“Hey! HEY! Byleth!” he shouted in vain and watched Byleth, glistening brown hair disguised under some dirty shawl, rushing past commoners, all of whom were too focused on the inconvenience he brought from his running past them than the fact that he, the Prince, was travelling in the direction most opposite of the Castle.

Forric barked out a sigh, felt for his sword at his side, and sauntered into the stream of life before him.

Even disguised, Byleth still had a glow about him. Forric would recognize his walk, no matter how deeply it was buried under the studied mannerisms of common folks. It wasn’t that Byleth was especially Princely --indeed, if their late night talks had taught Forric anything, it was that Byleth was the least Princely Prince that had ever been raised to inherit power-- it was that his very presence stood out like a beacon to anyone with any sort of a magical affinity. Forric had one, such as it was. The only thing he found his light talent capable of was finding Byleth. In fact, he seemed to be so attuned to that one job, that even when Byleth dampened his magical glow to slip away, Forric could still find him. It was as if they were attached by some sort of magical string, some sort of deeper bond than they could find the words to express.

Byleth’s parents called it useful. Forric called it love.

Even as Byleth dipped out of sight in front of him, vanishing into the lavish disguise of the dull and everyday, Forric could still feel him, only a few short paces out. He kept his stride, finding the weight of his chestplate a distinct disadvantage, but maintained the confidence in having left the other parts of his armor behind. This way, he could dip and turn and slide between people but keep his chest safe from any sort of projectile or blade.

The fact that only a slight week ago he had held Byleth beneath a tree by the lake in the same garb may have also played a part in his decision to dress this way, though he was loathe to admit that to anyone short of Byleth himself asking with the intention of teasing him.

In front of him, Byleth seemed to have dropped much of his speed, apparently content that he hadn’t been followed. Forric was certain that he wouldn’t be upset to see him, but rather, glad to have a friend along for the ride. So, picked up his own pace to reach Byleth.

What would he do once he was close enough to touch him? Would he tap his shoulder and grin? Would that make Byleth swoon? Would he trip him, catch him, and hold him there, while the masses applauded and named Forric “most likely to be the future betrothed” in the next Marcerian Serial? Or maybe he could go for the more subtle. He could walk up close and just say hello. Maybe Byleth would pull him into the alley and kiss him then and there, if only for the delight of having a companion to travel with, and from there, they’d escape into the night, two rogues on the run from the Castle itself.

Or, perhaps the decision would be made for him.

Just a few bricks in front of his feet, Byleth stomped through the puddles, straight into the sights of a short and thin woman with a wild braid and a glint beneath her sleeve.

Surely, she had recognized him, and had a horrible vendetta against the Castle and intended to take him by force. Perhaps she wanted a ransom. Perhaps she just wanted revenge. Perhaps --and Forric wasn’t sure he could blame her, should this be her desire-- she wanted to take him away and use him every night, just a slave of love.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter, because the moment Byleth stepped in front of her and she moved forward, Forric lunged for him, drawing them both into an alley.

Forric’s body pressed Byleth up against the cold brick of the building, their breathing occupying the same space while Forric looked off into swarm on the streets, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to challenge the villain who would dare come after the prince.

Byleth, to his credit, said very little and took the moment to examine Forric before doing something as rash as shouting out and drawing attention to them, though he certainly felt a few things bubbling in his chest. Forric kept them pressed tight, thighs touching and chests together, though with his armor on, Forric was nearly denting Byleth’s skin.

Byleth cleared his throat.

“Forric,” he started, his voice smooth but firm, “Would you be so kind as to… remove yourself from me?”

Forric turned and blinked, apparently unaware of their predicament, then took a step back and rubbed his neck, hoping to dampen some of the red blooming on his cheeks. He also hoped Byleth didn’t notice the way he was leaning forward. But, as Forric put more thought into it, his stance didn’t matter, because only moments ago, everything they had was pushed up against each other, so Byleth had surely felt… it.

Forric brushed himself off and made sure that Byleth had enough space.

“Forgive me, my prince. I saw an attacker and-”

“Yes, yes, you did your job, thank you so much, et cetera. I’ll be going now, if you don’t mind,” Byleth said, pushing past Forric and back towards the street.

“W-wait!” Forric shouted, following after him. Byleth rolled his eyes and pulled his shawl tighter over his hair. Forric made sure their arms brushed as he caught pace with him.

“No, Forric, I won’t be going back to the Castle. I’m not going to follow Father’s silly quest ritual-- I have no desire to save anyone, let alone some droll Princess. No, I’d much rather run away and find my own path,” Byleth whispered. Forric’s considerable height left him looming over him, so he had to lean down to hear most of what he had said. “Plus, Mother and Father are young enough-- they can always produce another heir. This one would much prefer to live a life of adventure. Surely I’m not the only Prince in history that’s felt this way.”

“B-but… Sir! Your duties… You’d just neglect them?” The rumble of noise around them drowned out most of their exchanged words, but every so often threatened to create enough distance between them to slip away. “Don’t you want to make change, here?”

“Forric, is this about business, or is this about something else?” Forric neglected to reply. “Listen, we’re friends, and… I care a great deal about you, but I cannot continue on that path. I must do something for myself for a change, and that involves leaving. You must return to the Castle before they find you gone and punish you.”

“W-well, um,” Forric sputtered, almost unable to keep his words and feet moving at the same time. “Well, sir, it’s my duty to protect my Prince, and that’s you, so--” He turned to look at Byleth, and found him gone, disappeared back into the swelling existence of life. “Byleth?”

Forric stood planted, a stick in the river around him, pausing for a moment. He could use his gift to find Byleth, but clearly, Byleth didn’t want his company. If he wanted him here, he wouldn’t have ran off without a word. But… Forric was his protector. And the kiss they’d shared, just days ago, beneath that same tree…

Byleth acting like nothing had ever happened between them at least deserved an explanation. Then, maybe Forric would feel comfortable letting him go off into the mysteries of the capital city, alone. Perhaps he had a plan, and if Forric caught up again, he’d confide in him, as long as he made it clear that his interest in him was personal more than professional. Perhaps he’d give him a goodbye kiss… But no. That was not Forric’s priority. Byleth’s safety was, not something frivolous like a kiss.

Forric reached out, feeling the magic bubbling beneath his fingertips, and felt Byleth’s existence beneath a tavern just across the street-- The Shapely Angel. Forric sucked in a breath and marched towards the front door.

The clientele inside was hardly anything to be suspicious of, which gave Forric some sense of ease, though the distinct lack of handsome young men with striking brown hair told Forric he might have some work to do. Forric leaned over the edge of the bar and tossed down a few coins from his pocket to the barkeep, who snatched them up, then gave him some slight side-eye.

“I need some information,” Forric said, facing the barkeep head-on. She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t move away. Only two other patrons sat at the bar, though, so he assumed she had the time.

“What you need, Imperial, is some better armor. Looks like you left the rest of it at home,” she muttered to him. He looked down and blushed.

“I… thought it looked cute.” She raised her eyebrow at him again and leaned across the bar to get a better look at him.

“Who told you that?”

“My… friend. Incidentally, that’s who I’m looking for. My friend. He’s sort of short, has the prettiest brown hair, this glow about him… the kind of guy you’d recognize anywhere. Have you seen anyone like that in here recently?” She grabbed a mug off the bar, guzzled down the remains, and pulled out a rag to wipe it down. He frowned at her, but said nothing. That was certainly not up to the Castle’s cleanliness standards.

“Honey, I haven’t seen anyone cuter than you walk in here in weeks.”

“You think I’m cute?”

She shrugged and turned towards her bottles on the wall, pulling one off, presumably to go serve someone else.

“Hey, wait…”

She turned back and gave him a fearsome look. She was quite a fearsome woman, so if he didn’t have a sword on his hip, he might have melted into a small puddle of fear. He was still considering it, even with his sword.

“What do you want, kid? There’s no one like that here.”

“I… I have more money.”

“There’s no one else here. Feel free to look around, but you won’t find your boy here.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He walked away from the bar now, feeling the energy of Byleth just below. There had to be a secret passageway somewhere here. Perhaps…