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The royal gardens were lovely in the sunset. Flowers and foliage Sylvain couldn’t even begin to name were bathed in a golden light, and it was another reminder that the world he was fighting for was a beautiful place. In the distance, the sun was dipping behind the mountains, all framed like a piece of art.
Behind him, the palace was alive with people preparing for the ball that evening. It wasn’t long after they reclaimed Fhirdiad that Dimitri announced that the royal palace would be hosting a ball in order to reforge ties with the nobility or something like that. It was entirely political, but Sylvain wasn’t going to let that stop him from having a good time.
It also meant that the palace was busy, alive with preparations and all the usual noise that came along with preparing for a ball. The hustle and bustle was a bit much for Sylvain, so he’d stepped out, seeking solace in the sunset and under the stars.
He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he watched the sky slowly darken. It wouldn’t be long before they would be on the march again, and Sylvain wanted to savor these little moments where it seemed like the war was a world away.
There were footsteps behind him and he heard Ingrid call his name. The sound of her voice was enough to make him smile, and he turned to face her.
Just like that, his heart stopped, and all the air in his lungs vanished.
Ingrid was, for want of a better word, beautiful. Breathtaking, gorgeous, lovely, were all options as well, but nothing came close to the understated honesty of beautiful. Her hair glimmered like gold in the sunset, and she was all made up in a way that was seriously interfering with his ability to breathe.
Maybe it was the sunset. Maybe it was the sea green dress she was wearing that looked so right on her. Maybe it was the makeup. But whatever it was, it was getting to him. And the less he thought about her neckline, the better.
Sylvain had always known on some objective level that Ingrid was pretty. He’d always thought so, even when she had bugs in her hair and dirt on her face. It never used to be a problem.
But somewhere along the way, she’d gone from pretty to so beautiful that it was messing with his ability to hold a conversation with her. Or maybe she’d always been that beautiful and he’d just taken forever to actually look.
Somewhere along the way, he’d tripped over his tongue and fallen for her. He could barely look straight at her the other week when he’d called her beautiful and then promptly ran away like a lovesick idiot.
“Sylvain?” Ingrid said, pulling him out of his own thoughts.
“Hey,” he replied with all the practiced nonchalance he could muster (which, admittedly, wasn’t much).
Ingrid tilted her head slightly, as if she was studying him. “Hey.”
The gardens were silent, but Sylvain’s thoughts were screaming at him to say something, anything. But he was hopelessly tongue-tied, and his heart was skipping beats like a terrible marching band. It never used to be a problem.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she said, breaking the silence for him.
Maybe he was, but he couldn’t help it, not when—
“Funny?”
“Like you have something to say.”
He had so much to say. He swallowed all his words to keep them from escaping.
“It’s nothing,” he replied. “You just look beautiful, is all.”
A pretty pink blush dusted her cheeks. “Oh. Thank you.”
The garden was quiet again and Sylvain was fumbling for easy words that slipped further away the more he reached for them.
“You know,” Ingrid began, “it’s… never mind.”
“What is it?”
She let out a little chuckle and looked away. “You didn’t run away this time.”
Something burned at the base of his neck, and Sylvain felt it inching its way up until the tips of his ears were burning. Of course she’d remember that conversation from the other week, when he’d made a fool of himself all because he couldn’t handle the realization that Ingrid was very beautiful and he was very in love.
A dozen different syllables spilled from his mouth in a desperate attempt to string together a sentence. But all he did was stutter.
“And I just made things awkward,” Ingrid muttered.
“Nah, it’s all good,” Sylvain said, his voice still a little shaky. “I can still run away if you want me to.”
She shook her head and laughed as she stepped beside him. “I’d rather you stayed this time.”
Her words sent a tiny shiver down his spine, and he gave her a small smile. “I’ll stay, then.”
The moment lapsed into silence, and Sylvain stole a glance at Ingrid, watching the dusk dance on her skin and light her up with the colors of the sunset. Something rattled in his chest and he looked away before she could catch him.
“What were you doing out here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. Watching the sunset, I guess. What about you?”
In the dying light, it seemed like her cheeks were tinged with the faintest shade of pink. “I was just walking and I saw you out here. Thought I’d keep you company.”
Saints, it was unfair how she could say things like that so easily, unaware of the effect it had on his heart. He managed a weak nod in response, and the garden was quiet once again.
Sylvain went back to watching the sunset. The sky was shedding its colors, and the moon and stars were coming out of hiding. Around him, the evening air was starting to settle. He turned to look at Ingrid. She looked lost in thought, forest green eyes fixed on some far-off point in the horizon.
“Coin for your thoughts?” he said.
Ingrid blinked and shook her head. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“Just wondering what was on your mind. You looked like you were thinking about something. The menu later, perhaps?”
She whacked him on the shoulder. “No, not that! I think about things other than food.”
“Then what?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and clasped her hands together. Her voice was soft, laced with just enough hesitation that Sylvain could make out traces of it in her tone. It was dangerous to wonder why, but he did it anyway.
“Nothing, really,” she mumbled. “Just… thinking.”
“About what?”
For a moment, the garden was silent, broken only by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He waited for her to say something, anything.
Ingrid took a deep breath and turned to him.
“Sylvain,” she began, “I—”
The sound of palace bells ringing cut her off. Ingrid’s eyes widened and she cocked her head towards the palace.
“I think we should be heading in,” she said, a little too brightly. “The ball will be starting soon.”
“Right.” He offered her an arm and prayed that the dusk hid his disappointed curiosity well enough. “I know how much you hate to miss dinner.”
She rolled her eyes, and Sylvain tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest when she looped her arm through his.
The dinner went by the way most dinners did—with Sylvain watching Ingrid eat. Even when they were kids, there was something enjoyable, calming even, about watching her enjoy her food. He’d told her once at the Academy, and then she punched him, so he never brought it up again. But it never stopped being true.
The wine went down too easily in feeble attempts to slow the stutter in his heartbeat. Even from a table away, seeing Ingrid smile as she all but attacked the heaps of food on her plate left a buzz in his chest, one that he couldn’t blame on the alcohol.
He’d caught her eye more than once, and every time he’d looked away.
Soft and soothing music filled the hall as the band began to play. One by one, people made their way to the center, swaying in time to the music. Any noble worth his salt knew how to dance, and Sylvain was no exception.
What he didn’t know how to do was ask Ingrid to dance without stumbling on his own words.
Beside him, Felix got up from his seat.
“Where are you going, Felix?” Dimitri asked.
“To dance,” Felix replied as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Really?” Sylvain turned to Felix and raised a curious eyebrow. “With who?”
“Annette. I told her I would dance with her.”
“Do you even know how to dance?” Dimitri asked, the shock apparent in his voice.
A scowl crossed Felix’s face. “Of course I do, idiot.”
And with that, Felix strode off and towards where Annette was seated with Ingrid, Mercedes, and the Professor. He bowed deeply, and Annette all but jumped out of her seat to take his hand.
Dimitri let out a low laugh. “I’m a little surprised that Felix was the first among the three of us to ask someone to dance.”
Sylvain chuckled and took a sip from his wine. “I always knew he had it bad for her, but I didn’t think he’d actually dance with her. I’m glad for him.”
“As am I. But I have to admit, it’s strange seeing him so… happy.”
Sylvain let his eyes wander the dance floor, watching Felix move with all the practiced precision of someone who was secretly good at dancing, while wearing something that looked dangerously close to an actual smile.
“Definitely,” Sylvain nodded. “If he smiles too much, he might end up stuck with it.”
Dimitri laughed and sniffed at his wine before taking a tiny sip. “Say, why don’t you dance with Ingrid?”
Sylvain turned his head so rapidly that he nearly lost his balance in his seat. “What?”
“Dance,” Dimitri repeated and gestured towards the other table. “With Ingrid.”
“Why?”
Dimitri frowned like he had just heard a very dumb and stupid question. “Because you’re her friend.”
“You could dance with her, too.”
“I’m not the one who has it bad for her.”
“What—”
A heavy sigh escaped Dimitri, and he leaned back in his seat. “Come on, Sylvain. Did you think no one noticed? Even I can see it, and I’ve only got one eye.”
“That obvious?” Sylvain asked dejectedly.
“You’ve been staring at her all evening,” Dimitri replied matter-of-factly. “You tend to stare at her a lot, actually. Felix complains about it, while Annette and Mercedes think it’s rather adorable. The Professor thinks it’s very funny. She told me over tea once and ever since she brought it up, it’s been rather obvious.”
So the Professor knew, which was utterly unsurprising but also vaguely concerning.
“Great,” Sylvain said. “Just great.”
“It’s just a dance, Sylvain. I’m sure she’d agree. You two danced at the Ethereal ball at the Academy, remember? This is no different.”
“It’s very different.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t have it bad for her back then!” Sylvain groaned.
“Sure.” Dimitri had the gall to look unconvinced, and he nodded patronizingly. “Still, you’re just asking for a dance. It’s not like you’re confessing anything.”
Sylvain aimed a pointed glare at Dimitri, who raised his arms up in surrender.
“Unless you want to,” Dimitri added lamely.
Sylvain sighed and swirled his goblet absentmindedly, watching Dedue steal Mercedes away for a dance. It was just Ingrid and the Professor at the table. The Professor was munching on another fish sandwich while Ingrid watched the dance floor with excitement in her eyes.
“You should ask the Professor to dance,” Sylvain said. “I know you want to.”
A faint flush colored Dimitri’s cheeks, and he turned his gaze towards the Professor. “I think I shall. What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Just gotta pluck up the courage.”
Dimitri didn’t look the least bit convinced, but he got out of his seat and patted Sylvain on the shoulder before making his way towards Ingrid and the Professor. Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from smiling as Dimitri led the Professor by the hand towards the dance floor.
For a moment, he met Ingrid’s gaze, and even from across the room, it felt like she could see right through him. He offered her a tiny smile, turning his eyes elsewhere before she could smile back.
His half-empty goblet and his half-eaten meal offered him nothing, no matter how hard he stared at them. Sylvain sat in silence, watching his wine and wishing for courage. It never used to be a problem, talking to Ingrid, but here he was, trying to figure out a way to ask her to dance without coming off as more of a fool than usual.
When he looked up again, his heart fluttered when he saw Ingrid walking towards him.
“May I sit with you?” she asked.
He blinked and patted the seat beside him. “Of course you may. You don’t even have to ask.”
She looked vaguely pleased as she took a seat beside him. There were traces of her perfume in the air now, and there was something about it that was seriously not helping his situation at all.
“Are you gonna eat that?” Ingrid asked, her eyes trained on his plate.
Sylvain chuckled and slid his plate over to her. He had no clue whose idea it was to mix grilled meat and fruits, but if Ingrid liked it, then she could have it.
“Is that why you came over here?” he asked.
Ingrid blushed and shook her head. “No! I just wanted to keep you company.”
Something about her honesty warmed his bones in the loveliest of ways, and he could feel his own face heating up again. It was hard to find the words to say, even as they danced on the tip of his tongue to the rhythm of the music in the room.
Five simple words in a very particular order. Would you like to dance?
“Ingrid?” he said softly.
“Yes?” There was an expectant look in her eyes, like his next sentence carried the weight of the world with it.
No time like the present.
“Would you… Would you like to dance?”
Her eyes widened and she averted her gaze, suddenly interested in the silverware. Sylvain tried to ignore the delicate blush that blossomed on her cheeks. The silence stretched on for what felt like a terribly long moment before she turned back to him.
“I would like to dance with you, Sylvain,” she said softly.
Something tickled in Sylvain’s chest when she took his hand. He led her to the dance floor. His heart was pounding in time with the music, and the warmth from her hand was setting his nerve endings alight beneath his fingertips.
They began to sway in time with the music with an easy chemistry coursing through their steps. There was a certain symmetry in the way that her hand fit so perfectly in his own, fingers intertwined like fate as he led her through the steps. All around him, smooth and mellow notes filled the air and teased at his ears. The music plucked at his heartstrings like an instrument, and the way she laughed when he twirled her was enough to take his breath away. He was seriously in danger of losing himself in the color of her eyes and the shy little smile she wore. And even when the music faded away, he was in no rush to disentangle his hand from hers.
She looked like a dream, right there and then. With warm incandescence dancing on her skin, simple and unabashed joy written in the way her eyes crinkled in delight, she was beautiful.
It was a terribly overused word, but no other word came close.
Sylvain could taste the longing on the tip of his tongue as it crept down his throat and into his lungs. There was not enough alcohol in his system to justify the giddiness he felt. He was far too sober to be so far gone.
“Thank you for this dance, Sylvain,” Ingrid said quietly, barely audible over the swelling notes of the next song.
He nodded and gave her a painfully sincere smile. “Anything for you, Ingrid.”
Sylvain stepped out for air shortly after. That cloying need for something more was more than a little suffocating, creeping into the gaps between his ribs like water. He spared a glance at the sky, watching the stars shimmer down at him. His fingers tapped idly against the balcony railing as he waited for the night air to clear his lungs and his chest.
There were footsteps behind him, inching ever closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ingrid come up beside him and lean against the railing. Her arm brushed gently against his, and that little sliver of warmth sent shockwaves down his spine.
“You keep finding me,” Sylvain said.
Ingrid rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. “I didn’t know it was wrong to enjoy your company.”
A dozen different jokes about his past behavior died on his tongue, and Sylvain chuckled. “I’m glad you do.”
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I just needed some fresh air. What about you?”
Even under starlight, Sylvain could make out the blush that bloomed on her cheeks.
“Enjoying your company,” she replied.
He smiled and watched her tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and, for a moment, it felt like he could breathe a little easy despite the stutter afflicting his heartbeat.
That would do for now.