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    Summary

    “Farewell, the next time we meet may well be when I organize one of these for myself.”

    Sylvain froze in the act of setting his champagne flute on the table. It really did feel as if he had gone cold, ice pricked down his spine, and then he suddenly felt hot.

    “What?”

    Felix’s expression hadn’t changed. He looked coolly aloof, if slightly irritated, but that was just his face these days. Felix made a small impatient sound, presumably at having to repeat himself, “I’ve been told I need to consider marriage. Sooner rather than later.”

    --
    Tldr; after learning Felix is being pressured to marry, Sylvain makes some ill-advised advances on his friend, and realizes his feelings for Felix aren't exactly as platonic as he once thought.

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