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Linhardt really would have preferred to be anywhere other than the training grounds. The library, his room, the bench in the tea garden… all much more preferable to being here, but Caspar had dragged him to the training grounds nonetheless, rambling on and on about winning fights and Linhardt teaching him the secrets of beating people who were taller than him and damn Caspar if he knew just how to get Linhardt to go along with his foolish ideas. It was on the training grounds that the mage found himself that afternoon, even if he was none too happy about it.
It would have been tolerable, he supposed, if it were just he and Caspar out here, but they weren’t that fortunate. Several of the Blue Lions were out here running drills; Prince Dimitri was taking apart a training dummy with his lance, Ashe was practicing form with an axe, and Sylvain and Felix were going at one another in an intense sparring session. Linhardt did his best not to allow the presence of others to distract him, but he was quite self-conscious as Caspar proceeded to square off against him. Maybe the mage had a height advantage but that didn’t mean he was meant for hand-to-hand combat and when Caspar went for his knees and knocked him over, Linhardt heard a few snickers from the other class. Ugh. How had he let Caspar talk him into this?
“Whoo! Come on, Linhardt, get up, let’s go again! I’m starting to get it!” Caspar said, beating his chest with pride as Linhardt got to his feet and brushed himself off.
“Caspar, please… I need a minute…” he petitioned, but Caspar sprang at him with a battle cry and Linhardt was soon flat on his back once again. He had told Caspar that the key to victory was to just start hitting his opponent and to not stop, but the mage was more than worn out by this point and he just stayed flopped on the ground this time as Caspar rolled off of him. Good grief. Did Caspar never tire? He pinched the bridge of his nose as he caught his breath. “…water,” Linhardt said. “I need water.” He sat up slowly, eyeing Caspar warily as he got to his feet again. “I’m going to go get some. Goodbye,” he said, trying to make his escape as quickly as possible despite how he could hear Caspar calling after him.
He found some bushes to hide in for a while, after that. Linhardt didn’t particularly care if he was getting shrubbery in his hair as he took a long, long while to seclude himself away from the outside world. He loved Caspar, he really did, but sometimes the other boy could be a bit… much. Wrestling with him was definitely not one of Linhardt’s favorite activities – in fact, Linhardt really didn’t much like being touched at all when he didn’t initiate it, but he could make a couple exceptions, every once in a while. Especially if it was important to Caspar. But today had been… draining. Not only having to spar, but having people watching him do it, that was… not enjoyable. It wasn’t that he minded about their judgment or how their seeing him floundering on the training grounds might affect his future – he couldn’t care less about those things. But having eyes on him was… exhausting in a way he couldn’t describe. He only had so much social energy to go around and being around people caused a pull on his energy that he was hard-pressed to put into words. Bernadetta might understand him, but her need to close herself away seemed to stem from some sort of anxiety. Linhardt’s need to be alone came from a different place. People didn’t make him nervous or fearful, they just… drained him. Wore him out. And when it got to be too much, he had to hide himself away somewhere for a while.
A nap, however, cured most things. Alone time did wonders to recharge him and after Linhardt woke up again he crawled out of the hedges and found himself making his way back towards the training grounds to see if Caspar was still there. He felt a little bit bad just running out on his boyfriend like that, but having all those spectators for their sparring match and the sparring match itself had been… a lot. He knew Caspar would understand but Linhardt still wanted to seek him out on his own initiative to let his best friend know that he was open to being around people again. Arriving at the training field, he looked around for Caspar. He wasn’t there, but the field wasn’t empty. Sylvain and Felix were still sparring and Linhardt took a moment to observe them. Both of them were Crest bearers with powers that enhanced their combat skills. Linhardt thought that he could learn something from watching them for a while, but when Sylvain swept Felix’s leg and pushed him to the ground and kissed him, Linhardt’s slight interest morphed to something like horror.
Linhardt had resolved long ago that there was probably something wrong with him. He despised physical contact and craved space of his own. Even when he’d hit puberty and his father had sat him down for the talk nothing the man had said even remotely interested Linhardt. His father had spoken to him about girls looking different and new feelings and Linhardt had never felt a single thing that his father mentioned. At first he’d figured it was because he simply wasn’t interested in girls at all – he thought he had it figured out now that he had a boyfriend – but even still, he wasn’t interested in intimacy. Everyone knew that he and Caspar slept together but it was only sleeping together in the most innocent sense and falling asleep on someone didn’t count as intimacy to Linhardt. On top of that, it was just… different with Caspar. Caspar made him feel comfortable in his own skin, Caspar didn’t complain when he needed space and he’d even learned how to tell when Linhardt didn’t want to be touched without needing to be told at this point. They had a lot of people around the school confused, everyone thought for sure that they were together but no one ever saw them kissing because, well, they didn’t kiss, but at the same time they were never seen far from the other and occasionally they held hands… it made a lot of people scratch their heads but just because their relationship wasn’t the one people expected didn’t mean that he and Caspar weren’t in a relationship. People said that there were ways these things should be done but Linhardt wasn’t sure he believed them.
And if what he was witnessing in front of his eyes now was how these things should be done then Linhardt knew he was not cut out for romance. As he watched Sylvain’s lips collide with Felix’s and the swordsman’s back arched as a little mewling sound left him, all Linhardt could feel was disgust. It looked sweaty and gross and uncomfortable and he choked out a noise that had both Sylvain and Felix’s heads snapping up, realizing he was there for the first time. Felix yowled in embarrassment and dismay upon seeing that they weren’t alone, but Sylvain just gave a charming, easy smile.
“Well, hey there, Linny-boy. See something you like?” he asked.
Linhardt could not get out of there fast enough. He felt like his skin was crawling from what he had just witnessed and Sylvain’s suggestion that Linhardt had liked it made him feel just the slightest bit sick to his stomach. No. No, he definitely wasn’t interested and the mage could only be relieved that Caspar hadn’t tried to pull something like that during their sparring earlier today. (He wouldn’t, Caspar definitely wouldn’t have done something like that, he knew Linhardt but even still the image of it haunted the mage’s thoughts.) He sequestered himself in his room and fully intended to stay there for the rest of the day, forget seeking Caspar out because now he had a good reason to stay hiding forever; and he would have, if Caspar hadn’t come knocking again. The door rattled on its hinges from the force Caspar put behind his loud knocks.
“Hey, Linhardt! It’s dinnertime!” he called through the door. “You put in a lot of work today, you gotta come eat to keep your strength up!” he said and Linhardt sighed heavily. He didn’t want to go to dinner, he didn’t want to see people and he definitely didn’t want to see Sylvain or Felix. He wanted to stay in his room and nap but… sleep was proving more elusive than normal because his brain was having quite a time filtering the image he had seen on the training grounds. And on top of all of that… he knew that Caspar was the sort of person who thought a good meal could solve anything and he wasn’t going to let Linhardt shirk dinner. Protesting would just start an altercation that he really didn’t have the energy for, so the mage got up from his bed and opened the door. His hackles were up and Caspar could tell; Linhardt knew Caspar recognized it because the hand that had been reaching for Linhardt’s own when the door was pulled open immediately aborted and Caspar just crossed his arms, instead. “Come on,” he said, turning around and heading towards the dining hall. Caspar kept a few feet between them and when they reached the cafeteria he just motioned for Linhardt to sit down. “I’ll grab your food, all right? Be right back!” he assured. Linhardt sat down and let his forehead rest on the table until Caspar returned.
Today had been far too long and far too much. The conversations happening around him were like the drone of mosquitoes, annoying but impossible to chase away. At least none of the voices were Sylvain’s. He definitely didn’t want to hear from Sylvain again anytime soon; the very thought left him feeling mortified. He was exhausted and the only solution he could think of was to try and fall asleep so he allowed himself to drift until the scrape of ceramic against wood notified him that Caspar had come back with his food. Linhardt sat up and pulled the bowl of fish stew closer to himself as Caspar went around the table to sit across from him with his own meal of meat skewers. Across… not beside. Space.
Thank you, he thought in Caspar’s direction, and Linhardt relaxed and started to eat as Caspar shoved food into his face adjacent to him. Ordinarily such ‘manners’ would have bothered Linhardt, too, but right now the familiarity of his boyfriend was… grounding. He ate slowly and Caspar finished long before him but the squire didn’t get up and leave, he just rested his elbows on the table and stared out the window. Out the window… good. Linhardt didn’t want to feel watched again, today. Peace settled around him and he felt secure in his own little bubble despite being in public. Only Caspar could give him this.
The bubble popped when suddenly Sylvain slid into Linhardt’s personal space and draped an arm around his shoulders. “Heeey, Lin,” the red-head spoke with a grin. Caspar snapped to attention and glared across the table as Linhardt began to tense up under the older student’s arm. “I thought you might want to chat,” he said with a wink and a chuckle. “You know… about earlier?” And as if Linhardt didn’t know exactly what he was referring to, Sylvain continued. “Me and Felix on the training ground, hmm? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blushing that hard, thought there wasn’t anything that could shake a prude like you,” he teased, and Linhardt tried to shuffle out from under his arm.
“I am not interested,” the mage insisted and Sylvain clicked his tongue.
“Aw, don’t play it like that! It’s natural to feel something when you see stuff like that… I did see how fast you went back to your room…”
The insinuation of those words! Linhardt’s face flooded with color once again and he abandoned any attempt at politeness as his features twisted into a tight, uncomfortable grimace. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, embarrassed and flustered, but Sylvain still seemed undeterred.
“Oh, come on, you have to have thought about it before!” he said. Linhardt definitely hadn’t and he opened his mouth to correct Sylvain again but then the red-head was looking over to Caspar. “Haven’t you both? Just think… your scrappy little knight here holding you down… it’s certainly easy for him to get you on your back. Or maybe you want things to play out differently in the bedroom?”
Heaven’s sake, they were sixteen! Sylvain was twenty, he should know better than to talk about such things with the two of them! Linhardt, in a rare moment of lost composure, wanted to fling what remained of his dinner into Sylvain’s face but Caspar beat him to it, ducking under the table only to come up on Linhardt’s side by ramming his head right into Sylvain’s gut, the headbutt knocking the red-head clear off the bench and away from Caspar’s boyfriend with a fierce growl. Sylvain looked shocked, but then he had the cheek to laugh.
“Wow, someone gets riled easily!” he teased, and Caspar growled again.
“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” he snapped, defensive. “And don’t you ever touch him again, either! Lin, let’s go,” he said, and Linhardt booked it for the door. Caspar was only a few steps behind him at first but Linhardt’s longer legs outpaced him quickly as he headed towards the dormitories and up to the second floor. If Sylvain was watching he’d probably think he’d been right all along as soon as he saw that Linhardt was heading for Caspar’s room, but Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to care. He made it to the dorm and flung open the door and went to the ground so he could crawl under Caspar’s bed. Goddess, he wanted to curl up and die.
Caspar’s footsteps followed him in, and Linhardt listened to him close the door, cross the room, and climb atop his bed, laying quietly in Linhardt’s vicinity but giving him the space he needed to breathe. Seconds stretched into minutes and then into an hour before Caspar spoke.
“Lin? You okay?”
“No,” Linhardt responded, shaky. Why didn’t people get it? “He thinks I need what he has,” the mage spat. “I don’t even want it.”
“Hey, I know,” Caspar responded. Linhardt let out a deep breath.
“I know you know,” he said. He closed his eyes and chewed on his lip, the events of the day replaying over in his head despite how he tried to block them out of his memory before they scarred him. Goddess… but he was pathetic, wasn’t he? Public displays of affection didn’t gross people out, not the same way it did him. Linhardt knew that; he knew that he was different and weird and possibly even wrong to feel this way. Wasn’t he? It was just Sylvain – that was what anyone else would say. He was relieved that Caspar didn’t say it. And yet… he couldn’t help but wonder what Caspar thought. How he would have reacted if he’d seen what Linhardt had seen… what he thought about the idea of holding him down and kissing him. Linhardt was repulsed by the notion. But… what about Caspar?
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, and Caspar shifted, clearly not having expected that.
“Uh… for what?” he asked. Linhardt clenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry that I don’t let you kiss me. Or hold hands whenever you want to. Or do like Sylvain says and hold me down and-”
“Woah, hey, Linhardt!” Caspar said, and suddenly his head appeared from above, peeking under the bed at his boyfriend. “Stop that! You don’t have to apologize for that!” he insisted, but Linhardt still felt stressed and uneasy. What if Caspar was just saying that to make him feel better?
“Don’t you want those things from me?” he asked. He expected Caspar to hesitate. Expected honesty to crease his brow and for guilt to flood his own chest. But Caspar immediately shook his head.
“You don’t want those things,” he said. “I don’t give a damn about what Sylvain says we should or shouldn’t be doing. He’s way too concerned for someone who’s not even involved,” he said. “We don’t have to answer to him. The only people we have to worry about with any of this stuff is each other, got it?” he asked, waiting until Linhardt looked up and met his gaze before he continued. “I only want what you want, Linhardt. We’ve been best friends for ages, I like what we have. I’d like it even if you never kissed me. We have our own way of doing things and maybe people don’t get it but I don’t care about other people,” he said. “I like you, Lin. I like you just the way you are.”
Relief coursed through Linhardt with Caspar’s words and he remembered all over again just why he loved the other boy so much. Caspar got it. He understood Linhardt on a level that no one else did; he understood when Linhardt needed space, when he needed an escape, when he needed to be alone and he never despised him for it. In return, Linhardt made little concessions, here and there, stepping out of this comfort zone just for Caspar. He definitely didn’t like sparring. He didn’t like kissing or the concept of anything even more intimate than that and he didn’t like being forced to think about these things, either. But he liked Caspar. Caspar didn’t make him feel weird or wrong. Caspar didn’t ostracize or tease him for his feelings, and with Caspar… Linhardt belonged. And so, slowly, he edged his way forward, resting his forehead against his boyfriend’s for a long moment. He soaked in Caspar’s presence and acceptance for a long while before shuffling back into his own space under the bed. Caspar smiled at him.
“You gonna nap?” he asked fondly, and Linhardt nodded.
“If you don’t mind,” he said. When Caspar shook his head, Linhardt smiled back at him. “Just keep it down for me until I fall asleep, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Caspar responded, his head disappearing from view as he settled on the mattress above him once again. “Lazy cat,” he teased. Then, softer, “Sleep well, Linhardt. I’ll make sure tomorrow’s better.”
Linhardt wondered how Caspar was going to follow through on that promise. He figured it probably would have something to do with picking a fight with Sylvain but he couldn’t bring himself to mind that too much. So long as Caspar was happy… Linhardt was happy. And for Caspar… it seemed that so long as Linhardt was happy, so was he. Linhardt smiled and curled up, closing his eyes.
It didn’t matter what other people said, so long as they were both happy, and as the mage settled down to sleep he let everything roll off as he usually did, like water off a duck’s back. Life was too short to spend it stressed. He’d much rather spend it with sweet dreams. Giving a great yawn, he drifted off.