Archive of Our Own ^beta

December 22, 2020

Hours Elapsed: 1:12

In Felix’s opinion, anybody would be lucky to have him at their party. He’s been invited to parties before, several in fact, so obviously he is well liked. Maybe even popular. He has refused the vast majority of said invitations which means he’s definitely considered “cool” or whatever.

Not only is Felix “cool” to have at parties, he’s a fucking blast! Probably! Because Felix is interesting! Felix is fun! Felix is a goddamn motherfucking party animal for fuck’s sakes!

For some reason Dimitri laughs when Felix tells him as much.

“Oh, you’re serious,” Dimitri says with a stupid look on his face. All pinched eyebrows and pursed lips, as if Felix is anything other than completely serious 100% of the time.

The crime Dimitri has committed is that he had the gall to imply that Felix was lacking in holiday cheer. He had attempted to be considerate when asking if Felix would be fine if Dimitri threw a small Christmas get together. He had told Felix–to his face–that since he wasn’t big on holiday cheer, maybe he’d prefer if Dedue or Ingrid hosted instead to ensure that nobody was encroaching on his personal space.

So, Felix couldn’t co-host a stupid Christmas party, but Ingrid “Narc” Galatea would be just fine? Fuck you!

“Fuck you,” Felix spits the words in Dimitri’s direction. “Happy Christmas or whatever, let’s throw a goddamn party.”

And throw a party they do.

It’s 6:12 in the evening and the party has been in full swing for a bit over an hour. “Full swing” is a term used loosely here, in reality it’s less of a swing, and more of a hobble. A handful of their friends mill around their small, shitty apartment, holding half empty cups of non-alcoholic eggnog as “Jingle Bell Rock” attempts to blast out of the blue tooth speaker Dimitri had won in a workplace raffle two years ago.

“I have dip,” Dedue informs Felix for the second time that night. He stands tall above him and looks like he’s annoyed that he even has to speak to Felix about his dip.

“Why are you telling me?” Felix asks.

Dedue sighs. “I brought chips. Or, pita bread. I thought I could fry it and have fresh chips.”

“For the dip?”

“Yes, for the dip.”

Felix frowns. He was already frowning, but he frowns harder now in response. “Okay, but why are you telling me?” he asks once again.

“You’re the host,” Dedue enunciates each word in a slow drawl, as if he was speaking to a class of children and attempting to ensure that they were following along. “I would need the host’s assistance to accomplish this.”

“Where’s Dimitri? It’s his party.”

“He got anxious by the party atmosphere and is taking a nap,” Dedue tells him.

Of course.

“Okay, fine. Fry pita bread and turn it into chips. I don’t get why you need my permission for that, but sure,” Felix stomps to the kitchen only a few feet away. It’s tight, with barely enough counter space to support their microwave and a coffee maker. He leans against the fridge, purposefully ignoring the Snoopy magnet digging into his hip, and crosses his arms while Dedue fiddles with a package of round flatbread.

A frying pan is already sitting on the stove and Dedue gestures towards it. “How do you turn on the stove?” He asks.

“Huh?” Felix’s eyebrows pinch inwards, confused as if Dedue had started speaking an alien language.

“It looks like a normal stove,” he explains, “but the burner won’t ignite. I tried to light a match, but it still wouldn’t catch.” He twists the knobs to demonstrate their lack of cooperation.

“Oh,” Felix says. “The stove doesn’t work.”

As Dedue nods, the small silver bell at the end of his red hat chimes a gentle tinkle. “Okay, why doesn’t your stove work?”

Felix shrugs.

“How do you eat?”

Felix points to the microwave.

“You cannot only be sustaining off of microwavable foods.”

Felix sucks his teeth with a little tch sound. “We have cereal too. Milk’s bad though.”

The look of defeat on Dedue’s face is immense. “You can understand how that is concerning, right? You understand that this isn’t normal?”

He doesn’t. “Yeah, of course. We’re getting it fixed.”

“When?”

Felix looks at his feet. “Uhhh, Wednesday.”

“That’s good,” Dedue nods in relief. “Who’s fixing it?”

“John.”

“Who is John?”

“John… Joe.”

Dedue rubs his temples, a headache seeming to overcome him. “Alright, so John Joe is fixing your stove on Wednesday. John Joe. The stove technician.”

The lie isn’t good, but Felix is determined to stick with it. “Yeah. You got a problem with him?”

“I’m going to send in a ticket to your landlord to fix your stove. Is there anything else he would need to send a repairman for?”

“How do you have my landlord’s number?” Felix asks. “I don’t even have my landlord’s number.”

Dedue stares at him. “Is there anything else?”

Pouting, Felix looks away. “Hot water won’t run in the bathroom.”

Without bothering to answer, Dedue walks away, already pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his contact list.

Felix doesn’t know what’s expected of him here. He looks around, able to see the entirety of his living room from where he stands and the truly pathetic display of party shenanigans it holds. Dedue stands to the side at the entrance of the hallway, speaking into his phone with a look of concern on his face. Meanwhile, Annette and Ingrid are curled up next to each other on the secondhand neon orange couch Felix and Dimitri had purchased off of Gregslist. Annette slumps in her seat, poking at the remote periodically to flip through the channels. She has reindeer antlers on, so at the very least she looks cute while on the verge of falling asleep. If he peeks around the corner, he can see Dimitri’s door closed tight.

“Felix,” Ingrid calls his name and Felix snaps to attention.

“What?” He asks.

“This party sucks,” She tells him.

He knows that! Why tell him that? “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, you’re the host. What happened to you being the king of holiday cheer?”

Now, he never said he was the king.

“I bet,” Annette chimes up, “That everybody would have a much better time if you put on the hats that I brought! Look! They’re fun!” She holds up a second pair of antlers along with a long green hat.

“I’m not wearing that,” Ingrid and Felix answer at the same time.

“Guyssss, they’re fun. Don’t you like fun?” Annette pouts as she looks over at Felix. “Well, I guess not all of us do.”

“I’m fun,” Felix defends himself. “Who said I’m not fun?”

Ingrid taps her chin in thought. “You did. Eighth grade. I asked if you wanted to come to my birthday party at Chuck E Cheese and you said no. So, I said it’ll be fun, and you said that you hate fun.”

Felix hates this story, but Ingrid insists on whipping it out whenever convenient. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Annette raises her hand. “What about last week?” She asks. “I wanted to make a funfetti cake for Dimitri’s birthday and you said that it was stupid because Dimitri’s stupid and so is cake and so is ‘fun-what-the-eff-ever.’”

That kinda sounded like him. “I’m pretty sure I said fun-what-the-fuck-ever,” he corrects her.

“If I may,” Dedue interrupts, done with his phone call. “I don’t often see you partake in fun activities.”

Felix twists his face up. “And you do?”

Dedue points at the Santa hat on his head. “Fun,” he informs him.

Felix hates this party. “Okay, gimme it.”

Annette tosses him the garment and he grumpily puts it on.

“Why is it green anyways?” Felix asks. “I thought Santa hats were red.”

Dedue clears his throat. “I believe it’s an elf’s hat.”

Lovely. “Okay,” Felix says. “Now what? How am I supposed to be a good host?”

“There’s no food,” Ingrid tells him.

“That’s not true,” Felix argues. “I bought a meat and cheese platter.” He points towards the untouched plastic platter on the dining table.

“Felix,” Ingrid says his name as if every syllable pains her to pronounce. “It’s literally expired.”

“So?” He asks, not understanding the problem. “It’s only bad by a day. Also, Dedue brought dip.”

Dedue seems surprised that Felix had managed to remember that detail. “Yes,” He says. “I made an assortment in case any isn’t to your liking. There’s a buffalo dip, a spinach artichoke, and a bean dip that is vegan.”

Everybody in the room perks up as Dedue speaks, even Felix feels excited at the prospect of Dedue’s cooking.

“However, there are no chips,” Dedue ruins the mood.

“I’m ordering pizza,” Ingrid gives up. “Felix, give me your credit card.”

He grabs Dimitri’s wallet off the kitchen counter and tosses it to her.

“Okay,” Felix says. “Ingrid is getting pizza. What else? Is this not party enough?”

Annette puzzles over the question. “I think some games would be nice. Ooh, or sweets maybe? Ooh, when do we get to drink?”

“I think we only have, like, three cans of beer. Maybe a 4loko,” Felix tells her.

“That’s okay!” Annette says cheerfully. “Me and Ingrid expected this to be… not… uhh what’s the word?” She looks to Dedue for help.

“We are here,” Dedue states simply. “I don’t think anything has been particularly surprising.”

“Yes,” Annette nods. “Everything has lived up to the expectations we had for you and Dimitri.”

“They were low,” Dedue qualifies. “But nothing has been disastrous as of yet.”

“What does that mean?” Felix says as his face flushes hot in embarrassment. Somehow it stings even more to hear them try and phrase it so nicely.

Annette elaborates. “It means me and Ingrid bought a lot of alcohol.” She gestures to the tote bag at the end of the couch where a few tops of bottles are poking out from it.

Okay, well booze and pizza. Booze and pizza is good. Booze and pizza is a party.

“Uhhh,” Ingrid waves for their attention, her phone still in hand. “The pizza place is closed for the night. They said the weather’s bad and they sent their delivery boys home for the night.”

“Oh my God,” Annette covers her mouth with her tiny hands in horror. “They sent the boys home.”

Felix shakes his head. “That makes no sense. I thought pizza delivery drivers had a pact or something. Neither rain nor snow–“

“–in sickness and in health,” Ingrid finishes for him.

“Yes, exactly. Thank you, Ingrid.” Finally, she’s useful. “The weather can’t be that bad, I bet the boys are just being pussies.”

“Felix!” Annette yells. “Don’t call the boys the P word!”

“I agree with Annette,” Dedue says. “I’m sure the boys are trying their hardest and it seems inappropriate to disparage them with misogynistic terms.”

Before Felix can reply with an appropriate amount of swearing, Dimitri emerges from his bolted shut anxiety cave. His hair is a mess, and at some point, he had changed out of the nice blazer Mercedes bought him as an early Christmas/birthday present. He bet Mercedes would’ve had fun at his party, but she’s too busy traveling with her church to Russia or Croatia or somewhere stupid like that to vaccinate orphans for the holidays.

Now Dimitri has on too formal slacks and a child’s sized Hamtaro t-shirt Felix recognized from the 8th grade. It does not fit well.

“Guys,” Dimitri says while yawning. “I was listening to the weather report and–“

“Why the fuck are you wearing that?” Felix cuts him off, blinded by rage and unable to listen to a word out of Dimitri’s mouth as he wears the stupidest, yet sluttiest, mockery of a night-shirt-turned-hooters-crop-top.

“What?” Dimitri asks as if everything is normal.

“It’s obscene,” Felix says while gesturing to him and his attire. “Put your tits away.”

Dimitri is confused as he gropes at his chest and tries to figure out what the issue is. Hamtaro’s adorably furry face is stretched tight over Dimitri’s boobs, the hem of the shirt unable to reach even the top of his belly button, and his biceps bulging out from the small arm holes. “I don’t get it,” he says with his hands still fondling his breasts.

“Literally anyone with eyes can see what’s wrong with it,” Felix argues.

“I only have one of those,” Dimitri reminds him.

Dedue clears his throat before. “Is this your feel-good shirt, Dimitri?”

A small smile blooms across Dimitri’s face. “Yes, it is. You bought it for me in middle school. It’s always a comfort when I’m feeling less than my best.”

Dedue nods. “I’m glad you have fond memories of it. Maybe I could sew it into a blanket or something similar so it… actually fits.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. It’s a bit snug but–“

“You look like a whore,” Felix tells him bluntly.

Ingrid hits him on the arm. “Don’t slutshame him, Felix! He looks… confident and secure within his sexuality.”

“Yeah!” Annette’s agreement is muffled. She’s covering her face with a pillow, a bright red blush visible from her ears. “His body, his choice!”

“Annette, look at him,” Felix instructs. “Look at his boobs and tell me that is work appropriate.”

“We’re not at work!” she argues. “His boobie–BODY! His body, his boobies–CHOICE! IT’S HIS CHOICE, FELIX!”

“Fine,” Felix throws his arms up in defeat, the bell at the end of his elf hat jingling. “His body, his choice, but when you have to spend the rest of the evening staring at his happy trail then that’s on you.”

As this exchange takes place, Dimitri stands to the side, not sure of what he should be doing in the moment.

“I can change?” he suggests.

“No!” Felix, Ingrid, and Annette yell at the same time.

Ingrid clears her throat. “At my time at Seiros University, I had the pleasure of taking several women's studies courses which taught me of the societal ill that is slutshaming. It was an enlightening experience.”

“Am I… a slut?” Dimitri asks unsure.

Felix hates this party. He hates this party so fucking much. Who agreed to have a party because it definitely wasn’t him.

“Dimitri, what were you saying about the weather report?” Dedue keeps the conversation on track as he hands Dimitri his lost blazer.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says. He pulls it on obediently, but instead of obscuring the tightness of his shirt, it only emphasizes it more. “Well, according to the weather report we’re in for quite the blizzard tonight. I’d hate to cut our party short, especially since I’m only formally joining it now, but it might be best to avoid any difficulties driving home. We wouldn’t want you all to get stuck here for hours on end after all.”

The mention of potentially being in Dimitri and Felix’s apartment for any longer causes an instant wave of panic to hit their guests. Annette snatches Ingrid’s phone to check the weather herself, while Ingrid is already gathering their belongings to leave. Meanwhile, Dedue pulls back the curtains to peek outside.

“It’s snow,” Dedue’s voice is hollow as he stares. “It’s snow everywhere.”

It isn’t the relaxing snowfall of a holiday special that leaves marshmallow mounds to leap into. It’s all static. A violent vortex of swirling winter leaving no hope of escape.

December 22, 2020

Hours Elapsed: 3:43

“What do you mean your stove doesn’t work,” Ingrid complains.

“It’s really odd, isn’t it?” Dedue agrees.

“How do they eat?”

“If I’m being honest, I’m not sure.”

Felix gestures at the microwave. “We have hot pockets! Heat those up!”

“Actually,” Dimitri sounds like he’s apologizing as he interjects. “We’re out of hot pockets.”

“You ate the hot pockets? Those were mine,” Felix hisses at him.

“The milk had gone bad and I wanted breakfast,” Dimitri defends himself. “I didn’t expect to have to feed our guests dinner.”

Annette stands on the counter, unable to search the upper cupboards otherwise, and frowns. “I thought you said this was a dinner party. Why wouldn’t you expect to have to feed us?”

Dimitri bites his lip as he muses it over. “That’s a fair point.”

The fridge door closes with a small bang. “There is nothing edible in this household,” Dedue informs them. “Except the dip I made, but there are no chips.”

“We could just eat it with a spoon,” Ingrid suggests.

“No,” Dedue shuts her down as if she was speaking sacrilege.

“Hey,” Annette struggles to climb down from the counter. Dedue, feeling pity, gives her a helping hand. “Where are we going to sleep?” she asks once she’s safely on the ground.

“We have a couch,” Dimitri offers. “Ah, I guess that only fits one person. Someone can always share a bed, or we could get some spare blankets and hopefully the floor would suffice.”

Felix squints at Dimitri. “We don’t have any spare blankets,” he informs him.

“Oh, you’re right. Maybe if you lay out the winter coats then–“

“Absolutely not,” Ingrid cuts him off. “What is wrong with the two of you? How long have you been living here?” she asks.

“Two years,” Dimitri answers. “We’re still sparse on some basic accommodations, yes, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Respectfully,” Dedue says. “This is quite sad. I have to admit some fault of my own, I should have done more to ensure you were properly situated in your new home.”

“No, Dedue,” Dimitri shakes his head. “Remember, both of our therapists want you to practice healthy distancing and for me to learn my own independence.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure Sandra would agree that–“

“Oh my God,” Felix cuts them off. “I don’t want to hear about your therapy.”

Ingrid scowls at him. “Maybe you would benefit from some therapy, Felix.”

“And maybe you would too,” Felix throws the accusation right back at her.

She mulls it over for a second. “Touché. Carry on being unpleasant, I don’t care.” She turns away from him to examine the expired meat and cheese platter.

Annette grimaces as she watches the multiple displays of mental illness play out before her. Deciding that this is a Christmas gift better left wrapped, she moves on swiftly. “Why don’t we ask your neighbors for help?”

“Why would we do that?” Felix asks.

“Because, Felix, I don’t want to die here,” Annette’s answer is solemn, there isn’t even a hint of joking in her tone.

The blizzard has already been dubbed by the weather channel as one of the worst on record in the last fifteen years. It’s expected to continue throughout the night, and even when it ceases its snowy downpour, there’s no telling how long–how many days even–it might take for a plow to break its way through the blanketed streets.

“How many units are in the building?” Ingrid asks.

“Three, including us,” Dimitri tells her. “Do you think it’s okay to bother them, though? We’re practically strangers.”

“Dimitri,” Annette addresses him. “I don’t want to die here.”

“Alright,” Dimitri says. “I guess it’s like borrowing a cup of sugar or your neighbors leaf blower. Not too strange.”

Dedue nods. “At the moment the biggest concern is whether they have any food they’re willing to spare. We can, of course, compensate them for it, but there’s no way to order in food and there is nothing edible in this kitchen.”

Dimitri nods. “Right. Yes. Food.”

“And then sleeping will be an issue as well,” Dedue continues on. “Spare blankets are a priority, but if someone happens to have a space heater or two that’d be nice as well. We can worry about more detailed sleeping arrangements later, although Annette’s probably the only one who can sleep on the couch comfortably.”

Felix shakes his head. There’s too much information coming at him at one time. “Wait, you want us to go beg our neighbors for food and blankets?”

“And a space heater if they have it,” Dimitri clarifies. “I’ve interacted with the person in apartment C a handful of times. I can go to the basement unit then and speak with him.”

“That’s good,” Dedue nods. “Then Felix can talk to the upstairs unit.”

“Apartment A,” Dimitri twists his face up trying to think. “I don’t believe we’ve encountered Apartment A much, but I’m sure–“

“Apartment A is a dickhead,” Felix doesn’t let Dimitri finish his statement. “He sucks and nobody likes him.”

“Oh,” Dimitri recoils from the sudden emotion. “I wasn’t aware. Has he done something problematic? I apologize for my ignorance.”

Ingrid is less enthusiastic to agree with Felix’s assessment. She narrows her eyes at him as if trying to search out some hidden meaning in his words. “And in what way is Apartment A considered a dickhead?” she asks.

He doesn’t like explaining himself, and he crosses his arm as he rolls his eyes. “He just is. Trust me.”

With those words uttered, the entire room elects to not trust him. Ingrid turns away and starts talking to Annette about contingency plans in case their car won’t start in the morning. Dedue’s writing down a list of supplies to beg for, and Dimitri watches him with intense attentiveness.

“He is!” Felix’s insistence is left unheard. “But fine! Whatever! I’ll go talk to the jackass if that’ll make you all happy!”

Finally, Annette looks up with a bright smile. “Thanks, Felix. It does make me happy.”

Felix stalks away and makes sure to slam the door behind him.

Apartment A is a piece of shit, and Felix knows this. The problem with Apartment A can be broken down into three unforgivable crimes he had committed.

1. He had once left an extremely passive aggressive note on Felix’s windshield asking him to move his car. Who the fuck does he think he is? The lord of the streets? Just because Apartment A pays the monthly fee to have the assigned parking spot doesn’t give him the right to be so stingy with it. And to make matters worse, he had insulted Felix’s parallel parking skills in the note as well. How the fuck are you supposed to park if you’re not pulled up onto the curb, genius?

2. He was a nag. About six months ago Apartment A had personally knocked on Felix and Dimitri’s door to ask them to be a bit quieter with “whatever it is you’re doing”. It is Felix’s God given right to play real life Fruit Ninja with Dimitri at any hour he wants. Just because it was 1am on a Tuesday night doesn’t mean anything. If he doesn’t yell “hi-yah!” and “ka-pow!” then how will he be able to get into the zone?

3. And perhaps the most unforgivable of all sins: Apartment A was unbelievably, obnoxiously hot.

There’s a Christmas wreath hanging from Apartment A’s door, and when Felix knocks, he does it hard enough to almost drop it to the floor.

He’s hoping nobody answers. Maybe Apartment A has holiday plans? Maybe Apartment A is vacationing in Cancun? What type of dickhead vacations in Cancun anyways?

Just as Felix is determined to walk away and call this excursion a bust, he hears the sound of a lock clicking open.

The door is pulled open, revealing the man of Apartment A in all his disgustingly hot glory. He’s tall and that makes Felix want to fight him, but he’s kinda built too which only increases his urge for combat.

When he greets Felix it’s with a politician’s smile, all dazzling teeth and dimples. “How can I help you?”

Felix scowls at the floor. He doesn’t like asking for help, especially from strangers. He doesn’t even know how to explain the supreme stupidity of the situation he’s in either.

“Hello?” Apartment A tries for his attention again when Felix doesn’t answer.

“Hi,” Felix says finally as he remembers that it’s good to have manners. “There’s a blizzard.”

Apartment A nods. “Yeah, I noticed. Crazy weather these days, huh?”

“Yeah,” Felix says and fails to elaborate further.

“Well,” Apartment A rocks back on his heels as he tries to chase the point of this conversation down. “Thanks for checking in on me, I guess. I’m Sylvain by the way.”

Felix stares as a hand is extended his way, not comprehending the universal gesture of comradery for a second, before he realizes that he should, like, shake it or something. He does that and when Sylvain (a stupid, stupid name that isn’t sorta sexy at all) squeezes his fingers tight he doesn’t feel a small leap in his heart. Nope. Not at all. Felix Fraldarius is a man of many charms and those charms include 1. Being really good at throwing parties and 2. Not getting a tiny bit wobbly knee’d at any tall ginger man with a firm handshake. Felix Fraldarius has standards.

“I’m having a party,” Felix blurts out.

“Oh, cool,” Sylvain says.

“This isn’t me inviting you,” Felix clarifies.

“Oh. Cool?”

“It’s a shitty party. That’s my roommate’s fault though, not mine.”

Sylvain nods in understanding. “Roommates, man. They suck.”

“Dimitri doesn’t suck,” Felix defends him for some reason. “Except he does. Especially at parties. Anyways, I’m Felix.”

He extends his hand to shake, and when Sylvain obliges with a look of amused confusion marking his face.

“Nice to meet you, Felix,” Sylvain says. “Are you high?”

“God, I wish,” Felix replies honestly. “Do you want to be invited to my shitty party? There’s no food or blankets so you have to bring those yourself, but we have a lot of alcohol and Dedue made dip.”

“Is Dedue your boyfriend?” Sylvain asks.

“No, Dedue’s my roommate’s mutually co-dependent best friend. They’re in couple’s therapy.”

“So, he’s your roommate’s boyfriend?”

“No, God no, but he did make a dip. Three of them.”

“That’s cool.”

“Listen,” Felix says. “There’s a blizzard anyways, so it’s not like you have anything better to do. You’re literally stuck here, so might as well come to my party. I’m doing you a favor, basically.”

Even though Felix is dead serious, Sylvain laughs. It’s a nice sound, a booming chuckle that almost wipes away Felx’s irritation at the possibility of being mocked, but not quite. Sylvain grins as he runs his hand through his bright, Christmas red hair.

“Sure, why not? It sounds fun. Do I get one of those fun hats too?” he asks while nodding towards Felix’s green elf hat.

“Maybe, you’ll have to ask Annette.” Felix is pretty sure Annette has extras, but he’s not making any promises.

“Fair enough, you’re the one doing me the favor after all. And you’re Apartment B, right?”

“Yeah.”

Felix is the one doing the favor. What a good guy Felix is. Not only did he throw a fantastic party, he even acted like a good neighbor. Tis the motherfucking season. “Hey, do you have any spare space heaters?”

December 22, 2020

Hours Elapsed: 5:05

It turns out Sylvain mostly subsists off of takeout and small individual trips to the grocery store with little to offer food wise. He’s not completely useless though, and twenty minutes after his brief and awkward encounter with Felix, he deposits a ridiculous number of spare blankets, pillows, and sheets into Felix and Dimitri’s living room.

“What the fuck,” Felix says at the stack of sleeping supplies.

“I like to keep extra around just in case,” Sylvain explains.

“In case of what?”

“I don’t know, in case my downstairs neighbor gets snowed in with half a dozen party guests in need of shelter,” Sylvain replies.

“There are not a half dozen guests!” Felix defends himself as he flushes red.

“Yeah,” Annette agrees. She’s already laid claim to a pile of pillows Sylvain has brought and spreads her tiny body across the assortment. “Felix doesn’t have that many friends!”

“Nice one!” Ingrid cheers her on with a high five while Annette giggles.

Felix is saved from the impromptu roasting by his supposed best friend when Dimitri and Dedue return from their excursion downstairs.

Dimitri waves big upon entering the apartment, and behind him trails an unfamiliar man. He’s shorter than Dedue and Dimitri, but so is everybody who has ever lived. His light color hair is brushed back, and he smiles meekly at the crew, tiny freckles bunching up near his eyes as he does.

“Good news everyone,” Dimitri announces to the room. “Apartment C has offered their assistance and will generously be sharing their meal with us.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ingrid breathes a huge sigh of relief. “I thought we were going to die.”

“It’s no problem,” the man says in an accent Felix has no hopes of placing. “My roommates and I always go overboard with shopping for groceries and it’s always nice to have others to share a meal with.”

Dimitri beams. “Thank you, Ashe. That’s very kind of you. We are going to be compensating you, however.”

A look of panic crosses Ashe’s face. “What? No, it’s fine! Really, we’re neighbors.”

“Absolutely not,” Dimitri argues. “It was our own poor planning that caused this.”

“I can’t–“

“But I insist–“

“Really I–“

“Just tell us your Wenmo,” Felix interrupts and startles Ashe with the sudden outburst. “Come on, spit it out.” He already has his phone out, ready to send him the appropriate funds. The unfamiliar emotion of guilt has overtaken Felix as he realizes he should do something to help with keeping his guests from perishing. His solution for this is to throw money at it.

“Felix,” Dimitri says. “I’ll take care of it. Put your phone away and I’ll send him the Wenmo instead.”

“Do you even have a Wenmo?” Felix asks. “I’ve never seen you use it.”

“I will learn,” Dimitri insists. “Now Ashe, tell us your Wenmo so we can properly repay you. Or would you prefer cash? I can write you a check.”

“Who writes checks anymore?” Felix asks. “Ashe give me your Wenmo before Dimitri starts looking for his checkbook.”

“Absolutely not,” Dimitri shakes his head. “Ingrid, help me download Wenmo please.”

Frazzled, Ingrid holds her hands up. “Oh, I am not getting involved in this.”

“Uhh,” Ashe tries to change the topic to anything else. “It’s pretty late, isn’t it? We have some leftovers from dinner. I made a casserole so there’s plenty.”

“Hey,” Felix says. “Do you have chips?”

“Huh?” Ashe says.

“Dedue made dip,” Felix explains. “He forgot to bring chips though.”

Dedue sighs. “That’s not entirely accurate.”

“I can get chips!” Ashe announces while sprinting out of their unit.

Meanwhile, Sylvain loiters near the door. “Is there anything else you need from me?” he asks.

Felix shakes his head. “No. I can bring you back your shit in the morning as soon as I kick everyone out of my house.”

Sylvain laughs, and even though Felix isn’t joking, it still makes something in his chest flutter at a successful joke well told.

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you in the morning,” Sylvain says and winks.

He actually winks. Felix is so dumbfounded at the motion, he had no idea people still winked nowadays, that he doesn’t think to say anything as Sylvain slips out of the apartment.

“What a dickhead,” Felix mumbles under his breath.

December 23, 2020

Time Elapsed: 15:34

Waking up in the morning is an experience. Felix, like a truly excellent host, had graciously given up his bed to Annette and Ingrid, and even ignored their commentary as they changed the sheets on his bed to some of the cleaner ones Sylvain lent them.

Normally, he’d sleep on the couch, but he’s working on being a better person full of Christmas cheer and offered it to Dedue instead. Turns out the dip he made was actually fucking fantastic, and Felix feels as if he’s earned the right, even if half his body hangs off the end of the couch.

That left Felix with the option of either cozying up to Dimitri in his bed or crafting himself a nest of blankets on the floor.

In the morning Felix wakes up on the living room floor with a sore neck.

The first thing he does is check outside. He pulls back the blinds from the windows and is greeted with a shocking brightness of the sun reflecting off the white snow. The entire world is blanketed in it, undisturbed by tire tracks or footprints, it’s a perfect winter wonderland offering no escape.

He hears Dedue sigh loudly behind him. He doesn’t appear to have slept well either, his face is contorted in annoyance as he scrolls through his phone.

“Please tell me you can go home,” Felix begs him.

“Believe me,” Dedue says. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do.”

There may be some issues between the two of them, and a lot of them are personal constructions of Felix’s own doing, but it’s nice that they can find common ground upon their mutual displeasure in each other’s company.

According to the news, the snowfall last night is record breaking, and has successfully thrown their ill prepared town into disarray.

“It says it may take a day or two for the snowplows to clear the majority of the roads,” Dedue tells him.

“How opposed do you think Annette and Ingrid are to walking home from here?” Felix asks.

Dedue thinks on it. “Neither of them is particularly tall. I think they might be swallowed up whole.”

“And you?”

“I’m considering my chances.”

This may be the longest conversation the two of them have had in years. Maybe the holidays do bring people together.

December 23, 2020

Time elapsed: 16:22

It doesn’t take long for the rest to wake up. Nobody is happy with their arrangement, and Felix watches the individual journey of grief cross each one of their faces as they realize the news of their entrapment.

“At least we can spend more time together,” Dimitri smiles at the group of hostages.

“I’m going to go beg your neighbors for food,” Ingrid stands up with a sigh. Her hair is a flyaway mess of blonde, her clothes wrinkled and in disarray.

Her expression softens when she notices Dimitri’s downcast look. Apparently, her love language is sportsy masculinity, and she punches Dimitri in the arm. “This is fun!” she lies through her teeth. “It’s like a sleepover, but it won’t end!”

Annette lays sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Never. Ever.”

Ingrid coughs and jerks her chin in Dimitri’s direction with a demanding air.

“Because it’s so fun!” Annette exclaims.

Dimitri looks up at them with his single, watery eye. “Really?”

“Yes!” Annette assures him. “Here! We have antlers! They’re fun!” She grabs a slightly bent pair of antlers off the ground and tosses them at Dimitri.

“Yeah,” Felix says. “Put on your antlers and have some fun, Dimitri.”

“Felix will even wear his hat,” Ingrid adds on with a thumbs up.

Felix shoots her a glare but is unable to keep up the animosity when she mouths please at him.

“Fine, but I want to be Santa this time,” Felix insists on maintaining his dignity at least a little.

Ingrid finally breaks away from the group to see about breakfast from Apartment C with Dedue following along. This leaves Felix with the task of returning the borrowed sleeping supplies to Sylvain.

When Sylvain opens the door a smile breaks across his face. “Oh, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor!” he announces.

“That’s not true,” he crosses his arms and refuses to be charmed.

“Who are you to tell me which neighbor is my favorite?” Sylvain asks.

Felix is ready for this. He came prepared. “July 7th, 2018, you yelled at me to move my car.”

Genuine confusion washes over Sylvain, his dark eyebrows furrow and his lips purse as he tries to pull up the memory. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Okay,” Felix amends. “You actually just left a passive aggressive note on my car like a little asshole.”

“Becoming more familiar,” Sylvain allows.

“And you said my parking was shitty. Like, what the fuck?” Felix asks as new anger consumes him and reminds him for all the reasons that Apartment A sucks.

Realization breaches Sylvain, and his eyes alight in a humorous glow despite no part of this being funny. “Oh! I remember that! Okay okay okay,” he holds back laughter while trying to placate him. “But also, dude, how did you pass your driving exam?”

Hot red embarrassment bursts on Felix’s face in a blush. He did not think this confrontation through very well, but to be fair, he rarely does. “This isn’t about my parking!”

“Half your car was on the curb! Don’t you know that fucks up your tires? Really,” Sylvain places a hand over his heart and looks at him with deep sympathy. “I am but a concerned citizen trying to maintain the safety of our streets and the sanctity of my very expensive reserved parking spot.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Even as his anger seeps away with the absurdity of Sylvain’s antics, Felix doesn’t want to relent, and refuses to meet his eye.

“Come on, Felix,” Sylvain’s voice comes dangerously close to a whine. “Sympathize with me. Imagine my shock that the jackass stealing my spot wasn’t some poor, half blind old lady struggling to make her way home from the grocery store, but instead my hot downstairs neighbor. This is as much a tragedy for me as it is for your terrible parking skills.”

He doesn’t know how to process being called “hot” or know what the appropriate reaction is to it. Combat. It is definitely combat, his brain insists.

“I’m returning your blankets,” Felix does a hard left turn from this conversation, straight up blowing through the traffic laws of communication, and speeding away from the compliment.

“Okay,” Sylvain says. “Where are they?”

“I am returning your blankets, but also I need to borrow them for another night. Maybe two. If that’s cool with you.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s not like I’m using them,” Sylvain assures him. “But also, uh, it’s kinda bad outside, huh?”

That’s an understatement. “It’s the fucking snow-pocalypse.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “I am a bit unprepared for this, not gonna lie,” he tells him. “But I guess I don’t have twenty people in my apartment I have to care for.”

Felix scowls. “It’s three people. It’s not my fault we have to combine Christmas with Dimitri’s stupid December birthday.”

“Oh, well if it’s in the name of Dimitri’s birthday then who am I to criticize,” Sylvain says with a lopsided, goofy grin.

“Exactly,” Felix says. “You still don’t have food in here, right?”

“You inviting yourself to breakfast?” Sylvain teases him.

“Do you have breakfast?” Felix asks.

“Nope!” He is far too cheerful for someone without food in his home. “I have some oatmeal maybe. I usually just pick something up on my way from work. Hey, you think since Apartment C is sponsoring you that they’ll throw me a bone too?”

It’s worth a shot.

December 23, 2020

Time elapsed: 17:03

They congregate in Apartment C’s kitchen. It’s their first all building meeting. Actually, it’s the first time Felix had been in any of the other units. He looks around the brightly decorated kitchen with envy. Was his apartment shittier than theirs? Is that something he should fix?

He is genuinely shocked to learn that they have a working stove.

“You know,” Ashe talks to him with his back turned, engrossed in watching Dedue shuffle a huge pan on their functioning stovetop. “Seteth is really nice, even if he’s kinda scary. Our sink got clogged–“

“Wasn’t my fault!” Ashe’s roommate interrupts in a way that is clearly implicating himself.

“Okay, Caspar. That’s not the point.”

“Just want it on record,” Caspar insists.

“Anyways, our sink got clogged–“

“It was Caspar’s fault,” the third roommate says with a huge yawn. “For the record.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Caspar shouts. “Linhardt, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

Even though it’s barely past ten, Linhardt seems on the verge of falling back to sleep. “I’m on the side of the truth.”

“AS I WAS SAYING,” Ashe’s voice booms through the kitchen. Or maybe it squeaks. It’s loud, but not anything close to threatening. “Our sink got clogged and Seteth came by and fixed it the next day. I’m sure he’ll fix your stove too.”

“I thought our landlord was Rhea,” Dimitri says confused.

“Ah,” Ashe says. “Technically, I guess. She’s just, uhh–she’s just kinda... um–“

“Fucking insane,” Sylvain supplies helpfully. “It’s best not to get into it, but Seteth’s cool. He’s her brother? Cousin? I don’t really know.”

“Are they even related?” Caspar asks.

“Nobody knows,” Linhardt wiggles his fingers in a spooky gesture. “I think she killed the last tenant.”

“Allegedly!” Ashe corrects him. “Don’t gossip. But yeah, she definitely had something to do with that.”

Felix nods along as if he knew this the whole time. He’s pretty sure he only met Seteth once while signing his lease, and honestly, he thought his name was Seth, so this is all new and exciting for him.

“Breakfast is done,” Dedue announces while brandishing a large skillet of soft scrambled eggs.

“Is there bacon?” Caspar asks, his mouth visibly watering.

“Don’t be rude,” Ashe lectures.

“Of course, there’s bacon,” Dedue says. “I also made English muffins.”

Ashe beams from his side. “Dedue’s a great chef,” he says full of pride for his apparent new best friend. “He’s going to show me how to make soymilk today! I told you the sale on soybeans was worth it,” he directs his last comment at Linhardt, who looks uninterested.

Plates are dispersed between the group. There’s not enough room around the table for the crowd, and to compensate, a desk chair is rolled in along with some shitty folding chairs and a whole ottoman. Felix folds his legs criss cross applesauce style on the ottoman as he balances his plate of mostly bacon on his lap.

Everyone digs into their breakfast, sounds of amazement resounding across the kitchen as Dedue’s cooking proves to be the real Christmas miracle.

“All things considered,” Ashe says as soon as he’s able to pull himself away from shoveling food into his mouth. “I’m glad we can finally meet the neighbors.”

“I agree,” Dimitri tears strips of his English muffin apart like some sort of animal not used to eating with civilized people.

“Shitty circumstances aside, it’s not like I had anything better to do,” Sylvain adds on.

“Oh,” Ashe frowns. “Do you not have family to visit for the holidays?”

“He’s a double orphan, so he’s allowed to ask invasive questions like that,” Linhardt throws out.

“Oh! My parents are also dead!” Dimitri claps his hands in glee at something to relate to.

“That’s cool. Anybody else want to share about their dead parents?” Sylvain asks.

Dedue frowns over his plate of food. “My parents are deceased as well, but I’m not sure if this is appropriate breakfast conversation.”

“It’s not, but hey! This is really good, Dedue!” Annette says while chomping on a strip of bacon.

It’s moments like this when Felix can’t tell if he’s the odd one out or not. He looks around the room, but nobody seems particularly perturbed by the conversation, and he moves on.

“There’s snow,” Felix informs everyone.

“Fuck bro, there sure is!” Caspar cackles, bits of half chewed eggs splattering on the table.

“Okay, so there’s snow,” Sylvain affirms Felix’s statement. “I heard it’s pretty bad. We’re lucky our side of town didn’t get the electricity knocked out.”

“I hope there’s no one hurt. I don’t think the county planned very well for this intense weather, and it’d be awful if there’s an emergency.” Ashe frowns.

“Glad to know that our tax dollars are going to good use,” Sylvain says with a roll of his eyes.

Ah yes. Jokes about taxes and city infrastructure. This is a party for adults, Felix realizes.

Felix clears his throat. “There’s snow. And we’re all stuck here. That kinda sucks. Uh. So, what now?”

“You’re right, we are all stuck here.” Sylvain nods like Felix had shared sage advice. “I wanna say it might be better to just wait this whole thing out as a group. Pool our resources and survive the winter.”

Ashe nods. “I also think that would be for the best. I’d hate to see you guys starve,” he looks at the room like he’s staring at a pack of hungry orphans, eyes full of pity and maternal warmth.

“Hell yeah,” Sylvain raises his fist with a small cheer. “Then let’s Bolshevik Revolution this shit up and share the wealth!”

Ingrid eyes go wide. “Hey, hey, hey. Should we be making jokes about communism? Isn’t that a little insensitive?”

“Uhh,” Sylvain awkwardly stands there, clearly trying to figure out if she’s joking or not.

By now, Felix knows that she never is.

“It just feels unnecessarily politically divisive,” she continues. “And like something we shouldn’t normalize because–“

“Hey! We went to college together!” Sylvain eyes go wide as the realization hits. “You were in my Sociology class!”

“Huh?” Ingrid looks confused. “No, I wasn’t–“

“Uh huh!” Sylvain nods. “I remember because you lectured me for trying to make a 420 joke on our presentation and told me marijuana kills and how–“

“OH MY GOD.” Horror washes over Ingrid as she sinks in her seat. “Did I really?”

“Yeah, dude what’s up? It’s been forever.” He doesn’t seem put off by it at all. In a way, he comes off as almost fond.

“I’m doing okay,” Ingrid answers. She cringes. “I’m normal now. Please. Please don’t bring up College Ingrid again.”

Felix laughs. He remembers College Ingrid. Goddamn does he remember College Ingrid.

“It’s all good,” Sylvain waves away her concern. “Everyone was a dick in college.”

“What were we talking about?” Ingrid tries to change the subject away from her poorly formed political views in university.

“Communism,” Dedue helps her out.

Dimitri purses his lips as he tries to sort out the thread of conversation here. “I’m confused. What does sharing food have to do with communism?”

Ashe scratches his head. “I don’t know. I think we would be the capitalist class since we have the food?”

Linhardt nods in agreement. “Then I guess that means we’re to be beheaded.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Caspar’s response is far too aggressive.

“I bet I could behead you,” Felix doesn’t help.

“Does that make me the boring middle class?” Sylvain asks. “I have blankets but no food.”

“I think you’re a landlord then,” Linhardt says. “Enjoy your beheading, scum.”

“This is stupid,” Ingrid mumbles. “Is there really nothing opened? Not even like a convenience store or bodega?”

“There’s snow. Everything’s closed,” Felix tells her.

“Well, there’s Eisner’s,” Sylvain throws out. “They never close.”

“That’s stupid. Everything’s closed. How would they even open? There’s a foot of snow.” Felix argues.

“Sylvain’s right,” Ashe says. “Eisner’s never closes.”

“I’m sorry, what is an Eisner?” Dimitri asks.

“Only the best gas station in the state!” Sylvain tells him. “Their prices never go up and they sell spicy kabobs.”

The thought of a spicy kabob is enticing, but Felix is reluctant to step down from his position. “Snow-pocalypse. Not happening.”

“Either way it’s impossible to walk there,” Sylvain relents.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s impossible to get there because it’s not open anyways,” Felix insists.

“Pretty sure they’re open.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wanna bet on it?” Sylvain asks with a wicked grin.

Felix narrows his eyes. He never turns down a challenge. “Naturally.”

Sylvain tosses his cell phone across the room, and Felix catches it with ease. The number is already pulled up from a Woogle search and without thinking more on it, Felix hits the call button.

“I want a spicy kabob,” Sylvain tells him.

“I’m going to murder you– Hello?” Felix is startled away from his threat when the line connects. “Uh, hi. What are your hours? Okay. Okay. Even today? Okay. There’s so much snow. Yeah, it’s crazy. Okay. Cool. Thanks. Bye.”

The line disconnects and Sylvain smirks. “Spicy kabob.”

December 23, 2020

Time elapsed: 18:34

Apparently, Eisner’s gas station never closes. Never. Felix has learned this today.

He prepares for the cold in a thick combination of shirt, hoodie, sweatshirt, and winter coat like a multiple layer lasagna of winter merriment. As he laces up his boots, Sylvain stands off to the side, far more sparsely dressed than Felix. He looks… handsome perhaps. Handsome maybe in his dark wool coat and burgundy scarf.

“Are you seriously only wearing that?” Felix asks.

“What? It’s not that cold out. It’s just a lot of snow,” Sylvain responds.

Felix isn’t new to the cold which is why he knows how to dress like it. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m Canadian?”

A lot of things about Sylvain make more sense now.

Felix huffs while standing up. “Whatever. Let’s go, Apartment A. This is your stupid idea anyways.”

It is Sylvain’s stupid idea and the least he can do is accompany Felix in the two block hike to Eisner’s.

The world outside their building is still the same picture-perfect blanket of white. There are no footprints breaking the monotony of the snowy wasteland. No joggers, no cars, no nothing really. It’s a perfect silence. An undisturbed dystopian.

“Neat!” Sylvain says while kicking at the snow on the doorstep. “I bet it’ll only take twenty minutes to get there!”

Felix groans as he steps past him, his foot sinking down into the snow and not stopping until he’s knee deep.

“This is impossible,” Felix says.

“It’s okay if you want to go back inside,” Sylvain tells him. “I can probably make it on my own. Canadian, remember?”

Felix glares at him. Without breaking eye contact he takes another step forward, daring him to say something else.

Sylvain grins at him. “Bet I can get to the store first,” he challenges him.

“What are you betting this time?” Felix asks, determined to not lose this time.

Sylvain flashes him a peace sign. “Two spicy kabobs.”

“Deal.”

And with that they are off in a slow, awkward race. Moving in snow this deep is more laborious than Felix had anticipated. It’s closer to swimming through frozen pudding than it is to running, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He swings his arms forward as he shuffles towards the gas station, fully intent on getting there first or dying trying.

“Ah sh–“ Sylvain swears as he barely catches himself from falling by hanging onto a signpost.

“Haha! Fucking loser!” Felix shouts over his shoulder as he rushes forward. “You’re so–SHIT!”

Felix does not catch himself on a conveniently placed signpost when he trips. He falls forward and partially buries himself in the snow.

The sound of laughter echoes behind him and Felix seethes as he’s pulled up from his winter grave. Sylvain’s hands are large enough that they nearly circle the entirety of Felix’s arm as he steadies him to a standing position. He brushes his coat clean, far nicer than Felix probably deserves considering the previous taunting. A taunting that he realizes may or may not have led to a bit of karma coming to give its kiss to him.

“This means nothing,” Felix insists while shaking his head like a dog and sending snowflakes flying.

“A brief pause in our Olympian-like contest,” Sylvain agrees.

Up close like this, he can see the freckles fanning across the bridge of Sylvain’s nose. There are details he wouldn’t have otherwise noticed in Apartment A’s face. A slight lopsidedness in the fullness of his upper lip. The faint remains of a scar nicking his forehead. The way he bites his lip when he smiles. Like he knows something Felix doesn’t.

“What?” Felix asks as he recognizes a wicked glint in Sylvain’s eyes.

“Nothing. I just really want those two kabobs,” Sylvain tells him.

A shocking cold stings the back of Felix’s neck and he yelps as Sylvain dashes forward. Snow melts as it drips down the collar of his coat and with it, a murderous intent brews in Felix as he chases after him. It’s no longer only about the race; this is war.

By the time they reach Eisner’s, they are both shivering with frostbitten ears and red noses.

Felix wins the race. It takes a snowball to the face to down Sylvain long enough for Felix to pull ahead and burst through the automatic door of Eisner’s, but sometimes sacrifices must be made and Sylvain’s death is one of them.

“Hey,” Felix says to the cashier now that he’s indoors and tracking gross slush on the nice linoleum tiles.

Sylvain isn’t far behind. He runs into the store, skidding to a slippery halt and grabbing onto Felix to maintain his balance.

The gas station attendant doesn’t even blink when they see him. They have a candy-striped hat on and a name tag that reads BYLETH.

“Nice hat,” Sylvain tells them. “Can I get three chicken kabobs? Spicy.”

BYLETH doesn’t respond verbally. They turn their back and reach towards a rotisserie style oven behind them to start prepping the meat.

The pair go shopping while their lunch is prepared. “Eisner’s rules,” Sylvain tells him for the hundredth time that day. “You’ll get no finer groceries in the state,” he says while pulling a box of Willa Wafers off the shelf.

“So, I’ve heard,” Felix says while examining the mish mash assortment before him. He realizes that he has no idea what the goal is here. “What are we supposed to be buying?”

Sylvain shrugs while grabbing a can of green beans as well as the box of instant mashed potatoes next to it. “Don’t know. Something edible. I don’t cook. Hey, you think we can make a Christmas feast from this?”

“I’m pretty sure Dedue can do anything when it comes to food,” Felix admits. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Sylvain scrunches his nose up in confusion. “Do you not like Dedue?”

Felix thinks on it. He’s unsure as he answers. “I think we’re friends? Don’t tell him I said that either.”

More random packages are swept up in Sylvain’s arms. “Sounds complicated.”

“Not really,” Felix says. He never considered his relationship with Dedue complicated. Ingrid was complicated. Dimitri was Complicated with a capital C. Dedue was just Dedue. “We went to high school together,” Felix says as if that explains everything which it kinda does.

“Really? What about the other ones?”

“Me, Ingrid, and Dimitri’s parents went to high school together.” There’s never been a time where Felix didn’t know Ingrid or Dimitri and try as he might, he doubts that time will ever come outside of death itself. Even then he’s pretty sure Ingrid will nag him from the next grave over.

“You must be close then,” Sylvain says while examining the list of ingredients within a pack of Woreos.

“I guess,” Felix mumbles before changing the subject. “How’d you end up here anyways? America, I mean. Not the gas station.”

“Through the magic of flight mostly,” Sylvain answers. When Felix doesn’t laugh, he cringes and answers seriously. “Got my degree in business marketing and then got a job in the area soon afterwards.”

“Where do you do business marketing at?” For some reason Felix hadn’t expected that. Somehow in his brain Sylvain’s job was just being a dickhead neighbor, not something actually real.

“Uhh, I’m a marketing consultant mostly, so the clients change around,” he says, a bit taken aback by Felix’s sudden intensity.

“Clients?”

“Yeah, it’s boring mostly. Right now, I’m working a contract with Witter to–” Sylvain shrugs.

“You’re a marketing consultant for Witter?” Felix is hit with the same rush of emotions he felt the first time he saw his second-grade teacher out in public just existing.

“Uh huh,” Sylvain says. “What about you though? I swear, my job is really really boring.”

“I’m a– you’re going to laugh,” Felix cuts himself off. “You’re going to laugh and then I’m going to get mad.”

Sylvain perks up at the new forbidden knowledge up for grabs. “I’m not going to laugh,” he assures him.

He narrows his eyes, not trusting him. “You’re going to laugh and then I’ll have to kill you.”

“This is so incredibly spicy, I’m on the edge of my seat,” Sylvain begs him for more information. “Please, please tell me.”

“I do dramatized historical reenactments at the Children’s Museum downtown,” Felix finally admits through gritted teeth as Sylvain doubles over in laughter.

“I’m not laughing!” Sylvain insists in between giggles.

“Murder,” Felix says with cold finality. “I warned you.”

Sylvain hides his face behind a box of Waft mac and cheese. “It’s cool! Your job is cool!”

“My specialty is intricate stage fighting and I can and will gut you,” Felix’s words are hard steel, but no malice leaks into his voice.

“Holy shit, really?” Sylvain asks. He’s still crouched on the ground and holding a ridiculous amount of shitty non-perishable foods in his arms like a hoard of treasure, but even as he fails to hold back a smile, Felix doesn’t get the impression he’s making fun. “Do you have a sword?”

“Of course, I have a sword,” Felix says like it’s obvious. “How else am I supposed to stab the dragon?”

Sylvain cocks his head to the side. “I thought you said these were historical reenactments?”

“Sometimes, history requires a bit of drama to be fun, okay?” Felix can feel embarrassment creeping up his neck. He didn’t expect to have to talk about this today, and he definitely didn’t expect for Sylvain to be actually interested in it either.

Sylvain raises both eyebrows at Felix, a horrible flirtatiousness held within his grin. “I like fun.”

Felix can’t find it within him to disagree.

December 23, 2020

Time elapsed: 20:15

“What am I supposed to do with this.” Dedue’s question isn’t accusatory, it’s just tired. The groceries (a term used loosely here) are displayed in front of him, crowding Apartment C’s small counter with their wild variety. “Why would you buy croutons? What do you want to do with them?”

That’s a good question. “They’re usable,” Felix insists. “You can put them on, uh, you can put them on–“

“A salad,” Sylvain helps him out.

Dedue shakes his head. “We have no lettuce.”

“You could eat them like chips,” Sylvain suggests next.

His comment is ignored and Dedue picks up a can of anchovies. “Why?”

“Protein,” Felix says. “You should be saying thank you. Those anchovies mean we won’t have to eat anybody yet.”

“Yet?” Dedue asks.

“You heard me, big guy,” Felix sticks by his terrifying implication.

“Admittedly,” Sylvain interjects. “I don’t cook, and I mostly just grabbed whatever I thought was fun.”

“Maybe,” Felix throws out. “Maybe it’s a challenge. What about Chopped Off?”

“What?” Dedue asks perplexed.

“The cooking thing. With the baskets. Chopped Off.” He’s not sure why Annette is giggling behind him, but he chooses to ignore it. “Do the Chopped Off thing and make a food.”

Dedue pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly coming to the limits of his patience.

Once again, the role of host falls to Felix, and he decides to make the sacrifices necessary to maintain the peace of the household. “…And I can help?”

December 23, 2020

Time elapsed: 28:03

Felix is a man of his word. It turns out, he’s mostly useless in a kitchen, but Dedue is determined to put him to work regardless. If there’s one thing he can do, it’s cut things up, and Felix is dead set on being fantastic at his role. The anchovies are roughly chopped, an onion diced, the croutons finely minced, and a chicken breast butterflied to perfection whatever that fucking means.

By the time dinner is finished, Dedue seems content with the work Felix had put in. He’s not actually sure if Dedue’s complimenting him or purposefully getting under his skin when he pats him on the head.

“Good job, elf,” he says in his stupidly stern voice.

“I’m Santa!” Felix tells him, pointing to his red hat. “You’re the elf!” he insists even as he crosses his arms and relishes in the praise.

Dinner is good. Dinner is kinda fantastic. Nobody’s sure how Dedue did it, but he did manage to pull off a Chopped Off worthy creation from the haul Felix and Sylvain brought back.

The evening winds down at a much more sluggish pace than last night. Instead of a drawn out, exhausted panic, the night is mellow.

Other than a slight issue with the fact that Felix and Dimitri don’t have hot water in their bathroom, the complaints of his guests are minimal. His neighbors step in and offer accommodations for his soft ass friends to shower, and Felix searches for something clean that Ingrid and Annette might have a hope of fitting.

Ingrid lounges on his bed as she watches him pull out some old t-shirts and basketball shorts that have always been too small on him.

“Dinner was good,” Ingrid tells him. “I’m surprised you didn’t set anything on fire.”

Felix scoffs. “Dedue wouldn’t let me touch the stove because he’s a dickhead.”

“You’re a dickhead, dickhead.”

That’s not untrue. “Shut up. Remember when you were a complete asshole in college?” Felix threatens her with the reminder of College Ingrid.

“Oh my God! Stop!” She buries her face in one of the pillows stolen from Sylvain’s apartment. “I found feminism, I’m normal now,” she insists.

She is mostly normal now, even if she’s still a nag. He doesn’t actually have a desire to explore her Young Republican days, lest she bring up his ‘I hate Dimitri and everything he stands for and I will make this known to everyone who will listen’ days.

“You know,” Ingrid says while sitting up. “Sylvain was a dick too.”

That gets his attention. “You think everyone is a dick.”

“No, seriously!” Ingrid says. “I’m normal now and I’m sure he is too, but Sylvain was a dick. People grow though, and as you can see–“

“Wait, shut up. How was Sylvain a dick?” Felix interrupts her.

“This isn’t about him, Felix this is about growth–“

“I don’t care about dick growth,” Felix tosses a t-shirt at her. “I wanna hear you talk shit.”

“Fine,” Ingrid relents. “We were in Sociology together and got paired together for a group project.”

“Yeah, and you yelled at him for a 420 joke,” Felix rolls his eyes at the story.

Ingrid grimaces. “Yes, but to be fair, I actually thought that smoking pot would turn you into a murderer.”

“Glad to see Catholic education is going great,” Felix shoots her a sarcastic thumbs up.

Ingrid sighs. “Do you want to hear me talk shit or not? Yeah, that’s what I thought. We were in the same group project with another girl and Sylvain, like a dickhead idiot, decided it was a good idea to sleep with her three weeks before our final project was due.”

“Oh,” Felix says. That’s not what he was expecting to hear. “Does that make him an asshole though?”

“No, what makes him an asshole is that he slept with her best friend the following week. Did I mention that her best friend was also in our group project?” her voice is black coffee bitter. “They both dropped the class after a huge fall out which left me and that jackass scrambling to complete this stupid project that was more than half our grade.”

“Holy shit,” Felix says with a soft tone. This is really not what he was expecting to hear. “Did you pass?” he knows it’s not the right question to ask, but it’s the only response he can think of.

“We got a B+ actually,” Ingrid says. “His WowerWoint was kinda amazing.” She doesn’t sound happy admitting it.

“He’s a marketing consultant,” Felix tells her.

Ingrid perks up at that. “Oh, that’s good to hear! He had great color coordination.” She stands up and stretches, clean clothes successfully seized. “I’m going to go shower,” she tells him. “The point is though! People change! And we don’t have to talk about anyone’s slutty past or poorly conceptualized idea of identity politics born through ultra conservative brainwashing from church camp.”

Felix doesn’t respond, even as she places a kiss on his forehead and tells him goodnight with a punch to the arm.

He walks back to the living room, his nest of pillows and blankets still set up on the floor. Dedue hangs off the couch reading one of the books from Dimitri’s room.

“Do you want to sleep here?” he offers.

Felix doesn’t respond to the request, instead wrapping himself in a warm cocoon on the ground and curling up.

Dedue takes that to mean quiet time and goes back to reading.

Felix isn’t sure why he cares. It’s not like he’s Sylvain’s friend, he’s just a neighbor. A stupid neighbor with jackass qualities and maybe a slutty college fratboy past.

He doesn’t care about Apartment A’s dating history. He doesn’t care if it’s true or not that people can grow up to be less of an asshole.

He doesn’t. He swears.

A few minutes pass before Felix breaks the silence. “Hey Dedue,” he says. “Do you think sluts can change into better people?” he asks him.

An uncomfortable shuffling comes from the couch. “I wish you would stop mentioning Dimitri’s shirt,” Dedue says finally. “He doesn’t mean anything by it and having a fondness for Hamtaro isn’t ‘slutty’ and even if it was that doesn’t make him an indecent person.”

Felix barks out a surprised laugh, genuinely not expecting the conversation to lead back to Dimitri’s tits.

“Cool. Thanks, big guy.”

December 24, 2020

Time elapsed: 39:34

In the morning there is more snow on the ground than they had fallen asleep to.

“What the fuck?” Felix asks, perplexed at how this could even happen. “This is unbelievable. This is literally unbelievable.”

“I want to go home,” Dedue groans while rubbing his temples.

Annette holds a pillow to her chest in a pull for comfort. “I don’t want to spend Christmas here,” she whines.

“Honestly Annette,” Ingrid pulls her close to her side and pats her head. “I’m worried that we’ll be stuck here past New Year’s.”

A strangled cry breaks out from Annette at the possibility of spending weeks camped out here.

Dimitri emerges from his room, still half dressed in his pajamas with worry creased into his face. “Friends, you will not believe this, but there seems to have been an increase in snowfall last night.”

Ingrid slumps in her seat. “Dimitri put your boobs away,” she tells him.

Dimitri looks down. He’s in a black tank top that stretches taut and thin against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just my sleep attire.”

Annette pinches Ingrid’s arms. “His boobies, his choice!” she tells her.

“I hate living here,” Felix informs the room.

“If it’s any consolation, I also hate living here,” Dedue says.

Murmurs of agreement echo around the room. Felix crosses his arms, tapping his foot as he tries to think hard on what to do here.

Sad guests mean a sad party, if you could even still call this a party. Felix is rapidly realizing that maybe that term is not well applied in this case.

He gapes in shock as the truth dawns on him that this is less of a party and more of a hostage situation or perhaps a slow-moving death march. Nobody’s having fun. Nobody’s enjoying their time here. The catalyst of holiday cheer has fizzled out to a nonreactive and instead been taken over by winter depression.

“We should have a party,” Felix blurts out.

Ingrid glares at him. “Oh, because that went so well last time?”

Felix shakes his head. “No, like an actual party. A fun party. A cool party that isn’t shitty,” he tells her.

“I don’t get it,” Dimitri admits.

“Shut up,” Felix instructs him. “Let’s have a party. It’s not like we’re doing anything better. We’re literally stuck here,” he reminds them.

Dedue mulls it over. “We still have left over bean dip.”

“Fucking bean dip!” Felix raises his hands into the air like this is a revelation that changes everything. “Dedue has dip, let’s have a party!”

December 24, 2020

Time elapsed: 53:14

Everybody is invited to the party, and Felix is shocked to realize that sometimes having more than three people in your apartment grumpily agreeing to be there mostly out of guilt can actually be fun.

Sylvain insists on hooking up a playlist that isn’t just children’s holiday carols, and with Mariah Carey blasting her Christmas wish list to anyone who cares to listen, the apartment erupts into bubbly winter cheer.

Finally, Apartment B falls into actual use when Annette and Ingrid line up a collection of boozey drinks on the kitchen counter. They bought so much alcohol it is both obscene and commendable.

Ashe and Dedue spent most of the day holed up in the kitchen making a platter of appetizers to pass around. Felix even offered to help but was turned away when Dedue admitted that he does actually like preparing food for his friends and doesn’t want Felix’s presence to sully the experience, which is more than fair.

By the time the clock hits ten, Felix is amazed by the fact that he might be having fun. The group of newly formed comrades sit in a circle within the living room, a bottle of tequila between them with shot glasses dispersed.

“Never have I ever,” Linhardt says with a bored drawl. “Eaten food off the ground as an adult.”

Noises of discontent and argument erupt around him.

“What counts for food off the ground?” Ingrid argues.

“Food that had been on the ground,” Linhardt clarifies.

“Three second rule though,” Ingrid insists.

From across the circle a pained expression marks Dedue’s face. “You are aware that germs and bacteria do not wait three seconds before latching on to things dropped on the ground, right?”

Linhardt shrugs, tired of arguing the semantics already. “Okay, taking into account the three second rule.”

Nearly everyone reaches for their shot anyways, the only exceptions being Sylvain and Dedue.

“What is wrong with you all,” Sylvain says disgusted.

“If I paid ten bucks for a sandwich then I’m eating my fucking sandwich,” Felix tells him.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that!” Ashe raises his glass into the air.

Dedue mouths something at Sylvain with a small shake of his head. Sylvain sighs, agreeing to drop it while he lifts up his own glass to present his turn at the drinking game.

“Okay,” Sylvain says, thinking hard. “Never have I ever… Lost gay chicken.”

With a bashful laugh Caspar gestures for his glass to be refilled. Ingrid mumbles something about softball teams, and Dedue blinks in confusion.

“People still do that?” he asks.

“It’s a middle school staple,” Sylvain defends himself. “How else are you supposed to parse through the intricacies of your sexuality if not through carefully constructed mildly homophobic rituals?”

Dedue is still in a state of shocking sobriety. Not much of this game has been relatable to him, not even the basic essentials such as passing out in your classmate’s bathtub after drinking too much.

“What’s gay chicken?” Felix asks finally.

“You haven’t played gay chicken?” Caspar asks, horrified.

Sylvain shakes his head. “The middle school rituals, Felix. The rituals.”

If there’s something Felix hates, it’s being out of the social loop. He is often out of the social loop and he is often full of hate.

Linhardt throws him a bone. “Gay chicken is a silly little game that silly boys play where you see which guy chickens out first before homosexual activity occurs.”

Felix blinks. “I’ve literally sucked dick before. Why would I need that?”

With a sigh Sylvain repeats himself. “For the rituals.”

When Felix appears to still not understand, Sylvain takes matters into his own hands. He scoots closer to Felix, enough so that he can feel the heat of their thighs touching, and smell the expensive aftershave coming off him. Sylvain smiles. Or maybe he smirks. Either way it’s an easy grin, loosely pulled up by one end with a honey sweetness. He reaches out, cupping Felix’s jaw and tilting it upwards as he leans in.

“The rituals,” Sylvain’s voice is a whisper, close enough that his breath caresses across Felix’s lips and sends tingles down his spine.

Felix doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t back away. With a soft exhale Felix steels himself for impact.

Sylvain turns away. The tips of his ears are red, and he laughs as he goes out of his way to not meet Felix’s eye.

“Okay,” Sylvain says. “Maybe I’ve lost a game of gay chicken.”

Felix stares at him. He tries to burn a hole through his head. He’s refusing to back down. Refusing to call it a loss.

Sylvain peeks up at him, and when he catches his eye, slight surprise colors his face. The corner of his mouth twitches towards a teasing grin, searching for affirmation in Felix’s gaze as he puzzles him out.

It lasts only a second, and then Sylvain turns back to the party, picking up his drink and downing it in a single swig as he announces his defeat.

December 24, 2020

Time elapsed: 55:14

Felix is maybe a little drunk. “I don’t get it,” Felix shouts over the bursting beat of music. “Why casseroles? What the fuck even is a casserole?”

Of course, Dedue answers his mostly rhetorical question. “It’s a dish slow cooked in the oven.”

“That makes no sense,” Felix insists.

“Is a turkey a casserole?” Linhardt asks the important questions. “It’s slow cooked in an oven.”

Dedue shakes his head. “No, generally casseroles are a type of stew and–“

“What are y’all talking about?” Caspar shouts across the room to the trio where he’s consuming the last of the mini quiches with reckless abandonment.

Linhardt yells back, “Why do white people love casseroles so much?”

“Oh, casseroles are so good,” Ashe says excited at the topic of conversation.

“See!” Felix gestures towards him. “It’s insane.”

Felix is officially at the level of drunk where he complains to the only other two people of color in the room about white people's food choices.

Dedue doesn’t have an answer. “It’s easy to make and can feed a group of people. I’m not surprised it’s popular. It is odd though.”

Felix falls back on the couch, not listening as Linhardt forces Dedue to debate him about whether a turkey is a casserole or not.

The party is a swirl of color and noise around him, but he can already feel himself growing tired of the activity. Betrayal hits him as he looks over and finds Dimitri playing a game of cards with Annette, Ingrid, and Sylvain. In his time of need, he can usually count on Dimitri going to bed before midnight and giving Felix an excuse to follow. Traitor.

He must’ve stared too long, and Sylvain raises a hand in quick acknowledgement.

Felix sits up and leans over the back of the couch. He quirks an eyebrow at Sylvain, a small smile uncharacteristically on his lips.

Dare you to.

Sylvain backs out of his game of cards. “I have to check on something upstairs, but I promise, I will take all your tortilla chips another day,” he tells them while gesturing towards the makeshift poker chips on the table.

As he saunters past the couch he turns towards Felix. “Wanna come?” he asks.

Double dog dare you.

December 24, 2020

Time elapsed: 55:28

Felix is winning at gay chicken.

He tilts his head back, black hair spilling over the side of Sylvain’s much nicer couch as Sylvain sucks a hickey into the crook of his neck. Felix digs his nails into the soft muscle of his shoulders. A moan is loosened out of him as Sylvain pushes up the hem of his shirt, ghosting over his ribcage with an electrifying touch.

Felix squirms to be closer. He wraps his leg around Sylvain’s waist, pulling him towards him as he captures him in another deep kiss. He can feel a groan reverberate on their shared breath, the taste of tequila on his tongue as Sylvain tightens his grip on him, a surprising possessiveness in his embrace.

Making out on a couch might not be the best idea either of them have had, however.

Felix twists wrong, and Sylvain is not a well-balanced person even in sobriety. In a second the pair go from groping one another to tumbling onto the floor with a painful thunk.

“Ow,” Sylvain complains while rubbing the back of his head.

Felix groans in a decidedly nonsexy manner even though he had mostly dropped on top of Sylvain without any hurtful impact.

“Wanna get up?” Sylvain prods him when Felix doesn’t make any move to adjust their positions.

“Not really,” Felix answers honestly as he burrows into his chest.

Sylvain cups the back of his head, weaving his fingers into the loose black strands. Felix doesn’t remember untying his hair, but he isn’t worried about it right now. He’s focused on the feeling of having his head stroked. Focused on the heat radiating off of Sylvain’s body. The sound of his beating heart.

“D’you wanna sleep here?” Sylvain asks in a low voice. “Not the floor. In a bed maybe. Or the couch if that’s too forward.”

After spending two nights bundled up on the hardwood floor, the idea of a bed sounds incredibly tantalizing.

What Feix means to say is: “Yes. That sounds lovely.”

What Felix actually says is: “You’re not gonna fuck my roommate next, right?”

“Huh?” Sylvain is taken off guard by the comment. He sits up, forcing Felix to follow.

His knees curl to his chest as he watches confusion wash over Sylvain. Guilt’s beginning to eat away at the edges of Felix’s subconscious for the mean remark, but not enough to get him to backtrack. “I heard a rumor,” he tells him.

“Ah, fuck,” defeat is embedded deep into the swear. “It's because of the group project, isn’t it?”

“I’m not one to reveal my sources,” Felix tells him with narrowed eyes. “But yeah. Ingrid snitched.”

Sylvain snorts. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

The confirmation stings a bit, but Felix shoves it down. “What’s up with all of that?”

“Gonna be honest, did not expect this topic to come up here,” Sylvain says.

Felix shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

A deep sigh escapes Sylvain as he looks up towards the ceiling trying to form his thoughts. “Really, I was just a dickhead in college. There’s not much more to it.”

Felix fiddles with his hair, trying to find something to do with his hands, and twisting the black strand tight around his finger. “Okay.”

“I’m less of a dickhead now. I had some issues back then,” he stays vague in his answer, but no less earnest for it. “I promise I’m not a slutty fratboy.”

Felix snorts. “Seems kinda slutty fratboy of you to try and fuck your downstairs neighbor.”

Sylvain laughs. “I don’t wanna argue semantics, but I’m pretty sure I was succeeding at fucking my downstairs neighbor. In fact, it may be that my downstairs neighbor is trying to fuck me.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny these baseless accusations,” Felix defends himself. He slumps down, sliding onto the floor until he’s mostly lying down on it. “Sorry, I don’t know why I would bring that up now.”

Sylvain hums. “Could it be that you like me?”

“That’s ridiculous,” he says because it is. “You’re a dickhead.”

“Because of college?”

“Because you insulted my parking.” Felix did not forget. He’ll never forget.

Even then, he’s not sure if Sylvain is that far off base. It does sound like an incredibly Felix action to bring up serious accusations of asshole-ish behavior while in the middle of hooking up with a crush. Not that he has a crush. Not that he was even technically “hooking up” with him either.

Felix scrunches his nose up. “In general, I am a rather unpleasant person.”

The change of topic takes Sylvain by surprise. “Are you?” he asks.

“I am not very ‘good’ at ‘flirting’ or having ‘hook ups’ or anything like that,” Felix tells him while signifying each air quote with a gesture of his hand.

“What are you good at?” Sylvain asks him.

“Combat.”

Sylvain scooches over to him. He’s hesitant to touch, and with slow, careful motions he bumps his shoulder into Felix’s own. “Combat’s pretty cool.”

Felix nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“You know,” Sylvain tells him. “We can just watch a movie or something instead. I have a tv.”

Felix huffs and leans into his side. “There better be explosions.”

December 25, 2020

Time elapsed: 65:01

Felix doesn’t recall falling asleep on Sylvain’s couch. He doesn’t remember asking for a blanket either. He sits up, a slight headache already pounding his temporal lobe as he tries and assess whatever is going on.

There’s a noise. There’s a noise outside that sounds intimately familiar, yet unrecognizable. Deciding to investigate, Felix wraps the blanket around his shoulders and shuffles to the window facing the street.

Outside is a snowplow.

A fucking snowplow.

Felix let’s out a loud whoop that sends a bolt of pain directly to his own head, but he doesn’t care. Already he’s rushing out the apartment door, not acknowledging the groggy sounds of Sylvain waking up in his bed.

He leaps down the stairs and throws open the door to his apartment. As soon as he does, he’s met with the sight of Annette, Ingrid, and Dedue fully clothed and gathering their shit.

“Snowplow,” Felix says only a little out of breath. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“We are,” Annette says while pulling her shoes on. “Oh Felix, we are.”

The mood is as close to exuberant as a group of exhausted, hungover party guests can get. It takes only minutes for them to begin filtering out of his apartment.

“Say I’m a good party host,” Felix says while Annette hugs him tight.

“Lying will make you ugly,” Annette answers. “But you did soooo much better than any of us could’ve guessed.”

He’ll take it.

“So, where did you sleep last night?” Ingrid asks while trying to poke at the hickey on his neck.

He slaps her hand away. “With your mom.”

“My mom is in her sixties,” Ingrid huffs.

“And my mom’s dead. Is sharing time over?”

Ingrid punches him in the arm before following Annette outside to help unbury her silver Subaru.

The last one out is Dedue. He shakes Dimitri’s hand. “I will not come back here until winter is over, and even then, I’m unsure.”

Dimitri laughs, still shaking his hand. “That’s fair. I will miss you, though.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

They are still shaking hands.

Eventually they split ways, with Dimitri making sure to remind him to tell Sandra a happy holiday for him since he can’t attend their next therapy session.

“Bye,” Dedue doesn’t even look at Felix as he exits.

“Bye,” Felix says while slamming the door shut.

As soon as the door closes Felix sinks down to the floor, complete exhaustion hitting him like an avalanche.

“We’re never having a party ever again,” Felix groans.

“Yeah,” Dimitri answers without really listening. “I miss Dedue.”

December 24, 2020

Time elapsed: 68:56

Felix gathers most of the blankets and pillows into an almost folded pile. He kicks at Apartment A’s door, unable to knock with the mountain of fabric in his arms. This time the wreath does fall off the ground.

Sylvain answers the door the same exact way he had three days ago, with a grin on his face and a “How can I help you?” on his lips.

“I have your shit,” Felix tells him the obvious.

“Thanks, you can just throw it over there,” he gestures with a jerk of his chin.

Felix obliges and drops everything in a heap on the ground. “There is probably more of your shit in my apartment, but I don’t know where, so that’s a you problem.”

“That’s fine,” Sylvain assures him. “I have too much of it, and there’s not enough room in our crappy washer for it all right now, anyways.”

“You’re washing all this? Right now?” Felix asks.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Sylvain shrugs his shoulders.

“I can help,” Felix blurts out without thinking even though he hates cleaning and he hates doing laundry.

Regardless, he finds himself following after Sylvain detergent and sheets in hand.

“Don’t overcrowd it, you’ll kill the machine,” Sylvain corrects him with a gentle tone as Felix tries to punch most of the sheets into a single washer.

“Okay,” Felix says.

“Here, put some detergent into the other wash and I’ll do this one,” the way he gives Felix instructions reminds him of elementary school.

Felix follows directions though, unscrewing the cap on the detergent and going to tilt it into the wash.

“You should measure that,” Sylvain stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“It’s fine,” Felix says, going to pour it again before Sylvain snatches the detergent out of his hands.

“What if I just do the laundry actually and you can keep me company?” Sylvain says with a pacifying tone.

For once, Felix doesn’t argue. He sits on top of the washer that’s already prepped while Sylvan swipes his laundry card to bring it to life.

As he sets up the next one, Sylvain hums. “So,” he says. “About last night.”

There is zero desire within Felix to discuss this, but he’s trapped with no escape, an ongoing theme for the week.

“Uh huh,” Felix says as he tries to finger comb the knots out of his hair.

“It was a night. I had fun,” Sylvain says.

Felix nods. “Yeah, me too.”

Silence stretches on between them with only the sound of the washers whining efforts to fill the space.

“Sorry I called you a college fratboy slut,” Felix finally says.

Sylvain shrugs, but doesn’t meet his eye. “To be fair, I was a college fratboy slut, so you’re not far off.”

Felix kicks his legs back and forth, not sure where to go from there.

“Listen, Felix,” Sylvain says facing him. “I was a huge ass in college. And part of post college. High school too if we’re just naming time periods.”

“What about middle school?” Felix asks him.

Sylvain thinks about it. “Honestly, I think I was okay in middle school. Brattier rather than an asshole.”

Felix snorts. “You don’t have to justify yourself.”

“I know,” Sylvain leans against the machine adjacent to Felix’s own. “I want to try though. I can give excuses. About my shitty controlling dad or stupid, awful brother, but those are just excuses. I was a dick, but I think I’m more… I don’t know. Normal now? Hey, did you know that therapy actually works? Crazy, right?”

Felix worries his teeth against his bottom lip. “It’s not any of my business. I was being unpleasant. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I am generally an unpleasant person to be around.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Sylvain says. He pushes himself off the washer and steps in front of Felix. “I’m a bit into it.”

Scoffing, Felix turns his head away, heat blooming on his neck. “I thought you said that your therapy was working. Doesn’t sound like something a normal person would be into.”

“You might have a point,” Sylvain says as his hand creeps up Felix’s leg. “You’re honest. Blunt to the point it’s funny.”

“Fuck off,” Felix swears at him even as he grips the front of his shirt and holds him there, thereby making it impossible for him to fuck off.

“I’m just saying,” Sylvain presses closer still. “Thanks for inviting me to your party. I had fun. I had fun with you.”

“I am so good at parties, it’s unreal,” Felix tells him with pride dripping from his tongue.

“You are so fucking good at parties,” Sylvain affirms before leaning in to capture him in a kiss.