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"I'm leaving Fódlan," Claude says.
"I'm leaving Fódlan," he says, and his next words are not an offer to join him.
"I'm leaving Fódlan," he says, and the words drop like a stone in a lake and ripple outwards.
Byleth expected this, but not so soon.
"I see," he says, and he presses his arms further into the iron rail, enough for the chill to burn. "For how long?" he continues after a beat, and prays to Sothis, though she is him, that the answer isn't forever.
"A while."
He releases a breath. This is his dream; he needs to leave Fódlan if he wants to change it. He needs to go to Almyra and Brigid and Dagda and open the borders and be everything he's wanted to be since he was just a clever kid in a classroom. Byleth could not be more proud of him.
Still. A small, selfish part of him wants to protest, wants to take Claude's hands in his own and hold fast. The war is finally over and they've won, they've come out on top and they've lived and they're together, still, somehow, and now he's leaving. Not forever, but for a while, and to that selfish part of him a while might as well be a thousand years, Almyra a thousand miles away.
"I'll miss you," he says finally. It feels too small for the yawning chasm opening in a chest that has never known a heartbeat, and it shows in the way his voice cracks on it.
Claude's voice draws nearer, softer. "I'll miss you too."
When he turns it's hard to stay his expression. He wants to pull Claude to him and ask to go with him; the words live and die on his tongue, bright as a sun. He's not a child. He can survive a while, surely. Claude managed to, after he disappeared. He was gone far longer than a while.
Claude's fingers feather over his wrists, warm against his pulse.
"I hate to leave you so soon," he says, still in that soft voice, "but if I linger, it'll be too late. Time is of the essence. I can't let Fódlan slip back into its old ways."
It takes two tries to get his voice to work, but he manages. "I know," he murmurs.
Claude looks down, to their joined hands, and a lock of hair falls with his gaze. "I won't ask you to wait for me. I'm not that selfish."
Byleth pulls one of his hands from Claude's and lifts it to his face, pushing the tendril of hair back, behind his ear. "I will. I made you wait; I didn't even ask. It's only fair of me to do the same for you."
Claude's smile is like the rising sun. "You are better than I deserve."
Byleth wants to disagree; Claude must know this because the moment he starts to part his lips he leans in and soundly cuts him off.
Claude's hand leaves his in favor of pulling him close, his thumb pressing into the divot of his hip. Byleth's own find his hair, the harsh railing digging into his back when Claude tries to press impossibly closer.
A tiny part of him, the only part not wholly consumed with Claude, wonders if this is blasphemy. When Claude makes a little sound against his mouth, that same part of him decides that Sothis would be cheering him on.
When he pulls away, it's with a quiet gasp, with a forehead pressed to his own.
"Carried away," Claude breathes. "Give the goddess my apologies."
Byleth laughs a little, and his chest warms when Claude does too. "If she was watching, she stopped the moment you leaned in."
"Gods, I'm going to miss you," Claude says again, and this time it makes Byleth's eyes sting the way they have only once before.
"I'm of most use to you here, maintaining some semblance of order."
Claude's hands envelop his again, holding them up against his chest as he leans away. "I know. But my heart feels differently."
"Your heart will survive in Almyra," he responds, and Claude squeezes his hands. "Write to me, as if I'm there. When you return I'll read them and it will be as if you never left."
It won't be, they both know that, but Claude smiles anyway.
"As long as you do the same."
The sun rises over the Goddess Tower, over a new Fódlan. It alights in Claude's eyes, the shimmering green of the sea to the south of Adrestia.
Byleth hasn't said nearly enough. Claude is leaving for Almyra soon, today, and he's choking on the three words he's wanted to say since the night Claude confided in him under the twinkling gaze of the stars.
He looks at him and he chokes. His father's ring burns a hole in his pocket. He gets as far as opening his mouth before a voice reaches them, calling for Claude.
"That's my cue," he says, his hands relunctantly slipping from his grasp. "I'll return, I promise you."
Byleth watches him leave, watches him disappear into the stairwell. "I'll be waiting."