." One more apology, and Byleth was alone again.
Well, if he hadn't been miserable before that exchange, he definitely was now. The very last thing he ever wanted to imagine, in any context or setting, was his sister doing... that. Not to imply that she was like that at all, but the mere thought was enough to make his stomach churn.
His frown deepened. This whole thing had been a mistake. He should have never given in to Sylvain, even if he did invite him with good intentions. This outing had ended up the same as it always did, and he was an idiot for expecting it to be different.
Even in a room full of mostly strangers, he couldn't escape his sister. Or the things people imagined she did.
That thought was cue enough to leave. He hadn't drank much, so he was good enough to walk home alone. Downing the rest of his cheap, shitty beer, Byleth tossed the can, made sure he had his belongings, and shuffled his way back to the entrance.
He bumped into someone who apparently had the same idea. Pissed and upset as he was, he wasn't going to take it out on random strangers. "Sorry," he muttered.
"No, I'm sorry," a voice answered. A female voice. One that Byleth thought he recognized.
He turned to the figure, and his eyes widened. She had laid eyes on him first, and seemed just as surprised as he was. "Byleth?" It might have been the very last person he expected to see at a place like this.
"Marianne?"
"I'm sorry to trouble you," the girl apologized again, hands nervously fiddling before her. "Please don't feel obligated to walk me all the way home. I, um, wouldn't want to bother you."
"It's nothing," Byleth quickly dismissed. "You're not too far, and I've got nothing else going on."
"Oh... if you're sure," her voice was still hesitant, but she seemed somewhat comfortable. That was a relief.
Marianne von Edmund. A good friend, he'd willingly admit. Animal lover, fellow book club member, and quite possibly the nicest person he had ever met. Modest and humble, in his eyes—though, a more objective term might have been exceedingly introverted. Not that he thought it was a flaw.
They'd met not too long after their first year. Given Sylvain's boisterous presence and Lysithea's combative nature, Marianne's gentle company was very much welcomed. They had hit it off almost instantly—which for her had been a rarity, as he came to know more about her shy reluctance to meet new people.
Nevertheless, Marianne was a soothing presence, an attentive listener, and a great friend. Which made him wonder why she had been at a scene like that.
He was about to ask her that very question, before she made to speak in that same moment. "I—"
"What—"
Byleth relented. "Sorry. You first." Marianne looked ready to argue, before thinking twice. She took a moment to gather herself, eyes flickering multiple directions. He wouldn't rush her into speaking—Byleth found the best approach when it came to Marianne was being open and patient.
"I-I was just... curious, I suppose," her voice dropped slightly. "I... didn't expect to see you at Hilda's tonight."
"I could say the same thing about you."
"P-please don't misunderstand!" Marianne suddenly turned to him, a tad frantic. "I-I, um, you see, Hilda's my... friend, and she wanted me to come tonight. I wasn't really up for it, but she insisted, and well..."
Ah. It seemed they were both victims. Beyond that, however... "You know Hilda?"
Marianne twirled a strand of blue hair. "It is a bit strange, isn't it? I didn't believe we would get along that well, and we don't particularly make a ton of time to hang out, but even so... she's someone I could call a friend."
She smiled softly. "She's overbearing, but she means well. Most of the time, anyway."
"Most of the time," Byleth repeated to himself, voice slightly lower. Marianne quickly picked up on the implication. "Oh no, did she do anything? I'm so sorry, I promise I'll talk to her, please don't hate her!"
Hate was a strong word, and Byleth wasn't the type to lose himself to anger over the words of some drunk teenager. Unsettling as her comments were, he'd rather forget about them as soon as possible than hold any kind of longstanding grudge. "It's fine." Marianne sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. I promise I'll have her apologize. Thanks for being so understanding, Byleth."
She returned to their previous line of conversation. "In any case, now you know. I did try declining, but Hilda wouldn't have it. She's been trying to get me to party with her for a while, and I'd run out of excuses. So... here I am." Her face fell slightly. "Or, there I was, anyway."
"I take it you didn't have the best time?"
"... not at all," Marianne admitted. "It's so loud, and stuffy, and hot, and I'm not into drinking or smoking..." her shoulders slumped. "I just stood around. I didn't even talk to anybody..."
Almost an exact copy of his evening to that point. He wondered how he had missed her, despite the tight quarters. Byleth considered himself at least decent at picking his friends out from a crowd.
Marianne didn't even look that different from how she usually was. Her long, blue hair was done up in her familiar braid. Her clothing usually revealed very little, even in warmer temperatures, and that code hadn't been broken tonight—a lowkey, buttoned-up cardigan sweater with a small floral design, and a long navy skirt that reached her ankles. It was a wonder how she had even managed to maneuver through the crowd in that kind of clothing, but that was the commitment Marianne had to her choice of attire.
He was tempted to compliment her as a nice gesture, but quickly thought better of it. He didn't want to come off as a creep, especially not when she trusted him enough to escort her home. She'd probably seen enough stares from people at the party anyway.
"Sounds like we both had it rough," Byleth grunted. Marianne gave him a curious look, prompting him to explain his own circumstances that led him to attending. Marianne listened with rapt attention, apparently startled by how similar their stories were.
"And Sylvain forced me to wear this torture device," Byleth complained, gesturing to his own outfit. "I can barely bend over in these things." Marianne seemed far more at ease, knowing that they had both been unwilling participants. She smiled, offering her condolences. "That does look very uncomfortable."
"You're telling me. I don't know how I'm gonna get these off of me when I get home."
"If it's any consolation, I don't think you look too bad."
Sweet of her, but it didn't make the chafing along his legs any more pleasant. "Remember how I look now, because I'm never wearing this garbage again."
"I'll admit, sweatpants and fishing shirts suit you far better."
Byleth feigned a hurt look. "And now you're making fun of how I dress. I didn't think tonight could get any worse."
"Oh stop it, I would never," Marianne rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "I only mean to say that I prefer your usual style more than... the torture device, as you put it."
"At least you think so," Byleth took comfort in the compliment. After hearing that, he had even less of a reason to not wear his usual choice in clothing around town. It simply took a cultured eye to appreciate the attire.
They'd arrived at Marianne's—a modest, quaint apartment, for her and her dad. Marianne bowed politely. "Thanks again, Byleth. You're a lifesaver."
"It's nothing," he reassured. "Thanks for keeping me company." Marianne smiled softly. "The pleasure's mine."
She stood there a moment, quiet. Byleth didn't want to linger in the silence (or suffer through his pants any longer than he had to), so he took it as a cue to leave. "I'll see you around. Goodnight."
"U-um, Byleth?"
He stopped. Turning, he faced Marianne again, the girl fidgeting slightly. Not too uncommon for her. She must have been cold. She took a breath, and spoke again. "We should... hang out soon."
From anyone else, the request would have come across as regular and casual. However, Byleth knew the type of person Marianne was. He was fully aware how much of a struggle it was for her to communicate her thoughts clearly, and how rare it was for her to spend her time with someone else. Not for someone who treasured their time alone like her.
For Marianne to go out of her way to invite him for an outing, it must have taken a reserve of courage he didn't know she had mustered that evening. Had she been working up the nerve during their trek back? Byleth hadn't noticed at all.
And yet, who was he to deny her? They were friends, after all. "Sure," he smiled back. "You've got my number. I'm down whenever." He wouldn't go as far in flattering himself as to say that her face lit up, but she seemed pleased by his answer. Her smile grew, and her eyes flickered between him and the ground. "Thank you, Byleth. I'll... I'll let you know when."
"Oh," Byleth quickly made to clarify. "But no more parties." Marianne actually managed a laugh—a big accomplishment for Byleth, in his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it, after tonight. Something lowkey is much more our thing."
Their thing. That sounded nice. "Sounds good. I'd like that."
Marianne unlocked her door, retreating within her apartment. "Goodnight, Byleth." He waved her off, and the door quietly shut behind her. His task completed, Byleth made his way back down, opting to take the stairs.
Marianne was nice. A great friend, too. It had been some kind of luck that he'd ran into her when he did. He'd have felt bad, letting her walk back home on her own. A quiet girl like her, graceful and kind. Modest and sweet, with an alluring beauty that even she didn't seem to—
He quickly stopped that train of thought. She was his friend, and that was it. She was still learning her way around her own friendships, and the many changes in her life. She hardly had the time or energy for a relationship. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking her kindness was any kind of romantic pass at him, anyway. That would be the peak of arrogance, and he wouldn't ruin his friendship with her over a shot in the dark.
Besides, romance was a thing reserved for his sister. The past week or so had driven that point home pretty clearly.
He massaged his face, allowing himself a sigh. Maybe he'd had too much to drink. He didn't think a few beers would be enough to do him in like that, but stranger things had happened.
He needed a distraction, and he knew just the thing. He whipped out his phone, turned it on, and tapped on the first contact that came up. A quick dial later, and a voice answered. "Well, well, well."
"Hey, Lys," he greeted. He could feel the smug aura from where he stood. "That gaming offer still on the table?"
"I take that to mean the kickback sucked?"
"Would I be calling you if it didn't?"
"I won't say I told you so, but... I definitely did tell you so."
"Can I come over or not?"
"Only if you admit I was right."
Byleth sighed. Smug brat. "You were right."
"Who was right?"
"You, Lysithea von Ordelia, Queen of All That Works To Ruin My Life, were right about the kickback sucking."
"I'm more fond of the title of High Priestess. Queen's too generic."
"I'm hanging up."
"Okay, okay," Lysithea finally relented. "I was just about to pop in some Smash and lab a little bit, but I'm willing to generously spend some of my valuable time kicking your ass. For the practice."
Those were fighting words. "You're on, runt. Give me thirty."
"Thirty? What, need to give yourself a pep talk?"
"No, I need to change, and make sure my legs are still attached to my body."
"Do I want to know?"
Byleth Eisner readjusted his pants for the millionth time that night. "No, you do not."
