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Thud.

Just that in and of itself was enough to wake Sylvain from his sleep, but whoever had caused the noise obviously meant for him to be fully alert. 

“I hope you’re happy.”

Ah.  Felix. 

Sylvain frowned at his sudden state of consciousness.  He hadn’t been having a particularly good dream, but…well…

Well, he hadn’t been awake.  And at this point, wasn’t that enough?  He cracked one drooping eyelid open and squinted in the dim light of their classroom.  Apparently he’d fallen asleep during their professor’s lecture.  Again.  Thankfully, this time, the professor had let him sleep.  From the looks of the room, Felix had just turned on the rush lights, and was settling down on the other side of the workbench from Sylvain.  

Logically Sylvain knew that his inky hair was pulled into its customary bun at the top of his head, but it blended so well into the darkness that someone who didn’t know Felix as well would have thought it styled differently (why Felix didn’t cut his hair short instead of complaining about it every day was beyond Sylvain, but he’d learned to keep that thought to himself).  But, this way, Sylvain could see the grease stains smeared onto his cheeks and chin.  Felix was wearing the usual outfit he wore to class on automation day; black trousers tucked into black boots, and a black vest over a white or gray shirt, depending on what was clean.  Today, it was a black vest over dark gray.  Sylvain blinked a few times.  Had it been anyone else, he would have forced himself into a conversation right away.  But this was Felix.  He could wake up gently, right?

“Mmm?” He hummed, smiling innocently when Felix fixed him with a tired look.

“Don’t you ‘mmm’ me,” he snapped, which just brought a grin to Sylvain’s face.  He let his eyes fall closed again. “You slept through lab.  Again.”

“Again?”

“Again.” Metal clinked on the table, and Sylvain finally brought himself to blink down at what Felix had all but dropped onto the table.  

It was a mess of gears, limbs, and metal plates.  He vaguely recognized their automaton homework in front of him.  The realization was enough to make his eyes close of their own accord.  

Ah.

“That’s not due till next week, right?”

“It’s due tomorrow, Sylvain.”

That made his eyes shoot open again, and he was met with annoyed amber irises.  Felix’s mouth warped itself into a wry grin, and he spread his hands over his offering. 

“Hanneman’s had it with you falling asleep in class.  He just about failed the both of us on the spot when he realized you weren’t coming.”

A pit of regret grew in Sylvain’s stomach, and he lifted his head from where it had rested on the back of his hand for Sothis-knows-how-long.  He let it fall onto the table with his other hand, pursing his lips together.  So Felix had come from automation class.  He’d just opted to leave his apron back in the workshop.

“He wanted to fail you, too?” He deadpanned. “Felix, the man practically gets a semi every time you turn something in.”

Felix’s slight eyebrows furrowed at that, but he didn’t challenge him on it. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you’re still in that class, dipshit.  If you didn’t spend so much time chasing hussies on the side, maybe you’d actually get some fucking sleep at night.”

The words cut a little deeper than Felix could have known, but Sylvain covered it with a tired grin. “Careful Felix, you almost sound jealous.”

The look Felix returned him with could have frozen water.  A lesser man would have backed off.  Sylvain just laughed.

“I just kept your ass in university, and this is how you wanna thank me?”

Pushing a hand through his red hair, Sylvain let out a long sigh. “You’re right, you’re right.  ‘Talk is cheap,’ and all that.  Is there a reason you decided to bring this monstrosity here instead of dragging me to the workshop?”

“That’s exactly what Hanneman expects.” Felix said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

“That’s exactly what Sylvain expects, too.  He’s not special.”

Patience running low, Felix’s fists collided with the table, silencing the older man. “Can you let me talk without fucking interrupting me every time?”

Sylvain paused.  He so desperately wanted to retort, maybe rile Felix up some more, but his friend had a point.  He had just saved him from explaining to his father why he’d been kicked from Garreg Mach.  So, instead of letting himself comment on Felix’s favorite word (fuck), he held up both hands in surrender and gestured for him to keep talking.  Instead of immediately continuing, however, Felix simply reached into his tool belt and held out a wrench to Sylvain.  

“You’re going to make this fucking dog walk.  While you do that, I’m gonna go get some food.  When I come back, I’ll help.  But you’re gonna be the only one who knows how to make it move.”

Sylvain blanched. “Me?  What?” He gave a nervous laugh. “You’re—you’re kidding, right?  Automation isn’t my strongest—,”

Felix simply raised an eyebrow.

Right.  

This was Felix.

Felix never joked.

Letting out a melodramatic sigh, Sylvain took the wrench, not meeting the liquid amber eyes that followed his every move.  

“Fine.”

Without another word, Felix bent over behind the bench on which he was seated and produced a familiar tool belt.  He dropped Sylvain’s belt next to its owner and turned on his heel.  He marched out of the room, stopping only to turn up the gas on one of the larger lights.  

Sylvain watched him go until he was enveloped in darkness again, and even after that, he felt his eyes lingering on where Felix had disappeared.  

He shouldn’t have been too surprised by Felix’s plan.  It had a certain charm to it, after a fashion.  By proving to Hanneman that he didn’t know how the dog walked, Felix really would be giving Sylvain most of the credit for its completion.  And, for a class in which Felix excelled and he only deigned to attend, any brownie points he could win from his least favorite professor would take him far.  It wasn’t like Felix hadn’t come up with such plans in the past, either.  By pushing Sylvain like this, he was constantly letting the older prove exactly how much he could do on his own.  

Bastard, he thought, finally blinking away from the door.  As if I can’t prove myself.

He held a few of the pieces up at arm’s length, trying to remember their plans for it off the top of his head.  It was all in there, somewhere; he just had to find it again.  

Felix let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until he closed the door on Sylvain.  His shoulders dropped as he relieved himself of its weight, and he slumped against the door.  He knew he’d done the right thing, standing up for his friend, but dammit, the man made it so fucking hard.  He’d forced Felix to place all his trust in him, again, and, for his greater good, all Felix could do was let him work.  Steeling himself, he pushed away from the door and kept on his way to the mess hall.

It wasn’t like Sylvain was lazy, no.  Felix knew it was less about work ethic and more about his fucking brother and father.  Sylvain had plenty of drive, but when push came to shove and finals crept up around the corner, he’d start slacking, saying he wasn’t smart enough for the courses he was taking.  He’d just…give up for a little while.  He did it before every quiz, every midterm, and hell, especially before every final.  It usually took a good pep talk from one of their classmates, true desperation at being kicked from university, or a solid kick in the ass from Felix to get him back on track.

Felix knew why he did it, too. The knowledge didn’t make him feel any better; it just made him furious at Sylvain’s family. 

Miklan, Sylvain’s brother, hadn’t been born with a Crest.  Crests weren’t exactly common, per se, but a family such as the Gautiers were expected to keep their noble standing by producing at least one heir with one.  Sylvain’s Crest, much like Felix’s, didn’t necessarily grant them supernatural powers.  The only thing Crests really did was bestow their holder with a specific ability, at which they would excel.  The entire social system had been built around those abilities; the ones who could control elements (like Felix’s family) had built monopolies on their trades, those who could store blueprints and other information in their heads had gotten fat off their services.  The Gautier family had built their enterprise on building and improving trains.  Sylvain’s Crest lent him an almost eidetic memory, so Felix didn’t feel bad about leaving him alone with their automation project.  

Felix’s own Crest had taken its sweet time to reveal itself.  His brother’s had been obvious since Glenn was born, but it had taken Felix until he was almost through primary school before he could produce even one flame.  Now, as he stormed through the halls, he felt the customary heat in his palms that usually preceded a small fireball.  

Calm, he thought to himself.  Just cause you’re mad at Miklan doesn’t mean you get to light the entire school on fire.  Though he could produce the elements now, he was still new to controlling them.  Professor Byleth kept saying his ‘hidden talent’ of controlling the elemental powers he possessed would come to fruition shortly, but for the present moment, he was to keep his training to the grounds.  

Part of him considered leaving Sylvain even longer to it and going there now, but a familiar voice echoed from down that route.

“Felix!” 

Shit.  Was it too late to walk faster?

“Felix!” Dimitri repeated, and his advancing footfalls grew louder.  Knowing he’d only keep badgering him until he stopped, Felix slowed his pace until the Prince of Faerghus was keeping stride with him.  He carried his blue and black tailcoat in the crook of his elbow as he closed the buttons on his cuffs again.  His paisley double breasted vest was pristine as always, a prim blue cravat freshly tied around his neck.  His face, still slightly flushed, was marred by the eyepatch covering the hole of his right eye.  Dimitri had covered the eyepatch with his long hair at first, but as the semester had continued and Professor Byleth had taken them all under her wing, he’d started wearing his hair pulled out of his face and into a half-bun. “Good Goddess, Felix.  You’ve got more of a storm on your face than usual.  Did something happen?”

Wouldn’t you like to know, he grumped in his mind, but just shrugged.  One of his sleeves was falling down, so he focused more on re-rolling it back to his elbow.  

“Ah, Sylvain again.” Felix hated how his stomach jumped whenever he was mentioned.  His hand froze. “Did you find him after Hanneman’s class?”

“Obviously,” he muttered.  

Dimitri nodded.  Whether or not he was actually oblivious to Felix’s mood or if he was just ignoring it, Felix didn’t care at the moment.  A third set of footfalls joined them, and he didn’t have to look to know Dedue had caught up.  He’d started walking faster in the hopes of outpacing them, but their stupidly long legs only stretched further, covering more area than his short ones could.  Damn giants.  He finished rolling up his sleeve and shoved both hands into his pockets. “You’re quite trusting to put your automation grade in his hands.”

“He’ll be just fine,” Felix snapped, but pursed his lips together immediately after.  He might not trust Dimitri any further than he could throw him, but dammit, couldn’t Felix keep it together for two minutes?  He felt Dedue’s eyes on him, the all-knowing green eyes measuring Felix up and down.  He shot the man a glare, but it was hard to intimidate a giant, even if he was simply dressed in brown trousers and a light green shirt.  His suspenders, stretched over his shoulders, usually hid the underarm holsters on each side of his broad chest, but today he held both looped over one arm.  The hand of that arm held his own squat top hat to his chest, while his other held Dimitri’s taller stovepipe in his free hand.  

“I suppose he will be,” Dimitri mused,   He didn’t mention Sylvain’s Crest, but Felix could almost smell him thinking about it. “Still, though.  I’d expect you to be standing over him, making sure he did everything right—,”

“Do you have a point to this,” Felix cut in, “or can I walk to the mess hall in silence?”

Dimitri shrugged. “I just wanted to greet you.  You’re so hard to get a hold of lately.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear your greeting, did you ever think of that?”

The boar actually had the audacity to laugh.  

Ah.

Professor Byleth must have been helping him in the training grounds.  That would do it.  His chipper attitude only served to sour Felix’s further.  

“You used to get so upset if I didn’t say something to you every day, and now you don’t want me to say anything to you?”

The fire was back in Felix’s hands, and he had to take a deep breath in to keep it contained. “Maybe if you got to the point…”

“I explained Sylvain’s situation to Professor Byleth,” Dimitri said, effectively shutting Felix up. “And yours.  If Hanneman does try to fail you alongside Sylvain, she said she can appeal to Lady Rhea on your behalf, and keep you in as a full-time student.”

“Great,” Felix nodded. “So could I, if I wanted to.”

“But you don’t want to?” Dedue asked, and Felix had to press his nails into his palms in order to keep his eyes from rolling out of his head.  

“What I want is to get food for me and my stupid lab partner.  That’s all.” Thankfully, the mess hall sat just around the corner.  If he could make it that far…

“She could probably put in a good word for Sylvain, too,” Dimitri continued as if he hadn’t heard.   Curse you Professor, Felix thought he heard her behind them, probably talking to other students, but he kept his eyes forward. Curse you and your ability to make Dimitri even more insufferable. “Should it come to that.”

“It won’t.” 

“I thought I would throw it out there.”

“And now you have,” Felix said, finally outpacing them.  He turned on his heel and stared Dimitri in the eye, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t need your help, Boar.  I never have.”

Dimitri stopped at that, eyebrow raising over his blue eye.  Felix wanted him to rise to the barb, but as always, his shoulders just fell as if he were merely disappointed.  They stared at each other for a moment before his lips turned up in a small smile.

“Pass on my well-wishes to Sylvain,” he finally decided. “I bet he has a long night in front of him.”

“Bah,” Felix waved one hand as if he were waving away the sentiment and turned on his heel again.  He left stupid Dimitri and stupid Dedue where they’d been stupidly standing, marching toward the stupid mess hall.  He’d get some stupid food for his stupid lab partner and then go back to the stupid lecture hall where he’d fallen asleep during stupid Professor Byleth’s stupid talk on stupid steam engines and then help him finish their stupid automation project.  Then they’d go their stupid separate ways into their stupid separate rooms, but Sylvain would probably stupidly invite some stupid girl over, and—

And dammit, why did Felix care so much!?  Sylvain was just a stupid friend.  Sure, he’d been his stupid best friend since they were in stupid diapers, but that didn’t mean Felix got a stupid say on which stupid girl Sylvain decided he was in love with.  It was just…so…stupid, dammit, and he knew he should stupidly get over it, and—

“Whoa, Felix, hey—!”

 Caught up in his inner rant, Felix hadn’t seen Ashe sitting in the mess hall entryway.  He immediately overcorrected himself, halting his feet in place.  His momentum, however, continued on, and his upper body jerked in the whiplash from the sudden stop.  He waved his arms on either side of his body, catching himself before he ended up in a heap on the table behind which Ashe was sitting.  The younger of the two had stood up from his place as if to catch Felix, but when he straightened, Ashe relaxed with a nervous laugh. 

“Easy, there!” He said, and Felix pursed his lips against a large blush that came to his face.  Ashe was dressed in his usual clothes; a dark blue shirt with a panel that buttoned up both sides tucked into some black high-waisted pants.  Felix knew under the table the man would have clenched his toes inside his riding boots like he always did when he was on edge.  It was something Felix had railed on him during their engineering courses; if Ashe kept his balance incorrectly, he’d mess up the entire flow.  He fixed Ashe with a disapproving look, and the man in question shifted.  More than likely fixing his stance, he tried to hide it by shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Why are you here?” Felix barked, too loudly.  A group of girls in the mess hall turned, and he started chanting the few phrases he knew in Brigid to himself to take his mind off of how deep his blush reddened.  Ashe straightened, proudly gesturing to his table.  

“Do you like it?  Seteth helped me organize it.” Felix took a step back to take in what he was being shown.  Ashe had been allotted a small table for the front of the mess hall—whether or not he’d been told to set it up next to or in the doorway was beyond Felix—and he’d scattered it with a slew of baked goods and school supplies.  Felix blinked down at it.  

“I, uh, don’t think these two things go together,” he managed.  He never knew how to act around Ashe; part of him knew that he was just a normal guy, like him, but those pale green eyes always seemed to look through Felix.  Luckily, however, there was enough confusion in them to keep Felix from feeling like he was under the gun.  

“What?”

Felix pursed his lips together.  All I wanted was a nice, quiet trip to the mess hall. “You know.  Baked stuff.  School.”

The big green eyes blinked slowly, and Felix could feel a bead of sweat forming behind his ear.  Come on.  Don’t make me say it.  Don’t make me say I don’t get it.  

“They…don’t,” Ashe inclined his head.  He was too nice, dammit, and Felix knew that.  He knew he didn’t deserve to have someone be this patient with him, but Ashe always gave him the benefit of the doubt.  Those big doe eyes of his covered up the fact that he could give Felix a run for his money any day in the shooting range.  

“So…why are they here?”

As if he’d been just waiting for Felix to ask, Ashe beamed. “It’s a fundraiser!  Annette and Dedue helped me bake all these things; whatever funds we get from the purchases will go to buying school supplies for some of the kids in the orphanage down the road.”

Felix blinked at him.  That was…surprisingly less intricate than he’d been thinking (He’d been thinking that Ashe had gotten suspended (for what, he wasn’t sure), and Seteth’s chosen punishment for him was to peddle baked goods in the hopes he’d get his school supplies back).  

(In that moment, he was very, very glad Ashe hadn’t made him spell that out.)

“Cool,” he managed, and when he looked back up, Ashe’s smile had fallen slightly.  He let out a small sigh and looked over the baked goods again.  He didn’t really care for sweets, but…

His mind went back to Sylvain, still in the lecture hall.  He might not like sweets, but if he was making Sylvain do all the hard work…

“Uh.  Can I…” Ashe’s senses seemed to lock onto him again, and Felix blanched under the attention.  He focused on a wax paper bundled together with some string.  He stared hard at the label.  That was Annette’s writing, he was sure.  She’d added a few doodles of some citrus fruits around it. “Can I buy some?”

“You want some sweets?”

“No!” Felix said, a little too loudly, and a little too fast.  It was true, but did he have to waffle under scrutiny like this!? “I…want to buy them.  For someone else.  You know.  It’s—,”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Ashe laughed, and the weight of what he’d been about to admit lifted from his shoulders.  He reached forward and grabbed the wax bag Felix had been staring at with all his might. “These are ten gold.”

“Done,” Felix said, hardly before Ashe had a chance to finish his sentence.  He reached into his back pocket and fished out a coin. “I, uh, only have a twenty.”

“Oh,” Ashe blinked at it, holding the parcel in both hands. “I can get you a tenner back, but it might take a minute—,”

Felix was already reaching forward, and he snatched the bag from the other man. “Keep it.” He turned.  He’d make it into the fucking mess hall one way or another—

“Felix?”

He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes to keep the tirade of curses down.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his attention back to Ashe, whose eyes had fixed themselves on him.  Inside, he shrank at the sudden attention.  He hoped it didn’t translate to his outside image.  They stared at each other like that for a moment before a smile came to Ashe’s lips. 

“I hope he likes them.”

Felix’s eyes widened to the size of the plates inside the mess hall, and he felt his face turning red again.  Gnashing his teeth together, he returned stiffly back to his original route, feeling almost mechanic as he continued inside.  

Fucking Ashe.  Fucking fantastic.  Great.  Wonderful.  Great idea, Felix.  

He almost threw the candies down in frustration.

“See you tomorrow in horology class!” The man called from the front of the mess hall.

When Sylvain awoke to his alarm the next morning, he was relieved to see he was in his bed, this time.  He’d been up late, as expected, but he’d had enough presence of mind to drag himself back to his quarters once he’d finished.

And of course he’d finished.  His father might have raised a cocky, overachieving little shit with a real penchant for chaos, but he didn’t raise a fucking quitter.  

He let the thought bring a grin to his lips, and he rolled onto his back.  He might have dragged himself back to his room in the dormitory the night before, but he hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes.  It wasn’t that big of a deal, he knew.  His automation clothes were comfortable enough, and he’d still slept like a rock.  He absently ran through his schedule in his head for the day.  He didn’t have any labs that day, thankfully, so he could dress as he wanted.  

He still had to attend Hanneman’s automation class, though.  Part of him sank just at the thought.  It wasn’t like he disliked Hanneman, but…well, the man could be downright obnoxious, and that wasn’t Sylvain’s style, despite what everyone said.  But it would be automation theory today, not practical.  He was free of labs until the next week.

That is, if he didn’t fail today.

Turning his head to the side, he glared at the little dog.  He’d managed to finish it in the wee hours of the morning, and if it weren’t for his alarm still hooting next to him, he would have slept most of the morning away.  He covered his face with one hand and reached out the other to silence the little owl.  His hand fell on a waxy bundle first, and he shot up in bed, turning to what his hand had landed on.  

It was a bundle of wax paper tied tightly with a piece of twine, labeled ‘citrus candies’.  Most likely in Annette’s handwriting.  How did those get there?  He frowned at them, but reached for his alarm clock.  He flipped the switch on the back and adjusted his grip on it so he could hold it closer to his face.  He examined the little clock with a fond smile.  It had been a gift from Ingrid and Felix when they’d first started at Garreg Mach, and though Felix would never admit it out loud, he must have spent hours on it.  Ingrid was good with horology and steam, sure, but she’d dedicated herself to her flight training in the hopes of becoming a pilot for Faerghus’ royal army.  Felix had yet to dedicate himself to a certain specialization, but really, he could choose anything and excel at it.  Sylvain knew it, Ingrid knew it, and everyone else in their class knew it.  Hell, it seemed like everyone was on board except for Felix himself, and that pissed Sylvain off more than anything.  

Sure, Felix’s older brother had been a prodigy at anything and everything he’d tried, but after an accident in flight school, Glenn had met an untimely end.  After that, Felix had never quite been the same, and Sylvain knew that he’d continue living in Glenn’s shadow until…

Try as Sylvain might to find a way to get his friend out of his brother’s posthumous shadow, nothing ever seemed to stick.  

He almost dropped the clock when it hooted again, and he forced himself to focus on the small hands.  

“Shit!” He hissed.  He’d let himself get lost in his thoughts again.  He flipped the off switch again and dropped the clock onto his bed, pushing himself up and out of bed.  Maybe if he moved fast enough, he could drop into the mess hall before rushing to Manuela’s healing class.  In case he couldn’t, however, he grabbed the citrus candies from his nightstand and tossed them into his book bag.

Manuela’s lecture passed quickly.  She’d finished early and dismissed the class with half an hour to spare, leaving Sylvain to sit in his desk with a growling stomach and zero motivation to move.  Sure, he hadn’t done anything in class, but even sitting through a class he had no interest in drained his energy.  

A pretty girl got up from the front of the class after arranging her notes, and Sylvain let himself watch her.  She wore a long skirt with a bustle underneath, making it hard to really look at anything.  He frowned a little, quickly turning back to his own empty notebook when she turned.  He might have been known as the class flirt, but lately, he’d found it rather dull.  No girl really rose to his jibes the way he wanted them to, nor did they follow along when he started up some playful banter.  He knew, logically, that if he gave it some more time, he’d muster up the energy to try it again, but for the moment, he was content to stare down at his notes as the busty girl passed him.  

“Wow, Sylvain.  Not even a peek?  Are you okay?” 

He blinked.  The familiar voice came from above him, and when he looked up, he was staring right into Mercedes’ lavender gaze.  She stood over him, satchel over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked up in a worried look.  She was dressed in her usual outfit; a red knee-length skirt with lace gracing its hem, the petticoats underneath fluffing it out to its full A-line.  The corset she wore covered the sides and back of the skirt and hugged her waist tightly.  Like always, she wore a plain white shirt for a top, but had untucked it just enough to cover the lip of it and detract from how the corset made her chest stand out.  As if that wasn’t enough to make her feel more modest, she had draped a shawl over her shoulders with her house’s sigil embroidered in its red field of silk.  She’d covered her newly-cropped short hair with a squat brown top hat, a filmy white netting attached to its back.  Part of him lamented the loss of her long hair, but he figured the practical cut would keep her safer in her alchemy courses.  Hoping she overlooked the bags in his eyes, he gave her a quick grin.  

“And miss out on you?  No way, Mercedes.  You’re always a sight for sore eyes.”

Her concerned look dropped into an unimpressed deadpan, and he laughed.  It had been a while since he’d been able to phase her, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t keep trying.  He’d known her since starting university, but had only really gotten her flustered a handful of times, when he’d let himself get particularly lewd.  He could try right then, but…

But that was just so much work.  

She sighed. “And here I didn’t see you in the mess hall this morning, so I grabbed you a bagel.” As she spoke, she reached into her satchel, producing a kerchief wrapped around what had to be the bagel in question.

Sylvain’s stomach betrayed him, choosing that moment to growl loudly.  He couldn’t help the flush that came to his cheeks.  Mercedes just smiled, taking a seat next to him.  She proffered the kerchief, and it was everything Sylvain could do not to devour it through the silk.  Instead, he tore it off, almost crying in relief when he saw she’d even spread butter on it before hiding it away for him.

“Goddess, Mercedes, you’re a lifesaver.”

She smiled. “Glad to help out.  You’ve been later than usual lately, so I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself.”

He stopped mid-bite, eyes shifting over to her.  She’d said it with a straight face, and he felt a spike of alarm.  She hadn’t…actually seen through him, had she?  

“I’m always taking care of myself,” he retorted, finally taking a large bite of the bagel.  It was nice to have something salty in his mouth after just surviving off of candies for the last two hours.

“Mhm,” she rolled her eyes, “that’s why Felix pulled Ingrid away from our card game last night to drag you back to your room; because you’re taking care of yourself.”

A flush came to Sylvain’s face, and he looked away.  He hadn’t asked Felix to grab Ingrid...he’d even thought that he’d dragged himself to bed.  A quick slap across the face and he’d have gotten himself back to his room.  How was he supposed to know that Felix had picked one day out of millions to be nice to him?

“Did you at least finish it?” She asked, eyeing the shape at his feet.  It was covered with a gingham tablecloth, tied at its top to make it easier to grab.  Recovering from his embarrassment, Sylvain gave her a knowing grin.

“You know me.  I always—always—finish.”

He was graced with an award-winning eye roll. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m honest,” he countered, finishing off her gift and handing her kerchief back to her.  She took it and shook off the crumbs. “Walk you to your next class?”

“We’ll have to stop by Catherine’s office and pick up Annie,” she informed him.  He stood anyway, grabbing the damnable dog she’d asked after and setting it on his desk.

“She still failing theology?”

Mercedes joined him in standing, and Sylvain smoothly took her satchel from her, shouldering it with his own.  She gave him a grateful nod in return, though it was tight.

“She’s turning in some extra credit.”

“Fair enough,” he bowed and gestured for her to lead the way. “After you, m’lady.”

She just rolled her eyes again.

If Sylvain had to pick just one word to describe Annette Fantine Dominic, it would be cute.  The petite girl was just exiting Professor Catherine’s office in the monastery when he and Mercedes approached.  She immediately brightened at them, bouncing up onto her toes and lifting an arm to wave in their direction.  Sylvain let his conversation with Mercedes lapse as the woman next to him rushed forward to greet her friend.  He followed, albeit slower, giving them a chance to talk amongst themselves before he intruded on their conversation.  

Annette had dressed for colder weather, though the fall chill had dissolved into a comfortable temperature.  Unlike Mercedes, the woman hardly ever bothered with petticoats, instead opting for shorter dresses atop colorful tights.  She’d gone for blue tights today, poking out from her calf-high boots and quickly disappearing under a tan skirt.  Underneath a small hooded orange cloak, she wore a tan vest over a plain white collared shirt, tied at the neck with a dark blue bow.  Her bright orange hair was held back with a pair of welding goggles, two short pieces of hair bouncing from her hairline as she bobbed in excitement, talking animatedly to Mercedes.  Sylvain allowed himself a warm smile.  The world might change and university might be soul-crushing, but Annette was still her optimistic self, and that was really all he could ask for.  

“—And you brought Sylvain, too?” He heard her ask as he approached, and waved with his free hand, the wrapped-up dog still under his arm. “What a nice surprise!”

“Well, I’m glad someone’s happy to see me,” he grinned. “Here I thought Mercedes was just putting up with me so I’d carry her bag.” As he spoke, he held out his arm for Annette’s book bag.  She paused for only a moment before surrendering it. 

“You caught me,” Mercedes held up her hands as if in surrender. “Goddess help me, I was only using you for your half-baked chivalry.” 

“Half-baked?  Mercedes, you wound me.  I at least fired it with a blowtorch this morning.”

Annette tittered, clasping her hands behind her back. “Sounds to me like you just overcooked it, Sylvain.  Maybe one day it’ll grow back.”

“Ouch.  Guess I kinda walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Sure did!” Annette skipped forward, leading them back down the hall.  When she heard the two coming after her, she stopped to fall into step with Sylvain. “Why are you here, anyway?  Shouldn’t you be finishing your automation final?”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Goddess Sothis.  Does everyone know about that?”

“Anyone who was in a three mile radius of Hanneman’s class yesterday,” Mercedes filled in helpfully. “He really blew his lid.”

Sylvain frowned. “Gee, that really pisses me off.”

“What, that everyone knows?”

“No, that I wasn’t there to see him finally crack.” He grinned. “That guy’s wound tighter than some of those clocks he spends so much time making!  I wanted to actually be there when he snapped!”

Annette raised an eyebrow. “It’s not enough that you were the cause of that snap?”

He fixed her with a horrified look. “What’s the fun of causing something if you aren’t there to see its payoff?” She snorted and shook her head. “I worked so hard to get that man to finally lose it, and he decides to do it when I’m not there?  What a cheapskate!”

“Yeah, you really got robbed,” Annette deadpanned. “So has Ingrid caught up with you yet today?”

He blinked down at her. “Ingrid?  No.  Why?”

The redhead exchanged a grin with Mercedes. “She was pretty upset last night when she came back to the room.  Both her and Felix.”

Sylvain blinked, taken aback by the sudden mention of his friend.  His heart leapt in his chest. “Felix came to play cards last night?”

“Just a round or two,” Mercedes assured him. “Then he excused himself and disappeared for the night.”

“Huh.” Sylvain did his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Never woulda pegged him for a cards guy.”

“Well he’s absolutely terrible at cards, if you must know” Annette assured him. “He had such a hard time paying attention to the game.  I think he’s legitimately worried about that automation project.” She eyed the bundle in Sylvain’s arm. “You, uh. Did get that working, right?”

“Of course I did!” Sylvain huffed. “All ye of little faith, do you really think me so incompetent?” He was met by two raised eyebrows on each of the girls, and he let out a long sigh. “I’m the other kind of stupid, I assure you.”

“The skirt chasing stupid, or the bad at reading a room stupid?” A voice came from in front of them, and Sylvain stopped in his tracks.  It didn’t matter how old they were, or where he was.  He’d always recognize Ingrid’s voice right away.  He slowly, painstakingly, turned toward her, finding her staring at him with a flat glare.  

He was still getting used to seeing her with short hair.  She’d cropped it off a week ago to ‘make it easier for her helmet to fit on her head’, but Sylvain was positive it had been done in a big ‘fuck you’ to her father.  Her flight academy uniform set her apart from the rest of the university students; it was a privilege to be accepted into flight school whilst still in university, and each student was encouraged to flaunt their status.  Ingrid would have never worn the flight suit as a show of superiority, but not even she could hide how proud she was to have gotten in. She’d—of course—aced her exam on the first shot, and had been the only woman in their class to be accepted.  Sylvain was positive she wore the uniform more to remind herself that she’d actually made it in rather than as a power play.

It was a plain militaristic uniform; black wool coat and pants with gold trim.  The bands across the front of the uniform were affixed on one side, and she’d have to button them on the other every time she changed out of it, but one it was all on, she looked absolutely regal in it.  The epaulets on her shoulders were decorative, yes, but they didn’t quite move every time she did.  They must have been sewn down to make it less hazardous in flight.  Not that she’d ever wear that flying; her actual flight suit was much less…ostentatious.  She wore a large black belt around her waist, and both hands were currently resting on each of her hips, gold-embroidered cuffs sticking out from the tight black sleeves.  

It was a pose Sylvain had come to known as the ‘I’m ready to clobber you’ pose.  He let out a nervous laugh.

“Ingrid!” He greeted her, plastering a giant smile on his face. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Are you really surprised?  Professor Shamir is my twelve o’clock professor, and my advisor for flight school.  Did you really think you wouldn’t find me here?”

His smile wavered. “Well, I was hoping we wouldn’t…”

“Mercedes, Annette, do you mind if I steal this idiot from you?” She asked, turning to the other girls.  

Sylvain took a step in front of them. “Now now, Ingrid, I’m taking them to their next class.  I can’t have bullies like you badgering them for their books in the hallway.”

Her look turned cold, and Sylvain felt a shiver run down his spine. “Bully?” She asked, taking a step up toward Sylvain and crossing her arms over her chest.  Her green eyes narrowed into slits. “Me?”

Sylvain slid both Annette and Mercedes’ bags from his shoulder and held them out behind himself. “Terribly sorry ladies, but Madam Galatea requires my escort.  Please forgive me.”

His ears burned at Mercedes and Annette’s giggles.  The two bags were taken from his arm, and when he was free of them, he lowered it to his side.  He willed the bead of sweat on his forehead back into his skin, but it only rolled down the side of his temple. 

“Go easy on him, Ingrid,” Mercedes said as she passed, giving Sylvain a pitying look. “He’s been up all night.”

“I know,” Ingrid said, but didn’t break eye contact with Sylvain, who gave Mercedes and Annette a jovial goodbye wave.  

“Is there a reason I’m in trouble?” He asked, looking down at the woman in front of him.  She merely raised an eyebrow again.

“Felix told me about Hanneman’s class.”

Rats. “Tattletale.”

“Don’t get mad at him for something you did,” she snapped. “I saw him going back to the lecture hall and followed him there.  After wheedling the story out of him, I helped him drag your butt back to your dorm so you could sleep in an actual bed.”

“And I thank you for that,” Sylvain inclined his head in an informal bow. “Really, I do.  But I need to actually get to Hanneman’s class if I’m going to keep my status as a full-time student.”

“Your class doesn’t start for another hour,” she didn’t flinch at his wince; her eyes only softened. “Sylvain, what’s wrong?  What’s really going on?”

He knew that look in her eye, and he wavered.  There were a great many things he could hide from the common people at Garreg Mach, but very little he could actually hide from Ingrid.

And he hated that.

Talking to her would only draw attention in the crowded hallway.  Even if they did find their way to somewhere more private, actually telling her what was on his mind would only make her worry.  Ingrid had enough on her plate; she didn’t need his childish problems stacked on top of that.  Besides, letting her in would guarantee that any time he wanted to be left alone, she’d just worry about him.  She did enough worrying without having to know what was going on.

The longer he weighed his options, however, the deeper her eyes seemed to pierce him.  

“You don’t want to talk here, I get it,” she sighed. “But I’m going to walk with you until you do feel like talking.”

Sylvain huffed, starting up at a brisk pace. “I’m not eleven anymore, Ingrid—I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, you were my babysitter, dingus.  I just started looking after you because you didn’t want to do it yourself.”

He didn’t respond to that, not because it wasn’t true; she—like always—was mostly right.  They walked in silence for a time, passing through hallways and by groups of students.  Every once in a while, one of their names would be called, and they’d smile and wave, but as soon as they’d moved on, their demeanor chilled again.  

Sylvain wasn’t sure where he was leading them.  He didn’t want to go back to the dormitories; if he went back into his room, he’d probably never leave.  If he went to Hanneman’s class, he’d just have to sit in front of the lecture hall for an hour.  If he went to the mess hall, he might run into Dimitri, or Annette and Mercedes, or Ashe, or someone else from their class.  The only person he really wanted to see was the jerk who had made him do all the work the night before, and a quick look at the clock told him Felix was in horology with Professor Hanneman.

Felix.

The thought made his stomach clench.  Sure, Ingrid was a good listener, and she knew him better than most, but Sylvain still had to strain to put into words exactly what he was feeling when she was around.  Dimitri…well, he’d known Dimitri for the same amount of time, but there was always something different about sharing things with Dimitri.  He couldn’t place his finger on it.  Just because he’d known someone most of his life didn’t mean that he was entirely comfortable baring himself in front of them.

He’d done it many times with Ingrid.  Less because he’d actually wanted to, and more because she’d been around when things had spilled over.  He could go to Dimitri and have a man-to-man talk, yes.  He knew Dimitri wouldn’t betray his trust or anything like that, but…

But with Felix, it was so easy.  He didn’t have to worry about what Felix was really thinking about him, Felix just came out and said whatever he thought about it.  There were no games.  No house politics.  No stabbing each other in the back.  He didn’t have to worry that he was just a pawn in some Crest war.  With Felix, he wasn’t a Crest baby.  He wasn’t heir to the Gautier family.  Hell, his Crest didn’t even matter to Felix.  He’d made it abundantly clear that Sylvain’s memory was just…normal.

With Felix, he was just…Sylvain.  

He frowned at the clock.  Horology would run all the way up until automation, though, and he was already in deep enough shit with Hanneman that he didn’t dare try and bust his friend out of class early.  

“The anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it?” Ingrid finally asked softly, breaking Sylvain out of his daydreams of liberating Felix from the tiny cogs and gears of horology.  She didn’t look up from her feet as she said it, and Sylvain quickly rejoined her in watching the path in front of them as he walked.  

“I guess,” he shrugged, and she looked up at him.  She frowned at his tone.  It was flippant, like always, but there was no mistaking the defeat there.  

“Sylvain, you can talk about him, if you want.” He looked up at her again, and she did her best not to stare at the bags under his eyes.  She didn’t miss, however, the way his mouth turned down at the mention of it. 

“Why bother?” He asked, looking down at his feet again.  His brow furrowed. “It’s not like he was really my brother, right?”

She didn’t respond.  She could hear the defeat turn to bitterness, and his free hand shoved itself deep into his pocket.  The hand holding his automation project only tightened on it.  

“Why should I care that he broke into the train yard?” 

She knew what he was seeing behind those eyes; Miklan had brought his death upon himself, yes, but that didn’t mean that he’d deserved the death he’d suffered. 

“He grew up in the Gautier yards.  It’s not any of my business that he forgot the stupid train schedules.” 

They’d found him face down near the rails in the early morning.  Dimitri, Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid had been in high school at the time, eager to go into town on the first train out of the yard.  It had been a year or so after Glenn’s death, and around five years after the tragedy at Duscur. 

“And it’s certainly not important that he tried—stupidly—crawling underneath the engine to try and grab the main heart out of it.”

He must have heard the automated train wheeze to life and tried to get out from underneath it.  He’d almost made it, too, but…

“So I really don’t see why I should be bothered by any of it.”

But they’d still found him—or what was left of him—that morning.  They’d found his legs underneath the train he’d tried stealing from.  He’d tried crawling away.  The next set of rails, the ones he’d tried escaping from, held the second automated train of the day.  He’d made it in between two of the cars before it had stirred that morning.  He’d tried—really, really tried—to make it through before it had completely moved, but…

Sylvain had been the one to find his severed head and abdomen lying in the train yard, eyes still wide open.  Ingrid had screamed and ran for help, and Dimitri had followed her.  He’d seen enough death in his life to know that there wasn’t anything they could do, but that they needed a coroner to make a report.  Dedue had gone with Dimitri, as always, leaving Felix and Sylvain together over the three pieces of Miklan.  

All Ingrid knew after rushing for aid with Dimitri was that they’d come back to find Sylvain and Felix sitting together a few yards away, Sylvain staring down at the remains.  She’d always wondered what had happened in those minutes they’d been alone, but figured that, were it important, she’d be told.  It wasn’t her place to ask.

“Sylvain…” she started, and he stopped walking.  They’d walked themselves almost to the church.  He turned to look out over the river that ran under the bridge on which they stood.  She gently ushered him out of the walkway, and he followed, not fighting her as she slowly coaxed him to sit on one of the benches lining the bridge.  He removed his hand from the pocket and moved it to hold the bundle in his arms on his lap.  He frowned down at it. “Is that why you’ve been sleeping in class?  Because you can’t sleep at night?”

He looked away. “I guess.”

She nodded to herself, looking up and giving him a moment to himself.  She pretended not to notice him wiping his nose, instead letting him cover it up with a weak cough.  If she wanted, she could press him to go on, to talk about the awful things Sylvain’s father had said about Miklan when he’d arrived on the scene, but she knew that would only make it worse.  Once she could get Sylvain talking, it was always easier to get him to keep going, but his eyes looked…haunted.  Scared.  He was probably remembering how he’d tried standing up for Miklan, and the slap on the cheek he’d gotten for it.  As much as she wanted him to keep going, to get some words out, she knew it was better this way.  Pressing him further would only make him retreat.  With that memory of his, he’d be stuck with the images for the rest of his life.

“You know,” she said softly, and he looked back down at his feet. “You don’t have to be over his death yet, Sylvain.”

He opened his mouth, and Ingrid knew he’d started to ask how she’d know anything about it, but luckily, a side eye from her shut him up.

“I know I’m not over Glenn yet, and neither is Felix.”

“Glenn died a hero, though.” She could have cut his bitterness with a knife. “Not a petty thief.”

“He’s still dead, though.” Sylvain was quiet at that, thankfully, so she continued. “Dimitri isn’t over his family, as much as he tries to hide it.” She looked over at him, and put a hand on top of his. “I know you can’t get rid of what you saw that day, but you don’t have to keep carrying it by yourself.”

“What, and make you all relive it, too?” He asked, and she lightly smacked the back of his hand. 

“No, you idiot.  You can let us help you, instead of just wondering what the hell you’re carrying all the time.” He looked away again. “You should have seen Felix yesterday, Sylvain.  I helped him drag you back to your room last night, and once we’d gotten you in bed, it was like pulling teeth to get him to leave you alone.” She took the hand she’d smacked in hers.  Sylvain’s attention snapped to it, and then up to her. “He’s worried about you.” Her grip tightened, and he opened his mouth to complain, but she kept squeezing his hand. “Sylvain, you’ve been a brother to me since I would walk.  I love you dearly.  But for Sothis’ sake...Talk to him, you imbecile.  Please.”

With that, she loosened her hand, keeping it on his for a moment longer before she pushed herself to her feet and walked away.  He watched her go, absently rubbing his hand, mind running a mile a minute, before he turned his attention down to his feet.  He reached into his pocket and grabbed another candy, popping it into his mouth and rolling it around his tongue while he thought.  He knew he should have thought about what she’d said, but really, only one thing stuck.

That woman had a serious grip.

“Goddess, I hate the blundering excuse for a professor,” Felix muttered under his breath, stretching his back after Hanneman called ‘class dismissed.’  He glared at the man’s back as he left.

“You don’t have to hate someone just because someone’s slacking in their class,” Dimitri piped up from where he sat.  He was lowering his arms after stretching himself in his seat.  Felix passed on the glare to him, too.  Sylvain was not slacking.  There was something wrong.  

That had to be it.  

Knowing Sylvain as well as he did, too, Felix knew that it would take some wheedling before he actually got the other man to talk to him about it, but that pissed him off, too.  It’s not like he was the one who was falling behind.  It’s not like he had the issues.  

(That wasn’t entirely true, he knew, but he was too busy being angry at Sylvain to care.  At least he could keep a lid on his issues.)

(Right?)

“Who said my hatred started today?” Felix retorted, grabbing his bag. “Maybe I’ve always hated him.”

Dimitri’s gaze was unimpressed. “Ah, but of course.  How could it be anything else?” He leaned over to grab his book bag, leaving Felix to blankly stare at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Dimitri sighed tiredly, pushing himself to his feet,  “it’s getting tiring watching you fret over Sylvain instead of actually talking to him.”

Felix blanched.  What the hell happened to the obnoxious, beat-around-the-bush Dimitri?

“I thought you’d have taken care of it last night in helping him with your automation project, but seeing that your mood hasn’t changed in the slightest, I’m seeing I was wrong.” He stepped up to Felix.  Sothis, Felix hated how he could tower over him. “I ignored it yesterday because that’s just how you usually are, but you’ve been sighing all morning, Felix.” He frowned, both eyebrows furrowing. “I’m worried about you and Sylvain.”

“Worried?” Felix bit the word out. “Didn’t know you could still do that.” Dimitri tensed, adn Felix couldn’t help but feel a little vindication.  This is what he’d wanted yesterday.  He was in the mood for a fight.  

“Despite what you think of me, I still see you and Sylvain as friends,” he said.  He really was trying to keep his lid. “I don’t have the kind of…friendship you and Sylvain have.  You and I both know he gets this way every time he’s under pressure.  He needs someone, Felix.”

“So why don’t you go talk to him?  Last I checked, friends still check in on one another.” 

Dimitri scoffed, and his attention turned from Felix to the front of the room.  A quick glance over his shoulder guaranteed what Felix had suspected for years, now.  Professor Byleth had stepped into the room, her long, light green hair in a loose curl.  She was watching them, and when she saw they were both looking at her, she gave them a small wave.  Felix turned away from her in a rush, and he didn’t miss how Dimitri’s face had softened.  

Oh.  

Dimitri thought—he thought—

He thought that Felix—he felt—

Toward Sylvain?

Dimitri tore his gaze away from the Professor in time to see Felix’s face turn a bright pink.  He opened his mouth to say something further, but before he could, the shorter man had wheeled around, storming out of the lecture hall with a determined sense of purpose.

Felix’s hands buzzed as he walked, pointedly not making eye contact with Professor Byleth as he passed.  So what.  Dimitri had found someone he liked.  And who probably liked him back.  What the hell did that have to do with Felix, let alone Sylvain?  Did Dimitri really think that, because he was in love, that meant everyone had to be in order to be happy?  

He snorted to himself.  Of course not.  He knew that.  Despite what everyone thought of him, he was happy.  Grouchy?  Sure.  Moody?  Absolutely.  

But…but him?  In love?

With Sylvain?  

That just…didn’t happen.  Dimitri and Professor Byleth, sure.  That was all well and good for them.  But Felix didn’t need those emotions.  He didn’t need that confusion.  If he let himself seriously consider letting himself succumb to the idea of a relationship with Sylvain…

It had a certain sense of finality to it.  He knew that pursuing a relationship with the stupid, arrogant, cocky, generous, patient, funny bastard would either mean they’d be together forever, or the whole thing would leave him with a giant wound that no amount of healing magic could repair.  If he could only keep everything as it was…if he could somehow make Dimitri take back what he’d implied…maybe…maybe Felix could ignore the way his stomach kept flipping over.  He could go back to the blissful ignorance.  He could get mad at Sylvain for chasing one skirt after another, and not have to second guess if his anger came from sheer annoyance or jealousy.  

Fucking Boar, Felix gnashed his teeth together as he made his way down the hall to the secondary lecture hall.  He couldn’t let himself ruminate in these feelings forever; if he missed automation today, there’d be no way he or Sylvain would stay on as full time students.  

And he couldn’t do that to Sylvain.  He couldn’t hurt him.  So many people in his life had hurt him, but Felix couldn’t.  Just the notion of it made his insides wrench.

The thought made him panic even more, and he stopped in the doorway to the hall.  It wasn’t a new idea by any stretch of the term, but now, with what Dimitri had said still fresh in his ears—

“Ah, Felix.” An older voice cut him off.  A stab of desperation shot through him.  If he had a minute more, maybe he could safely store these thoughts in the back of his mind.

But Hanneman apparently had enough of waiting for the two.  

Sylvain was already at the front of the room, and the redhead turned.  His golden eyes scanned the room for a moment before they landed on Felix, and Felix would have been a fool to miss the way his entire face lit up.

The breath left him in a whoosh, as if he’d been socked in the gut.  Had his mouth been this dry all day?  How do legs work?  Can I even face him right now?

More importantly, when was the last time he’d looked at Sylvain Jose Gautier?

At their time in university, Sylvain had let his hair grow out, and had taken to styling it out of his face instead of letting his unruly bangs cover half his forehead.  Usually he wore a khaki flat cap over his locks, but today had either forgotten or left it behind—either way, Felix didn’t care.  It let his hair loose from the sides of his head, and it looked so soft.  

What would it be like to feel that hair?  

Stop it, he thought, forcing himself to move forward.  He found himself unable to take his eyes off of Sylvain; he’d worn a pair of tweed slacks that day that Felix just knew were held up by suspenders covered by the matching vest buttoned up his front.  He’d worn his favorite cerulean shirt, too, a set of garters hugging each of his upper arms to keep the sleeves from falling too far down.  He’d actually kept the sleeves tightly buttoned at the cuffs today instead of rolling them up to his elbows—a nice change, but Felix found himself missing the expanse of his toned arms.  He had to settle for staring at the contraption the man held in his hands—his large, agile, gentle hands.  

The dog was much as it had been when Felix and Ingrid had packed it up.  The bronze plates screwed carefully together, easily covering the dog’s face and snout.  They’d used some hose for the dog’s neck, which Sylvain had expertly attached from the chest up under its jaw.  Just to show off, Sylvain had attached little claws to each paw at the end of its legs.  They’d taken apart a radio at the beginning of the project, which Sylvain had used as its body covering.  When Felix had run the idea past his lab partner, he’d thought that they’d leave the heart of the radio out and only use its shell.  Now that he looked closer, however…

Had he kept it functional?  

Felix felt the golden eyes following him, but he focused only on the dog in Sylvain’s hands.  He’d seen it in the dark, yes, but…

Damn, it was easy to forget how smart Sylvain was, with how he hid it behind a goofy grin and some lewd remarks.  

“Thank you for joining us,” Hanneman continued, adjusting his spectacles on his nose.  He flipped down another set of goggles, and they whirred as they zoomed in on the lifeless animal in Sylvain’s arms. “I see this has turned from the pile of scrap you took from my class yesterday into something half-presentable.” He gestured for Felix to continue, practically ignoring Sylvain.  A stab of annoyance hit Felix, and he couldn’t help the snarl that came to his face.  

“Actually,” he forced himself to calm down before speaking. “Sylvain knows how it works.”

Hanneman blinked. “Well of course he does.  You told him, right?”

“It’s the opposite.” It was hard to keep a straight face when the teacher’s eyebrows furrowed.  Felix nodded toward Sylvain. “Scrap-for-brains here is the only one who knows how to make it walk.”

Sylvain snorted. “Scrap-for-brains?  Really?” 

“Just telling the truth,” Felix shrugged, sneaking a look up at Sylvain from the corner of his eye.  Despite the faux offense in Sylvain’s tone, he was still grinning down at him.  Felix allowed himself to smile back, eyes falling, unbidden, to the way the redhead’s lips curled away from his teeth.  He couldn’t help but stare for a moment before tearing his eyes away, cheeks flushed.  

“In that case, Mr. Gautier,” Hanneman recovered quickly, somehow keeping the disdain from his voice.  He gestured to the long table at the front of the room. “You know the terms of the assignment.  If it can walk from one side of this table to the other, then I have no choice but to give you a passing grade.”

Sylvain took in a deep breath before stepping forward, one hand absently winding the crank built into the dog’s haunch.  He took up position at the head of the table and Felix could see him calculating how many turns the dog needed to make to the end of the table, but to stop before it fell off the other side.  He held it out in front of himself once it was wound, one hand still keeping the crank in place and the other under its stomach.  Like it always did when he was thinking, his tongue poked out from the side of his mouth. 

Once he had everything right in his head, he turned to Felix and gave him a quick wink.  The hand holding the dog’s stomach flicked one of the radio dials, and the crackly, tinny sound of the current broadcast came to life.  Hanneman gasped in delight.  Sylvain let the dog’s hind legs onto the table and let go completely, stepping back.

And, thankfully, the dog wasn’t just a glorified radio.  Belting music from the radio in its stomach, the dog walked forward, gears clicking underneath its plates and hose throat contracting and relaxing with each short movement.  

“Show off,” Felix grumped to Sylvain as he stood near him, and his friend’s mouth just opened in a grin again, showing a small, translucent yellow ball in between his teeth.  Felix immediately recognized it as one of the sweets he’d left on Sylvain’s nightstand.  He hated how excited he felt, just knowing that Sylvain liked his gift.

“My, my,” Hanneman followed the dog down the table, taking notes on a small notepad he’d produced from his apron. “Mr. Gautier, this is splendid!”

“I’m glad you think so, Professor,” Sylvain added a touch of deference into his voice, which Felix recognized as a mocking tone, but to anyone else, would just sound modest.  

He elbowed Sylvain anyway, just for good measure.  The giant child bit his lips together to keep from giggling.

As the dog made its way down the table, it slowed and came to a stop right on the edge.  It raised one paw as if to keep moving, but then its legs halted.  The radio continued playing from where it had stopped, and Felix did his best to concentrate on that rather than the polite applause from the rest of the class.  Hanneman had completely forgotten about the two, stepping up to their project and taking it in his own hands to examine it under his magnifying lens.  He was going on to the class about how Sylvain had gotten the contraption to work, and Felix could hear quills scratching paper to his side, but he didn’t care.  His eyes were caught on the man next to him.  Sylvain was grinning like a fool, one of the rare genuine smiles Felix had seen from the man in a week.  

Shit.

Felix’s face felt hot when Sylvain turned to meet his gaze.  Golden irises stared into amber ones, the impromptu lecture forgotten.  In that moment, Felix found himself thinking the three words he hated the most.

Dimitri is right.

Sylvain stretched his arms high over his head as they walked out of the building toward the dormitories.  He’d spent all day lugging that stupid dog around, and all night thinking about it.  Now, as Felix held it under his arm, he couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of freedom.  Yeah, they still had to attend automation tomorrow, but their midterm was done, and they’d passed with flying colors.  

“Oh, it feels so good to get that out of the way,” he sighed, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back into the makeshift headrest.  They walked in silence for a moment, and he let his eyes close, following the familiar sounds of Felix’s footsteps.  It was easy to tell them apart from everyone else’s, but Sylvain couldn’t put his finger on how he knew it was Felix next to him, guiding him through the campus.  He just could.  

“Nothing like cutting it down to the wire,” Felix muttered, and Sylvain opened one eye to glance down at the man next to him.  When Felix saw he was looking, he quickly turned his face away, a pink flush to his cheeks.  Sylvain moved the candy he’d popped into his mouth at the end of lecture into his cheek before he grinned.

“Hey now, admit it; you didn’t doubt me for a second.”

“Shut up,” Felix rolled his eyes.  

“Come on,” Sylvain drawled, leaning down to be face-to-face with Felix. “Admit it.  I did a good job.”

“You passed.”

“With flying colors!”

“By the skin of your teeth.”

“Good thing my teeth are so perfect, right?”

“You’re a lucky bastard, that’s what you are.”

When Sylvain didn’t continue the argument, Felix stopped.  They’d reached the stairs leading up to their rooms, and Sylvain had stopped at the landing.  Felix turned on the stair on which he stood, one eyebrow raised.  

From where he stood, he was actually taller than Sylvain, whose face had fallen slightly.  Blinking down at him, Felix played their conversation through his head again.  

What did I say?  

“Oh.” 

He could have kicked himself.  That was a very Miklan thing to say.  

Miklan.  Right.  What time of year was it again?

“Shit, Sylvain,” he closed his eyes as it came to him. “That wasn’t the right thing to say.”

“It’s fine,” Sylvain said automatically, and Felix frowned down at him.  The idiot had forced a smile to his face.  He might have been using the same muscles he’d used back in the lecture hall when the dog had worked, but to Felix, the two smiles couldn’t have been more different.  

“No, it’s not,” Felix argued, the fake smile lighting an angry fire in his stomach. “That’s tomorrow, Sylvain.  It really wasn’t the right thing to say.”

“Are you actually trying to apologize to me?” Sylvain raised an eyebrow up at him before he scoffed. “I think that’s worse than you accidentally quoting the dead.”

“What would you rather have me do; pretend like I didn’t?”

“It’d be preferable.”

It was as close to a snap as Sylvain would get, Felix knew, at least with him.  He pursed his lips into a tight scowl as Sylvain pushed past him on the stairs. 

“Come on, let’s get this thing back to your room so I can go back to sleep.”

“Sylvain—,” Felix tried, but the man’s broad back didn’t waver from its course.  He rolled his eyes, glaring up at the sky for a moment before following him.  They walked in silence down the hallway.  Felix could feel Sylvain seething, and cursed himself.  Hadn’t he just promised that he wouldn’t hurt this man?  

This man he—

He—

“Your rooms, sire,” Sylvain suddenly said when they were outside his door, bowing as if he were a master servant.  He was playing off what Felix had just said, trying to change the subject.  

It only made the anger in Felix’s stomach boil hotter. “Whatever,” he muttered, and Sylvain’s face fell again.  He opened the door and entered, taking in the small dorm with the same passive boredom as usual.  Thankfully, Sylvain followed him inside and to Felix’s chest of drawers, where the latter set down the mechanical dog.  

They stared at it in silence for a long moment.  Sylvain, tired and emotionally beat, was the first to sigh.  He’d spent the last twelve-ish hours either pouring over its make or carrying it around campus; he didn’t quite feel like admiring his work any longer.  

Especially not if Felix wouldn’t play along with him.  

“I should go,” he said quietly, and turned from the dresser.  He’d taken half a step before a hand enclosed itself around his wrist, keeping him in place.  His heart thudded in his chest, skin burning where Felix’s hand touched him.  He turned back, staring down at Felix’s hand.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Felix was frowning down at the floor.  The pose reminded Sylvain of the man when he was small.  He’d adopted that pose whenever he’d had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to say it. 

As angry as Sylvain was at Miklan, and therefore Felix for bringing him up, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.  Instead, he softened, waiting for Felix.  He’d talk when he felt he was ready to.

Eyes still focused on the floor underneath his feet, Felix bit his lips together before he started talking. “Do you remember when we first found him?”

It was a stupid question.  Sylvain had an eidetic memory.  There was no way he’d ever forget, even if he wanted to.  His jaw tightened, and he swallowed a lump of emotion budding in his throat.  Felix finally looked up at him, his eyes softer than Sylvain had seen them in a long time.  

“I…” Felix tried, working his mouth open and shut for a moment before his attention turned to where he held Sylvain’s arm.  Without thinking about it, he loosened his grip a little, letting his hand fall down into the bigger one. “I couldn’t do a thing.  I couldn’t help you.  I just…” Sylvain let his fingers separate, and Felix intertwined their fingers the same way he had all those years ago.  When they were properly holding hands, there was no mistaking the way Felix’s hand tightened around his. “I could only do this.”  

Sylvain quirked an eyebrow, returning the small squeeze.  

When Dimitri, Dedue, and Ingrid had left them to go get help, Felix had been the only one to stay at his side.  He’d stood next to Sylvain, who could only stare in mute horror at the remains of his brother, slowly losing his grip on reality. 

He almost had lost his grip, he knew.  

Then, at a loss for what else to do, Felix had reached out, and taken his hand.  

Sylvain had squeezed it then, holding onto it as if he’d dissolve away if he let go.  They’d stood like that until Dimitri and Dedue had brought the coroner and a constable, who had quietly—but firmly—separated their hands and escorted them away from the body.  

Now, Felix stared up at him, burning eyes almost daring him to let go.  Sylvain knew him well enough to know that challenging look; if he let go now, Felix would leave him alone.  He would.  He might be stubborn as all get out, but Sylvain knew Felix understood the power of the word ‘no.’  They’d probably be awkward around each other for a week or so before they found their rhythm again, and everything would go back to normal.

Normal.  

Is that…really what Sylvain wanted?  To live from deadline to deadline, losing his grip on reality every time he was under the gun?  Or did he hold on to the one person who had always kept him anchored to the ground?

Sylvain took a moment to really examine his friend.  Felix’s hair was in desperate need of a cut; he’d been talking about chopping it off for a while, but had yet to actually commit to it.  He wore his customary outfit; a dark grey, high-collared shirt tied with a black cravat that hugged his midsection tightly.  The sleeves billowed out the lower they ran, but Felix had secured the cuffs in a bracer on each arm, the buckles of each gleaming in the late afternoon sun.  He’d fastened his black vest over the shirt.  As was Felix’s style, the vest had buckles instead of buttons.  It hardly covered the double belt holding his black riding pants up, stirrups hugging his boots to his legs.  

All this he took in his periphery.  His eyes searched Felix’s, which had softened from their initial challenge.  They all but melted in the light, darting between Sylvain’s own.  Sylvain could have wondered what Felix meant.  He could have played dumb.  Laughed at Felix for bringing up something so trivial, or so old. 

But he found he couldn’t.  Here his best friend was, the only person who had really seen Sylvain at his lowest, and hadn’t run away. 

Instead, like he was now, he’d reached out, and pulled Sylvain out of darkness.  Back to the real world.  Back home.

Back to him.  

It always came back to Felix.  Deep down inside, even when he’d been chasing one skirt after another, Sylvain had known this was the endgame.  He’d thought it impossible for someone to see him, truly him, not the front he put out for the world, and still want to hold onto him.  

Yet here was Felix Hugo Fraldarius.  Holding onto him as if he were the only thing that mattered.

No.  Sylvain most definitely did not want to go back to ‘normal’.

“What’s so wrong with this?” He asked softly, taking a step closer to Felix.  Even in a tense, soft moment like this, Felix scoffed.

“It’s not much,” he muttered.  Sylvain frowned down at him, reaching out with his free hand.  He closed the distance between them, taking his pointer finger and gently tilting Felix’s chin up.  He searched those gorgeous eyes for a joke, but when he saw none, he let himself smile.

“Who said I need anything else?”

A small eyebrow rose on Felix’s forehead, and his face fell into a deadpan.  Sylvain couldn’t help grinning, and dared to let his hand trace across Felix’s cheek and catch on the back of his neck.  He took a moment, still waiting for the shorter man to pull back, to tell him to fuck off, to wake him up from this dream, but when he didn’t, he leaned in.

Felix hadn’t known what to expect from his first kiss, if he were being honest.  Maybe an awkward, rushed placement of someone else’s mouth on his, or a sloppy, wet smooch, like he was used to distant relatives planting on his cheeks.  

He wasn’t expecting the room—no, the world—to stop spinning.  

He was so dazed that he forgot to kiss Sylvain back, and the taller man broke the kiss after a moment, eyes half opening to stare down into his own.  Sylvain’s eyebrows furrowed in a silent question, but before he could verbalize anything, Felix’s hand was on the back of his head, yanking him down for another kiss.  Sylvain’s eyes widened in shock for a moment.  In his haste, Felix had almost missed, and Sylvain gently guided his jaw into the right place.  Part of him leapt when Felix’s mouth opened for his own, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss.  After a long minute, Felix’s hand tightened in his hair, and Sylvain couldn’t help laughing, pulling back with a flushed face and breath already short.  Felix stared up at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.  

Sylvain raised a warning brow. “I swear, Felix; if you try apologizing to me for the second time in a day—,”

“Shut the fuck up,” Felix barked, and his voice cracked.  They stared at each other for a second before Sylvain laughed, a full belly laugh that made Felix blush and probably turned the heads of anyone passing by on their floor or the ground floor.  Embarrassed, the shorter of the two reached out and grabbed his friend by a fistful of his shirt, pulling him back down again.  He kept his voice quiet, more out of fear that it would waver again than anything else.  He chomped down hard on the candy Sylvain had transferred into his mouth. “And close the fucking door.”