Archive of Our Own

In hindsight, he probably should have seen it coming. 

The signs had been there all along: and if Felix really thought about it, he could have traced it all the way back to high school. 

Freshly turned sixteen and with a newfound rebellious streak, he’d thought on impulse that it would be a great idea to get a piercing from the shadiest place he could find on the streets—if you questioned him behind the reasoning now, he wouldn’t have an answer for you. If you’d asked him back then, he’d probably have responded with something like, “fuck you, that’s why.” 

The shop of his dreams was located in the corner of a small alleyway that led out from behind his house, and it had been one of teenaged Felix’s most prized discoveries. The guy who ran it was a friend of his brother’s, and it had taken only a few minutes of short and to-the-point replies for the pink-haired man to win Felix’s trust over completely. He never learned his name, but he figured it didn’t really matter as long as he received what he went there for. 

Which led him to his first visit, eyes wide open with curiosity and not a single knowledgeable fact in his head about where to start with piercings. Sylvain had insisted upon accompanying him to the shop, because of course he had. Ingrid had followed along, too, albeit a little more reluctantly. She was only there by request of Glenn to “keep an eye on the two of them” (or so she claimed).

His first had been a standard lobe piercing—not that he’d known what it was called, then. Later on, Sylvain would say that Felix had almost cried when they’d entered the needle into his ear, and he would vehemently deny anything of the sort while giving him the dirtiest look he could muster. Something that neither of them could hide, though, was the fascination that lit up Sylvain’s eyes when Felix had shown off his freshly pierced ears to the rest of them. 

And that should have been the first warning sign. 

Regardless, the whole incident had been almost four years ago. Now, Felix sported an assortment of over eight piercings—not all of them limited to his ears. Time had taken its toll on him by way of sending more and more problems in his direction, all of which he brushed away by shoving down his emotions and getting ready to go insert more metal into his skin. 

So, piercings: a constant. Sylvain’s fascination with them? Another constant. No matter how many times Felix went to get his piercings, Sylvain managed to worm his way into accompanying him on the trips. At the time, he didn’t think much of it, instead chalking it down to the other’s constant need to be included in everything—but all those incidents should have been his second, third, fourth and even further warning signs. 

“Wow, you look really good, Sylvain,” said Ashe of the present, knocking Felix out of his long-winded flashback and forcing him to pay attention to his surroundings instead. 

“Yes, I think it suits you,” agreed Mercedes thoughtfully, twirling a lock of her hair in between her fingers. The others in the room had already voiced similar notes of assent, some of them (Annette) even going as far as cheering him on with loud whoops and whistles. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain—the bastard, the man of the moment, whatever you wanted to call him—was standing in the middle of it all, soaking up all the compliments. He’d been that way ever since he’d entered the room after his slightly cryptic text of “I have a surprise for you guys :)”, and all Felix could do was stare . 

See, Felix wasn’t stupid. Not usually. He’d always known that Sylvain was conventionally attractive, what with his permanently mussed red hair and blinding grin that seemed to get everyone in a five foot radius running after him. He’d known this, but it had never mattered . To him, Sylvain would always be the snotfaced little kid that he’d met before he learned his own name.  

But now, with shiny new earrings through both his ears and the light of everyone’s attention reflecting off of him like a particularly handsome disco ball, Sylvain had never looked more beautiful. And Felix had never felt more stupid. 

When did Sylvain get so tall? When did all those awkward limbs become long legs, broad shoulders, toned arms? When did he get so… mature? It felt like he’d grown up right underneath Felix’s nose, and it was all because of those stupid piercings. 

He hadn’t said a word ever since Sylvain walked into the room—hadn’t trusted himself to speak. No one else commented on it, but Felix could tell that Sylvain at least had felt the absence of his words. The redhead turned to him, then, eyes wide open and expectant as he waited for at least some form of acknowledgement like yes, my childhood best friend just got piercings for the first time ever, I should probably say something nice to him. 

You look great, Felix wanted to say. They suit you. Get some more. I want to— 

“You look stupid,” was what he said instead. 

He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to do anything else, because he could already see Sylvain’s shoulders droop just a little. (God, those shoulders.) Felix was already mentally beating himself up for saying what he did, but before he could take it back or offer more words in consolation, Sylvain was already picking himself up and grinning at him good-naturedly.  

“Aw, Felix, it’s okay, I know you love me!” said Sylvain, patting him on the back cheerfully. Even though the touch was brief, Felix had to resist the urge to visibly shudder in front of everyone—he could practically hear Ingrid calling him a touch-starved loser. 

Speaking of Ingrid: Felix could feel her giving him an odd look from the corner of his eyes, but he determinedly avoided her stare and focused on a spot on the wall opposite him instead. No one else in the room was glancing in his direction, probably used to the way that the two of them bantered with each other through insults and petty quips. This was fine. Everything was fine. 

Sylvain seemed to think so too, because he’d already forgotten about what had just happened, shifting his attention from Felix to Annette almost immediately. He slid down into the empty seat next to him, shoulders brushing momentarily, and Felix felt his spine go ramrod straight. 

Okay, maybe everything wasn’t fine. 

Felix still hadn’t come to terms with the fact why everything wasn’t fine until later that night, when he’d returned to his own room and promptly proceeded to do nothing but stare blankly at the empty walls that surrounded his bed.  

He’d much rather be working off his pent up energy and ignoring his thoughts at the fencing club, but it was too late for the gym to be open, leaving him with no choice but to firmly push down all possible feelings as far down as he could. The moment he’d reached his room, he’d changed out of his binder and into his sleep clothes to flop down onto the bed as loudly as he could. This was how his roommate found him: lying down and looking up at the ceiling as if wishing for it to open up wide and swallow him whole.

Linhardt set down his bag gently by the door, something that Felix only noticed because his senses were running haywire with lack of simulation. He flicked on the lights as he entered the room, starting towards his own bed before noticing Felix’s nearly comatose body and doing a double take. 

Felix could feel his stare on him. He didn’t say anything. 

“You’re obviously not asleep,” Linhardt noted at last, breaking the silence. Felix sighed, but it wasn’t out of irritation—he’d grown used to the other boy and his weird ways of speaking. Apparently taking the lack of malice in his response as a sign to continue, Linhardt went on, “Something on your mind?” 

Briefly, Felix considered lying and saying it was nothing. Then he remembered that Linhardt was one of the most perceptive people he knew (and that he was a shitty liar). Besides, he had no reason to lie to him at all. 

“Sylvain,” he answered, rolling over onto his side so he could see Linhardt’s face better. The other boy’s eyebrows shot up almost immediately, only in the way that happened once something really caught his interest—which was when Felix realised what exactly his answer had sounded like. 

“Not like that,” he added quickly, sitting up in his haste to make sure that Linhardt didn’t misunderstand him. “He just—piercings.” 

Linhardt’s eyebrows still hadn’t gone down from their position high above on his forehead, and Felix resisted the urge to scowl (and failed). He wasn’t being vague on purpose , it was just… hard to talk about what was on his mind without sounding fucking embarrassing. 

“Sounds plenty like that to me,” said Linhardt easily, taking a seat on his own bed so that the two of them were directly facing each other. Felix’s scowl only deepened. He had no idea what he was talking about. 

“What does that even mean ?” 

“You finally realised that you’re in love with Sylvain?” 

And Felix almost fell off the bed, not realising how close to the edge he was in his attempt to distance himself from Linhardt… and the truth. His mind was still reeling with images from that evening, and hearing these words, he couldn’t—

“What the fuck ?” he said instead, heart hammering violently against his ribcage. Linhardt was still looking at him serenely, and Felix had to resist the urge to slap the stupid blank look off his face, even if he’d done nothing wrong. 

“Funny, I didn’t think it would take Sylvain getting piercings for you to realise,” Linhardt mumbled to himself, as if Felix wasn’t right there and couldn’t hear every single word he was saying. “Maybe he was onto something when he told us his idea…” 

“I have no fucking clue what you’re trying to say,” Felix hissed, still trying to pretend like his palms weren’t sweating more rapidly than his thoughts could move. “Go take a hike off a fucking cliff.” 

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” said Linhardt, shaking his head lightly. “It’s so obvious. The only person who hasn’t figured it out is Sylvain, and that’s just because he’s almost as much of an idiot as you.” 

Felix was hit by the sudden urge to throw up, and all of a sudden, repressing it all wasn’t as easy as it had been mere moments ago. He’d never been good at denial, after all. And as previously mentioned, he was a shitty liar—especially to himself. 

Linhardt smiled as Felix paled past even his typical tone, watching the realisation dawn on him. It felt less like a dawn and more like a sunset, if he was being poetic—all the truths that he’d felt so sure of in his life had been stripped away and he’d been left to grasp at straws in the dark. 

But he wasn’t a poet. So instead, he just swallowed down the lump threatening to form itself in his throat.  

A stifled yawn from Linhardt broke through his single-minded thoughts, eliciting a frown from Felix sent in the other boy’s direction. “If you’re so tired, just go to sleep.” 

“Oh, no, this is far more interesting,” Linhardt said. He opened his mouth again as if to say something else, but paused midway hesitantly. 

“Just spit it out,” Felix muttered, bitterness leaking into his tone. He’d already ruined his life, what else could he possibly have to say? 

Linhardt bit his lip, still looking unsure. It irritated Felix, but not enough for him to comment on it, so he waited until the other finally said whatever it was that he wanted to. “Sylvain isn’t bulletproof, you know.” 

“I know ,” Felix snapped back almost immediately, because of course he did. Sylvain was his best friend. He knew that he took things to heart more easily than others, he knew that he was eerily good at hiding his true feelings with nothing but a quick smile, he knew that his cool guy facade was just that—a facade. But the two of them had their own kind of relationship, and Felix thought he knew that Sylvain understood his mean words shouldn’t be taken to heart. 

Linhardt still hadn’t said anything, so Felix repeated himself. “I know.” 

It was softer this time around, almost unsure-sounding, and Felix knew that Linhardt had picked up on it, too. Luckily for him, the other didn’t seem too keen on pressing him for further details. 

“Okay,” Linhardt agreed, and got up to switch off the lights for the room. By the time he’d made it back to his bed, Felix had already returned to his original position on his bed, staring at the ceiling once again. 

The newfound realisation of his… feelings for Sylvain settled down somewhere underneath his gut, warm and heavy with the promise of never leaving him alone. Now that he knew this about himself, it was hard to believe that there was a time he didn’t—every single memory that crossed his mind seemed tinged with the rose-coloured glasses only someone that was in love could conjure up.

Linhardt’s last words wouldn’t leave his mind either, no matter how much he tried. Felix closed his eyes, evening out his breathing and trying to process his thoughts in the rational way that Mercedes had taught him to do rather than shove them down and lash out at everything in sight.  

Was he really that mean to Sylvain? They’d known each other since birth; he’d have thought that they were long past the point of formalities. That’s just how they were. Felix and Sylvain. Sylvain and Felix. 

But the thought of hurting Sylvain, even by accident, made Felix’s stomach coil painfully into itself. His best friend already had to deal with so much, and he was a lot more sensitive than he let on—Felix was the only person he was usually immune to, and that was something that he treasured. The fact that he could say anything to Sylvain and he would understand, no further explanation needed. 

His brain didn’t let him rest so easily that night, supplying him with doubt after doubt until it was all he could do to stop from screaming out loud. (He didn’t think that the neighbouring students, least of all Linhardt, would enjoy that.) Eventually, though, Felix fell into a fitful sleep that likely only lasted a few hours. 

He didn’t remember his dreams when he woke up, but if he had, they would have been tinted a deep red. 

The night’s realisations didn’t come to a stop with that conversation, though—as much as Felix would have liked to simply ignore the feelings that he was now painfully aware of, life had other plans for him. Now, whenever he went out anywhere at all with Sylvain, he noticed a lot of things that would have completely slipped his mind otherwise (for better or for worse).  

Exhibit A: it had always vaguely registered in his mind that Sylvain was popular around campus, what with how he always made it a point to keep up with all the important people and events. Like a lot of other things, though, it had never mattered much to Felix—until now.  

“Oh, Isabela!” Sylvain called out to someone who Felix didn’t immediately recognise. He thought that he might have seen her around somewhere, but he also didn’t really care, so. 

The Isabela in question turned around almost immediately at the sound of her name, and Felix noted with a grimace that her friends were whispering and blushing right behind her. Not to mention they were all congregated somewhat inconveniently in the middle of the hallway—he grunted impatiently, trying to tell Sylvain to hurry the fuck up and let them get to class already. 

Sylvain ignored him in favour of asking Isabela, “Did you get home okay last night?” 

Felix felt an irrational stab of irritation through his gut, but was quickly forgotten because right then, the two friends let out a simultaneous giggle. Isabela looked back at them bashfully, and so did Sylvain—he was trying to play the role of the charming gentleman as best as he could, but Felix could see perfectly through his facade. 

Resisting the urge to snort, Felix tuned out from the rest of their conversation and stared sullenly at the floor until Sylvain was done flirting with Isabela. He obviously knew the effect he was having on the poor girls, and he was taking full advantage of that by amping up his charm to its max level while also knowing that he would most probably never be interacting with this girl ever again—kind of an asshole move if you asked Felix. Not that he was biased. At all. 

When Sylvain finally waved goodbye to Isabela and turned back to Felix with a cheeky grin, the irrational irritation made a comeback out of nowhere once again. Frowning and pushing it aside, he informed Sylvain, “You’re an asshole.” 

Sylvain only laughed, winking. It only served to make Felix more irritated. “An asshole that the ladies love.”

This time, Felix really did snort. He didn’t dignify that answer with a vocal response, though, instead shoving past Sylvain and muttering for him to “get a move on already, damn it.”

But despite all his better efforts, Felix couldn’t stop thinking about what Sylvain had said for the rest of the day. He was right—for whatever reason, ladies did love him. Not even just ladies, actually. Sylvain was always surrounded by people, drawing attention to himself like moths to candlelight. Felix had gotten captured by the light, too, and he’d just been another insect in a line of many. 

Distracted by this train of thought, Felix found himself unconsciously gripping his pen with far more tightness than it probably needed. He loosened his grip, frowning at the sheet of paper in front of him as if it had done him the greatest wrong in the universe, and forced himself to pay attention to the class with intense fervor. 

His thoughts didn’t go away after the class, though—not in the least. If anything, more and more incidents resembling the one that had happened that morning kept happening throughout the week. Felix wasn’t sure if Sylvain had started spending more time with different people, or if it had always been like this and he’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice it before. Either way, he decided that he hated it. 

The final straw came in the form of a text and a grin, two very innocuous things by themselves that spelled nothing but trouble when Sylvain was the person they involved.

It was a lazy weekend, one that smelled like April and artificial strawberries. (They were broke college students, after all. Flavoured ice cream did the job just as well.) Sylvain had come over to Felix’s dorm that morning to show him something on his phone, despite the fact that it was the 21st century and they both could just as easily text each other. Felix was far too gone to say that to his face, though, and Sylvain had taken his lack of dismissal as an invitation to stay over for the whole day.

He looked particularly soft, draped like this over Felix’s bed. He was lying down on his stomach, scrolling through his phone and occasionally turning to show Felix some random dog video or any such equally inane thing. It was stupid and he was stupid and Felix should not have been feeling endeared right then. 

Ignoring the way that his heartbeat sped up just a little every time Sylvain laughed at some dumb animal doing even dumber animal tricks, Felix cleared his throat to ask, “You want something to eat?” 

Sylvain stared up at him blankly, like Felix had said something in a foreign language, and then proceeded to blink rapidly as if he’d just remembered something important. “Oh, sorry, I can’t! I’m meeting up with Dorothea for lunch.” 

Felix immediately frowned, the obvious question of “Who?” right on the tip of his tongue—before he was interrupted by the sound of Sylvain’s stupid notification alert. The other’s face split into a huge grin, and something in Felix’s stomach lurched at the sight. That was the Special smile. 

“That was her right now!” said Sylvain, looking up from his phone. “She was checking to see if I’d forgotten about our date. Speak of the devil, huh.” 

Date . Felix swallowed. 

“Where are you guys going?” 

“Not sure yet, I was thinking we’d just decide on the way,” Sylvain replied easily. He put his phone down to look curiously up at Felix, like some sort of lost puppy or something. “Why, you got any ideas?” 

“No,” Felix snapped—probably a little too fast for it to be considered his regular sort of snap. Sylvain blinked, surprised, and Felix’s heart melted just a little. 

“No,” he tried again, amending his tone to one a little lower on the aggressiveness scale than where it was earlier. “But Annette told me about this new cafe she went to recently. I can text you the address.”

Sylvain’s grin returned in full force for that, and Felix thought that maybe fighting down his pride was worth it. “Dude, yes! You’re a lifesaver.”

He only grunted in response, and the conversation moved onto other topics. 

By the time Sylvain left, though, Felix had managed to chew his entire brain out several times, based on nothing but the singular word: date . Sylvain didn’t do dates. He did hook-ups and one night stands and drinks but he’d never called any of them a date before, and not having the full knowledge of the situation was killing Felix slowly on the inside. 

Not like he had any right to get angry, though. Sylvain was fully entitled to spending his time with whoever he wanted, doing whatever he wanted. Felix didn’t even have the balls to tell him his own feelings, but that was a whole other can of worms that he didn’t want to open right then. 

Closing his eyes—he’d been doing a lot of that lately—Felix tried letting out a disarming breath, the same way he’d learnt to do when striking an attack. Fretting over it now wouldn’t do him any good. Sylvain had seemed pretty serious about his date, by the looks of it, and he didn’t want to get in the way of his happiness. 

God, that was so fucking cheesy. Felix exhaled once more before flopping down on his bed—another thing he’d been doing a lot lately—and violently repressing any possible thought that could send him veering in the direction of the same disgusting cheesiness ever again. 

Later that night, he got a text from Sylvain that read “Cafe was so good!! You should come with me sometime!!! ” 

He left it on read. 

The sweat under his palms felt slick against the hilt of the foil he currently had in his hands, but Felix ignored how uncomfortable it felt in favour of lunging forward with an attack. The training dummy he was working with was old and a bit worn out, but it still had some life in it, judging by the way its own blade sprung back out. 

Lunge, parry, attack, retreat. The words were drilled into his brain like a childhood nursery rhyme, and he rehearsed them in his mind as he carried out the very actions they detailed. 

Lunge. Felix thrusted forward with all the grace of a ballerina paired with the killing intent of a saber tooth tiger, lightly kicking his front leg and maintaining his form throughout it all. Parry. He deflected the dummy’s foil with ease, although that may have more to do with the limited movements on the dummy than his own skill. Either way, he didn’t let it distract him from his routine. Attack . A riposte launched right after his defense, Felix extended his arm forward to touch the dummy in a way that would have earned him a point if this was a real match. Retreat . He scuttled backwards, still in form, reading to rinse and repeat the whole thing until he grew tired enough to drop. 

Just as he was getting ready to get back to his warm-ups, though, a clear voice rang out across the gym. 

“Felix!” Oh, boy. 

He immediately whipped around to find Annette, glaring at him from the entrance of the gym. She was standing far away from where he had been training, but even with the distance and the mesh mask between them, Felix didn’t need glasses to see that she looked upset. And he probably knew why that was. 

Wincing, Felix removed his mask and set it aside while Annette marched her way through the gym. He rolled out the cricks in his neck and shoulders, scowling at the other people in present who’d paused their own warm-ups to watch the fiery redhead make her way to the permanent grouch of the fencing club. They quickly looked away when they caught sight of Felix glaring at them, though. Pussies. 

“Felix Fraldarius ,” Annette repeated when she finally reached him, hands on her waist and drawing out his last name the way she only did when she was really mad. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

None of your business , he wanted to reply. But this was Annette, and everything was an exception when it came to Annette. 

“Uh,” he said, holding up his sword from where he’d still been gripping it in his hand, sweaty hilt and all. “Training?” 

Annette’s scowl deepened, and Felix resisted the urge to coo at the sight. She looked particularly cute when angry. “Don’t try and get fresh with me you—you evil person,” she hissed, jabbing his chest. Felix blinked down at her. Evil person? 

“I’m being honest.” 

“Save your honesty for later. Right now, I want to know why you’ve been moping around hitting dummies with sticks and avoiding your very real and very alive best friends!” Annette ranted out in a furious whisper, her cheeks a bright red by the time she was done. The fire in her eyes was still there, though, so Felix gulped down whatever noncommittal remark he’d been about to make. 

He knew that this was coming, of course. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct about it, and he definitely hadn’t expected her to track him down all the way to the gym, but he’d known that this was coming. What else was she expected to do, given the fact that Felix had been ignoring Sylvain—and by extension, everyone else that was close to him—for the past three weeks? 

It hadn’t really been a conscious decision. He remembered leaving Sylvain’s text asking to hang out on read, but he’d replied later claiming to have been too tired to respond. The following days had been filled with similar excuses and lies, but Sylvain had never brought it up to him directly—and Felix had assumed that meant he was happy to have more time away from him, so he’d continued with his charade. 

And now, here he was, “hitting dummies with sticks” to avoid dwelling on his actual emotions for any longer than was necessary. 

Out loud, he said, “I don’t know.” 

Annette looked about one second away from being ready to throttle him, causing Felix to gently edge away from her in what was a very real fear. She wasn’t the type to anger easily, but seeing her friends upset for whatever riled her up to unimaginable extents, and Felix would prefer if those extents stayed unimaginable.  

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” he found himself continuing. Annette raised her brows in surprise, because Felix? Willingly offering to talk about something and even taking the initiative to offer first? “I’ll go get changed.” 

“Okay,” Annette agreed, still looking as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Well, Felix couldn’t quite believe himself either—he supposed that was the effect of distancing yourself from your peers to the extent that you jumped at the slightest chance of contact. He was so used to having his friends constantly bug him and so used to pretending like they bothered him, that he didn’t realise how much he’d miss them until he did. 

(Also, he was really tired. He probably shouldn’t have been held accountable for any of his actions after going through three straight hours of fencing practice.) 

Either way, Felix was quick to change. By the time he stepped back into the gym, Annette was still standing by his little training area, eyeing the training dummy he used. 

“You should really replace this thing,” she said to him once he got within hearing distance. “The springs are gonna pop out soon and the wood’s almost rotten.” 

Felix shrugged. It was a pretty shit dummy, yes, but Glenn had made it for him. He refused to admit that he kept it out of sentimentality—because he didn’t —he just used it because it was the most convenient, and it would take too much time to make a new one. Really, that was the only reason. 

Annette hummed at his lackluster response before clapping her hands and spinning around to the direction of the door. Now that Felix’s head was a little clearer from his quick shower before changing, he could tell that she’d managed to garner the attention of a lot of other people in the gym, who were looking at the two of them like they were the new attractions at a zoo. It wasn’t rare for one of Felix’s friends to come by the gym to pick him up, but those “friends” normally weren’t pint-sized and wearing pink dresses. Still, he sent dirty looks at anyone so much as glancing in their direction. 

The wind outside was cold, in the way that Felix enjoyed best. He could feel Annette shooting furtive glances at him as they walked side by side, but he closed his eyes and focused on the air against his face instead. He heard Annette sigh when she finally realised that she wouldn’t be getting a word out of him without any egging on, and resisted the urge to smile. 

“Well?” she huffed, and even with his eyes closed, Felix could picture her cheeks puffing out in the adorable way that they did whenever she was irritated. “Talk.” 

Once again, Felix only shrugged. Now that he’d finally cashed in on his offer to talk, he didn’t really know what to talk about. It wasn’t exactly his strongest trait. 

Another sigh from Annette. It sounded fonder this time around, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Start with why you decided to avoid us.” 

“I wasn’t avoiding you ,” Felix pointed out. His eyes were open now, and he was looking at the road ahead as they walked. “I was avoiding Sylvain.” 

Annette looked confused, at first, before seemingly piecing together the puzzle in her head. Wow, that took her even less time than it had taken Felix. “Ah!” 

Felix didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Annette was more than willing to fill in the somewhat empty silence between them, continuing, “Avoiding him won’t do anything! Why didn’t you just talk to him instead?” 

“He went on a date.” 

More silence. Felix repeated himself. “He went on a date.” 

“No, I heard you the first time,” Annette said, and Felix had to turn his head to look at her when he heard the sheer amount of incredulity in her voice. “You’re just—you’re so— stupid!” 

Felix blinked. He did a lot of that while Annette was around. “Sorry, what?”

“People go on dates all the time! Especially Sylvain,” she emphasised his name; to what end, Felix didn’t know. She did sound genuinely frustrated, though. And it wasn’t like she was wrong. “Him going on a date shouldn’t affect how you deal with this situation! And you know, he could just be one of those people who call normal hang-outs dates.” Annette continued on her tirade, not giving Felix the chance to get a word in edgewise—not that he even knew what to say, but still. “You need to stop ignoring your feelings like a dumb teenager and step up to do what you actually want to do.”

Felix opened his mouth, and closed it again, rendered speechless in the way that only Annette seemed to get him to be. He knew he was being stupid about the whole Sylvain situation; of course he did. Still, he was tempted to reply with a cutting remark on how she didn’t know him but that would just be proving her point—also, he was pretty sure he was physically incapable of ever being “cutting” to Annette. 

After a few more moments of mental back-and-forth, which mostly consisted of one voice in his head going “listen to her” and the other replying with “fuck you” , Felix decided not to say anything at all—which, honestly, was an answer in and of itself.

Annette seemed to have noticed his internal struggle, because she let out a loud sigh worthy of television. Felix’s frown deepened.

“There’s a party,” she finally said, and Felix’s face muscles were already starting to hurt from holding their downturned shape. “You should come.” 

“ What.” 

“Claude’s hosting it,” she supplied. “Sylvain will also be there.” 

“Is this supposed to encourage me into going? Because you’re really not helping your cause here.”

“Look,” Another sigh, “you can’t avoid him forever. I know you know what exactly you’re doing here, and it’s not working. Just come to the party, meet him, get it over with! Like a band-aid.”

Felix thought this over, which meant he stared resolutely at the road and repeated her words in his head until he wasn’t sure if he agreed with them or wanted to set something on fire. “Fine.”

This time, it was Annette’s turn to blink. “Huh?”

Felix frowned. “I said, I’ll go.” 

“I didn’t expect you to agree with me!” She sounded taken aback, which, honestly, he didn’t blame her for; being easy-going was not really a trait that Felix was best known for. 

He didn’t know what had gotten into him, either. But what he did know was that he was tired—tired from fencing, tired of avoiding most of his friends for no good reason, tired of hiding from the extent of his own emotions just because he couldn’t process them all too well. Exhaustion was seeping into his very blood and bone, and Felix didn’t think that he had it in him to argue with Annette right then. 

She was quick on the uptake, though, and seized her chance to tell him more about the party before he changed his mind. Her words went through Felix’s right ear and out the other, and he knew he should be paying attention, but he couldn’t be bothered. He’d just text her for the details later. 

For now, he tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself and tried not to think. 

“Hey, come in!” 

The overly cheerful voice of one Claude von Riegan filled Felix’s ears as he stepped in through the door and into his apartment, scowling all the while. Even after his agreement to go to the party the other night, there was still a part of him that wished he’d declined the offer if only it meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with people he barely knew being annoyingly friendly to him.

He could feel Annette giving him a look from where she was standing beside him, though, so he made an attempt to school his face into something less menacing. Claude’s expression, however, didn’t change throughout the whole three-second exchange, which made Felix wonder whether he’d even noticed it or not. 

Come to think of it, he didn’t really know him that well. He knew of him, of course—it was pretty hard to go to Garreg Mach and not know who Claude was—and they had friends in common, but he wasn’t the type of person that Felix would particularly want to get to know himself. Regardless, Claude didn’t seem to share any of his hostility, instead offering him a drink with a friendly smile and showing him towards the rest of the house in a Make yourself at home gesture. 

Felix did not make himself at home. He took one look at the rest of the room, full to the brim with people and music and lights that made his eyes hurt, and stood himself somewhere off to the side. Scowling again, he took a sip of his drink, which was bright pink and tasted exactly like it looked. He scowled some more. 

Annette was still standing next to him, for whatever reason. She had on her disapproving face, which was really just her normal face but with more angry eyebrows and a pout that would put several ducks to shame. It was rather cute. Felix decided not to tell her this, because she would probably gauge his eyes out. 

After a few more minutes (probably just seconds, honestly, but everything seemed longer when you were surrounded by people) Annette huffed, crossing her arms. Felix eyed her cautiously, but said nothing.  

“Well?” she demanded. “You came here to do some thing, didn’t you?” 

Felix muttered something that could have been understood as either a note of assent, a gruff “fuck you” , or a plea for more cheese. Annette seemed to be going with the former, although neither of the other two would be particularly out of character for Felix. 

She looked like she was getting ready to say something else when a loud crash sounded from somewhere across the room, eliciting the attention of everyone else also standing by the sidelines. Felix resisted the urge to look for about ten seconds—he had a reputation to maintain as uncaring and cool, damn it—before saying fuck it and lifting his head up to the direction of the sound. 

He didn’t know it then, but this was the first bad decision he’d made in what would soon become a night full of them. 

An all too familiar redhead immediately greeted his vision from a few metres away, and judging by the sheepish grin on his face and how he seemed to be in the dead center of all the commotion, Felix would say that he’d been the one behind the crash—because of course he had. Even though Sylvain was clearly the culprit in the situation, people were gravitating towards him like he was the main attraction at a buffet (maybe that wasn’t the best descriptor, but Felix was a culinary student, not a fucking poet). 

Before he could tear his eyes away from the scene and pretend like he’d never noticed him—as if he could ever not notice him—Sylvain turned his head by just a fraction, meeting his eyes from across the room in what could only be described as something out of a romantic comedy film. 

Felix froze. This was bad decision number two. 

Sylvain’s face, which was covered in what first appeared to be confusion, quickly morphed into a grin that could rival even the artificial lights flickering on and off above them. (A thought that made Felix immediately want to die after formulating, because what the fuck?)

He watched the other man say quick excuses to the people still surrounding him, making his way to Felix with the 100 watt smile still in place. It would take Sylvain probably fifteen seconds to reach him with the pace he was going at, which was still plenty of time to make a run for it. His legs betrayed him for the first time in his life by staying stuck firmly in place; a thrilling sequel to the saga of ever growing bad decisions. 

Annette, being a smart person and also having already followed his line of sight leading to Sylvain several moments ago, whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “good luck” before making herself scarce, in what would be bad decision number four. (Although, technically speaking, since it wasn’t Felix’s decision to make, perhaps it would make more sense for it to be dismissed as terrible luck instead.) 

Two seconds to detonation. Sylvain pulled up to a stop in front of him, eyes alive and cheeks flushed with the telltale glow of a little too much alcohol. He had his new piercings in, too, all shiny and reflecting the bright lights of the room—and this time, Felix really did die a little. 

“Hi,” said Sylvain.

“Hi,” replied Felix. Number five. 

Sylvain laughed, a little too gleeful and a little too loud, and Felix closed his eyes. He was truly, monumentally fucked. 

It only took the promise of a drink and Sylvain’s trademark pleading eyes to get Felix to join him in the kitchen, trailing after the other like some form of disgruntled puppy. Sylvain kept looking back at him as they walked to the kitchen—Claude’s apartment was way too big—as if still not fully believing that he was there . Felix couldn’t exactly blame him. He tried to resist the urge to scowl everytime their eyes met over the sound of his pulse in his ears. 

“Here,” said Sylvain when they’d finally reached the kitchen. It was a lot emptier than the rest of the house, which was probably why Sylvain had brought him here in the first place. He handed Felix a cup of what looked decidedly less pink than whatever he’d had earlier, but equally as dangerous. “I’m glad you came.” 

Felix took the cup as if it was a bomb. “You didn’t even know I was going to be here.” 

“I had a feeling.” 

There wasn’t really anything he could say in response to that, still under Sylvain’s almost predator-like watchful eyes, so he took a sip of his drink. He gagged almost as soon as he did, because holy shit, this was even sweeter than the one before. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Sylvain laughed, loud and loose and a lot less perfect than it usually was. Felix squinted at how unguarded he seemed, so different from the way he usually moulded himself to fit the image of classic heartthrob— fuck, he was drunk. 

Oh, Felix, we’re really in it now , added the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously similiar to Linhardt. He told it to shut up—and then promptly resisted the urge to claw his eyes out of his face, because talking to himself? Really? If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was the drunk one and not Sylvain. 

This didn’t bode well for him. 

“Wanted to see your reaction,” admitted Sylvain, once he’d managed to stop giggling (seriously, it wasn’t even that funny). “Missed your dumb face.” 

Fire shot through his cheeks faster than he could tamp down his blush, and Felix had to resist the urge to turn on his heels and head straight out of Claude’s apartment. Instead he muttered, “I saw you yesterday.” 

“That doesn’t count, that was with everyone else,” Sylvain insisted. Felix wanted to tear his own hair out. “Haven’t seen just you in a while.” 

“Well, I’m here now.”

Sylvain’s smile softened, and Felix regretted having said anything at all in the first place. “Yeah, you are.” 

The silence that followed in the next few moments wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was awkward—and Sylvain seemed to have picked up on it, if the way he drummed his fingers impatiently against the table was anything to go by. Drunk Sylvain tended to be a lot more crabby than usual, which once again, was not exactly the best outcome for Felix. 

“Game,” he said, suddenly. 

“What?” 

“Let’s play a game,” Sylvain repeated, stilling his fingers and reaching into his pocket to search for something instead. Felix warily watched him struggle to get his wallet from his jeans—that’s what he got for wearing such tight ones—and pull out what looked like some loose change. 

“Quarters,” said Sylvain triumphantly and completely out of context. 

Felix raised an eyebrow in question, receiving a huff from the other man. “Oh, come on! It’s simple, I’ll try and throw a coin into your cup and if it gets in, you drink.” 

Torn between wanting to play because Sylvain and wanting to not play also because Sylvain, Felix just made a grumbling sound that could have been taken to mean absolutely anything. Sylvain, of course, took it as affirmation, and shot Felix a lopsided grin. 

This was a terrible idea. 

“Me first!” 

Sylvain lined up his coin with Felix’s cup with the intense concentration of a child playing their first game at a carnival, and the sight made Felix’s eyes soften just a little. Like this, stripped off all his masks and layers, Sylvain was still the same kid he’d been back when they were younger. 

For all his show, though, he still failed to get the coin into the cup—eliciting a loud laugh from Felix that managed to stun both Sylvain and himself. Still snorting, Felix remarked, “You really suck at this, huh.” 

Sylvain stuck his tongue out at him with all the grace of a six year old. “Fuck you. I’d like to see you do better.” 

Felix obliged, positioning his own coin up to Sylvain’s cup and getting it in without any trouble—and immediately earning a string of protests from the other boy claiming that he’d cheated somehow and demanding a rematch.  

The conversation then drifted into the easy bickering they’d been accustomed to over their years together, all traces of any lingering awkwardness or even bitterness long forgotten. It’d been a while since Felix had smiled so hard, as cheesy as it sounded—but something about the sheer stupidity of Sylvain’s antics made his cheek muscles hurt a lot more than they should.  

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d come to the party, but Annette still hadn’t come looking for him in distress, which he supposed was a good sign. Not many people seemed to be coming to the kitchen at all, actually; right then, it was completely empty save the two of them. Something about the quiet felt—strange. Charged, almost. Like an explosion waiting to happen.  

“Hey, Felix ,” Sylvain whined, breaking the silence drawing out the last syllable as wide as he could. He was sitting on the seat right next to Felix, clinging onto his t-shirt sleeve tight enough that it might actually tear if he moved around too much, but Felix didn’t have the heart to chide him for it.

Jesus. Look at him, turned all soft and mushy by nothing but two words out of Sylvain’s mouth. Felix should be thankful that the other was so terrible at their little game—that way, Sylvain was completely drunk and wouldn’t remember if Felix did anything incriminating (like aforementioned being soft). 

“ Fe ,” whined Sylvain again, and Felix forced himself to finally look into his eyes. 

“What,” he said, voice as devoid of emotion as he could make it. His throat felt dry. 

Sylvain was quiet for a few more moments, no longer tugging his sleeve, and Felix thought that he’d forgotten whatever it was that he wanted to say. He’d just been about to breathe easy when Sylvain’s voice filled his senses again, rendering him defeated once more.

“Do you think the piercings were a bad idea?” 

The urgentness in his voice stunned Felix into a momentary silence where all he could do was blink at the other man, confused as to why he would pick now of all times to ask that. He was racking his brain for something to say, some quick insult to dish out, when Linhardt’s words from before crossed his mind again (seriously, what was with his internal narrative and Linhardt?). 

He’s not bulletproof. 

“No,” said Felix after a moment of thought. “They suit you. Really.” 

Sylvain let his head slump down onto the table. It was probably Felix’s imagination when he thought that Sylvain let out what looked like a sigh of relief, so he didn’t say anything. 

“Thought you didn’t like them,” Sylvain mumbled, and Felix had to strain his ears to catch his words. “Thought I did something stupid.”

Felix could only repeat himself. “No.” 

Sylvain looked up at him, then, straight in the eye and honest enough to send a spike of electricity down his spine. Felix didn’t back down, though. He’d done enough running away for a while. 

“I miss you,” Sylvain said earnestly, and good god. He knew that Sylvain tended to ramble and get overly emotional whenever he drank a little too much, but he couldn’t have guessed that it would end up having such an effect on him. (If he’d known, he’d have ended up avoiding the party entirely, promise to Annette be damned.)

“I miss hanging out with you,” he continued, as if building up to a rant. Felix stayed quiet. He didn’t trust himself to speak. “I went from seeing you everyday to barely ever, and I miss you so much , and I don’t know what I did to make you want to get away from me but it feels terrible and I wish I could take it back.” 

“You didn’t do anything,” was the only thing that Felix could think to say. He hated himself for how soft he sounded, but he hated the look in Sylvain’s eyes even more—and he couldn’t stand the thought that he’d turned them so.

“I want you back.” 

Felix’s breath caught in his throat, even though he knew that Sylvain couldn’t hear how he sounded. He obviously didn’t mean it in the way that Felix wanted to so badly believe in, but there was no peace for a foolish heart. 

“You’re drunk.” Felix said it as strongly as he could, trying to make sure his voice didn’t crack in the middle of his sentence. (He wasn’t sure that it was very strong.) 

“I’m being honest ,” Sylvain insisted, and tugged at his sleeve again. Felix let him. “I need to tell you something.” 

“Don’t say it now. Say it when you mean it.” 

“I’ll always mean it, Felix.” 

He didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I love you,” said Sylvain, and Felix’s world tilted a little sideways on its axis. 

Sylvain wasn’t done yet, though. “Not the kind of love that I feel for Ingrid or Dimitri or Annette or anyone else. Well, yeah, that kind of love, but also different, you know? It’s, like,” he paused, just for a second, but the rush of blood in Felix’s ears never stopped. “It’s just love. It’s a lot of love. Me, to you. I love you. Fuck, I said that already.” Another pause. “It’s scary, but it’s you. And I don’t think I could be scared of anything with you.” 

The words took a while to settle themselves into the folds of Felix’s brain, morphing into butterflies that felt like they would eat his entire skull out if given the chance. His heart had strung itself high enough to jump out of his mouth, and his hands were sweaty with the feeling of What the fuck? 

He didn’t know how to process this. He didn’t know how to feel about it, he didn’t know how serious any of it was, he didn’t know how to think and he really didn’t know what to say—he just sat there, staring at Sylvain after he’d bared with felt like his entire soul to Felix, eyes blown wide in a mix of shock and discomfort. Sylvain didn’t look particularly unhappy by his silence, though, worn out from his speech and instead content to play with the coins still littering the counter. The sight made Felix’s lungs clench up tighter than they already were. 

When he could finally open his mouth again, two words came out.  “You’re drunk.” 

Sylvain looked at him again, eyebrows furrowed as if he couldn’t understand what he was saying, and it took everything in Felix’s self-control to not lean forward and kiss the confusion right off his face. He’s drunk , he reminded himself, in a last-ditch attempt to stay sane. He wasn’t in control of his actions right then, and who knew? Maybe the whole “confession” was just an exaggeration. Maybe Felix really was misinterpreting the whole thing. 

Whatever. His series of thoughts was annoying him now, and so was Sylvain’s innocently betrayed expression. Felix could already feel the strands of irrational irritation take root in his head, but before they could get out of hand, he said, “Let’s get you home.”

There wasn’t anything that Sylvain could do to protest, really. He let Felix tug him by the arm—an action that sent shivers of lightning all across his hand—and drag him out of the kitchen, all in an attempt to shove his feelings farther down his gullet. Later, when he was reviewing all the events of the night in his mind, Felix would ask himself how the fuck he’d managed to stay so calm through it all, but years of repression had turned into a handy skill, as depressing as that may sound. 

They didn’t run into Annette on their way out of the party, which struck Felix as particularly odd, as she tended to have a radar for incidents like these. They did, however, get the attention of Claude, who was lounging on a sofa near the door next to—was that the boar? 

He didn’t have time for this. Sylvain’s arm was slung around his neck, and from the way he’d shifted his entire body weight onto Felix’s, he’d say that the other was drunk to the point of exhaustion. Memories from their high school glory days—okay, they weren’t exactly glory —floated through his head, most of them ending with all of their friend group slumping against each other like a huge pile of sleeping ferrets. 

Claude raised one eyebrow at the sight of the two of them, while Dimitri merely stared with badly disguised interest. Felix could tell that he wanted to ask what was going on, so instead of rolling his eyes at the two of them like he normally would have, he said, “He’s drunk. Getting him home.” 

That earned him a wordless nod from Claude, which immediately made him go up by a few points in Felix’s list. (The list wasn’t particularly long.) He didn’t have the energy for a conversation right then, so he pushed past the crowd that had congregated itself in front of the door and headed out with Sylvain in tow. 

By the time they’d reached the car, Sylvain seemed to have almost completely dozed off. He mumbled sleepily against Felix’s neck when he tried to shove him off and into the passenger seat, a series of words that he couldn’t decode but made him flush nonetheless. After making sure he was securely in place, Felix turned around and headed for the driver’s seat. 

Turning on the radiator, Felix took one last glance at Sylvain as he reached up to buckle his seatbelt. He looked fully out of it by now, breaths evened out into what Felix would call snores just to get a rise out of the other. It made him wonder whether he would even remember the night’s events when he woke up. 

Felix’s chest curled in on itself at the thought. Yeah, those feelings were starting to catch up to him now.  

Light streamed through the curtains in the picturesque sort of way that could have been right at home in a movie, and in any other circumstance, Felix would have smiled at the sight—had it not been for the large redheaded lump currently huddled under the blankets right in front of him.  

The previous night, Felix had taken the aforementioned redheaded lump straight back to his apartment. Sylvain lived alone, since his roommate had moved away the previous year and he couldn’t be bothered to find a new one, so it meant that Felix could avoid the stream of questions that was bound to come with dragging a drunk man into someone else’s house. Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—for him, he also knew where Sylvain kept the spare key, so he’d managed to get him inside without any fuss or harm. 

Memories from last night were still fresh in his mind, if a little hazy (he’d had a little to drink, too). He supposed it made sense—it would have been hard for anyone to forget a whole confession like that.  

Right. The “confession”. 

Looking down at Sylvain now, it was easy to pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about the entire situation. There’d been plenty of instances where he’d had to drive the other home after a night out; instances where they’d collapsed side by side onto their beds and woken up like this. But try as he might to act like nothing would change after this, Felix wasn’t stupid. 

A shuffling sound from the bed distracted him from his thoughts, and Felix turned his attention towards the Sylvain shaped lump that was slowly starting to gain consciousness. He probably has a raging hangover , he thought, restraining the urge to snort out loud. Serves him right. 

Felix belatedly was still standing right in front of his bed, so he hastily took a few steps back towards the door to make it seem less—creepy. Sylvain was taking his sweet time getting up, anyway, so it wasn’t like it would matter. 

After what felt like hours of Felix leaning against the doorframe watching Sylvain make increasingly more distressing noises as he struggled against the blanket, he finally peeked out from the top. His eyes were bleary and a little bit bloodshot, hair mussed into what could best be described as a rat’s nest, and he seemed half dead. In all honesty, he looked pretty ugly—but Felix couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted by the sight. 

How poetic , said the Linhardt in his head. He ignored it. 

Clearing his throat, he said out loud, “Good morning.”

Sylvain started, as if he hadn’t noticed Felix standing there already, and stared at him for a good ten seconds before recognition finally flashed through his eyes. 

“Felix,” he said, sounding relieved. “Why are you—?”

“You got drunk,” Felix replied, short. He didn’t know why, but something about the way Sylvain said his name irritated him. “Brought you home.” 

If anything, his answers only served to make Sylvain more confused, going by the furrow in his eyebrows. He looked like he was about to ask him another question, but Felix didn’t really feel like dealing with that right then. 

“I’ll make breakfast,” he said, just to end the conversation, and turned on his heels and straight for the kitchen. 

Alright, so maybe that was a cowardly thing for him to do. The Linhardt in his brain would have wanted him to stay, listen, and talk like a normal human being—but the Linhardt in his brain wasn’t there and Felix was a little bit of an idiot (just a little). Back there in Sylvain’s room, with the other boy staring at him like he was a particularly intriguing puzzle, Felix had felt like he would have burned up under his gaze if left for any longer. 

So here he was, whisking up some eggs in his best friend’s kitchen on a Saturday morning. How lovely. 

The pan sizzled as he added the mixture to it, and Felix took a moment to savour the smell. “Making breakfast” wasn’t something he took particularly lightly, if the rigorous preparation he’d set up had anything to show for it. Perks (or maybe cons?) of being a culinary student. 

He’d just started to flip the omelette over when he heard the familiar sound of footsteps from behind him, causing Felix to stiffen up a little and the omelette to almost slip off from his spatula. It didn’t, though, because he was calm and also cool and most definitely not having an internal meltdown over whether or not he should be saying something to start conversation.

In the end, he didn’t have anything to worry about, because Sylvain couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a minute even if his life depended on it. He pulled up next to the stove, and Felix could smell his atrociously sweet smelling shampoo coming off of him in waves. It was a step up from smelling like alcohol and sweat, though, so he’d take it. 

“Smells amazing,” Sylvain murmured, and Felix forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the skillet.

He snorted. “Of course it does.” 

“Learn to take a compliment, will you?” He didn’t need to look at him to know that he was rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not a compliment if it’s just the truth.” 

“You’re so—” Sylvain sighed, cutting himself off. Felix considered that a win. “Never mind.” 

Felix didn’t say anything in response, instead working on plating up the omelettes that he’d just finished cooking and determinedly ignoring Sylvain’s very warm and very large presence right by his side. Seriously, did this guy not understand the concept of personal space at all? 

Surprisingly, Sylvain stayed quiet, too, choosing to watch him work. That didn’t help Felix’s nerves in any shape or form, but he managed to finish up the eggs without a hitch. Sliding the plates onto the kitchen counter, Felix pulled up a chair and glanced back at Sylvain (who was still staring at him—what the fuck, dude?). “Here. Eat.” 

Sylvain obliged, taking the chair opposite to him. For a few minutes, there were no sounds in the room except for the occasional click clack of cutlery and the mouth noises that were an unfortunate side effect of eating. While he would’ve normally appreciated the quiet, at that moment, it filled Felix with a strange sense of unease that he didn't quite know how to identify. 

Just as he was shifting through possible icebreakers in his head, Sylvain piped up, effectively shattering the silence.

“So, about last night…” 

Yeah. Never a good sign. Felix’s toes were already curling in on themselves at the prospect of actually having a conversation about everything that had taken place—he could barely bring himself to think about it with a straight face.  

He grunted in response, and Sylvain seemed to take it as confirmation to continue talking. “I said some shit, didn’t I?” Understatement of the fucking century. 

“How much do you remember?” Felix asked, diverting his question with another one of his own. Two could play at that game. 

“Depends. How much do you want me to remember?” 

The intensity of his voice made Felix look up from his plate, wary but not quite distrustful. Sylvain didn’t back down, though, staring at him relentlessly until he gave a proper verbal response. Like some sort of fucking puppy. 

Felix’s voice was softer than he intended it to be when he replied, “Did you mean it?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” 

Suddenly, the air in the room was a lot warmer than it had been a few minutes ago, and Felix swallowed down a bite of food as he tried to think this out clearly. His heart rate had increased by almost tenfold ever since he’d sat down at the kitchen table; Sylvain’s cryptic words and actions weren’t really helping his situation, either. 

Jesus, his head could barely even form a coherent string of thoughts—it had been bad enough the night before, when they were both inebriated to the extent that the world seemed to colour itself with a fuzzy lens. Now, in broad daylight, his words were having a harder time catching up to him than ever before. 

“I don’t—”

“You don’t have to return my feelings, you know.”

“Fuck’s sake, let me finish,” Felix snapped, heat rushing through his cheeks immediately after for two reasons: one, that Sylvain had flat out called them his feelings , and two, that he was looking at him with a strangely amused glint in his eyes. 

“I’m not like you,” was what Felix ended up saying on his second try. “I won’t give you a speech on my fucking feelings, or whatever. But I think you already know what I’m about to say.” 

Sylvain blinked, once, twice, before he bloomed into a grin so wide that Felix couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up on any signs before. It didn’t help that Sylvain kept smiling his stupid smile, and it was sheer annoyance that drove Felix into leaning over and kissing the smugness off his expression—only to get a faceful of stank morning breath that made him shove himself off the other in a fit of disgust. 

So, yeah. In hindsight, he definitely should have seen it coming.