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The tiniest push was enough to begin it all.
“You know Sylvain, you kind of remind me of Claude,” Ingrid said, unbidden and while she dodged a swing of Felix’s training sword.
Sylvain actually tears his eyes from the gorgeous lass nearby to make sure he heard that correctly. “Huh?”
He was left to mull over this for a bit while Ingrid and Felix get back to their sparring. Claude? He’d never given many people outside of his house much thought unless they had a pretty face.
Claude? He rather did fit that bill…but on them being similar? Even without knowing much about him, it was hard to take in.
“Not entirely sure about that,” Felix seemed to agree, his statement punctuated by the clinking clash of their weapons, “At least he uses that brain of his and isn’t insatiable, like a certain someone.”
Sylvain blinked. And blinked again. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, saying something almost positive about a person that wasn’t Annette for once? Never mind the not-so-subtle jab at him; that was just business as usual.
Ingrid seemed to consider this for a moment, deftly returning Felix’s movements all the while. “I guess you have a point there. Might have just thought that since both of them are House representatives for the White Heron Cup. What do you think, Sylvain?”
“I don’t even know where this came from…” This applied to the entire situation, actually. Hanneman nominating him seemed rather backwards if he was trying to lower his charms, but he couldn’t really say he was completely against the idea, either.
“What, is it a bad thing?” Ingrid asked.
“Of course it’s not,” How did his day suddenly come to this? “I just didn’t think—“
“That’s a surprise,” Felix cut in dryly.
Wow.
He needs better friends. And maybe more opinions on this.
--
“Claude?” The bags under Dimitri’s eyes were obvious, especially in daylight. Sylvain felt bad for even bringing this up in his quest for answers. “Claude is…hard to read, I think. Sometimes I really can never tell whether or not he’s joking about any given thing.”
Sylvain hummed to himself, taking this in. He noticed how Dimitri looks at Claude sometimes, his own expression unreadable. He wasn’t about to pressure Dimitri and make him say whether that was how he saw Sylvain, too. That was a whole other matter that didn’t need to be brought up among childhood friends. Not now, at least.
Dedue was around Dimitri, as expected. With how tired the prince seemed, Sylvain guessed that the two made a compromise: Dimitri would be allowed to do whatever he needed to do in the library if Dedue came along. Sometimes he thinks that if it weren’t for Dedue, Dimitri would end up eating his own weight in cheese and not even notice. Nothing but respect for the extent he would go to for his liege, honestly.
What surprised Sylvain was that this time, he was also accompanied by Ashe. The pair were a little distance away from Dimitri, but anyone could feel Dedue’s worried glances from a mile away.
Ashe was a soothing presence, as usual. His heart honestly shamed Sylvain’s to look at. He was the first to answer Sylvain’s question and did so with a thoughtful look on his freckled face. “You and Claude, huh…I guess you both try to give off the impression that you’re worse than you actually are. Well, not that I’ve seen Claude that often throughout the school or even over here, I’m usually gone by the later hours…”
“I have.”
Both of them look up to Dedue in surprise. It truly was rare for him to note those who weren’t Dimitri, let alone another House leader, but none of them comment on that.
“He really does stay late, much like His Highness and sometimes even longer than him. At the very least, even if he would have just brushed me off, I regret not telling him to rest as well.”
Ashe beat Sylvain to the punch in lightening the mood; the expression on Dedue’s face was just too much. “W-well, you still can if you see him here again! It’s not like he’ll be gone for good.”
Dedue spares Ashe a smile for that. “You have a point.”
His gaze shifted, his previous intensity returned. It was hard to say what he saw in the distance, his expression almost wistful, but Sylvain held his breath regardless.
“Claude is very…bright. But he’s also guarded. Not too unlike you—or me, for that matter. I think there is much more to him than meets the eye.”
He kind of remembered now, in the few times he’s seen Claude, how his easy smile didn’t quite extend to his eyes. He of all people would recognize that expression anywhere when he’s worn it so much himself. Light couldn’t exist without any darkness.
“Yeah,” Sylvain agreed, turning back to his book and seeing flecks of green among the black and white. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”
--
It didn’t get much better from there. If anything, it got worse.
Sylvain never thought he was that impressionable, but now he found himself looking at Claude from afar anyway. He would have chalked it up to the fact that he was usually with Hilda, and she was actually the one holding so much of his attention.
But then sweet Marianne transferred to the Blue Lions, and Hilda soon after, as if following her. As heartwarming as it was to see two cute girls (currently in his house, no less) be affectionate, Sylvain’s eyes still followed—
“Claude?” Mercedes laughed, a tinkling chime. “You’ve been looking so much at him lately, I suppose it was only a matter of time before you asked!”
There was a slight burn on Sylvain’s cheeks from that—he’d rather be obvious when it was intentional. “I-it’s n—“
Not that he knew what his true intentions were.
Annette, goddess bless her, didn’t tease him, but she ended up answering similarly to Ashe. “Claude doesn’t flaunt it, but he sure is super smart without having to try…kinda like you, I think.”
Sylvain opened his mouth— “And don’t you dare say that was a fluke, or you’d be insulting me, too!” —Sylvain closed his mouth. She’d got him there.
“I think I agree with Annie, Sylvain. You and Claude try to hide it, but you manage to fight and pass the certification exams with ease! And you’re both so observant, I wish I was like that…” Mercedes sighed, and Sylvain would have jumped to console her if Annette didn’t already.
“Aw, Mercie, it’s okay! I’ve been kind of absentminded with things too, lately…Dedue’s been helping me out a lot, but we all still make mistakes! Let’s do our best together, all right?”
Mercedes just nodded and enveloped her into a hug. Not one to interrupt this sweet moment, Sylvain looked away, absorbing this new information.
It was also then that he noticed Hilda and Marianne were still nearby and seemed to catch wind of their Claude conversation.
A prime opportunity. Who better to ask than former Golden Deer?
Marianne had looked away at his question, as she usually did in conversation, but her quiet voice could still be heard. “Claude is…like the wind, always moving us. But you, Sylvain, I think you try to lighten things up, like a flame.”
“Oh, a smolder?” Sylvain joked, doing his best impression of one. No dice. Maybe he needs some more practice.
Hilda just gave him a pitying look. “Or maybe Claude just likes to whirl us all around and you like to watch the world burn. Hmm, I guess I can see some similarities between you two there. And even if you push people away, you’d probably swoop right in if they were in a pinch. But…” Her expression turned somewhat knowing. “If anything, I’d say you and Lorenz are kind of the same, too. You’re always monitoring Claude.”
Lorenz, also nearby and looking out the window (with what he just learned, probably at Claude) gave an indignant squawk. Hilda only laughed and leaned on Marianne’s shoulder.
Comparison to Lorenz aside (Sylvain was still convinced he had much better game and hair), there really seemed to be a pattern with these answers. He tried to quell the way it tugged on him.
--
The day of the competition loomed closer. Sylvain really wasn’t going to pay much more mind to it (read: to Claude) than he was already, but the goddess, cruel beauty that she was, seemed to have other plans for him.
Usually, he’d go to Manuela’s to get healed from injury, not positively punched in the gut with this development.
“You want the Blue Lion and Golden Deer House representatives to practice for the Cup…together?”
“Yes! Of course, traditionally, practice is overseen by the house professor…but old Hanneman was very adamant that dear Professor Byleth accompany him to his research. Really, that man…of all times!”
Of all times, indeed. Sylvain opened his mouth to protest—for what, even he didn't know—but Manuela anticipated this as well.
“Oh hush, there’s no need to be shy! This might be a competition, but we should also be strengthening the bonds between houses!”
Claude and Sylvain shared a glance that could only be described as, “She’s only saying that because her house isn’t involved in this.”
As if privy to their temporary telepathic connection, Manuela was quick to add, “No, no! This isn’t at all me trying to wholly focus on my own house, I promise! Just...priorities, yes? Anyway, good luck to you two!”
She left them alone in a haste. There was a short pause.
“They got you too, huh?” Claude quipped sympathetically, resting the back of his head on his arms.
Sylvain, contrary to his jumpy nerves in Claude’s presence, just sighed dramatically. “It’s just so hard when everyone seems to want us.”
Claude snickered. “Birds of a feather, aren’t we?”
Even after asking everyone else in his house, it’s a completely different experience to hear it from the person himself. But if Claude noticed Sylvain’s embarrassment, he didn’t comment on it. “I’m sure there were other people more willing to dance their way to the battlefield, but Teach sure was...insistent on me.”
Sylvain raised an eyebrow at that. The stoic professor so eager for Claude to be the White Heron Cup representative? He supposed there was more to them than what first impressions offered.
Claude saw his expression and laughed louder this time, any tension in the room immediately dissipating. “I guess I’m just that much a treasure on the dance floor.”
Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at that either, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t doubt that. At some point, it’s just better to make the most of these kinda situations.”
“Well, if you’re saying that, then…” Sylvain really, truly wasn’t prepared to lose his sense of gravity for a hot second, but he found Claude’s bright visage looming over him, and well, there were certainly worse fates.
Claude only chuckled, using the hand that wasn’t steady under Sylvain’s back to grab his hand. The absolute jolt that ran through Sylvain from such a simple gesture. “Shall we dance?”
Sylvain was just a bit preoccupied trying to count Claude’s eyelashes at this distance. He got to ten before he realizes he was still suspended and, not about to be undone, laced their fingers together.
Claude stilled at that, as if he could also feel those sparks between them, just long enough for Sylvain to turn the tables and dip him almost low enough for his braid to touch the ground. That in itself was a feat; who knew Claude would be so flexible?
This time Sylvain chuckled. “Don’t underestimate me.”
He wasn’t entirely sure where his boldness suddenly came from, but he had an inkling. Perhaps he did see a sort of kindred spirit in Claude: the alertness Dedue had mentioned, guarded behind easy smiles and opened wide by the surprise in Claude’s green eyes.
But instead of that repelling him, Sylvain was only drawn in further. Bringing Claude back up to him, their tango begins. It would have been like one of his favorite board game, only they themselves were the pieces moving, steps falling into place. There was a constant push-pull dynamic between them that reminds each other that this was all for a competition, but that only kept them going. Sylvain pushed, Claude pulled, Claude pushed, and Sylvain pulled back in turn.
It was downright mesmerizing.
Sylvain on his own never really felt the urge to compete—the consequence of the duality in his family’s treatment. Either he was placed on a pedestal for his Crest by his parents or literally pushed down (a well, no less!) by his brother. It effectively killed any fighting spirit in him. What was the point in trying so hard?
He might have had something of an answer then, in this temporary but certainly friendly rivalry with Claude. Regardless of who took the lead, the other followed, like they really were bonded.
“Not bad at all,” Sylvain praised when Claude spun him.
“Hey, look at you,” Claude returned, switching positions so Sylvain could practice the same motion. “Not bad yourself.”
The dance of equality wasn’t over yet. At this point, Sylvain didn’t want it to.
Manuela said that that the purpose of practice was for each individual’s charm to increase.
Sylvain doesn’t know about that, but he’s pretty sure something in his heart grew threefold that night to every beat of Claude’s laughter.
--
At long last, the destined time arrived.
“…The academy-wide dance competition! Welcome to the White Heron Cup!” Alois’ booming voice rang out as he introduced the other judges: Manuela and Shamir. Truly an odd couple.
Sylvain tuned the trio out and spotted Claude easily enough. “Good luck,” he called out on a whim.
Claude didn’t seem to have expected that (which made two of them), but he regained his senses admirably quickly. “It won’t be luck—it’ll be fate.”
Sylvain was absolutely ready to take the L just for this attempted exchange, but at least Claude was smiling when he said that, and when he added, “Do your worst, Sylvain.”
He rather liked the sound of his name in Claude’s mouth. It almost made up for that embarrassment.
Go get them, dear—deer? He managed to keep that thought to himself, at least.
“Contestants! Are you ready to dance? And is the band prepared to play? Very well…BEGIN!”
Sylvain’s feet moved on autopilot—a whole time of dancing the night away gave him the confidence he knew these steps by heart.
Once again, his eyes wandered to Claude. They were supposedly similar and performing the same kind of dance, to boot. Weren’t like types supposed to repel each other? Why was he only drawn in further?
While his steps remained intact, something inside Sylvain stutters and starts again as he watched the leader of the Golden Deer house, center of the stage and attention. His own movements seemed to create the music instead of simply following it.
But Claude’s body wasn’t the only thing dancing, either. Sylvain swore his eyes were too, the lights of the room bouncing off of them in time with him, with his easy motions akin to a spring breeze.
A breeze strong enough to fan the flames of the latent spark in Sylvain. Even if they were on different teams, directly competing against each other, he finally understood what Manuela had been going on about when she mentioned the way dancers motivated their peers. Whether it was the spirit of competition recently awakened in him or something else entirely, Claude’s dancing pushed him to keep moving in turn. He took one new turn in this dance battle, and another, and yet another until—
It ended all too soon. While a close contest, the winner was clear at the end, to no one’s anger or even surprise.
“Ah, what a burden to be perfect at everything.” Sylvain tried to sneak another, supposedly final glance at Claude when he heard his voice and realized, a little giddily, that Claude was already looking at him for once. He grinned and even deigned to offer a wink.
Sylvain wanted to say that the subsequent flutter in his chest was a result of physical exertion from the competition. Never mind that he could handle much worse in weapons training without a sweat. There was just no way this tug was anything emotional. And yet...
He remembered what he mentioned to Hanneman on a whim, that rather than him, he’d love to see a beautiful person be the resident dancer. It was an offhand joke then, but now he felt Claude would fulfill that role all too well, and much more.
Sylvain was nothing if not a reciprocal man; he winked back and rejoiced when Claude’s smile grew incrementally wider, making a note to speak to the mysterious new professor about transferring first thing tomorrow.
He could no longer deny the pull.