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Felix stares at the ceiling, one silken bedsheet draped across his otherwise barren chest, and wonders not for the first time how it had come to this.
Beside him Dimitri lies facing away from him curled up like a pill bug, every so often shuddering, plagued by unpleasant dreams. Even now he refuses to take his eyepatch off when sleeping beside Felix, though Felix has seen plenty of his other scars, mottling his chest and back alike. He doesn’t understand why Dimitri would be self-conscious about that particular scar amongst the others, but Felix has never claimed to understand everything about Dimitri. Many things, but not everything.
With one finger he reaches out to trace one of the gashes between the king’s shoulder blades, and Dimitri relaxes with the contact, his breathing growing steady. Felix has learned that simple contact seems to put Dimitri’s tortured mind a bit at ease — which is no easy feat for Felix, who despises casual physicality.
At least, he used to despise it. It’s become a bit more tolerable as of late.
Their relationship, whatever it may be, ebbs and flows like the tide. It had started with one completely non-romantic, nearly violent kiss, after which the two of them hadn’t spoken for several days. Then they had returned to their banter, softer than before, and ever since then Felix would find himself falling silent for too long while staring at Dimitri’s jawline, or Dimitri would trail off mid-sentence and his half gaze would alight on Felix’s lips. There’s a strange sense of guilt that comes along with their kissing and touching; Felix had already been deprived of such things for so long, so why is he suddenly allowed to experience them now? And how long would it last, if at all?
And yet it doesn’t vanish immediately like he expects. Dimitri still looks at him with a curious eye, and they wind up entangled in each other, mutually longing but afraid to put any words to their dance lest it become something real, something that can be taken away.
A soft moan alerts Felix to his companion blinking awake, and he turns to see Dimitri beckoning towards him with one bleary hand outstretched. The king still looks rattled from his sleep, and Felix reaches back, answering the call by grasping Dimitri’s hand in his own. With one jerky tug Dimitri pulls him in for a kiss, and like every attempt before it, the action is clumsy and terrible. It’s clear Dimitri never knows exactly how much force to put into it, so he always uses far too much, and still Felix tries to tolerate the experience despite his inability to breathe.
...Breathing is important, though.
“Oi,” he growls, and Dimitri backs off, apologetic and sheepish. And then Felix grows irritated, because he hadn’t wanted it to stop completely. Can Dimitri possibly figure out a balance between entirely crushing his lungs and nothing? Hasn’t he heard of something called moderation? It’s not like Felix even has a different frame of reference when it comes to kissing, but he’s pretty sure that having his breathing strained to the point of nearly passing out isn’t quite right.
Felix has only barely caught his breath again when he feels a palm push against his chest, and Felix tilts off balance when Dimitri shoves him, head falling against the pillow with a soft thwump as his ponytail unravels. Dimitri’s actions aren’t particularly deliberate and they’re certainly not graceful, but he settles himself between Felix’s legs as the flustered man flounders, splayed on his back. With an uncertain hum Dimitri places one hand on each side of the pillow and boxes him in.
It doesn’t feel real, Dimitri hovering over him like this. Felix had probably dreamed something like this almost ten years ago before everything changed and his life of self-repression had begun. He wonders if the lack of air from the kiss before has caused him to hallucinate fantasies he hadn’t fully accepted yet.
Dimitri’s hand creeps its way up his chest, caressing the curvature of his muscles, and Felix shivers, the tension dripping away for a moment as he parts his lips expectantly. The roaming fingers settle around his ribcage as Dimitri drops down for a second kiss, leaning in his body with uncomfortable force; the palm of his hand presses painfully against Felix’s bones with the weight of Dimitri’s body suddenly behind the touch, and —
Snap.
Fire washes over his vision and Felix whimpers, a sound completely devoid of any pleasure. Yet again he had let his guard down, and yet again Dimitri had grown overzealous, breaking Felix with those uncontrollably clumsy hands of his. Every time Dimitri gets close Felix longs for it, doesn’t have the willpower to gently push him away before Dimitri’s inhuman strength has gotten the better of his emotions. First it had been a dislocated shoulder, then a painful bruise mottling the skin around his hip. This time, Felix’s breath grows shallow, and the impending realization that Dimitri has broken his rib hits him with an almost fascinated disgust.
Dimitri has sat up rapidly, horror etched across guilty features. “Felix… I am so very sorry. Yet again, I have…”
Dimitri’s voice fades in and out along with his consciousness, and Felix tries to wave off his words through gritted teeth. Gods, everything hurts so much. Dimitri is too damn strong, so much so that each physical interaction is accompanied by the fear of serious physical injury. The guilt on Dimitri’s face is almost harder to bear than the pain itself, but there’s no way for Felix to hide his discomfort when he’d just heard his ribs crack. “No apologies,” he wheezes. “Get Mercedes.”
“But —”
“Apologies later,” Felix growls, each breath piercing his chest like a splinter. “Healing now.”
Dimitri nods rapidly, sliding out of the bed and practically sprinting to the door. As he runs to retrieve help Felix closes his eyes, replaying those last few moments of Dimitri’s intense and earnest focus, that yearning that continues to draw Felix in despite the risks. The next several long minutes are spent catching his breath, each ragged inhalation causing his chest to spasm. Felix squints his eyes shut tighter, picturing himself on the battlefield, cutting and slashing down enemies one by one. Desperately he tries to keep the image going if only to distract himself from his pain.
Dimitri’s clunky footsteps return eventually, along with a second lighter pair.
“Again, Dimitri?” Mercedes’s voice is sweet but stern. Felix blinks his eyes open as a soft glow of magic emits from her fingertips. Her palm hovers over Felix’s ribs, and gradually as the melting of ice Felix can feel the sharp pains begin to fade from his chest. “I don’t mind doing this, but I would hate to have something, um… permanent happen. Something that my magic can’t heal.”
Dimitri’s shame is stifling, almost palpable. “I understand. Of course I do. Yet I find it so difficult to — to —” He glances at Felix, then glances away just as rapidly. “I should stop, should I not? What I want... it is hurting you. Of course it is. And yet I continue to —”
“Just do better then,” Felix huffs, finally able to speak in less broken fragments as the hurt ebbs from his body. “Giving up… doesn’t suit you.”
“But your body —”
“How will you shake hands with foreign powers if your grip turns their bones to dust?” Felix retorts. “Learn to control yourself, boar king. Anything less than that would be utterly pathetic.”
As Dimitri shrinks into himself, Mercedes sighs and places her free hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Your Majesty, may I speak to Felix privately for a moment?”
“O-okay,” Dimitri mumbles, very much not the picture of royalty right now. “Right. My apologies.”
Felix glares at his back as he skitters off. When he tries to sit up, Mercedes places a gentle hand on his chest and shakes her head. “I’m almost done,” she says, the glow around her fingers beginning to fade. “Felix, I can’t keep doing this.”
“What would you have me do?” he snaps. “It’s not like he’s hurting me on purpose.”
“Of course not,” Mercedes says quietly. “He would never. He lo—”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
She laughs, a wispy sound like a wind chime. “You need to urge him to be gentle with you, Felix. All this pain he causes, it gives him so much shame. If you let it go on like this, he’ll never be able to look at you.”
“How is that my fault?” Is she seriously blaming him for Dimitri’s lack of delicacy?
“Have you told him outright that he’s hurting you?” Mercedes retorts, her tone suddenly focused. “Or do you just sit back and let him struggle?”
Felix says nothing.
“Forgive me for prying,” Mercedes says, “but from my perspective, it seems like you’re denying yourself something that would make you happier.”
“Like what?” He grits it out as a challenge, though he’d rather not hear her response.
Of course she does respond, though. Mercedes never holds back when she’s trying to guide her friends through their issues. That’s just the kind of person she is and always has been. “Well... denying yourself your happiness."
Felix doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know how to argue while still being honest to her and himself.
“Just consider talking to him,” Mercedes says, patting his shoulder. “You’re healed up, by the way. Try not to, um… overexert yourself too much for a while.”
“Yeah, whatever. ...Thanks, Mercedes.”
She recedes from the room, and Dimitri does not return for a long while. Felix is once again left alone with his thoughts.
Spent of her magic, Mercedes visits the woman whose presence always revitalizes her.
“Mercie!” Annette jumps up from her nest of books piled at a desk in Fhirdiad’s library, knocking over a stack of tomes as she rushes to hug her friend. “I’m so glad you came by. Oh no,” she adds, noticing Mercedes's wobbly smile. “You look tired again. Did Felix have you fixing his — his — ugh, I can’t even say it, it’s too embarrassing!” Indignantly her hands ball into fists at her sides as she pouts. “Why can’t they keep you out of their weird business?! It’s completely unfair to you. You do way too much for those stupid boys.”
Mercedes chuckles. “That’s no way to talk about our king, you know,” she teases. “I don’t mind helping them for a while while they figure each other out. They’re both my precious friends, after all. If I can make their relationship any better at all, I’ll be happy.”
“Mercie, you’re way too good.”
“How about you?” Mercedes insists, acutely aware of the exhaustion thinly veiled behind Annette’s energy. “I know your father has been… attempting to reconcile with you.”
“Oh, my father,” Annette mumbles, biting her lip and eyes immediately downcast. “It’s, um, it’s been fine. Totally not weird at all.”
“Annie, you don’t have to lie to me,” Mercedes says softly, placing one gentle hand on the other woman’s back. “I can tell this has been difficult for you, and there’s no shame in that. Reconnecting after such a long time is always difficult. It would be much stranger if everything fell into place immediately."
Annette sniffles, leaning in to set her chin on Mercedes’s shoulder. “But he’s my father,” she protests, voice broken and tired. “I should forgive him, even if he…”
Mercedes shakes her head. “Forgiveness is something that comes with time,” she says. “I think you’re brave for even considering it. You don’t have to force it, though.”
“You always know what to say, Mercie,” Annette says, and Mercedes finds herself not fully enjoying the compliment, laced as it is with Annette’s sadness. “I wish I could be wise like you. You’re so much better at this kind of thing than I am. How do you always stay so calm?”
Mercedes sighs. “You’re better at plenty of things too,” she reminds her. “You’re so motivated and focused when it comes to your studies. I admire you just as much, you know. If my spacey advice can help you even a little,” she adds, “then I’m happy.”
Annette nuzzles her face against Mercedes’s shoulder, a muffled sob escaping her throat. “You really are the best friend ever, Mercie. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Annie,” Mercedes says, a bit strained as her gaze wanders admiringly over the fiery hair of the young woman in front of her; she wonders if any of her real longing comes through her words, but she can’t burden Annette with such things, not right now when her friend is already so conflicted about her emotions regarding her family.
Yet sometimes she still wishes she could manage a little selfishness, if only once.
The next time they’re alone together, Dimitri leans in too fast, and Felix braces himself for the inevitable disaster.
Despite how much he had resisted Mercedes's advice, it still comes to mind. He places a warning hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Careful,” he reprimands, and with just the one word Dimitri’s entire demeanor changes, that yearning hunger replaced with something tender.
Something delicate.
This time when Dimitri kisses him it’s gentle, hands skimming across his chest and gingerly pressing him into the bed. Felix’s entire body tenses, waiting for pain that never comes.
“That’s better, right?” Dimitri asks, breathy and anxious.
Felix nods, rendered voiceless by the other man’s unexpectedly gentle behavior.
“I do not wish to hurt you,” Dimitri murmurs, peering down at Felix through a curtain of messy golden locks falling haphazardly across his face. “And I do not wish to make you tolerate such pain.”
“You don’t make me do anything,” Felix grumbles. “Stop talking like you’re putting me through something I dislike. If you really think you have that power over me, you’re more arrogant than I thought, boar king.”
“Arrogant… because I’m pig-headed?”
Silence. Utter silence.
“Was that a joke?” Felix seethes. “I’m going to throw up. That was horrible.”
“I shall let Alois know his wordplay was not as successful as he had hoped,” Dimitri says, a bit strained. “Or — actually, perhaps I will not let him know. A little white lie could not hurt in this case… hopefully.”
The thought of Dimitri discussing their relationship with Alois of all people is too mortifying to bear. “Let him down fast, so I never have to hear such nonsense out your mouth ever again.”
Dimitri laughs, which for Felix is a horrible, intolerable sound that fills him with warmth he never asked for. The lines of fatigue around Dimitri's mouth and eyes look almost youthful when he’s laughing, and Felix is reminded of the clumsy youthful prince of their childhood, with his stupid bangs and eager eyes.
Felix could admit any of that if he so chose, could admit any number of complimentary and affectionate things, and Dimitri would continue to smile. And it would make him happy.
Instead, ever the pinnacle of romance, Felix gestures at Dimitri’s eyepatch and blurts, “Why don’t you ever take that off?”
His finger smacks against Dimitri’s cheek as he pulls his hand back, and Dimitri scrunches the bridge of his nose. “What are you expecting to see if I do?”
“Huh? I don’t care about seeing anything.” He’d already seen plenty of Dimitri’s scars, and they don’t faze him. Felix has plenty of his own. “It just looks uncomfortable. How can you relax with that… thing on your face?”
“I am used to it,” Dimitri says. “But if it truly bothers you, I suppose I can remove it.”
“It does bother me,” Felix says. “It makes me feel as though you still don’t trust me.” His own words shock him, making him aware of a sentiment he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling at all. “I want to see your whole face if I’m going to —” Oh, that’s also too embarrassing. Never mind that. Never mind that at all.
“Going to…?"
“Nothing,” he growls sullenly. “Just — take that off. It doesn’t suit you. I don’t want to look at it any more.”
Please, just let me see what you truly look like now.
Dimitri winces, lifts his hand to touch the fabric over his right eye. “All right,” he says almost timidly, giving a nervous tug, and Felix looks away, overwhelmed by a swell of… is it intimacy? Even though Dimitri is already partially naked? What the hell is wrong with me? As Felix stares at the bedspread, Dimitri clears his throat to remind him the deed is done, and Felix flinches, gradually turning to look at what he asked for. Dimitri's agreement to take the eyepatch off with minimal resistance makes the reveal more foreboding somehow.
The gashes over the sunken socket aren’t pretty, but they aren’t particularly unpleasant either; it’s not that much worse than Felix was expecting, and a huff of relief puffs from his lips. He raises an eyebrow at the anticlimax of it all. “So what?”
“Oh… it’s fine?”
Felix rolls his eyes. “Who cares,” he says, which is his way of saying yes, of course it’s fine.
“Even if it was something I did?”
That gives Felix pause. “Care to explain yourself?”
“The damage would have been permanent,” Dimitri pleads, his voice pitching up. “I was injured, and I couldn’t take the anguish. I had to get rid of it. I was in a… frenzied state. Thinking about it now… I am ashamed I lost control. So many times, I lost control.”
He’s ashamed he took the eye out himself... It doesn’t bother Felix, doesn’t even surprise him. He had already witnessed Dimitri at the edge of his sanity and no extra information could make it worse than the memories he has. “Who cares,” he says again. “It’s less uncomfortable than looking at you with the stupid eyepatch on.”
“So you… are really okay with it? You're not...” His voice shrinks. "Disappointed, knowing I hurt myself in such a foolish manner?"
He’s practically begging for validation, Felix realizes, and Dimitri's submissive attitude is too much to handle all of a sudden. Heat flushes through his skin as he unwittingly pictures all the ways he could give such validation, and his body dips before he thinks, brushing his lips against the scars where Dimitri’s eye had been. Stop denying yourself your happiness, the Mercedes in his mind reminds him, and he trails his lips across Dimitri’s cheek, across his jawline. With each kiss he sits up further in bed until Dimitri is the one pushed back, and he ignores the king's blushing bewilderment as their positions reverse. Now having climbed fully on top, Felix suddenly finds himself free to explore the other's body at will, no fear of Dimitri's clumsy hands slamming him down and snapping his bones. But when Dimitri watches him expectantly, almost hopefully, with an intense longing and vulnerability, Felix freezes. His veins turn to ice, his cheeks to fire. He's not ready for this kind of control, not yet.
Shit, I can't — what do I do now?
And then Dimitri finally speaks. Of course he does.
“Thank you for always pulling me back,” Dimitri says in a whisper, staring up at him with a glowing, sickening admiration. “For helping me reconsider my path.”
“I thought my father did that.” Even with only one eye to look at, Felix finds eye contact impossible.
Dimitri laughs, surprisingly; it’s unexpected, and Felix flushes. “You forget your own reprimands so quickly. Was it not you who incessantly reminded me to put more stock in the living than the dead?”
“And?” Felix challenges, heat rising to his cheeks. “S-since when have you ever put stock in what I have to say?”
Oh, if only he hadn’t stuttered. Dimitri’s smile doesn’t falter, and he reaches up to brush a strand of Felix’s hair from his neck, the brush of fingers against his skin sending unpleasant (or pleasant?) shockwaves across his body. “Since always,” Dimitri says, which is the worst possible answer, because Felix’s mouth goes dry, too dry to even croak out a retort. And then he says it again, just to drive the nail in further. “Since always, Felix.”
“I thought you were dead,” Felix mutters, and as though the gods themselves have cursed him, he feels his throat choke up with tears he blinks away furiously from his eyes. “I — how dare you.”
“I thought I was, too,” Dimitri says.
There’s nothing more to say, nothing more that can be said, and the words melt into silence, a quietude in which the feather-light touches of skin on skin resume, feeling one another’s fluttering pulses with lips and teeth and the pads of fingers, each silently overwhelmed that the other is amongst the living.
“Hey, Mercie, can I talk to you for a moment?” Annette catches her in the kitchen, baking sweets, and of course Mercedes will listen. She’d listen to anyone really, but for Annette she’d put even the rest of the world aside. “It’s about, well… it’s about my father. Again.”
“Of course,” Mercedes says softly, smile gentle as ever but a pang of sadness jolting through her preemptively. “You can tell me anything, Annie. Always.”
Her normally spunky friend sighs, shoulders deflating. “He wants me to go home with him,” Annette confesses, anxiously clasping her hands together, and Mercedes thinks it looks almost a bit like a prayer. “He wants to make up for lost time, and go back to how things were with him and me… and Mom.”
“That sounds nice,” Mercedes says, a twang of insincerity reaching her voice that surprises herself. “Will you take him up on that offer?”
Annette shakes her head furiously. “I don’t know what I should do. I feel like I should, I mean — he’s making so much effort lately, trying to actually talk to me for once instead of those empty apologies like before. And when he made me one of his dolls again, I told him the time for that had passed, but — but I was still so happy , Mercie. Happy that he was still thinking of me like before. I know it’s childish, but I couldn’t help it.”
Mercedes waits, patiently.
“But I can’t imagine just going home with him after all that,” Annette continues, frustration rising. “I spent all that time studying and practicing magic and making myself useful to our professor and our friends, and to just go home and act like a child again after all that? I just — I just can’t imagine being able to settle into that kind of life again, as much as I want to forgive him. Do you think that’s wrong of me?”
She’s looking to me for advice, Mercedes thinks bitterly. Real advice, not the kind of selfish advice I want to give. “What do you want to do?” she asks, aiming to keep the tone of her voice as level as possible. “You should follow what your heart tells you, Annie.”
“My heart…” Annette echoes. “Mercie, I — I can’t bear the thought of leaving you.” Suddenly her voice is small, pitiful almost. “Those five years between school and meeting up again at Garreg Mach… I thought of you every day. I missed the talks we had, the shopping trips we took together… I was so lonely, and all I could think of was your smile and your advice. I wasn’t even sure if I’d get to hear your voice again.” Her eyes have begun to glaze over with tears, and she sniffles. “My heart is telling me not to leave you again, Mercie. But if it’s not what you want, then…”
Mercedes shakes her head, clasping Annette’s hands in her own as her own tears of relief threaten to spill. “It is what I want,” she says softly, glancing at her friend, her most precious companion in the world. “I love you, Annie. With you by my side, I’ve been able to live for myself these past few years, not bound by the whims of anyone else. You freed me. I can’t imagine life without you, either.” She pulls Annette’s hands to her lips, kissing the soft skin of her knuckles without daring to look up.
Then she feels lips on her cheek when Annette leans forward, and Mercedes wonders how she could have ever doubted anything about her future with someone so wonderful by her side.
“I love you too, Mercie. I really do.”
When Mercedes chances a look, Annette is blushing furiously through a grin. “You know, your new hairstyle suits you,” Mercedes says, barely hiding a soft chuckle behind her hand. “You look more mature than before.”
“Really, Mercie? Teasing me right now of all times?” Annette huffs. “You’re more devious than I thought!”
“It’s worth it to see you smile,” Mercedes says, and she’s never meant anything more.