Black Eagles—MaleBylethxLinhardt—Red Wolf Moon (after the Remire Calamity)

The staff meeting dragged on as different people drilled Manuela as to the details of the alleged magical virus that had plagued Remire. No matter how they approached it, though, it seemed all they could confirm were the effects, and the fact that Solon, who had infiltrated under the guise of Tomas, was clearly connected. Of course that was all they knew. After a week of incessant discussion and no new evidence, they weren't going to uncover any groundbreaking realizations. But both Seteth and Alois refused to stop thinking it over, and by the time the meeting was over, the sun had once again given way to darkness.

Part of Byleth wanted immediately to shut himself away for the night. Even so, when he came to rest his hand on the wood of his door, he didn't push it open. Night hadn't quite reached its heart yet. A few people still wandered between shadows in an effort to wrap up their days, and surely, many already in their rooms were still awake.

So Byleth let his hand drop, and started to walk the length of the dorm. When he stopped, he once again paused. Of all the people in the monastery, he would easiest believe Linhardt already asleep. But while the boy slept like a cat, he was also as rigorous as a hound, which lead him to numerous sleepless nights if he were to believe the boy's routine excuses.

The risk was worth taking. He knocked his knuckles lightly against the door.

The other side was quiet. Then, soft...

"Come in."

Linhardt was sitting at his desk, turned at an angle to see the door. His hair was still pulled back, his clothes still the academy uniform. Some of his hair, however, seemed in the process of escaping the white hair tie, and purple bruises hung under weary blue eyes. On the desk in front of him a book laid open, caged in by stacks of other reading material.

Byleth closed the door behind him silently. Linhardt didn't make any of his usual comments. Since he felt it would be intrusive to sit on the bed, which was notably made and unwrinkled, the professor stayed standing conspicuously by the entrance.

"How have you been, Linhardt?"

"Quite busy, Professor," the boy replied. Despite his obvious distraction, his voice lacked the usual vibrance his research brought him. As he spoke, his eyes shifted pointedly to the open book. "Black magic is rather difficult to study. The library lacks sufficient material on it. I'm forced to wonder if Tomas might have smuggled them out, or perhaps it's something the teachers would rather us students not learn."

"If you want to learn black magic, Hubert or Lysithea would be a good source."

"I know, and I have asked both of them. Their explanations were detailed, but Lysithea didn't have an idea as to how black magic could be used to cause an incident like the one in Remire, and Hubert wasn't willing to divulge that much. Have the faculty been able to learn anything yet?"

The professor shook his head, the weight of confirmed suspicion settling in his chest. Linhardt watched quietly as he approached, and crouched down to look up and search his student's eyes. "You're having difficulty dealing with what happened, aren't you?"

The boy rested an arm on the back of his chair and tilted his head, gazing evenly back. Byleth had never seen him so exhausted.

"It's only reasonable. The fight was exhausting. Everyone is confused on how to handle it."

"Everyone else is coming to class like normal. Linhardt, I haven't seen you once this week."

"Like I said, I've been researching black magic, so I've either been in here or in the library."

A pain was grinding away inside Byleth's chest. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt, but somehow, he knew precisely what was causing it.

"Linhardt. Talk to me. Your absence has worried me all week, and now that I've seen you, you look more of a mess than I feared. What happened at Remire was a nightmare, so please, share it with me."

The boy was silent. He stared at Byleth, the man staring back with the patience of a friend instead of a teacher. Weren't they friends? The man was hardly old enough to wield authority over his students, and the two of them had fought at each others' sides now for months. Even when they weren't on the battlefield, they shared meals, and fished, and he spent his free time tutoring Linhardt one on one, sometimes even complying with his research. When Linhardt had a breakthrough, the first person he would go to was Byleth, and the man would always listen intently, and now he was here, ready to listen yet again.

He broke eye contact when he turned his head into his hand, eyes hidden behind his fingers.

Another span of silence.

Then, after a slow breath, his words came quiet and shaken. "Those people...they were sick! They were just ordinary people who happened to fall ill. And instead of helping them, we killed them. I've never liked the blood we spill, but this blood...it feels so filthy!"

A hand rested gently on his knee and the boy went rigid, the touch surfacing what he'd buried in feverish research. The tension caused him to tremble against his will. Byleth pushed to his feet and carefully laid a hand atop the one that had begun to dig into the boy's temples. When the boy was able to shift his head back to look up at his friend, he took his hand and coaxed him over to sit on the bed. Byleth didn't hesitate to sit next to him.

The moment he was reseated the boy put his head in both of his hands. "It's like their ghosts cling onto me. I don't even believe in ghosts, but the feeling is unshakable! And then there was Professor Jeritza, and now Tomas...the people we know are turning into enemies. How many more are there? Is there really any way of knowing? ...Are you one of them?"

"I am not."

A few seconds passed, and Linhardt lifted his head out of his hands. How far into those purple bruises his hazed eyes had fallen.

"Yes...I know you aren't. I'm sorry Professor."

The harsh grind inside Byleth's chest grew sharper, and he reacted without thinking. He wrapped an arm around the boys shoulders and leaned him towards him. Linhardt laid his head compliantly on his shoulder. No tears escaped his eyes, but there wasn't a doubt in Byleth's mind.

The boy was crying.

It was unclear how long the two sat like that. Eventually, the younger of the two gradually slumped against the older, finally asleep. Byleth remained, not wanting to wake him.