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The world had always been black and white for young Felix Fraldarius. You were either a good person, like Glenn or Ingrid or Sylvain; or you were a bad person, like Miklan or the merchant he had once seen hurling a cat by its scruff for the sin of wandering too close to his wares. When he got older, Felix would recognize the world also held an infinite number of shades of gray, wrong actions sometimes eclipsing good character, and vice versa. He still held that life was simple though, always cutting right to the heart of things rather than getting caught up in nuance.

The world had also always been black and white because Felix had not yet met his soulmate. Or perhaps he had, but he would not know until after his thirteenth birthday, when that special person would flare into color and change his life forever. From a young age, he had been told about colors, but they were a difficult concept to understand. All he knew is that his soulmate would look different, and when he kissed her, the whole world would look different, until the day that he died.

Felix wasn’t sure what the big deal was. The world looked fine to him, straightforward and easy to understand. All he needed were his big brother, his friends, and his training sword. Who needed a soulmate?

It happened for Glenn first. The day of his thirteenth birthday, he came down to his celebratory lunch, took one look at Ingrid, and in a very surprised voice, said, “You’re all… lit up.” Ingrid beamed at him, and within a matter of hours, their betrothal had been settled by their parents. Glenn would go on and on about how Ingrid’s eyes were actually green and how he couldn’t wait until they were older and he could see everything the way he saw her. Ingrid would get giddy when the subject of Felix’s brother came up, talking about how lucky she was to know who her soulmate was before she came of age, and how excited she was to see what the world actually looked like, as though the lives that they already had were somehow lacking. 

Felix thought they were both very stupid. He might have been more upset about this if it weren’t for the fact that Glenn still took his training so seriously. Even if he was too busy for Felix the rest of the time, he still got to spar with his brother as they both learned the skills they would need for knighthood. Of course, now he was talking about being a great knight for Ingrid , instead of just being one because he could be brave and noble and strong, but Felix ignored the sappy things his brother would say and tried to pretend that everything was the same as it had been.

Sometimes though, it was all too much for him to handle. He was so glad that he had Sylvain on those days, when he needed to be around someone safe and constant and utterly reliable. Sylvain had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. He would come to stay in Fraldarius for weeks at a time, spending his days studying and training and playing side by side with him and Glenn. Sylvain was loud and funny and he always had Felix’s back, always chose Felix’s company over anybody else’s. Felix couldn’t say that about many people. He was used to coming second. 

As Glenn got older and harder to understand, Felix found himself leaning on Sylvain more than ever. One lazy Sunday not long after Glenn had come of age, the two boys clambered down the cliffs behind Fraldarius Manor to reach the narrow pebble beach that skirted the sea. They sprawled out on the ground, panting and laughing, until Felix sat up suddenly and frowned.

“Sylvain, what’s going to happen when you meet your soulmate?”

The older boy gave him a funny look. “Uh, I’ll see colors, I guess?”

“No, I mean, are you… are we still going to be friends?”

Sylvain propped himself up on his elbows and bit his lip. “Why would you think that?”

Felix’s voice was very small when he answered. “Glenn doesn’t have time for me any more. I don’t want you to leave me, too.”

“That won’t ever happen, Fe. Besides, my father told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up about my soulmate anyway. He said Glenn got lucky, since Ingrid’s a Crested noblewoman. If mine isn’t, it won’t matter anyway. He’ll just arrange a better marriage for me and I’ll have to forget about her. So I don’t know if anything’s even going to change when I come of age.” He laughed then, a hollow sound that Felix hated.

“Oh.”

They were both quiet for a few minutes, watching the tide roll in until it almost reached their feet.

Sylvain picked up a rock and flung it into the water. “No matter what though, Fe, we’ll stick together.”

Felix’s heart skipped a beat. “Promise?”

“I promise. Stick together, till we die.”

They locked their pinkies together, sealing their fates with one simple gesture.

.

In Felix’s black and white world, promises were ironclad. So when Sylvain turned thirteen and broke theirs, he was devastated. It all started when Sylvain came to visit the week after his birthday. Dimitri and Ingrid were already in Fraldarius, enjoying the warm weather of the Garland Moon. The three of them had spent the day at the beach, and Glenn had even come down to swim with them for awhile. All in all, Felix thought it had been a great day, even if he wished Sylvain could have been there too.

They were drinking tea in the conservatory that evening when Sylvain finally arrived. They didn’t notice him approaching at first; they were all too busy giggling at some awkward, stilted thing Dimitri had just said. Felix was clutching at the heat in his cheeks from his laughter and a day spent in the sun when he heard a foot scuff near the door. He looked up to see Sylvain standing there, frozen. When their eyes met, Sylvain recoiled, and Felix’s heart dropped into his stomach. Sylvain had never looked at him like that before, and Felix was suddenly afraid.

“Oh, Sylvain! There’s plenty more tea, come sit!” Ingrid had just realized he was there, but apparently had not yet seen that something was wrong.

Sylvain’s mouth split into an odd rictus. “Uh, hey guys. Long day. I was just heading off to bed! See you.”

He then calmly turned and walked back out of the room.

Ingrid broke the tense silence now hanging over them. “Well, that was weird.”

Dimitri, ever the optimist, shook his head vehemently. “He had a long journey. I’m sure he will be himself again tomorrow!”

Felix didn’t say anything. All he could think of was how Sylvain had flinched when he saw him, and how lonely it had made him feel.

He got used to being lonely that summer. Sylvain avoided him completely, and became a fixture in the kitchens and around town, flirting with every pretty girl he came across. He had always been good-looking, and now that he was of age he had no trouble finding young ladies to return his interest. He no longer came to the training grounds or joined the others at the beach, and when he was forced to take meals with his old friends, he would plaster a big, fake smile on his face and talk incessantly about all the beautiful women he had met that day. Felix hated it.

“So, have you seen your soulmate yet, Sylvain?” Ingrid asked him at the first of these awful dinners.

His eyes flicked to Felix’s for just a second, the first time he had looked at him since the night he arrived. He quickly fixed Ingrid with an empty grin. “Nah, not yet. The more girls I meet, the better my chances though, right? And no harm in getting to know a few of them along the way.”

Ingrid scoffed. “I’m sure that won’t impress your soulmate when you meet her.”

“How do you know? Besides, the Margrave’ll probably marry me off to some random noblewoman in the end anyway, so who cares.”

Felix frowned at his roasted fish and didn’t join the conversation.

.

After that terrible summer, Felix didn’t see Sylvain again for a long time. He tried not to think about the ache in his chest that never really subsided. He didn’t have Sylvain any more, he didn’t really have anybody. Glenn was off serving as a squire in the King’s Guard, and Dimitri visited less and less as his responsibilities as the Crown Prince grew. Ingrid still visited sometimes, but since her own thirteenth birthday, Felix found he didn’t enjoy her company as much. She had finally kissed Glenn, and now saw the world in a completely different light. She wouldn’t stop gushing about how blue the sky was, how it matched Glenn’s eyes, how the light sparkled through the stained glass in the chapel, how she couldn’t wait to see the flowers bloom in the springtime. Felix looked around as she spoke, but for him, nothing had changed. The sky being blue meant nothing. All Felix knew was the way light glinted off his sword as he trained. He sometimes wondered what color that was.

He felt no excitement for his own thirteenth birthday, and it passed with little fanfare. Felix didn’t care about his soulmate, he just wanted his friends back. And even if he had been interested in finding her, he knew it would probably be years before they crossed paths. He rarely left his family’s estate, and even people who travelled far and wide often had to wait months or years for the stars to align. For some unlucky people, that day never came. Like the concept of colors, the idea of that mysterious special person was just too foreign for Felix to get excited about.

Any interest he might have scraped together died completely the day he lost Glenn. 

.

Felix had not cried after Glenn died. He had already felt so empty and alone, but he learned that he could slip farther into those feelings, so far that he felt like he was just floating. His feet barely touched the ground until the day of Glenn’s funeral. He drifted to the empty grave by his father’s side, numb, numb, numb. A familiar, gruff voice spoke behind them, Margrave Gautier, and Felix didn’t even turn his head. Then a hand touched his elbow, his father prompting him to greet their guest, and he felt his body obediently float around so he could nod at the man and get back to just existing. But then something exploded in his mind, and he came crashing back to earth.

Standing next to the Margrave was what had to be Sylvain. He was taller now, so much taller, but that wasn’t what was causing his confusion. No, Sylvain looked like he was on fire. His skin was glowing against the black fabric of his suit, and Goddess, his hair . It was so bright, and Felix didn’t have a word for it. It was like looking directly at the sun, but a thousand times more painful. He barely registered that Sylvain looked terrified before Felix closed his eyes and turned back around. His father said something, he didn’t hear what, but it didn’t matter because now his body felt heavy and full of too many feelings for any one person to handle, but somehow, he forced his legs to move. He ran and ran until he was in his room, gasping and shaking and once again, mercifully alone.

He had dragged himself halfway back to numbness when he heard the knock at his door.

“Fe?” The voice was deeper, but he would recognize it anywhere. “It’s me. Can… can we talk?”

Felix pulled a pillow over his head and bit his lip to keep from screaming.

There was another knock, softer this time.

Felix’s fragile, lonely existence had been completely shattered, but somehow, he was certain of three things.

One, his best friend had betrayed him.

Two, his heart was broken beyond mending.

And three, he never wanted to see Sylvain again.

He did not answer the door, and eventually he heard Sylvain walk away.

.

All Felix had for the next few years was his sword. He became adept at fighting, quick and strong and graceful. Where others might feel a sense of accomplishment at obtaining such skill, Felix felt only frustration, because it wasn’t enough. Glenn had been great too, and he had still died a pointless death. Felix refused to accept his swordmaster’s praise, refused to accept Ingrid’s admiration when he followed in Glenn’s footsteps as a squire (where the pieces of his shattered heart were ground down again when he witnessed Dimitri’s inhumanity at that damned uprising), refused to accept his father’s congratulations when he was accepted to Garreg Mach’s Officers’ Academy at the precocious age of seventeen. All he wanted was to be stronger, better, faster. Untouchable. Perhaps life at the monastery would help him along that path.

The day he arrived at Garreg Mach, he felt a tiny flame of hope in his chest. He stopped at the training grounds before he even visited his new quarters. There was a man with a strange mask sparring with one of the Knights of Seiros, and his hope flared when he saw the way he fought. Felix had so much to learn, and clearly there were people here who could teach him. 

He picked up a training sword and began running through his forms.

“There you are!” Ingrid’s impatient voice cut into his focus. “I’ve been looking all over for you, it’s almost dinnertime.”

Felix glanced up at the sky. The deeper shade of gray confirmed it was getting late.

He heard a sigh next to him. “Did you seriously spend the whole afternoon here, Felix? You still haven’t changed out of your travel clothes.”

“I’ll go change now. Where are the dormitories?”

“You are unbelievable, you know that, right?”

“Are you going to show me the way or not?” he gritted out as he placed his weapon back on its rack.

She threw her hands in the air and started walking toward the exit. “Fine. Don’t expect me to go over everything I learned in orientation today though. It’s not my fault you skipped out to come here.”

Felix didn’t say a word as he followed Ingrid out of the arena. He supposed he was grateful for what remained of their friendship, but he still felt uneasy around her. After Glenn’s death, her grief had twisted into a strange reverence for his memory. She would smile as she spoke of the wonderful gift he had given her, how her world would have been unbearable if Glenn had never kissed her, never sealed her colors.  Felix never knew what to say to that. Glenn hadn’t given him anything so frivolous as blue , whatever the hell that was. Glenn had been Glenn, and he could think of nothing that would make his loss worthwhile.

It turned out the dormitories weren’t that far away. They climbed the stairs and had just found the door to Felix’s own room when Ingrid sucked in a loud breath. “I’d know that stupid red hair anywhere. Sylvain! ”

Felix froze, his key an inch from the lock.

“Ingrid, wow, hey! And…” The familiar, loud voice suddenly dropped much lower. “Felix?”

Fuck. He fumbled his door open, darted into his room, and slammed it shut behind him. His ragged breath was not enough to drown out the muffled voices in the hall.

“Umm…”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s been like that since… well.” Ingrid cleared her throat. “So how are you, Sylvain? I didn’t know you’d be at the Academy too! Why weren’t you at orientation?”

Sylvain laughed, too loud to be genuine. “I’m actually in my second year. It’s really good to see you.”

The voices faded as they walked back down the hall, leaving Felix alone at last, shaking in his unfamiliar new quarters. It felt like the little flame in his chest had ignited his entire body, and suddenly he was burning alive.

He never went to dinner that night.

.

Felix quickly fell into a routine. He rose before dawn, ate a hasty breakfast, then went to the training grounds for a few hours of exercises before class started. He always sat in the front row, staring intently at the Professor’s lessons scrawled on the blackboard, or at his own hands. His neck often prickled uncomfortably, and he was pretty sure Sylvain was watching him from the back of the room. In fact, he was certain of that, because on the first day of classes, Dimitri had tried to approach him, and Felix felt eyes on them as he hissed at the Boar to fuck off and leave him alone, and he heard Sylvain snickering as Dimitri spluttered and went back to his seat.

Everywhere he went, he kept his head down, and the other students mercifully gave him a wide berth. At dinnertime, he sat with his back to the room, intently focused on his meal, while Ingrid sat across from him and lectured him about being less standoffish, how it wouldn’t kill him to ease up on his training and make some fucking friends. He would grit his teeth and pretend to listen, and as soon as he finished his food, he would dart off to the training grounds and stay until his body ached with exhaustion. Then he would slip into one of the private baths before locking himself in his room for the night, then start all over again the next day.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he would sometimes catch glimpses of the dreadful, bright, burning Sylvain. Red , Ingrid had called it. From those unwanted smears of color in his periphery, it appeared that Sylvain favored wearing red outside of class, too, garish shirts that made him almost impossible to ignore. It licked at his mind, building into grinding headaches if Felix didn’t look away fast enough. Whenever Felix heard loud, fake laughter, ridiculous flirting, he would clamp his eyes shut, turn away from the sound, and feel sick. Apparently Sylvain’s skirt chasing had only gotten worse over the years. Not that Felix cared what Sylvain did; he would just rather know nothing about any of it.

But Felix was strong, he could survive this. At least, that’s what he thought, until the end of the first week, when someone sat heavily on the bench next to him at dinner, and the flare of red burned into Felix’s field of vision. He stiffened, eyes glued to his half-eaten meat pie, as Sylvain set down his tray, inches away from his own.

“So what do you guys think of our new Professor? She’s something else, huh?” Sylvain’s suggestive lilt made it obvious that he wasn’t just talking about her teaching style.

Ingrid scoffed. “You’re incorrigible, Sylvain. I think she’s great though. A little odd, sure, but she really knows her stuff, don’t you think, Felix?”

Felix dropped his fork and stood, his eyes on his feet as he sped away. He heard Ingrid call after him, but it just made him walk faster, nearly knocking over the petite, round-faced mage from his class as he rushed out the door. He muttered a short, “Excuse me,” as she scowled at his back, but Felix only felt a small twinge of guilt. Let her hate him, he didn’t want friends here anyway.

His headache faded as he reduced his first training dummy to a pile of straw. The pinch of the blisters on his palms distracted him from his racing thoughts, helped him channel them all into pure anger and strength. He was halfway through his second dummy when Ingrid found him.

“What the hell, Felix? Why are you being so weird around Sylvain?”

Felix hit the dummy so hard his wooden sword broke in half. He spun to face her, flinging the useless weapon to the ground.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed.

“Are you fucking kidding me? It’s bad enough that you don’t talk to Dimitri, but Sylvain was your best friend and now you won’t even look at him. You should have seen his face when you stormed off at dinner, you really hurt him. Tell me what’s going on.”

Felix barked out a sharp laugh. “He was never my friend, Ingrid. Just forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not going to ‘forget it.’ You’re being an ass. I know you lost touch for awhile, but he obviously still cares about you. Just talk to him.”

For the second time that night, Felix stormed off without a word, leaving Ingrid staring at his back, frowning.

.

When Felix arrived to class the following Monday, he stopped dead in his tracks. Right up front, in the seat where the soft, quiet Ashe normally sat next to Felix, was a bright blaze of red. His stomach twisted, and he was on the verge of turning on his heel and leaving the classroom when the Professor looked up from her desk and caught his eye. She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, her expression shifting subtly from blankness to curiosity. Felix let out a long breath, and snapping his gaze back to the cobblestone floor, he walked resolutely to his usual seat and settled stiffly in the chair.

He felt heat rise in his face as Sylvain shifted near his left shoulder, trying to get his attention. “Hey, Fe.”

Felix clenched his jaw and stared at the wall to his right. He barely heard a word the Professor said that day, and he was out of his seat and halfway to his dorm before the bell that signaled the end of class had stopped tolling. Too shaken even to train, he locked himself in his room for the night, and ignored Ingrid when she tried to fetch him for dinner.

The next morning, Ashe caught his eye from his new seat in the back row and shrugged almost apologetically as Felix made his way up front. Sylvain had once again claimed the space next to his, and Felix felt his eyes track him as he carefully spread his notes out on the table. His voice, softer than the brash, joking one he used to entertain their classmates in the courtyard, felt like a punch to the gut, even though he only spoke one word to him. “Hi.”

Felix ignored him. With an incredible force of will, he pushed aside the headache burning behind his left eye, and actually took notes during the lecture. Once again, he vaulted from his seat the second the bell rang, never once lifting his gaze from the floor.

And so it went all week. By Wednesday, he was growing used enough to his overwhelming emotions to at least return to his regular training schedule, but he still avoided eating dinner in the dining hall, as he didn’t think he could stand another minute in Sylvain’s presence. Instead, he took to spending his pocket money on food from the marketplace, stocking his room with enough bland rations that he could survive on just one hot meal a day: his early, solitary breakfasts.

Ingrid cornered him a couple of times to press him on his behavior. It was clear she was concerned, but Felix just wanted to be left alone. They finally came to a breaking point on their second Sunday at the monastery.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to write to your father!”

“Why would he care? And why do you care? I’m not Glenn.”

Ingrid looked like she had been slapped. She backed away from him, nodded once, and said flatly, “No, you aren’t, are you.”

After that, Ingrid left him alone. He buried any feelings he might have had about that alongside every other awful thing he had felt since he came to this Goddess-forsaken monastery, and tried to ignore the deep and dreadful loneliness that threatened to drown him.

.

A few weeks into class, the Professor brought them out to the training grounds for practical lessons. Felix felt a small flicker of hope that all his misery might at last pay off, that he would finally start learning the new fighting techniques that were the whole reason he had even come here.

While they all warmed up, the Professor watched him go through his forms, her expression as inscrutable as ever. She narrowed her eyes and walked down the line of students before coming to a stop in the center of the arena.

“Starting today, you will begin weapons training. Many of you are already experienced fighters. Some are not. My goal is not only to push you all to your strengths, but also to help you overcome your weaknesses. Felix, Sylvain, step forward, please.”

Somewhere across the arena, Ingrid snorted.

Fuck . Felix strode up to the Professor, his eyes landing safely on her knees. Sylvain was towering over his right shoulder a moment later. Felix tensed automatically in his presence.

“Felix is a gifted swordsman,” she continued, “but swords are weak to the lance. Sylvain, the lance is your preferred weapon, is it not?”

“Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty decent with one,” he drawled, cocky.

Felix sneered at the Professor’s shins. As far as he knew, Sylvain hadn’t set foot in the training grounds since classes had started.

“Alright, three rounds, please. I won’t be keeping score, I’d just like everyone to observe how you each have to adapt your fighting styles against the different weapon types.”

Felix shifted into fighting stance, his eyes trained just to the left of Sylvain’s feet, his heart in his throat.

“On my mark, go.”

They began to circle one another, weapons raised. Felix glared at Sylvain’s shadow, watching as the black form rippled across the sawdust, sparing him from having to look at the man himself to anticipate his next move. He easily dodged Sylvain’s first clumsy lunge, dancing aside without even having to parry.

Sylvain regrouped, still on the offensive, but Felix met each of his blows with fluid grace, his head down all the while. A strange feeling washed over him as the familiarity of his old friend’s movements hit him all at once. They had trained together for countless hours, years ago, and he was horrified to realize he felt a sense of comfort in his recognition. 

He furrowed his brow and increased the intensity of his attack, pushing Sylvain back on the defensive. He remembered scolding Sylvain for leaving his left flank open when they were children, and sure enough, the next time he lifted his lance, Felix darted in close and struck just beneath his ribs. He heard a sharp, “Ah!” and as Sylvain tried to recover from the blow, Felix swung viciously up into his left elbow, then across his right wrist, disarming him. Felix turned from him immediately, walking back to his starting position.

“Very good. As you can see, once Felix got inside the longer reach of the lance, he was able to gain the advantage and quickly disarm his opponent. Again, please.”

He waited while Sylvain retrieved his lance from the ground and moved into position, ostentatiously shaking out his sore wrist. 

“Go.”

Felix once again kept his focus on the shadows moving across the ground, but this time, there was much greater force behind Sylvain’s attacks. He was clearly far stronger than he had let on in their first match, and the knowledge that he had been holding back only made Felix angrier. His adrenaline surged to meet the challenge, and he felt an involuntary thrill course through his veins as their weapons clashed.

Sylvain brought his lance down in a sweeping arc, and while pain reverberated up Felix’s arms when he caught it across his sword, he used the momentum of the attack to step under the weapons, hook his heel behind Sylvain’s, and force him to the ground. He held his wooden blade at the other’s throat, his own face averted toward the Professor. He heard Sylvain drop his lance to the ground, then, with mirth in his voice, he conceded. “I yield.”

“Alright. Once again, you can see where the difficulty in this matchup came from the forced distance of the lance. This time, rather than disarming Sylvain, Felix hit him with a direct attack that in a real battle, could have proven fatal. Nice job incorporating brawling techniques, Felix. I may have you in gauntlets next week for hand-to-hand. Last round.”

Felix felt the ghost of a smile on his lips as he moved into position.

“Go.”

This round started much as the others had, and although Felix was still unsettled by his unexpected enjoyment of what was happening, he also was feeling very confident. Perhaps this was his mistake, because after a skillful combination of strikes, dodges, and parries, a flash of red moved directly into his line of sight. The dastard had ducked down to obscure his own shadow with his grinning face, and in that moment of distraction, Felix was knocked off his feet by a mighty blow. He wrenched his head to the side the second he hit the ground. Sylvain was on top of him, too close, his breath ghosting cinnamon across Felix’s burning cheek.

So softly that no one else could possibly hear, Sylvain pleaded, “Look at me,” and somehow, against his own will, Felix turned toward him.

When their eyes met, a powerful jolt shot through Felix’s body. Something similar must have happened to Sylvain, because he heard the other man’s breath hitch. Their eyes blazed into each other, the first time Felix had really looked at him since Glenn’s funeral. Sylvain’s eyes were so warm, a color not entirely unlike the red of his hair, but different enough that Felix didn’t have a word for it. To his horror, he felt tears prickling behind his own eyes, but he could not look away.

Another whisper, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. “So beautiful, Fe.” 

Just like that, the spell was broken.

Felix hissed like a cat as he shoved the other man off of him. “I’m not one of your girls, Sylvain.”

He scrambled to pick up his sword and stormed over to the weapon rack to put it away. He could distantly hear the Professor’s impassive voice saying something about “unconventional tactics,” but Felix no longer cared for the day’s lessons. His classmates’ voices were buzzing around him, as apparently they too were no longer interested in the subject at hand. 

He had to get away. Without looking back, Felix swept out of the training grounds and holed himself up in his room to think.

. 

When Felix emerged the next morning, he had made up his mind. He would no longer be giving Sylvain the satisfaction of knowing how badly he got under his skin. He still intended to ignore him, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be friendly, but he was done twisting himself up into knots to avoid him. If Felix was going to be forced to be in his proximity, he would learn to live with it, find a new normal. In the grand scheme of things, it made no difference whether Sylvain was there or not. Felix was here to train, nothing more.

His breakfast and early morning training went off without a hitch, and he was feeling only mild trepidation when he reached the classroom. He steeled himself as he sat down next to Sylvain, the shock of red in his periphery giving him only a fraction of the usual violent reaction. Perhaps facing it head on the day before had taken some of the edge off. He could deal with this, the low thrum in his gut and the racing heart.

“Morning, Fe.”

He was surprised to feel himself turning toward the voice, and based on Sylvain’s expression, he hadn’t been expecting it either. Felix fixed him with a disgusted glare, then turned back to his notes. He couldn’t help noticing how genuine Sylvain’s smile had been in that split second before he looked away, and his heart beat a little faster at the sight. He shook his head, then began reviewing what the Professor had written on the board for the day’s lecture.

Ingrid’s jaw dropped when he joined her for dinner that evening. Felix set his tray down across from her and sighed. “Look, I’m only going to say this once. I haven’t been a good friend to you, and I’m sorry. I’m going to do better. Okay?”

“Are you going to talk to-”

Felix cut across her. “No. That has nothing to do with this.” He finally met her eyes across the table. “Are we okay, Ingrid?”

She wrinkled her nose a little bit, then relented. “Yeah, alright. I’ve kind of missed your grumpy face. I just want you to take care of yourself, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He looked down at his food, then immediately stiffened when Sylvain slipped into the seat next to him, and clapped him on the back.

“Heyyy guys! Spicy fish dango tonight, awesome right?”

Felix scoffed and threw his hand off his shoulder, while Ingrid watched with wide eyes. When Felix began eating as though nothing had happened, she visibly relaxed.

“It’s a little hot for my liking, but I know how much you two enjoy it.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between them tentatively.

Felix frowned at being lumped in with Sylvain in regards to anything, but all he said was, “It’s not bad.”

Ingrid looked like she was about to fall off her bench. Felix rolled his eyes. Sylvain laughed.

The pressure in his chest eased, just a little bit. Maybe letting things go back to normal wouldn’t be so bad after all.

.

Felix was wrong. It was bad. As much as he told himself he didn’t care about Sylvain, he knew that he was lying to himself. Even after all these years, his heart betrayed his weakness. He thought it would get easier to see those flashes of red, those times he indulged in letting himself look him directly at his stupid, handsome face, but it never did. 

The worst part was that Felix actually enjoyed his company, the way he would break into easy smiles at Felix’s churlishness, the way he always, always was paying attention, even though he dedicated so much effort to making everyone around him believe he was an idiot. 

No, the worst part was the way he flirted with every warm body in Garreg Mach. Felix felt ill whenever Sylvain would start spouting rapturous prose about some nameless pretty girl he had wooed that day, and when Felix inevitably and abruptly excused himself from these conversations, Sylvain had the nerve to actually look hurt.

Actually, the worst part was how reckless he was on their missions. The way he threw himself head first into battle, and no matter how focused Felix was on taking out their enemies, a part of his brain was always distracted by red. Find the red, find Sylvain, make sure he’s safe. The first time he learned that Sylvain’s blood was red too, he thought he would faint. The weird thing was, Sylvain seemed to gravitate toward him on the battlefield too, so Felix never had to look far. Just, he hated the weight of the concern he felt, the sense of responsibility he had no reason to carry with him, to make sure Sylvain would live to see another day. He pushed the thought of their long ago promise firmly out of his mind. 

Wait, sorry. The absolute, definite worst part was that he could not, under any circumstances, let his guard down around him. The day they watched Miklan transform into a Demonic Beast, Felix felt himself transform too, his blood replaced for a short while by red-hot rage. He was the one to strike the final blow that ended Miklan’s awful, cruel existence. Sylvain had stared at him in wonder, and Felix had to force himself to look away. He remembered every detail of their childhood, every moment Sylvain suffered at Miklan’s hands, but he could not discuss these things with him. His vengeance would have to be enough.

So things didn’t go back to normal, not really. Felix tolerated Sylvain, secretly enjoyed his company, compulsively protected him in battle, and religiously made sure they were never, ever alone together.

That worked okay, until it didn’t.

.

Felix had grudgingly started sparring with Dimitri a couple of times a week. Being around the Boar still turned his stomach (and not in the same way as being around Sylvain, not even close), but he was a formidable opponent, and honestly, Felix needed the challenge. It was one of the only ways he could burn off steam when the Professor so rarely agreed to go toe-to-toe with him, and Jeritza had disappeared three moons ago, apparently implicated in Flayn’s disappearance and all the shady things that had happened since.

So he was already worn down that evening. He had stayed behind after Dimitri left, ostensibly so he could stretch and put out the torches before heading off to the baths. Honestly, he just didn’t want to have to walk down there with Dimitri, always needing some time alone to get his head straight after sparring with him. It was hard to reconcile the polite young prince he presented himself as, with the monster Felix had seen when he was a squire. Sometimes he thought he saw glimpses of it when they were sparring, but either way, he had to take these moments to grieve the soft, awkward boy he had known so long ago. Which, that part wasn’t so different from his uneasy new friendship with Sylvain, perhaps. Different dynamics, same concept. All of it was exhausting.

When the door creaked open, Felix tensed. He was leaning deeply into a stretch, and from his upside-down vantage point, he could just make out a figure slipping into the dim arena. There was no way to tell who it was, and considering how sideways things had been going recently, he was not willing to let his guard down. He was halfway back to upright when the wolf whistle rent the air.

“Fuck off, Sylvain,” he growled, as he spun to face him. Now that he had stepped into the torchlight, his hair gleamed in a strange way. It was still red, but there were new colors in it too, ones he had never seen before. And his shirt, it was different too, somehow the opposite of red. A cold, deep shade, somehow right under the frigid Ethereal Moon. His stomach flipped. This was the last thing he wanted, wasn’t it?

Sylvain just chuckled. “Hey, Fe. I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Panic rose in his throat like bile. Felix needed to get away from him, couldn’t be alone with him. He forced himself to keep his voice steady as he walked in a wide circle around Sylvain. “I was just leaving. You can put out the torches when you’re done training.”

This pulled another laugh from the other man. “Aw, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends!”

Alright, fuck this. If that’s how Sylvain was going to be, Felix was done. “Yeah? I thought so too.”

Sylvain’s smile faltered. “Felix…”

“What the hell do you want, Sylvain?”

They were only a few feet apart now, flickering shadows all that stood between them.

His voice was low and earnest when he answered. “I want to apologize.”

“ Don’t.”

Felix glared at him, and for once, Sylvain was the first to look away.

“Why do you dress like that?” Felix finally mumbled, when the silence got to be too much even for him.

Sylvain barked out a hollow laugh and plucked at his stupid, vivid shirt. “The merchant said blue suits me. Does it not?”

Blue. Felix filed the knowledge away to consider later. Ingrid had called Glenn’s eyes blue once. He wondered if they were the same shade as that. He shivered at the thought.

When Felix didn’t answer, Sylvain shot back. “Why do you dress like that? It drives me fucking crazy, you know.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Always in uniform, always just black and white. Your hair’s so dark, and… Goddess, Fe, if you don’t look at me, I can’t always tell.” His voice sounded strange and raw, and when Felix looked up, he realized how close they were suddenly standing to each other.

Felix swallowed. He had never given any thought to the color of his clothes. What did color have to do with him? He needed to leave, but still, he didn’t. “Why do you even care?”

Sylvain’s face twisted. He looked like he was in pain. “Fe-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the door creaking open again. Sylvain jumped back like they were about to be caught doing something indecent, and it was like a knife in Felix's heart.

Their Professor stood in the doorway, a mildly curious look briefly crossing her blank face.

“Felix, I wanted to talk to you about the White Heron Cup.”

Felix’s brain was moving too slowly for this. “What about it? Are you… Are you considering me as our representative?”

“Actually, yes.”

“You really couldn’t find anyone else?” Felix felt so tired, too tired to put up a real fight. He looked at the ground and didn’t even wait for her reply. “Fine.”

He felt both of their eyes on him as he stalked off into the night, alone.

.

His dance training actually hadn’t been too bad. He could see how it would help his footwork, and with Byleth’s permission, he would be performing his choreography with a sword in hand. With that matter settled, Felix no longer saw how he could be embarrassed, even if he was technically going to be dancing on a stage in front of a panel of judges and dozens of spectators. It was just a new kind of fight.

The day of the ball, Ingrid helped him dress for the competition. The outfit did give him pause, but he knew it was too late to back out now. He would be much more exposed than he was accustomed to, but he would just have to ignore that. Ignoring things was a specialty of his.

When Felix told Ingrid to open her eyes, she gasped and smiled. “You look really good in blue!”

He looked at the gauzy gray fabric draped around his body and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Blue?”

“Yeah. It kind of matches your hair!”

“My hair is blue?”

“Seriously, has no one ever told you this before? It’s so dark it’s practically black, but when the light hits it, yes, it’s blue, Felix.”

Felix frowned at the fabric again.

“Speaking of, what are you going to do with your hair? I think you should keep it down. It’s so pretty like this, and you always wear it up.”

Felix shrugged. “Okay.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Ingrid sighed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just ready to get this over with.”

She laughed and stood up to leave. “You’re going to do great, Felix.”

When she was gone, Felix let out a deep breath. He might not have cared much about the color of his own hair, but it had taken every ounce of his will not to ask Ingrid to tell him what to call the color of Sylvain’s eyes.

.

Sylvain’s eyes were on him the whole night. He felt them. Out of all the eyes that watched him as he stalked onto the stage to perform his sword dance, Sylvain’s were the only ones he cared about. He took a calming breath, and as the orchestra began to play, Felix shut out every other pair of eyes in the room, and danced just for his. He pictured their warmth, their heat , the way his pupils would dilate when Felix’s own gaze lingered over-long on Sylvain. The thrill of these thoughts whipped his body into exacting form, his hips snapping and sword swinging in perfect time to the music. Goddess, it even felt like his hair was fanning around him in its own beautiful, synchronous dance.

The applause was deafening. He allowed himself to glance at Sylvain before he left the stage, and what he saw made his heart slow almost to a stop. Sylvain had his arms folded across his chest, one hand covering his mouth, and his eyes- Goddess, was he crying?

Felix bit back a smile as he stepped behind the curtain. The Professor promptly shoved him back out onto the stage to accept his trophy, of course, but the trophy hardly mattered to him now. All that mattered was Sylvain’s face.

He would have much rather skipped the ball afterwards, but the Professor had dragged him onto the dancefloor, proclaiming it was customary for the winner of the White Heron Cup to open the festivities with their teacher. Then Ingrid and Annette had insisted on dancing with him, and Dorothea, the Black Eagles’ entrant into the Cup, had wanted a turn too. By this point, he was irritated, and when Leonie of all people had tried to catch his eye, Felix finally had enough. He excused himself, claiming he needed fresh air, and slipped away from the party altogether.

As overwhelming as the past few hours of his life had been, he felt strangely satisfied with himself. He had not exactly been trying to keep tabs on Sylvain at the ball, but given how vibrant he was in the sea of gray, it’s not like Felix could help noticing that he had been sitting at a table the whole evening, staring at him. Not dancing, not flirting, but watching Felix quite openly. It was dizzying to be under such constant scrutiny.

Out in the cold night air, Felix’s head finally cleared for the first time that day, and as he walked laps around the monastery, he admonished himself for letting his mind wander so far into dangerous territory. Sylvain was not his, would never be his, and it scared him to realize how desperately he wished otherwise. He could not afford to have his heart broken again. He could not afford to allow himself hope.

Felix looked up and realized he was standing at the foot of the Goddess Tower. He rarely came near the cathedral, and he marveled at how quiet it was here. He tried the door, and was pleasantly surprised when it opened for him. This would be a perfect place to hide out for the rest of the night. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to find him and drag him back to the ball. He just needed some peace.

The view from the top was incredible. He could just make out the outline of the Oghmas in the bright moonlight, and the monastery was lit up with hundreds of tiny lanterns for tonight’s special occasion. Felix let himself get lost in their hypnotic twinkling. He had no idea how long he stood there, leaning against the parapet, before he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“Meeting somebody?” Sylvain’s voice held an accusatory edge that baffled Felix.

“No. Why the hell would I be doing that?”

Sylvain’s eyes searched his face for a long moment before the tension dropped from his shoulders. “Never mind.”

He walked up and leaned against the parapet beside him, shoulder just brushing against his. Felix shivered.

“Holy shit, you must be freezing.”

Felix looked down and realized he was still wearing his flimsy dancer’s costume. Until that moment, he had not noticed the frigid wind cutting through the fabric. He shivered again, this time from the cold.

“I’m fine. Not as bad as a Faerghus winter.”

He heard a soft tsk next to him, then felt the weight of Sylvain’s jacket drop over his shoulders, followed by Sylvain’s warm, muscular arm. Felix stiffened and moved to push it off, but Sylvain gripped him tighter and muttered, too close to his ear, “Humor me, Fe.”

Felix sighed and stopped struggling. He didn’t really want to push Sylvain away anymore, but he knew this was a terrible idea all the same. His heart fluttered in protest, whether to his want or his fear, Felix no longer knew.

“There’s something I want to give you.”

There was a soft rustling of fabric, then Sylvain’s free hand dangled a length of red ribbon before him.

Felix turned to glare at him. “What’s that for?”

“Will you wear it for me? In battle?”

“What? Why?”

“Your hair’s so dark, I can’t always- I need to be able to find you.”

“It’s blue.”

“What? No, the merchant said the ribbon was red.”

“My hair, it’s blue. I know it’s dark. Ingrid told me it matches my costume,” he finished weakly.

Sylvain sucked in a sharp breath, and his voice went very soft. “Thank you for telling me.”

Felix shrugged. He suddenly felt very exposed. “And the merchant was right about the ribbon.”

A hot puff of laughter hit his cheek. “That’s a relief. Can I…Can I tie it in your hair? I want to see it.”

His heart hammered another warning, but he did not heed it. 

“...Okay.”

Sylvain very gently brushed his fingers through Felix’s hair, gathering a small section just above his ear. Felix felt his face burning, and Sylvain’s hands stopped moving. He was staring at him again.

“What?” Felix snapped.

“Nothing,” he breathed. He finished tying the ribbon, but his hand lingered in his hair.

Felix turned to look at him, his pulse racing. Their eyes met, then Sylvain’s dropped down to look at his mouth.

“What do you want from me, Sylvain?”

“I... I don’t know.” His voice was shaking.

Felix shrugged off Sylvain’s jacket and draped it over the parapet, then spared one more careful look at his agonized face. 

“Figure it out.”

He turned and ran, and didn’t stop until he was safely in his room.

.

He wasn’t back to ignoring Sylvain, not exactly. He just needed space.

He wore the red ribbon in his hair every day, even though he could no longer see what color it was.

.

Felix thought they had more time. Edelgard’s war changed everything.

They saw each other just once over the course of the next five years. It was during a battle like any of the others, and Felix saw a flash of red. He thought his mind had finally cracked.

When their eyes met, Sylvain’s face went slack, and he didn’t see the assassin running toward him. Felix screamed his name, and the idiot finally turned and defended himself. As soon as Felix was sure he was safe, he pulled up his black hood and slipped away into the melee.

He was still wearing the ribbon.

.

Their reunion at Garreg Mach was more of a relief than Felix would ever admit. Sylvain had hugged him, actually squeezed all the breath from his lungs, and Felix had allowed it. Ingrid gave him a strange look, but his forbidding glare stopped her from saying anything.

A lot had changed in those five years. If Sylvain was still chasing skirts, he had become much more discreet about it. He no longer bragged about his conquests, no longer made a fool of himself whenever a woman walked into the room. Felix was wary of reading too much into it, and there was no way he could ask him about his apparent change in habits. Of all the many topics he avoided discussing with Sylvain, this was somehow the one that he was most keen to avoid. He convinced himself he would rather not know the truth.

Sylvain did spend a lot of time making a fool of himself in front of Felix, however. He had turned his keen talent for flirtation directly on him. Felix’s face would burn at every comment about his pretty hair or his hard muscles or his impressive flexibility , and when Felix would rip his head off about it, Sylvain would look inexplicably smug.

Felix unreservedly hated being subjected to this treatment. It was humiliating, and it fed into his worst fears. After all this time, he really wished he could say that he trusted Sylvain, but he didn’t. He trusted him to have his back in battle, sure, but he could not trust him with his heart.

He had vivid dreams most nights. Sylvain would make promises to him, treat him tenderly, kiss him. The world would bloom into a wild smear of colors (mostly reds and blues and the warm shade of Sylvain’s eyes). And then Sylvain would disappear. Felix would search frantically for him, only to find him in the arms of his beautiful new bride, Margrave Gautier’s indifferent laughter booming from behind the altar. Felix would wake up in a cold sweat, shaking and nauseous.

Sometimes he would look up from his dinner or during a long strategy meeting, and catch Sylvain looking at him like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. This did little to quell Felix’s fears.

At least the war made a good distraction.

.

One way or another, Felix lost everyone. He couldn’t pretend he was surprised when his father gave his life up for the Boar. Felix hardly felt a thing.

Everyone treated Felix like he was made of glass, everyone except Sylvain. For the first time since they were children, Sylvain began to join him at the training grounds each morning to spar. He fought well, and he never held back his strength, never treated Felix like he was fragile. He was grateful for that.

Dimitri’s apparent recovery, or salvation, or whatever the others wanted to call it… now that, Felix felt. He had no desire to rekindle their long-dead friendship, but for the first time since Edelgard had set the world on fire, Felix had a bit of hope. Not enough to mean anything, not yet, but Felix could almost allow himself to imagine a way this could end without all of them dead.

.

Ingrid came to his room for tea the night before they were to march for Fhirdiad. Felix was buzzing around the room, checking his equipment, packing his necessities, while she sat and talked nervously about what it would be like to see Faerghus restored, if they won their next battle.

“Do you remember that secret garden behind the palace, the one Dimitri used to drag us to for etiquette lessons? I wonder if it’s still blooming. It always had the prettiest roses, and I never got to see what color-”

“Ingrid, have you seen my red ribbon?” 

Felix had taken his hair down just an hour ago, he couldn’t believe it was missing. He had been searching frantically for it for several minutes, but it was lost in the black and gray sea of his belongings.

Ingrid was looking at him very closely. Felix shifted his feet and glared at her, suddenly regretting asking for her help.

“What?” he snapped.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, but tugged a familiar strip of dark satin from under a stack of books near her elbow, and handed it to him.

Felix stuffed it in his pocket like it was nothing, then grabbed a jar of sword polish from his shelf so he would have something to do with his hands. “Thanks.”

“Why do you wear it, Felix?”

“Wear what?”

Her exasperated sigh was uncalled for, in Felix’s opinion. “The ribbon, Felix. A red ribbon.”

“What do you mean? I’ve got to tie my hair back somehow.”

“You only ever wear black and white.” It was an accusation.

Felix fished the damn thing back out of his pocket and looked pointedly from Ingrid’s face, to the ribbon, and back again. “Looks black to me. Why do you care, does it clash or something?”

“But you’re the one who pointed out that it’s red-”

“Yeah, because someone mentioned it was red once, and I thought you could find it more easily-”

“And you’ve been wearing it every day for like five years-”

Goddess above, she was not going to let this drop, was she? Felix needed to think fast. “And I haven’t died yet, so I guess it’s working.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “Huh?”

“You’ve never heard of a good luck charm? I don’t care what fucking color it is, Ingrid, I’m just not about to tempt fate by changing horses midstream, or whatever.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He glared at her. It was really stupid. Felix wasn’t remotely superstitious.

She glared back, a suspicious frown tugging at her lips.

“Whatever, Felix. I’m going to bed.”

“Good riddance.”

She stuck her tongue out at him on the way out the door.

.

They actually did it, they won back Fhirdiad. After five long years of losing ground to the Empire, they had a solid foothold again, and a fit ruler. That tiny flicker of hope Felix had been harboring since sometime after Gronder suddenly roared into a bonfire, one he wanted to share with his friends. Felix had never been much for parties, but if ever a victory called for celebration, this was it. So he sat among the Blue Lions late into the night, drinking wine and laughing, allowing himself to forget about war for just a little while.

Ingrid leaned against his shoulder and plucked at the ribbon in his hair. “Guess this thing works after all,” she giggled. She too had been enjoying the wine.

Across the table, Sylvain was giving them a strange look. Felix caught his eye and subtly shook his head, trying not to panic. For Ingrid, he forced out a small laugh. “Guess so. Ingrid, get off me. I need some fresh air.”

He knew Sylvain would follow him. He wound his way through the palace to his old guest quarters. The servants must have been very happy to receive the liberating army - a fire was already crackling merrily in the grate. Felix flopped down in front of it and waited, clenching and unclenching his fists impatiently. He heard the door creak just moments later.

Sylvain dropped down onto the floor right next to him. Felix took a calming breath and resisted the urge to scoot away.

“I told her it was a good luck charm. She wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it.”

Felix expected him to look relieved that Ingrid didn’t know their secret, or maybe angry at him for discussing the ribbon with her at all, but when he glanced at his face, it was unreadable. He decided it was easier to stare at the fire after all.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Sylvain laughed. “You’re the one always telling me to shut up.”

Felix frowned at the fire and said nothing.

“I’m just glad you’re still wearing it. After all this time. Thank you.” 

His voice was too soft, too earnest. Felix felt the heat rise in his face.

“You’re so pretty when you do that.”

Felix finally turned to glare at Sylvain, his face just inches away. “Do what?”

“You’re blushing. Pink . I’ve read about it.”

“I didn’t know… Goddess, you can see that?” Felix felt mildly horrified as he remembered how regularly he felt his face burn in Sylvain’s presence. It rarely happened otherwise.

Sylvain went uncharacteristically quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was low and rough. “That was actually how I found out, you know. The first time I saw you, in the conservatory. Your face was pink.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t understand at first. I thought something was wrong with me for a minute, and then you looked at me, and I saw your eyes, and… Goddess, I’m so sorry , Fe.”

Felix sat very still, and said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what came next.

“I was so scared of being found out. I knew as soon as my father learned my soulmate wasn’t a Crested noblewoman, he would marry me off in a heartbeat. I knew he would never let me see you again. I was so scared of losing you, and then I lost you anyway.” Sylvain’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you, for not telling you what happened. The way you found out… I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

He looked at Sylvain’s face again, and saw tears streaming silently down his cheeks. Felix grimaced, but he felt some of the old hurt in his chest ease.

“I thought you hated me.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking.

“ Hated you? Felix, I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew what colors were.”

His heart stopped beating, and Felix dimly thought that this would be an inopportune time to die.

“...What?”

Sylvain scrubbed his hands over his face and choked out a laugh. “I know I have no right to… to ask anything of you, so I won’t. But it doesn’t change the truth. I love you. ”

Felix sucked in a shaky breath and stared at Sylvain. He was hunched forward, pressing his hands into his forehead, radiant and beautiful in the firelight. All around him, the world flickered gray.

“I… Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean?” He lifted his head and looked at him, brow furrowed.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered.

“You won’t, Fe. I promise. Never again.”

“I… I really want to believe you, Sylvain.”

Felix watched Sylvain’s face crumple, and thought about how unfair it was that it felt like his heart would break no matter what he did. He took a deep breath and reached for the other man’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Sylvain’s eyes were wide. He looked terrified. It reminded Felix of how he had looked that first time he saw him, really saw him, at Glenn’s funeral. He frowned at the memory, but somehow, tonight, it felt more bittersweet than soul-crushing.

“What color are your eyes?”

Confusion clouded Sylvain’s face. “What?”

“I want to know what that color is. Has anyone ever told you?”

“I think they’re just brown.”

How on earth this man could make them sound so common, so ordinary, Felix could not understand. He huffed out a laugh at the stupidity of it.

“What about your father?”

Sylvain looked inexplicably annoyed. “I don’t know what color my father’s eyes are, Fe.”

“What? Gross.” Felix made a sour little face at the thought of the Margrave’s anything. “I meant, if you and I… Isn’t he just going to make you marry someone else?”

Sylvain looked dumbstruck, then a smile began to creep into his eyes. “Felix, I will set the Lance of Ruin on fucking fire before I let that man take you from me.” He bit his lip uncertainly. “If you would have me, that is.”

Felix swallowed heavily and looked into the other man’s eyes again. They were warm, and honest, and a little bit sad, and they were brown. And Felix finally believed him.

“I can’t kiss you. Not yet.”

Sylvain’s smile was blinding. “That’s fine, I can wait. As long as you need, I’ll wait.”

“Quit squeezing my hand so hard, you idiot.”

.

Felix really, really, really wanted to kiss him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sylvain - he did now, with all of his heart - but he was terrified of losing him. They were still at war, either of them could die at any moment. Felix couldn’t imagine a world bursting with color if that world didn’t include Sylvain. He knew he wasn’t like Ingrid, he wouldn’t be able to appreciate the “gift” of it without the giver by his side. So they waited.

To anyone else, little had changed between them. Sylvain still pestered and flirted and stared at Felix incessantly, and Felix still glared and snapped and hissed back until Sylvain doubled over laughing. 

In private, Felix allowed a level of tenderness that surprised them both. He let Sylvain hug him, stroke his hair, kiss his forehead. They had long had to share a tent on missions, and now they shared a bedroll. Felix loved nothing more than falling asleep with his head resting on Sylvain’s bare chest, his heartbeat a constant reminder that they were together, and that for now, they were safe.

.

They finally marched to Enbarr. The Blue Lions stormed the city flanked by thousands of soldiers, everything that was left of their army. Felix and Sylvain fought side by side, and in the chaos of battle, flashes of red were all the assurance they had that the other was still alive. Felix found himself whispering prayers to a Goddess he barely believed in, just let us get through this together.

The moment Edelgard fell, Felix grabbed Sylvain’s arm and yanked him out of the throne room. Sylvain didn’t ask him where they were going, he just ran alongside him, past all the rubble and dead bodies that littered the streets, and let himself be led to a small garden just west of the palace. Its walls were crumbling, but it otherwise appeared untouched by battle. Felix had spotted it earlier in the day by chance, and had filed its location away in his mind, just in case.

They stood together in the center of the garden, and stared at one another in wonder.

“It’s over. It’s actually over,” Felix breathed.

“It is,” Sylvain agreed.

Then Felix surged up and kissed him, and neither pulled away for a very long time.

Ingrid found them there hours later, clinging to each other, wild-eyed and laughing, staring at the riot of colors that surrounded them.

She narrowed her eyes. “I fucking knew it.”