Archive of Our Own

Ever since he was little, Felix has been quick to tears—though others would word this very differently and call him a “crybaby.”

Which he wasn’t. And isn’t.

He simply used to cry a lot as all kids do, but it was still something that his brother and father and friends always used to relentlessly tease him for. Bawling because his favorite sword’s blade got chipped; crying because Glenn beat him in a duel again; sobbing because Dimitri and Sylvain and Ingrid have to go home now—Felix just happened to cry at anything.

He’s grown now, so he doesn’t cry like that anymore. In fact, he doesn’t cry at all.

…Or at least that’s what he’d like to say.

The truth is that he still cries from time to time, in the safety of his room, in the middle of the night. When no one is around to see him, to tease him, or worse—ask him what’s wrong and ask him to open up.

He cries silent, hot tears that drip, drip, drip down his cheeks and fall to the ground, leaving his flushed face feeling a little cool after. He takes pride in that his crying is so silent, unlike how he’d bawl at the top of his lungs as a child. It draws no attention and lets him express his frustration.

He cries only because he’s frustrated. He’s only ever cried because he was frustrated.

The only time that he’s really cried over sadness was over the death of Glenn—and even that was tinged with the feeling of frustration.

The frustration that his father should’ve intervened and mourned his son as his child rather than a knight, that Glenn should have been more selfish with his life, that Felix should have been able to do something despite his youth and inexperience. The frustration at how everyone pushed their expectations onto him while he grieved, how everyone didn’t see him as a person separate from Glenn, how different everyone started to treat him.

His father’s coldness. Ingrid’s heightened expectations of what a knight should be like—of what Felix should be like. Dimitri’s constant guilt over taking Glenn from Felix.

And yet Sylvain’s attitude towards him had never changed. Always happy to see him; always sad to part. Playing games with him and sparring and reading with him. Freely giving out warm hugs and saying soft nothings despite how much he himself was hurting because of his own family. With his healing smiles and his warm gaze and his soft touches and his uplifting anecdotes and words.

Even when Sylvain started putting on that playboy persona, he never treated Felix like he was just a miniature Glenn, like he was just a cold and heartless training machine. He always seemed to see past it.

It was the reason that Felix got along so well with Sylvain.

But lately, things feel different.

Felix feels kind of weird when he sees Sylvain. Sylvain’s smiles make his heart jump and stutter. His voice, his laughter, go straight to Felix’s chest and make him ache a little, like he’s suffocating. And when they’re not talking, Felix can’t stop thinking about Sylvain—about his sharp jaw and his soft eyes and the way that his lashes frame those pretty eyes and the way that Sylvain’s touches leave Felix’s skin feeling hot, longing for more.

Even when Felix is training, his mind wanders to Sylvain. Even when he’s sleeping his mind drifts to Sylvain. Even when he’s on the battlefield, his mind worries about Sylvain.

Felix hates to think about Sylvain, but damn, he can’t help himself.

It drives Felix mad. How is he supposed to pay attention to his training and his studies the way he promised himself when he’s thinking of his friend in such confusing ways?

Why Sylvain? Why Felix? Why like this? Why now?

Goddess, there’s just something Sylvain that is so—so frustrating. He’s got this soft heart, scarred to hell and pitiful and terrified, that he hides behind layers and layers of personalities, like masks upon masks upon masks. Flirty and smarmy and confident and perfect—Felix just wants to tear them all away. He wants to show everyone the true Sylvain, the one that Felix knows with every inch of his heart.

Felix just wants Sylvain to be honest. To be himself. To be happy. To be loved.  He just wants that of Sylvain.

No. No, Felix can’t say that. It’s not entirely true. Because the painful, horrible honest-to-Goddess truth is that he wants Sylvain.

And he can never have him.

As much as Felix hates to think this way, he knows that Sylvain thinks that he belongs to his bloodline. He belongs to his Crest. He belongs to some faceless noblewoman in the future who’s going to help him carry on that stupid bloodline and that stupid Crest.

So Sylvain won’t be honest. Won’t be himself. And there’s always that sliver of a chance that Sylvain will be happy in that kind of marriage, that he’ll be loved by whoever he’s married to—but Felix can’t bear to think that Sylvain will be like that if it’s not Felix.

But why does Felix even bother to think like that? Sylvain doesn’t love him like that. He just sees Felix as a friend—or worse, a little brother. Felix will never capture Sylvain’s heart like Sylvain has his. It’s not like Felix can just tell him either. Felix can’t risk losing Sylvain. If he must, he’ll bottle his feelings up over and over and over again, as he’s done many times before, after his brother’s death.

He’ll hide these pesky, useless feelings from Sylvain, and maybe one day, he’ll believe it. He’ll forget about this passing phase, this temporary crush. He’ll learn to let Sylvain go and learn to love him simply as a friend.

…He doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to.

Felix doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels a shaky breath pry itself from his chest. A familiar twinge of embarrassment and frustration at himself fly through him, the duo of emotions that always rear their stupid heads whenever he cries, but they don’t stay for long. He’s used to it. And besides, no one is awake at this time. No one will hear him. No one will know.

He inhales shakily and shuts his eyes, feeling hot tears slip from his eyes and fall to the desk, where he’s buried his head in his arms. It’s just him and his confusing heartbreak. Just him and this unrequited love, like cinderblocks weighing his heart down.

Soft exhales, shaky inhales. That’s the only sound in his room.

That is, until Felix hears the softest sound.

A quiet chime, like the tinkling of a bell.

Felix curiously lifts his head. Where could that noise come from? Tears continue to dribble down his face as he gives his window a cursory glance from where he’s seated. There’s nothing notable outside. Just the moon’s sympathetic face peeking through the clouds and the little stars that wink and blink at him, as if they’re trying to cheer him up.

Felix hears it again, a little louder now. It came from his room. It came from near him.

No, it came from him.

It feels like Felix is watching in slow-motion as his tears fall from his chin onto the edge of his desk. As they hit the wood there, they make a little jingling sound, a soft sound kind of like the start-up of a magic spell.

It sounds a little like that time he watched a meteor shower with Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain. As the meteors left bright streaks across the sky, the falling stars made little twinkling noises, leaving all the kids mystified and delighted.

But tears don’t make noises. They’re not supposed to.

Felix wipes at his eyes with his sleeves and looks around his room for another explanation for the noise. Maybe a button slipped and fell from one of his academy uniforms. Maybe he dropped a coin or something. These sounds aren’t perfect, but it’s as close as Felix can get to rationally explaining that his fucking tears are making noises.

As Felix looks around his room, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

It’s embarrassing to see himself as he cries, his face painted in a bright pink across his cheeks ear-to-ear as his red-rimmed eyes stare back at him, but that’s really the least of his concerns right now.  

He’s thinking more at the fact that his tears are red and sparkly instead of clear and normal.

He shoots out of his chair and hurries to the mirror, staring with his mouth agape at how his tears look. A trick of the light? His room is only light by the moonlight streaming through his window, after all.

But even when Felix hurriedly lights a lantern in his room, his tears are a faint, red color that are unnatural against his skin, and up close, they bear little sparkling bits, like little geometric shards that glitter from the light they catch.

They remind Felix of the stained glass windows in some of the churches back at home, when they depict holy stories and figures.

Is this a work of the Goddess? Has he been cursed?

Felix wants to think that this is just a trick his brain is playing on him, but something in his gut tells him that it’s really, really not.

And that scares him.

-

In Felix’s free time the next day, he hides away in the library, trying his best to look up what could possibly have caused this phenomenon. He digs through academic papers that just about bore him to tears—though he would never actually cry, especially after what the hell happened the night before. He flips through pages and pages and pages of words about spells, hexes, curses. He finds nothing, even after hundreds—no, thousands—of words bombarding his brain nonstop.

But just as he gives up and settles on the thought that he really was just losing his mind that night, he finds a lone academic study, a clipped-together packet of loose-leaf papers crammed between the shelf and the wall. Felix, in his desperation to get a rational explanation, grabs it and reads it.

The first few pages aren’t helpful. They just define a bunch of stupid variables in whatever study they’re conducting. Felix flips to the end to skim their findings.

His eyes get caught on the title of the last page—‘Star Tear Disease.’ Felix supposes that his tears did look a little like stars, though he’d argue that they looked more like glass shards or fractals. But maybe his vision was messed up. He was crying after all, and his vision was a little blurry.

He reads further.

‘Star tear disease is an extremely rare disease, afflicting one in every one billion people around the world,’ the paper declares matter-of-factly. ‘Brought about an intense bout of unrequited love, people with this disease bear tears of unnatural colors that shine like stars and make noises akin to those of a falling star, hence the name.’

Felix grimaces. So his eyes and ears weren’t playing a trick on him. His tears were colorful and sparkly and made a soft, shimmering sound last night.

But one out of one billion people in the world? Felix sits back in his chair, floored by that thought. Leave it to him to catch the one disease that haunts a single-digit number of people globally. All because he has something for Sylvain.

Well, it can’t just be a ‘something’ if he managed to contract this disease. It has to be so much more intense. Felix huffs out of his nostrils and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Just my damn luck, he thinks. Why did I have to fall for him?

He reads on.

‘Those with this disease are at risk of several side effects, especially the longer that the disease lasts. These include, but are not limited to, temporary to permanent colorblindness due to damage in the photoreceptors, blindness, and even in some cases, memory loss.’

Felix stares blankly at the page. He’s read the words. They’re sinking in. But he refuses to believe this.

What good is a swordsman who can’t see? Who can’t remember anything? Felix feels frustration at himself eating him up from the inside out. Expectations weigh heavy on him—he can’t afford to just lose parts of him like this, especially when they put him at risk of becoming so pathetic when compared to Glenn and all of his perfect glory.

The only known cure is to naturally have one’s feelings returned.’

The paper ends there, then listing examples of people who have had the disease and depicting diagrams of eyes and brains and drawings of the tears, all with labels and notes scrawled beside them.

Well, that just means Felix is fucked, doesn’t it? Sylvain definitely won’t love him back naturally. And if Felix tells him about this disease, Sylvain might pity him and try to say that he loves him when it simply isn’t true.

Felix doesn’t want to be another person who forces Sylvain to do something he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want Sylvain to ‘love’ him if it means that Sylvain grows to hate him, pity him, stop seeing him as a friend altogether.

Looks like Felix needs to keep this to himself.

He’ll figure it out. He just needs some more time.

-

Felix’s tears change colors. Some days, they’re blue; some days, they’re green. Felix is putting together a theory. He thinks that the colors are linked to his emotions.

Green tears often come after a day of watching Sylvain saunter around the monastery with girls on his arm, of catching Sylvain flirting with and kissing girls behind the training hall, of hearing Sylvain and another pair of footsteps stumble back to his room after a night out. Red tears come on days where Felix is burning with rage, with frustration, with self-hatred—where he’s thinking about how powerless he is to his love and how Sylvain, the man he trusted the most, is going to be the literal end of him.

And blue tears come on days when Felix realize that he’s going to lose his vision to a disease that no one at the monastery’s ever heard about. When he realizes that he will lose his memory. When he realizes that he never stood a chance against those pretty girls in their class, at the monastery, at the marketplace.

As time goes on, the colors become more saturated, vivid, brighter. The little shards that glint and glitter grow bigger, brighter, more complex.

It can’t be a good sign.

Felix knows what he has to do, even if it hurts. He has to cut Sylvain out of his life.

If there’s no Sylvain, there’s no unrequited love. If there’s no unrequited love, there’s no stupid star tear disease. And if there’s no star tear disease, then Felix should be back to status quo.

-

“Hey, have you seen Felix lately?” Sylvain asks Ingrid.

“Have you checked the—”

“Yes, I checked the training hall. He’s not there. He hasn’t been there for a few days.” Sylvain ignores the surprised look Ingrid gives him. “He’s been skipping class and training, and I think he’s been sneaking food to his room.”

“Hm. If you don’t know where he is, don’t expect me to. I always figure he’s hanging with you.” Ingrid pauses thoughtfully. “But I did catch him once. At night. He was sitting out at the dock and looking up at the sky.”

Sylvain furrows his brows. “Did you talk to him?”

“Well, no.” Ingrid gives him a sheepish look. “He looked kind of peaceful there, and I figured that he was there for a reason. I didn’t want to bother him.”

“Do you think he’ll be there tonight?”

“Don’t know. Why?”

“I just want to check up on him. Like I said, he’s missing class.” Sylvain holds up a neat folder of notes. “The professor asked me to deliver these anyway.”

“Just leave them at his door. I’m sure he’ll pick them up.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to protest, but he’s keenly aware of the curious look Ingrid’s giving him, so he just shuts his mouth, smiles, and pushes down his painful worries for Felix, even if it feels like swallowing a mouthful of glass.

He needs to get her worries off of him.

“You know, you’re right. Goddess, you’re always so smart, Ingrid. It’s one of the things I like most about you.” Sylvain lowers his lids and grins.

It works. Ingrid rolls her eyes.

"Ugh, shut up, Sylvain.”

-

Felix’s situation is getting worse, and it’s been maybe a week or so.

Sometimes, in the middle of the day, his vision starts to blur. Colors blend together and shapes become undefined blobs in his vision. He’ll wobble around and bump into walls and people, cursing under his breath when he lands unceremoniously on his ass. His peers usually help him up and ask if he’s alright, but he’d rather be caught dead than admit what’s going on, so he tells them he’s fine and tries to walk it off, even if he runs into another wall.

Sometimes, the colors of his tears tint the world. He’ll feel like he’s drowning underwater as his eyes show him a world in the same blue of the tears he shed the night before. He’ll feel like he’s burning alive in hell when his eyes show him a world tinted in an angry red. And other times, his tears seem to sap the world of color, leaving him in a diluted, wash-up world.

It hasn’t gotten too bad yet, though. At first, if he rubbed his eyes, the effects would disappear, but as time passed, it got harder to wipe away those strange effects. By now, he’s learned that if he can get some eyedrops from the infirmary, he can clear away the effects.

But sometimes, the effects aren’t too bad, especially when he looks up at the night sky. Seeing the stars red and blue and green as his own stars drip down his face is kind of comforting in a twisted way. His last, beautiful sights before his vision fades away.

-

Sylvain’s talking to Annette and Mercedes right outside of the stables when he spots Felix walking into the marketplace. Sylvain quickly excuses himself from the girls and makes his way towards Felix.

He’s been seeing Felix a lot more lately, but something’s off. Felix is always rubbing at his eyes and squinting, running into people and walls and things. He comes to class, but he doesn’t like to pass notes anymore, though he still sits by Sylvain, which Sylvain takes as much comfort in as he can.

It isn’t a lot. Being so close to Felix means that Sylvain can see how puffy Felix’s eyes are and how unfocused his gaze is.

Sylvain’s immediate instinct is to interrogate Felix—who made you cry? What’s wrong? Do you want me to hug you like I used to? But he knows that Felix won’t like that, so he just pretends that he doesn’t notice Felix’s red-rimmed eyes. Felix will talk to him when he’s ready, just like he’s always done.

Felix hasn’t said anything for a while now. Just passing hellos and goodbyes and I’m busys.

Something’s off. Terribly off.

Sylvain rounds to corner and hurries to Felix, who is starting to walk down the steps. Sylvain pauses when he sees Felix stop. For a second, Sylvain thinks that Felix is waiting for him, so Sylvain smiles and starts to walk a little faster, calling his name.

Felix doesn’t seem to hear him, instead looking around. His gaze is clearly confused. He’s mouthing something to himself, his eyebrows furrowed.

Then he promptly turns around and leaves the marketplace.

Sylvain sees Felix do something similar the next day during lunch.

Sylvain, Ingrid, Dimitri, Dedue, and Felix are chatting together as they eat. No one is able to squeeze out any new information out of why Felix has been missing class other than a blunt, “I was sick.”

It sounds like a lie, but with how red Felix’s eyes and the tip of his nose is, he looks like he’s still got a bit of a cold going on. Sylvain just feels bad that he wasn’t there to help Felix. He wouldn’t have minded catching a cold from Felix if it meant that he could be by Felix’s side and make him happy, feed him soup, go over notes with him from class—something.

They’re in the middle of talking about the meal. It’s beast meat teppanyaki, but Sylvain opted not to get it, instead grabbing some roast.

“Sylvain,” Felix says, catching his attention.

“Yes?” Sylvain purrs at him, smiling.

“Here.” Felix places a slice of the beast meat teppanyaki on Sylvain’s plate. “I can’t finish this.”

The table goes quiet.

Sylvain laughs a little, thinking it's a joke, but Felix's expression doesn't move. If he being serious? Sylvain’s smile falters a little. “Oh. Well, um…”

Felix frowns. “What?”

“Felix, Sylvain doesn’t like beast meat teppanyaki.” Ingrid reaches out and stabs the slab of meat, pulling it onto her own plate. “You know that. And I’m offended you didn’t offer it to me first.”

Felix stares blankly. “What?"

“I thought you knew.” Sylvain cocks his head. There have been plenty of times when they were younger when Felix’s dad commented on it—where Felix himself commented on it, something like I know you don’t like this meal, so I asked Father and Glenn if we could change the menu!

“I did.” Felix shrugs, but there’s a hard look to his eyes. “Just thought you should try it anyway.”

Sylvain finds Felix acting strangely again on the very next day.

They’re taking a test. Sylvain’s done with his already, and he’s pretending to mull over some answers in his head, but his gaze drifts to Felix as it always does. Felix is staring down at his test, tapping the table idly with the end of his pen.

His paper is blank save for the spot for his name.

Sylvain checks quickly to see if the professor is watching. The coast is clear. Sylvain slips Felix a note.

‘Stuck?’ it simply reads.

Felix stares at the note for a minute. He frowns. Narrows his eyes. Furrows his brows.

He writes, ‘No,’ and slides it back. His tapping resumes, though now he stares at the paper with a much more frustrated expression.

Felix stays until the very end of class, less than half of his exam filled out. The professor doesn’t let Felix out of the class and shoots Sylvain, who’s waiting at the door for Felix, a look that simply reads, This is a private conversation, Sylvain.

And no matter how much he wants to stick around so he can try to cheer up Felix, Sylvain takes the hint and dismisses himself, calling out to Felix that he’ll catch him later. Felix doesn’t bother looking at him.

-

Sylvain’s desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong with Felix. He’s followed Felix around and actually started to try and bug him about it, but as expected, Felix doesn’t give him an answer on it. Instead, Felix shuts up and starts avoiding him even more, which just kind of hurts, really.

He takes matters into his own hands.

Sylvain flirts with girls, hinting that he’s worried about his friend, hoping they’ll have information on him. It’s not a good plan. They only offer condolences and change the topic. And some of them get upset, telling him, “You always talk about Felix! Why don’t we talk about something else?” which is usually followed by a giggle and, “It’s like you’re in love with him!”

They’re not wrong.

Sylvain takes to a different plan from then. He starts to take note of Felix’s symptoms and looks up a fitting sickness in the library. Dizziness, memory loss, puffy eyes. He asks Manuela in Felix has been in the infirmary. He asks Mercedes, Linhardt, and even Marianne.

No one has an answer.

"Allergies,” Manuela answers simply, not even bothering to look up from her paperwork. “He came in asking for eyedrops a few times.”

"The flu, maybe?” Mercedes suggests. “Would you like me to check up on him? I have some free time before class tomorrow.” Sylvain asks her to, but Felix refuses to let her come into his room.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Linhardt tells him bluntly. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I’m busy.” He then pulled out a pillow from his backpack, fluffed it, and set it on the table in the library before flopping headfirst onto it. Before long, he’s asleep.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I wish there was more I could do,” Marianne whispers, shutting her eyes tightly as if praying quickly for Felix. “I’m sorry. I will pray for your friend, Sylvain.”

It seems that Felix has the answers that Sylvain’s looking for and refuses to give them to him. It’s frustrating, especially because Sylvain just cares so much about Felix. Seeing him so off hurts Sylvain.

He can only hope that everything’s okay.

-

Felix is training with his class. He’s sparring. This is his element. Even with all the hectic happenings from the disease, Felix feels like nothing can really go wrong here. His footwork and his form are damn near flawless.

But everything starts to go south when they all switch partners, and Sylvain comes over to him. Felix steadies his stupid, traitorous heart and tries to focus on training, but something terrible happens.

His vision goes dark.

Felix freezes right in his tracks and drops his weapon, desperately wiping at his eyes. His vision comes back in little splotches and blobs, but it’s strangely colored and blurry and Goddess, Felix left his eyedrops in his dorm—

“Fuck,” he curses. “Fuck, no. No!”

What a fucking mess. What a fucking terrible, unfortunate mess.

Felix knew he would lose his vision. He knew it would come to this, but no. Not like this. Not in the middle of the day. Not while he’s doing one of the things that makes him feel alive, feel indestructible.

Why? Why? Why?! His brain is screaming on loop.

"Felix… Are you… Are you crying?” Sylvain asks incredulously. Felix can barely hear his soft voice over the sound of the clashing of metal around them, but he hears him nonetheless.

-

Sylvain had thought he was just seeing things. Right as Felix was about to win their sparring match, Felix froze there and starting wiping frantically at his eyes. Felix had been cursing under his breath as he stood there, rubbing his eyes.

At first, Sylvain thought it was kind of cute, like a reminder of how Felix used to be—how he’d stand there and cry, tugging at Sylvain’s shirt for comfort.

But then Felix actually started to cry, and nothing hurt more than in that moment.

Sylvain puts his lance down and makes his way to Felix, shedding his jacket and throwing it over Felix’s head to shield him from any curious eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here." Sylvain puts an arm around Felix’s shoulders and leads him out of the training hall. He knows that the professor will understand if he says Felix got injured during training. Any professor would.

Felix obediently comes along, though after a while, he starts to stumble around again, so Sylvain has to lead him. He takes Felix away from the training hall, grasping his hand tightly as he leads Felix back to his dorm. When they’re safely in Sylvain’s dorm room, Sylvain sits Felix on the bed.

“Felix, what are you crying about?” he asks quietly.

"Nothing. I just have something in my eyes.”

"Yeah?”

Sylvain pulls his jacket off of Felix’s head, to try and get a better look at Felix’s face, and blinks when he finds Felix staring straight at him with that unfocused look to his eyes. The tears that are sliding down his cheeks are a dark purple, and they shimmer in the light of the setting sun that bleeds into Sylvain’s room. And as they fall through the air to land in Felix’s lap, they make a little shimmering sound.

"What…?”

Sylvain's never seen such a sight. Felix's tears are so beautiful, yet seeing him so sad, so upset, hurts like a stake driven straight through his chest. Is this what was ailing him? Is this the 'sickness' that Felix had been talking about? Has he been suffering like this alone?

Felix averts his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not!” Sylvain lets out a small sigh. It’s so Felix to try and brush this kind of thing off even when he’s been caught. “Felix, tell me what this is. I won’t tell the professor if you don’t want me to, but it looks serious.” He pauses. “A curse?” Another pause. “Did you try to dye your eyeball or something?”

“No.” Felix rolls his eyes, but those shiny, purple tears continue to fall from his eyes.

“Felix, I’m begging you.” Sylvain shuts his eyes tightly. “Just tell me what it is, so I can get you some help.”

“No. I don’t need help. There isn’t anything you can do about this.”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I can find you some treatment! I can ask Manuela and the other healers—or maybe ask people to look around the Gautier territory to find you something that can help.” Sylvain takes a small breath to calm himself down. “Please. Let me help you.” When Felix doesn’t speak, Sylvain adds, “It doesn’t make you weak to need help, Felix.”

“Why do you even care?”

“What are you saying, Felix?” Sylvain blurts out. “We’re friends, aren’t we? It makes sense that I’m worried for you! Especially when you’re crying weird purple tears and you’ve been acting weird for the past few weeks! Can’t you tell I’m worried for you?”

Felix shuts his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for anyone to help me at this point. So stop worrying. It’s pointless.”

“Please don’t say things like that.” Sylvain can’t help himself from reaching forward to wipe away Felix’s tears. He cradles Felix’s face delicately and gently, gently thumbs away the tears. This all feels so domestic and soft, but there’s just a strain on Sylvain’s heart, knowing that this isn’t what his regular life is like, that Felix doesn’t regularly let him do this. “Just let me help you.”

Felix pulls away.

“Felix, please. Why can’t you just understand that I want to help you because I…” The words he wants to say get caught in his throat. Good thing they do. Sylvain doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself, doesn’t want to expose his true feelings.

"Because what? You pity me?”

“No!” Okay, fuck it, Sylvain thinks. He clearly won’t get the point unless I spell it out for him. Sylvain’s face heats up a little. “Because I love you, Felix!” His voice gets a little small as he continues, “So let me help you—in any way that I can.”

Felix freezes. Sylvain freezes at Felix’s reaction.

"Not funny,” Felix grits out.

Well, his feelings are all out on display. He might as well double down. Besides, it’s better to die having said all this than bottle it up, right? “It’s not a joke. I love you.”

Felix clicks his tongue. “And I’m sure you’ve said this same thing to all the girls at Garreg Mach.”

Sylvain winces. It’s to be expected. Sylvain knows his own reputation. “Then how can I prove it to you? I’ll do anything.”

Felix doesn’t reply, but his tears slowly stop coming.

“Anything,” Sylvain repeats. “Do you want me to yell out the window about how much I love you? Or take you back to the training hall and tell everyone in there? Because I will.” He knows Felix’s answer, but he knows deep in his own heart that if Felix so much as hinted at either of those, Sylvain would do it in a heartbeat.

Felix could tell him to jump off the bridge leading up to the Cathedral, and Sylvain would do it, no questions asked. He trusts Felix that much. He loves Felix that much. With all his heart. With no hesitation.

“No.” Felix’s face heats up. “Don’t be annoying.”

“Then tell me how I can prove that I’m being serious.”

Felix slowly but hesitantly makes his way to Sylvain. Inching closer and closer, closing the distance between them. Sylvain lets Felix’s hands rest on his face. Felix cradles his face like Sylvain had done to him earlier, though one of his hands brushes back Sylvain’s hair. Then Felix slowly pulls him closer in a cue that Sylvain knows all too well.

Sylvain meets him halfway, melding their lips together in a warm, slow kiss. Sylvain’s heart jumps in his chest, and it takes everything in his body not to pull Felix in even closer. He doesn’t want to scare Felix away.

It’s a sloppy but tender kiss. Felix’s lips are a little chapped, but they’re still everything that Sylvain’s ever imagined. The smell of Felix’s shampoo, of his soap, and the feeling of his calloused hands in his hair, against his skin—it feels unbelievable, feels perfect. Sylvain feels like he’s in a dream.

-

When Felix pulls away from Sylvain, his heart is a rapid-fire thumping. He’s dizzy; he’s breathless; he’s blown away that any of this is happening. He’s finally kissed the man he’s dreamt of having since he was little. He’s finally kissed Sylvain.

And strangely enough, when Felix looks up at Sylvain, his vision has been restored, and the strange colors and blobs and splotches aren’t there anymore. Everything looks pretty normal. No diluted colors or tints. Just normal, like he remembers it.

Sylvain smiles down at him. “You stopped crying.”

Under Sylvain's warm gaze, Felix feels like a flower finally receiving sunlight after years of being kept in the dark. Happy, warm, flourishing. But still something haunts him. 

Felix furrows his brows and averts his gaze. This is too good to be true. Sylvain’s bound to tell him that he just wanted to make Felix feel better or to distract him from why he was crying.

But Sylvain doesn't. Instead, he keeps wearing that patient, warm smile, genuine joy in his eyes, and he waits for Felix to say something. Anything.

"Sylvain, do you mean it?" Felix asks. "Genuinely. I don't want to hear pity or jokes from you."

Sylvain meets Felix's eyes. "Of course I mean it, Felix. I know I don't have the best track record for these kinds of things, but I swear I'm serious when it comes to you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—I want to keep that promise of ours and never leave your side until we die together." 

Felix lets out a small sigh, a breath of relief. "And you aren't just saying this because of my condition?"

Sylvain laughs a little. "I don't know what your condition is, Felix. You wouldn't tell me, remember?"

That's true. 

Then Sylvain couldn't have pitied him for the star tear disease that would have left him blind, with amnesia, with Goddess-knows-what other side effects. Does that mean...?

As if Sylvain can pick up on what Felix is thinking, he tells Felix, "I'm serious, Fe. I love you."

And with those simple words, Felix crumbles. Such intense yearning put him in such a dangerous situation, when this whole time, Sylvain wanted him back. All those frustrated, hurt tired feel so pointless and embarrassing, but in the way it feels when reminiscing on a foolish memory. Tears start to well up in his eyes again—tears of relief and joy—but when they fall, they bear no color nor any sound.

It's true then. Sylvain's genuinely returned his feelings. The tears don't stop.

Sylvain looks a little shocked. "Felix?"

Felix grabs Sylvain and pulls him in tight, burying his face in Sylvain's shoulder. He'll explain all of this later, and they can both make fun of each other for being so oblivious. They can talk through this strange disease, and they can have a great laugh over how Felix had yearned so much that he contracted a disease that one in a billion people get. They'll talk through their sides of the story and fill each other in on how they felt and what they were thinking and all that shit.

But for now, Felix just wants to cry and hold onto Sylvain, hold onto the man who had unknowingly stolen his vision and restored it, hold onto the man who had filled Felix with emotions at an intensity he hadn't felt in years. He just wants to cry and hold onto the love of his life.

And Sylvain holds Felix tightly and comforts him without question, without judgment, just like he would when they were younger.