Chapter Text
There's something about this odd feeling in his chest that Sylvain can't shake.
He's used to fleeting feelings, to momentary attraction, to passing interest. The fluttering in his chest usually means that a woman has caught his eye -- preferably someone who hasn't caught on to his reputation yet. But a feeling that lingers, a feeling that lasts…
Maybe it's because they're at war. Maybe it's because it's been five years since he's seen anyone from the academy. Now, gathered back in Garreg Mach, it's oddly thrilling to see how everyone has filled out and matured, to see how different everyone is after the years took their toll.
Whatever it is, it sticks with him, following him around like rumors after a bad breakup.
Usually, he ignores it. Worrying about it won’t get him anywhere.
---
He thinks it began when Byleth disappeared. Maybe the feeling -- whatever it is -- was building beforehand, but that day was what started everything.
That day hurt Sylvain more than he’s willing to admit. It nearly broke him.
Sylvain isn’t used to depending on people. He knows, whether by their own faults or his own, that nobody will always be there for you.
Not Ingrid, not Dimitri, not even Felix.
But Byleth… Byleth was a constant in his life. She always encouraged and supported him, no matter how reckless he was, no matter how lazy he was being. She always took him at face value every time she saw him, unmoved by the latest rumors floating around the monastery, unfazed by the overwhelming amount of times she’d seen him at his worst, at his most vulnerable.
And he’d lost her.
For five years, he’d been convinced that he’d lost her.
For five years, he’d grieved in silence, packed his hurt away where no one could see it, tried to move on with his life.
Until the Millenium Festival -- or, well, what would’ve been the Millenium Festival if the whole goddamn continent wasn’t at war. Until the Millenium Festival, there had been no word of Byleth for five years. And then, there she was.
And then, there they all were, back in the ruins of Garreg Mach -- as if The Empire hadn’t denounced Edelgard, as if Edelgard hadn’t told them an underground society of mages has been controlling Fodlan for the past who knows how long.
It was all weird.
Walking around the halls of his old school felt like reliving a dream. Greeting people with a smile and a laugh felt like he’d died and this was heaven. Or eternal punishment. He wasn’t sure which.
But the dream state couldn’t last forever.
When he’d finally crossed paths with Byleth, something within him cracked.
He’d smiled and he’d laughed like he did with everyone else, greeting his old professor as if nothing had ever happened. As if she hadn't disappeared for five years.
But that feeling, that ache that he’d locked behind every defense he had, started to seep through again. By the time she moved on, called upon by another former student, his hands were shaking.
He’s been here before.
Once, a long time ago, he’d locked up all his feelings, promised he’d never feel like that again,
Ink black hair, vermillion eyes,
A little hand fisted in his shirt, following him everywhere, promising him forever,
“He’s dead, and they called him a hero,”
and it’s been working so far. He thinks he’s numb to that ache now.
But, unlike last time, he doesn’t get the chance to properly patch the crack before it’s weathered again.
Byleth knocks on his door the night after they first run into each other. When Sylvain answers the summons, he stares down at his professor in shocked silence for just a beat too long.
“Professor! What brings you here?” He yanks the facade back on, scrambling to cover. “Looking for a midnight rendezv-”
“Sylvain,”
ouch,
Professor, be careful,
“I came to check on you.” She informs him, as neutral as ever. “You seem…”
She trails off, green eyes flicking from his head to his toes. She never does finish her sentence.
“I’m fine, professor,” he assures her. Such a simple statement shouldn’t be such a big lie, but it is. “Care to come in? It’s cold out, tonight.”
Byleth scans him again, looks beyond him into his room, and nods.
She closes the door behind them while Sylvain scurries to pull out a couple chairs, setting up a place to sit and… chat.
Oh goddess, they’re going to talk. Byleth is going to drag it out of him, and he’s going to-
“It seems most everybody has cut ties with their families, or is in the process of,” Byleth begins, making small talk like a champ.
Sylvain can’t take it anymore, he’s going to combust.
“Where were you?” The accusation rips out of him, all in a rush. “What happened? Why- why didn’t you-”
He shuts his mouth as soon as his voice starts to warble, but Byleth is too keen to miss such an obvious tell. Green eyes are on him in an instant, and she’s looking at him like she knows, already.
“You didn’t hear?” She hums, surprised. Sylvain merely shakes his head, forgoing admitting that he’s been pretty out of it so far. “I was asleep.”
At that, all he can do is put his head in his hands. “Right.” He sighs, watching colors burst in the black when he presses his palms into his eyes. Of course she’s going to be vague about it.
“I almost didn’t wake up.” She adds- and there’s something about the way her eyebrows pull together that makes Sylvain thinks she’s serious. “If it weren’t for… I…” she trails off, staring off at nothing.
She looks as lost as he feels.
Sylvain can’t stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand in both of his. It’s part habit, part need, and he’s too tired to fight the knee-jerk urge.
“I’m glad you’re back, professor.” He murmurs, and a genuine smile slips out alongside it. He knows it’s genuine because he feels tired, and his usual smiles are bright and full of energy. “I was really worried.”
Is it wrong to feel blessed when her fingers twist into his?
He stares at their entwined hands for a moment, warring against the defenses that threaten to crack, that threaten to let that feeling come spilling back out.
“You thought I was dead,” Byleth notes, stating the observation as if it’s established fact. Sylvain chokes on his next breath, the cracks in his walls widening.
A call of his name has his gaze swinging up to meet hers, and he realizes he’s got a death grip on her hand.
“I’m sorry.” She says, soft and simple. “I didn’t intend to leave you.”
When the apology leaves her lips, something within him shatters.
He spends the better part of the next hour on his knees, sobbing into her lap.
Byleth doesn’t say a word, just strokes through his hair and rubs wide, soothing circles into his back. She shushes him when he apologizes and she shushes him when he thanks her, so he just shuts up and cries.
It’s the first time he’s cried -- really cried -- in… in years. Maybe since Glenn died.
And oh goddess, thinking of Glenn only makes him think of Felix, and thinking about Felix is really not helping him calm down right now, and--
“You’re not alone, Sylvain,” Byleth whispers into the air between them. “Even without me -- you know that, right?”
Sylvain can only shake his head. He can’t voice what he knows -- that he’s made too many mistakes. His friends may be knights, but he’s beyond saving.
They sit in silence for a moment more -- maybe an hour, Sylvain can’t tell -- until his professor speaks up again.
“I used to feel like I couldn’t trust anyone,” Byleth murmurs. Soft. Vulnerable.
The confession has Sylvain sitting up, tilting his head back to look up at her. It surprises him, because she never brings up her past, and rarely answers questions about it.
“My father said that, when you decide to trust people and get burned, you either move on or shut yourself off forever.” She continued. Her hand slid from his hair to his shoulders, and though she looked down at him, he could tell she was looking through him, beyond him. “I was pretty close to shutting myself off forever. He didn’t want that for me.”
Sylvain lets out a breath through his nose. Clears his throat. Tests his voice. “Your dad cared a lot about you.”
Green eyes focus back in on him. Strong hands squeeze his shoulders. “Sylvain,”
“Yeah?”
Byleth is quiet for a moment, long enough for Sylvain to plop back into her lap. She slides her fingers into his hair again.
“I don’t want you to shut yourself off forever.”
Apparently, Sylvain is not done crying.
---
Somehow, that encounter knocks him out of the orbit he’d been stuck in. Clears his head a bit.
Unfortunately, what with the absolute annihilation of the defenses he’d been building up for the past five years, everything is a little too clear.
He’s in love with Byleth. He’s in love with Byleth because if Byleth loved him back, it wouldn’t be for his house name or his Crest.
It’d be because she loves him.
He knows all that, already, but he hasn't really come to terms with it until now. Hasn't accepted exactly how far in he really was.
Part of the reason why he’s been putting off accepting it is because… Byleth doesn’t love him like that.
The other part is… well, because of how many other people are in love with Byleth.
Other, much more worthy people. Smarter people. Stronger people.
Sylvain is far out of his league, here.
That gives him a little hope. If the professor and everyone else can see how far out of his league he is, then they won’t take his usual flirting seriously. Oh, silly Sylvain, wasting sweet words on the professor.
As long as they don’t suspect he actually means them… he should be fine.
And, of course, what better to sell the act than a beautiful woman on his arm who stares adoringly up into his eyes while he shows her the progress they’re making rebuilding the monastery? Sylvain couldn’t possibly mean a word he says if he’s always carting a new woman around.
Of course not.
“What’s down this hall?” The woman on his arm wonders, staring adoringly up into his eyes while he shows her the progress they’re making rebuilding the monastery.
Sylvain smiles. “Well, behind that door is the stairs back to the first floor. I didn’t think you’d want to end our tour so soon…?”
The woman gasps and quickly backtracks. “No, no, I-”
“I was just teasing, lovely, no need to-” As they turn the corner, moving along, Sylvain pauses mid-sentence. The door to the stairs swinging open snagged his attention, but the tangle of bodies shuffling into the hallway kept it.
Mint green hair -- it’s Byleth.
And clinging to her, leaning heavily on her shoulders, face flushed the most delectable red -- Felix.
He watches the professor try to take a step forward, nudging Felix along, but the swordsman only stumbles alongside her in a clumsy attempt at walking.
“Ah.” Sylvain hums, mostly to himself. “I hate to cut our conversation short, sweet thing,” he apologizes, bowing low to the woman he’s accompanying. “Duty calls.”
Luckily, she understands the situation at hand -- sending Felix a pitying glance that would’ve had the swordsman snarling at her, had he seen it -- and scampers off down the very stairs they’d just discussed.
“Don’t tell me,” Sylvain declares as he approaches the two, pausing solely for dramatic effect -- and because he knows it will piss Felix off. “Felix overworked himself on the training grounds. Again.”
Byleth, in her usual stoic honesty, shakes her head and announces that she may have concussed Felix.
Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Concussed him.
This is. Wonderful. This is hilarious.
He is desperately holding back his laughter, hoping the way his lips keep trying to twitch into a smile won’t give him away while he waits for an explanation. Luckily, Felix won’t look him in the eye -- but that’s nothing new.
(Not that he can get away with things just because Felix won’t look him in the eye. There are other facial tells to emotion, and Felix is a near master at decoding them.)
He revels in Felix’s embarrassment, glad to see the skillful swordsman taken down a peg or two... all up until Felix admits he can’t walk in a straight line.
Sylvain doesn’t know a lot about injuries (that’s more of a white magic thing, not his style), but he knows enough to know that’s kinda serious.
And yeah, it’s kinda odd that Felix lets him grab his chin and turn his face this way and that, but it’s weirder that his pupils aren’t dilating and constricting, that garnet eyes are having a hard time keeping up with the movement even though Sylvain hasn’t moved an inch.
He tries not to focus on how warm Felix is under his fingers, tries to ignore the rush of satisfaction it gives him to have the swordsman pliant in his hands. His jawline is strong and sharp, absolutely regal, and Sylvain finds himself tracing the curve of his bottom lip with his thumb before he can stop himself.
Fuck.
He turns his attention to the professor before he can get too swept up (in old feelings, feelings he’s long buried by now… right?) and, luckily, Byleth gives him something to work with right off the bat. She looks away, cheeks burning with sheepishness. The sight makes him smile before he can catch it.
All sorts of responses bubble up on his tongue -- ranging from “things that will piss Felix off” to “things that might make the professor blush more” -- but he reigns himself in, settling for something in the middle of both.
“Professor!” He chastises with a click of his tongue -- which should be the first sign that he’s not serious, since he’s in no position to be reprimanding someone who’s technically his superior. “You’ve got to go easy on us! Especially poor, delicate Felix,” he makes sure to tack another falsehood onto the end, just to make his point.
He really can’t resist teasing the shorter man, especially when his face scrunches up like that, silently protesting Sylvain’s choice of description. Felix’s reactions are always a nice change of pace from stony-faced Byleth -- who doesn’t even crack a smile when he winks at her after offering his help.
Slinging Felix’s arm over his shoulder is easy.
So is stepping closer to him, pressing up against his side.
Too easy.
For a moment, walking down the final stretch of hallway before the infirmary’s doors, they’re a unit, walking in unison, fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces.
It’s too easy.
Felix, warm against his side (blushing, is he blushing?), a calloused hand hanging loosely over Sylvain’s shoulder (for once, it’s not clenched), Sylvain’s own hand spread wide over the expanse of his ribs (he’s just holding him up, just steadying him, that’s all)... Byleth, as steady as always (a pillar they can always lean on), her arm crossed over Felix’s back so her hand can grip his waist (her knuckles bump Sylvain’s thigh as he walks), her heels clicking against the tiles in time with their own footsteps (oh how he listens in vain for that sound to approach his room once more)...
It’s like a dream. It all goes so smoothly. It can’t be real.
It’s too easy.
When they disband, depositing Felix into Manuela’s care, Sylvain feels that… feeling. Again.
All the longing, all the regret, all the pain, he… He thought he’d gotten rid of it, thought he’d cried it all out.
“Something on your mind, Sylvain?”
Sylvain tears his eyes off of the concussed swordsman across the room. When he turns to Byleth, he tries not to wince away at the knowing look in her eyes.
“Actually, I’m glad you asked!” He chirps, scooting closer to her, beaming at her with his brightest smile. “I was just thinking, this is the closest we’ve been in a while and -- I think, personally -- we should spend some more time together.” He delivers the line with his best Suave Look, and a hand on her knee for good measure.
Byleth smiles, something small and amused.
Bingo.
“You should’ve just said so,” she hums -- and her voice is so flat, he can’t tell if she’s teasing him or not. “We should have tea together soon. Sit down and talk.”
Sylvain readily agrees, always willing to steal the professor’s precious free time for himself.
Her smile lasts for a moment beyond his assent, but it falls when her gaze slides back to Felix.
“You know Felix well, don’t you, Sylvain?”
The question catches him off guard. He tries not to choke while he swallows it.
“Sure, professor. We grew up together, remember?” He smiles, covering the insistent pang in his chest with glib geniality.
Eyes of vermillion wonder, eyes that looked up at him like he held the world in his hands,
Back then, he did hold the world in his hands, but back then, the world had vermillion eyes.
Sylvain's hands are empty now, and he’s not sure what he did to empty them.
Byleth looks between the lanceman and the swordsman, her gaze as discerning as ever. But whatever she sees between them, she doesn’t comment on it.
“Felix is acting… strange.” Their professor decides, eyes narrowing the slightest bit while she watches Manuela heal her student. “Something is off. I can’t…” her eyebrows furrow, something like determination flashing across her features for a moment. “I don’t know how to help.”
This is… not what Sylvain was expecting his professor to ask of him.
“I can’t think of anything off of the top of my head,” he admits, honestly at a loss, “But I’ll keep an eye out, if you’d like.”
Byleth nods, short and decisive. “Thank you, Sylvain.”
He doesn’t notice her hand over top of his (where it still rests on her knee) until she squeezes.
That feeling bubbles up again, but there are no walls left to hide behind.
All he can do is endure it.
Manuela calls Byleth over, gesturing towards Felix and offering some white magic training, so Sylvain tunes out for the time being. With a long yawn and a big stretch, he leans back to lounge in his seat.
With two of the most interesting people (at least to him) in the room, it’s no surprise where his wandering eyes land.
Byleth’s hands are so small, but they cup Felix’s face just right.
(Sylvain wonders if anyone’s ever held Felix so gently. Now’s not the time to think back on all the times he should’ve been the one to do it.)
Head tilted back, putty in her hands, Felix all but stares up at the woman towering over him. Sylvain watches his lips part, watches his tongue run over his lip, watches his hand swing up and hook into her arm to keep her there, close to him,
and
All of a sudden, Sylvain knows what’s wrong with Felix.
It’s ever more obvious with every passing second -- what with how low the swordsman’s voice drops when he finally speaks up, or the pink that tints his cheeks when the professor smiles down at him.
All of a sudden, Sylvain remembers just how far out of his league he is.
"Sylvain," Byleth calls over her shoulder. "Will you walk Felix back to the training grounds?"
While Felix protests, Sylvain catches Byleth’s eyes.
Something is off. I don’t know how to help.
His professor is worried about Felix. If Sylvain can do something to help, well… Duty calls.
“Sure thing, professor!" Sylvain chirps, donning his brightest smile. "I'll take care of him!"
I’ll take care of him for you, for you, professor, because I can’t have him for myself.
Of course, being passed off from caretaker to caretaker doesn’t please Felix, and he rushes to stand on his own two feet. His pretty face is already twisted with discontent while he demands independence, towering over their professor.
“I said I’m fine!”
The shout echoes in the quiet infirmary. The shout surprises Sylvain.
It’s unlike Felix to yell.
Brood and mutter under his breath, sure. Lash out with razor-tipped insults, sure. Make some kind of face and walk away, sure.
Maybe the professor’s right. Maybe there is something wrong with Felix.
But, in the next beat, Felix switches tracks, face going from all scrunched up and upset to slack with surprise, hands that were fisted at his sides uncurling, lifting to hover over Byleth’s hips as if he means to hold her there.
It should not be so goddamn interesting to notice how the two fit together, chest to chest, toe to toe, close enough to lean forward and --
"C'mon, Felix, let's head out." Sylvain keeps his tone as neutral as possible while he takes hold of the swordsman’s arm. "I'll even spar with you, if you want."
Anything to get them out of there.
Anything to push down the feeling in his chest.
Anything to escape the tightening of his pants.
Felix doesn’t even fight him. He looks lost while Sylvain drags him out of the infirmary, barely notices the stairs while Sylvain guides him towards the training grounds.
Byleth is right. This Felix is a Felix Sylvain doesn’t know. This is a Felix that Sylvain wants to figure out.
“Join the club, I suppose.” Sylvain finally speaks up, breaking their silence.
As soon as Sylvain speaks, Felix pushes ahead, leaving him behind with a weary sigh of “What kind of nonsense are you spitting now?”
Ah. Jackpot.
It’s cute that Felix thinks Sylvain will be so easily swayed.
“The professor. Byleth. You're in love with her." The professor’s name feels foreign in his mouth, but he tries again, walking faster. (It’s not hard to catch up when Felix stands five inches shorter than him.)
Felix’s lip curls in a snarl. Sylvain’s heart stutters in place.
"Don't be stupid.” The shorter man bites out. “I am no such thing."
"I forgot how stubborn you are," Sylvain can’t help but sigh. Felix is a lost cause. "Fine, attracted, at least?"
Felix, that stubborn man, denies again. To prove his point, he makes sure to insult not only Byleth but Sylvain as well, doing what Felix does best when someone peers too deeply into his soul.
And, for the record, Sylvain thinks their professor’s mint frosting hair is cute.
Though, “a pig like you” rings a little too harshly in his ears. He’d thought by now Felix would catch on, but… it seems Sylvain is too convincing.
“Hey, hey, I didn't expect you to answer like me at all!” Sylvain raises his hands in surrender, showing Felix he means no harm. "I know you're a different person, Felix. Of course different things are gonna catch your eye. I just wondered what your preference was."
And it’s true! Sylvain’s never seen Felix express interest in any kind of human beyond what they could offer him in improving his skills. And now, all of a sudden, it’s Byleth.
Why? What about her? When?
"I don't have a preference. I'd rather train." The swordsman keeps his answers as sharp as his blade, doing his best to cut Sylvain off before he can dig any deeper.
But Sylvain won’t let him slip away. Not this time.
It’s rare to catch Felix off guard, but he’s quite certain the shorter man is too lost in thought to be vigilant right now -- which proves correct when he successfully manages to push Felix up against a wall.
(It’s a move he’s attempted on many women with mixed results. Judging by the way Felix’s eyes are wide enough to swallow the moon, mouth hung just the slightest bit agape in pure surprise, Sylvain thinks he’s succeeded with this attempt.)
"You can really look me in the eye and tell me you don't get a little hot under the collar when you watch her fight?" Sylvain purrs, low and smooth, head tilted to the side while he watches Felix intently for reactions. "Not even when you think about her skill with a sword? With combat? With strategy?"
Felix schools his expression into something carefully neutral, eyes fixed somewhere just beyond Sylvain’s shoulder.
Sylvain will not back down without a fight.
"You don't anticipate the days that she asks you to spar? You don't get excited when she lands a hit?" He dares to brush his knuckles across Felix's cheek, grazing over pale skin that’s beginning to flush pink. "I just wanna know, Fee," he murmurs -- and he doesn’t notice how close he’s leaned in until the heat of his own breath warms his cheeks, radiating off of Felix’s skin.
Don’t look at his mouth, don’t look at his mouth,
Don’t think about how soft his lips would feel, pressed against yours, don’t think about how you know his neck is ticklish, don’t think about wrapping your arms around his waist,
Oh shit. Oh. Shit. Not this again, not again, not while he's hung up on the professor as well, please no, goddess, no,
"Don't get your hopes up."
Sylvain almost thinks the goddess herself is speaking to him, shaking her head at his foolishness, until he registers the wobble in Felix’s lip.
“You're out of your mind." The swordsman dismisses him with a scoff, slipping out from underneath him without even a glance in Sylvain’s direction.
But Sylvain saw the flush of his skin, the fiery red of his face. Felix’s fists are clenched as he storms away, but Sylvain wonders… if he unfolded them, would they be shaking?
Sylvain's are.
That feeling thuds against his ribcage, demanding to be freed.
This… this is not going away.