I have five years to live.
The secret is out, spoken and aired into the world around them and she cannot take it back. She can't erase it from his memory even if she wanted to. Even if she tries to laugh it off as a joke, to pass it off as a test to see if he's still as gullible and naive as she believed him to be in the Academy (he's a better actor than she anticipated, she had no inkling that he had been planning his own death the entire duration of their time in Garreg Mach.) and leave it at that, he'll still know there's a possibility she'd told him the truth.
When had the truth become so difficult to tell?
Not even Hubert knew how little time she had left; if he had, this war would have escalated ten times over and she may not have had this opportunity. He may have even canceled the entire war, or placed it on hold, in favor of pursuing a path that would result in her living longer than the allotted time she had. Her retainer was nothing if unwaveringly dedicated to seeing her accomplish her dreams and goals without fail, and no matter what the cost- unless it was her life. That, while he understood and begrudgingly accepted the risk, was still unacceptable and to be avoided at all costs.
Why had she told Dimitri, of all people? The Professor was an infinitely better option, as was Claude. The two of them were resourceful, practical-minded people who would understand where the priority truly lay- the ending of the war, for starters, and a second war against the bastards who had experimented on Lysithea and herself- and then… whatever could be salvaged after that. She didn't have any true ideas that she could come up with other than implementing as many reforms as she possibly could before hopefully finding a place to live her final days in peace and reflection.
Dimitri had no resources of use to her. He had no inkling of those who skulked about in the shadows and aided in the slaughter of his family and friends in Duscur. He could be pragmatic at times, had the potential to be a fair and just ruler of his people if he could tame that bloodthirst of his, and had a bleeding heart for the vulnerable and the weak. He'd always been soft in ways she had not been allowed to be. He'd been gentle and even meek back then. Unsure of himself. All this time, Dimitri has been wearing as much of a mask as she had for years on end and she was still angry at herself for missing what should have been so clear to her.
Dimitri also wasn't saying a single damned thing and it took every ounce of self-control not to turn around and just shake him until he said something. She'd just revealed her greatest burden and secret and he was just silent like it cost her nothing to admit.
She turns her head to glare at him. She's going to let him have it, Edelgard decides, and scold him for wasting what precious years he has at his disposal in search of revenge on her and others when he could be happy and live a long, fulfilling life with family and friends and…
He's looking at her with an understanding that sends her shoulders hunching up about her ears. That lone eye of his almost resembles the Professor's gaze in the way he's able to just look straight through her. It's making her weak and nauseous. It's making her want to cry and she told herself she would never cry again- the night before did not count and no one else saw her do so. If they told her otherwise, she would challenge them to prove it.
"What?" She's defensive because there's something in his eyes that she doesn't like and threatens to turn everything she's been working into wasted effort.
He tears his gaze away from her as he responds. "It answers many of the questions I had; about why you said you never 'had the time' for small matters, why you kept yourself busy at all hours of the day and evening, why you never seemed to be at ease, and why you looked upon the rest of us with envy."
He noticed far more than she anticipated. Edelgard isn't sure how to feel about that and just watches him. Dimitri was not known for subtlety and tact in several matters, but for him to have noticed so much, for him to put the pieces together the way he had, and the way his mouth tightened as he waited for her to say something... she really does like his mouth, now that she looks closer. What she saw of his hands the night before had also caught her attention and she's more than a little sorry he has his gauntlets on. Who would have thought the same noble she'd had such a crush on, the one she'd called her first love, had been him all along?
Edelgard's sick of the direction her thoughts continue turning.
Now is not the time to be drawn in by physical features or base urges; there's a bedamned war out there that she's started, that they're still fighting, and she shouldn't be studying the line of his jaw or the way his hair looks in the afternoon light. She shouldn't be committing the shape and size of his hands to memory and mentally comparing them to Byleth's, to Claude's, and her own and wondering what they'd look like if she placed them palm to palm.
She shouldn't be wondering what he looks like with his hair pulled away from his face.
But then again, absolutely nothing about the last twenty-four hours has gone according to plan or direction she had ever dreamed of. There is no control she can seize, no charted course that she can follow and plan ahead for in order to come out the victor. She is directionless and lost in a sea of chaos. There is no port in this storm, no visible lighthouse or anchor she can find and all she wants is to, even for a moment, just feel as though she is firmly tethered in reality. Like she truly does exist as someone more than just the Emperor.
But he has been her enemy all this time. She's tried to have him killed on more than one occasion, to remove him from this world in order to further her own desires. He has no reason to trust her and even less reason to even consider…
There's warm amusement in his chuckling and she startles out of her reverie at the sound. Dimitri's watching her with chin in hand and her face heats beneath his stare. "You have the same look Felix used to get whenever he wanted something but couldn't bring himself to ask."
She could reach out and hit him. It wouldn't do a damned bit of good given the man's strength and armor, but it would certainly make her feel better. "I don't know what you're talking about." She denies immediately.
"If you say so." The smug bastard replies just to piss her off.
"I do." She counters firmly, allowing just a hint of warning in her tone for him to drop it or else.
It takes her about ten minutes to figure out an excuse believable enough to sate her own stupid need to touch him and it's about, of all things, an eyelash on his cheek. The look he gave her when she tells him it's irritating her is the sort of long-suffering 'really?' she's given many a time and she congratulated herself on managing to keep a serious face and not let her cheeks redden. It's a piss-poor excuse and she knows it, but it's her story and by all that was sacred in this unholy land ruled by tyrannical church members and their long hated enemies? She was sticking to it.
Whether he believes her or is playing along to indulge her for the time being matters little to Edelgard, and she seizes the opportunity with both hands- literally and figuratively- to ground herself using him as her anchor.
She removes the eye patch first. Once again, she sees the scar left behind and the slightly paler blue color compared to the uninjured one. One of her hands hovers over the area, thumb swiping away the nonexistent lash she spotted. His expression is more neutral than she would have liked, but he's not avoiding her. He's not leaning or smacking her away from him.
Edelgard risks it and lets her palms settle against either side of his face. His skin is a little dry and rough, especially around the cheekbones, from the dry winter air and his hair is coarser than she imagined it would be when she smoothes it out of his face. She's not ever going to tell him she thought about what his hair and skin might feel like. It's as though her hands have a life of their own and she's surprised at just how much of a difference his hair being pulled back is versus left to its current unkempt state.
She's mildly horrified at just how much she likes touching him.
It's then she realizes how close she's leaned in and the way his attention is firmly fixed on her face. She wants to ask him what he's looking at, why he's looking at her like that, and is afraid to even try opening her mouth in fear of what might come out. She worries he'll claim it as her final question and she's not willing to risk that one precious thing for all of the other questions she has in that moment. The movement to one side catches her attention. His hand reaches up and brushes a loose lock of white hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. His eyes slide away from whatever he was studying on her face and meet her own. They hold each other's gaze for far too long and, as though drawn in by one another's gravity, lean forward to close the distance between them.
She should stop. He should stop. This wasn't right, this was absolutely beyond the pale and should be stopped before they go too far and cross too many lines they can't take back. She wets her lips with her tongue. She lowers her lashes and turns her head just a little to one side to make it a little easier.
Maybe just this one indulgence...
"Huh, looks like Teach and I worried over nothing. Maybe we should come back a little later, say an hour or two?"
Edelgard and Dimitri are on the opposite sides of the room in a matter of seconds at the sound of Claude's voice and refuse to look at one another.