Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Felix needs to go.

Six weeks has passed since that fateful evening Glenn finally hit his breaking point and conspired to corner his brother and then best friend in a room. So he could force them to talk about their stupid feelings and make Felix stop tanking his life over it. Which means it's been six weeks since Felix started his petty retaliation against Glenn for doing it.

Of course, it definitely isn’t getting under his skin or anything. He’s the much older, much smarter, and much more collected Fraldarius brother. There’s no way he’d ever be bothered by Felix capitalizing on every opportunity to have Sylvain around since they officially became a couple—as if he’d ever be irritated by the loud, unholy sounds that filter through their shared apartment—the ones hardly muffled by the thin walls.

Still, it’s evident this is retaliatory—Felix is engaging him in some fucked up war of attrition—biding his time until Glenn finally snaps, waiting for him to lash out so he can look pleased when he assumes victory.

It’s unfortunate he’s miscalculated. Felix still thinks of Glenn as some pinnacle of virtue and morals, honest to a fault and unwilling to stoop to someone’s level. The reality is, Glenn’s never been scared to play a dirty game.

So if it’s a dirty game Felix wants well he supposes it’s as they say in fencing: en garde, prêts, allez.

He’ll be sure Felix yields first—better still—he’ll make sure Felix and Sylvain take their extracurricular activities to that posh condo Sylvain's father’s bankrolling on the gentrified historic side of Enbarr.

Glenn keeps it subtle first, he doesn’t want to give away his upper hand too early, after all. Let his brother think he hasn’t caught on, he’s always preferred a long drawn out hunt anyway. Which is how he finds himself sitting crossed legged on linoleum flooring, leaning against the front skirt panel of Byleth’s sofa while they lay on their stomach and idly card their fingers through his hair.

“So nationals are coming up soon, think they’re all ready?” he asks, letting his head loll backwards.

“Almost,” Byleth answers, muffled by the couch cushion. “von Aegir has some bad habits his past coaching team allowed. I'm still trying to break him out of them.”

“Such as?”

“Mm,” Byleth props themself up on an elbow and looks down at Glenn. “I had him spar with your brother not long ago… Felix is a surprisingly competent foil, but more specifically he’s very—stoic, flat. von Aegir seems to take it personally, he’s refused to salute and shake hands—made some derisive comments—thrown his mask once.”

“How in Goddess name did he get away with that in competition?” Glenn wonders, shuddering when Byleth’s nails gently scraped against his scalp.

“Nepotism, I suppose,” they say and sigh. “I’d heard rumors his father was some big shot at FIE, but I didn’t think his family's legacy was any different than say yours… certainly not that he’d be disrespectful to anyone he considered beneath him—especially when that person is both his teammate and the best ranked saber in Fódlan.” Byleth shakes their head and eases back down onto the sofa, hand dropping from Glenn’s hair. “But he kept muttering that Felix needed to stay in his lane and stick to what he’s good at.”

Glenn snorts, and idly cracks his knuckles. “Felix is good at foil because when we were kids his friends preferred it, and he wanted to be included.” He remembers Felix’s watery eyes when Sylvain, Dimitri, and Ingrid had chosen it over saber. How their father had showered the three with extra praise and attention for selecting his preferred discipline. Felix favoured the fast, aggressive pace of saber to the precise tactical one of foil; Glenn did too, frankly. But seven year old Felix swallowed his pride and balanced both disciplines until two of the three lost interest in the sport.

“Then I’ll continue to utilize him until Ferdinand realizes looking down on people is going to cost him greatly.”

“Well you didn’t hear it from me but… Felix certainly isn’t lacking energy after practice, I’m sure you could increase the rigor of his training sessions without it having any ill effects on him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind over the next couple weeks,” Byleth says with a hum, and Glenn has to refrain from looking too excited and giving himself away to his incredibly perceptive friend. Instead he stretches and rolls his shoulders, sighing in contentment when they crack. “Anyway, what can you tell me about Royal University’s foil—Galatea—she’s the matchup I’m most concerned about for Pinelli.”

He chuckles and sits up straight, flipping himself over so he’s on his knees, looking down at Byleth. “Come on now By, you know I don’t give out family fencing secrets for free… what’s in it for me?”

“Smarmy as always I see.” Their hand returns to Glenn’s hair, fingers gliding through the unruly waves. “Well, name your price, Fraldarius.”

“For now, I’m going to take it in arrears.”

𓆩✧𓆪

It was good to keep a ledger for debts owed. It was even better when a debtor held unique value. Glenn would happily spill every one of his fathers fencing techniques a million times over, if it kept Byleth as his ace in this battle with Felix. Besides, how convenient that the best way to train Pinelli to face Galatea was to have their current men's saber spar her in foil. What a nice incentive to push Felix just a little harder than usually at daily practice.

Of course that probably explains why Glenn gets home late from cadaver lab one Thursday evening and Sylvain is sitting slouched on his sofa while Felix is nowhere to be seen.

“Fancy seeing you rotting on my couch,” he says, eyebrows raised as he kicks off his shoes and pads across the floor into the living room. “Where's the brat?”

“Asleep.”

“And you're just… hanging out until he wakes up or something?”

“His fencing coach is putting him through the ringer with nationals coming up, he's practically dead on his feet between class and practice,” Sylvain says and sighs. “We’re supposed to go to that Almyran place he likes—but I figure he could use the rest—so I'm just hanging out and… waiting I guess.” He shrugs.

“Delightful,” Glenn says, dropping his bag on the floor before sitting in the armchair.

“...You know, if it's a problem, I can leave.” Sylvain laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Why would it be a problem?” Glenn’s response is overly curt. He pulls his tablet out from his bag, intending to capitalize on the silence to do some studying.

“Oh. I just figured you must find it… annoying.”

“By it you mean my notoriously quiet younger brother deciding he's actually incredibly vocal during sex, or something else?”

“Goddess… I'm so sorry,” he chokes out. His eyes are wide like a terrified animal; like Glenn will retrieve his dissection kit and quarter him on the living room floor. “I'll try to get him to tone it down.”

“Hmm,” Glenn replies with palpable disinterest. He doesn't expect Felix to oblige the request—not when he's so clearly out for blood. “I need to study, if you don't mind.”

“Yeah of course, of course.”

The apartment descends into blissful silence. Sylvain’s on his phone playing games, or doomscrolling; for once his presence isn't suffocating. Glenn wonders briefly if he's intentionally making himself small, or if it's the result of being happy and secure for once in his life. In any case, he hopes it’s the latter—because despite everything that has happened in their social circle over the years—it’s Sylvain that worried Glenn the most. Sylvain who hopes the razor's edge will slit his throat when he finally loses his footing.

He manages nearly two hours of uninterrupted studying before he hears Felix stomping around inside his bedroom. Glenn glances up when the door swings inward and the handle hits the wall. He mentally adds: ‘Damaging the apartment so he doesn't get his deposit back,’ to the list of things Felix is doing in his petty pursuit of revenge. Goddess, Glenn is tired, it's a genuine mystery how the kid finds the energy to be so cantankerous. Sylvain on the other hand, perks up like he's a lost puppy who's been reunited with their master. His body language does a one-eighty so fast that Glenn thinks he can physically feel the emotional whiplash.

“Why the fuck did you let me sleep so long?” Felix grouses, because if Sylvain's a dog, Felix is a semi-feral cat who cannot be expected to appreciate kindness.

“You looked like you needed it,” Sylvain says calmly. He cautiously gets up from the sofa and approaches Felix, wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders. To Felix’s credit, he rolls his eyes and allows it.

“My sleep pattern is going to be ruined.” Glenn hears him mutter in response, and he almost wants to laugh. His brother has always been fastidious about maintaining his sleep schedule. How horrific he might not fall asleep at precisely half past eleven tonight.

“Sorry, let me make it up to you?” Sylvain replies, as he guides them towards the door.

“Fine.”

There's the sound of fabric rustling, and rubber soles walking across the wood floor before the door finally opens and closes, leaving Glenn alone to his own devices. Not that there's much excitement to that these days. At one time he might find a party, or bring home one of his friends he had a casual thing with. But now, he studies almost every waking hour that he's not in class or lab. Because how in saint's name is he supposed to retain all this information on histology and immunology otherwise?

After about another half hour, he realizes he's famished and hasn't had anything considerable to eat since breakfast. Goddess, he doesn't feel like cooking, but he's also wholly unconvinced Felix would do him a favour and bring him something back. Honestly, he'd probably say he would then conveniently forget. That doesn't stop him from taking the chance anyway, shooting Felix off a text before dropping his phone back on the cushion beside him. Maybe Sylvain's feeling guilty enough to talk Felix into a truce for a couple hours, but if all else fails he'll scavenge something later.

Glenn wraps up what he's currently working on. Then drags himself to the shower—which he'd have done earlier if not for Sylvain—to wash the remnants of the scent of formalin off himself; or at least get it out of his nose.

He's meandering around his bedroom listening to some pathology podcast when the apartment door crashes open, sounding like it's been kicked clean off its hinges. His baby brother in one of his most spectacular moods. Glenn sighs and yanks the earbud from his ear, allowing the audio to pause. He pockets his phone in his joggers and slips from his bedroom, down the short corridor into the open concept kitchen and living room. Felix surprisingly drops a paper bag onto the island; more astonishing however, is he's alone.

“No Sylvain?” he asks, approaching the counter.

“He has some stupid lab trip and has to be on campus at quarter to six so he decided to go back to his place from the restaurant because it's closer.”

“Ah yes, I sure don’t miss classes like that,” Glenn hums and wraps his fingers around the rolled up portion of the bag, sliding it towards himself. “What do I owe you anyway?”

Felix’s eyes narrow, a scowl taking form on his features. Glenn gets the distinct impression he’s done something wrong but can’t quite discern what. He hears Felix mutter, “you know what you owe me.”

“Clearly I don’t or I wouldn’t be asking.”

“Oh whatever—fuck off.” Felix hisses and pushes off from the island, making a move to his bedroom.

Glenn’s reflexes are still sharp of course, so he practically sprints across the room until he’s standing in Felix’s path. “Seriously, Fe, what’s up?”

“I said fuck off, I don’t want to talk about it right now!” Felix snaps, trying to shove his way past Glenn who grabs onto his forearm.

The two of them scuffle at the entrance to the corridor until Glenn has Felix in a headlock. His brother keeps struggling against him; a litany of swears and noises escaping his mouth as he does. Felix continues like this until Glenn’s free hand brushes against the nape of his neck, making him freeze.

He can imagine there must be a sadistic smile on his face as he wiggles his fingers, lightly brushing the tips against his skin—he’s always been dreadfully ticklish here—easily reduced to tears with minimal effort. Their tussle persists, he keeps Felix locked in place, whilst continuing to tickle him. Felix makes a strangled noise, reinvigorated to struggle. It isn’t until he throws his elbow back into Glenn’s sternum that he finally lets up, and Felix scrambles away, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Goddess—ouch—what the fuck Fe?”

“Don’t you dare ask me what the fuck!” He’s shouting, Glenn hasn’t seen him this frazzled in years. “You always fucking do this—you always fucking pry and meddle and do whatever best suits you—and you never consider if it suits me, if I’m ready…” Felix trails off, taking in a deep ragged breath while Glenn stares at him; silent. “You got lucky with Sylvain, it all worked out because the feelings were mutual but… but it could have gone wrong, and I could have lost my best friend—just so what? You’d be less annoyed?”

Oh. Is what Glenn thinks as Felix wipes away angry tears before turning on his heels and storming into his bedroom, slamming the door. Fuck.

He owes him an apology.

𓆩✧𓆪

Over the next couple weeks he certainly tries to apologize. But it’s prerty clear that when Felix lashed out, he’d finally hit his critical mass. Now he’s leaving him on read at best, and ignoring him at worst. Glenn can’t even remember a time since Felix learned to speak that they’ve communicated this little. And because he doesn’t know how to fix it, he gives him space instead, foolishly hoping this is something that can be resolved with time.

Nationals come and go; Felix is as much a vision as he always is with a saber in his hand. Glenn attends all his matches but maintains a wide berth afterwards. When their eyes meet across the room, Felix’s are those of complete apathy. He has no one to blame but himself, he makes an excuse he needs to study for an exam to skip the celebratory dinner afterwards. He needs to figure out how to fix this before the chasm expands beyond what is bridgeable.

It’s a couple weeks later—when Felix has a reprieve from training—that the depraved sounds he used to hear through the walls pick up again. This time with what feels like added zeal. Sylvain shoots him an apologetic grimace a couple times when they cross paths but says nothing; loyal to Felix to death, as he should be.

Glenn suffers through it for a little while, certainly he deserves it, but when it shows no signs of settling down after nearly a week he caves and decides it’s time to collect his debt for something more important than a petty squabble. He opens his texts with Byleth and shoots them a message.

He waits, and hopes mostly that the saints forsaken noise will stop before Byleth arrives. However, he also considers maybe if they got the full experience of what’s been going on in Glenn’s life for almost two months now. They’d know better how to approach this absolute mess without the worst coming to pass. For all Glenn’s bitching afterall, he doesn't really want to kick his brother out. Glenn just wants a little respect; something he should've offered in kind, he realizes now as hindsight slams into him going eighty miles per hour.

Byleth’s knock on the door is surprisingly gentle, Glenn springs to his feet and pads across the expanse of the room, disarming the deadbolt and letting them inside.

“Hey,” he says, quietly as he steps aside to allow them entrance.

“Hey,” they respond, toeing off their shoes and turning around to face him. “What's the problem then?”

“Felix has been upset for a while over the whole Sylvain debacle, he just…”

“Didn’t tell you until he snapped?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Glenn drops back onto the sofa and crosses his arms over his chest. Byleth lowers themself until they’re sitting beside him.

“That does sound a lot like him,” Byleth concedes, falling back into the plush cushions.

“He’s right that I was being selfish, only thinking about myself and not the consequences—I should have realized sooner.”

Byleth hums, and casts a glance in his direction. “I disagree, in part. I don’t think it was your responsibility to know his feelings were hurt. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone about it how you did—well you probably shouldn’t have—but Felix is an adult and he has to communicate like one and stop assuming his brother can read his mind.”

“Spoken like a true psychologist, maybe I should start booking my therapy appointments with you.”

“What and give up all the other perks?” They tease, and Glenn elicits a breathy chuckle, finally smiling.

It’s a companionable silence between them; so relaxing Glenn finds himself beginning to doze off until three things happen in sequence: The door to Felix’s room opens with a bang, Felix makes a noise that sounds between startled and strangled, and Byleth greets him with that calm voice that reminds Glenn of gentle waves lapping against the shoreline.

“What in flames name are you doing here?” Felix snaps, face flushed bright red, no doubt from a combination of recent exertion and embarrassment over what his fencing coach might have heard.

“Visiting. Come, sit.” He stares at Byleth before trudging to the chair and dropping into it. “Glenn told me you’re upset and he’s been trying to apologize but you’ve been… unwilling,” they say, never one to trim the weeds when they can extricate the roots.

“And did he tell you what he did? Or did he just tell you I was being some fucking baby and needed my coach to come to my house and spank me?” He sounds like an angry cat, it causes Glenn to wince.

“He didn’t have to tell me… on account of that I put him up to it.”

Wait what? Sure Byleth had asked him to help—but they’d never told him to lock Sylvain and Felix in a room until they got their shit together—no that had all been him. Glenn chances a look at Felix, who looks like he’s just witnessed the entire universe rearrange itself.

“What?” He echoes Glenn's thoughts.

“You were struggling in practice, and I was the one to suggest the nuclear option,” Byleth says, crossing one of their ankles over the other. “I shouldn’t have asked Glenn to do that to you, and had I known the rift it would create I wouldn’t have considered it.”

“I—Okay,” Felix replies, staring. “Okay,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry Fe, I should have said no and let you figure it out yourself.”

“Yeah. You should have.” Felix is stiff, his jaw and hands are clenched. Glenn cannot begin to guess what he’s thinking. “Well… whatever… It's fine, we’re fine.”

“You’re sure?” Glenn asks, he tilts his head slightly and his cheek gently brushes against Byleth’s shoulder.

Felix stiffens more, Glenn thinks he might know why. Which if that’s the case—interesting. “I’m sure, don’t do it again.”

“If I upset you in the future, will you tell me?”

“Sure.” His eyes are darting between the two of them, and Glenn really does wish he knew what conclusion Felix’s mind had come to. “Sylvain’s here. I’m—leaving unless there’s something else.”

“Thank you for listening, Felix.” Byleth has the ghost of a serene smile on their face, and Felix nearly lunges from the chair, escaping back into his room.

There’s silence for a minute before Glenn says, “does he think we're…?”

“He has for a while, I think seeing me in your space just confirmed it.”

“Huh.” Glenn sits there, mentally slotting puzzle pieces together, trying to get an understanding of whatever it is Felix thinks he sees. He gives up eventually and sighs, sinking into the sofa. It's hard to believe he's so relieved when not long ago he'd been trying to run the kid out of their home. “So… what do I owe you for doing that?”

“Nothing,” they say and shift on the couch so they’re facing him. A hand reaches up to idly card through his loose hair and their gazes meet. “Take it as a lesson that not everything is a score that needs settling or a debt that needs repaying—” Byleth’s hand falls from his hair onto his shoulder and slides down his arm, “—sometimes people just do things because they want to; because they care.”

Glenn’s lips upturn when their hand finally comes to rest atop his. He closes his eyes and thinks maybe this is what some people mean when they say their partner is their better half.