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“So there’s this cute half goth, half sports-nerd,” Sylvain begins before he’s rudely interrupted.
“Ugh, Sylvain, no. Forget it. No one wants to hear you go on about girls anymore,” Ingrid chides him. “I’m tired of hearing about it, I’m tired of clearing up your messes, I’m just plain tired.”
“Is it possible someone’s a bit hangry?” he throws back, dodging to avoid the lighthearted backhand she sends his way. “Okay, okay. Ingrid doesn’t want to hear about it. Is that also the opinion of the table?”
Annette, Ashe, Dimitri, Dedue, and Dorothea nod.
Mercedes, always the kind one of the group, pipes up. “I think we should let him talk. He’s our friend, we should take an interest in his love life.”
“Thank you Mercedes,” Sylvain says, unaware of the betting ring she and Yuri have about his various conquests. Mercedes loves Sylvain, but is positive he’s too dumb to work out he likes guys before the end of the semester. Yuri is convinced he’ll figure it out, and no, he definitely hasn’t been going topless more often than usual around Sylvain, or convincing Balthus (and any other male who’d listen to be honest) to do the same.
“Anyway, like I said, there’s this cute guy and—”
Ingrid spits out her drink. Annette goes bug eyed. Mercedes’ sweet smile drops.
Sylvain’s stomach swoops somewhere below the floor. Of course they don’t believe he likes guys after all the stupid stuff he’s done going after girls in the past. Or maybe it’s worse than that. Ice floods his veins. They don’t accept him. They hate him, they think he’s awful, he’s scum, he’s vermin, he’s—
He’s projecting. His friends are accepting. They love him. They all went to pride together last year, for goodness’ sake.
Yuri smirks something terrible, and Sylvain is sure he feels him nudge Mercie under the table. Dedue, Ashe, and Dimitri grin at each other, then Sylvain.
“Glad you felt like you could tell us, Sylvain. Welcome to the club!” Ashe removes the bisexual flag pin on his jacket and passes it over to Sylvain. Yeah, the freak out seems really dumb to him now. “Unless you need a rainbow one?”
“Nope, still think Thea’s got a great rack,” he offers, earning himself an eyeroll from the woman herself and another backhand from her girlfriend.
He doesn’t dodge this time. He deserves it.
Plus, Ingrid isn’t as strong as she thinks she is, so it doesn’t hurt anyway.
“Tell us more about this cute goth, Skirt Chaser. I wanna know all about the guy who made serial womaniser Sylvain Jose Gautier realise he also likes men,” Yuri orders.
“His hair is the same inky blue as a midnight sky, eyes like a whiskey bottle I could drown myself in, he’s a little grouchy, sure, but when a rare smile graces his lips…it’s more blinding than the sun.” He’d smiled at Sylvain exactly once in the gym and Sylvain could have sworn his heart literally stopped at the sight.
He’d also spent a little too long in the shower thinking about it later that evening.
“Goth boy also has a lip piercing, a ring to the left, and I’m 90% sure he has his nipples done based on how he wears his towel in the gym.”
“Perv,” Dorothea shoots at him.
“I honestly tried not to look but Thea he’s stunning.”
Dorothea waves a hand at the guy walking through the door of the diner. “What, better looking than him?”
It’s him. Athletic goth boy. Felix.
Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.
He’s gorgeous in an oversized, faded Iron Maiden t-shirt, black skinny jeans hugging an ass that should be illegal and a leather jacket, with Doc Martins Sylvain is sure the man could crush him under.
He’s surprised by how much he wants it.
“Sylvie, darling, you’re crimson.”
“Yeah, buddy, you don’t normally blush like that. Have some water, hm?” Ashe suggests, pushing a glass towards him.
Sylvain downs the glass. It doesn’t help. Goddess, who gave Felix the right to be that hot?
Felix walks over to the booth where Ferdinand, Hubert and Edelgard are sitting.
Sylvain and Ferdie are friends. He could totally go over and start a conversation, maybe get an in with Felix. It would be shitty to use his friend like that, though.
Although if Ferdie thought it was his own idea…
No. Nuh, uh. Sylvain will just die miserably alone whilst the prettiest thing he’s ever seen keeps sneaking looks at him.
Wait, what!?
Okay, that time was definitely a look. Checking him out—the amber eyes linger too long on his chest for it to be anything else. And Ferdie’s looking over too. So that’s basically an invitation, right? Right!?
“Sylvain, I think you should say hello,” Dedue’s deep voice booms.
“Yeah, I’m done with the lovesick pining,” Ingrid adds. “My food should be here soon, and you’ll put me off. Go.”
Sylvain feels like a deer caught in headlights. He should stay put. Felix is way out of his league. Felix doesn’t like him back. He imagined Felix checking him out.
Ferdie’s beckoning him over. Well, fuck. He has to go now.
“Wish me luck!” With a salute, Sylvain leaves the table to join hottie and the melancholy goth crew, plus Ferdie.
Who introduces him far too quickly, and with a weird intonation, as soon as he arrives at the table.
“Felix this is Sylvain, a good friend of mine. Sylvain, this is Felix. We share fencing lessons together.”
“You mean I beat you at fencing,” Felix grumbles, and despite the grouchy tone it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.
“Hmph! I would have you know that I am skilled at fencing—I just found myself rather distracted—”
“Because you couldn’t keep your eyes off Edgelord here.” Felix gestures at Hubert, and Ferdinand blushes a brighter colour than his flame red hair.
“Now, hang on Felix. That is hardly fair, I—”
“Save it, Ferdinand. I’m not interested in your excuses, just be better next time. It’s not a proper win if you’re distracted.”
“Understood,” Ferdinand replies.
“Plus, how else will we resolve our bet?” Felix offers.
“Bet?” Sylvain asks, curious.
“Ferdinand insists on playing Taylor Swift at practice,” Felix explains, making a face. Okay, Sylvain ADORES Taylor, listens to her all the time. So much so that she shows up in his favourites playlist on Spotify. But he can pretend not to for five minutes of Felix’s time. He’s worth it. “We bet that if I performed better than him at our next inter school event I get to pick the music. But he’s been too busy mooning over that-” Felix gestures at Hubert, who glares daggers back at him, “-to train properly. Speaking of, if you three have got some sort of date thing going on, I’m out of here. Before I ask for a lift, how do you feel about Taylor Swift?” Felix asks Sylvain.
“Hate her music with a passion,” he responds without thinking. 22 is his favorite album. It’s fine. He won’t be called out on it.
“Can you give me a lift?”
Sylvain nods, again without thinking. Apparently close proximity to Felix makes him stupid. Thankfully he does actually have his car with him, and Ferdinand made it clear neither of them are axe murderers intent on killing the other.
Not that Ferdinand would be a great judge of that with his taste in men.
Felix’s ass looks like temptation incarnate this close up, just in front of him as they exit the diner.
He should be paying attention to what Felix is talking about. He thinks he heard something about Taylor Swift again? Sylvain can’t make his brain work to focus on the words, it’s too consumed with thoughts of how lithe Felix’s figure is, but with a hidden strength—toned muscles rippling under his clothing while he walks.
“Which is yours?” Felix barks, dragging Sylvain out of the horny soup of his brain.
“Oh. Er, that one.” He points at the red car his parents got him for his 20th birthday. He has no idea what type it is, cars don’t interest him; he just knows it was top of the range his parents could buy. It has parking sensors, seat warmers, bluetooth technology, the works.
They get in and buckle up. Sylvain offers him the sat nav app on his phone but Felix insists he’ll direct Sylvain to where they’re going. He hears the telltale beeping of the bluetooth connecting his phone to the car’s system.
It makes sense, Sylvain supposes. Giving directions is safer than leaving your address in a stranger’s car.
They pull out onto the road and he takes a left on Felix’s instruction, an awkward silence settling in the car. Neither of them say anything for a good five minutes.
“This the newest model?” Felix eventually asks, looking around the car.
“I think so. Cars are more my brother’s thing than mine, I just know it was the best money could buy when my parents got it for me.”
“How long ago was that?” Felix probes.
“Less than a year,” Sylvain responds, his eyes on the road.
“Awesome. Apple or Android?”
“Android of course,” Sylvain scoffs.
“I intend to judge you for what happens next, by the way,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Sylvain in some sort of threat.
It’s adorable.
“Okay Google, play my most recent playlist.”
“Playing most recent songs,” the female computer voice says, before she’s drowned out by an upbeat tempo.
“I stay out too late,” Taylor sings over the car speakers. Felix glares at him. Oh fuck.
“Got nothing in my brain,” she accuses. And to be fair, it’s true. Head empty, only trying to focus on the road when that gorgeous scowl is directed his way.
“I go on too many dates.” That one cuts a little too close to home. As does Felix’s extended silence.
“…Ingrid was in charge of the music last?” he offers as an excuse.
“Coward,” Felix retorts.
“Alright, you got me. I was the one who accompanied Ferdie to the Taylor concert last month. Happy now? But I also went with Hubert to see Amon Amarth.”
“The viking metal band?” Felix sounds curious, so he feels like he hasn’t completely ballsed this up.
“You should have seen the opener, they rowed themselves on stage in a longboat,” Sylvain starts, hoping the journey will be long enough to redeem himself.
He pulls into his own drive with a smile on his face and a new number in his phone.