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Byleth combs her hand through Claude's hair, still damp from the bath. It springs into small curls the moment it leaves her fingers. Sometimes she wishes he would let it grow longer, but he insists on keeping it cut short as well as using a product that straightens his natural texture. Easier to maintain, he says, and he's probably right. That doesn't mean she doesn't imagine how handsome he would look with ringlets dancing around his chin.
She grabs the brush that is sitting on the end table, tracing the bristles along the paths her fingertips have made. Claude sighs in contentment and leans back against the bed she is perched on while he sits on the floor of his room. She hides a small smile, although he can't see her face from this angle.
"It will be difficult to trim your hair like that," Byleth jests. Claude shuffles closer, not further away, resting the back of his head against her stomach and turning so his cheek is pressed against her thigh.
"But I'd rather be here." Claude laughs. His mirth is infectious and she fails to stifle her laughter in response. "And I have faith in you," Claude murmurs against her skin, the brush of his lips faintly registering through the material of her tights.
"I am not going to be responsible for mangling your hair." Byleth keeps her voice steady even though giggles want to continue bursting out of her throat.
To feel so happy with so little provocation is still foreign to Byleth. Sometimes it feels inappropriate to be so full of joy during a war that has brought sorrow to thousands. But Byleth can't deny that she is so very happy, happy to be alive, happy to be reunited with Claude, happy that her students are here as well, vibrant and thriving despite it all.
"You don't have to cut it if you don't want to." Claude tilts his head up, exposing those stunning green eyes to her view. Goddess, the things that gaze does to her. Byleth will never be used to being the center of Claude's attention; it is akin to the sun shining its full light directly onto her, so intense it is almost painful at times.
"I want to do it," Byleth assures him. She used to cut Jeralt's hair for him all the time. He hated when the sides would get too long, and he often struggled with his braid as he got older and his fingers began to ache at any delicate task. Byleth misses that comforting routine. To have found it again with Claude is more than she could ever hope for. "But I must insist you sit up."
Claude does so with a pout, but he eventually twists back around and lets Byleth continue to comb out his hair before it dries completely. The smell of his soap fills her nose, although she cannot name the scent. It is almost spicy, but with a citrus tang that reminds her of the oranges she would pick in the orchard behind Remire village when she was small, her fingers sticky with juice. The memory is so visceral she has to look down to verify that she does indeed have a brush in her hand and not a piece of fruit.
Once Byleth gets Claude's hair fully tangle-free and parted down the middle, she notices that the right side of his hair is longer than the left. Placing the brush down, she twines the strands between her fingers, attempting to recreate the braid Claude always wore during his days at the academy. "Why did you cut it off?" she asks, thinking she already knows the answer, but still wanting to hear it from his own lips.
Claude stiffens momentarily before visibly forcing himself to relax. It all happens so quickly Byleth would have missed it if she hadn't been staring directly down at him. She is about to rescind her question when Claude sighs and leans back again, keeping his face tilted downward as Byleth continues to play with his hair.
"It felt…it felt like something I was supposed to do. My grandfather had just passed away, and I was about to be named duke, and it…" Claude pauses for so long, Byleth thinks that is all he is going to reveal. "It's a tradition, where I am from, that you cut your braid when you have become a man. That can mean different things for different people. Many do so when they get married. Some when they achieve a lifelong goal, or when they fight in their first battle. There is usually a ceremony involved. It is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a celebration of life and growth."
"That's lovely," Byleth says, carding her fingers through the minuscule braid she had recreated, unraveling the tiny plait.
"It wasn't." Claude is tense again, his spine rigid as he rests more of his weight against Byleth. "I was alone, and scared, and sad. But people were looking up to me. And I needed to become the man they expected, not the boy I felt like."
"I'm sorry." The words sound flat and meaningless, although Byleth does mean them. But what can she say? She knows Claude suffered while she was gone, everyone had it seemed, but even with her powers that she still doesn't quite understand, she cannot turn back five years of time, no matter how badly she wants to.
There is so much Byleth doesn't know about Claude and what he went through while she was sleeping. So much she will never truly comprehend about birthrights and expected duties and his upbringing. He's already told her more than she ever thought he would, and she doesn't need all the answers to the questions bouncing around her head. What she does want is to be there for Claude, to comfort him like she was unable to do as his teacher. But now, as his friend, as his lover, she wants as much of him as he is willing to give.
"Has it gotten easier? Being Duke Riegan?"
"Yes and no." Claude huffs out a shaky laugh. "It's exhausting and tedious, and someone is always unhappy no matter what I do. It feels crazy to say, but I am almost grateful for the war. It helps focus the lords and give us a unified enemy so they don't squabble as much among each other. And it's nice, getting away from Deirdru. Being back at Garreg Mach with people I actually trust is the best part of all of this. I will miss it when I have to…when this is over."
Byleth simply hums in response, not calling Claude out on his obvious hesitation. Byleth used to think Claude was so difficult to read, but with time and practice, she has learned all of his tells. That isn't to say she knows all of his secrets. He has so many of them, but whatever Claude has planned for after the war will become apparent in due time. Right now, she has more relevant things to focus on, like his uneven hair.
"Would you like me to shorten this bit then?" Byleth reaches for the scissors sitting beside the hairbrush. Claude straightens up again, and Byleth misses the warmth of him instantly.
"Nah." Claude shakes his head slowly. "Leave it."
Byleth acquiesces and begins trimming his hair, focusing on cropping the section at the back of his neck and the length at the top. Claude doesn't speak as she works, and although it is more difficult to tell thanks to the small amount of distance between them, she can sense the tension easing out of him with each snip of the sharp metal.
"I think I am done," Byleth announces after an indeterminate amount of time has passed. She hands Claude a small mirror so he can view himself from all angles. He twists from side to side, stray clippings dusting the floor and his shoulders as he inspects her work.
"It's perfect." Claude turns fully around and beams up at her. She smiles back, the expression coming easier to her each time she uses it. "Thank you, By."
"I am glad I could do it," she says. "You look so handsome."
"Yeah, but you always think I look good, right?" Claude winks, the gesture grounding Byleth and pulling another laugh from her lips. "I am serious though." Claude scoots closer, ignoring the hair-covered ground as he takes one of her hands in his. "I really appreciate it."
"You're welcome."
Byleth barely suppresses a shiver as Claude runs his thumb over her knuckles. It's such a simple touch, but it is still so much. So intense. Byleth struggles with a sudden surge of emotion that leave her confused. She still isn't used to feeling so many things, and being around Claude always leaves her with a plethora of sensations that she doesn't always have a name for.
"Want me to cut your hair next?"
"My hair?" Byleth tilts her head. "No, it's fine." Her hair is longer now than she used to keep it during her mercenary days, but it also hardly grows anymore. She doesn't think it changed at all during her slumber.
"I was teasing." Claude gets up on his knees, still on the ground, but completely turned to face her now. "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get my hands in your hair. It felt really nice when you did it for me."
"You don't need an excuse," Byleth tells him what he already knows. "You can always touch me."
"I am touching you right now." Claude returns her attention to their joined hands when he brings it to his mouth and places a soft kiss to her palm.
"You are," she agrees, not letting on how much it affects her when he does things like that. But he knows, surely. He somehow always knows.
"Thank you," he says again, the words whispered against her skin. Byleth doesn't think he is thanking her for the haircut anymore.
She scoots off the chair and joins Claude on the ground amidst the clippings, ignoring how they cling to her tights as she tugs him into her arms. She isn't sure why, she just wants to feel him right now, wants to hold him as tightly as possible since she can't find the words she needs to tell him that she will do everything in her power to always be here for whatever he needs, that she never wants to leave his side again, that she hates that he was alone and hurting and she couldn't be there.
She isn't sure if Claude understands what she is trying to convey, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her just as tightly, his face buried in her shoulder. His freshly cut hair tickles her neck, but she doesn't pull away. She would stay here forever if she could, safe in Claude's embrace, happy and warm and in love.