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As soon as Sylvain got dismissed from the infirmary he had run to the training grounds, the sting of his still-healing wound insignificant in the face of his need to confess. He’d almost earned a ticket back to Manuela’s office in the process, as not even Ingrid was able to stop him from running into Felix’s hit range and seize his lips. Life was too short to dance around each other, and the realisation of it had left Sylvain simply too inebriated to care about almost receiving a wooden sword to the stomach.
After giving Sylvain the silent treatment for the entire week following the kiss, Felix had finally approached him one evening in the hallway of their dormitories. Sylvain would be a fool to deny that he had expected to leave Felix’s room covered in bruises; what he didn’t expect was for a good part of said bruises to be the result of several punches to the arms and chest, followed by statements like “You idiot!”, “What took you so long?” and a few occasional “Don’t stop”. At least Felix had the decency to wait for the wounds to heal properly before working him up like that. Sylvain appreciated the gesture.
Their relationship had quite the bumpy beginning, but it’s not like either of them had previous experience to compare it to. Besides – however sappy it may sound – Sylvain was just glad to receive Felix’s love. He didn't even complain about keeping it private for Felix’s sake, avoiding kissing or holding hands in public. The most he’d indulge in was occasionally brushing his knee against Felix’s or nudging his foot in the dining hall, which always earned him the faintest, prettiest blush on the younger man’s cheeks.
He was proud of having remained this tame in public. After keeping up the reputation of womanizer for so long, he didn’t want Felix to even remotely feel like the girls he used to chase after and wave around like trophies. Sylvain went out of his way to allow him to dictate the pace, even if it meant pretending not to be a couple in public for the first few months.
Behind closed doors it was a whole other deal. Any time Felix required assistance with paperwork they’d end up on the floor, Sylvain encouraging the most delicious sounds out of Felix’s mouth by marking rosy blossoms onto his skin. Sometimes – after a particularly rough sparring session – Sylvain would plead Felix to massage away the knots on his back, resulting in the both of them sprawled in bed, mapping out each other’s bodies with touches so tender that brought tears to Sylvain’s eyes.
It was heaven, their intimacy.
It was the only thing keeping him from running to his demise in this damned war.
Sylvain didn’t get it.
What happened to it?
***
It started with Felix keeping away from him during meetings. It had struck Sylvain as odd, but he brushed it off as exhaustion. Regardless, Felix spent all the more time either training or locked in his room, even going so far as to occasionally have someone bring him meals. Sylvain could barely catch him on his way to or from his room, and even then Felix would barely give him time to exchange how’s it going s before sprinting away without a second glance.
It came to Sylvain one afternoon.
Felix must hate him.
He probably hated him since the very beginning. Sylvain had spent way too much of his life perfecting such avoidance with others not to notice the similar pattern in Felix’s behaviour. The flinching away, the way he left every time Sylvain entered the room...
He knew it. It was too good to be true. Felix had played him in the very same way Sylvain played every single partner before him, perhaps out of revenge or out of boredom. Justice was finally dealing his cards right back at him, condemning him to the only fate he deserves: abandonment.
Abandoned by his brother, his parents, his childhood friends and at last by the only man who ever owned his heart.
How could such a disgusting creature as him ever think to be deserving of love?
Sylvain finally got it.
He should end it with Felix.
***
He found it hard to register the words coming out of Ingrid’s mouth. It sounded like something urgent.
His response was nothing more than a blank stare, apparently not enough for her, who grabbed his arm and dragged him to stand up.
With no reason to allow himself more free time than the essential, Sylvain had begun pouring all of himself into helping Dimitri win the war. When the Professor didn’t allow him any more work, he’d resolve to reading anything he could find on war strategy in the library. Anything to keep himself together, not to think of him .
Oh, they were going to the second floor. The infirmary, where it all began. Sylvain felt something like regret burning its way up his stomach.
They were stopped by Ashe blocking the doorway. Sylvain could barely hear what he had to say before the most gut-wrenching shriek he’d ever heard interrupted them.
Worst of all, Sylvain knew exactly the source of that barely-human sound.
He lunged at the door, trying to claw and push away his former classmate. Ingrid must’ve still had her hand on his arm, as Sylvain felt her trying to pull him back. Not much later another, stronger pair of hands took hold of him and sent him straight into the wall behind him.
He found himself bent in two, acid burning in his nostrils and tears in his eyes. Turns out regret looks like your morning breakfast, now covering Dedue’s boots. Weakened, he surrendered to the grip that kept him still, a smaller hand pressing on his temple before he blacked out.
He woke up to the bed creaking under the weight of somebody else beside his legs. He’d make a distasteful joke were it none other than the Professor at the foot of the bed.
“It was unwise to let Ingrid go after you. I apologise.”
Sylvain would like to rephrase that. “Unwise” implied the decision was made with minimal thought behind that. What was more fitting in his opinion was “pretty fucking dumb”, or “idiotic”. If Felix had gone to such lengths as to have Ashe and Dedue guarding the door even in… whatever state he was, it was clear he wanted nothing to do with Sylvain.
“Witnessing someone you love suffering while in your state, I could now allow it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, prof.” Sylvain shifted to sit up and his vision filled with black stars for a moment. “I don’t do that love thing; you should know it by now.” Cue the fake smile.
Byleth frowned. Sylvain remembered that she was, in fact, present to stop his madness and put him to sleep. Genius.
“Stop pretending you don’t care, Sylvain. Hasn’t it brought you enough trouble already?”
Sylvain was now the one frowning.
“What do you mean?”
He hated yet envied the way the Professor was able to make her expression unreadable.
“It’s not my place to discuss this. You should talk with Felix onc ̶ “
“Are you saying I caused… whatever happened to him?” Sylvain snapped. “I would never! He was avoiding me .”
Byleth seemed unfazed by his outburst.
“Then why did he ask for you?”
Silence.
“What?”
“He was the one who sent Ingrid off.”
And so Byleth told him the whole story. Felix had collapsed on the training grounds during the night, the overexertion taking its toll on his whole body. Had Dimitri not been around to notice it would have been too late to save him. A disgusting feeling ran through Sylvain at the idea of it.
According to Manuela, the constant overexertion of muscles in addition to the sleep deprivation had caused Felix’s body to shut down. She had compared it to several wooden sticks that – once accumulated in mud – formed a dam that stopped a river’s flow. The “river” in question was Felix’s ability to move. Luckily to them, Felix was caught in time and the treatment started as soon as possible.
The procedure was a long and hurtful one. Healing the nervous system was not simple nor something practised often. Luckily Manuela had the help of both Annette and Mercedes, but even with all available healers it was a matter of hours if not even days. Little by little as he regained control of his mouth, Felix’s wails had started to sound more and more like Sylvain’s name. Ingrid had ignored Byleth’s orders and looked for the man in question, thinking only of Felix’s good.
***
Sylvain didn’t get it. Again.
If Felix loved him, then why did he start avoiding him? And if he hated him, why did he want him in such a moment of weakness? To spite him? Did Felix know Sylvain loved him more than anything, and therefore had been willing to almost die to hurt him? It couldn’t be. Felix was many things, but malicious to the point of self-destruction wasn’t one of them.
He wasn’t allowed to the infirmary yet. Anyone willing to visit would have to wait until the situation was stable. Sometimes he’d catch a glimpse of Annette and Mercedes in the dining hall but they never stayed for long, having apparently still much to work on upstairs. Sylvain could at least be happy there was no more shouting in the hallway and that the girls were allowed breaks at all. It meant their help wasn’t needed as much anymore.
The wait was hell. Byleth had forbid him to attend reunions or to work at all, and despite knowing how important rest was now, Sylvain simply couldn’t relax. He couldn’t stop thinking of how scared Felix must have been, how agonising the pain that had ripped those horrifying sounds out of him.
A week later Annette called him to the infirmary. He had to stop at the door to steady his breath, as he had sprinted up the stairs as soon as he was told he could visit. When Annette offered him a hand to hold on, he could not retain from pulling her into a hug so tight that he later feared to have broken a bone. That was not the case.
Despite having dreaded for this moment so long, Sylvain didn’t really think of the way he would react once he finally reunited with Felix. At the sight of his unconscious body, Sylvain froze.
Felix looked so small, so feeble. He was stripped of his everyday armour: the trained scowl, the squared shoulders, the ever-crossed arms. He looked like his younger self from the days before the academy, when he allowed himself to be weak. Sylvain all but fell to his knees at the side of the bed. The breath he let out was shakier than expected, and before he could register it, tears were streaming down his cheeks and onto the sheets.
He didn’t care if it looked ugly, if his sobs woke up the other patients. Felix was alive. That was what counted. Sylvain didn’t quite understand how close he was to losing him until this very moment, as he traced a hesitant finger on his lover’s deadly pale cheek and felt warmth –life– flowing through it.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, entranced by the slow rise and fall of Felix’s chest. Sometimes he’d switch positions so as not to let his legs fall asleep. Mercedes had offered him a chair, but he preferred the floor; that way he could lay his chin on the mattress and admire Felix closer. He had just started focusing on how well his lover’s calloused hand fit in his when he sensed the weakest twitch.
Sylvain squeezed the hand even tighter and brought it to his lips. If there ever was a moment his prayers were genuine it was then, the words whispered against Felix’s skin like a protection spell.
***
Recovery was slow. What Sylvain expected to be a matter of very few weeks turned out to take a whole month. The worst part was seeing the realisation in Felix’s eyes of how much damage was caused; even the simplest task such as holding a cup of tea had him trembling from exertion. In those moments Sylvain so wished to be able to take all that pain to himself and relieve Felix of the burden, but until they found a way to turn back time Sylvain would stick with being Felix’s caretaker.
As soon as Felix was stable enough not to need monitoring, he was moved to his rooms and it got easier for Sylvain to sneak in at night without getting caught (Manuela must have put some sort of wards on the infirmary. No way she was such a light sleeper given her drinking habits). He wouldn’t even call that “sneaking in”, since they were not students and there was no such thing as curfew anymore. Sylvain would call it “optimisation of space”. In times of war it was crucial to save space and use resources in the best possible way, therefore it was only logical for the two of them to share a bed. Besides, that way they could also share all kinds of other things: bodily heat, kisses, gentle touches…
Their burdens, too.
Sylvain had not forgotten about the talk he had to have with Felix. He just didn’t want to rush him and risk making the recovery process even harder. Goddess knew how hard it was to begin the conversation without making it sound like “Hey, could you kindly explain why you acted like I didn’t exist and quite literally worked yourself to death? Just so it doesn’t happen again, y’know.”
One night, Sylvain got it.
He didn’t slip under the covers right away. Instead, he took Felix’s hands and helped him sit up. His progress had been exceptional according to the healers, but even though he was now able to walk with only the help of a cane, there was a minimal struggle in his movements after a long day of staying upright, and Sylvain was eager to assist him. He sat himself in front of Felix with his legs crossed, eyes on the space between them. He remembered doing something like that as kids.
“Felix…” he began, but he didn’t have the words to continue.
Felix’s grip stiffened. It wasn’t a surprise that he knew what was going on. What was surprising was how he knew what to say when not even Sylvain did for sure.
“Before you begin, let me tell you it wasn’t your fault. At least not entirely.” The last part stung, but Felix was still having a better way with words than him at the moment. “I let my thoughts get the better of me instead of talking to you about them. I swear, Sylvain, it was never my intention to hurt you like this.”
He almost took his own life and yet the only thing he could think was how it had hurt Sylvain? What?
“Felix, this is not about me being hurt. It’s about what led you to do something like that. I thought you were dying.” Sylvain found the courage to look into his eyes, but these were fixed on their joined hands. “What happened?”
A pregnant pause followed. Sylvain could not stand the tension in the air, but he didn’t want to rush Felix’s words. He could take all the time he wanted, even if it hurt.
“You… you used to be so public about dating people before I came into the picture. With me, it felt like you pretended not to know me whenever someone else was around. I started wondering if you were ashamed of me, then I thought that maybe you had somebody else and I was just an easy fuck on the side.” The words pierced into Sylvain’s heart like an icy blade. For Felix to think so lowly of him, so lowly of himself, as if he didn’t deserve any less than every star in the sky. “Truth is, I feared you didn’t love me.”
The knife twisted deeper inside Sylvain. He could not contain the loud, ugly sob as Felix finally met his gaze.
“I swear, Sylvain, I didn’t mean for it to go this far. If I had known what it would lead to I would never have done it.” The tears welling in his eyes made them even shinier under the moonlight. “We promised to die together, but believe me when I say I long for nothing more than to live with you first.”
He was beautiful, even with puffy eyes and a trembling lower lip, and yet the sight of his tears made horror coil in Sylvain’s gut.
“Oh, love.” Sylvain said as he scooted closer to wrap around his lover. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered in Felix’s hair.
“Shut up. I’m the one apologising.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Sylvain words were barely comprehensible between sobs “Felix, we could’ve talked it out. I’m right here for you. Always.”
“I could not fathom hearing you say it. I preferred living in the doubt and leaving you first instead of getting confirmation that you hated me.”
They were pathetic. Sylvain was now sure Felix was his other half, as it was clear they were two halves of the same idiot, both unbelieving of being worthy of the other’s love but too cowardly to make sure that is the case. He would be laughing at their situation, were it a piece of fiction and not his real life. He pulled away just enough to cup Felix’s cheek with a hand and look at him.
“I only wanted to give you space. I thought you preferred to keep it private,” he wiped away the tears on Felix’s cheeks, “I’m an idiot.”
“No you’re not, you ̶ “ Felix stopped himself before saying it, scoffing at Sylvain’s little smile as he noticed. “You fool!”
Sylvain didn’t know if his spasms were caused by crying or laughing anymore.
“Oh, come here, you!” And with that he hugged Felix closer again, laying the both of them down and trying his best to scoot them under the covers.
“Is there something else you want to talk about?” Felix asked. Sylvain thought about it. He should talk about what he assumed Felix had been doing to him, of bad judgement and trust issues due to years – a whole life – of being left for not being enough. He wanted to explain, but he wasn’t ready to put all his energy to it yet. Maybe tomorrow.
“Can we make a promise? To talk about stuff.”
“Do you think it takes an oath to get us to communicate?” Felix huffed, but his expression was soft. “Yes, we can.”
“I promise to tell you whenever something you said or did troubles me. It will take time, but I swear I’ll be an open book.” Sylvain’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he placed a hand against Felix’s for support. It was beating almost as fast. “Do you promise to do the same for me?”
“I do,” Felix whispered, and Sylvain felt it against his lips more than heard it.
“You know, we should seal this with a kiss,” Sylvain chuckled, and with that he gained a playful shove from Felix.
“You insatiable fool!” Despite his words, Felix cupped Sylvain’s cheeks and pressed their lips together. It was wet, a little sloppy, even, but neither of them cared. They were familiar with each other’s bodies, so it took more than some post-crying makeout to scare them off each other.
***
They woke up with their foreheads pressed against one another, hands and legs entwined. It was very similar to how they used to fall asleep as kids the few times they shared a bed – often due to Felix being afraid of being alone in his guestroom in Gautier. Hell, it had felt like ages ago, even though it hadn’t even been twenty years.
Felix’s hair tickled Sylvain’s neck as he cuddled closer. Sylvain felt the weight of his lover’s arm on his chest and dragged a lazy hand over it, as if it would move away if he didn’t keep it there. This was one of Sylvain’s favourite moments, when he was too asleep to be preoccupied with work but awake enough to bask in the warmth of the bed. There was no such thing as time in his sleepy haze, but only soft sighs and rosy lips. Lips that now pulled into the tiniest smile, sign that Felix had awakened and it was time to get up.
Maybe Sylvain could try to keep him there a little longer.