[ Is this her way of fussing over him? Gilbert and Dedue would do the same, but each of them approached it differently. Byleth tended towards persistent, but unobtrusive. A distinct lack of the subservient undertones that all his other relationships carry.
Could he still call it a relationship? He has rebuffed her so often—something he has only truly become aware with after Rodrigue's death.
He scoffs quietly. ]
I did not stick around for rooming arrangements.
[ they probably keep snacks in his bed, whatever ]
Do not trouble yourself with trivialities. I can survive without relying on our own captors.
[ Around. In general. He looks increasingly restless again, his energy coming and leaving in waves. His heart seems to pick up whenever it wants, reminding him that he is an in unfamiliar space, that he is not safe. He was displaced from Fhirdiad once before, and now he is removed from Fodlan altogether.
It does things to the mind to constantly be running. ]
I... [ he seems to mull over his words a moment, lost in thought but speaking aloud ] My sense of taste left me years ago. I cannot easily eat just anything put before me.
[ Because, well. Paranoia, and poison. It's something he very much keeps to himself for a reason, what with being a would-be monarch. ]
And I will never be able to shut my eye to a room full of strangers.
[she opens her mouth slightly—and almost immediately closes it again, swallowing back any unnecessary questioning. he'd already answered what she'd asked, and more—that was enough for now.
instead, she silently nods once, and crouches down over her backpack—extracting from within it a bottle of water, and a cheese scone, wrapped in a paper napkin.
she presses both into his hands, gently, but insistently.]
I ate one similar, but I understand if you can't. [can't eat it.
she'd have to bring him a blanket, later. was his injury okay? now wasn't the time to check it, but the dressings would have to at least be changed at some point...
there's a sharp pang of frustration, grief, at the end of that line of thought—that she hadn't been more attentive, that she wasn't faster, that she wasn't quick enough to kill the girl before her blade had found Dimitri, much less Rodrigue, in the first place—but she bundles it all up, pushing it out of sight.
Dimitri, in the here and and the now, came first. whatever conversation she'd expected to have with him over it last night would have to wait.]
no subject
Could he still call it a relationship? He has rebuffed her so often—something he has only truly become aware with after Rodrigue's death.
He scoffs quietly. ]
I did not stick around for rooming arrangements.
[ they probably keep snacks in his bed, whatever ]
Do not trouble yourself with trivialities. I can survive without relying on our own captors.
no subject
she blinks.]
You won't stay in the dormitory?
[...]
...What about food?
[although she has. a growing suspicion.]
no subject
[ Around. In general. He looks increasingly restless again, his energy coming and leaving in waves. His heart seems to pick up whenever it wants, reminding him that he is an in unfamiliar space, that he is not safe. He was displaced from Fhirdiad once before, and now he is removed from Fodlan altogether.
It does things to the mind to constantly be running. ]
I... [ he seems to mull over his words a moment, lost in thought but speaking aloud ] My sense of taste left me years ago. I cannot easily eat just anything put before me.
[ Because, well. Paranoia, and poison. It's something he very much keeps to himself for a reason, what with being a would-be monarch. ]
And I will never be able to shut my eye to a room full of strangers.
no subject
instead, she silently nods once, and crouches down over her backpack—extracting from within it a bottle of water, and a cheese scone, wrapped in a paper napkin.
she presses both into his hands, gently, but insistently.]
I ate one similar, but I understand if you can't. [can't eat it.
she'd have to bring him a blanket, later. was his injury okay? now wasn't the time to check it, but the dressings would have to at least be changed at some point...
there's a sharp pang of frustration, grief, at the end of that line of thought—that she hadn't been more attentive, that she wasn't faster, that she wasn't quick enough to kill the girl before her blade had found Dimitri, much less Rodrigue, in the first place—but she bundles it all up, pushing it out of sight.
Dimitri, in the here and and the now, came first. whatever conversation she'd expected to have with him over it last night would have to wait.]