Chapter Text
Linhardt sighed, pulling smoke into his lungs. He had no idea what time it was, but his research had led him here. Laid out on the carpet smoking a joint. He used to claim that the weed helped him pull better conclusions out of his research. That it brought clarity. But he stopped trying to justify his addiction. He liked the high. It released him. Pulled him from whatever dark place he was stuck in. It made him poetic, made him a lover. Gave release to emotions that he otherwise kept hidden. Kept from making those feelings show themselves. Feelings were dangerous. They could lead down paths towards rejection and ruin. And that was not a path he could travel sober. But it's 3am. And he isn't sober. He stubs out the end of the joint, setting it up on the table above him. He scrambled around for his phone finding it under one of his many notebooks, each filled with indecipherable scribble. Thoughts so jumbled even the author had issues understanding it at times.
He let the dial tone go. He was calling...Who?
Oh, right.
It rang until it hit the voicemail, a single ping, and then a soft voice "Leave me a message if it's important."
Lin smiled. That voice, oh how it owned him. Everything it said, he would follow.
He blinked, he was mumbling, speaking random phrases. The phone beeped in the message sent. How he wished he could remember what he said.
The smoke was heavy in his bones, and he felt himself drifting off. To far gone to recognize that he was still on the floor and would suffer a terrible neck ache when he awoke.
Byleth:
His alarm rang at 7 am and his eyes opened. Like clockwork every morning. Unable to stay asleep even though his body longed for more. But his mind hated him so he got up. He stretched and moved towards the kitchen of his small apartment. He taken to leaving his phone plugged in there, because more often than not, he had been woken up by 3 am call from him.
Linhardt
A 3am call that he never answered.
A call from a man he was terribly in love with. A call that he couldn't bear, because Linhardt only ever called and when he was high. Left messages that made no sense. Messages that made his heart hurt. Lin always sounded so content, happy, free. But he was high and nothing made sense.
Linhardt didn’t pay him a moment of time when he was sober. Keeping their interactions short. A simple ‘Professor’ before making some excuse and moving on. It hurt.
Byleth may be known for not being an emotional person, but he hurt. Jeralt would chastise him for wasting feelings on someone who obviously didn’t feel the same. He’d seen his father’s friends do the same thing. Bikers who drunkenly fell in love and ruined themselves over it.
And here he was, doing the same thing. Over a green-haired pot head researcher, who only ever called him when he was high.
He had met Linhardt when he had unintentionally sat at the researcher’s table in the library. His own studies had been interrupted by a disgruntled Linhardt who had made his displeasure known.
They had grown close after that. Going off to get tea together, and studying together. At first Lin had insisted that his interest in their friendship was only because of Byleth’s family crest, but even that had changed over time.
The more he learned about the mysterious scholar, the more he wanted to know. And the more he learned, the more Linhardt pulled away, until he ignored Byleth completely.
But Byleth was already hopelessly in love. All those desperate feelings that he never let show were rioting inside him. Everything about the green-haired man called out to him. Maybe the other had found out, maybe that’s why he pulled out of Byleth’s life. Maybe he was disgusted by the stoic mans unabashed feelings.
Byleth’s fingers trembled as he reached for his phone, doubts and terrible feelings coursing though him as he clicked, once again on the voicemail left behind.
It was silent at first, just the faint sounds of breathing. And then once again, whispers, that made no sense.
He was crushed. Again. He didn’t know why, but something in him always hoped that this next one would be different than the others. But nothing from Linhardt ever changed.
But this time, he replied.
A single text at 7:15 am.
‘Why do you only call me when you're high?”
Linhardt:
He woke up on the floor at noon. Unsurprisingly his neck and back were incredibly sore.
He sat up and wrinkled his nose at the mess around him. Lighters and weed spilled on the table, and the ends of joints scattered around. Notebooks and books covered the rest of the available space. And his phone.
He groaned. Yeah, he liked getting high, but it came with one big consequence. Every time he got high; he called the Professor. The Professor that never answered and never responded. Lin hated it. Hated himself for calling. Hated that he was probably annoying the other man.
He leaned back down onto the floor with a big sigh. He brushed his hair out of his face.
Damn it all.
The first time he had told the profe-Byleth, that he was too busy for tea, the other hadn’t reacted much. Just a single nod, a shrug and then walked away. Leaving Linhardt to his own devices. It was one of the things he loved about the other. He never forced Lin into anything and respected his desires.
Professor, no, Byleth, was always so stoic. So expressionless. But in the months, they spent together, Lin had learned to read his eyes and hands. Because the feelings and expressions that never showed in his face, came through there.
So, on the fifth time Linhardt refused to spend any time with Byleth, the frown that appeared on his usually stoic face shocked him. But before Lin could respond, Byleth gave a single nod, shrugged, and walked away. Always walking away. Linhardt knew he was pushing his Professor away, but watching his retreating back time and time again, always hurt.
But Linhardt had no choice. His feelings for the man he had gotten close to, the man he teased, studied with, and mocked with the name Professor were no longer platonic. And the pain those feelings brought on… no, he couldn’t burden his dear Professor with his less than innocent feelings.
He lifted himself off the floor, not content with being smothered by his despair. He grabbed his phone as he stood, surprised when it buzzed in his hand.
He looked at the message on his lock screen.
A text that came in at 7:15 am.
From Byleth.
It simply read.
‘Why do you only call me when you're high?’
He let his arm drop back down. Of course. He finally gets a response from the silent man, and its this.
He wants to cry. But he won’t. He never does. He did this to himself. He’d tried everything, even hiding his phone from himself, but every time he wakes up to see that he’d called Byleth. Again. It was getting more frequent as he lit up more often to drown out the feelings that were drowning him. He knew, eventually he was going to have to face these feelings and listen to the music of his decision, but he didn’t know when he’d be able to handle the rejection that would come with that music. So, he sat alone in his apartment and got high on his floor.
Byleth-
He was in the library again. Sitting in their spot. The table in the corner that had been claimed by the scholar had transformed into their spot. They’d eaten, studied, and even just hung out at that table. And here he was. Alone again.
Again, and again and again.
This cycle of loneliness that he thought he had broken, just rushed back. How could it not. His closest friend and suddenly disappeared from his life without explanation. The only thing left from that friendship was the feelings threatening to drown him, and the voicemails. So, he sat at their table, and prayed that maybe, maybe today, Linhardt would come sit with him again. Even just his presence, something, anything to chase this darkness away.
He didn’t recognize the passage of time, ignored the ache in his legs from sitting, absorbed so completely in the book that laid before him on the table. He wasn’t even sure if he was reading it or just thinking about reading it. He didn’t notice the people leaving the library, he didn’t even notice a certain green haired male enter and pause, staring at him for a long moment before moving towards the back of the library.
He barely even registered the blonde-haired girl sitting in front of him until a hand covered the words on the page. He looked up, through bleary eyes, registering the kind face of the woman before him.
“Mercedes.”
It came out as a hoarse whisper, voice unused for so long. She smiled at him.
“Byleth.”
He blinked, thoughts still swirling around, “What are you doing here?”
Her smile softened, “I could ask you the same thing Byleth.”
He frowned a bit. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I'm studying…”
He glanced down at the book in front of him, Mercedes’ hand still covering the pages. The pages he probably hadn’t turned in hours.
“Byleth...”
Her voice was soft, yet, insistent.
“You’ve been here for seven hours.”
He blinked again. Seven huh. That was probably why his body ached so. But no less than his heart. If he was honest.
Without a response, Mercedes pulled the book out from under him and gently closed it. The title becoming clear. ‘The History of Family Crests’
“I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.”
“I'm not.”
He mentally slapped himself. She knew that. She knew why he would be reading that book, and she would also know that it had nothing to do with his studies. He let out a soft sigh.
“What are you here for Mercedes?”
“I'm here because you're hurting Byleth.”
He looked down at the table, worn wood suddenly catching all of his attention. She waited, so he spoke.
“I responded to him today.”
She nodded, “And?”
“I asked him why he only calls me when he’s high.”
Her brows furrowed.
He continued, “He didn’t respond.”
He let his finger trace a line in the wood, despair climbing out of his stomach, if he wasn’t careful, soon it would be pouring out of his mouth in a flood he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“You're in love.”
The words were soft, and so so unexpected. He felt himself jolt a bit before raising his head to stare at the woman before him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
A true frown graced her features, “What on earth does that mean Byleth?”
He locked eyes with her, face expressionless as he felt the despair finally reach his throat. So, he let it pour out.
“It doesn’t matter how I love, Mercedes, I am not meant to be loved in return.”
She looked at him a long moment and he watched as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh Byleth.”
He let his heart settle. Back into the black that his world had become.
“Byleth, everyone deserves to be loved.”
He shook his head, “That may be so in theory, but I…” His voice broke, “I am not meant for it.”
He worried the table with his fingers, eyes returning to the wood, trying desperately not to just lose his grasp on his emotions right there in the library.
Mercedes opened her mouth, but he raised a hand.
“No, Mercedes, please, no more.”
He stood, gathered his books, and swiftly left the library. Leaving behind a torn blonde and an empty table, that had once held so much promise.
--
Linhardt:
He covered his mouth in a sob.
He had entered the library a couple of hours earlier, not expecting Byleth to be there as well. He’d paused and stared at the table they had sat at together. Byleth had left his spot open, an invitation, ha closed his eyes and sighed, and invitation he could never allow himself to accept so he had walked towards the back.
The library was built with studying in mind, so tables rested between gaps in shelves. He sat at a table, back separated from Byleth by a single shelf of books. This was as close to the other man he could allow himself to get.
Anything else, and he would internally combust, he just knew it. He sat there, listening to the swish of turning pages and the low murmur of the students around him. It was peaceful, so peaceful, he almost forgot. But then he had heard Byleth’s voice. The deep timber roused him from his concentration, and he leaned back against the shelf to just hear it better. His heart ached but he listened, even though eavesdropping hadn’t ever been something he would consider doing.
And oh, how he regretted it now.
It was Mercedes, a beautiful hearted girl who always looked out for all of them. And the things she said, Byleth was in love? Oh, what a horrible fate. He was sure he was destined to suffer for all eternity. He allowed himself to wrap up in his misery, but his heart stopped when he heard those words.
“It doesn’t matter how I love, Mercedes, I am not meant to be loved in return.”
Linhardt’s eyes widened and a soft “What?” escaped him.
Then it was Mercedes, trying to console him, everyone deserved to be loved after all.
And then the simple heartbreaking comment. Coming from that beautiful, broken voice.
“That may be so in theory, but I… I am not meant for it.”
Linhardt felt like his world was tumbling apart, “no no nono..”
Whispers escaping him as he felt his fingers tremble.
Then a last, broken statement.
“No, Mercedes, please, no more.”
Linhardt listened to the scuffle and then the silence, and felt the tears rushing down his face. How could the world be so cruel? If he simply forgot his own broken heart, how could the man he loved so dearly be so despondent. How could he believe that he didn’t deserve to be loved?
The man he loved, loved another, and at the same time was breaking, because in his own words, he wasn’t meant to be loved.
What had his world become.
He was breaking down in the library, simple feet away from his place. His place at Byleth’s side. The spot he didn’t deserve to stand in. But oh Goddess, how he wanted to stand there. He wanted to hold those callused hands and kiss his pale skin. He wanted to wipe away any thought of broken out of his mind. But here he was, in a place he banished himself to, because he too loved. He loved so much. He loved one, who would never return his feelings.
He wanted to get high. He wanted to let go.
But as he walked into his dark, empty apartment he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t escape anymore. Now was the time to sink into the darkness. To face the music of his emotions and let himself drown in them.
And no high would release him from that now.
He laid there until 3am.
Drowning.
Endlessly drowning.
His phone buzzed and he grabbed it. Some part of him desperately hoping for something from Byleth. But that was ridiculous, he hadn’t even responded to the others text.
“Why do you only call me when you're high?”
So, he did the most logical thing he could think of.
He called him.
And as usual, Byleth didn’t answer.
And this time, he was sober, and could leave a coherent voicemail.
Again, Byleth’s voice bleeds through the phone. ‘Leave me a message if it’s important.’
And he did.
Byleth:
He wasn’t ready to open the latest voicemail.
It was 7:30 am and he was standing in his kitchen in his pajamas, staring at the device in his hand.
After his conversation with Mercedes yesterday, the last thing he wanted to do was continue this routine. Waking up, only to be immediately thrown into the depths of his despair. Thrown so violently by the one man he wanted more than anything. Thrown by the one he wanted to hold. How cruel the world was.
He debated not playing it. Just forgetting and doing his best to move on, but he knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that strong. He knew he would listen to it, and he would follow this terrible routine that had plagued his life for weeks.
He pushed play, expecting the soft bubbly, high voice of Linhardt. But that’s not what he got at all.
The voice on the other line was clear, sober.
“Byleth. I need you to know that I’m sorry. I never meant to be a bother. I never meant to be a distraction or to annoy you. You’re right, I only ever call you when I'm high. Because when I'm high, I lose control.”
The voice on the line paused, a breath, Byleth was frozen to the ground at the words pouring out of his phone.
“There are so few things in this world that I am sure of, but one of those things is that you deserve so much more. You deserve to live life to the fullest. You deserve to be cherished, treasured, to be loved.”
Another pause.
“I know what you believe.” The voice let out a soft huff of a laugh. “But its 3 in the morning, and I'm trying to change your mind. I'm sober and I’m incapable of making alright decisions. I've left you multiple missed calls, and to my disaster messages you replied, why’d you only call me when you’re high. Well here I am Byleth. Calling you. Sober. And I promise, that I won’t bother you with my weed induced ramblings anymore.”
Byleth let out the breath he was holding.
“I'm sorry for the things I couldn’t control. I'm sorry Byleth. Goodbye.”
And the line clicked dead. And Byleth found himself wishing he had been awake to answer that call. He couldn’t explain the mess going on in his heart but he felt like he had just lost a desperate game that he had no chance at winning.
Goodbye.
Such a final word.
A word they’d never said to each other before.
A type of irony he wasn’t sure his heart could bear.
So, it was true. He simply wasn’t meant to be loved.
Even the one person dearest to him was saying goodbye.
He set his phone down on the counter and let himself sink to the floor. Everything felt unreal, what was he supposed to do now?
He scrambled back up, desperate, to do something.
He refused to lose, he couldn’t, not Linhardt, his Lin, no. He wouldn’t lose.
Even if he wasn’t sure what he had done to make the green haired boy draw away in the first place, he wouldn’t lose him. Not now, not ever.
Linhardt:
He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he was standing above their table in the library. After leaving his voice mail, he’d gotten up and left his apartment, walking around until dawn. He was exhausted, but even he laid down, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. So, he had wandered around campus in the cold dark for hours, a better fate than the black hole of his apartment. No, he was better off outside. And now, as he looked at the table in front of him, hearing the campus clock chime 7 am. He knew Byleth would be waking up, and listening to his last voice mail. His last goodbye.
It wouldn’t be that hard to never see Byleth again, they knew each other’s schedules and routines. He knew where Byleth would and wouldn’t be. Right now, he would be in his kitchen waiting for his kettle to heat up water for his tea. Always tea never coffee. He would take his tea to the window and sip while he stared out on the city, breathing in the cold morning air. And then he would go shower and dress. Linhardt let out a small smile, Byleth was always so professional. He was rarely seen in anything other than slacks and a button up shirt, on colder days wearing a blazer or heavy jacket. But not in the mornings, no, in the mornings he was soft. Sweatpants and a t-shirt soft. Hair ruffled from sleep and tired eyes soft. A soft that Linhardt longed for.
It was the soft he fell in love with, the soft that evened out all of the harsh edges of the person called Byleth. It was the space between the lines of his face, the push of the sea when he swam. It was everything and nothing. It was the breath of air in the morning, and the smell of tea. It was the hands, so callused and worn from work, that gently brushed his hair back. It was the small smiles and patient glances when Linhardt fell into a rabbit hole of information and needed an ear to listen to it all.
It was everything. Everything he couldn’t have.
He had always been considered greedy, selfish.
And now he knew it to be true. He needed to step away, before the thoughts of the man overwhelmed him.
So, he left.
The morning air was cold and brisk against his face. A clear opposite of the sunshine that broke through the trees. He didn’t want to head back to his apartment, but campus would come alive soon, and if he was honest, he would rather be alone in his dark apartment than deal with the humans and social interaction that always came with it. He was sure he looked a disaster. Having given up his normal sweaters and loose pants, he simply wore sweats and a large sweatshirt with his hair tied up in a bun that had been falling out for hours now. Yes, he was sure he would rather be at his apartment.
He cut across the grass field, certain that it didn’t matter anyways, it was shorter and he certainly didn’t expect to be caught.
(SPLIT ENDING: ANGST HERE: HAPPY ENDING NEXT CHAPTER)
He didn’t notice the footsteps behind him. Caught up in his own thoughts until he heard a sharp voice behind him.
“No.”
He whirled around startled. But there stood the one person he was least expecting.
Byleth.
Byleth who always found him.
“What?”
His voice was soft, incredulous.
Byleth cleared his throat. “I said no.”
“No?”
Byleth’s face was a mask, but that was to be expected, probably the only thing to be expected in this whole conversation to be honest.
He blinked, waiting for Byleth to respond, and the immediately wished he hadn’t
“I am not meant to be loved.”
“No, Byleth…”
The man in front of him shook his head.
“It is all clear to me now.”
His face saddened, the first full expression Linhardt had ever seen on Byleth’s face. And it was complete despair. Byleth continued, uninterrupted.
“I see it now. And if you truly want to say goodbye, then please. Say it to my face.”
Linhardt couldn’t breathe. No this is not what was meant to happen.
Byleth’s eyes clouded, sadness erupting from them.
“You were never a bother to me Lin. You were my best friend; someone I care deeply for. I do not know what I have done to deserve such indifference, but please, humor me, and honor my last request of you. Please just say it to my face.”
Linhardt was frozen. He couldn’t feel his hands, or his heart. Time was frozen.
“Goodbye?”
It was meant as a question. A clarification of what Byleth meant. But he watched in horror as Byleth’s face crumpled and tears rolled down his face.
“Of course. I thank you.”
Byleth’s hand reached out, and brushed a single hair from Linhardt’s face.
“Goodbye Lin.”
And then he turned and walked away.
Linhardt stood frozen. Broken.
What had he just done?
Byleth:
He walked back to his apartment.
He had lost.
He hadn’t even gotten the chance to fight.
But as he watched Linhardt spin around, wearing his sweatshirt. He knew there was no fight to be had. And Lin’s last word. A goodbye that pierced him through the soul. He had lost.
And he had been right all along.
He was never meant to be loved.