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If Sylvain is going to ruin everything he’s kept secret for years now, he might as well do it with a smile.
He sighs for the fifth time within the past hour as Ashe and Dedue’s beautiful inn, the Violet Night Inn, comes into view. Nearly to the Duscur border, it’s been a long trip, yet he wishes it were longer still.
He swallows another sigh. First, he reminds himself, he should recount why everything back in his territory will be okay.
Three years since the end of the war, and two since he inherited the title of Margrave, and already, he is ridding himself of everything Gautier. Three years older, still unwise, yet now, he’s making the best decision of his life.
The treaties have already been signed with Sreng. Rebuilding has begun. Most of what used to be Gautier now belongs to Sreng as part of their agreements. What remains of the land is under the care of those more capable than Sylvain. King Dimitri will proceed with redistributing the territory to neighboring noble houses.
Everything else that was slowly falling apart can be handled by Ingrid and Felix. Between the two of them, the bandits that run rampant through his territory will be nothing. The dissolving relationships with other noble houses will prove a challenge, but he trusts them with this.
Though, he does hold his regrets when it comes to telling them the full truth. It wasn’t his smartest move, actually talking through something for once. But his crippling exhaustion, crumbling self-esteem, and constant anxiety poured out of him, the dam broken.
He doesn’t know what he plans to do after everything is finished. Maybe disappear to another country, maybe not. Who knows what the future will bring? But Ingrid begged him to take a break before he made rash decisions. It was Felix, the traitor, who suggested the inn as somewhere safe, away from politics (and from bars and nightlife), where he could recover.
(It’s his own fault for never admitting to them his deepest buried secret.)
Now his only problem is facing Ashe for the first time in just over two years. The first time since the wedding. It pains him to admit that he's failed to keep in touch very well. He occasionally sends Ashe simple letters, letting Ashe know he’s alive and well, but his messages have grown shorter and shorter while Ashe’s only become longer and more detailed.
He had to put the distance between them.
He doesn't want to hurt his friends (as Sylvain is wont to do), and he's afraid— afraid that if Ashe ever finds out the truth, finds out Sylvain’s feelings towards him, how long he’s held them, how deep they run, well, he's afraid that Ashe will finally be disgusted with him.
And even worse, he can't imagine what would happen if he found out about Sylvain's feelings for Dedue because, no, Sylvain couldn't stop at risking one friendship. Oh, no, Sylvain had to try his best to irreparably destroy two of the purest, most uplifting friendships he has.
He loves them. He's loved them since their Academy days.
They love each other. They chose each other. They married each other.
Sylvain, like always, is a nuisance, but he is not a homewrecker. The days where he would consider something like that are long past. Even if he still speaks as the script demands, truthfully, as Margrave, he’s had no need to act. It still doesn't excuse what he has done before, nor does it excuse what deep down, he wants to do with them—
Too soon, he's at the steps, looking up to the door. He takes each one slowly, too slowly, the creaking ringing loudly in his ears. Too loud, too much, he’s losing his chance to turn around and hightail it out, make an excuse that he got caught up with some ladies and wouldn’t be able to make it after all—
Ashe opens the door, and it's like the sun has come out from behind the clouds. His smile, always so brilliant, shines brightly when his spring green eyes find Sylvain’s. Sylvain hopes his eyes don’t hold the same amount of terror that he feels in the core of his soul, but if Ashe notices, he opts not to say anything.
“Sylvain! I thought I heard you walk up!” He crosses the porch, loose cotton clothes swishing around him. His hair is tied back— it’s longer than Sylvain remembers. The dangling gold earring Dedue gave him in exchange for Ashe’s ring swishes with each step. He lays a friendly hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, peeking up at him with genuine happiness under his silver bangs. Sylvain is sure it’s genuine because Ashe can't be anything but sweet and optimistic. Ashe’s pure heart is one of the reasons Sylvain is so tangled in those annoying feelings for him. He’s so close, Sylvain thinks he could count each one of Ashe’s freckles.
“Thanks for having me.” Sylvain’s heart is going to beat straight out of his chest, he knows, if Ashe doesn't move his hand.
It gets worse. Ashe wiggles closer, vibrating with excitement, and throws himself into a hug around Sylvain. The breath is knocked from him with the force of Ashe’s arms curling around Sylvain’s shoulders, his body slamming flush against Sylvain. Sylvain, for his part, doesn't squeak or cry out. Not aloud, anyway. His mind is clashing steel and a single, long whimper. He swallows it down.
He wishes they were still in their thick protective uniforms from the war. The light traveling clothes and cloak he wears, and the simple clothes Ashe wears does nothing to stop Ashe’s body heat from soaking through, does nothing to hide the strong, thick muscles he built as a Wyvern rider.
Sylvain gulps down the small spark of hope that Ashe notices the same about him. He wouldn't, of course, he wouldn't. He has Dedue’s much thicker muscles to touch, to kiss, to be held up by—
Ashe breaks the hug, his joy shifting to flushed embarrassment, and then, brows knitting, to worry. “Syl, you're so red. Let's get you inside and sit down for a bit. I was just making lunch.” Sylvain nods, already feeling better now that Ashe pushes away from him.
Ashe, like he’s trying to make things worse, takes Sylvain’s hand to pull him into the inn.
Sylvain is so fucked. He literally cannot get anymore fucked.
----
He gets more fucked.
Dedue shows up that evening. Sylvain was under the impression that it was going to just be Ashe—difficult, but not unbearable.
Dedue spends his days traveling between Fhirdiad and Duscur as part of his new job. Duscur is now rightfully reclaimed by its people, and Faerghus seeks to forge a peaceful relationship between the two countries. Faerghus can’t repay Duscur for all that it’s done, but it can try. Dedue leads many of the discussions on treaties, reparations, and borders.
The inn is placed on the route between Fhirdiad and Duscur, making it easier for Dedue to come and stay. In those times, Dedue helps Ashe run this inn, teaches Ashe to cook Duscur food to serve to his guests. But the frequency of his travels leaves him only a scant few days each month to see his husband.
Sylvain knows this because Ashe told him everything. About how much he misses Dedue, how terribly proud he is, how much he loves Dedue— if Dedue didn't already occupy far too many of Sylvain's thoughts, Sylvain thinks he'd be sick of hearing the name.
And Jealousy, one of his longtime companions, swung in uninvited when Ashe talked about Dedue’s dark, beautiful teal eyes, his flourishing gardens full of the most beautiful flowers, the wonderful food he makes and teaches to Ashe, his gentleness, his kindness, every single detail that Sylvain already knows and memorized and loves about Dedue and a million more yet that he'll never get to see himself. Thankfully, Guilt, his other close companion, stifled Jealousy, smothered it like a cap to a wick.
Jealousy spitefully flickers back to life when Dedue walks in the front door and Ashe is on him in a flash, melting into a deep kiss that goes on for several beats too long for Sylvain to not feel voyeuristic. He thinks about clearing his throat when Dedue’s hands begin to sneak lower down Ashe’s back, but Ashe catches him, shifting smoothly from Dedue’s hold, playfully batting his hands away.
“Not here, starlight. We have company.” Ashe gestures to Sylvain who waggles his fingers in greeting.
“Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you here.”
“It's been a while, Sylvain. I needed to take some time from my duties. The timing simply worked out; I was overdue for a visit to Ashe, and I heard you were coming.” Sylvain has exchanged letters with Dedue, as well, but much like the ones with Ashe, he finds himself putting less and less of himself into each one. He did not mention this trip in his last one, though. Ashe must’ve said something.
Dedue is still just as handsome as Sylvain remembers— no, impossibly, he’s more so. There’s a softness in his face that Sylvain doesn’t remember, a serene light to his eyes, flickers of sky and sea dotted within them. His own earring catches the light, and Sylvain’s eyes are drawn to his silver ring, the one that Ashe crafted for him. His long white hair lays longer now, past his shoulders despite being bound in its usual, tidy style.
He’s dressed not in his armor but comfortable traveling clothes, covered with a vivid cloak colored in intricate, patterned threadwork of reds, yellows, greens, and blues. The cloak must be from Duscur, as it looks like the familiar, blue scarf that wraps loosely around his shoulders. He looks amazing draped in the clothes and colors from his home, strong, powerful. Beautiful. Gorgeous.
Stop it, Gautier.
“How long will you be here?” Ashe’s voice, amazingly, sounds both resigned and excited at once. They've probably had this conversation far too many times.
The smug but warm smile Dedue flashes him is new, but not bad. Not bad at all. “For now, a fortnight.”
“For now?” Ashe repeats questioningly. “For now?” He takes Dedue’s hand, rapt attention on his husband. They begin speaking to each other in Duscurian. It’s a beautiful language, soft yet strong, poetic yet sharp at some edges. Dedue could either be reciting a poem or reading a shopping list for all Sylvain knows but still, it sounds like music. Ashe, though it’s obvious some phrases give him pause, still speaks confidently. Sylvain knows a few words, but not nearly enough to understand what is being said between them, though it must be good, as Ashe’s face lights up more and more. Dedue’s mirrors him in kind, so bright, relegating Sylvain to his shadows. Sylvain kind of wants to soak through the floorboards into the ground so that he doesn’t have to witness this.
And then they both turn to him, both with a look in their eyes that gives Sylvain pause. Assessing, maybe. Mischievous? Not these two.
And yet, that glint in Ashe’s eyes almost can’t be called anything else.
“My apologies, Sylvain. Ashe and I have a lot to discuss, but we’ll speak later.” Dedue’s gaze feels far too heavy, seeing straight through Sylvain. Dedue has always been like that, able to read Sylvain like a book, making Sylvain wiggle and squirm to keep his real feelings buried, to keep himself safe in the shadows. If either of them was to figure out the reality and depth of Sylvain's feelings, it would be Dedue. If he has, he hasn't said anything, hasn't acted on it.
A fortnight. The same as himself. He doesn't know how he's going to hide all the feelings that are already bubbling and rising to the surface just by looking at Dedue, just by getting a friendly hug from Ashe.
Sylvain. Is so fucked.
----
They put Sylvain in a huge room next to theirs, one that is saved for close family and friends, and he guesses they don't realize how loud they are, because it becomes quickly apparent that Sylvain isn't the only one who's fucked.
----
Ashe at least has the decency to look sheepish at breakfast the next morning when he sees the dark bags under Sylvain's eyes.
“We can move you to one of the regular guest rooms.” Ashe puts a plate of warm breads and fruits and cheeses in front of him and puts two equally loaded plates across from him. Dedue joins with a pot of tea that he pours out for the two of them. Ashe holds a huge cup (a bowl, really) of coffee. Ah. That explains a lot.
“I don't want to put you out.” Sylvain takes a bite of the food. “This is amazing!”
“You're not going to put either of us out by getting privacy and sleep. Sorry, really, sorry, we did not think that through.” Ashe points his fork at Dedue. “I told you we were being too loud.”
Dedue raises a brow nonchalantly. “At least that wasn’t the loudest you've ever been.” He takes a sip of his tea while Ashe spits his coffee back into his cup and flushes a brilliant red. “Sorry, dear.” Dedue kisses Ashe’s temple. Ashe hides his face.
The domesticity (and the images this conversation has put into his head) is killing Sylvain. “Can I take care of the dishes? Since you two did all of the work before.” He stands, taking the plates in hand. Dedue gets up with him.
“Let us, Sylvain. You're the guest.” He grabs the plates Sylvain is holding. Sylvain’s soul nearly leaves his body with the shock of their fingers brushing, but Sylvain refuses to back down. He doesn't want to be totally useless. And if he's really honest, he's kind of already sick of this trip, sick of these feelings, sick of the jealousy.
“Dedue, I got it. Unless you're just dying to spend time with me. I know, I'm addicting.” He winks to top it all off. He expects Dedue to roll his eyes, to chastise him, tell him to knock it off.
Instead, Dedue gives him a flat stare that slowly morphs into a smirk.
“You know, maybe I am, Sylvain.” He takes the plates from Sylvain's limp grip and heads into the kitchen.
Sylvain turns to Ashe, unable to close his gaping mouth. “Did Dedue just tell a joke? Is Dedue joking now? And what’s with all the smirking? Who is this man? Ashe, I think you married Dedue’s doppelganger”
Ashe shrugs. “He's been making some changes for himself lately. He's been happier. And not just because he has the best husband in the world—” Ashe flashes a cheeky grin. “He’s been finding a lot of happiness on his own terms.” Ashe leaps from his chair and bumps Sylvain with his hip, nearly knocking the unprepared Sylvain over. Wyvern riders and their damn hips. “Whoops, sorry.” He grabs Sylvain by the arm to stabilize him and holds on just a second too long.
“Let's go help Dedue,” Sylvain mumbles, and Ashe nods enthusiastically next to him. He leads him by the wrist to the kitchen, much like he had before, yesterday, when Sylvain arrived.
Sylvain bites down the urge to rip himself away. He chokes down the desire to intertwine their fingers.
His selfishness sits like iron in his stomach.
----
He ends up between them— Ashe rinses, Sylvain washes, Dedue dries. It feels nice, really nice, if he's honest.
It feels like where he should be. Where he wants to be.
He's being selfish.
----
The next day (after a lot better sleep, thank you Goddess), Dedue is in the dining area already by the time Sylvain comes downstairs. Dedue gestures him into the kitchen, where he is preparing something that smells heavenly, sweet and aromatic. “Come hunting with me after breakfast.”
Sylvain takes the plates of breads and fruits from him and heads into the dining room. “What about Ashe?” Sylvain sits, taking a fork in hand. Dedue joins him, sitting across from him, his eyes on Sylvain. Sylvain wiggles uncomfortably under the attention.
“He’s still asleep. It might surprise you to know that he isn't an early riser when there are no guests to attend to. I normally go handle this on my own.” He gives Sylvain an upturned corner of his lips— not a smile, but still something kind, full of good-humor. “It will be nice to have another with me.”
Sylvain swallows the bread he had been chewing on, chases it down with a gulp of tea. “Sure, it'll be fun. Like old times.”
Dedue simply hums, smirking into his teacup.
----
Hunting goes well enough. They manage a couple of rabbits and some small fowl, bag it all, and start to head back. They silently trail through the forest until Dedue suddenly stops Sylvain with an arm across Sylvain's chest. Sylvain looks to Dedue for an explanation. Dedue simply cocks his head. “Follow me.”
If only he knew Sylvain might actually follow him anywhere; through the forest, through the war, back to Ailell itself.
The forest is dark, especially at this time of the morning, but it gradually begins to thin and brighten. They crunch through the forest underbrush— if they hadn’t already caught their prey for the day, they surely would have scared off any further chance— to a large clearing, suddenly appearing between the thick trees.
Before him is a field of small light purple wildflowers, delicately arranged like a rug of the softest, puffiest wool. A cloud lying on the ground. Sylvain imagines that if he were to jump in, he'd either be sprung back into the air or softly sink through the forest ground, to be forever lost.
“It's beautiful. I don't get to see stuff like this much up in Gautier.” Gautier, as far north as it is, remains cold and lifeless throughout the year. The thick forests choke anything that tries to grow before it can even take a single breath.
Kind of like how Sylvain himself grew up, huh.
“I doubt that. Duscur is far colder, I believe, yet in the spring and summer, the blossoms are without compare. Maybe you simply do not know where to look.”
Sylvain shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. You could look with me someday.” The disbanding of Gautier isn’t a widely known fact. Sylvain asked Dimitri to keep it secret, for now, as the details are still being worked out. No reason to get everyone riled up yet.
Dedue only nods. “I would enjoy seeing your home.”
Sylvain stares at him for a long moment, but Dedue continues to look out over the flowers. There is not a hint of joke or jest on his face— instead, he seems content. At peace.
Sylvain doesn't know what he means. “You've been to Gautier before.”
“Yes, but not since it's been under your care.” He finally looks to Sylvain. “Even our homes change. It is still your home, isn’t it?” There’s a heaviness to his gaze. Sylvain gets the feeling that Dedue isn’t only talking about Gautier right now.
Trying to avoid Dedue’s question, he asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Where is your home now?” Ah, no. Probably not a great thing to ask. Sylvain wants to reach out with his apology, but he’s unsure if his touch would be forward or unwanted. “Sorry, that’s probably rude to ask.”
Dedue shakes his head. “That’s something I’ve asked myself for years. I’ve thought about it a lot lately. I’m working on the answer now.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to… well, you have your husband, but if he can’t, then I’ll listen to you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dedue takes a step into the field. “We should take some of these. If we're careful with the roots, we can transplant them back at the inn. When they take root in their new home, they'll flourish.”
They do and successfully bring them back.
Ashe is awake taking the orders of some guests, and he gives Dedue a soft look, then turns to Sylvain.
That expression doesn't change.
----
This morning, Ashe alone is waiting for him when Sylvain goes downstairs, later than yesterday, after being pulled from bed by the sun. Ashe is cleaning up plates scattered around the room, leaving one on the table for Sylvain. Sylvain has staff in Gautier, of course, but he's never felt so spoiled in his life. Maybe it's because his servants are paid handsomely to do this kind of thing. Ashe only does it because he's Ashe.
When Ashe hears Sylvain’s steps, he turns, putting down the plates he was holding. With the goofiest grin, he comes closer. Sylvain takes a step back that Ashe doesn't seem to notice. Ashe falls into Sylvain, wrapping his arms around Sylvain’s waist.
“Good mo—” Ashe tenses. Sylvain is shaking, shivering under nothing but a simple touch from Ashe. Ashe takes a step back, looking at Sylvain with owlish moss eyes. He blinks once, then silently goes back to the table, takes the plates, and goes into the kitchen. A nervous chuckle filters through the door.
Sylvain’s mind finally catches up. “G-good morning.”
----
When he finishes his breakfast, he takes the plate to the kitchen. Ashe hasn't even started the ones he brought in ages ago. He's hunched over the sink, hands gripping the edge like his life depends on it.
Sylvain comes to Ashe’s side, bumps his hip. Retaliation for before.
Ashe sways and looks at Sylvain with surprise. “Syl?” A rush of contentment flows through Sylvain with the nickname. “Sorry, is there something wrong with your food?”
“Yeah, I finished it. And it was delicious. That's the problem.”
Ashe’s eyes wilt with confusion before he makes some connection in his mind. “Oh! You eat too fast — it's better if you eat slowly.”
Sylvain did, though. He savored every bite. “I was eating for a while. You okay?” Ashe doesn’t answer, and, oh. No, Ashe isn’t okay, and it’s suddenly so obvious to Sylvain he feels like a dumbass for even asking. The airy attitude, the loss of time, the bags under his eyes. “You're not.”
Ashe flinches. “I'm better than I usually am after a night like that. Just some bad dreams, the kind that carry over into waking life for some time.” He turns to Sylvain. “I'm sorry, I know it's awkward, but can I —” he steps closer, and of course that’s what he wants.
Sylvain opens his arms, and Ashe falls into his chest easily. Too easily. Sylvain pushes those feelings down; this is his friend — his friend who thrives under physical attention. He's always been the touchy-feely type. Sylvain smothers the want that rises from the grimy pits of his core. “It's okay. We all still... me, too. I understand. It's okay, Ashe.”The urge to kiss the silver crown of his head is unbearable, though Sylvain forces himself to ignore it. “Should I go find Dedue?”
“No!” Ashe snaps so suddenly, Sylvain jolts in surprise. Ashe takes a deep breath. “Sorry. No. I told him to go on, that if something happened, you would be here.”
And Dedue is okay with that? “I am. We're friends.” Guilt roils. “I'm sorry, I never knew. I should have spoken more to you about it, instead of whatever we talked about in those letters, I should have come here sooner, I should have...”
“No, you were busy, I understand. We were, too. Of course, I missed you, but I'm just happy that you're here now.” With a content sigh, he detangles himself from Sylvain. The cold sets in too quickly. “Yesterday you helped Dedue hunt, and today you're going to help me cook.” Even out of Sylvain’s hold, Ashe still stays close, and Sylvain doesn’t try to put distance between them again.
----
A few visitors cycle in through the afternoon, coming in for a quick lunch on their travels. Eventually, the last one leaves, but Sylvain doesn't stop. It's like the soul of Annette has entered his body and is controlling his limbs. He starts with cleaning up after lunch, making the kitchen sparkling again. He works his way through the dining room and sitting area. Sweeping, wiping down the floors, the furniture, each corner of every wall.
“Sylvain, really, you don't have to—” Ashe protests more than once. Truthfully, Sylvain loves cleaning. He loves everything to be neat and tidy and in its place. Not that the inn was out of order. But still, dust has a habit of finding itself in the strangest corners, in the deepest nooks. It's the least Sylvain can do. He might be useless at banishing Ashe’s nightmares. But dirt and grime? That's something he can handle. At least if he isn't pure and clean on the inside, everything around him can be. At least if he can’t be good enough to make Ashe feel safe and comfortable, he can make the space where Ashe lives better for him.
Ashe joins him in cleaning rather than continuing to protest. He watches Ashe climb on a chair to reach the top of a bookshelf. His lean body stretching, he continues climbing to the top of the shelf. Lithe and smooth, his shirt pulls up, and there are freckles even there—
Eyes up, Gautier.
He's not sure if his eyes registered the coming tragedy first, or if his body was already moving towards Ashe. One second, Ashe is leaning back, leaning too far—
The scraping of wood on the floor, the clatter of the chair as it falls. A yelp, thump, an oomph.
And when Sylvain catches up to the real world, Ashe is in his arms, and Sylvain forcibly ignores the fact of where his hand lays on Ashe’s thigh. Ashe is flushed completely red, eyes starry, lips parted just so, — it would be so easy to tilt him up, kiss him till he's rosy all over. That look in his eyes isn’t unfamiliar to Sylvain, but for the first time, Sylvain feels that he might be crushed under it.
“My hero.” A mint-green eye winks. “Is this the part where I say something like 'guess I'm falling for you?' and you say something like ‘guess I caught you in the act’?”
Actually, for how light and ethereally beautiful Ashe looks right now, Sylvain would prefer something like 'are you a saint? Because you fell straight from the heavens.'
Instead, he says, “What happened to all that gracefulness from wyvern riding? I wouldn't have taken you for someone who's so clumsy. What were you even trying to do up there?”
That cheeky smile melts into something so fond, Sylvain has to check if Dedue is behind him.
“I was just looking for something. I think I found it.”
Sylvain’s mind whirls with color and roaring, with flashes of greens and teals and blues and silvers.
He hasn't been paying attention at all.
He sets Ashe down quickly but carefully, brushing some dust off his shoulder. He doesn’t linger long, moving away as soon as he’s sure Ashe is okay, refusing to look at him until Dedue comes back home.
----
That night, a group of guests comes to stay for a few days. A small group of performers going from region to region to bring joy, however small, to the depleted countryside. Sylvain chats with one, a dancer named Olivia, in the sitting area to the edge of the dining room, keeping warm by the fire.
Olivia is nice to talk with, and from what Sylvain can tell from their chat, she’s smart, strong, clever. Her words are sharp like the edge of Ashe’s knife. She doesn’t seem entirely uninterested in him, considering how long they’ve been talking, how often her eyes have caught his. She’s lovely, sure. Eyelashes flutter shyly, like the butterflies that land on Dedue’s flowers. If he were the Sylvain of a few years ago, trying to flirt with this beautiful woman obviously would have been the highlight of this trip.
But he’s not. He briefly glances over his shoulder, where he can see through the open kitchen door. Where Ashe and Dedue are caught up in their own conversation as they clean and prepare for the next morning.
The smart idea would be to move on. It would be to fall back on his old habits, to see where this night could lead him. This is his chance to completely tear himself off from these toxic feelings, to just do what he does best and destroy himself.
But his gut twists at that thought, and he knows he can’t.
He stands. “Thanks for chatting with me, but it’s about time for me to head up. Have a nice evening.” She nods with a soft goodnight herself.
As he passes the kitchen, he catches Ashe and Dedue’s eyes and waves them a goodnight. Ashe cranes his head around the doorframe, his wide eyes going past Sylvain.
As Sylvain climbs the stairs, he feels those eyes on him.
Sylvain wonders if he's just misreading everything, or if maybe...
Maybe.
----
Knocking at his door awakens him the next morning. Gradually, he slips out of bed, shuffles over, and opens it — eyes bleary, he wipes at his face without seeing who he’s speaking to.
“What.”
“G-good— morning?” a thrumming bass voice answers. Stutters, rather. He’s never heard stuttering coming from this voice. Sylvain snaps awake to see Dedue in his doorway. A faint pink dusts his cheeks. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide — but not on Sylvain's face.
Sylvain remembers abruptly that, mind exhausted by the questions boiling inside him, he fell into bed last night in nothing but his smallclothes.
----
(Later the other guests complain of the door slamming so early in the morning.)
----
He goes downstairs once he is dressed, and it takes him the time to finish an entire roll to look Dedue in the eyes.
When he does, Dedue is the one to look away. “Good morning, Dedue. Ashe still asleep?” Dedue only nods. “What did you need this morning? I'm... sorry about that, by the way.”
“I’ve seen more than that, we don’t have to talk about it,” says Dedue indifferently, the stuttering from before completely buried under his cool expression, and Sylvain sputters even while he gives a thumbs-up. “Would you care to work in the garden with me? There's a bit to do this morning, and you should see how well those flowers we brought back are doing.”
“Yeah, I'd love to.”
----
Sylvain finds himself outdoors again quickly. The sunlight warms him to his core, flowers decorate the air with their light scents. It's a beautiful day to be outside, the kind of day that they don't ever get in Gautier. He breathes it in, wills his body to remember it.
He'll have to leave in a few days, and after that, he’s not sure he’ll ever come here again.
He supposed to be weeding, but he never once helped in the greenhouse as a student. He always slipped out when he was assigned to it for his weekly task. He doesn't know weed from sprout and settles on staring indecisively for far too long at the ground, on his knees, hands hovering above but not touching the plants before him.
“Do you need help?” Dedue asks, his voice suddenly way too close to Sylvain. Sylvain jolts and tries to keep the panic off his face. Dedue is way too close. Sylvain can feel the warmth from his skin.
Or maybe this is normal. Maybe it's just Sylvain overreacting.
“I’m supposed to be helping you, but I never did this as a student, you know.”
Dedue chuckles and comes impossibly closer. “May I?” he asks, and Sylvain nods not knowing what Dedue is asking but trusting him anyway. Dedue take Sylvain’s hands and moves them to the weeds. “You want the ones that look like this, be careful not to harm the plants as you pull.”
Sylvain gulps as Dedue removes his hands and goes back to his own work, cultivating the vegetables that become the ingredients for the inn. “Guess all the shit I did back then comes back to bite me in the ass. It's what I get for never changing.”
“You've changed. Just last night, you were chatting with a lovely woman, and I don’t think you made her uncomfortable once. Ashe was ready to charge out and stop you, but you ended up surprising us both by being civil.”
Ouch. Deserved, but ouch. He thinks about telling Dedue that he really wasn’t interested in flirting with her, but he knows Dedue won’t believe him. Why would he? Sylvain has never shown him a reason. And if Dedue thinks this was a fluke, that only covers Sylvain’s deceptive ass more—
Dedue, suddenly close again, why is he so close, nudges him with an elbow. “Sylvain?” And then, of all the things Dedue could have done, he pokes Sylvain in the forehead. The action is so, so unlike the stern, stoic Dedue that he knows, Sylvain swivels just to look at him.
Dare he say, it was playful?
“Is everything okay?” Sylvain nods cautiously, but no, he really isn't okay.
He loved Dedue before, but this new side of Dedue? Relaxed, playful, calm, an excited light in his eyes. Sylvain bubbles with warmth inside to see Dedue acting… happy? Unreserved? And around Sylvain, of all people. Dedue is still himself, of course. But it’s like something has sprouted and grown inside him.
Confidence. Self-assurance.
“You've changed too, Dedue. Not in a bad way, I mean. But you seem... different.”
“Yes, well. I've made some decisions lately. For myself. In regards to the conversation we had before.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to leave Fhirdiad for Duscur and make Duscur my home again. Permanently.” Sylvain knows he should say something, but instead, he just stares with his mouth gaping open. Dedue pushes Sylvain’s jaw closed with a single finger. “Better close that mouth before you catch a fly.” That confident smirk is going to kill Sylvain. “I tried to quiet Ashe when I told him, so he didn't wake you. I mean. Unfortunately, we woke you anyway.”
Ah. “That's— wow?”
Dedue smiles, his cheeks dimpling. “Until then, I want to stay here, with my poor, neglected husband.” Dedue holds his hand to the air so the silver ring Ashe crafted him can catch the light, the turquoise stone glimmering like his eyes. “I hope to make this inn a popular stop on the way to Duscur. We’ll continue to develop the menu — Ashe has improved remarkably.” Dedue looks to his garden. “We may have to part again, for a while. We each have our own dreams to achieve, but someday, we’ll come together again. His siblings are learning the recipes, and I am searching for interested parties in Duscur to come run the inn with them. We’ll pass it on to them when they’re ready.” Dedue looks at Sylvain now. Looks, and looks, so deeply. “I want to show Ashe the fields of flowers in Duscur someday. I would love to show you, too, if you’re amicable to the journey.”
Sylvain chuckles. “I'd love to. But maybe you should save the first trip for your husband.”
Dedue hums. “Yes, of course. I will.”
----
The rest of the time flies by, but Ashe and Dedue don't let up. If anything, it gets worse.
Ashe, even wide awake, consistently drapes himself over Sylvain in good morning hugs the last three days, whispering a compliment or a line, one like Sylvain would use, in his ear each time.
Dedue, determined to send Sylvain home with some kind of useful knowledge, coerces Sylvain into the kitchen, where Dedue’s hands guide Sylvain’s through every step of making a special Duscur pastry. Sylvain knows, distantly, the ingredients. Lots of nuts and honey, maybe cinnamon? But he'll never be able to remake it, not without Dedue’s hands guiding his.
(“Syl, you have something on your cheek,” says Ashe, coming close, wiping away something that isn’t there, peering up at him with soft lashes batting away the last dregs of Sylvain’s resistance.)
(“Come help me outside, Sylvain,” Dedue asks again and again and again in that deep voice that reverberates all the way through Sylvain even though Dedue does not need the help.)
Oh, Goddess, he's going to scream.
Sylvain isn't used to this. Isn't used to his own pickup lines sliding smoothly past Ashe’s lips. Isn’t used to Dedue coming so close. Goddess, if Sylvain doesn't want him closer, doesn't want to lay his hand against that rugged, handsome, beautiful face. Goddess damn him if, after catching Ashe from his fall, he hasn't pictured holding Ashe up in all different ways.
Sylvain is supposed to be leaving tomorrow.
If he's going to save this friendship, though, he needs to leave tonight.
Whatever in the eternal flames Ashe and Dedue are thinking, he needs to put a stop to it now before he ends up breaking everything.
----
He waits until the inn has fallen silent—not a guest nor a keeper stirs. He packed before pretending to go to sleep and stayed wide awake far later than he should have. Not his most brilliant idea before traveling, but... maybe he can find another inn somewhere down the road.
(He knows there isn't another for ages.)
It’s time, and slinging his bag over his shoulders, he makes his move.
Carefully, carefully, he closes the door with a gentle click behind him. He glides down the stairs; he knows the squeaking ones by now. He moves into the dining room, the last obstacle before the front door—
And there's Dedue, waiting for him, reclined in a chair, a book in hand, and candlelight flickering around him. He looks up unsurprised when Sylvain rounds the corner, freezing. Dedue closes his book, meticulously marking his place, and stands.
“Ashe,” he whispers just loud enough for his voice to carry, “He came through the front.” Ashe appears from the kitchen, pout etched into his cheeks. “Told you so.”
Ashe narrows his eyes at Sylvain. “I thought you would have remembered the bell above the door.”
“Dear, you forgot to account for his anxiousness, making him forget something so obvious in favor of taking the most direct route.”
“Okay, no, starlight, I was accounting for his anxiousness making him overthink, and was ready to catch him crawling down the side of the building—"
“Why are you trying to catch me!” Sylvain cries too loudly, and both Ashe and Dedue shush him. “Why are you trying to catch me?” he hisses in a whisper.
Ashe comes up to him, gets as close to Sylvain’s personal space as he can. Ashe doesn’t have the towering height on Sylvain that Dedue does, but for all the anger and irritation that is pouring out of him, he may as well. “Because you're trying to run away and damn it, Sylvain, I'm tired of not knowing what’s really going on, of only hearing snippets from you! Ingrid told us you’re dissolving Gautier? Where are you going to go after that? Were you planning to disappear? Is this your goodbye?” Ashe’s voice is soft, yet his words cut like a scream. “Aren’t you aware of how much that would have hurt us?”
Nothing to do now but tell the truth. “I am. Now, I am, anyway. I'm sorry—”
Dedue holds up a hand, and with that simple action, draws both Ashe and Sylvain’s eyes to him. “Come, let's take this outside so that we don't wake the others.”
----
They move to the gardens, standing, surveying the flowers and plants he and Dedue had tended to just a few days ago. A chilly wind blows. Sylvain can't seem to stop his shivering until Ashe cuddles up next to him, not shy about invading Sylvain’s space. The truth is on the brink of trickling out. Even now that Sylvain has an inkling to their real motivations, it’s still surprising to think that Ashe and Dedue have resorted to such tactics. Sylvain supposes he deserves it, after all.
“So, this entire time,” he starts, but stops himself as doubt rolls over him. After a long beat of silence, Ashe gently takes one of Sylvain’s pinkies with his own.
“This entire time? Longer, really. I'm not sure when exactly I fell in love with you.” The words, the tone of voice, the dimples at the corners of his mouth are too warm, too raw, too honest. Sylvain wants to run and hide, but Ashe is holding him in place by his one pinky and his legs won't move.
“Oh— oh.” Sylvain tries to swallow, but his mouth is so painfully dry, the action hurts.
That dimple smile shudders away. “Have... we misread something? I thought, well, part of the reason you shut down…”
“No, no, you really haven't.” The words pull themselves like barbs from the roof of his mouth. “I... that's why I stopped talking to you, you know. I just thought— well, I'm me, right?”
“Yes, we're well aware.” Dedue comes closer. He doesn't reach out and touch like Ashe, but still, Sylvain finds himself tilting towards Dedue. “Trust me, we've talked about it.” His eyes cut to Ashe. “A lot.”
The laugh that spills from Ashe is nervous and broken. “I mean not a lot. It's- it's— what about you Dedue? You haven’t told him how you feel. Don’t let me be the only one floundering here.”
“I felt a connection to you, ever since the Academy. I've loved you, Sylvain, for years.” The way he says it is so sure and so casual. Winter is cold, stoves are hot, Dedue loves Sylvain. Yes, of course, it makes sense.
Breathing comes too quickly and too lightly, and Sylvain can't catch his breath— it's too fast no matter how hard he chases after it.
A heavy hand pushes lightly on his shoulders, a question in the light pressure. His knees answer, and he falls to the ground where he stands, bringing Ashe with him.
“I meant for us to sit at the stairs, but...” and now, Sylvain is sandwiched between the two men he's loved for years, on the ground, in the middle of the night, at the inn that's a literal, physical symbol of their love and devotion to each other. And at some point, Sylvain fucked it up, his toxin seeped into their relationship and now he's ruined this, he's done exactly what he set out not to do, and it's all his fucking fault—
Suddenly, the connection he has with Ashe is broken, and that's enough to shock him into awareness. But he's not left alone for long, as his hand is taken, palm up, into Ashe’s.
A single finger traces circles again and again, slowly, and slowly, again, again, breathe in, breathe out in time. Again, again, again.
When his vision clears, Ashe’s face is thoughtful. Dedue has come closer, and Sylvain finally gives in, leans against Dedue fully. A bulky arm drapes over Sylvain shoulders, the weight pressing his anxieties into the ground.
“Better?” That deep voice is a tremor, shaking him through to his bones.
“Yeah.” Sylvain takes a breath in through his mouth, holds it deep in his body, lets it go through his nose slowly, just like Mercie taught him. “Yeah. Sorry—”
“Don't be— we— I’m sorry, I haven't exactly been handling it so smoothly— I just know you would bolt if we just came out and said it.” Even though Ashe doesn't look at him, focuses entirely on the circles, Sylvain feels the intensity behind his gaze. “Dedue is the one who suggested we finally approach the topic, but I'm the one who thought it would be better if we tested the waters before saying anything—”
“You call throwing yourself from a shelf to see if I’d catch you testing the waters?”
“You did what?” Dedue asks, leaning past Sylvain to stare at Ashe, the bewilderment jumping from his face over Sylvain's head.
The circles stop, and Ashe ducks his head, causing his bangs to fall, but they can't cover the flush. “It was fine. I'm fine. I knew Sylvain would catch me. It wasn’t a test so much as… a, um, a fantasy.”
Sylvain chokes.
Dedue groans. “We should have talked from the beginning, but the present is better than never, I suppose— better than my husband throwing himself from bookshelves.” Ashe gives two shaky laughs. “So, Sylvain, let's lay all the cards on the table. Ashe and I both love you. As friends. Romantically. We think you might harbor feelings for us too. Would you be willing to tell us?”
Sylvain gulps, swallowing down his reservations. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I have for a while. Since the... since the Academy.”
Finally, the circles stop, and Ashe laces their fingers together. “Why didn't you tell us?”
“Why would I have? You two were so obviously in love, even back then, and then the war— and then Dedue—”
“It wasn't obvious,” Ashe murmurs. Sylvain lifts a brow, as does Dedue. “Oh Goddess, was it obvious?”
“Even Dimitri noticed. Felix noticed. Ashe, you weren't fooling anyone. Why would I think I had a chance with either of you? And I wouldn't. I wouldn't get in the middle of that. Never. I ruin a lot of lives, but I wouldn't let myself ruin yours. It was easy enough to ignore during the war, and I thought after your wedding, that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. I tried and tried to cut these feelings down—” he sighs. “I'm sorry.”
Dedue sighs, brushes his hand against Sylvain’s arm. “Don't. It's enough that you're opening up to us now. This is okay, right?”
“Is it?” He bites his tongue.
“Yes, Sylvain.” Ashe squeezes Sylvain’s hand. “Yes. Yes once, yes twice, yes again and again and again!” Ashe’s free hand goes to Sylvain's cheek, turns him to face Ashe’s glittering eyes, the starlight from above a mirror to Ashe, not the other way around. “Can I go first?”
“Can you go first what?” asks Sylvain.
“Kiss you! Kiss you, Sylvain!” Ashe harshly whispers, barely keeping his voice quiet in the dark night. “I want to kiss you! We both do! But one of us has to go first, and I did not fling myself to the ground to wait any longer!”
Sylvain can only blink, like the dust in his eye is what's keeping him from fully seeing what Ashe is saying. “You want to kiss me?”
Ashe whines a pained sound that makes both Sylvain and Dedue wince. “Sylvain, of fucking course I want to kiss you—” He moves his hand from Sylvain's face in favor of running it in his own hair, pulling at the strands. “What do you think we've been doing this whole time, I thought you would have realized after the first night— I used your pick-up tricks— Sylvain, Sothis fuck—” Ashe clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as the moon above them.
Dedue snorts a laugh, unrestrained, shaking with mirth. “I couldn't have said it better myself.”
Sylvain is so fucking confused.
“Just let me…” Ashe shifts, and Sylvain finds himself shifting too. Never taking his eyes off Sylvain, Ashe sits up on his knees, between Sylvain’s thighs, laces his arms behind Sylvain's shoulders. His pupils are blown wide, inky and dark, the green alive like a fresh spring field. Sylvain’s hands find Ashe’s waist without thought.
“Okay?” Ashe asks, and the butterflies in Sylvain’s stomach fly into his throat and choke him, leaving him able only to gulp and nod. Dedue makes a pleased sound next to him and pulls Sylvain a little closer.
Ashe closes his eyes and Sylvain copies him as he leans in, closer, closer, closer—
For all that Ashe was screaming, for all that he's touched and wrapped himself around Sylvain, his kiss is so soft, so chaste, Sylvain feels as though he may shatter if Ashe deepens even a little more. A peck, another, and then he lingers, their breath mingling lightly between their softly parted lips. When Ashe pulls back, his cheeks are dusted a light pink. He kisses Sylvain’s cheek.
“My turn.” Dedue’s hand tickles the underside of Sylvain's chin as he turns Sylvain to face him, seated beside him, the sides of their bodies pulled flush together. Ashe, still between Sylvain’s legs, puts a hand on Sylvain’s chest as he watches.
Dedue tilts Sylvain’s chin up, looking him deeply in the eye, a blend of emotions swirling in those deep-sea teal depths. Caring, trust, love. Dedue smiles, the softest smile that Sylvain has ever seen not directed at Ashe. Sylvain is pulled towards Dedue like water to the shore. Dedue's breath tickles against Sylvain’s lips.
When their lips brush, Sylvain releases the breath he was holding, and then Dedue kisses him. Dedue’s kiss is a deeper, stronger, more solid push against Sylvain's mouth. Their kiss lasts longer, is more fluid and shifting against each other. They kiss again, and again, Dedue’s hand goes to Sylvain's hair and pulls him in deeper. Sylvain moans. Whereas Ashe’s kiss opened him, nudged him apart, Dedue’s pushes him back together again into a whole. Hesitantly, Dedue moves away, taking one more peck for himself. His eyes burn into Sylvain’s, and Sylvain has to hold himself back from chasing after his lips again.
When they break apart, while Sylvain tries to catch his breath, Ashe and Dedue exchange a deep, open-mouthed kiss right in front of him. His mind still hasn't caught up to his body, it's whirling, spinning in circles and circles as Ashe and Dedue break apart, the look they share so intimate Sylvain almost feels like a voyeur again, except when they turn to him, that look, though not as intense, still lingers and burns through Sylvain.
He wants more.
He tells them as such.
“No one is in a room next to ours tonight,” Dedue reassures him, pulling him to his feet.
“You're going to be exhausted tomorrow,” Ashe says so matter-of-factly, Sylvain wheezes. “Stay another week. You won’t bother us.”
He stays.
----
Sylvain swallows his tenth sigh in the past hour as he waits. Everything has been taken care of in Gautier. Honestly, it doesn't matter whether his personal affairs are in order or not. Treaties and land have been worked out so that those living in Gautier will still have a home. The estate is empty, all his staff moving to Fhirdiad or Fraldarius.
He can't help but to fidget, feeling a bit heavy under all his cloaks, but he knows he'll need them.
Duscur is cold this time of year, Dedue warned.
Sylvain sighs and holds his hand to the light, where the gold ring, decorated with a small ruby inlay, catches the light just as beautifully as the day Ashe exchanged it with him. He feels the earring in his ear, the metal Dedue himself forged and shaped, cool to his fingers. It pains him how long they've been apart, but soon, he won't have to leave their sides for so long again.
He loves them. They love him.
He’s not going to let himself get in the way again.
----
When they finally arrive, Sylvain is wrapped up in their embrace before he can even greet them.
This time, Dedue takes the first kiss, chaste and warm, before Ashe takes his turn, excited and alive.
If they leave a little later than intended, it won’t hurt anyone.