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“We might die tomorrow.” Ingrid’s voice is soft. She leans against the frame of Sylvain’s door as she speaks. “I never thought… Well, I always pledged to fight like a knight in Dimitri’s service, that I’d die for him if I had to, but I never thought it might be so soon.” She laughs, an angry, scared sound.
Sylvain knows how she feels. It isn’t fair that their schooling has been cut short by the impending invasion from Adrestria. The fact that it’s a former classmate leading the Imperial army only serves to rub salt in the wound. “You deserve better than to throw your life away for Dimitri,” Sylvain tells Ingrid, his tone more dismissive than intended. I sound almost like Felix, he thinks wryly.
“Would it be throwing my life away?” asks Ingrid mildly. “To die protecting our future king?”
“You saw the way he fought when we learned about Edelgard. He doesn’t need you to protect him,” says Sylvain.
Ingrid smiles. It’s the closest he’ll get to her agreeing with him, Sylvain knows. “We might die tomorrow,” Ingrid repeats and takes a step further into his room.
Sylvain meets her and places a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think we will,” he says. “You’re such a talented pegasus knight, ‘grid, and we’ll have everyone else fighting with us tomorrow. We’re with the Knights of Seiros! Lady Rhea and the professor, they’ll come up with some winning strategy. I think we’ll live.”
Ingrid’s gaze moves slowly from his hand on her shoulder to his face. “But what if we don’t?” she asks in a fearful whisper. She leans forward, her nose bumping against his.
Jerking back, Sylvain stares at his friend in confusion. “Ingrid, what?”
“I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like,” explains Ingrid. Her voice is firm, but her cheeks are pink and her eyes full of vulnerability.
“Surely you’ve been kissed before,” Sylvain protests. He can feel himself beginning to blush as well. He’d be lying if he said he’s never thought about Ingrid in that way before, but not in years and never very seriously. Winning girls has always been a game to him, and it would feel disrespectful to try to play Ingrid like that.
The flush on Ingrid’s face deepens. “I’m not talking about kissing,” she says quietly. “I want you to take me to bed.”
Unthinkingly, Sylvain glances at his bed, then immediately back to Ingrid. Her proposition sinks in. “I can’t do that,” he blurts out. Hurt and rejection flash through Ingrid’s eyes, and he is quick to add, “I don’t want to do something that you don’t really want.”
“I want this,” insists Ingrid. She steps closer to him, her nose once again brushing against his. Her gaze drops to his lips. “What if we die tomorrow?”
Sylvain reaches to touch Ingrid’s chin with gentle fingertips, closes his eyes, and asks, “And what if we don’t?”
“Then at least I’ll still know,” Ingrid whispers.
“Ingrid...” Sylvain opens his eyes to look at her. He sees a nervousness in her face and posture – a soldier before battle – but no hesitation. “You aren’t worried you’ll regret it?” he asks.
“I trust you,” says Ingrid, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
How can you? Sylvain wonders. I don’t even trust myself. “Why me?” he asks instead.
“Because you know what you’re doing? Who else would I ask? Felix?” A hint of frustration creeps into Ingrid’s voice. “Come on, Sylvain. I didn’t think that you of all people would need convincing to take a girl to bed.”
Sylvain laughs, and it sounds almost bitter. “Ah, so you came to me because you thought I’d be easy. Thanks, Ingrid.”
Ingrid scowls at him. “Okay, fine. I can take a hint,” she snaps, turning to go. “I guess I will ask Felix, since you find me so undesirable!”
Before she can move more than a step, Sylvain grabs her hand. “Ingrid, wait. Don’t ask Felix.” The thought of Ingrid and Felix together bothers him, though he’s not sure why, like a brushing a horse’s coat in the wrong direction without realizing it.
Ingrid stills and turns back to look at him. “Sylvain, I’m scared,” she tells him. “I’m scared that we’ll all die tomorrow, and I don’t want be alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Sylvain promises her. He draws her into him and wraps his arms around her. It was easy to forget that Ingrid needed comfort too. She always seemed so unshakable, he thinks, feeling the warmth of Ingrid’s breath against his collarbone as he holds her.
“Aren’t I, though?” asks Ingrid quietly, tilting her head up to fix Sylvain with a probing gaze. Her green eyes are large and glassy with emotion, and she looks so beautiful.
Sylvain swallows thickly. “You don’t have to be,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”
It feels all too natural to lean down and kiss Ingrid then. Her body tenses for half a second before she relaxes into his arms, her hands coming up to cup his face. Sylvain twines his fingers into the loose plait of her braid and deepens the kiss. Her lips are soft against his, and if he let himself, he could get lost in her faint minty scent and forget about tomorrow’s invasion.
But he can’t let himself.
With a sigh, Sylvian pulls back to leans his forehead against Ingrid’s. “I can’t be what you want, Ingrid,” he tells her quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“I just want you to be you,” whispers Ingrid. She brushes her thumb over Sylvain’s cheek.
“Meaningless sex isn’t really a good way to deal with loneliness. I should know,” Sylvain tells her with a hollow laugh. “You deserve better than that. Especially for your first time.”
Ingrid taps her thumb against the side of Sylvain’s nose. “Would it be meaningless?” she asks.
Sylvain can’t meet her gaze. He’s not sure if he’s ready to confront that question. “Ingrid, I… The girls I’ve been with? I don’t love them. I don’t even like them. And I care about you, you know that, right? But I can’t…” He frowns as he thinks about it. “I don’t know how to do what you’re asking of me.”
“Even though we could die tomorrow?”
Sylvain doesn’t reply. He would give Ingrid the world on a silver platter if he could. But his relationship with sex has always been broken, a rotting wound festering inside of him, and Ingrid deserves sweetness. Even if it would be different with her. The thought is terrifying.
“Not even then?” asks Ingrid in a small voice. “Okay. I see how it is.” She begins to pull away from him, folding in on herself in a way that Sylvain recognizes—she’s trying to protect herself.
Hating himself for hurting her, Sylvain blurts out, “Ingrid! You’re so beautiful and so wonderful, and you’re strong and brave and smart, and I would if I could! And believe me, I wish that I could.”
Ingrid pauses. “Why can’t you?” she asks, not unkindly.
“Because I…” Sylvain closes his eyes. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know how to. Instead, he asks, “Will you stay with me?”
Ingrid raises a brow. “Stay with you?”
Sylvain holds his hand out to her. “I’m sorry that I can’t take your virginity, but we could still spend the night together. I’d like to hold you,” he tells her softly. “Please. Would that be enough? I mean, I know that’s not what you were asking for, but it’s what I can offer you right now. Still, I’d understand if you’d rather go ask Felix. But if you want to stay, you can stay. I mean, I’d like you to stay. If you’d like to. But yeah, if you want to ask Felix instead, of course, you should.” He’s babbling, he knows, but he’s not sure how else to cover up his nervousness.
“I wouldn’t actually ask Felix,” mutters Ingrid, but something approaching a smile makes its way onto her face. “Can you imagine?”
“I’m trying not to,” Sylvain replies with a weak grin. He isn’t sure if Ingrid is going to take his hand. Should I put it down? Would that be weird? More weird or less weird than me just standing here with my hand outstretched?
Before he can work himself into a panic over it, Ingrid slips her hand into his. “I’m sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position. I won’t pretend that I understand what you mean when you say that you can’t, or that it doesn’t hurt,” she says. “But you’re my dear friend, and I’d rather be scared here with you than alone.”
Sylvain squeezes her hand gratefully. “Would you still want to be with me if you weren’t scared?” he asks. His tone is teasing but his question is genuine.
“Being scared just puts certain things in perspective, is all,” replies Ingrid. She ignores Sylvain’s inquisitive look, her eyes fixed determinedly on their joined hands.
“Yeah.” Sylvain leans into Ingrid, resting his cheek on her shoulder. “I know what you mean.”
Ingrid twists her head to press a kiss to Sylvain’s hair. “I hope we don’t die tomorrow,” she comments lightly.
Sylvain laughs. “Me too,” he agrees, basking in the comfort just being with Ingrid. He straightens up and pulls her into his arms, nuzzling his nose against her ear. “I’m really glad you’re here with me, ‘grid.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Ingrid tells him in a soft murmur. She lets Sylvain pepper the side of her face with little kisses, then turns her head to kiss him back, her lips catching the corner of his mouth.
Kissing has never been so much fun, thinks Sylvain. It’s a delight to explore what Ingrid likes. He kisses her mouth, her chin, then her neck, taking pleasure in the way she shivers against him as his lips graze her throat. Coming back up, he nibbles experimentally on her bottom lip and is rewarded with a surprised squeak and a pinch to his ear. “Ouch, Ingrid,” he grumbles good-naturedly, rubbing the offended spot.
“You bit me!” Ingrid’s eyes are wide with disbelief.
“I thought you might like it,” explains Sylvain with a shrug. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
Ingrid flushes. “Is that… Do some people like that?” she asks curiously.
Sylvain laughs and tugs playfully on the end of her braid. “People like all sorts of things,” he tells her, leaning in close and winking. “It’s just a question of figuring out which things you like.”
“You don’t have to put on a show for me, Sylvain,” says Ingrid flatly. “I said before, I just want you to be you. I don’t want this act that you do for those girls that you don’t even like. Be real with me.”
He hadn’t even realized he had slipped into that persona. Sylvain reels back as though Ingrid had slapped him. “I… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” he stammers out. “I’m not sure if I really know how to be real anymore.” Feeling disgusted with himself, he rakes his fingers through his hair.
Pity flashes across Ingrid’s face as she looks at him. “Is this what you were talking about when you said you couldn’t?” she asks gently.
“Yeah, that’s part of it. Or most of it,” mumbles Sylvain. Panic spikes in his gut and he tightens his grip on his hair. “I don’t know.”
Placing her hands over his, Ingrid carefully removes his fingers from his hair. “Let’s not kiss then,” she says. She worries her thumb over Sylvain’s knuckles comfortingly. “Let’s just be together.”
Sylvain nods, not trusting himself to speak. He lets Ingrid guide him to his bed where they lie together in silence. Sylvain focuses on the quiet sound of Ingrid’s breathing. I hope we don’t die tomorrow. Turning to look at her, he does his best to memorize her profile in the dying light: her delicate eyelashes and the strong line of her nose.
As if she can feel his gaze on her, Ingrid rolls over and opens her eyes to look back at him. “What are you thinking about?” she asks in a whisper.
“You,” Sylvain answers frankly, then he thinks deeper about it. “Death. This whole mess with Edelgard. The way Dimitri totally lost it in the Holy Tomb. Like, what’s up with that? I hate to admit it, but was Felix right this whole time? Is Dimitri a beast?”
“Don’t say that!” Ingrid rebukes him. “He’s our friend.”
“He is, but… I don’t know if he’s okay,” says Sylvain. He pauses, then admits, “I don’t know if any of us are okay, Ingrid.”
Ingrid purses her lips thoughtfully. “Everything has been rather broken since… well, you know since when,” she concedes.
Sylvain knows what she means. Everything’s been broken since Duscur. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that for him, he fears things have been broken for far longer.
“But that’s just another reason why we’ll have to survive tomorrow,” says Ingrid with a forced brightness. “We have to live so we can work towards better versions of ourselves.”
“Oh, Ingrid, you are so predictably noble,” Sylvain deadpans. Ingrid rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, so he counts it as a win. The fact that she is lying with him in his bed should probably also count as a win. He opens his arms. “Hey, ‘grid, come here,” he says, beckoning her to cuddle.
Ingrid shifts closer to him, settling into his arms, and Sylvain tries to ignore how right it feels. He strokes her hair absent-mindedly, focusing on the soft texture. Ingrid hums quietly, a sign that she’s enjoying the sensation of his fingers combing through her hair. Then she asks, “What do you think will happen after the battle tomorrow?”
“If we live, you mean?” asks Sylvain.
“We’ll live,” Ingrid says in a confident tone. “It’s like you said, we’re with the Knights of Seiros, and the professor and Lady Rhea will have some plan, and we’ll win. But then what happens?”
Sylvain thinks about it, his hand stilling in Ingrid’s hair. “We’ll go back to Faerghus probably,” he says. “Adrestia hasn’t just declared war on the Church of Seiros, but on all of Fódlan. I bet we’ll be called back to protect the homeland.”
Ingrid sighs. “I guess it would be naïve to assume that beating Edelgard here would put an end to her invasion,” she says bitterly.
“Maybe we’ll all go to Fhirdiad,” Sylvain continues. “You, me, and Felix could be Dimitri’s sworn shields. The old gang, back together again.”
“What a bittersweet concept,” comments Ingrid. She rests her head on Sylvain’s chest, curling closer into him, and taps her fingers on his sternum along with the beat of his heart. Her presence in his bed is warm and comforting. Sylvain feels safe. He twines his fingers into hers, and they fall asleep like that.
In the morning, Sylvain wakes up first and watches the gentle rise and fall of Ingrid’s chest as she breathes. He lets her sleep in peace for as long as he can.