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“Sylvain,” Felix tries again, and his tone is plaintive, begging him to reconsider. “Sylvain, please. We’re not supposed to have gatherings with more than ten people, and especially since my father’s been out of the country-“
“No ifs, ands, or buts about it, Felix,” Sylvain counters, and his normally warm hazel eyes are unwavering in their stare. “It’s hardly ten people. Me, you, Rodrigue, Dimitri, Byleth, Ashe, Annette, Ingrid, Dedue, and Mercedes. You’ve been planning this speech for weeks, the chicken’s been roasted, the pie has been made, and this dinner party is happening whether or not you come out. “
Felix blinks up at Sylvain, and he has the unmistakable urge to punch him squarely in the jaw. If they were sixteen again, with Felix’s repressed emotions and Sylvain’s uncontrollable ardor, he would’ve. Instead, he steadies himself, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and wrenches Sylvain’s face down to his for a breathtaking, show-stopping kiss. When they part, Sylvain’s eyes are glittering with mischief, and he thumbs at Felix’s cheek gently.
“And hey,” Sylvain says into Felix’s ear, his voice low and husky. “If you manage to come out to our friends and family without killing anyone, I have a couple ideas on how to spend the rest of quarantine.”
Quickie aside, Felix is still utterly unprepared for the onslaught of anxiety he feels when his guests start coming in, even if they are his friends. Dedue and Mercedes arrive first, with a bottle of wine and a homemade fruit tart. The gesture makes Felix’s heart twinge, and he wonders how the staunch Christian Mercedes will take the news.
The rational part of him knows that nothing will change. Most, if not all of his friends, already had their doubts about his sexuality during their schooldays, and none of them would be even remotely shocked to hear the news that Felix didn’t like women. Even his father, the uptight lieutenant, couldn’t say that he’d never had doubts.
By the time the stragglers (Ashe and Annette) have arrived, Felix has worked himself up to the point that he can barely sit still, struggling to put a single morsel of the food Sylvain had prepared into his mouth. If Sylvain notices, he doesn’t say much, opting instead to lay a single hand on his shaking thigh. The gesture calms Felix, and he exchanges a small look of gratitude before returning to the conversation.
It’s Ingrid who broaches the subject first. The fruit tart that Mercedes and Dedue made is doled out, and the gentle hum of contentment echoes through the small apartment.
“As much as I love a good meal, I’ve gotta ask, what’s the occasion? You two don’t usually have visitors.”
“I was wondering that as well,” agrees Rodrigue, and his eyes flicker to Felix. “It’s not often my son invites me to a rendezvous with his friends. He’s usually begging me to leave him alone.”
Well, it’s now or never, Felix thinks, and he chances a glance at Sylvain, just to reassure him of his responsibility to come out to his friends and family. Sylvain nods silently, and he squeezes his thigh in solidarity.
“It has come to my attention that a year is a very long time to...hide something.” Felix begins, and he fights to keep his voice from wavering. He keeps his gaze firmly on the table, terrified that if he were to meet his father’s eyes, he’d lose the nerve. “I-I’m gay. Or bisexual. I’m still trying to figure that out. But that’s not important right now, and that’s not why I called you guys here. I called you guys here to say that me and Sylvain are dating. And we’ve been dating. For a year.”
He watches, in abject horror, as Ingrid slowly and methodically slides a ten dollar bill across the dinner table to Byleth. Byleth (bless her soul) doesn’t say anything, but she accepts the ten dollars, all the while never breaking eye contact with Felix.
“What?” She says finally, and her green eyes are mirthful. “Is it a crime to take bets on who’s shagging who?”
“You-You guys took bets?” Felix asks, and he can feel himself starting to get worked up over it.
The members of the table, save for Rodrigue, all nod solemnly.
“I thought you went back to Dorothea,” pipes in Ingrid.
“My bets were on Bernadetta,” says Dimitri.
“If it makes you feel any better, Felix, I did not partake in these bets,” Rodrigue adds. “Although I did have my suspicions when you informed me you were moving in with Sylvain.”
Felix’s face burns. He feels utterly betrayed that even Ingrid, his closest childhood friend would take a bet on who he was shagging, but one look at the loving faces around the table settles his anger. They might be idiots, but they were his idiots. His eyes wander to Rodrigue, and instead of the terse, cold gaze he expected, there is only love and acceptance in his aged face.
“If I didn’t not make it abundantly clear, I do not care what your sexuality is, Felix.” Rodrigue clarifies. “You are my son, and I lo- I appreciate you, no matter your sexuality.”
Felix nods, and clears his throat. “Alright, this has been fun. And mortifying. Mostly mortifying. So, now that that’s over, get out. We’re not supposed to have parties of more than ten, and there are ten of us here.”
“Yeah,” chimes in Sylvain. “You guys better get out of here before the police break down the door and arrest us for spreading ‘rona.”
Needless to say, nobody left anytime soon.