Archive of Our Own

“...and then he tried to say that it was an accident , like he didn’t have my hair wrapped around his fingers when I shoved him away, can you believe that?”

It had become a routine of theirs to meet a few times a week over tea to discuss some of the more mundane aspects of the war efforts that Claude had trusted Hilda to oversee; the state of rations, progress on reconstruction of the monastery, soldier and staff morale—important tasks, but not ones that necessitated the use of the suffocating privacy of the council room.  Usually Claude ended up hosting Hilda in his own room, but if the weather was nice enough they would venture out into the courtyard for some fresh air—which is now where they sat for their meeting-turned-gossip-session.

Hilda flipped a strand of her hair back over her shoulder with dramatic flair, huffing an overly frustrated breath as she ended her venting with a shake of her head. “Men are so obvious. They see a girl and it’s like their brain turns to mush or something.”

Claude gives a sage nod of his head, using his teacup to school his expression from breaking out into a smirk as he takes a well-timed sip. “I’m sure the flower of House Goneril has had extensive training in batting away such would-be-suitors with an axe, eh?”

She rolls her eyes at him, leaning forward and propping her chin up on her hands. “Full-offense, Claude—but you men make it near impossible to hold up a friendship without making it weird.”

A mask of false-solemnity shifts his features, Claude holding his free hand over his heart as he sniffs, “My heart may be able to survive the offense, but don’t let poor Ignatz hear you talking like that. I know he just invited our dear Marianne out a few nights ago to view the sunset as he painted, and it would break his spirit to hear you acting as if he had unsavory motives in doing so.”

There’s an unladylike snort from Hilda, waving her hand at him. “See Claude, even that hardly counts—we all know Ignatz had a crush on Marianne during our academy days! He may not even know it, but somewhere you know he’s still holding onto that hope.”

Claude raises a brow at that. He conveniently keeps the knowledge that he had overheard a conversation frayed with much more obvious tension between Ignatz and Flayn that reduces the odds of him holding onto an old flame for Marianne being true. Instead he supplies “So,” a pause to gesture between them, “what about this then?”

“This?” Hilda’s brows shoot up before she laughs , trying to stifle a snort in a fist—and a part of Claude feels like he should be offended. “You’re weird enough as it is! Besides, you still saddle me with plenty of work, so every conversation is you wanting something from me, even if it isn’t weirdly sexual.”

“Are you telling me you haven’t noticed my salacious bedroom eyes over our tea and masonry talk after all this time?”

Claude barely ducks in time to avoid the spoon Hilda chucks at his head, but it does nothing to wipe the grin off his face. He only straightens when Hilda moves to inspect her nails and her hands are safely away from more cutlery. “Seriously though. I don’t think you’re entirely wrong, but that doesn’t mean a man and a woman are incapable of having a productive friendship without ulterior motives underlying all their actions.”

“I guess you could be right…” Hilda finally relents with a sigh, leaning forward into her hands again. “But it doesn’t mean you guys don’t make it extra complicated all the time. It’s not like I have to set all these boundaries with all of my girl friends—they don’t get all weird about it if I ask them to cuddle with me or something.”

A grin that Claude has no hope in hiding starts to turn his lips, a no-good twinkle in his eye as he starts to slowly rise from his seat. “Oh? Are you saying I couldn’t cuddle you and resist your womanly wiles because I’m a man?”

Hilda blinks up at him, blindsided for a moment as Claude stalks around the table like a cat to a mouse—but his intentions catch up to her soon enough, and the legs of her chair screech against the stone as she tries to shoot out of her chair with a “ don’t you dare, Claude—”

Unfortunately for Hilda, her attempt to flee only gives Claude the opening he needs to pounce. He nearly jumps the full distance between them to land solidly in her lap, Hilda unwillingly cradling him in her arms. She lets out a loud groan when Claude wraps his arms around his neck, fluttering his lashes up at her.

“What’s the matter? Seems to me like you were asking for a cuddle from your good ol’ pal Claude—and being the gentleman I am, I put aside my base male instincts to provide!”

Hilda groans again, looking up to the heavens as Claude makes no move to hide his snickering. “Ugh, you are so annoying when you’re trying to make a point!”

“What point is it now?”

Both Claude and Hilda’s head whip toward the new voice, the former’s grin only growing wider as the latter powers up her pout.

“ Professor ,” Hilda draws out the name with a whine, trying to wiggle her way out of Claude’s hold, “Claude is being weird again!”

The eyebrow that Byleth raises his way only makes Claude wink, soaking up her thinly veiled exasperation. “That’s not true at all, Teach! Hilda here was just talking about how it’s so hard to find a good cuddle partner, and being the gracious friend I am I offered to help—”

His words are cut off in a yelp as Hilda stands, easily dumping him from her lap and onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. Claude hisses as he rubs his bruised back, but Hilda is unmoved, flipping her hair behind her shoulder once again as he steps over his body to give Byleth a pat on the shoulder.

“Good luck with him, Professor! I think it’s time for me to find someone way less infuriating to talk to.” Hilda doesn’t look back as she saunters off, only offering a wave before she turns away and out of sight behind the bushes.

Byleth draws near while Claude picks himself up from the ground, shaking her head as he wipes the dirt from his clothing. “Probably not wise to upset her, Claude.”

Claude’s smile is undeterred, shrugging after he finishes readjusting his clothes. “She just doesn’t want to admit that I was right, is all. I’m sure by dinner she’ll have forgiven me.”

“Forgiven you for what, exactly?”

Claude waves his hand. “Nothing of importance, I can assure you. I assume whatever you have to tell me is much more interesting. So,” Claude claps a hand to her shoulder, “how can I help you today, my friend?”

-

Similarly to his afternoon meetings with Hilda, Claude and Byleth had fallen into a nightly rhythm of playing catch up in each other's company. After the sun had sunk past the horizon and silence had all but fallen over the monastery, Claude would usually find himself hunched over maps or scouting reports in Byleth’s room as the two of them debated strategy and planned marches among all the other responsibilities that fell upon them as the leaders of the resistance.

With their march to Ailell quickly approaching, these meetings only dragged later into the night, the two of them trying to account for any loose ends that could jeopardize the safety of their troops. The tea had long gone cold and forgotten by the time Claude let out a long sigh, pushing himself away from the desk he had monopolized while Byleth read battalion statistics from her bed.

Claude turns the chair toward her, barely making an effort to pick up his books and put them back on the desk. “I think that should be good for tonight, my friend. We won't be much use at the morning council if we keep pushing the dawn like this.” 

Byleth huffs by way of a laugh, not even looking up from her own paperwork. “You say, as if you’re not the one who will probably be up for at least a bell or two more lost in your thoughts.”

His own chuckle is sheepish, unable to refute her words. “Well, I suppose I could be convinced to take my own advice if it means I can convince you to take mine.”

There’s a non-committal hum from her, but she still moves to make her own tidier stack of paperwork on top of her nightstand.

An easy quiet fills the room as they clean up. Claude eventually stands and stretches, working the kinks out of his neck with a tilt of his head when Byleth’s voice breaks the silence.

“Claude.”

He looks back at her, perched on the edge of the bed. Her hands were uncharacteristically active, twisting together in her lap as she held his gaze with a hint of trepidation. No more words were needed, Claude reading the “ do you mind? ” in her eyes as clear as day.

Claude offers a reassuring smile. “No worries, my friend,” he says before stripping off his boots and blowing out the candles around the room.

This too, had become another one of those routines. Some nights Byleth struggled more with sleep, the lingering anxiety of her last long slumber keeping her awake. It was during those times that Claude had begun to spend the night next to her. Sometimes it was in a chair at her bedside, letting her hold his hand as he read a book or looked over reports.

Other nights, when the shadows looming were more prominent, or they both found themselves exhausted, it was under the covers together. After his proclamation of getting proper rest tonight he figured Byleth wouldn’t allow him to sit up all night next to her, so once the last candle was extinguished he lifts the edge of the blanket and slips under the covers next to her.

It’s only once he has settled down and she has found his hand does she allow her eyes to close, sighing out a small “ thank you .”

Claude smiles even if she can't see it, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he intertwines their fingers and gives her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be here to wake you in the morning. Get some rest.”

After all, what were friends for?