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Contrary to what most of his peers might believe, Felix most certainly knows how to dance.
His adamant displeasure at any passing mention of the upcoming ball doesn’t help his case, but in all honesty, dancing has nothing to do with his irritation. Who wouldn’t get tired of hearing the same old foolishly excited musings from young girls in the dining hall? Not to mention the disgustingly smooth and ridiculously overused lines from everyone trying to woo a date. Felix already deals with enough of that talk coming from a certain acquaintance of his.
In addition to the fact that he’s easily irritable, Felix can’t comprehend why now of all times has been deemed fit for an occasion like this, when tension is rising rapidly through Fodlan and the Death Knight is still roaming free. Morale might be necessary in battle, but Felix almost wants to scoff at the idea of holding an event so grand with reason no other than tradition (an idiotic reason for anything, in his opinion).
But alas, despite the unfortunate timing and the repetitive hushed whispers and the general annoyance on Felix’s part, not knowing how to dance was never an issue. Being born into nobility guarantees the need to learn, even though he despised the lessons he took as a child. It wasn’t until Glenn brought up the fact that it’d help with his footwork while fighting did he take them seriously.
Annette gasps, mouth agape yet still full of food. “I would’ve never thought you the type, Felix! I guess I do remember taking classes now that you mention it, though.”
“Wanna hear all the dirt on how terrible he was?” Sylvain eyes the other side of the table mischievously, leaning forward. Dimitri stifles a laugh.
Felix’s eyes flit towards the ginger idiot seated to his left. “Say one more word and our spar tomorrow will become a deathmatch.”
The whole table dissolves into laughter at that, lapsing into a casual conversation about dates and outfits and decorations and everything else of the sort. Sylvain’s smile beams as he jokes and chats, obviously excited for the whole affair. It reminds Felix of another reason he’s dreading Friday, a reason he rather wouldn’t admit to himself.
He’s sick and tired of the constant flirting. Ever since they were young Sylvain has been a ladies’ man, but now more than ever it ticks Felix off to no end. Even when he attends all his lessons for the week, spars with Felix whenever he’s asked, and performs above and beyond in battle, seeing Sylvain on some interchangeable woman’s arm around the monastery is always enough to make him turn on his heel and squeeze his eyes shut. Sylvain might always be lamenting the fact that Felix has changed since childhood, but doesn’t he know he isn’t innocent on that front either?
Then again, none of them are.
“Felix, any lucky ladies you’re looking to grab a dance with tomorrow night?” Sylvain teases over his plate of food, nudging him in the shoulder.
Felix stiffens. “No.” The conversation ends there.
.
“God damn it.”
Felix rests his head against the tall wooden slats of the doors, groaning in exasperation. In hindsight, he should’ve realized the training grounds would close right after classes. Whether it be for safety precautions or.. reasons of another nature, Lady Rhea and the knights were smarter than that.
“Not smart enough to cancel a ball, though,” Felix mumbles under his breath as he heads back to his dormitory.
By the time he changes out of his used uniform into one a little nicer and a lot less sweaty, the sky is already enveloped in a deep, royal blue. Moonshine filters through the clouds and into his room, doing a better job of illumination than the single dimly lit candle on his nightstand. When he steps outside into the courtyard, the grass is wet with dew, the greenery of the monastery giving the cool air a refreshing scent. The trek to the ballroom is short but boring, and as he grows closer the sound of muffled orchestral music does as well.
Girls on the arms of their suitors sashay in and out of the main entrance, laughing and chatting and all of a sudden Felix feels wildly out of place. A soft, warm glow radiates from the room onto the wet pavement, and the air is getting chilly, But something keeps Felix’s feet rooted into the dirt.
That is, until a hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Changed your mind, I presume?” Ingrid’s voice is teasing yet warm, and Felix turns his head to see her smiling warmly, hair pinned in a neat bun.
“As foolish as this ball may be, rotting in my room would worsen my performance tomorrow even more so.” Felix allows her hand to remain and he walks into the room by her side.
Crowds of students linger by doorways and refreshment tables, the middle of the floor empty save for a few dancing couples. Excited chatter bounces off the walls and rings through the air, mingling with the acoustics of the room and the orchestra playing away from the pit in front of it all.
In the heart of it all Felix can spot someone tall and ginger, weaving through men and women alike like it’s second nature. Kissing every other hand and cheek, promises of dances dying on his lips. His smile is radiant, gorgeous even, lighting up the room even further. Felix’s heart drops and his heel twists, about to head straight out the door, before Ingrid gives him a squeeze. She glances over at a small circle of students, among them a nerve wracked Ashe and a Dorothea waving excitedly in their direction. Annette and Mercedes are chatting animatedly, leaning against the wall, each with a drink in hand.
“Won’t you say hi to the girls with me?” Felix knows what she’s doing, and even the cynic in him is at least a little grateful for it. He joins Ingrid as they maneuver themselves through the crowds of people, fruity perfume and punch wafting through the air on their path.
A chorus of greetings washes over them like a wave as Felix and Ingrid finally wedge themselves into the group, and his spirit lightens just a bit. Immediately Ingrid is whisked away by Dorothea, flashing a sheepish smile as she disappears into the mass of bodies before re-emerging, stumbling onto the dance floor.
The atmosphere is casual and calm as the rest of their group continues their chatting, every once in a while a new student chiming in. At one point a professor waltzes by with a tray of drinks, chalices engraved with silver and gold. When he was offered, Felix plucked a drink right off, swirling around its contents before taking a sip. As a cheer rings out and another song ends, a new one begins with a soft chorus of strings.
“Oh, this song is just gorgeous!” Annette gushes. “It makes me want to get up and dance..” Her wide eyes glance up at Felix, as if to plead. His lips set themselves in a thin line.
“Felix, would you mind sharing this dance with me?” She grins, and he knows arguing won’t do him any good. Maybe he can even give her a pointer or two on agility.
“You owe me,” he warns as he takes her hand and is led onto the dance floor.
For the next hour or so, Felix rotates through his acquaintances, accepting dances from the girls he knows only when he catches Ingrid glaring. He cant help but feel antsy; wishing a sword was in his hand, sharp and solid and real, feeling time tick by as if the hands of a clock moved inside him. It’s around this time that he’s lounging by a wall when he feels an arm sling around his shoulder.
“Felix! Where have you been all night!” That familiar voice booms into his ear from behind him, and Felix doesn’t need to turn to know who he’s speaking to. Of course, he does anyway.
“I could ask the same of you.”
Now that Sylvain is right in front of him, Felix gets a much better look at him. His hair is slicked back just slightly, his usual disheveled look replaced with an energy more along the lines of composed and charming. His traditional academy blazer is replaced with a sleek black one, only half-buttoned.
“Admiring the new look, are you? The ladies like it sophisticated every once in a while.” Sylvain grins mischievously. His smile doesn’t reach the eyes.
“Why are you here?” Felix cuts to the chase, the heat of the crowd beginning to overwhelm him.
“I was going to ask you to dance, having been your ballroom partner all these years.”
Felix’s face immediately stiffens, his features going stony and his arms falling across his chest.
“No.”
“You’re no fun, Felix! For old time’s sake?”
His lip twitches and his brows furrow as he mulls over the proposal in his mind. Perhaps if he danced with Sylvain he’d finally be able to get out of Ingrid’s line of sight and in closer proximity to a door. That along with the fact that Sylvain is almost as stubborn as him when it comes to trivial requests like these.
“On Sunday, we’re training so hard your arms will fall off. Got it?”
Felix doesn’t hear Sylvain’s response before being dragged straight into the middle of the room.
His hands hover over Sylvain’s shoulders, his mind blanking on where exactly to put them. Sylvain chuckles, pressing four fingers to each wrist and guiding them into the places they should be.
“Wow, Fe, I didn’t think you’d be that rusty.”
“Shut up. And don’t call me that.”
The strings sweep them up into what may be the most upbeat song of the night, a magical waltz that floods the room with light percussion and the precise and ever-present plucking of violin. Felix and Sylvain move swiftly through the motions of the dance, and with each step, more comes back to Felix.
Sylvain’s hand is warm and relaxed on Felix’s waist, and Felix finds it hard to follow his lead when he’s such a fluid dancer. He tends to be stiff, but graceful in all that he does, while Sylvain is carefree in both lifestyle and movement. That can be fatal in training and battle, but in dance it brings a whole new level of complexity to the skill. Their styles don’t mix, yet Felix finds himself melting into the dance, moving and thinking naturally as the room around him begins to blur. He’s never been one for music or dancing or anything of the sort, but he is one for the way Sylvain smiles at him, eyes kind but glossed over with something Felix can never seem to reach past. They’ve done their fair share of letting distance slip between them, but he’s pulled a little closer and he doesn’t really mind.
Just as Felix feel’s Sylvain’s hand slip down to the small of his back, the contact breaks. A sing-song ‘Sylvain!’ floats their way before a nameless girl on the edge of the crowd taps his shoulder and begins to pull him away, explaining something to him with a grin so sweet it looks sickly. Sylvain shoots nothing but a guilty frown Felix’s way before disappearing into yet another mass of bodies, whisked away like they weren’t just closer than they’d been in years.
Felix stands alone on the dance floor for half a moment before deciding this is where he should take his leave.
.
It’s not until about half and hour later, when light sprinkles turn to downpour, does Felix realize he’s being rained on.
He leans further over the bridge overlooking lush green, feet scuffing against cobblestone as he feels the chill soaking through his uniform. It’s cold, and wet, but it remains a welcome escape from the mental overload that being in Sylvain’s general vicinity is causing him tonight. There’s no reason for him to still feel this way, eternally distracted by a man in love with everything but him. Felix is tired of the women and the banter and the pit in his stomach, and he curses the coward of a child he used to be for getting attached in the first place.
The patter of raindrops drown out the ever-so lively music, the students inside oblivious to the storm. If it weren’t for Felix’s precisely trained hearing, he might’ve missed the footsteps approaching until they were already there.
Sylvain slumps down beside him, arms crossed over the stone railing.
Every second of rainfall drags through time at a snail’s pace, every minute feeling like an eternity. A tension hangs above their heads, sharp and poignant, yet the silence is comfortable. Felix doesn’t budge when he’s offered a hand.
“Mind finishing what we started?”
As much as Felix wants to say no, returning to the tense but familiar equilibrium that their friendship teeters on, something pushes him to take that step forward. Whether that force is foolishness or fate, he isn’t sure.
The music in the ballroom is barely audible over the sound of the rain and wind, which feels like nothing once Sylvain’s hand is in his again. They’re much closer than a partner dance would usually require, and it feels like more of a sway than anything. But for once, the moment captures Felix’s attention and won’t let go. As much as he wants to be angry at Sylvain right now, the genuinity of his sad smile washes away the bite behind Felix’s bark. A hand comes up to cradle the back of Felix’s head before he feels his bun slip out of its loose grasp, sopping wet hair falling down over his face.
“In all honesty, I’m getting tired of it all,” Sylvain starts. “I don’t think I’m much happier chasing skirts than I would be getting married off tomorrow. It’s all so impersonal. I know their names, their favorite foods, their types in guys, but I don’t.. know them.”
A pause. “Not like I know you.”
Felix tenses, the swaying stops. Tonight has broken more walls between them than four years have, between the rare honesty and the far-too comfortable intimacy. Felix might be grasping at straws when he decides on that reason to justify what he wants to do next, but a reason is a reason nonetheless.
His hands slide down from their resting place on Sylvain’s shoulders, get a grasp on his soaked collar, and pull.
Despite all of the stories he’s heard Ingrid gush about, Felix doesn’t feel sparks fly when their lips meet. He feels nothing, actually. Not until Sylvain melts into him pulling Felix flush against his chest and wrapping an arm around him. That’s when Felix begins to feel warm. A toe-curling kind of warm that relaxes every tendon in his body, genuine and new and all authentically Sylvain. Felix is by no means as good a kisser as his counterpart, nor is he a good kisser by any other standard. But Sylvain’s lips work the two into a rhythm easy to follow, and the kiss drags on for what feels like a lot longer than it is.
When they pull apart, it isn’t very far, puffs of cloudy breath rising up from the gap between their faces. Sylvains lips curl upwards.
“Was that a confession, Fe?”
“Shut up.”
It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and he assumes Sylvain feels similarly as his usual energetic aura seeps back into his posture. The tension from before begins to dissipate into an atmosphere that feels a little more lighthearted, and Felix takes a step back.
“Either way, I think you’ve pretty much finalized my decision to take a step back from the dating scene.”
The scowl Felix summons isn’t nearly enough to conceal the way his heart is soaring with endearment.
“Perfect. More time to train with yours truly.”
Sylvain chuckles. “I was hoping our next outing together would be a little more like what we just had going on.”
“Only if you beat me.”