Archive of Our Own

The night was silent, and soldiers were sleeping in student dormitories, dreaming of worlds long gone and worlds to come. In one of the furthest rooms, Felix woke. He groaned, feeling the familiar tickle of petals in his throat. Lying there, all he could think of was whether she truly loved him, and what he would do if she didn’t. Blood began to seep from his nose, a red so rich it looked black.

In a room close by, at the same time, Sylvain jolted awake. Coughing uncontrollably, he leaned over the side of the bed and retched up a number of flowers, so coagulated with blood that they were stuck together in a clump of velvety blues. He considered getting up, walking the few steps to his room and declaring his true feelings. Lying there, he knew he could never, ever do anything that brave. The choking coughs started again.

Amongst the usual din of breakfast, Dimitri, Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid were sitting together. They were talking about that day’s training, yesterday’s battle, all of the things Sylvain would normally contribute to. Instead, he was picking at his food, feeling entirely too nauseous to be able to force anything down. Plus, he didn’t want to vomit up an entire stem of those flowers in front of everyone.

As he stared down at his food feeling sorry for himself, a beaming Annette skipped into the dining hall, slipping between Ingrid and Felix to plant a kiss on her lover’s cheek. Sylvain looked up to see Felix’s soft smile, and then immediately back down.

Pretending to choke on his breakfast, he ran outside to hack up a few petals into one of the flowerbeds. His heart was beating rapidly, pulse jumping around. The burning was beginning, making his lungs feel heavy. Deciding not to return to the table, Sylvain descended the steps and headed for the library. Maybe it was time to do more research on this mysterious disease.

The silence of the library slowed Sylvain’s harried breathing, relaxed his uneven heartbeat. Still, he couldn’t shake the dread that had settled low in his stomach. He dawdled around the shelves, picking random volumes off to add them to his stack, too deep in thought to pay real attention.

The flowers had grown more insistent over the years. The first time he’d ever felt their cursed presence was when they’d been training years ago, while studying here. He’d let his eyes linger on Felix’s bare skin for too long. Afterwards, while walking back to his room, he’d begun gasping for air, only receiving it after he’d coughed up a few bitter, bloodied petals. He later discovered that they belonged to the Wolf’s Bane flower. It was extremely poisonous.

After that, he would feel the brush of those petals against the inside of his lungs, their cold sear a constant burn. It happened when Felix glared at him, smiled at him, even those rare times he laughed with him. It happened when he glimpsed an arm, or the curve of his neck, eyes travelling up to his face. Once, he’d caught Felix with his hair down and had practically sprinted off to go cough up an entire flower into a bush.

Upon realising their cause, he had tried his very hardest to not be in love with his best friend. It had failed, obviously, because he was sitting in the library researching the poisons of Wolf’s Bane and lung complications and a hundred other odd topics to find a way to stop the plants ravaging his body.

Eventually, he fell asleep, book still open beside his head. He dreamed of vivid indigo blooms breaking open his skin, blood and sap mingling, his body set on fire from the inside out.

Felix could feel the familiar itch of petals against his throat. Annette’s leg was pressed against the side of his rather distractingly, but all he could think of was whether Sylvain was alright. He glared at the door Sylvain had left through. What had the stupid swine done to himself this time?

Noting his distracted gaze, Annette nudged him and whispered for him to go check on Sylvain. Huffing, he got up and left, preemptively cursing the moron for what was probably going to be a complete waste of his time.

Felix eventually decided to search the library, a place he felt would be the least likely Sylvain hideout. Surprisingly, he found him there. He didn't wake him straight away, tiptoeing around him to stare at the titles of the volumes he had piled around him. It made no sense to Felix what he would be doing here, reading about plants and diseases. Wait…

As he connected the dots, Felix wanted to wake him up just to slap some sense into him. It was happening to Sylvain too? Infamous skirt-chaser and heartbreaker, Sylvain? He couldn’t imagine a single person who hadn’t fallen for that grin.

As he stood there, the mere thought of those damned red petals made the itch at the back of his throat even stronger.

Sylvain jerked awake. Slamming the book he was reading shut, he jumped to his feet and pasted on a smile. “Felix! Hey.”

Felix just asked, “Who is it?”

Guilt flitted across Sylvain’s face before he smiled sheepishly. “What do you mean?”

Felix just sighed and snapped, “Who is the girl?” He was obviously becoming increasingly agitated, and when Sylvain just shrugged, he slammed a hand on the table. “You don't have to hide it from me, Sylvain, I understand! I—I—”

Felix began to choke, the itch unbearable, as the tiny scarlet blooms forced themselves up his throat. He blinked back angry tears, mad at himself for letting it happen right then in front of Sylvain. He turned his back on Sylvain, spraying flowers as he coughed. Sylvain had a hand on his back, but Felix jerked away. “Don't touch me!”

Sylvain couldn't help the boyish hope that set him alight at the flowers. If Felix’s love really was unrequited, it meant he had a chance. The thought was tamped down quickly by the sight of his best friend bent double, coughing up blood and flowers.

When the attack slowed, Sylvain wanted to reach forward and wipe that blood from Felix’s lips. He did not do that, of course, and stood stock-still as Felix fixed bloodshot eyes on him, his lips stained red as he said, “Do you see now?”

“How…?” Sylvain started, then stopped as Felix’s stare turned venomous.

“I don't know. I thought she loved me too.” His voice had lost its rasping fire; he sounded more dejected than anything. He staggered to the table and sat heavily on the chair Sylvain had vacated. He felt truly guilty for the way he'd been celebrating a moment ago—how selfish could he be, thinking of his childish crush when Felix was dying in front of him.

Sylvain leaned on the table, looking down at Felix with his head in his hands. There were so many things he wished he could do in that moment, but he did none of them. He couldn't, not with the bitter taste of those flowers’ poison still burning at the back of his throat.

“Well, I guess there's only one thing to do!” Sylvain declared suddenly. “Make her fall in love with you so thoroughly that those flowers are forced to wither to nothing inside of you.”

All Felix did was sigh. “Typical. You imbecile, what about you?”

Sylvain managed a watery smile, not meeting his eyes. “There's no saving me from this one, trust me.”

Felix’s brown eyes narrowed into slits. “So that's it? I always knew you were weak, Sylvain, but I didn't think you had so little spine as to give up on a mere woman.” He stood, glaring. “The Sylvain I knew would have never just let things fizzle out. He was the one that saw to the end himself.” And Felix hated him for it, but it was true.

Sylvain cracked a smile, trying to shrug off the barbs. “If I didn't know better, I would say you actually approved of my womanising.”

Felix released a low growl of frustration, turning away to begin pacing along the carpet. Always joking, this one. He couldn’t ever force a message through that thick skull of his.

“Anyway, this time it's different. I can't be with this one.”

“Why not?” Felix exploded.

“Because…I just can’t, okay? I'm going to help you, not me. I can't change what’s happening to me, so at least let me save you.”

“You don't get it, do you?” The set of his jaw, the furrow between his eyebrows, the white-knuckled clenche of his fists; Felix radiated anger in that moment. “Remember that promise we made to one another? I can’t have you dying first, half-wit.”

Sylvain’s brown gaze was deep with sorrow. “I'm sorry, Felix,” was all he murmured.

“Argh! Just…tell me her name! Give it to me!” Glancing at Felix's hand on the hilt of his sword, Sylvain could tell what would happen if he told him a name.

“So you can hold some random woman at swordpoint and make her fall in love with me?” Sylvain laughed darkly. “Just let it go, Felix. Let it go.”

“No.” He turned on his heel and stormed off. He had no intention of letting it go, and it seemed Sylvain knew this. He had no doubt that the stubborn bastard would be trying to find a way to save him without even a thought for himself.

Oh, the irony of it all. If only he knew.

If only either of them knew indeed.

Felix battered the training dummy with his wooden sword. Sweat ran down his bare back in streams, and his muscles burned. This was the pain he craved. He couldn’t feel anything but the primal urge to rest. He wouldn’t stop though—fighting himself and fighting the enemy had become the same thing in his mind.

The thing creaked and groaned, straw leaking out of its sack body. With each swing, Felix imagined Sylvain burning away in his head. Next was Annette, then this ridiculous war, the rest of his friends.

They wouldn’t go away. Their faces imprinted into his mind, ashes flying about the place. Ashes, and petals.

With a roar, Felix leapt forward, sword soaring to meet its target. The head of the dummy separated from the rest of it with a crack. Before he could even see it land, he was already moving again. He swung around, bringing the sword down from over his head to shear the sack in half. Straw exploded all over the place. Still, Felix continued his onslaught, blade spinning in a deadly arc as he ducked low. The wooden pole keeping the dummy up splintered at his force. Finally, breathing hard, he aimed a kick directly into the middle of its broken chest.

The dummy hit the ground with a pathetic, final wheeze of straw and burlap. Its wooden spine clattered into pieces, all rolling to a stop a few metres in each direction. Felix thrust the sword into the dummy’s body, point first. Then he spat on the entire miserable heap and plunged to sit on the ground, arms crossed, glaring into the distance.

If anyone had been watching—which they were—they would have been able to make the inference that Felix was very, very angry indeed.

“Hi? Felix?”

He jumped, coming back to himself from thoughts of Sylvain. He spotted Annette straight-away, still hesitating in the shadows. “Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You, uh, really murdered that dummy.”

He got to his feet, dusting sawdust off his pants while trying to look for where he had thrown his shirt. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely. There it was. He marched over and tugged his shirt back on, trying to stop the flush from reaching his face—a flush that had nothing to do with the strenuous beat-up he had just delivered.

Annette snorted. “Sure you are. You’re just as fine as that dummy, huh?”

Felix sighed. “Okay, fine. I’m just…angry.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring instead into some middle distance between them.

“Really? I couldn’t tell at all.”

“Stop doing that,” he snapped. Then, looking as close to horrified as a man like Felix could, he said, “Sorry.”

Annette stepped closer. He could see her eyes better now, and they looked a little sad. “How is Sylvain? We missed you at breakfast.”

“He’s…fine.” An image of Sylvain lying dead in a pile of flowers, stalks growing out of his skin, petals coating his lips. The familiar tingling itch had started again. He needed to do something, anything. “It doesn’t matter. I have more training to do.” Clutching the wooden sword’s hilt, he wrenched it out of the pile of the dummy’s former body.

“You should take a break, Felix.” Annette hadn’t moved. She was watching him like she could see right through him, see the fear breaking him apart. Fear of what, even Felix didn’t even know. She took another step toward him, rested a hand over the sword hilt, over his hand. “I’m worried about you.”

Felix clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw flickering. “Okay.” He tugged his hand away from hers. Sylvain was still dying in his mind’s eye, a hundred different deaths happening over the span of seconds.

“Are you even listening?” Annette snapped.

Felix blinked. She glared ferociously at him, angrier than he had ever seen her. Before he could even think of how to respond, she was charging on. “I swear there is only one thing you ever think about. Training this, training that. What about us? What about me?”

He couldn’t begin to say how wrong she was. This was the only way he could ever relax. This was the only way he could process things. She couldn’t possibly understand. Felix exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Well?’ she pressed.

“Well, what? There’s nothing to say. You’re right.” He turned away, knuckles becoming white stars as he squeezed the hilt of the training sword.

“We both know that’s not true, Felix.” He felt her place a hand on his shoulder, and wrenched it out of her grip.

Felix considered the fact that she didn’t love him enough to stop the flowers killing him slowly from the inside. It didn’t matter if she could love him enough anyway. Sylvain was dying regardless. If there was no hope for Sylvain, then he’d make sure there was no hope for himself either.

He whirled, eyes hard. “It is true. You were right. There’s only one thing for me in this life, Annette.”

Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. “What are you saying?”

“What do you think,” he said, impassive.

Tears welled in her big, blue eyes. Still, she stared him down, fists clenched at her sides. “You can’t even say it yourself? You’re a coward, Felix. I can’t believe I only realised it now.” With that, she turned and stormed away. As soon as the door to the training arena slammed, Felix sagged.

Dropping the sword, he pressed a hand to his face. When he felt his own tears leaking out, he scoffed in disgust and swiped them away. A plan had begun to form in his head. Now that he’d gone and made a big mess of everything, there was nothing left to do.

Felix stalked out of the arena, new purpose burning within him.

Sylvain woke up to a hard knock on his door. He groaned, dragging himself out of bed and staggering over to open it. Felix burst in, a satchel thrown over his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

Sylvain’s mind, sleep-addled as it was, jumped to attention at Felix’s declaration. “What?” He sat up straighter, mind racing.

Felix’s eyes darted down to stare at his bare chest and then back up to his face. Sylvain didn’t notice the detour. “Put on a shirt, idiot. And pack a bag.”

Sylvain rubbed at his face, blinking blearily. “Tell me we’re bringing Annette along. Also, have you even asked Teach for permission? We’re in the middle of a war.”

“I don’t need to ask Byleth for anything. And no, Annette is not coming. I…I told her yesterday that I couldn’t see her anymore.” It seemed Sylvain was the only one that hadn’t heard the explosive fight they’d had yesterday.

Sylvain snorted. How could one person be so incredibly stubborn? “You’re kidding, right? Now we’re both going to…oh.” Swiveling to stare at Felix with wide-eyes, he caught the man actually smiling. It was a rather grim smile, but still. Sylvain could feel his heart beginning to burn again, the feeling spreading through his veins. He felt light-headed, dizzied by what Felix was suggesting.

“What about Dimitri? The rest of them? We can’t just abandon—”

“You either die alone on that battlefield or you die by my side.” His gaze was steady, a burnished bronze that would not bend. Felix was stubborn, alright.

Sylvain couldn’t help but remember when he’d offered Felix an ultimatum between their friendship and his training, and he had actually picked the training. The memory still stung a little today. “So what, you’re leaving regardless? You’re actually deserting?”

Felix just nodded. “I never wanted a part in this war anyway.”

“You can’t do this, Felix!” He got up, gesturing frantically. “Without us, without you, they’ll surely lose! You can’t force me to be so selfish for some—some childish promise we made—”

Felix flinched. It was gone too fast for Sylvain to notice. By the time he looked properly, all he could make out was the resolve flattening Felix’s lips into a thin line. “No, Sylvain, you can’t do this. You can’t just give up on your life. I’m not letting you. So choose.”

Sylvain felt a sob rising up his throat. Things were hopeless for him at this point, but Felix still had a chance. He could still make up with Annette, convince her to fall in love with him. He could, at least, still be saved. Sylvain told himself he had never meant much to this war effort, not as much as Felix had. He was, of course, lying. Still, he continued deluding himself: if Felix was saved, maybe everyone else could be saved too.

“You know, Felix, I just realised something.” He swallowed the bile burning at the back of his throat. “Despite how much you get on Dimitri for being a bloodthirsty boar, you are just selfish. You can’t just help out, you have your personal morals or whatever to tend to. They’re your friends, aren’t they? Do you even care if they all die?” As each word left his mouth, he saw Felix recoil.

Felix dropped his satchel. “And do you even care if you die? Why have you chosen now to get all noble on me, Sylvain?” He stepped forward, a hand flying to seize Sylvain by his shoulder. He was standing so close to him, their faces near centimetres apart. They had truly never been as far from one another as they were now.

“Because I’m a knight. A knight to my friend and my king.” Sylvain watched the raw anger surface on Felix’s features before it was quickly stifled, replaced by a cool, distant disgust. Felix let go of his shoulder, wiped his hand on his sleeve. Sylvain didn’t have to read his mind to know what Felix thought of him now.

“You were always a weakling.”

He left without another word, satchel slung over his shoulder once again. Sylvain wanted to run after him, and say what? Grab him by the shoulders and press his mouth to his? Shout all the things he had wanted to say to him for years? And if he rejected him, what then? He would surely die on the spot. Those cursed flowers would just sink their roots into his heart and strangle him to death.

So, Sylvain just watched as his best friend left.

Then, he whirled around to retch up nothing. He fell on his knees, wrists screaming as they caught him before he slammed into the ground.

Wiping blood from his lips, Sylvain spat on the pile of blue flowers stained scarlet. Curse this disease and curse himself. Maybe this was divine retribution for all the hearts he had broken over the years—for the heart that he yearned to have could never, ever be his.

Sylvain wiped the hot tears from his cheeks. He forced himself to remember that cute blacksmith’s apprentice that had been staring at him last week. There was something—someone—he could do. Whistling as he strolled away, he didn’t notice Felix crouched in the doorway of his own room, watching.

As Sylvain disappeared down the stairs, Felix hurried into his room—which he irresponsibly never locked.

Right. He was going to find this mysterious woman, and he was going to hold her at swordpoint if it was necessary to make her confess her love to Sylvain. But every woman loved him, or at least thought she did. What person out there…

Felix stopped shuffling through the papers strewn all over Sylvain’s desk. There were two women that Sylvain never stopped flirting with, ever. Two women, one who sarcastically rebuked his advances, and another that lectured him at every opportunity.

He was only just careful enough to stop the door from slamming shut before throwing himself down the stairs. Felix arrived, huffing, outside Byleth’s room. Knocking noisily, he glanced around to make sure Sylvain hadn’t caught wind of his plans. When no one came to the door, he knocked again. “Byleth, are you in there?”

Finally, there was some grumbling and loud shuffling before the door cracked open. A mussy-haired Byleth squinted out at him. He could make out a number of books still open on her desk. She cleared her throat, and his eyes flicked back to hers. “Is Sylvain in love with you?” he blurted.

She let out a long sigh, and leveled him with a hard look. “I’m sure you’re better equipped to handle that question than me, Felix.”

“It’s just”—he rubbed his face with a hand—“he never stopped flirting with you. He must be in love with you.”

Byleth released a quiet laugh. “You’re smart. You’ll work it out.” Then, she softly shut the door in his face. Unbeknownst to Felix, she knew exactly who Sylvain was in love with; it really did not take a genius to work it out.

On the other side of the door, Felix let out a hoarse noise of frustration and a particularly creative string of curses. Alright, so it wasn’t Byleth then. Next stop was the dining hall.

As he stomped towards the gate that led to his destination, a low moan caught his attention. It was followed by hushed giggling and another moan. Turning towards the stairs, Felix shuffled forward until he could lean forward and peer over the edge. He wasn’t entirely surprised to be looking down at Sylvain with some poor girl shoved between himself and the wall, their lips suctioned onto one another.

Sylvain had his broad hands pressed into her shoulders as he practically ate off the bottom half of her face. With a disgusted frown, Felix could make out the subtle movements of his grinding himself on her. Felix stared, more upset than shocked, for another moment before he was fully overcome by rage. Hands shaking at his sides, he shouted, “Hey!”

Sylvain started, jumping a full metre away from the girl. The smile of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar sat on his lips as he stared up at Felix. The bastard actually looked pleased with himself. “Oh, hey, Felix.” How did he have the capacity to sound so smug, Felix wondered. In actuality, Sylvain had mustered all of his energy into sounding nonchalant—seeing Felix was still enough to make him go weak at the knees.

Felix ignored him, turning a glare in the girl’s direction. She practically wilted before him. “Go.” Shooting Sylvain a glance, she threw her hair over her shoulder and walked off towards the greenhouse. Sylvain couldn’t even sadly stare at her backside, what with Felix already hissing and spitting his way towards him.

“You,” Felix snarled. He stomped down the stairs. Sylvain was frozen, considering the fact that maybe he would just be murdered by Felix before the flowers ate him from the inside out. “You can’t take anything seriously. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself killed already. And even now, you’re dying because of some woman? You never change!”

He marched the last few steps towards him, seized his collar in his hands and, with impressive strength for someone of his stature, threw him against the wall. Sylvain just lifted his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture, though it only served to infuriate Felix further, judging from the way he brought his other hand up to shove Sylvain again.

“Hey, hey, hey. Felix, let’s calm down a bit…” Sylvain glanced towards the dormitory rooms mere metres away from them. Already, a few curious heads had appeared in open doorways.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you cloddy fucking cretin!” His voice reverberated off the buildings. He leaned in towards Sylvain, his voice low as he hissed, “It’s Ingrid, isn’t it? Tell me it’s Ingrid!”

Sylvain shrugged helplessly, eyes darting from the people watching them to the top of Felix’s head to the hands on his shoulders—anywhere but Felix’s lips. “I told you, there’s no helping me. You honestly think I would be in love with Ingrid? I’m vaguely insulted by that, somehow.”

To Felix’s utter frustration, Sylvain cracked yet another ill-timed grin. “Stop it!” He shoved Sylvain roughly again. It didn’t hurt him at all—Felix wasn’t even tall enough to lift him off the ground—but the gesture was enough to make the familiar burn ramp up again. He winced, a hand going to his chest, as Felix snapped, “Stop acting like this is just a joke! It’s Ingrid! Just tell me!” As he screamed, voice dipping in and out of focus, Sylvain blinked slowly, the world blurring around him. Felix’s hands on him were hot, drawing his blood into a horrible, beating crescendo.

With desperate strength, Sylvain pushed him off, making him stumble over the grass. He could hear himself raising his voice, helpless to stop himself, as he yelled, “No, Felix, we’re not making this about me when you’re the one that can be…that can be sa…” He choked on air, both hands flying to clutch his neck. The only sound that came from him was a drawn-out, desperate wheeze.

Oh no no no, Sylvain thought, not now. His body was telling him otherwise, though, as he keeled over into the grass. The searing ache was enough to make him cry out in pain this time. He attempted to crawl away from Felix as he frantically reached for him. “Sylvain!” he shouted, to no response.

Sylvain tried to tell him to stop. All that came out was a gargling, garbled mess of hacking and gagging. Felix’s hands were strong, his arms stronger, as he slid them under Sylvain’s prone body and picked him up with a grunt. The contact made Sylvain retch suddenly. A single, bloodied flower slid limply from his lips. It was quickly followed by another, and another. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the whole stems and leaves now choking him. His entire mouth was burning with their poison. Deliriously, he wondered if the pain would disappear if Felix kissed him.

As Sylvain slipped further away from him, Felix shouted in his face. He called his name again and again, called him a fool and an idiot and a half-wit and every insult that came to mind. Dimly, he realised Byleth had a firm grip on his shoulder. Dimitri was attempting to coax Sylvain out of his arms. Ingrid was clutching his arm tightly, worry drawing her eyebrows together over glassy green eyes. She was asking him if he was okay, if he was alright, over and over in a soft whisper.

Felix found he was crying. The jagged words had died on his tongue, to be replaced by huge shapeless sobs. They climbed up his throat, unwelcome and unwanted, leaping from his lips in great, shuddering bursts. He dropped into a crouch, cradling his head in his hands. Sylvain was dying, and all Felix had done was shout in his face? Push him around and scream and throw a tantrum?

He could feel their tickle, stinging the back of his throat. Always there, but becoming more pronounced with each sob. Felix stumbled to his feet, blindly staggering towards the nearest stairwell towards his room. He needed—he needed—

It was too late. He half-coughed, half-sobbed, and spat a bundle of red blooms into his open palms. A sound of disgust tried to leave his throat, but it was overcome by yet another retch. The flowers would not stop. They forced themselves out of him, bringing with them the horrible bristle. He kneeled over the stairs and gagged on their prickling, stinging itch. Bitter on his tongue, thorny on his lips. Nothing could save him now.

Running footsteps from behind him. He could smell her, citrusy with whatever soap she bathed with. It made his heart seize, to know she was there. He tried to say her name, and only coughed out another stream of blood-red flowers. “Oh, Felix, what do I do?” The blue circles of her eyes swam above him, mingling with the sky. He must have rolled over to face her.

Annette was cradling his cheeks in her hand, gently running the other up and down his back. Dimly, he registered Ingrid’s frantic shouting. He wanted to say something, anything. Tell her he was sorry. Assure her that he was okay.

The bitterness had been overtaken by the metallic tang of blood. It ran down his nose. Dribbled down his lips to drip off his chin, coating those flowers in even more of it. “No, no, no,” she murmured, swiping gently at the blood. The sky was so blue above her, so bright. He realised she was crying.

“Don’t leave me, please. You know, I think…I think I do love you.” Those words were made even more beautiful by the melodic tones of her voice, pretty even as she sobbed quietly. Yet, he found he felt no different. If anything, his chest seemed to constrict even tighter, flowers and leaves and stems further crowding his lungs. Roots sinking into the soft flesh of his heart and squeezing.

He felt his eyes slide shut, a strange chord ringing within him. His mind kept drifting back to Sylvain—he couldn’t stop thinking about those blue flowers. Couldn’t get the image of the blood coating them so thickly they looked purple. He was still thinking of Sylvain when he fell into the dark, a sheaf of scarlet hyacinth still caught in his throat.

Moonlight infiltrated the room through the east-facing window, revealing the large group of people stood in the infirmary.

Ingrid had graduated from worry to anger, and was furtively whispering to a stock-still Dimitri. “Irresponsible and downright stupid.” Her cheeks were shining with tear-tracks, but it was anger that clouded her eyes. Dimitri was stone-faced, staring through the window, brows drawn.

Annette was standing in a little circle of Ashe and Mercedes and Dedue. Mercedes was clutching her hand, Ashe whispering comforting nothings. Dedue stood watching all of it, a large hand resting on Annette’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Byleth paced back and forth. This was not a new disease for her; she had seen its effects many times. Sylvain and Felix were nearly on their deathbeds by now, she knew. Staring at them, pale and sickly, she sighed to herself.

Not only were two of her closest friends now dying, two of her best soldiers were also out of the fight for the time being. There was only one way to fix this.

She ushered the other two closer and began whispering a plan. “By the time one of them wakes, we’re all going to be standing outside. The aim is to make them confess to each other.”

Dimitri shot her a perplexed look. “Wait, what? Confess what?”

Byleth released a strained laugh and shook her head. It was hard to imagine someone being even denser than Sylvain and Felix. “You'll see.” They all filed out, taking up positions on either side of the door outside. Byleth let the door gently latch shut.

At the definitive click of the door, Sylvain bolted upright. As his eyes darted around the room, they came to rest on the person in the bed beside him. “Fe—”

He coughed, the shouted name cut off by an onslaught of flowers. With the scrape of leaves against his windpipe, Sylvain staggered to his feet. Stumbling towards Felix, he fell onto the bed. Trying again, he finally croaked, “Felix…”

Lying there with his hands neatly folded on his chest—Sylvain knew he never slept so nicely—he looked almost dead. Perhaps he was already dead. The idea made Sylvain’s chest seize, and he had to suck in a shuddering breath. Maybe it was too late. He held back a sob, and another burst of flowers.

He grabbed Felix’s hands, clutching them weakly. They were calloused, fingers and palms that Sylvain had only ever dreamed of grasping. And they were so, so cold. “Felix, I don’t know if you can hear me right now…” The words rushed out of him, tumbling over one another in their haste to get out. Sylvain had to stifle another cough; it felt as if a sharp needle was lancing his heart with each pump of bloodied. “But I wanted to tell you something. I—I’ve wanted to tell you for so long—”

He inhaled sharply as Felix’s eyes flew open. “Sylvain?” Felix managed to rasp. “Why are you…why are you holding my hands?” He tried to lever himself up. Violent coughs overtook him, a collection of gorey plant matter tumbling from his mouth. Blood sprayed the sheets, staining them. In the dimness of the night, the blood looked black. He fell back onto the bed, face scrunched in pain.

Sylvain couldn’t help himself. He laid a gentle hand on Felix’s cheek, ran a finger over his mouth to wipe the blood away. At least his lips weren’t yet as ice-cold as his hands.

Felix trembled at his touch. His hands were burning, they were fire against his skin. It hurt, so badly, but he couldn’t get enough of it. “You clod,” he wheezed. “What are you doing?” He fastened a hand around Sylvain’s wrist, some of the embers burning away in his eyes again.

“I—I—” Sylvain stuttered, uncertain now that he was staring into Felix’s eyes.

Felix coughed, a few blood-red petals dribbling from his lips to stain his chin. “Glad you’re alive.” Despite everything, Felix was grinning at him. He was actually smiling. Sylvain felt his heart tug. He cupped a hand around the back of Felix’s head, resting the other on his cheek once again. This close to him, he could feel their breath mingling.

Felix inhaled sharply, but didn’t push him away. He didn’t shout in disgust or curl his lip or anything. He just closed his eyes like it was an invitation, and the only thing Sylvain could do was lean in further, the space of years between their poison, bloody lips.

A convulsing chill made him hesitate. It ran through his body, from the centre of his chest out, a ripple that turned into a wave. Sylvain felt himself fall backwards, falling still. Was that Felix calling his name? Or had he imagined all of this? Eyes rolling into the back of his head, all Sylvain could do was fall away from the man he loved. The man he had loved so hard that the love grew out of his heart and turned on him. Poison thrummed through his veins, roots conquering his innards. Petals brushed the inside of his lungs and their blossoms grew up his throat.

He hit the floor with a horrible thud.

“Sylvain!” Felix stumbled out of the bed. He fell in his attempts to kneel beside him. “You are not leaving me yet,” he hissed. Sylvain gave no response, eyes still screwed shut. “Wake up!” He slapped him weakly across the face. Still, not even a flutter of his eyelids. With icy hands, Felix caught both sides of his face. A fever was ravaging him, searing blood flush against his skin. He bent, scarlet petals falling from his lips. He barely felt it anymore.

“I’m in love with you!” he shouted. He shouted it again, and again, to no response. “Is that good enough, or did you need a monologue? You’d better be listening!” He was shaking, and shaking the man lying in his arms. His voice had gone hoarse. “Did you hear, half-wit, or do you want me to scream it louder?” Tears thickened the words in his mouth. They fell with the flowers, landing softly in Sylvain’s hair. With a sob, Felix realised they were nearly the same colour.

Then he pressed his lips to his. The taste of salt and blood was underlaid by the bitter sting of poison. His lips were soft and scorching and more than Felix had ever imagined. As Felix pulled himself from the man he loved, he couldn’t bear to look at him again. Burying his face against Sylvain’s chest, Felix let the hacking sobs overtake him. He let the hyacinth pull itself from his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, but what did it matter? They would both die here, alone together. Just like they had promised.

A hand flexed against his arm. Felix jolted, eyes flying open. Sylvain stared at him with glazed eyes, mouth still parted from their kiss. “Fe…Felix…” he rasped.

Felix leaned closer, eyes still full of tears. “Say it,” he whispered, his throat tight, the little breath he had left held tighter.

“You were—” Sylvain retched suddenly, an entire sprig of those cursed blue flowers leaking from his lips. Still, he soldiered on, voice growing weaker and weaker. “You were always…the one.” His honeyed eyes widened as his entire body stiffened, convulsing beneath Felix.

He grabbed Sylvain’s shoulders, held him down in the fit, even as black blood leaked freely from the corners of his mouth, from his nose. “You are living, you hear me? You are surviving this, Sylvain Jose Gautier, or I will find a way to kill you again myself.”

With a horrible, shaking retch, Sylvain jerked upright and expelled an entire bundle of black roots. He gagged and hacked as Felix held him tight, rubbing a hand up and down his back. Finally, Sylvain gave one last shudder and went limp against Felix. In a panic, Felix pressed a finger to his pulse-point. He wanted to cry, or laugh. He’d made it. They’d made it.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. He clutched Sylvain against him, relishing in the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Looking at him then, face peaceful despite the blood and gore coating him, Felix had never loved him more.

Then the stabbing sting returned fully-fledged, pain wrenching Felix into two. He shuddered, staggering away from Sylvain. He coughed into his hand, and brought it away covered in dark blood. It prickled against the skin of his palm. The floor jarred his knees as he fell, blood seeping from his mouth, coating his throat in its thorny poison. Choking, Felix felt the petals come up first, their grotesque brush against the inside of his mouth. Then came the flowers, and their bulbs, their leaves and their stems. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.

Felix’s chest heaved, once, twice, a third time. Those roots were tearing him apart from the inside. He threw a glance at Sylvain, still lying unconscious behind him. He tried to call his name. All that came out was a desperate croak.

Felix coughed once, violently. The act shook his entire body to the core. Roots landed with a wet squelch, as he sucked in a ragged breath. As he swallowed, he could still only taste the thick blood coating his tongue. Vision darkening, Felix just had the foresight to fall onto his side instead of forwards before he lost consciousness.

Sharp late-morning light was shining directly onto Sylvain. Squinting at the red glow through his eyelids, he curled himself into a ball, throwing his arms over his head. “‘s too early. Close the curtains,” he muttered. Clawing for his quilt, his fingers instead found starchy sheets. And the smell: it was too clean, too fresh and sterile to be his room. Where…

He bolted upright, the bright light pouring through the window blinding. Blinking blearily, Sylvain peered around the infirmary room. Every single bed was neatly made and conspicuously empty, except for the one beside him.

Everything that happened last night rushed back. Sylvain’s eyes roved over the still form of Felix on the bed beside him, panic seizing his lungs. He half-expected a few flowers to cough themselves out of him, but none came. Finally, he made out the faint movements of Felix’s breathing.

Sylvain allowed himself to breathe once more.

“Oh, Sylvain, you're awake!” Annette bustled into the room, her shoes clicking softly as she hurried towards him. “How are you feeling? Mercedes said you'd probably wake up this morning.”

Sylvain gulped. He didn't even want to consider how much she knew about last night. “Hey, Annette. Uh, you're here for Felix, right?”

She pulled a stool from beside a cupboard at the far end of the room, placing it between their two occupied beds. “Well…” She glanced at him and then turned to face Sylvain fully. “I know about everything.”

He couldn't help the grimace that emerged on his face. “Right. Okay.” Looking anywhere but her, Sylvain couldn't stop his gaze from coming back to Felix again and again. Even in sleep he looked annoyed, eyebrows drawn and lips thin. If he was being honest, it was pretty cute.

“Sylvain?” Annette was smiling, slightly, as she watched him with a knowing look. “I just wanted to tell you that Felix and I have broken up for good.”

He returned her smile. “I—Thank you. For the record, I'm sorry about this whole mess. I feel like it's my fault somehow.”

“Not at all! If anything, it's mine.” At the quizzical look he sent her, she continued with a sheepish smile. “Deep down, I knew you were both in love with each other. I guess I was still holding out hope that Felix liked me as much as I liked him.”

Her hands were clenched tightly together, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. “Annette…” he started, resting a hand lightly on hers. “It’s okay, really. I get it.”

“Are you flirting with my ex-girlfriend already, philanderer?”

They both whirled to see Felix sit up in the bed, a flinty stare fixed on Sylvain. He jumped away from Annette, their discussion already forgotten. Sliding off the bed to rush Felix into a bearhug. He grumbled, pushing at Sylvain.

Behind them, Annette slipped quietly away, smiling softly.

“You're in love with me, huh?” Sylvain said with a grin, leaning back to take him in. He still looked pale as a sheet, but a spark of his temper had returned in his eyes.

He reddened, prompting a bark of laughter from Sylvain. He turned away, still angrily blushing. “I didn't…realise you could actually hear me,” he muttered, arms crossed over his chest.

Before Sylvain could tease him further, Felix snapped, “Anyway, I remember someone claiming that I was 'always the one.’ Sounded too good to be true, to be honest.” It was Sylvain’s turn to look away. He could feel his heart-rate accelerating, but as he waited, no flowers came tearing out of him. There was nothing, other than the clench of his lungs.

“Uh, well…” he started, feeling more self-conscious than he had in years. “I—I’ve been in love with you for years, Felix. And I—”

“Enough,” Felix said, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and the other in his hair. His touch would have been enough to drive Sylvain insane, but he had to settle with a soft sigh. “Kiss me, idiot. Or do you not want to?” He smirked, and Sylvain had to tear his gaze from Felix’s lips to look his challenge in the eye.

He kissed Felix quickly, suddenly. He kissed him in all the ways he had wanted to over the years he had loved him from close and afar. His lips were as soft as he imagined, his hands sending a tingling rush through him as they tugged him closer by his hair, trapped him in Felix’s embrace. He felt Felix sigh against his lips. Sylvain smiled into their kiss, making them bump teeth by accident.

Felix jumped back, fingers finding their way to his mouth, touching gently as if to check that that had actually happened. “How was that?” Sylvain said with a grin. Felix was somehow redder than before, but a smile crept onto his lips anyway.

“It was…passable. Why don’t you try again?” His burnished eyes were gleaming with a hidden smile. Sylvain chuckled, leaning towards him once again, his grin turning into something hungrier.

“You don’t need to ask twice.”

“I see you two have fixed yourselves up.”

Byleth watched as the two instantly extricated themselves from one another, looking in the other direction as if she hadn’t just seen them eating each other’s faces off. Sylvain stood straight as a log, though his hair was still messy. Felix, meanwhile, was lying with his back to her. He was probably going to bite her ear off for this later.

She could hear the others running in behind her, already shouting and laughing and cheering. “You made it!” Dimitri cried, flinging himself at them, nearly picking them both up as he laughed merrily. Felix managed to smile at this, despite his previous conflicts with Dimitri.

“I’m going to skewer you both,” Ingrid snarled, pointing between Sylvain and Felix. She would indeed go incredibly hard on them in their training sessions for a month. Ingrid did not forget her threats so easily.

The others gathered around, joining the massive hug that had trapped Sylvain and Felix. Even Ingrid joined in, grudgingly. Felix grumbled from the middle of it all, but they all knew he loved them. His usual poison had been somewhat tempered; Byleth almost missed it.

Sylvain couldn’t stop grinning and even Felix was smiling. They glanced at each other, mirrored in one another’s eyes. Neither of them needed to say what they were thinking now; the other just knew.

After the war ended, the two inherited their respective titles and lands. They worked side-by-side to restore Faerghus to its former self. It is said by many that the Duke Fraldarius’ silver-tongue was only ever met by Margrave Gautier’s laughter. Each became known for their surprise visits to one another, delivering the latest taunt or challenge, often accompanied by a sprig of unusual, poisonous blooms. It is said that, in their later years, they became so close that they passed away on the same day, as if conceding that one could not live without the other.