Work Text:
LYSITHEA & ANNETTE'S APARTMENT, INTERIOR.
The camera shakes slightly, panning up from the floor to peek into the KITCHEN. The lights are on, golden and incandescent. The FRIDGE DOOR is propped open, spilling artificial white light onto the REDHEADED MAN rifling through the freezer.
LYSITHEA
Annette, be careful! You're shaking the—
ANNETTE
Shh!! He's gonna hear— shit—!
The REDHEADED MAN emerges from the freezer, triumphant. He holds an unopened carton of ARTISAN CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM in hand, the SHRINKWRAP SEAL around the lid glinting in the light. Shutting the fridge with one foot, his HAZEL EYES glance over. The camera pans panickedly down, angling enough to only see the man's feet. He is wearing HORRENDOUS, MID-CALF LENGTH SOCKS, printed as though there are LEATHER SANDALS adorning them.
SYLVAIN
Hey, is it okay if I take some of this? It's not open yet.
ANNETTE
Yeah, that's alri—
LYSITHEA
Hold on, that's m—
SYLVAIN
'Thea, you've got, like, two more cartons in here. C'mon, let a guy live a little! I swear I won't touch the raspberry one.
LYSITHEA huffs.
LYSITHEA
Ugh, if you must! You owe us another carton as recompense the next time you visit, though. Don't think I won't remember!
SYLVAIN
Anything for my two favourite ladies!
There's a soft series of RUSTLING. The camera slowly lifts back up to show the KITCHEN, where SYLVAIN searches through the drawers. He opens and closes them with ALARMING SPEED, frown growing as he continues his search.
SYLVAIN
Hey, do you guys not have any— Oh, spoons. Cool!
He nudges the drawer closed with his hip, LEANING BACK lazily against the counter. The ICE CREAM is still sealed, so he picks at it with his fingers, trying to pry the PLASTIC SEAL off.
SYLVAIN (cont.)
Did you guys reorganize or something? I swear the spoons change locations every time I visit... God, this thing is stubborn.
ANNETTE
We have scissors for that, you know? Two drawers down, one drawer to the right?
SYLVAIN
That was all Greek to me, raindrop. I got it, though, don't worry. I'm an engineer.
LYSITHEA
Yeah, of SOFTWARE. This isn't—
LYSITHEA trails off as SYLVAIN jams the CURVED END of his spoon beneath the plastic seal, attempting to use a POOR ATTEMPT AT LEVERAGE to break the plastic. There is STIFLED GIGGLING, likely from ANNETTE, as the camera zooms in to better capture SYLVAIN'S predicament.
SYLVAIN
It's fine, I'm fi—
The spoon SUDDENLY BENDS, giving in under the IMMENSE PRESSURE that has been put on it. SYLVAIN'S eyes widen considerably as he lifts the MANGLED SPOON, neck curved at a PERFECT 90° ANGLE. Hazel eyes stare BLANKLY at the ruined object, mouth frozen in the sad shape of a LIFELESS, TIGHT-LIPPED SMILE.
SYLVAIN (cont.)
Fuck.
ANNETTE
Pffff— hahahaha, oh my GOD! Sylvain!!
ANNETTE proceeds to burst into ABSOLUTE HYSTERICS, ducking briefly into the camera as she DOUBLES OVER IN LAUGHTER. SYLVAIN has not stopped gazing sadly at the mangled spoon, camera zooming in to better display his ANGUISHED EXPRESSION. The camera begins shaking slightly as LYSITHEA struggles to hold back a BARRAGE OF GIGGLES.
SYLVAIN
Annette, wh— C'mon, this isn't funny! I swear this panned out WAY better in my head. Maybe I didn't think this through.
LYSITHEA
I suggest you reflect on your own faults BEFORE you make a decision to do anything.
SYLVAIN
My own— 'Thea, that's just cruel! How could you even SAY that to m— Wait, are you—?
SYLVAIN abandons the ice cream on the counter but forgets to leave the MANGLED SPOON as he approaches. It glints MENACINGLY in the kitchen lights.
SYLVAIN (cont.)
Are you FILMING this? That is so not cool—
ANNETTE
Shit, 'Sithy— Turn it off, turn it off!
The view blurs as ANNETTE dives for the camera, a blur of ORANGE and HORRENDOUS SOCKS as the phone is knocked toward the floor. The footage ABRUPTLY CUTS, ending the video.
lonewolf__ 3 days ago
natural selection exists only for the sole purpose of weeding imbeciles like him out
lysinette 2 days ago
if you want him dead that badly, just kill him yourself
lonewolf__ 2 days ago
if i wait long enough, he'll choke on his own tongue and save me the trouble
lysinette 2 days ago
interesting way to admit you've contemplated suffocating him with your own tongue but okay
lysinette 1 day ago
yeah that's right. unsubscribe, asshole. you can't escape
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd 4 days ago
why is this a fail? i have bent spoons like this very often and it is quite saddening. i understand sylvain's pain :(
p.s. i like his sandals a lot! :)
lonewolf__ 3 days ago
die
lysinette 3 days ago
you can't reply to every nice comment someone makes to sylvain like this!!
lonewolf__ 3 days ago
you too. die.
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd 3 days ago
wait, but why is this a fa
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd 2 days ago
il?
Lady_Knight 6 days ago
i'm starting a petition for GMU to rescind his diploma https://bit.ly/3HbL10ns
LYSITHEA & ANNETTE'S APARTMENT, INTERIOR. 1 WEEK LATER.
Sylvain finds out about the videos — all 29 of them — because Caspar texts him for the first time since they got banned from Linhardt's family country club back in junior year, demanding to know how many bicep curls Sylvain can average and how heavy his weights are. It's completely out of the blue, mostly because Sylvain does not own a gym membership, and Sylvain blatantly bullshits some answer about 80 curls on a good day, with a 15-pounder when he wants to "take it easy".
Caspar, the poor soul, believes him.
"Yo, that's fucking awesome!" he'd texted back, but with far shittier grammar. Sylvain mentally amends it because he thinks Caspar is pretty alright. "Makes total sense that you could wreck a spoon so easy with a routine like that. Stick to the grind, dude!"
Sylvain squinted at the spoon comment for a solid minute — interrupted only by Caspar tacking on a cheery "Lin says hi, by the way! He also says we're still banned from his family's country club? Lol, good times." — before he decided to bite the bullet.
"lmao wat spoon r u talkin about?"
That one's verbatim, by the way.
The question led to an answer, which led to 28 other videos in a horrendously embarrassing collection of — as Lysithea and Annette so lovingly dubbed it — "FAIL FOOTAGE" for their "GAUTIER CRINGE COMPILATION". Sylvain will admit, in hindsight, that the parkour-cantaloupe debacle that landed him in the emergency room with a broken tailbone — part 16 of their growing, 29-part saga — was pretty fucking hilarious. He wouldn't do it again, of course, but it was still funny, even if his ass gets phantom pains at the memory.
After he finds out, the first person he texts is Annette. He knows her girlfriend is involved in this too, but the wrath of hell itself is but the loving caress of a spring breeze compared to the cruel hand of Lysithea von Ordelia, so he decides Annette is the safer option.
Anyway, that was the last he heard from Annette after that.
It made his next course of action clear, though. If he wanted answers, then the most obvious place to look would be the source: precisely 17 minutes away by car in light traffic. He makes it there with a record-breaking low of two traffic laws unintentionally ignored and finds himself standing at Lysithea and Annette's door, overpriced raspberry cheesecake gelato in hand.
Initially, he had no intention to bring it, but the carton was taking up room in his objectively sparse freezer, and, well— he's not an asshole, alright? Just because Lysithea and Annette have a laundry list of 29 tangible crimes against him and over 2 million subscribers on that laundry list doesn't mean he's going to hoard the sugary snacks that he had bought. If anything, he's demanding an apology and some of their ad revenue before he'll hand it over. There's absolutely no way they are getting out of this conversation, because if Sylvain is sure of two things, it's that:
- he is far harder to ignore when he's there in person, unrestrained by the technological restraints of day-to-day text messaging, and
- raspberry cheesecake is Annette's favourite flavor of gelato, so if he can get Annette on his side, Lysithea will eventually crumble underneath the crippling intensity of her girlfriend's puppy-dog eyes.
So, he's in pretty high spirits when he rings the doorbell, five times in rapid, musical succession. Annette's response comes just a minute later, two responding knocks against the wood before she slides the door open, just enough for raincloud-grey eyes to peek through. As expected, her gaze lands on the brown paper bag in his hand first.
"Um," she begins, sounding far guiltier than Sylvain had expected. It makes him feel a bit bad, which— damn, that really puts a wrench in his plans.
Sylvain grins awkwardly, bringing the bag up to eye level for her. Her gaze follows it up, then passes by to land squarely on Sylvain. He decides, on the spot, that he can't really be mad at Annette. Sylvain tones down the grin, offering a smaller smile. Annette visibly relaxes at the gesture, pushing open the door enough for Sylvain to peek in.
"I brought your favourite, if that makes a difference. That's enough to cover entry into your humble abode, right?" he quips, shooting her a playful wink. Annette, placated by his easy relapse into normalcy, grins back at him, bright as the city-summer sun outside, and Sylvain can't help the chuckle that tumbles past his lips as her eyes light up.
"I'd say that's more than enough," she giggles, gladly taking the proffered bag. She nudges the door open the rest of the way with her hip, letting Sylvain trail in afterward. He's in the process of toeing off his shoes when he hears Annette begin shuffling toward the kitchen, addressing the other woman seated with her textbook atop the counter.
"Sylvain's here," she chirps, humming as she looks for a spot on their ice-cream-filled shelves to stash their newest treat. "Be nice about the videos, alright?"
Lysithea hums as she looks up, rose-petal eyes flickering up to Sylvain, who is balanced with flamingo-like grace on one leg as he attempts to unlace his boots. He lifts a hand to wave, because he's polite like that, only to nearly tumble face-first into their shoe rack for his troubles. Lysithea giggles audibly from the kitchen, and Sylvain ends up pretty sure that his plan to chew either of his friends out for their YouTube roast collection is fucked. Oh, god damn it.
"You know, I'm surprised you brought anything at all," Lysithea notes. He makes himself comfortable on their couch, watching with mild curiosity as Annette continues to make a sugary jigsaw puzzle out of their freezer. She's said, at one point, that Sylvain didn't have to bring something every time he came over to visit, but even he isn't immune to the way Annette's eyes light up at each new treat.
"Hey, I'm not a monster," Sylvain intones, throwing his feet up onto their coffee table like an uncivilized beast. Lysithea gives him a look that skillfully straddles the border between unimpressed and flagrantly murderous, and Sylvain folds his hands behind his head, grinning. "If you're that unattached to the gelato, though, I can take it back."
Lysithea snaps her textbook shut with a prim scoff, bouncing off of her chair to help Annette's fruitless attempt at rearranging their freezer. The last time she'd let Annette go at it for too long, the contents of their freezer ended up strewn across their tiled floor like frozen, fallen jenga tiles.
"I think not," Lysithea sniffs, plucking the raspberry cheesecake gelato out of Annette's hands. "We'll be keeping this, thank you."
Annette heaves a sigh of relief as she closes the freezer, thankfully freed from her impossible task, and settles herself into the sofa as Lysithea skillfully pries the container open, sitting it atop the counter as she eats directly from it. Sylvain wonders, idly, if mentioning how much sugar is in that entire carton will get him killed. On a good day, Lysithea could probably manage it, which is nothing if reasonably mortifying to admit. Maybe he should follow Caspar's suggestion and get a gym membership.
"Wait— Save for me, 'Sithy," Annette moans, lolling her head against the couch cushions as she glances over. She's sprawled lazily across most of the couch, feet thrown up over Sylvain's lap, and Lysithea looks over at her with a badly stifled giggle.
"I don't know, Annette," she snickers, "there might not be any left by the time you make it over here."
Annette makes a face at her girlfriend, kicking her feet against the top of Sylvain's thighs, and Sylvain can't help this laugh as he tries to calm her down, hands splayed against the surface of her fluffy socks.
"Hey, no need for that," he laughs, flicking at her big toe. "I can bring another carton next time I'm over," he promises, and Annette looks over at him like he just hung another star in the sky and dedicated it to her. With an exaggerated groan of effort, Annette sits up, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug that absolutely bowls him over, crushing Sylvain against the side of the couch. He's willing to endure a cushioned armrest wedged into his ribs for Annette, it's fine.
"Sylvain, you're the best," Annette decides, half squashed against his shoulder. "And we are sorry for not saying anything about the videos— me and 'Sithy both." Sitting back on her haunches, Annette holds him by the shoulders, staring up at him with a determined set to her jaw. "You know we didn't mean the videos in a mean way, right? Pleeease say you know," she insists, shaking him.
"Hey— Careful, you're rattling my brain a little here—"
"I swear on Nino that we just think you're funny. We love you lots— right, Lysithea?" She whips her head toward her girlfriend, who's too occupied with her gelato to answer, and then turns immediately back to Sylvain. " You know we love you, right, Sylvain?"
"Yeah, yeah, I—"
"Right?"
"Annette, please, can you stop shaking me, or—"
"Sylvain, say you know —"
"I do! I swear on your mint green Fiat, too—"
"Her name is Nino, " Lysithea interjects, and Annette shakes him harder to punctuate it, and then Sylvain grabs her firmly by the wrists to stop that because jesus christ, he can feel the earth spinning on its axis and it's driving him insane.
"I know," he tells her, steady voice and steady gaze, and Annette only pouts at him for a second before she relents, sagging almost dramatically against his shoulder. Sylvain can't help the fond quirk of his lips, rubbing her back reassuringly. "I'm not upset, I swear. If anything, you guys should've told me earlier. We could have staged so many great videos— and split the ad revenue. What are you guys even using it for?"
"This and that," Lysithea answers unhelpfully.
"We may have used some of it to buy your last birthday gift," Annette appends. That's kind of like making Sylvain pay for his own gift, but he doesn't mention that aloud. It was a really nice jacket, after all.
"For some reason," he laughs, "I thought you guys would've dreamed bigger. How about a second fridge, so you don't have to play freezer jigsaw every time I come over?"
Annette lifts her head from his shoulder, shooting him an accusatory glare. "We wouldn't have to if you stopped bringing ice cream every time you visited, like I asked! We've been friends for years, Sylvain. The entry fee to get into our apartment is free!"
"And yet," he grins, "you never say no."
With a grumble, Annette averts her eyes. "Well— We can't just waste good ice cream!" She jabs him in the chest, raincloud eyes back on him. "But stop! For real this time. Next time you bring ice cream, we are sending you right back home. You can't come back until it's in your freezer and not ours! Right, 'Sithy?"
"I'd say it depends on how much is in our freezer, wouldn't you?"
"Wh— You're not helping!"
Lysithea giggles. "No, I agree with you wholeheartedly, Annette." Her gaze flickers back toward Sylvain. "It'd be best if you weren't so extraneous the next time you visited, Sylvain. We appreciate the gesture, but sometimes your presence is enough. Perhaps you'll help us film another video as recompense," she offers, eyes bright with amusement. If Sylvain's being honest, it's a bit of an ominous look on her.
"That's fair," he decides, potentially at the risk of his physical wellbeing. "I trust you guys not to stage a video that'll get me stuck in the emergency room again. Watching that video gave my ass phantom pains."
"TMI," Annette groans, wrinkling her nose. Sylvain gives her an apologetic grin as she falls back toward her corner of the couch.
"Hey, you're the ones that immortalized it on the internet."
"Well, you didn't have to watch it."
"Course I did! I'm nothing if not supportive of my two favourite ladies and their horrifyingly incriminating YouTube channel."
Annette snorts at that one, giving him a playful nudge with her foot.
"You know we love you," she says.
"I know."
"You know you love the attention, too," Lysithea chirps, grinning something catlike over a spoon of artisanal gelato.
"Can't argue with that one, either," he retorts shamelessly, flashing her a grin. He pulls out his phone, predictably beelining immediately toward YouTube. "Honestly, I can't believe our friends went 29 videos without mentioning this to me. Their comments are fucking hilarious."
"Figures you'd enjoy reading through them," Annette giggles, leaning forward to peer curiously at Sylvain's phone. "There's so many, though! Which video are you on?"
Sylvain tilts his screen toward Annette to show the 27th video in their compilation, ready to provide his own input on the conversation between her and Marianne about the horse that featured in the video, only to be interrupted by their doorbell. Annette glances over at it, confused, before Lysithea pipes up.
"Ah, I forgot to mention that Felix texted me earlier because you were in the shower. He said he was coming over today, as well."
Annette springs up with a grin. "Wow, we've got a miniature party on our hands," she chirps, bounding over to let Felix in. Sylvain perks up considerably at the sound of his voice, being the first after Annette to flash him a grin when the door swings open.
"Fancy seeing you here," he quips.
Felix spares him a quick glance amidst the process of unlacing his boots, lips curled into a faint smile. "This isn't the first time," he drawls, but there's a glint of amusement in his eye anyway, and it stretches Sylvain's grin even wider. The pleasant flutter of his stomach at the sight is absolutely unfair, but then, nothing about Felix has ever been particularly fair, least of all his effect on Sylvain.
Annette still hovers by the door, sliding it closed as she apologizes for not having seen his earlier text. He hands her a plastic bag emblazoned with the name of that local Almyran place as he reassures her that there's no need to apologize, dropping his shoes off at the door. Once freed, he spares no time in grabbing one of the to-go containers and claiming his own portion of the couch, directly between Annette and Sylvain. Annette pads over a few moments later, fork and to-go box in hand.
"These aren't spicy, are they?"
Felix grunts vaguely in reply, a noise that Annette seems to translate as confirmation enough, and Sylvain leaves her to dig into her noodles as he continues scrolling through FAIL FOOTAGE PT.27's comments. He'd seen Felix's comment on that earlier — a characteristically aggressive validation of the horse's reaction to Sylvain's crimes — and continues scrolling idly as everyone mills about.
It takes him a solid 20 minutes to finally reach Lysithea and Annette's latest video, and by that time, Annette and Felix have abandoned their emptied noodle boxes on the coffee table. Felix has given up all pretenses of wanting to sit on the couch like a normal person, instead sprawling himself against the plush pink carpet, legs thrown up onto the couch as he looks at his phone.
Sylvain bites back the urge to kick at him as he returns to his own device, scrolling idly through the latest video's comments. Of all the chronologically sorted messages, Sylvain finds Ingrid's first. It's brusque, as Ingrid tends to be, and the attached link fills him with an overwhelming sense of trepidation as squints at his screen.
"That's not, like, a real petition, is it?"
"On the latest video? Of course it is," Lysithea intones. The roll of her eyes is audible. "You know Ingrid doesn't do things halfway."
Lysithea doesn't even blink in his direction as she speaks.
"Don't tell me you signed it, 'thea!"
"I'm not the only one," she informs him, looking up from her gelato just long enough to flash him a pleased grin. Sylvain, affronted beyond belief, turns toward Annette. He gives her his best puppy dog eyes, complete with a hand placed gently atop her own. Annette can't look him in the eye, but her expression is extremely guilty.
"Really, Annie?"
"Well— Don't just look at me !"
Sylvain, not feeling any more hopeful about the room's last occupant, looks at Felix.
"Felix?" he asks sweetly. "Fe? My childhood best friend and the owner of the largest, sexiest sword collection I've ever seen?"
"Don't call them sexy," Felix grunts, not looking up from where he lies on the floor.
Yeah, there's no way Felix hasn't signed this petition. Sylvain, overdramatic to a fault, heaves a sigh and slumps over against the armrest. He knows, realistically, that Ingrid will not share this petition with any of the staff at GMU and that it will have absolutely zero lasting repercussions, but— but his broken heart is a repercussion, obviously, and the betrayal done unto him by his friends has left him all but inconsolab—
"If you don't want Ingrid to comment on your idiocy," Felix interrupts, "then stop being an idiot." It cuts off Sylvain's well-deserved inner monologue with a very sound point, but hell if Sylvain is going to admit that. He glances over at the dark-haired man, cheek squished against the armrest as hazel eyes study him lazily.
He's still on the ground, a striking midnight blue streak against the soft pink of the plush carpet. Sylvain has plenty of qualms with Felix's chosen seating arrangement — ranging from the floor's general lack of cleanliness to how easy it would be to plant himself on Felix's stomach and stare him down, inches away from kissing him and his stupid pout senseless. It's a horrible idea, really, but kissing Felix senseless is always on Sylvain's mind these days, especially when he has that pinched frown on his face, the intense kind of concentration that comes with whatever rhythm game he likes to obsess over. Sylvain can hear the sound of his peppy idol girl music floating softly from his phone's speakers.
"I didn't do it on purpose," Sylvain insists, obsessed with the way Felix's lips twist around a smirk as he snorts. With Felix as distracted as he is by his game, Sylvain freely abuses his right to stare, basking in the rare curl of his lips and the promise that Sylvain has time to memorize the glowing warmth of it — another little sun to hang in his growing night sky.
"In your case, Sylvain, stupidity is a choice."
Sylvain hums noncommittally, tracing the elegant furrow of his brow. There's no way Felix doesn't get them threaded. They just can't be natural. Whoever's taking him deserves $200 and an uncomfortably long hug.
God, he hopes it's not Glenn.
"So does that make smart my default state?" he tries, unable to help his growing grin.
"Shut up," Felix snarks, which usually means he agrees. "I'm starting a new song."
Sylvain shrugs, tentatively committing to Felix's gentle suggestion to shut up. He lifts himself off the couch instead, depositing himself by Felix — half for an excuse to sit next to him and half, if he's being honest, just to be annoying. Felix's brow twitches as Sylvain scoots in, ass nudging against his elbow. It's great. After he's settled, Sylvain keeps rifling through the video's comments, scrolling forward in time as he searches for names he might recognize.
He finds Dimitri's comments next. True to form, the blond never thought to use something other than his full legal name as his username, and Sylvain snorts gracelessly as he leans against Felix, skillfully dodging the way he immediately tries to knee him in the face. Perfect fucking sync, he thinks to himself. As if sensing his silent victory, Felix makes another attempt. This time, Sylvain is too busy feeling smug to avoid getting nailed in the temple. God damn it.
"Can you—" he grabs Felix's knee, "Can you stop being so aggressive?"
Felix wrenches his knee away. "Fuck off and go back to watching your own cringe compilation."
He doesn't attempt to go for Sylvain's moneymaker again, so he acquiesces — for now. At least Dimitri is supportive of him and his horrifying fashion endeavors. He gives the comment a thumbs up, just to show his anonymous online solidarity for this poor, fashionably misguided soul.
"Y'know, at least someone appreciates me and my taste in socks," Sylvain points out. "You guys should take a page from 'Mitri's book." No one acknowledges this. With a sigh, he returns to his phone, scrolling past a large block of spambots until his eyes catch on—
Huh. Now that's interesting.
Hazel eyes float down toward Felix, who's still wrapped up in whatever song he's currently playing. Sylvain, under threat of death, will not admit that he can recognize it. He spends too much time watching Felix play idol girl rhythm games, but what's he supposed to do about that? Stop watching Felix? Yeah right.
"Stop looking at me."
"How do you know I'm looking at you?"
"I'll carve your eyes out with Lysithea's ice cream scoop."
"Try it," Lysithea pipes up primly, "and neither of you will make it out of this apartment alive."
Felix scoffs. Sylvain rereads his comment — because of course it's Felix's comment, viciously threatening to shove his own tongue down Sylvain's throat — and glances back down at the other man, lips turned up into a smirk.
"I'm not afraid of Lysithea," Felix warns him, even though Sylvain's fairly certain they should both be. "Your eyes are mine, Gautier."
Sylvain snorts at his theatrics, rolling his Fraldarius-owned eyes.
"You sure my eyes are the only thing you're interested in taking? By the looks of these video comments, it sounds like a certain someone has a crush."
Felix drops his phone directly on his face.
He sits up immediately, phone sliding skillfully off his forehead and into his white-knuckled fist as he bolts up, music still playing softly from his speakers. From the kitchen, Lysithea bursts into laughter, badly smothered against the back of her hand, and there's some very suspicious shifting from Annette's side of the couch. She swears softly when her phone's flash turns on as she starts filming, briefly illuminating Felix's face before she shuts it off.
Felix is bright red, and Sylvain will be damned if he says it doesn't make his stomach doesn't flip in anticipation.
"I'm leaving," Felix announces. And then, retroactively, "Shut the fuck up, Sylvain."
The flush of his cheeks does not abate, and Sylvain quickly considers his options, because — god, he could stare at the sunset-bright flush on Felix's face forever, but he can feel that eternity dwindling rapidly into nothing the longer they stand there, silent and scored by the white noise of his peppy idol girl music.
Without thinking, Sylvain grabs his hand.
"Felix, wait—"
Copper eyes flash as they flicker down on him, crashing into Sylvain's with the arcing urgency of lightning. Felix glares down at him, sure, but he doesn't tear his hand away. He knows Felix's looks, the way his lips pinch at the corners when he has words on the tip of his tongue that he'd rather die before saying, and Sylvain traces the tight press of his lips now, feeling foolhardy enough to test his luck at finding what hides behind them.
"C'mon," he lilts, lips pulling up into a grin, "that's not how you talk to someone whose throat you want to shove your tongue down, right?" he teases. "Shut me up yourself, Fe, I dare you. Hell, I might even enjoy it."
That makes Felix's hand curl into a fist, eyes flashing as his lips unfurl into a snarl. He sparks to life like a forest fire, and Sylvain stares up at him, caught in the blaze.
"Release me or I will castrate you with Annette's good scissors. Unlike you, I know exactly which godforsaken drawer they're in."
"Hold on a sec," Annette interjects, "Those are my favourite pair! Felix, don't you dare—"
"Fuck you," he snaps, very much without thinking.
Holy shit, Sylvain thinks, glancing warily at Felix.
"Wh—" Annette flounders for a second before the stumbles die down into an audible growl. "Fuck you!" she snaps back, loud enough to make Felix wince.
Holy shit, Sylvain reiterates, head snapping toward Annette.
Felix realizes too late that he has incurred Annette's wrath, eyes widening almost comically at the sight. With his guard down, Sylvain tests his luck with a firm tug on his hand. Felix tumbles forward gracelessly, and Sylvain spares no amount of enjoyment in watching the way surprise paints itself strikingly across his features as he tumbles into Sylvain's lap.
His phone skitters out of his hand and underneath the sofa, hands flying up to steady himself against Sylvain's shoulders. Felix easily straddles Sylvain, wide-eyed shock quickly giving way to something far more flushed and far more murderous. He can't quite tell if the blush is from anger or genuine mortification, but's a terribly good look on him — half because Sylvain is obsessed with the slight angle with which he has to tilt his head up to properly meet Felix's gaze. Felix's fingers dig hard into the curve of Sylvain's shoulder, but the ache comes second hand to the fact that he doesn't move away, perched neatly atop Sylvain's thighs.
"Wow," Sylvain breathes.
He feels lightheaded, possibly because Felix is leaving finger-shaped bruises across his shoulders or possibly because Felix can't entirely hide the way his breath catches around the awed tremor in Sylvain's voice as he gazes up at him, lips turned up into a breathless grin. Felix swallows as Sylvain rests hands atop his thighs, captivated by how easily his fingers can span the taut width of them. God, Sylvain thinks, those thighs might be the hottest thing about Felix. If he's being honest, everything about Felix is hot, and having him so plaintively in his lap makes Sylvain want to follow through on every bad decision that's haunted him since high school.
"I can't believe you got Annette to swear at you," he laughs, still breathless as he traces absent lines over the surface of Felix's jeans. It's not subtle at all, the way Sylvain can't keep his hands off of him and the way Felix's fingers twitch every time Sylvain's thumbs glance over the exposed skin between the artful tears in his denim. "It's actually kind of impressive," he tacks on, flashing him a grin. "Has anyone ever told you how hot you are when you're actively angling to be murdered by a 4'11" musical theory major?"
"Hey, I'll have you know that I am five feet," Annette huffs. No one hears this.
Felix releases Sylvain's shoulders with a deep breath, closing his eyes as he takes in another. He does not open his eyes as he speaks, which Sylvain insists is a travesty, if only because he's sure the thunderous edge to them would have been the sweetest death he ever could've met.
"I cannot express," Felix says, deathly calm, "within the bounds of human language, how much I despise you. Annette, turn off the camera. I'm going to dropkick Sylvain into your apartment parking lot and use your Fiat to hunt him down for sport. The end of the Gautier line is going to be written in his shitty blood against the shitty asphalt."
Sylvain, with no functioning sense of self-preservation, ignores the death threat and turns toward Annette.
"Ooh, Annie's filming?" he chirps. "Is it still a fail if I get the guy?"
"You are getting nothing," Felix snaps. He seems to be getting used to existing in Sylvain's lap because his blush has died down considerably. It'd be a shame if it wasn't, quite possibly, the greatest fucking development to have happened in his entire life. "I am going to rip your trachea out with my teeth."
Sylvain looks into the camera. "Is it weird that I'm kinda turned on by that?"
Annette makes a disgusted face. "Really , Sylvain?"
They're all saved from having to hear Sylvain's answer when Felix grabs Sylvain by the collar, forcing the redhead to look at him. "Never say that to Annette or to a camera ever again."
"Oh yeah?" Sylvain bites, hazel eyes alight. "What if I say it to you?" he hums lowly, thrilled at the way Felix's flush returns full force. It could easily be from another fit of anger, but Sylvain isn't blind to the way Felix's breath catches, pupils dilating at the muttered tone Sylvain adopts as he stares up at him through his lashes, thumbs pressed into the crease between Felix's thighs and hip. He's so certain that he's going to get kissed, enthralled by the way Felix burns holes into him with his gaze, an audible tremor to the breaths he sighs warm and torpid against the swell of Sylvain's lips.
The fingers around his collar tighten, and Sylvain leans in toward — thin air and a mouthful of carpet as Felix swings his legs off of Sylvain's lap and shoves him face-first into the floor, twisting an arm behind his back hard enough for Sylvain to yell.
"Shit—! Felix, what th— gah! "
Felix twists his arm harder, digging his knee in between Sylvain's shoulder blades.
"Felix, what the fuck? "
Felix does not acknowledge him.
"Annette," he begins slowly, "turn off the camera."
"But Felix—"
"Annie."
Another pause, and then a sigh. Sylvain can't twist his head enough to see what Annette is doing, but he hears a series of shuffles and then, "Fine. But only because you asked nicely!"
"That's nice?"
Felix twists Sylvain's arm harder.
"Shit— Okay, okay! I yield. Get off of me, will you?"
There's a moment's pause before Felix relents, releasing his arm only to yank Sylvain immediately back up. He's expecting a well-deserved punch for his assorted stunts, but Felix slams their lips together instead, hungry and open-mouthed, tearing a wretched moan past Sylvain's lips as he twists a hand into his hair. Sylvain falls into him without a second thought, humming against Felix's tongue as he licks into Sylvain's mouth like it's his last chance to commit the spit-slick taste of it to memory. Sylvain really fucking hopes it isn't the last.
The hands in his hair are relentless, and this time Felix drags himself into Sylvain's lap willingly, pushing him back against the sofa as he leans back just enough to break for air before tumbling back in, slower. It's a far cry from that threat to choke Sylvain with a tongue down his throat, but Sylvain wouldn't trade anything for the insistent press of fingers nestled into the unruly thick of his hair, tilting his head at just the right angle for Felix to explore the line of Sylvain's lips and teeth with the ardent precision of a cartographer committing entire landscapes to memory.
Sylvain finds his way back to Felix's thighs again, splaying palms against the firm muscle. Felix pulls back with a sharp gasp as Sylvain massages into the crease of his thigh and hip, and Sylvain chases after him with an open-mouthed grin, mouths posed in a lazy half-kiss as he stares up at Felix through his lashes, entranced by the way Felix's eyelids flutter dizzily before they finally fall open.
Felix breathes deep into the space between them, breath warm over the swell of Sylvain's lips. Sylvain reaches up to tuck away a wayward strand of hair, acutely aware of his pulse thumping like a kick drum in his chest, head still trying to catch up with the elated thrum of his heart. The way Felix's flyaway hairs gleam like a crooked halo in the incandescent apartment light is nothing short of wondrous.
Sylvain stares up at him like he's just discovered the concept of religion, ready to dedicate his life to some larger being with eyes the colour of Faerghus autumn at dusk, when the sun sinks low enough to paint the dead leaves and cracked sidewalks in enough gold to turn it all into a work of art. He always knew kissing Felix was going to be a life-altering moment, but he never could have imagined the shift of his magnetic field to fall in line with Felix, leaning into him like he's his new polar north.
"Is it bad form to say I think I want to marry you?" Sylvain asks, still dazed and breathless and enveloped in the circle of his arms.
Felix blushes again, bright red bursting forward like wildfire across his cheeks. God, he's gorgeous. He's everything Sylvain has always known he's wanted and everything he'll spend the rest of his life learning to want in endless, intricate detail.
"Shut up," Felix snarks, dragging Sylvain in to kiss him again.
Sylvain wasn't kidding, but he'll save that for another time.