Chapter Text
It might not be the right time
I might not be the right one
But there's something about us I want to say
Cause there's something between us anyway
-Something about us, Daft Punk
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that if you keep making that face it’ll stay that way?”
His friend turned his glare from the room at large to Sylvain instead. Sylvain had missed that glare, it was silly to think he had grown fond of Felix glaring at him, but he had. A fact he had discovered after the war ended and he had been away from Felix for months. Of course, he missed his friend’s softer moments the most, “I almost want to hug you.” That particular memory still made him feel pleasantly warm, though Sylvain tried not to take it out too often, in case he wore it out with constant handling. He preferred to keep it safely tucked away in his mind, brought out only when he really needed something to make him smile.
“You have, many times.” Felix said flatly.
Sylvain smiled, “And is that why you ignore my good natured warning? Should I have Byleth come and tell you that instead? You don’t seem to have trouble listening to her advice.”
Faint colour came over Felix’s face, and he looked away. “She happens to have admirable tactical skills, I would be a fool not to follow her instruction in battle. If I died there would be no one to save you from your stupidity.”
“Hey, how did this become about me?”
“When we speak, isn’t it always?”
Sylvain laughed, and Felix took a sip of his champagne. They stood together by the refreshments table in the great hall of the royal palace, and they were hardly the only ones occupying it. A great deal of guests had been invited to the wedding of the Archbishop and the King of Fódlan. The reception was in full swing, and though both Sylvain and Felix had been in the capital for a few days now, neither of them had had a chance to see much of the now newlyweds. There had been so many preparations to be made, and rather than being given the chance to help, Sylvain had been scolded on more than one occasion for getting in the way.
The ceremony had been beautiful, but not as traditional as Sylvain had expected. Since the King was marrying the Archbishop, neither could swear to “obey” the other, and their vows spoke more of love than was usual. Sylvain had not expected at all the emotion that had suddenly formed a lump in his throat when Dimitri’s voice caught slightly during his own vows. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone.
“How much longer do you think we need to stay?” Felix asked, moving to stand by the wall, leaning back, a picture of haughty nonchalance. It had been some time since either of them had been back here, and certainly much longer since there had been any cause to use this hall for any kind of celebration. Sylvain couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many people happy, dressed in fancy silks and velvets. He had spent so many years seeing only the drab colour of cold armour. It was almost a shock now to remember that was not the norm, brilliant colours seemed to dazzle his eyes now.
Sylvain went to stand beside Felix; he had picked up a glass of champagne as well. “And what would you do if you left now? Train?” Sylvain turned to look at Felix when he didn’t reply after a moment, “Wait, is that actually what you’re thinking of doing? Felix, that was a joke!”
“Be quiet,” Felix continued to look out on the hall. “Simply because we’ve won the war doesn’t mean we won’t be called to fight again. You may let your skills atrophy, but I won’t be doing the same.”
Sylvain sighed lightly, “Oh,” he said, raising red eyebrows, “May I let my skills diminish?”
Now, finally, Felix turned to look at him, his dark eyes serious as ever. “No.”
Sylvain had the sudden, and rather dangerous impulse to reach out and smooth the lines between Felix's brows. “Well, I think you may have to choose then. My friendship, or training?”
Sylvain’s teasing was cut short in that moment, Felix opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly stopped. Sylvain turned to look and found Dimitri and Byleth a few short paces from them.
“Well,” said Sylvain when they were close enough that his voice wouldn’t be drowned out by music, “If it isn’t the couple of the hour! Finally come to grace your lowly subjects with your presence? Not that I blame you, Dimitri, why would you want to share such a beauty with others?” He winked at Byleth who simply smiled patiently at him.
Dimitri shook his head, but when Sylvain offered him a hug, Dimitri accepted without hesitation. Dimitri clasped hands with Felix while Sylvain hugged Byleth in congratulations as well.
“Take care of him,” Sylvain said quietly when they embraced. “Please.”
Pulling gently back, Byleth smiled at him again, this time much more softly. “Of course I will.” She glanced at her husband, and Sylvain almost felt he should advert his gaze, because the look she gave Dimitri was so affectionate, so full of love it was almost too intimate to be seen in public. It made something in Sylvain’s chest twist, and he wasn’t sure he cared to investigate just what the cause was.
“You’re not dancing?” Dimitri asked, returning to his wife’s side. “That’s out of character for you, Sylvain. I’d have thought you’d have made your way through half the eligible young ladies by now.”
“And, some of the ineligible ones too,” added Byleth dryly.
Dimitri laughed, looking at Byleth like she had just said the wittiest thing imaginable. Sylvain would admit she did get him, but it wasn’t that funny. Couples in love were so strange.
“Alas,” Sylvain said tragically. “If I go, who will keep our sour friend company?” He gestured to Felix who had gone back to leaning against the wall.
“Oh please.” Said Felix in a slightly annoyed tone, “Don’t martyr yourself on my account.”
“You’re right.” Sylvain drained his glass; “I shouldn’t deprive the ladies of my company any longer.”
“Farewell, the next time we meet may well be when I organize one of these for myself.”
Sylvain froze in the act of setting his champagne flute on the table. It really did feel as if he had gone cold, ice pricked down his spine, and then he suddenly felt hot.
“What?”
Felix’s expression hadn’t changed. He looked coolly aloof, if slightly irritated, but that was just his face these days.
“What did you just say?”
Felix made a small impatient sound, presumably at having to repeat himself, “I’ve been told I need to consider marriage. Sooner rather than later.”
Frowning, Dimitri asked, “Who has told you?”
“My advisors.” Felix replied simply. “It’s just me now. It would be wise if I ‘secured my house with heirs.’” Felix’s tone was bored.
Sylvain felt as if the ground were falling out from under him.
Dimitri said something to Felix in return that Sylvain didn’t catch; there was a ringing in his ears. Byleth had come up to him, tugged on his sleeve and asked quietly. “Sylvain, do you feel ill? You’ve gone very white.”
Sylvain realized he had been staring at Felix almost unblinkingly. He tore his gaze away to look at Byleth’s concerned face. “I think I drank the champagne too quickly, went straight to my head.” He tried for a smile.
From the look Byleth gave him, Sylvain didn’t think he had convinced her, but, blessedly, she didn’t try to press him. Instead she gave him another look, and said, “Would you like me to ask Mercedes to come help you?”
“That’s not necessary, but thank you for the concern,” Sylvain smiled again, doing a better job at approximating his usual charming smile.
“ – don’t think of it like that then. Felix, you know I mean to make reform, I could do this, I want to do this, and I would only express my desire to see you betrothed to someone of my choosing to buy you time. You know I would never force you into anything.”
Now Sylvain tuned back into the conversation, feeling as if his ears were perking up.
“And, I’ve already said I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“Why are you so stubborn?” Dimitri demanded. “You’re referring to the possibility of an arranged marriage as a battle! And, if that’s how you feel, then you needn’t fight it at all!”
Feeling suddenly like he couldn’t stand to be there a moment longer, not while he had to listen to Felix refuse to do anything about that stupid marriage, he turned suddenly. Grabbing a bottle of what was closest to him, Sylvain made his way out of the hall.
Sylvain wandered around the grounds for some time, idly drinking the bottle of, he discovered after his first drink, white wine. Eventually he found his way to the training grounds. There he stumbled into the sandpit, and leaned against the short wall surrounding it. He drank deeply, feeling his head go fuzzy.
How many times had they come to train here, the four of them? Ingrid, Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain, all of them children together, all of them doing their best to become strong enough to fight alongside the others. He had never really seriously contemplated the future beyond the war. It had been enough to know in an abstract way that he would one day marry, that they all would, as was their duty, but Sylvain had always braced himself for what that would mean for him personally, his marriage, his partner. He had never considered what it would mean when the others married. When Felix married.
The thought of it, even now, after half a bottle of wine, made something hot and angry twist in his stomach. It made his heart squeeze. Sylvain wanted to hurl the bottle across the yard, he wanted to run out into the night and disappear.
And, at the same time he wanted to go back into the hall, find Felix and Dimitri, and demand they put an end to the whole thing. Dimitri was King; he could simply command the advisors to leave Felix alone. And, he was offering Felix an out; Felix should just take it, the stupid, arrogant, intransigent man –
As if summoned by his thoughts, Sylvain suddenly heard someone enter the training grounds. He looked up, feeling that if he hadn’t been intoxicated he would have picked up on this presence far sooner, but Sylvain was aware of him only a moment before he stepped out of the shadow and into the moonlight.
Felix stopped at the edge of the sandpit, crossed his arms, and looked down at Sylvain. He raised one arched eyebrow.
“This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to go to the training grounds.”
Sylvain threw his head back and laughed. He was laughing too hard and too long, he was distantly aware, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. When the laughter subsided he smiled at Felix who was now looking at him with an expression that almost seemed worried. But, of course, it was Sylvain who was worried. Concerned, even, that Felix would be trapped in a loveless marriage, would embitter his life just when he was starting to open up again, tie himself to someone who didn’t know him, or even like him. Sylvain had a right to be concerned for his friend, that wasn’t something he would wish on anyone.
“Feel free to step over me and train at your leisure,” Sylvain replied, raising the bottle, as if to toast Felix, and taking another drink.
He felt Felix move into the pit, and a moment later had the bottle wrenched from his hand. Wine splashed on his jacket.
“Hey!”
“That’s enough for tonight, you drunkard.” Felix sat next to him, putting the bottle on the other side of himself. “Do you care to explain why you wandered out on your own? It’s been a pain trying to find you.”
“Why bother then? I was fine on my own.”
“Yes, you seem very put together at the moment.”
Sylvain glanced down at himself. He was wearing a dark blue suit lined with silver that had somehow become covered in mud as well as sand. Looking down at his jacket Sylvain realized he had caught the hem somewhere, but he didn’t remember that happening, he frowned thoughtfully.
“You’re drunk.” Felix sounded very unimpressed.
Sylvain looked up again at Felix. His clothes were still neat and tidy, though when they got up he would also be covered in sand. He was wearing pale green that brought the gold out in his brown eyes, and his long hair was braided instead of bound up as it usually was. Sylvain suddenly wanted to take off the hair tie, watch Felix’s braid unravel in his fingers and see the way the dark strands framed Felix’s face.
Something hot twisted in Sylvain’s stomach, but this time the feeling behind it was not anger.
“You’re getting married.” Sylvain replied.
Felix looked at him for a moment. His brown eyes were dark, the shadows under them pronounced in the light of the moon, and his pale skin seemed to glimmer in the silvery light.
The same feeling moved in Sylvain again, but hotter, and much lower.
“Jealous? It’ll be your turn soon enough. I’d have thought you’d be happy to have more time to flit from woman to woman.”
“That doesn’t make me happy.”
The two young men looked at each other. Sylvain wanted to say something else, something more, but he couldn’t think properly. He realized if he opened his mouth, he didn’t know what words would find their way out.
“You’re drunk,” Felix said again. “Come, now that I’ve spent all this time looking for you, I may as well get you back to your room. You are a real pain in my neck, did you know that?”
Felix got up smoothly; dusted his clothes off, then extended a hand toward Sylvain. He looked at it for a second, and then clasped it, feeling Felix’s strong grip haul him up. Felix was significantly shorter than him, but he was deceptively strong, and he felt that strength now, almost effortlessly pulling Sylvain up. Felix’s hand was calloused and warm, and when he let go Sylvain almost asked him to take his hand again.
They walked silently back to the room Sylvain was staying in, conveniently the one right next to Felix’s.
“Now, go to sleep and sober up.” Felix said, by way of goodnight.
“Wait,” Sylvain caught his arm as he made to leave. “Help me – take off my boots?”
Felix sighed in exasperation. “Are you a child? Am I your keeper? Just sleep with them on!”
“Come on, please? In the name of our friendship, Felix.”
He saw Felix waver.
“This is what you want to invoke our friendship for?” Felix pulled his arm free and walked past Sylvain into Sylvain’s room. “I can’t believe an idiot saved my life.”
Sylvain smiled, following him in. They went into Sylvain’s room where he sat heavily on his bed and began to gracelessly struggle with the buttons of his jacket. There were quite a few, all of them small, and difficult to unclasp with alcohol addled fine motor skills.
Felix was kneeling in front of Sylvain, pulling off his boots with the speedy efficiency of the sober, by contrast. And, by the time Felix looked up from Sylvain’s now stocking feet, Sylvain had only managed to unclasp a quarter of his buttons, and not in sequence. He caught Felix’s eye in that moment, and felt his heart beat hard in his chest.
Felix kneeling before him, in the dimly lit room, rising up on his knees to unbutton Sylvain’s jacket, he felt Felix’s hot breath on the exposed skin of his neck.
Sylvain seemed to have missed the moment between thought and action, because one second he was sitting, and the next he was lying on the ground.
“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?”
Not only was Sylvain now lying on the ground, but he had also knocked Felix back, and gotten on top of him. He was breathing hard; looking down at a stunned Felix whose expression was rapidly turning from surprise to anger.
“Stay,” Sylvain blurted.
“What?” Felix pushed on Sylvain’s chest, and he only allowed himself to be moved back a fraction, so that his arms were almost completely extended, and he hovered over his friend. But, he didn’t get off Felix.
“Stay,” Sylvain said again, “I want you to stay. I want – “ Clearly no longer thinking logically at all, Sylvain dropped his head, and kissed the side of Felix’s jaw.
He heard a surprised intake of air, and then felt Felix’s hand on his shoulder. Fingers gripped the material of Sylvain’s jacket, half unbuttoned, and hanging open. Felix pushed him back again, and Sylvain lifted his head to look at him. He had never seen that look on Felix’s face before; Sylvain didn’t know how to read his expression.
Feeling almost like there was nothing more to lose, Sylvain let his hand wander down to Felix’s thigh, running it up, and stopping short just before the apex.
“Stay,” he whispered. He heard the pleading in his own voice.
For a moment that felt endless, electric, and terrifying, Felix neither did nor said anything. Sylvain felt himself sober up and begin to panic.
Then, all of a sudden, Felix took Sylvain’s hand and pressed it up to his unmistakable hardness.
From there things happened quickly. Sylvain pulled on the ties of Felix’s trousers, and Felix brushed his hand impatiently aside, deftly undoing his own ties, and then working on Sylvain’s.
Neither of them stopped to think, but when they touched each other, it was in a moment of closed eyed pleasure. Felix was hot and hard, and after only a few seconds, leaking into Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain could tell he was trying to keep his breathing even, but as they kept going Felix didn’t seem able to stop his breath from coming out ragged, as if he had just run a great distance. Sylvain lowered his head to kiss him, unthinkingly, but Felix turned away.
Feeling almost darkly amused, Sylvain bit Felix’s jaw instead, and pressed his thumb down on the wet head. He felt Felix tense, the fingers gripping the material at Sylvain’s shoulder tightened, and then Felix shuddered, coming with a small choked sound.
“That was fast,” Sylvain remarked, breathlessly, and clearly without any sense of self-preservation.
“Shut up,” Felix breathed out.
Sylvain laughed, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. Felix turned back to look at him, his pale skin flushed so beautifully it made something in Sylvain ache, and he felt his smile soften.
“You – you pushy asshole.” Felix’s hand began to move again. He let go of Sylvain’s jacket to reach down with both hands, and a moment later Sylvain dropped his head against Felix’s shoulder as his orgasm hit. The rush he felt was better by far than anything he had ever experienced. It surprised him how good it felt. Most surprising of all was how full Sylvain’s heart suddenly was, as if it was brimming with something warm and liquid.
As his breathing evened out, Sylvain pulled at Felix’s collar to kiss the warm space between his neck and shoulder, unconsciously breathing deeply to take in his scent.
“Get off.”
The warmth that Sylvain had been feeling, as if a small sun sat in his chest heating him from the inside, filling him up, and making him feel as if he were glowing, vanished with those two words.
Instead, now he felt as if ice water had been poured down his back. He felt Felix push at him, roughly, and this time he got up, sitting back on his knees. Felix sat up too, wiping his hands on his pant leg, tugging his trousers closed, tying the lacing up with an almost vicious speed. He didn’t look at Sylvain.
Feeling as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped out, Sylvain swallowed. He hastily tied his own trousers shut, and said, tentatively, with mounting fear. “Felix?”
But, Felix didn’t look at him. He got up, pulling his clothes straight, and without so much as acknowledging Sylvain’s presence, walked out of his room, shutting the door behind him.