Chapter Text
Sylvain flops back against his pillows on his bed, his laptop balancing precariously on his stomach. He scrolls through the near endless sea of comments of his latest food review, replying to a few questions about the dishes he tried and a few heartfelt comments about how his reviews never fail to bring a smile to someone’s face or how someone’s stomach will always start growling when they read his review. His last review was published a few weeks ago, and he’s due to post another one soon, if he wants to keep his viewership high. The problem is that Dimitri has been out of town for the past two weeks on a major business trip, and Sylvain can’t exactly produce content without him.
After all, his blog kind of depends on having Dimitri around. His blog had been founded on the basis that Dimitri had lost much of his ability to taste certain foods following a certain traumatic event. Sylvain had claimed in his very first post that he was trying to investigate what kinds of foods famous celebrity and close friend Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was able to taste. In all actuality, though, it was just an excuse to spend more time with his friend, share their fun hangouts to the world, and promote a few, struggling businesses. He knew that having Dimitri on would bring in support from those who liked him, but he had never imagined that his silly blog would ever attract so much attention—he’s been getting paid sponsorships by restaurants and other businesses, requests from fans to have popup meet-and-greets or even live Q & A sessions, and he’s even had several companies reach out to try and turn his blogs into a video series.
But Sylvain’s always liked writing out witty accounts and posting photos he took himself so he’s always turned down the offers. He’s accepted a few sponsorships, though most of the money he gets goes straight to the restaurants that he and Dimitri go to. Dimitri hadn’t wanted any of the money, stating that he is already well-off, and Sylvain already had a job of his own that paid him quite well. This was supposed to just be a fun side-gig, but it ended up growing much bigger. It was unexpected, but greatly appreciated. After all, more funding meant more delicious meals with his friend and more happy viewers.
Luckily for him, Dimitri has told him that he made it back to Faerghus and is in the middle of unpacking his suitcases at his home. Dimitri and Sylvain should be able to get together and research some good places to eat together soon.
Sylvain spends around ten more minutes looking around his comments before his phone rings, the loud vibrating of his phone against the his nightstand practically echoing throughout his empty house. Keeping his gaze on his laptop screen, he swats blindly at his side until he grabs his phone and accepts the call.
“Hello?”
“Ah, hello, Sylvain,” comes Dimitri’s voice through the grainy speaker. “I wanted to ask if you had some time to spare.”
“Anything for you, Your Highness,” Sylvain jokes, sitting up in his bed and shutting his laptop. “Weren’t you the busy one though? I thought you were unpacking.”
Dimitri chuckles. “Well, I was unpacking, but I got hungry and started looking for places to eat. I actually called because I found this really nice restaurant. Apparently, it opened about a month ago and is run by some famous chef.”
Sylvain raises an eyebrow as he moves from his apartment’s bedroom to his kitchen. “A famous chef?” He pins his phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he makes himself a cup of tea. “Who?”
“Well, I can’t remember his name right off the top of my head, but I remember hearing that it’s a very popular restaurant right now. It’d probably do your blog some good to dine there, don’t you think?”
Sylvain can’t help the small smile spreading across his face. He isn’t sure who taught Dimitri to speak so formally, but it never fails to crack him up—and when Dimitri gets kind of upset at you and tries to chew you out, oh, Sylvain always gets on his case about it. That's where their whole joke about him secretly being royalty came from.
“Sure thing.” He brings his cup up to his lips.
“I’m glad you agree. Our reservation is in an hour.”
Sylvain nearly spits out his tea. “What?”
Dimitri laughs, though Sylvain can hear the sheepishness lurking beneath the amusement. “It is quite notorious for having long waits so I made a reservation.” There’s a pause. “Ah, well, unless you have plans. I’d be more happy to reschedule.” Another pause, and Sylvain can practically feel the dread and apprehension radiating off Dimitri through the phone speaker. “I’m sorry. That was quite presumptuous and selfish of me, wasn’t it? I hadn’t considered if you had any plans.”
Sylvain sets his tea down on the counter. “Hey, no worries,” he replies. “I don’t have any plans—and no, I’m not just saying that for you.” He smiles when he hears the quietest sigh of relief from Dimitri, as if he had been holding his breath. “I just didn’t think I’d have to be getting all fancied up tonight.”
“Oh, there is no specific dress code." Dimitri is quick to reassure him. “I’m sure you can come in what you are wearing, so long as you are fully dressed.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I came dressed in a clown costume or something?”
"Sylvain, you needn’t dress to look like a clown.” Sylvain can hear the smile in Dimitri’s words.
“Ouch. That hurts, Your Highness.” Even so, Sylvain laughs.
-
The restaurant, The Lone Wolf, is as lonely in appearance as its name suggests. The Lone Wolf is a large building set apart from other restaurants and stores, almost setting it in the middle of nowhere. Don’t get Sylvain wrong—it’s a very aesthetically pleasing building, with warm candles illuminating perfectly-set tables placed outside on a fancy patio and lovely string lights hung up along the trees out in front. There’s even a beautiful, clear artificial lake with moss-covered rocks and actual living fish paddling around in it. Plus, the logo is a pretty cool wolf. It’s just that when the closest buildings are hotels that are still being constructed and the surrounding place is almost all wilderness, it’s a little off-putting, especially given that this restaurant is supposedly very reputable and all that.
At least the view seems pretty nice. Who knew that there was such place in Faerghus that wasn’t all dried grass and leafless trees?
“A little odd to put such a well-acclaimed restaurant,” Dimitri muses, taking the words right from Sylvain’s mouth, as Sylvain snaps a picture of The Lone Wolf’s exterior with his camera. “You think that it’d be closer to the city to attract more people.”
“Well, I guess that’s why all the hotels are being constructed over there—they probably want to capitalize on this chef’s restaurant.” Sylvain pulls open and holds the fancy front door for Dimitri, who politely thanks him and heads in. To Sylvain’s surprise, the wait isn’t very long, despite how the whole building looks packed full of people.
The inside of the building is just as nicely furnished as Sylvain would have thought it to be. Right as you enter, there is a large and dramatic, crystal chandelier hanging overhead, glimmering and glinting from every angle as it catches the light. The tables are all fitted with a white tablecloth and a bunch of fancy silverware. The walls show off a vintage style with its red bricks and shuttered, French windows. The hardwood floor is polished until it seems to sparkle, and the stairs leading up to the second floor have an elegant and velvety red carpet with gold linings.
Sylvain feels like he’s standing in a castle. He takes out his camera once again and snaps a few pictures, ignoring the questioning looks from other patrons. By the time that he and Dimitri get to the front, Sylvain already has quite a bit of photos.
“Good evening, and welcome to The Lone Wolf,” a short, purple-haired woman greets them. “Um, do you have a reservation?”
“Ah, yes. I believe that it should be under the name ‘Sylvain Gautier.’”
Dimitri gives Sylvain a sheepish look for using his name to make the reservation, like he always tends to when he’s the one making the reservations, but Sylvain doesn’t mind—after all, Dimitri is a rather popular celebrity. Using his name freely to make reservations wouldn’t be very wise.
The woman nods and finds their name in the reservation book. “Ah! F-for eight thirty, right?” When Dimitri nods, she picks up two menus and smiles at them. “Um, if you could follow me, I’ll lead you to your table,” she squeaks at them.
Dimitri and Sylvain follow their waitress to a table, already neatly set for them with a candle neatly set in the center of the table. Sylvain snaps another photo before he sits down, across from Dimitri.
“Could I get you two something to drink?” she asks, setting the menus in front of them and tucking her arms behind her back. Sylvain thinks that she looks a bit nervous. Maybe it’s her first day on the job. “Maybe an appetizer?”
Sylvain opens up the menu and looks up at their waitress, flashing her a smile. “I think we’ll need some time to think about the appetizer and the rest of the meal, but I’ll take a glass of water.”
“And I will take water as well.”
Their waitress—'Bernadetta,’ reads her nametag in a fancy front engraved directly into the sleek metal—nods and scampers away.
“This place is really nice." Sylvain casts his glance around the restaurant, taking in the view. “I wonder who that famous chef you were talking about is, though.” He shrugs. “I guess I have some researching to do later, huh?”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult.” Dimitri opens up his menu and sets it on the table in front of him. “I’ve heard he’s very famous—and from around here too.”
Sylvain wracks his brain for a possible name to fit that description, but he can’t for the life of him think of anyone.
Well, maybe that isn’t entirely true. One name does come to mind, but Sylvain is quick to push that name and the odd, conflicting feelings it always dredges up with it. In the end, Sylvain gives up on trying to figure out who it is, deeming it thoroughly easier to look up who the chef is. But, of course, he thinks he ought to pick something to eat first. Research can wait.
His gaze skims over the fancy, curly font and the blue and silver borders. The descriptions of the food are short and straightforward—it lacks that honeyed fluff that other restaurants have, trying to make their food sound beautiful and delicious. Instead, it simply states what the dish is. Sylvain raises an eyebrow and makes a note of it but makes no comment about it.
“Hmm, I think that I’d just like the cheesy Verona stew as an appetizer.” Dimitri points at the dish on the menu and looks up at Sylvain. “Sounds nice.”
Sylvain grins. “You did always say that you can taste cheese pretty well.” He flicks his gaze down at the menu and takes a glance at the description underneath the name of the dish in the appetizers section—a rich dish consisting of butternut squash and sautéed cod fillets, boiled and served with two kinds of melted cheese. “Hmm, it doesn’t look half bad, actually. I’ll get one too.”
“As for my main course, I’m not quite sure yet. What are you thinking?”
Sylvain hums noncommittally and looks down at the menu. “Haven’t thought that far yet either.” He skims through the menu once again, and his gaze stops when he sees a meal name he hasn’t seen in quite a while—a name that brings him all sorts of warm, fuzzy, happy, soft memories, a name that makes his mouth water and his heart yearn. Two-fish sauté, the menu reads, two types of fish are cut into strips and sautéed in butter.
“I’m getting the two-fish sauté,” Sylvain tells Dimitri. Dimitri smiles at him.
“Oh! I remember that dish. Didn’t you used to love it?” When Sylvain nods, Dimitri’s smile only grows a little. “Getting a little nostalgic tonight, it seems.” He looks down at the menu. “I think that the cheese gratin sounds pretty good.”
When Bernadetta returns with their drinks, she takes their orders and scampers back to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sylvain and Dimitri catch up and fill the air with their idle conversations. Any conversation between them is a fun on, and even when they aren’t talking, the silence is simply comfortable. The atmosphere of the restaurant only adds to the comfort that Sylvain feels. The décor all feels so familiar and homey, like stepping into a warm and softly-lit house after an exhausting day at work. Even the soft murmur of other customers speaking is soothing in a way.
-
Sylvain isn’t keeping track of the time, too caught up in his current conversation with Dimitri about Dimitri’s most recent business trip. He’s surprised by when Bernadetta returns with two, small and steaming bowls of stew.
“Careful,” she says as she sets the bowls in front of Dimitri and Sylvain, and the porcelain gently clatters against the wood of the table. “It’s hot.” She takes a small step back. “I hope you enjoy! Your meals will be ready soon! I’ll be around so u-um, if you need me, just say so.”
“Thank you!” Dimitri bows his head the tiniest bit with his thanks.
"Thanks.” Sylvain nods in acknowledgment at Bernadetta and quickly adjusts the setting around the little bow. He plays with the placement of his utensils and angles his camera a few different ways before snapping a few pictures. Dimitri gives a small laugh.
“Diligent as always,” he remarks. Sylvain only grins at him. “Can I eat yet?”
Sylvain scrolls through the photos that he’s taken, making sure that there’s nothing weirdly incriminating for either of them and that the photo looks nice—crisp, focused, detailed, aesthetically pretty. If not, then Sylvain supposes he has more work to do later, editing photos until his neck and back hurt from being hunched over his laptop for such long periods of time.
But most of the photos seem to look okay at first glance so he gestures at Dimitri’s bowl of stew. “Go ahead.”
Sylvain props his elbows up on the table and folds his hands in front of his face, waiting patiently as he always does when he and Dimitri go out to eat together. Dimitri picks up his spoon, ignoring Sylvain’s curious gaze with ease—after all, he’s used to it. It has practically become habit for Sylvain to wait for Dimitri to eat first. Sylvain wanted to get Dimitri’s genuine reaction before his own opinion could influence what Dimitri tasted or thought.
Dimitri’s eyes light up with a sort of childish glee upon his first spoonful of the cheesy Verona stew. He quickly swallows and locks eyes with Sylvain, practically bubbling with excitement. “Sylvain! This—this taste! I can taste it!” he stammers out, his tongue getting tied from how fast he’s trying to put his thoughts into coherent sentences. “It’s incredible!”
Sylvain raises an eyebrow, but he smiles nonetheless. “Wow, really? What, specifically, do you think that you can taste?”
Dimitri hurriedly takes another spoonful of the stew and waits, as if letting the flavor set in his mouth. “Definitely the cheese,” he starts because Dimitri always seems to point out the taste of cheeses and butter—and sometimes even olive oil or certain spices—due to his hypogeusia. “Both types! They’re very different and distinct, but they complement each other rather well. But other than that, there’s something kind of, hmm, sweet and I really enjoy it!”
Sylvain laughs. “Well, you have always been pretty fond of sweeter things, huh?” Sylvain picks up his own spoon. “Might be the butternut squash that you’re tasting.”
“Ah, that makes sense." Dimitri shakes his head and smiles at Dimitri. "Regardless, I truly do enjoy this dish!”
Sylvain, too, enjoys the dish. It’s sweet, like Dimitri said, and it’s rich in flavor, like the menu had promised. It’s soft and soothing with just enough seasoning to make the dish feel alive.
Yet, he can’t help but to feel that something is missing. It’s a little… bland.
“Hmm." Sylvain frowns a little and takes another spoonful of the stew, as if to reaffirm his thoughts. Needless to say, his opinion doesn't change. Dimitri seems to catch the look on Sylvain's face and cocks his head.
"Something wrong?"
"Needs salt,” Sylvain muses, and Dimitri gives a soft chuckle in response.
“Is that so? I find that it is perfectly fine the way it is.”
"But your diet also says to avoid adding too much salt to your food,” Sylvain points out. Nevertheless, he continues to eat. “It’s not bad at all though. Just a little lacking.”
When Bernadetta comes by again to check up on them and fill their glasses with water, Sylvain stops her just before she leaves.
“Excuse me. Can you bring me a little salt?”
“Salt? Is the food bad?” Bernadetta wrings her hands, and a flash of concern darts across her expression for a split second. "Oh gosh..."
Sylvain blinks at her. “Huh? Bad? Oh, not at all! I just think it’s a bit bland—you know, missing something.”
Bernadetta averts her gaze and fidgets a little. “Um, would you like me to forward your complaint to the head chef?”
Sylvain quickly shakes his head. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. The food is actually really good. It could just use a touch of salt.” He flashes her a pleasant smile, but she doesn’t seem to take it as other servers have done in the past.
Instead of a smile in return or maybe a friendly chuckle, the poor girl flinches. “You want me to b-bring you salt?” When Sylvain raises an eyebrow at her odd behavior, she blurts out, “Um, y-yes! I’ll go and ask for salt r-right now! I’ll be back in a second!” She turns on her heels, her shoulders square and her hands clasped as if in prayer, and she hurries to the kitchen.
“You’d think that they would leave some sort of condiments on the tables.” Sylvain shakes his head. Is this chef so cocky that he thinks everything he makes is perfect? Sylvain can’t help but to think. That his customers won’t think that adding any condiments would be necessary, even if it’s just personal preference?
“Did she seem a little apprehensive to you, or was that just me?” Dimitri asks.
“Oh definitely.” Sylvain nods. “She seems a little jumpy, but maybe it’s her first day here or something.” At this answer, Dimitri nods sagely, as if he had just received a revelation of some sort.
“It is not as though you had been very rude to her.” Dimitri frowns. “I wonder what that’s all about.”
“Eh, it’s probably nothing.” Sylvain grins at him. “Anyway, I wonder if you’ll like the cheese gratin too.”
“I do think so! If the cheese gratin is anything like this stew, I feel that I will be able to taste the food just fine.” Dimitri looks genuinely excited about being able to taste, and Sylvain doesn’t want to be a buzzkill so he just smiles along with him.
Bernadetta drops by with a little salt shaker and quietly informs them that their food is almost ready before practically taking off, but Sylvain chalks that up to her nerves again and simply ignores it despite Dimitri commenting on it again. Sylvain wonders if perhaps he’ll enjoy his main meal more. After all, there are off-days and, of course, times when you make meals that simply aren’t as great as what you usually make. Sylvain is happy to add a touch of salt to his soup and finish it, though he does feel that something else could be added to really make it better.
After Bernadetta serves them their main courses and quickly disappears into the restaurant to presumably serve some of the other, seemingly countless customers, Sylvain snaps a picture of his and Dimitri’s meals. Dimitri, again, takes the first bite of his meal and glows with praise about the cheese and the fruity sauce drizzled over the chicken.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this,” Dimitri gushes with a smile. “Quite a unique flavor.”
Sylvain smiles at him. “Sounds good.” He flicks his gaze down to Dimitri’s plate, to the bird meat topped with cheese and a fruity sauce. Its plating and garnishing are dramatic and fanciful, fit with some sort of crumbs along the edges of the plate and a few aesthetically-pleasing shapes drawn with the sauce. “You know, it actually looks like something that my mom used to make a lot.”
“Really?” Dimitri looks surprised. “I’ve personally never had this dish.”
“It’s a lot fancier than what my mom made,” Sylvain quickly adds, “but she made something kind of like this. Maybe it was different. I don’t really know.”
Dimitri gestures down at his plate with his fork. “Would you like a bite? If it brings you any sort of pleasant nostalgia, I’d be more than happy to share.”
Pleasant nostalgia? Sylvain thinks with an unfairly bitter tone. Not particularly. I’ve only had a handful of good memories with this meal and they all included a friend I don’t really talk to anymore.
Even despite the bittersweet reminders of a gloomy childhood and a familiar face he yearns to see, Sylvain manages to give Dimitri his signature, good-natured smile and wave him off. “Nah, I’m good.” Sylvain picks up his own fork and gestures down at his plate. “I have my own meal to eat.”
“Go on then,” Dimitri tells him with a smile.
Sylvain takes another bite of his food. In all honesty, this meal is much better than the stew. He thinks it’s practically perfect. Perhaps he’s biased. After all, this is one of his favorite dishes of all time, associated with some good memories. As he savors the taste, Sylvain remembers a few memories of warm summer sunsets, the smell of the fish cooking from the kitchen while his best friend laughed beside him on the couch; he remembers sneaking away from the house in the middle of the night to meet that friend in their treehouse, playing video games until their parents found them passed out in the treehouse the morning after; he remembers holding his best friend through the happy times and the sad times.
The food is warm; the memories are too. But his chest feels cold and painful, like he’s filled to the brim with conflicting feelings—a bittersweet combination. He feels like he’s choking on his nostalgia, on his loneliness and yearning, on his love. He misses those old days.
“Sylvain?” Dimitri gently prompts. “You okay?”
“Hmm? Of course.” Sylvain snaps himself out of his thoughts and tries to think of something to say. “I was just thinking.”
“Ah. Well, a penny for your thoughts?”
Sylvain smiles at him. Thinking on his feet, Sylvain grabs the salt shaker again. “Just thought about how this one needed salt too.”
Dimitri shakes his head. “Perhaps your tastes simply differ from that of the chef.” He sets his utensils down. “Should I call over Bernadetta?”
“Nah. It’s all good.” Sylvain knows that this dish really doesn’t need any other seasoning, but he’s already committed himself to this so he taps out a little bit of salt onto his dish—just enough to see it coming out of the salt shaker, but just enough so that it isn’t actually too salty. “I really like this dish, but I guess I just like things saltier.”
The rest of the meal, filled with their comfortable conversations and lively laughter, seems to go by without a hitch. At least, until it’s time for dessert. They had both ordered the same dessert, the peach sorbet, but just as Bernadetta was about to leave, Dimitri had mentioned Sylvain’s second dish being bland again, which made her freeze up again. She apologized and just about disappeared in the blink of an eye, heading back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to tell her, you know,” Sylvain remarks, crossing his arms and leaning forward a little on the table. “Maybe she’s all freaked out because that head chef that you mentioned is actually a demon.”
“Oh. I see.” Dimitri frowns. “You don’t think I put her in a hard spot, do you?”
Oh, Dimitri, Sylvain wants to say. Instead, he just shrugs. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Working at a place like this probably requires some sort of resolve, right?”
Dimitri nods along. “I can see that. This does seem like quite an establishment to be working at. Hopefully, she’ll be okay.”
Bernadetta returns with their peach sorbet, but instead of walking off to attend to the other customers, she silently stands by the table with a troubled look.
“Is there an issue?” Dimitri asks, cocking his head as Sylvain takes a few pictures of the peach sorbet dish.
“Ah, n-not at all! I was just asked to, um, be on standby. Just in case you think there’s something wrong with this dish too.”
Sylvain waves his hand at her. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sorry to have caused you all such trouble. I’m just a little picky. That’s all.”
But Bernadetta doesn’t budge. She waits there by the table, brightening when Dimitri tastes the dish and smiles. He tells Sylvain about how nice the dessert is, how he can taste the sweetness and the peaches and cream in the ice cream.
“It’s great,” Dimitri is saying as Sylvain dips the tip of his spoon into the ice cream. “Everything I’ve had at this restaurant has been something that I could taste.”
Sylvain feels his mouth watering as he brings the spoonful of ice cream up to his lips. He’s always been quite a fan of this dessert. And even though he considers himself something of a connoisseur of peach sorbet after all the years he’s had of eating this sweet, he thinks there’s no wrong way to make peach sorbet.
At least, he’s thought that before he tried this restaurant’s peach sorbet.
This time, he isn’t quite sure if something is missing—perhaps something is too abundant. Yes, that’s it. It’s too sweet. It’s as if the chef had dumped all the sugar they could find directly into this dish, and Sylvain can’t tell if that was intentional or not. And the texture isn’t very even or smooth. Sure, it’s not too terrible since Sylvain likes sweets and loves peach sorbet, but it’s a little off-putting, a little too saccharine. He must be making a face because Dimitri is giving him a concerned look and Bernadetta looks horrified.
“Is something wrong?”
“Hey, Dima, can I try some of yours?”
Dimitri wordlessly pushes his bowl towards Sylvain. Sylvain takes a spoonful and finds that the overabundance of sugar is there too. He makes a face.
“Wow. It’s, um, really, really sweet.” He smiles at Dimitri. “Tastes like it was made by someone who hasn’t had anything sweet to eat in years,” he jokes. “Maybe they think that people just like a lot of sugar.”
“I’m really sorry! Sorry! Should I get the head chef?” Bernadetta squeaks. “Oh gosh, um, I’ll go see about a refund—”
Both Dimitri and Sylvain cut her off, practically speaking over each other in their frantic efforts to calm her. Sylvain tries to ignore the curious stares of neighboring customers.
“Hey, there’s no need for a refund! We enjoyed the meal, and we’re going to pay!”
“Please, don’t worry! We are still paying for all the hard work and time put into our dishes! I really enjoyed my meal.”
Bernadetta gulps and frowns. “A-a-are you sure?” she asks.
“Yep. It’s not your fault or your chef’s fault. It’s just me being picky. Promise.” Sylvain smiles at her. “You don’t even have to tell your chef about this.”
“Please, don’t worry.” Dimitri has gone back to eating the peach sorbet. “I am truly sorry for any trouble we’ve caused so please, calm down. We don’t need to speak to anyone or get a refund.”
“Oh, I-I don’t know…” Bernadetta fidgets with her hands. But eventually, when she hears someone calling her name, she gives a small nod. “Um, okay. I’ll be around so don’t hesitate to call me over.”
Dimitri and Sylvain exchange a look, a look of concern and shock.
“I wonder how this boss is treating these workers to make her freak out like that.” Sylvain shakes his head. “Must be one hell of a boss, huh?”
“I hope she is alright. She seemed so ready to try and get us a refund. I don’t believe we had any serious complaints—especially ones that would warrant a refund…”
Even so, they resume eating their dessert—or, rather, Dimitri continues eating his dessert while Sylvain makes conversation and prods at the peach sorbet with his spoon.
A sudden bang from the back of the restaurant resounds and silences everyone. Eyes anxiously and curiously flicker over to the kitchen, where a man—wearing a chef coat with the signature colors of the restaurant, an apron, and even a little chef toque atop his head—is storming past the two doors and out into the dining area. A ginger-haired waitress and Bernadetta trail after him, tugging at his sleeve and speaking to him, but he wrenches his arm away and keeps walking.
People avert their gazes as he walks by but lock their nosy gazes on him when he quickly passes their table. Sylvain looks away and resumes his conversation with Dimitri, assuming that the chef has to tend to some business with an employee.
Then the chef stops by Sylvain’s table and slams his hands down on the table. The plates and silverware and cups clatter and tremble from the force of the slam, and Dimitri scrambles to grab the teetering candle. Sylvain blinks in shock and looks over at the chef.
The chef’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his lips are screwed down into a stern scowl. “All I’ve been hearing from this table is nothing but criticism! You must think you’re so good at cooking, huh?” he snaps. “Let’s see you do any better! I don’t see you two opening up your own restaurants!”
“We’re very sorry, sir,” Dimitri quickly amends, holding his hands up in a placating manner. Sylvain can hear Dimitri’s diplomatic voice kicking in. “We had no intentions of offending you—”
The chef scoffs. “Really? Really?” Because I get customers like you idiots all the damn time. You clowns come waltzing in here with the sole purpose of trying to criticize my cooking and demoralize my cooks when I know for a fact that none of you can cook half as well as we can!” He wrinkles his nose, looking like a snarling dog. “And you—!” He flicks his gaze to stare at Sylvain, but Sylvain sees an odd flicker of something in his eyes for a split second.
“Come on, Felix,” the ginger waitress huffs. She gives Dimitri a sheepish look. “I’m so sorry. He’s not typically like this, I promise! He’s really sweet, and—and he’s just had a really hard day today!” She pulls at Felix’s sleeve, but Felix doesn't budge, keeping his gaze trained on Sylvain. “Come on! I know Ashe wants to ask you about something. Er, probably! Let’s just go back, okay?”
“I’m so sorry!” Bernadetta squeaks out. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think that he’d act like this! I-I shouldn’t have said anything! Gosh, I-I’m so s-sorry!”
“Bernie, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You don’t need to apologize!” the ginger waitress promises. “Felix! Leave these two alone already!”
Sylvain isn’t particularly listening to the rage spewing from the chef’s mouth nor the poor waitresses’ explanation of what’s going on. His head is too busy spinning from his own revelation, too busy clinging to the name that the ginger girl had said, too busy taking in the appearance of his angry chef.
Sylvain feels his heart nearly stop. “Felix?”
Felix's eyes widen a little, and he blinks, near dumbfounded. “Sylvain?”
"You know him?” Dimitri asks quietly, awed.
"Felix!” Sylvain laughs loudly and stands up, throwing an arm around Felix’s shoulder. He knows that he probably looks goofy with his big smile, but he can’t help it. Bernadetta and the other waitress—Annette, Dimitri later tells him—watch with tense shoulders and wide eyes, as if waiting for disaster.
Felix just grumbles something under his breath, averting his gaze, and swats lightly at his arm.
“It’s been so long!” Sylvain continues, letting go of his one-armed hug and ignoring the way that his body yearns to cling to Felix once more. “How have you been?”
And like the entire restaurant let out a breath that it had been holding, conversation starts to slowly trickle back into place and fill the air as everyone begins to disregard Felix and Sylvain. The tense atmosphere fades just as quickly as it had appeared. Even so, Annette and Bernadetta share shocked looks, and Dimitri just stares, confused.
“Fine.” Felix turns to Bernadetta and Annette. “It’s fine now. I know him. Go on and get back to work.”
Though hesitant, they both leave, but not before Annette can warn Felix, “Don’t you dare do anything stupid or mean to our customers! Do you hear me, Felix? I mean it!”
Sylvain takes his seat again and beams up at Felix, who rests one hand on his hip and narrows his eyes.
“Of course. It would be you,” he says, and Sylvain only laughs. “I was wondering who would be dumb enough to try and argue with me about my cooking.” He shakes his head.
“It tasted fine, Fe,” Sylvain assures him. “It was just missing a bit something here and there. Also, your baking still needs work. The peach sorbet was way too sweet!"
“Sylvain.” Dimitri says his name quietly, the same soft but stern tone a mother uses towards an unruly child in public. “You can’t just say that to a world-renowned chef…”
But contrary to Dimitri’s beliefs, Felix simply looks unbothered. If anything, he doesn’t look angry; he almost looks embarrassed. “Our head patisserie is sick today,” he tells them. “I figured I could take up her job instead of stressing our other cooks, but I guess it would have been better just to reassign roles tonight.”
Sylvain grins at him. “Oh man. If I had known you were working here, I would have dropped by earlier!”
Felix crosses his arms. “Well, I thought you’d know about me by now.” He nods at Dimitri. “Your friend seems to know a little more about what I’ve been up to than you.” He frowns. “Where have you even been? It’s like you dropped off the face of the Earth as soon as you quit out of Garreg Mach.”
“Ah, well, I’ve been a little busy.” Sylvain rests a hand on the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly at Felix. “It’s a long story, you know?”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure it is.” Felix raises an eyebrow. But he doesn’t quite get a chance to finish his thought before Dimitri jumps into their conversation.
Dimitri gawks at Sylvain. “Wait, you went to The Culinary Institute of Garreg Mach? One of the best culinary schools in the world? That Garreg Mach?”
Sylvain smiles at him and playfully holds up a peace sign. “Sure did.”
“Wow!” Dimitri beams at him. “That’s incredible!”
“What kind of friend are you if you don’t even know that?” Felix practically turns his nose up at Dimitri, who looks a little taken aback. “Didn’t know you were hanging around such careless people now, Sylvain.”
“Hey, it’s not his fault,” defends Sylvain quickly. “I just never told him.”
“Not even that! You lied to me!” Though Dimitri’s words seem hurt, his tone holds less venom and more confusion and curiosity. “You told me you went out of state—to attend the Kleiman Institute of Technology.”
“It’s not all a lie. I did go to KIT.” Sylvain waits a beat. “Right after I transferred out of Garreg Mach.”
Attending the Kleiman Institute of Technology wasn’t quite as fun as attending a culinary school, but it did have many more upsides. For one, it let him evade having to inherit his father’s company. He didn’t want to have to take up managing and working at a successful chain restaurant that his father started, especially with all that his father has done to him. He wanted to cut away from his terrible childhood and start anew, and if that meant dropping out of culinary school to pursue a drastically different career, then he would do it.
Even if it meant losing touch with his best friend—and crush.
(No, Sylvain reminds himself. It’s better this way. Felix was stressed and studying so hard. I didn’t want to distract him any more than I already was. He didn’t have time to stress about me or how my stupid feelings would ruin our friendship. There’s no place in his heart for me anyway—just his career.)
Dimitri chuckles. “You are always full of surprises, Sylvain.”
“Am I?” Sylvain shrugs his shoulders. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Surprises aren’t always a good thing.” Felix shakes his head.
“Oh! Here, before I forget.” Sylvain fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his contacts page. He hands his phone to Felix. “I got a new number a while back.”
Felix stares at the screen. “You did?” There’s something odd about his expression, but Felix immediately shuts it down, his stoic expression returning.
Sylvain feels a little bad. Did Felix try texting him or something? “Yeah. When I got this one, it didn’t transfer all the numbers over.” And thank God that it didn’t. Sylvain has a lot of exes that he would rather never think about again. “But go ahead and add yourself. Wouldn’t want to lose your number again.”
There’s a small pause in Sylvain’s world, like someone had hit pause on his life and he’s watching Felix stare down at the phone. Like he’s said something extremely, incredibly, unbearably, excruciatingly risky. He supposes in a way that he did. He and Felix haven’t spoken since Garreg Mach, and their last conversation wasn’t exactly the friendliest, considering how upset Felix had seemed that he was leaving to pursue another career. Sylvain still doesn’t understand what had set Felix off, but he seems a lot more mellow now—other than the fact that he’s willing to fight people over their opinions of his food, of course.
But the world waits for no one, especially not Sylvain. Sylvain watches as Felix, without a beat of hesitation, gives a noncommittal hum and types his number into Sylvain’s phone. He hands it back, and Sylvain sends Felix a text. He waits a beat, waiting to hear a vibration or a ringtone, but Felix seems to know what Sylvain is waiting on.
“My phone’s in the locker rooms. But the number I put in your phone is right.” Felix rolls his eyes. “Anyway. You. Sylvain. Your taste in food is dubious at best—shit at worst.”
“You hurt me, Felix! And you’re insulting yourself too, you know.” Sylvain smiles at Felix, who just rolls his eyes. “But, I did like the food. I like your cooking. I’ve always liked it.”
(Is that a little too on-the-nose? Sylvain wonders. Am I making things weird?)
“Visit more often.” Felix’s response is blunt, deadpan, and almost annoyed—but Sylvain knows he means nothing mean by it. “I’ll make food the way you like.”
“What?” Sylvain chuckles, “Come on, I told you I like your cooking. I’m not trying to flatter you.”
“Yeah, like you don’t try to flatter everyone you ever meet.” Sylvain gives Felix an exaggerated gasp, his hand pressing against his chest.
“Ouch, buddy! How rude!”
“I’m only telling the truth. You clearly didn’t like what you got tonight.”
“I did! I liked it, really! Ask Dima!” Felix, pointedly, does not ask Dima. “It was just missing something.” He pauses a beat. “Aw, Fe, are you getting self-conscious?” He grins at him, coy, foxlike—the type of smile that typically gets him into trouble. “Didn’t take you as the shy type.”
Almost immediately, as if on cue, Felix snaps at him, “Shut up.” Felix glares at him, but he eventually rolls his eyes. “I mean it. I’ll make food you like. So just come over.”
Even though there’s a sharp tug in his chest, like the fear that he’ll fall too deep for Felix once again is reigniting, Sylvain can’t turn down an offer to eat gourmet food and see his childhood best friend more often. Well, his wallet might have something to say about that, but Sylvain isn’t thinking about his wallet right now. He’s thinking about the pretty, dark-haired chef standing in front of him.
“What? Really? You’d do that just for me?” Sylvain perks up. “You do care about me, huh, Fe?”
Felix shoots him a flat look before saying, “Sure.” Then, he looks back to the kitchen doors and sighs. His expression softens a little as he looks back at Sylvain, the seemingly ever-present crease between his eyebrows fading as a tiny smile plasters itself onto Felix’s face. “Alright, I have to get back to work now, but enjoy your meal, Sylvain.”
“Oh. Yeah! Of course! Don’t let me keep you from doing your job.” Sylvain waves at him. “See you around, Felix.”
Dimitri silently watches as Sylvain’s cheeks heat up to a soft pink the slightest bit and how his hands tremble the slightest bit as he tousles his own hair. He notes the way that Sylvain seems to wilt when Felix says that he needs to leave. He doesn’t miss how Sylvain looks dazed, even after Felix leaves.
And he certainly doesn’t miss how Felix had been eyeing Sylvain, how he had looked so disapprovingly at Dimitri, how he had calmed down so drastically after recognizing Sylvain.
Dimitri may be oblivious to a lot of things—or so Sylvain says—but he knows these signs when he sees them. He wonders if he should invite Sylvain to eat at The Lone Wolf more often, especially if it means getting to see Sylvain get so happy. Especially after Sylvain, after a night of drinking, had confided in Dimitri that he feels a little lonely at times and that he wishes that he could be with someone without hurting them or them hurting him.
-
Back at home, Sylvain tries not to burn with embarrassment as he thinks back to his experiences at The Lone Wolf. Had he been too obvious? He did feel like he went a little over-the-top, especially when he insisted to Dimitri that he wanted to pay the tip and paid quite a bit. Later that night, Felix had sent him a text scolding him about recklessly spending money, but he had thanked him by the end of the text because Bernadetta had seemed so ecstatic about the large tip.
Oh well. Sylvain figures that that night was hectic for both him and Felix, especially considering the nature of their reunion for the first time in literal years. Felix is sure not to think too much of it, right? He'd probably overlook it as Sylvain being friendly and stuff, right?
Either way, it's undeniable that writing this review for The Lone Wolf is going to be the most fun that Sylvain's had in a while.