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Despite its popularity on a night such as this, the Goddess Tower’s air is cool, bereft on Dedue’s skin. He doesn’t come across any students as he ascends its hallowed stairwells, either. He merely walks, alone, through slats of darkness followed by moonlit windows. His shoes echo across the stone floor, solitary, somber.
He breathes a little easier in the stark night. The ballroom floor—all the dancing, the laughter, the swell of music and popping colors—had suffocated. Here, in the serenity of only ghosts, Dedue can appreciate the importance of this day, of what it means for the Monastery, for his Kingdom, and for him.
Dedue locates an alcove high up in the tower and stands close to its window, letting his hands rest on the sill. The wintry chill reminds him of home: Of those he left behind, and those who stand by him, even now.
This feels like the right way to honor Fódlan’s history, as well as the history of his own lineage. There are many reasons why Dedue shouldn’t be here—now—alive. Yet here he remains, capable of witnessing the stars above in the stead of his family.
It is rare that Dedue’s armor ever begins to waver. But when it is quiet, when all is dark and still and lonely, his shoulders unlock, and he feels a pressure unspool in his chest. It is safe enough to make sound when he breathes. To unclench his so tightly-wound spirit. To let his shoulders falter. To let himself—
The click of a shoe on stone.
Dedue’s defenses return. He looks over his shoulder without turning, his mind supplying a horde of faces—
But it is merely the one he knows best.
Dedue… starts to relax again.
Dimitri.
“Your Highness,” he calls out. “I am surprised to see you here.”
Dimitri’s small, cheeky grin sketches across his lips. He has tried (and failed) to tie his platinum hair back in a ribbon, and he’s all the stiffer in a suit. These attempts at polishing himself for the Establishment Day Ball have only succeeded in forcing him more and more out of place.
But his smile, Dedue knows. It warms his heart, though he does not share it.
“You as well, Dedue,” Dimitri says, silently slotting into the open space beside him. They stare out the window together, not quite touching. Only after Dedue has grown accustomed to Dimitri’s presence at his side does his prince add, “It was… too much, in there. I needed space.”
Dedue inclines his head. “I understand.” He turns toward him. “Your Highness—”
“Dedue.” A hint of a plea sharpens Dimitri’s voice. “We are alone. Dedue—Please.”
Dedue has yet to learn how to refuse him.
“Dimitri.”
His prince lets out a soft, wanting sigh, his arms already falling around Dedue.
Dedue gives in, embracing Dimitri. Dimitri’s head fits against Dedue’s sternum as it always does—as if it belongs there—and Dimitri’s smile sweetens into something warmer, fuller. Dedue tucks his head over Dimitri’s and exhales.
His mind is split into two. Relax, and let himself meld into Dimitri’s warmth; or remain on guard, now that Dimitri is paying less attention to his surroundings. Dedue is too tense, too awkward in his hands and his body, but he also is not looking as much at the rest of the Tower, nor the pockets of shadows on its edges, as he is Dimitri’s luminous face, bathed in starlight.
“Dedue,” Dimitri murmurs, and Dedue’s ability to watch for intruders wanes severely. Dimitri’s dimples form at the edges of his cheeks when Dedue meets his eyes. “Dedue, may I ask for a kiss?”
Dedue snorts softly. Dimitri himself was the one who said they should only embrace when they truly are behind closed doors; of course Dimitri himself would also be the one to toe that boundary.
Still, Dedue struggles to convince himself that someone else won’t stumble across them, and that thought sets his heart racing. He shouldn’t be seen with Dimitri—not like this. Not this close, this tender. People wouldn’t understand. The Kingdom of Faerghus wouldn’t understand. Dedue shudders to think how the civilians would react to such a show of affection between their pearlescent prince and none other than a man of Duscur, a man who many still believe should have died on the day of the Tragedy. Dedue doesn’t know what they would do to his kind in retaliation; he doesn’t want to find out.
“I’m sorry,” Dimitri blurts. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.” He tucks his head into Dedue’s chest, sighs. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Dedue blinks. A small, sad smile touches his lips. “I do want to,” he says, because he does.
Dimitri peeks up at him with one eye, his cerulean iris aglimmer. “Then what is stopping you?”
Dedue doesn’t change his expression—not by much, at least—but Dimitri still sees his reluctance. Perhaps they have known one another for that long.
Dimitri’s voice grows hushed with compassion. “Perish the thought. I didn’t mean to—”
Dedue is rewarded with a tiny, bright gasp the moment he cradles, then tilts Dimitri’s head up. “Oh,” Dimitri breathes into the nonexistent space between their lips before he surrenders to Dedue.
Dedue wasn’t lying. He does want to kiss Dimitri.
He thinks about it constantly. He has to stop his eyes from traversing to Dimitri’s lips when they are together.
But to kiss in a public place is… distressing. Dimitri’s friends don’t know. Dedue’s friends don’t know. Dedue has entertained the thought of slipping his feelings for the prince to Mercedes while they bake in the kitchen on a slow, sugar-scented evening, or to Ashe as they study in one of their dorms, but the words always perch on the edge of Dedue’s tongue. They are terrified of entering the world before them—of what will become of them once they are made incarnate.
Dedue sighs, applying pressure. Dimitri’s fingers dig into the back of his neck. Dedue leans into the kiss, breathing in the perfume Dimitri must have just sprayed behind his ears for the evening. It’s marigold-scented.
Perhaps it should not be labeled ‘love,’ what he first felt when the Crown Prince of Faerghus himself stood in front of Dedue and spared his life from the angry masses. Dimitri was the one speck of solid ground in a tumultuous, unending ocean. To call it love would be to call the mere act of survival love. Yet he does not know what else to say it is.
Dimitri saved Dedue’s life, and so Dedue handed his life to him. It was the easiest thing he ever did with it.
Perhaps if the story ended there, Dedue would have been happy to remain hugging his prince’s periphery, loving him and looking after him from a safe distance without receiving anything more in return than His Highness’s appreciation. But then, there is Dimitri, introducing Dedue to his oldest friends and companions. Dimitri, offering his own rooms to Dedue when the thought of a cold, quiet bedroll is too much. Dimitri, scorning his own servants when he catches one of them in the midst of saying what they say to Dedue. Dimitri’s gentle hands. Dimitri’s embrace. Dimitri’s breath tracing his ear.
My life is in your hands, Dedue once said to him as His Highness bandaged some cuts administered by a minor noble.
Really. Dimitri’s slender fingers had thrummed along Dedue’s skin, soft and resonant. Then it must come as no surprise that mine is in yours as well. Let us protect one another for the rest of our lives.
Silent tears had sprouted from Dedue’s eyes the first time Dimitri had kissed him. He hadn’t meant to cry—Perhaps it was the shock of such desire directed toward him.
They have remained silent, too, about how often they fell asleep in one another’s arms, about how often they glanced back, ensuring the other was close. If anyone knows, Dedue could hazard a guess that Felix has sleuthed them out—despite the precautions, they’re still so obvious.
Kissing inside the Goddess Tower on Establishment Day, for one.
When Dedue breaks their kiss, his hand gently pulling Dimitri’s chin back, the prince gazes up at him like he is a star. His face glows. He can’t seem to pry the wide, joyful smile from his lips.
It takes until Dimitri reaches up to touch Dedue’s mouth that he realizes he is smiling, too.
His prince whispers, “You must be truly happy.”
A small chuckle escapes Dedue. “I must be,” he returns.
Dimitri flits onto the tips of his toes, kissing the bridge of Dedue’s nose. His head tilts, and he presses his lips to Dedue’s ear next.
“I love you, Dedue.”
Dedue’s heart catches. He clutches Dimitri.
“I love you, too,” he breathes into his cheek.
Dimitri sighs sweetly. He lets his embrace relax, his feet laying flat against the floor. His head tucks into Dedue’s shoulder. His eyes drift away from Dedue’s face when he asks, “Did you dance at all?”
“Ashe asked me to,” Dedue says. “I indulged him for a little while.”
“I danced with Edelgard. It was… odd. Not bad, but strange.”
Silence, again. Dedue likes silence. Rather than filling a space with words, it overcomes with feeling. And he feels… very close to Dimitri, right now.
“Dedue?”
“Yes, Dimitri?”
Dimitri lets out a delighted breath. “I never had the chance to ask for your hand while in the ballroom.”
“No, I suppose you did not.”
“...I’ve never, actually, had the chance to ask for your hand.”
“No.”
Not in Faerghus, surely not. Imagine what the aristocracy would say.
“D-Dedue, would you..?”
“I’ve never learned how to. You should have seen how poor Ashe struggled when I was with him.”
“You’re not going to learn unless someone teaches you, are you?”
“Yet I’ve heard that the Prince of Faerghus carries two left feet.”
“You—!” Dimitri bursts into surprised laughter. Dedue’s heart aches from how full it is. “How hurtful! What sort of excuse is that?”
Dedue smirks. “I don’t mean to doubt your teaching skills, but I am afraid your reputation precedes you. I did hear Princess Edelgard’s comments from across the ballroom.”
Dimitri scoffs. “Well—I won’t get any better if you just keep telling me how bad I am!”
Dedue laughs, then. He laughs as he hasn’t in months.
Dimitri’s breath catches. Then he retorts, “Oh, is that all it took?”
Dedue releases Dimitri to hide his head in his hand. His shoulders quiver from his laughter.
“D-D-Dedue! I demand a dance! Don’t think you’ll get out of this just by laughing!”
But he waits, giggling fitfully, until Dedue is ready to give him his hand.
Dimitri isn’t nearly as uncoordinated as Edelgard made him sound. But perhaps Dedue is a poor judge. It helps that Dimitri fidgets as he wraps his hand around Dedue’s waist, and he fidgets when his other hand claims Dedue’s, and he fidgets some more between steps, which gives Dedue ample time to mirror his movements.
And Dedue can only think about how adorable he is, the man he is sworn to, who has sworn himself to him in return. How—How blessed he is, to be Dimitri’s. To be able to see Dimitri like this, awkward and unabashed, his cheeks blazed pink. To knit his fingers through Dimitri’s, and to share an empty silver ballroom lit by merely the moon with him.
Earlier today, Dimitri wished that their class would meet again, here, in five years’ time.
If tonight is to be a night of wishes, then Dedue wishes with all of his heart and all of his soul that he will remain beside Dimitri for the rest of their lives.