Chapter Text
There's something about this odd feeling in his chest that Felix can't shake.
He'd thought he'd gotten rid of it at the academy, five years ago -- back when everything was simple, back when everyone was friends. Back then, he'd squashed down everything that wasn't determination and rage without remorse.
Something about the past five years has fucked with him. Maybe it's the steady stream of losses on both sides, friend and foe alike. Maybe it's that everything he knows keeps getting flipped on its head. He's not really sure -- and he doesn't really care about the specifics.
But he can't seem to squash down that feeling anymore.
It's this pang in his chest, a physical pain he can't explain, it's his stomach twisted up in knots, like the feeling he gets when an ally gets hurt and falls behind, it's this tingling feeling in his hands, as if he's itching to hold something.
Usually, he just tightens his grip on his sword and keeps training. He tries not to puzzle over it.
---
The realization hits him on the training grounds -- which isn't surprising, considering how often he's there.
He spends most of his time sparring with whoever will agree to the challenge and practicing on stuffed dummies when no one’s available. He’s even spent a few nights here, his coat draped over his body in place of a blanket.
It begins when Byleth stops in right before lunch.
As much as Felix tries to convince himself he doesn’t care about anything but training, he still tracks her movements across the room.
(Which is why he doesn't jump right out of his skin when she appears in his peripherals, as silent and expressionless as always, no footsteps or shuffling of clothes to speak for her movements or announce her approach.)
Byleth watches him practice, and Felix tries to ignore the weight of those green eyes where they rest on him. He ignores her, ignores the thrumming of his heart.
He's just. Excited. That's all. Just excited to be in the vicinity of a worthy opponent.
When he finally finishes his last set, his old professor steps forwards, replacing the weight of her eyes with the press of her hand.
She could’ve just as easily called his name to catch his attention, but instead, she presses into his shoulder -- and he should not be so excited by the strength behind the push of that palm, by the brush of fingers against his collarbone --
“What do you want,” Felix grinds out, gripping the hilt of his sword ever tighter. Surely, if he lets go, it will be obvious that he’s trembling. Tired, he's just tired. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Somehow, his abrasive remarks bring a smile to his teacher’s face -- and fuck, he’s not used to her smiling, not used to the way her eyes light up, the way her lips curl,
“Spar with me?” Byleth offers, raising a training sword into his line of sight.
Felix scowls and scoffs, as if the proposition doesn’t send a thrill through his body. “If you really think you can win.” He tosses his head, gesturing to a box marked out on the ground nearby, indicating the arena they should compete within.
He's just anticipating sparring with a worthy opponent, that's all.
He stands across from her, readying his sword in front of him with all of the determination in the world. The longer he looks at her stance, at the fire, the determination in her eyes, the more his own competitive nature rears its head, overtaking the trembling in his arms and steadying his blade.
When she shoots forwards, engaging him first, Felix is ready.
He can do this. This is his comfort zone. This is what he knows best.
There's nothing to trip him up here -- not even how incredibly attractive his professor looks while she's attempting to kill him.
Oh fuck- is that what this is?!
And, shame on him, he freezes.
The moment he lets his guard down, Byleth yells a triumphant hyah! and wacks him clean across the face. He doesn't even lift a finger to deflect the blow.
If that wasn't victory enough, Felix drops his sword and stumbles back, eyes wide and staring at absolutely nothing. He can't react, he's frozen like the winters of Farghus. He can't even be bothered to press a hand to his throbbing cheek.
Am I really attracted to- is this really-
For the professor?
It all comes as a surprise to him, an avalanche of realization.
He's been attracted to people before, but the feeling was always fleeting. He mostly disregards other people -- he's too good a judge of character. The first meeting with someone usually tells him all he needed to know. He's already cataloged who's a threat and who's not, which allows him to divert the maximum amount of attention into training.
The only way to catch his attention was to surprise him. (He specifically remembers a rather disarming incident with Bernadetta, all those years ago…)
Once someone caught his attention, one or two things needed to happen for them to keep it.
They had to step up and prove themselves to him, or, in cases where he was the more invested party, he pursued them until he figured them out.
People are like puzzles. The more interesting ones take a moment for Felix to unravel, but he always figures them out in the end.
Which is why this feeling, this particular feeling, is new for him.
Byleth has proved herself to him over and over again. That's not the problem.
Felix cannot figure her out.
He can't find the pattern to her actions, he can't always match the emotion to her expression, and when he snaps and strikes with what he thinks will push her buttons, she never reacts like he expects her to.
Like now, when she cries out and rushes forwards with concern, Felix regains himself and waves her off. He's expecting her to be relieved that he's alright, because he's clearly just fine, but her eyebrow twitches in something like irritation, and she steps closer to fuss over him instead.
Byleth rarely "fusses," but he supposes he's warranted some concern, considering he's one of the best (if not the best) swordsman here and he just watched while an opponent smacked him in the face.
He lets her fingers dance over his cheek, makes sure to complain when he feels the familiar tingle of white magic, and stands still while she turns his face back and forth in her hands. His face is full of contempt and irritation, eyebrows drawn and lips pulled down in a frown, but his heart thunders in his ears and his chest is tight with that feeling.
"I healed the bruise, but," Byleth murmurs, still inspecting him. "I think you have a concussion."
His professor has only just recently picked up white magic, so she's not quite skilled enough to help with anything beyond cuts and bruises.
Felix knows that denying the diagnosis just so he can go back to training will not fly with her. And, for once, he predicts correctly. When he attempts to pick up his sword to totter back to the training dummies, she marches after him with something that looks distinctly like determination in her eyes.
And it's a good thing she does come after him, because, as he attempts to retrieve his sword off the ground, he discovers he may very well indeed have a concussion.
The world unceremoniously tilts way too far, and Felix is falling before he can register where the ground is.
Luckily, he never lands.
Unluckily, he falls headlong into a warm, study body.
Byleth cradles his head against her chest, her knees in the dirt while she steadies him. The line of his body settles into hers with every passing moment -- as if he belongs here, or something.
When he feels his stomach flip, feels his abs clench, he prays to the goddess that he won't pop a boner right here and now.
"Let me take you to the infirmary."
It's both a request and a command, making sure Felix knows exactly what she expects of him, yet leaving room for him to continue being stubborn, if he so wishes.
And he does so wish to continue being stubborn, but when her fingers slip into his hair, carding through what little she can without pulling his ponytail out, he's a lost cause.
"Fine." His assent is coerced from him after another scrape of her fingernails. "If you really think it's necessary."
Which is how he finds himself propped against his old professor, leaning heavily on her shoulders while she helps him cross the grounds of Garreg Mach.
He remembers, by no choice of his own, how popular Byleth is. Everyone stops Byleth for a word or two -- knights, students, teachers, and townspeople alike, as if she's not carrying a student to the infirmary.
It comforts him to know that he's not the only one that still calls her "professor," despite the fact that they’re in the middle of a war and none of them are students anymore.
As the two of them approach the stairs, he catches Ingrid’s gaze. She raises an eyebrow at his predicament, intrigued, and Felix scowls, baring his teeth at her as they pass by. Ingrid rolls her eyes, unimpressed and all too used to his standoffish behavior, but she does smile and wave to Byleth.
“Oh, hey Teach!” Claude appears out of nowhere, smile all too bright, green eyes sparkling the way they only do around the professor. “Can I run something by you real quick?”
The Alliance leader hides all of his serious emotions under jokes and sly smiles, so, on a surface level, it seems that Claude just really trusts and admires Byleth.
But Felix knows better. He, too, knows how to mask his true feelings with something else, something that’s an integral part of his personality but he really doesn’t mean. Recognizing it in other people is not difficult for him. Recognizing the stronger emotions hidden behind Claude's mask is not difficult for him.
Felix does not like Claude.
While Byleth nods along to Claude’s explanation of his latest scheme, Felix watches Claude’s guard go down, watches the hard edge of his emerald gaze soften into something warm and sweet.
When Felix tips a little too far to the side, startling Claude and sending Byleth into a flurry of readjustments to keep him comfortably slung across her shoulders, it may or may not have been on purpose.
“We’ll catch up later, Teach,” Claude decides, flashing their old professor a wink. “Hang in there, Felix!” He calls before he wanders off, waving pleasantly, smiling pleasantly, existing pleasantly,
Byleth adjusts her grip again and murmurs an apology for getting sidetracked, but suddenly, Felix is too focused on her newfound grip on his waist to answer.
They make it to the stairwell before they get interrupted again.
“Professor!” It’s Edelgard, this time, and Felix nearly groans out loud. “Have you seen Claude? We were discussing the power structure of Eastern Fodlan, but he disappeared all of a sudden,” she muses, brow furrowed with frustration.
Wordlessly, Byleth points her in the right direction, and Edelguard’s earnest thank you so much is maybe a little too earnest for such a small favor. Before she chases after Claude, the former house leader pauses, gazing fondly at their professor (as if Felix isn’t even there), and assures her they’ll have dinner together later.
Edelgard is a different breed than Felix and Claude.
She doesn’t hide anything, all of her true feelings on display for all to see -- especially when it comes to the professor. If she wants to avoid discussing something in detail, she doesn’t change her act, she changes the subject -- probably fully aware that everyone can tell when she’s lying.
It is quite obvious -- it’s been obvious, for about five years -- that Edelgard is enamored with the professor.
The odd part is… Felix’s not entirely sure if Edelgard knows she’s in love with Byleth.
Ah, but no matter, they’re climbing the stairs now, and a disgusting headache is beginning to descend upon him. Not much room to think about anything at all.
They’ve got quite a few flights to climb -- who puts an infirmary on the second floor? -- and by the time they come to the final landing, Felix is leaning pretty heavily on his professor’s shoulders.
Byleth checks in on him with a squeeze of his waist, a silent hanging in there?, and Felix is too out of it to stop the blush that rises to his cheeks. He merely nods, forging onwards without complaint.
And of course, as is his luck, who other than Sylvain turns the corner.
Sylvain -- possibly the very bane of Felix's existence, someone he simultaneously trusts with his life and doesn't trust at all, heir to House Gautier, tall, strong, and handsome, someone he's practically promised his life to, someone too busy chasing women to ever look his way.
Sylvain, the man Felix gave up on a long time ago.
He’s got some woman hanging off of his arm, as always, and they’re chattering on as if they’re the only two people in the world. Well, that is, until Sylvain notices the two trudging down the hallway.
“I hate to cut our conversation short, sweet thing,” he apologizes to the woman clutching his arm, “But my friends seem to be in need of some help. Duty calls!”
The wink that the nobleman drops elicits a pleased squeal for the woman accompanying him -- and Felix hadn’t known there were still women that trusted Sylvain around here --
“Professor!” Sylvain calls as a greeting, turning his full attention to them after the woman scampers off. “Don’t tell me,” he holds up a hand, dramatically searching for the answer before the two can explain. “Felix overworked himself on the training grounds. Again.”
Byleth shakes her head, as solemn as ever. “I gave him a concussion.”
Sylvain, damn him, finds that answer incredibly entertaining. Felix can tell, because those amber eyes light up with mirth and those eyebrows raise in amused surprise. His arms cross over his chest while he waits for an explanation, and Felix finds himself lingering too long on broad shoulders and biceps.
Felix stiffens, surprised, and shakes himself out of it.
“She caught me off guard and whacked me in the face.” He bites out, embarrassed to admit that his guard had dropped so far in the first place. “If it was just a headache, I would’ve kept training, but I can’t seem to walk in a straight line.”
Surprisingly, Sylvain sobers, the amusement leaving his expression in favor of his mouth twisting into a frown and his eyebrows following suit, knotting over his brow. He steps forwards, uncrossing his arms to reach for them, and Felix blinks in surprise when strong fingers take him by the chin and tilt his head up.
Where is his anger? Where is his irritation? Where are his biting comments, his usual guard for forcing oncomers back to a respectable distance??
“Yeah, concussed for sure,” Sylvain agrees after he turns Felix’s face back and forth in his hands, seriously focused on whatever it is he sees in Felix’s eyes. “How hard did you hit him?”
Now it’s Byleth’s turn to blush, and Sylvain lights up, absolutely delighted by her reaction.
(Felix is pretty sure that none of them are used to how expressive their old professor has become. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her blush before.)
“Professor!” Sylvain’s smile is sly while he pretends to admonish her for her actions. “You’ve gotta go easy on us! Especially poor, delicate Felix,” he adds, squeezing Felix’s chin once before letting him go. Felix opens his mouth to argue, but Sylvain starts speaking again before he can. “Let me help you with this sack of potatoes -- a lady shouldn’t be left to do all this manual labor by herself,” he teases while he slings Felix’s free arm over his shoulder, shooting Byleth a conspiratorial wink as if Felix isn’t standing right there.
Sylvain is much taller than the both of them, so he has to hunch quite a bit to be actually helpful -- but he does actually take a solid bit of Felix’s weight onto his shoulders.
“Don’t you have women to chase?” Felix groans, bordering on pleading for Sylvain to move along. “We’re nearly there, let me go,” he demands, trying to shake himself loose.
Sylvain, damn him, merely tightens his grip on the arm he’s slung over his shoulder and steps closer to Felix, sandwiching him in between the two people helping him to the infirmary.
Fortunately, Sylvain's help makes the remaining trip proceed much quicker than before.
Unfortunately, it leaves Sylvain to chat with the professor while Manuela tends to Felix.
Unfortunately, Felix has to watch Sylvain laugh and smile and smirk and brush up against the professor, prying as many reactions out of her as he can. Sylvain is insatiable, and -- unfortunately for Felix -- Byleth doesn't push him away.
That feeling in his chest intensifies, tightening, squeezing, stuttering, pounding.
Felix used to follow Sylvain around like he held the world in his hands.
As soon as he realized his interest in Sylvain was more than friendly, he shut that shit down.
Sylvain always complains that they're not as close as they used to be, but Felix is happy to keep him at arm's length as long as this feeling is kept at bay. He's always known that whatever he feels for Sylvain is more than a lost cause. That's why he's put it behind him.
Plus… watching Sylvain chase every girl that crosses his path leaves a… sour taste in his mouth.
And, judging by the way those amber eyes linger on their former professor -- in the same way everybody else's do, in the way everybody tries to hide -- Sylvain's attention has been snared on… someone else.
He should look away, should watch something other than warm amber and soft ginger, should pay attention to something that's not mint green and pink lips. He shouldn't watch Sylvain flirt with their professor, he shouldn't care that Sylvain's flirting with the professor, he shouldn't want to be in either of their places!
"That should do it." Manuela's voice breaks into his train of thought. "Professor, come here, I'll show you the spell for this," she offers, summoning Byleth with a wave of her hand.
He's too busy fuming, staring at nothing and everything, to notice Byleth's approach. It's only after the professor's strong, lithe hands take hold of his temples, tilting his head up to face her, that Felix realizes the predicament he's in.
"Just like this, now move here," Manuela directs the path of Byleth's hands, and Felix shivers when she slides to cup his jaw. "Remember the formula I showed you, and-"
Felix feels that odd tingle, just like he'd felt when Manuela cast the spell, and the last of his headache eases.
"Thank you, professor." He murmurs -- much softer than he'd intended to speak.
Standing at the edge of the bed he sits on, holding his face in her hands, Byleth gazes down at him, drowning him in green. He wonders if the gentle stroking of her thumb over his cheek is a conscious movement.
Without his permission, his hand drifts up, hooking into her elbow.
"You'd better not go easy on me next time. This won't happen again." He insists.
Byleth smiles, and Felix's heart stutters in his chest.
He's glad he's sitting down.
"Sylvain," Byleth calls over her shoulder. "Will you walk Felix back to the training grounds?"
The momentary warmth in his chest ignites into fiery anger again. Thanks, professor.
"Why would he need to do that?" Felix demands, immediately frowning. "I'm all healed up!"
Byleth ignores him, waiting for the other man's answer.
"Sure thing, professor!" Sylvain chirps, smiling bright enough to light the room. "I'll take care of him!"
I’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of you,
It’s a sentiment he can’t afford to claim.
The heat in his chest clicks up a couple notches into rage. Comfortable, the usual, rage.
All at once, Felix surges to his feet. "I said I'm fine!"
Sylvain eyes him, oddly silent. Amber eyes sweep over his figure, sending the tingling feeling scattering all the way down to his toes.
It's only once Felix realizes how close he is to Byleth, pressed chest to chest, toe to toe, that the situation registers. He's baffled by how tall he stands over her -- she always seems larger than life, there's no way he can be three inches taller than her,
"C'mon, Felix, let's head out." Sylvain drawls, unfazed by the outburst. "I'll even spar with you, if you want."
A gloved hand grips his arm, and, somehow, Sylvain maneuvers him out of the spot he's frozen to.
Felix walks back to the training grounds in something like a daze. He tries his best to focus on putting one foot in front of the other instead of drowning within the pounding of his heart in his ears.
He's never felt hands so strong be so gentle,
Warm, she was so warm,
And what was that look in Sylvain’s eyes? It was too warm to be disdain, too sharp to be amusement,
"Join the club, I suppose," the sound of Sylvain's voice surprises him, dragging him back to the present tense.
Already fed up, Felix almost doesn't even humor him with a response, but he grunts out a "what?" as he forges ahead.
Sylvain's laugh is genuine, something soft and warm instead of his usual sharp-edged snicker. "The professor. Byleth. You're in love with her."
The most irritating thing about Sylvain is that he gets these brief moments of clarity where, all of a sudden, he sees right through Felix's defenses.
Or maybe it’s not all of a sudden. Maybe Sylvain can always see through him.
He doesn’t like the thought of that.
Felix's lip curls in a snarl before he answers. "Don't be stupid. I am no such thing."
"I forgot how stubborn you are," Sylvain sighs, shaking his head -- as if it’s an easy thing to forget! "Fine, attracted, at least?"
Felix snorts and rolls his eyes, denying the accusation. Dangerously close to being exposed, his only choice now is to lie to Sylvain's face and hope he doesn't catch it.
"To what? She looks like she's been dipped in frosting with her hair like that." He keeps his tone as flat as possible, as uninterested as possible. When Sylvain shakes his head in amusement, Felix panics, lashing out in a last-ditch effort to derail the conversation before he's figured out. "What, Sylvain, you expected me to gush about her breasts? Or her legs? I'm not a pig like you."
"Hey, hey, I didn't expect you to answer like me at all!" the redhead complains, raising his hands in surrender. He looks genuinely upset by the accusation, but Felix stands by his word. "I know you're a different person, Felix. Of course different things are gonna catch your eye. I just wondered what your preference was."
The more Sylvain looks like a kicked puppy, the worse Felix feels about his outburst.
But that won't stop him from deflecting the question at hand.
"I don't have a preference." Felix settles on answering with a lie. "I'd rather train." He follows it up with a half-lie and hopes Sylvain doesn't notice.
"Really?" Sylvain sounds surprised, from what Felix can hear of his voice while walking ahead of the taller man.
A hand grips his shoulder and spins him on his heel, and while Felix is scrambling to orient himself, he trips on something. Knocked completely off balance, Felix is completely at the mercy of the grip on his shoulder when it pushes him backwards.
Luckily, he lands against a wall, and his hands slap -- one, two -- against the wall as he catches himself.
A third hand smacks the wall, right next to his ear, and suddenly Sylvain is towering over him. A smug smirk is beginning to pull at the redhead's lips, and it occurs to Felix all at once -- did Sylvain just kabedon him?
Honestly, he's too used to Sylvain's shenanigans to push him away or struggle -- and, unfortunately, Sylvain is stronger than him (just by merit of the kind of weapon they each wield), so even if he did try to slip away, his efforts would be for naught.
Even so... what with the way he's gazing down at Felix, auburn eyelashes framing a look that's absolutely predatory...
"You can really look me in the eye and tell me you don't get a little hot under the collar while you watch her fight?" Sylvain purrs, 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?" He continues to bombard Felix with questions, waiting for one to snag.
Felix refuses to give him the satisfaction.
"You don't anticipate the days that she asks you to spar? You don't get excited when she lands a hit?" Sylvain brushes his knuckles across Felix's cheek, where the professor had smacked him. "You don't like it when she praises you? You don't like it when she scolds you?" He murmurs, leaning closer closer closer until hot breath washed over the shorter man's face. "I just wanna know, Fee,"
Don't look at his mouth, don't look at his mouth,
Look at his hair instead, the gentle sweep of auburn waves -- bet they're so soft, bet if you knotted your fingers up in them and pulled, he'd --
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." Felix dismisses him -- but his voice is shaking, and his shoulders are much too tense. "You're out of your mind."
He pushes past the man towering over him, fingers clenched into fists so Sylvain won't see them trembling.
The weight of amber eyes rests on his back until Felix disappears behind the doors to the training grounds.
This feeling in his chest, the stuttering of his heart, the tension in his body, in his shoulders, in his abdomen, in his thighs--
He's hard he's hard he's so hard
Damn Sylvain for doing this to him, damn him!
The rage he'd been searching for floods back into him all at once, and he storms over to the rack of training weapons in a furious storm.
Five years ago, he could've squashed all of this down and moved on with his life.
But this… this is not going away.