Word count: 842 words.

Day of Devotees

Dorothea is the first to approach him. The songstress pounces before he can even get a foot out of his room, gravitating to his side with a song in his honor and a slightly more radiant glow about her than usual. She offers him both lunch and someone to share it with, and startled though he may be, the professor agrees to humor her with a smile.

Bernadetta, quite surprisingly, is the next to come forward. Were it not for Dorothea's boldness (and tenacity to camp outside in the freezing early morning hours), her courageous gambit to set aside her countless worries and step out of her room with her best foot forward might have put her ahead of the competition. Second in line is nothing to scoff at though, especially for someone so skittish and introverted. The professor keeps this at the back of his mind as he watches her fumble hopelessly over her script (through which no amount of novelist expertise could ever prepare her for reciting), trying her damnedest not to completely fall apart at the seams. Her gift, a carnivorous potted plant, is the latest in a line of horticultural experiments gone horribly, terribly, agonizingly right, complete with razor sharp leaves and rabid snapping jaws that drown out her declarations of admiration for the way he inspires her to give it her all each and every day. He accepts the specimen with a chuckle, just in time to save her knees from buckling under the weight of her own words.

Petra's gift is somewhat more reserved, but no less appreciated. The Brigid princess stops him by the courtyard to give him a collection of exotic spices from her country, a token of her appreciation for everything from his teachings to his patience with the language barrier between them. After a brief colloquial clarification, the two share a laugh over the slim chance of the spices improving his skills in the kitchen.

The gift giving doesn't stop with the Black Eagles. Over the course of the day, the professor finds himself swarmed from head to toe in what ultimately amounts to more presents than he's ever before received in all his life. Students from within his house and even outside of it flock in droves for a chance to celebrate the budding academic—some in recognition of his efforts and contributions on the battlefield and off, others for a chance at recruitment, some simply for the sake of the spirit of the day.

"M-my teacher..."

And others...

"Edelgard?"

She catches him at the tail end of the evening, long after the day's classes with little more than the setting sun to accompany them. Whatever foolish, intrusive, amorous hopes and dreams the princess has for the scene are dashed by the utter shame she feels for being so pitifully, pathetically, girlishly anxious over the whole ordeal—for being more cowardly than the actual coward amongst them. It isn't as though anything was preventing her from meeting up with him sooner either, other than her own silly, ridiculously preconceived concerns that only seem to surface whenever she allows her mind to wander. Such inane lapses of reason are what drive her to huddle behind corners in broad daylight, astutely observing her teacher accept every gift laid at his feet without ever approaching him herself. It's shameful for a house leader, shameful for a noble, shameful for an heir to the empire, shameful for—

"Is... this for me?"

Byleth blinks with fascination at the gift—a small bag filled with heartfelt chocolates.

Edelgard turns away almost immediately, unable to face the warmth and sincerity in his voice. "I-I shall have you know that I have no experience in making confections!" she insists, only to drop her voice to an insecure whisper. "B-but I have been told today is a day to express one's... f-feelings to one another. As house leader, i-it would be remiss of me not to participate in some capacity, m-my teacher."

Nothing in the world can prepare her for the hand that pats her head, or the rush of heat it brings to her cheeks.

"Truly? That means a lot to me, Edelgard. Thank you," he takes one of the treats and offers it to her. "You're very special to me too, so please, I can't possibly finish these on my own."

It stings her to be reminded that she, in a girlish haze the night before, chose to make all of the chocolates in the shape of his head, but not as much as it makes her chest swell with love and fervor to hear him share in her devotion. It's silly, so, so silly and foolish. It's nothing more than a dream, a dream that could never come true—but if moments like these can help her escape, lose herself, and believe for just one moment that, that maybe, perhaps, in a better world...

"I suppose I have to get you something next month then, don't I?" Byleth smiles, and the princess' heart skips several more beats.

I'm certainly, definitely, totally not taking reader suggestions on what the man-eating plant should be named for future fic endeavors, by the way. You should make haste before Byleth settles for Xerxes III.