Chapter Text
One by one, fingers pull away hairpins keeping strands of navy hair in place. Each one is placed into a small pile on a desk. The remainder of the day’s sun filters through a window on the left, its warmth highlighting the hands which tremble in front of a young man. An exhale leaves his lips, and his eyes briefly close before he reaches to the bun at the back of his head.
It finally comes undone, hair tie pulled away from the ponytail left behind, falling down into a curtain reaching his shoulder blades.
For a time he cannot tell, all he does is stare at his reflection. It’s not the hair itself he dislikes. Straighter than his father’s, he can appreciate the differences setting him apart from that man, as well as the similarities which allow him to think: I am a Fraldarius man. Men can have long hair. They can be proud of this hair, and had this boy been born differently, or in a world unlike this one, he could have been as such too.
Those good emotions are not a part of him when he stares at the way his hair falls down and down. It frames a slim face, and with his eyes determined to hyperfocus on every feminine part of himself and maximise it to the highest possible degree, it’s enough to cause nausea to bubble in the pit of his stomach. To make him focus on all the words said about it.
You’re beautiful. Something that’d be fine, if they knew he was a man.
Even if you’re boisterous, your hair is very pretty, isn’t it? A reminder that no matter what his personality is like, no matter how he feels inside, others will view this hair and see it as what makes him female.
Your mother wore her hair like this when she was young. Rodrigue must be proud that his little girl looks so much like her mother. This speaks enough in itself.
It might be such a silly thing in the grand scheme of everything. But for him, these long strands of hair only emphasise how much he wishes everything could change, if everyone saw him differently. They remind him of the jealousy he’s always possessed when his friends would get new haircuts; they’d be called handsome and everything that he wishes he could be, too.
A shaking hand grabs a knife on his desk. It might not ever be too late to start obtaining that for himself.
He wills his trembles to calm, trying to capture the same confidence he has when wielding a sword. A section of his hair is pulled taut against the blade. It takes only a moment to prepare himself, and he slices his blade across it.
It’s not the cleanest cut, but it’s enough. The hair cups his face instead, shorter than it has ever been, and he watches in awe as loose hairs flutter down, down, onto the wooden floor.
For a moment, all he can do is look at those hairs, then to his reflection, and process what has happened.
He then possesses the same desperation as a starving man who has obtained food at last.
Without fully caring for any result other than it simply being shorter, he continues to swipe and swipe at different sections. The cuts from his knife become faster, cleaner, hairs falling on him and all over the place. It doesn’t matter. He can clean it all; what matters is having it gone.
He finds that he’s short of breath when he finally cuts the last section, almost as though his desperation sapped away his oxygen. He lowers the knife. He stares. Copper eyes trail over his reflection, the strands of hair now framing his face. It’s choppy and, on anyone else, he would probably think it looks horrid. But not to him. His whole world has changed in an instant, his hand running through his hair and pushing it back off his face—a face which brightens, just a little, when he realises that he even prefers this with that long hair gone.
“Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” he says to himself, barely above a whisper. “My name is Felix Hugo Fraldarius.”
It’s enough to tell him something simple, but monumental as well: this is who he is. Felix is a man, has likely always been as such, and cannot see himself living his future as anything else.
It won’t be long before this euphoria fades, when he remembers what is impossible for him to achieve, although he’s blessed in this moment. He can feel good in himself. He can feel relief over solidifying who he is, and greet that reflection with a smile for the first time in his life.
After rinsing through his hair with water last night to remove all the loose hairs (never has he had a haircut leaving so much behind), he went to bed feeling fantastic about himself. Now that morning has arrived and he has pulled on his boots, all that confidence seems to be rapidly replaced with nerves instead.
He’s adjusted to wearing a uniform similar to what Glenn wore for months now, no one paying him mind when he explained that he finds it easier to train when wearing trousers. It hasn’t bothered him for a long time. Until now, that is, and he’s also running his hand through his shorter hair.
With another glance at his reflection, at least encouraged by how he enjoys his appearance even more now, he leaves his room with his head held high.
Only a few students are lurking in the corridor, those who he does not know the names of. He hurries on by. Whilst some don’t pay him any mind, others seem to do some kind of double take. One person nudges their friend with their elbow, which Felix does his best to ignore despite the clenching of his jaw.
At the end of the corridor, at least, Marianne gives him something that he would say is close to a smile.
It’s a Sunday today, which sometimes at least means he can avoid everyone as much as he pleases, but that is not the case now when the Blue Lions are heading out to take on some bandits. That’s exactly what made Felix snap and do this to himself at all, knowing he cannot bear yet another day where people comment on that lovely long hair of his, but it’s still typical that he would do this away from a day without classes, only to have a reason for everyone to stare at him anyway.
He receives further looks outside, and finally, his first share of words. “Nice haircut!” is one thing; considering he struggles at times to read the intention behind what people say, has no idea if this is negative or not.
The strange looks are certainly negative. The fascinated glances, though an improvement, are not much better when he would rather people just didn’t look at all.
Someone mentioned something about Glenn, and he’s blocked that out completely with his mind focused purely on meeting up with the others.
This is something Felix continues to not understand himself with; whenever it comes to him wielding a sword or any other area of fighting he is confident in, he admits that he can be rude and arrogant when flaunting these skills. Anything else, however—his appearance, how he interacts with others, his personality—he is almost the opposite. Gawking eyes make him want to retreat straight back into solitude, working on polishing his swords instead.
Hopefully his friends are at least better.
When he finds the group gathering outside the monastery, battalions on standby, he finds that only part of the Blue Lions are currently gathered: Byleth, Dimitri, Ingrid, Dedue, and Annette.
“Oh!” is the first exclamation given by Dimitri when Felix first heads closer, which is at least better than being greeted by his deadname. “Your hair—I had no idea you were planning on cutting it.”
“Why would you?” Felix scoffs. “I don’t make a habit of telling boars when I want to cut my hair.”
“It suits you,” Dedue says, something which Felix is unsure if he can find appreciation in or not; are these words meant generally, or in the sense that this looks like a feminine short style?
By the time he has considered the possibility that overthinking this will probably not do him much good, Ingrid has spoken as well, stepping closer to him. “The length took me by surprise,” she says, “and it looks pretty choppy.”
“Well, I used a knife.” The words come out sharper than planned; he practically spat them out. “So I’d expect as much.”
“Why would you do that? You could have asked one of us to help! But I’m sure it’d look fantastic when you neaten it up, Gloria.”
He doesn’t quite hear Dimitri’s words of agreement. At this moment, all he can really think about is that stab in his chest, despite how he has expected no less.
“It does look great,” says Professor Byleth, Felix managing to catch their voice, although it’s Mercedes who he picks up on properly when her hand lands gently on his arm.
“I think so as well, it’s incredibly you.” She is smiling at him, eyes lighting up as well. “Come see me whenever you like if you want me to help you style it.”
Something about the way Mercedes says this causes him to nod his agreement, almost as though she understands him a little more than everyone else.
“Sorry! I’m very sorry!”
Their heads turn at the sound of Ashe’s shout. He currently runs over with Sylvain jogging in tow, taking a moment to catch his breath when he draws closer before speaking again. “Sylvain and I arranged some early morning training, and we got a little carried away.”
“Early morning training?” Felix says, his attention finally brought away from the nagging discomfort in his chest as his eyes land on Sylvain. “Huh. That’s not quite like you.”
“Don’t be jealous now because I didn’t go with—” Sylvain’s words trail off, his eyes widening as they land on Felix’s head. “Hold up! When did that happen?”
“Last night.”
“Oh, Goddess, that is quite the change,” says Ashe, smiling as his own gaze lands on Felix. “But a good one at that.”
“Yeah, I love it! So fluffy.” Sylvain’s hand ruffles Felix’s hair, causing him to grumble. “I can once again thank the Goddess that I am engaged to you, Fe.”
Though Felix bats away the hand on his head, he cannot prevent a small smile. It doesn’t matter how long it has been since he has been called that nickname. It will always cause the same warmth in his chest no matter what, for more reasons than one.
But his mind falls on the word ‘engaged’, and he is reminded, as he always is, what the biggest obstacle standing between him and the future he desires is.
“You know, I’ve always been so curious about that nickname you use for her,” says Dimitri.
“Me too,” Ingrid agrees. “Never, for all of our lives, have we ever been told exactly why you call her that, Sylvain.”
“That’s our little secret,” says Sylvain, giving Felix a wink which causes him to scoff. It must be with slightly less animosity and focus than usual; for a moment, the grin on Sylvain’s face falters, but he has no time to question anything before Byleth speaks.
“All right, we should start our journey over there,” they say. “We can go back over the details of what we are fighting against on the way.”
Words of understanding and agreement follow, the Blue Lions now mounting their horses. Felix climbs up on the back of Sylvain’s, arms wrapped around his waist. There is no time right now to dwell on their future, or even their arranged marriage in general—even so, Felix cannot help but let his mind wander as the group head out on their way, wondering how the hell he could ever manage a life where he’s expected to be Sylvain’s wife.
If there is little information in Fódlan around same-gender attraction, this is even more prominent when it comes to being transgender. It hasn’t been until recently that Felix even learned at all that there is a word out there which describes how he feels. How this feeling as though his body shouldn’t be his, the discomfort he has around female terms used for him, is something other people have experienced as well.
The lack of knowledge around him has resulted in him not being able to understand the way in which this fluctuates either, particularly not at first. He would say this unnamed discomfort is always there, prickling beneath the surface, and only becomes more apparent in his mind the more certain he has become of himself. There are days where happiness simply overrides this at times, enough for him to feel a little happier in himself before someone inevitably misgenders him again.
Two weeks later, and everyone has settled with Felix’s change of hairstyle at last. Perhaps it’s not quite as much of a shift as him wearing a male uniform when there are women with shorter haircuts than him—he’d say his hair is about the same length as Leonie’s, with a bit of a longer fringe. He hates the thought that the hair is less of a shock because of this, although it does at least have the benefit of reduced strange looks and comments. Thankfully.
Now he has become more confident in this change and others seem to be more adjusted (on Sylvain’s end, he even describes it as cute, which annoys Felix a little less than if someone else used such a word); he finds that he is running a hand through his hair and is able to look at it a little more objectively. He adores it. Though a small part of him misses its length and desires a time where he can feel comfortable with growing it out, it’s far, far better overall. He can catch a glance of himself in the mirror and almost shock himself over how much more masculine he looks, there are people who do a double take as though being confused over his gender, his head feels lighter and he’s reminded of all that has been taken off it...
Without the pointed looks, however, he can agree on what people have said about it being choppy. It’s hardly a surprise when he used a knife as quickly as he did. Originally, wanting to still keep his hair looking somewhat tidy, he did plan on taking it easy. But the first slice through his hair urged him to get through this faster and faster, anticipating the results, and ‘taking it easy’ seemed to no longer be in his vocabulary.
This acceptance on a Sunday morning is what brings him to Mercedes’ room. She opens the door with a wide, welcoming smile, her presence instantly putting Felix at ease.
“Oh, good morning,” says Mercedes. “You are here for your hair appointment, yes?”
Felix holds back a snort. “I’m not your client, Mercedes. Unless you do actually want paying for this.”
“Don’t be silly! This is simply a favour for my friend. Come in."
She closes the door after Felix enters, gesturing to the chair by her desk. “I feel as though I was the only one who wasn’t shocked by the change of your hair. I think I felt like it was going to happen, sooner or later.”
Those words bring Felix a momentary panic, despite how he hasn’t told anyone about his true identity. It still feels like a deep, dark secret that no one should hear—which he’s aware is ridiculous, not to mention feeding into exactly how others view him, but it weighs on him enough to be this way. “Yeah. I train so much that longer hair just seemed tedious to maintain and style everyday.”
Mercedes’ answer is a mere hum. In a brighter world where Felix could talk about how he feels, perhaps this would mean she understands the meaning behind this changed hair, how symbolic it is for him. In reality, she is lifting a pair of scissors whilst Felix settles down, and has likely begun to concentrate.
“So do you want this neatening out most of all?” asks Mercedes, the fingers on her spare hand brushing through his hair, likely to observe the unintentional layers.
“Yeah. Just so it looks less choppy. I don’t mind the fringe.”
“Even though it goes over your eye a bit,” she teases. “Okay, this won’t take long at all. Sit still, okay?”
“What am I, a child?”
Her laughter implies she is merely teasing. Felix cannot prevent a smile of his own, glancing at a mirror out of the corner of his eye to watch as she gets to work.
Though Felix is aware that Mercedes enjoys this deeply in general, there seems to be something…different, with how she does this now. A deeper meaning in the hands which tend to him so carefully, with the look of concentration on her face. Once again, Felix would almost say that she understands.
If he was open to her, this would not be an odd possibility. He has Mercedes herself to thank for him learning about the existence of transgender people in the first place. It already feels like so long ago since he first came to the monastery, uncomfortable by how everyone referred to him and so lost on why that was, and having this foggy path be made clearer by the woman so alike to an older sister.
The Blue Lions had been training together one day. Mercedes, wanting to work on her Faith magic, was there as well. A fellow priest in the proximity blinked once, twice at her, and uttered the name Felix soon learned is called a deadname, and is something which should never be brought up to someone who is transgender.
“Is that really you?”
“I’m called Mercedes now.” Though Felix had not yet heard the confirmation that Mercedes was transgender, the way she spoken calmly yet with confidence all at once, as though filled with no hesitation or shame about who she was, was something he could admire more than anything he had seen that day. “As you can probably tell, I also came to realise I’m a woman. I hope you accept this.”
Mercedes soon explained to the other Blue Lions that she is a transgender woman, who transitioned long before arriving at the monastery—Annette, her best friend for years, was the only person who was aware. This is not because Mercedes has ever been ashamed of herself. It’s because she simply knows this is who she is, and she does not owe anyone an explanation bar the absolute minimum. This became apparent when word spread of Mercedes’ assigned gender at birth, and she continued to live no differently than before people knew.
If there is anyone who would understand Felix, it is her. Though her experiences are on the opposite end of the spectrum, they are still vastly similar. As she neatens his hair further and further, the two talking as they always do, Felix finds a budding desperation inside to tell her. Finally obtain the guidance he needs, ask what he should do, how he can do it, and everything he could be told from one of the only people he knows is like him.
But his eyes soon fix on his hands, imagining the wedding ring which will be on his finger before long, and he bites his words back. There are more important matters in the world than his own comfort in it.
“Is there anything wrong, Felix?”
His head lifts slightly, shaking from side-to-side. “It’s nothing.”
This answer seems to disappoint her slightly, but not enough to remove the smile on her face. “If there is ever anything I can help with, or you simply want to talk to me about,” she says, “I am here for you. That goes for all the years to come as well, whenever you’re ready.”
He remains silent for a moment, allowing those words to sink in. Licks his lips, swallows, listening to the snip snip of Mercedes’ scissors. It’s difficult to say whether or not Mercedes understands the impact of those words. How late Felix feels in discovering himself, and how he doesn’t think he will even dare to do anything more about it for a long time, if at all.
The possibility between her knowing and not doing so seems practically equal, but either way, he is grateful. “Thank you.”
His heart feels lighter after those words, and soars when Mercedes finishes and he faces the mirror completely. The euphoria from his original haircut was strong enough; seeing his hair neatened fully only puts this even higher. He cannot say whether or not this was her intention as well, but the way his hair frames his face is…Can he say it looks more masculine? He’s not sure, but either way it brings a smile to his face.
“You look wonderful,” she says, running a hand through his hair and fluffing it up. This causes Felix’s smile to grow further; doing this to longer hair would simply voluminise it or make it messy, but now, it puffs up in a way it would never manage previously. “Never better, I would say!”
“Yeah, having you touch this up has made me realise that I didn’t do the best job.”
“Scissors next time. No knives.” She taps him on the head with the handle of the scissors for good measure. “And come back whenever you need a touch up, okay? I’m your personal hair stylist, now!”
“I really would need to start paying you, if that ended up being the case,” Felix says, managing a laugh when Mercedes giggles. His own sound is soon to fade, realising it’s the first time he has laughed in a time he cannot tell, and is instead replaced with a soft, gentle smile.
Sometimes, Felix wonders whether or not people would gender him correctly if they knew. These days, though he still doesn’t feel fully happy with himself when looking in a mirror, he notices how his reflection becomes more like himself as time passes. There are times he stares and struggles to be critical enough to see himself as anything but a boy.
Not once has someone else referred to him as anything but a woman, however, despite how little he looks like one; even if they saw him as more of a feminine man, he thinks he wouldn’t mind as long as that word is there: man, not woman. Those feminine pronouns continue to follow him, his deadname and everything else reminding him of how the world views him, and it has reached the point where he wonders if they genuinely see him as a woman or if it’s because they all know him due to the Fraldarius name.
The joy over his gender comes with a price. The greater this becomes, the greater his distress in return, it seems. Every bit of that misgendering hurts all the more. It clutches at his heart with the ferocity of a Demonic Beast, and sometimes seems to sweep over him like a wave of icy water. A momentary shock, sudden and paralysing, before the word echoes and echoes inside his mind. As if he didn’t dwell on this enough without some damned song like that.
He tries to not let it interfere with his life. He swings his sword over and over, he studies the magic Byleth has insisted he learns, he dedicates his time to endless productivity. From the perspective of one who doesn’t know him personally, they might see no changes at all. Those closer to him know otherwise.
His skills have never been something he deems as perfect—if that was the case, he wouldn’t spend so much of his time trying to improve. He’s still aware that he’s a fantastic fighter, as is voiced to him often. But others have been beating him more frequently lately. His mind is distracted even when he doesn’t realise he is dwelling on any thoughts, his emotions are all over the place enough for nothing to quite feel right.
What used to be something he can merely shrug off throws him off completely. Sometimes, there are things worse than others, and even weeks later a comment that was made still rings in his ears.
“Your future wife is almost looking like a boy, Sylvain. I didn’t know you liked the boyish types as well!”
Sylvain had laughed awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable, and Felix wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He snapped as always. He stormed away with his hand pulling Sylvain’s wrist, telling him that they’re going to train. And he was so unravelled by the comment that he lost.
It’s affecting his studies as well, his grades not quite as good as they used to be, and it comes as no surprise when he’s stopped after class one day.
“Go on without me,” he says to Sylvain, Ingrid and Dimitri, who he was about to head to the Dining Hall with. Once alone, he walks closer to Byleth’s desk, who is currently sorting through some papers. “Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing at all. Do you want to sit down?”
Felix nods, taking the seat on the opposite side of the desk. He crosses one leg over the other before immediately uncrossing them again. Even how he sits bothers him at times. “If it’s about my grades—”
“Partially. So you are aware that your work hasn’t quite been up to its usual standard for you?” When Felix merely shrugs, Byleth speaks a little gentler when they add, “It’s still more than good enough, and I am not trying to lecture you. I was wondering if anything is troubling you.”
A silence falls. He feels their eyes watching him even when his own drop down to the desk in front of him. His expression stays blank as his mind runs a million miles an hour. There are so many things which trouble him—he could not count them on both hands—but when summarised it’s simple after all: everyone insists I’m a girl when I’m not.
He remembers Byleth’s introduction, how they told the Blue Lions their pronouns and gender, and how naturally they treated it. Much like Mercedes, this is another person, one of the few Felix knows are like him, who lives their life as their authentic self. Thrives doing so, even.
It’s a cause of jealousy. He has to admit that. He wishes desperately that he could live a life where he too could do this, where there is nothing in the way of him and happiness, but his reality is not so kind to him.
There is one thing he might be able to do first, however. Something which has played on his mind for a long time, only intensifying with every comment made. Can he tell them this, at least, when his gender seems impossible?
“I’ve been considering asking my father to call off Sylvain and I’s marriage.”
If this is a surprise to Byleth, they manage to hide it well. “Did anything happen between you two?”
Felix shakes his head. Though Sylvain misgenders him too on occasion—naturally so, when no one but Felix himself knows—he is probably the most comfortable person to be around with this. At least he uses that nickname. Fe.
“It’s nothing personal with Sylvain. It’s—it’s complicated. But one thing is that I don’t want my future decided for me, like this.”
This is far from a lie. The full truth is simply much grander than this.
“I understand where you are coming from,” says Byleth. “And if this is something you require, that is your choice to make. I only advise you to not be too rash about it. Can you not imagine living a future with him?”
“I … I don’t know.” He truly doesn’t. The idea of living his future as a man seems so much like a fantasy to him, being able to picture both this and marrying Sylvain is impossible. “I don’t really know how I feel about Sylvain. I guess I am kind of attracted to him, maybe even have feelings for him. But we’ve known each other my whole life, and I’ve never really known anything but being engaged to him. So it’s hard to tell if these are my own feelings, or what I developed because of what was laid out for us.”
Byleth hums, resting their chin on top of their hands. “This is definitely a problem with arranged marriages. Everything is mapped out for you, so if there are real emotions there, I imagine it would be difficult to distinguish between them and what you see as your duty.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“I still advise you to think everything through. I must say you seem to be upset about more than this, so I fear you being blinded by pain and doing something you regret.”
Felix’s head lowers. For someone who always pesters Sylvain on rash decisions, he knows all too well what making them can cause. He simply can’t keep hearing the word wife. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Your future is yours for the taking. There is just no rush in deciding everything.”
Felix nods. The longing to open up to someone else finds him again, causing his heart to beat faster in his chest, but he pushes it all away and soon leaves the classroom.
Whilst Byleth’s advice has helped Felix to an extent, it also causes him to become more conflicted than before. He has always found that he cannot be placed firmly on either side of being sensible or irresponsible. Whilst his childhood is something he often avoids dwelling over for a multitude of reasons—the discomfort it causes, for one thing, alongside the trauma over his family—there are pleasant memories there as well.
He and Sylvain were easily the most mischievous of the Faerghus Four. A lot of the fondest times of Felix’s childhood stem from them getting into some kind of mess, Ingrid getting them out of it and Felix bursting into tears when scolded by adults and promising to never do something again…Only to do exactly that a week later.
On the flipside, he’d still say he’s the most sensible out of him and Sylvain, which has caused yet more comments that stab Felix in his chest. How Sylvain has to watch for tightened reins, that Felix will be the kind of wife to keep Sylvain in check. As well as cause Felix distress over his gender, it reminds Felix of how disgusting he finds the heteronormative route of marriage to be.
He has no idea if there is any other path to follow with this. There are far too many variables, no certainty on what he should do and how he feels, and a part of him simply wants all of it to end rather than have to deal with any of it.
Today, the same as he often does lately, his eyes flicker over Sylvain. Beads of sweat trickling down his face, the certain grin and glint in his eye when the two train together, rolled up sleeves and the hands holding a lance—it causes Felix’s heart to skip a little, and he has no idea why.
“I’m done for today.” To anyone else, this would seem blunt as Felix turns, placing his sword away. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Sylvain straighten with a frown.
“You okay?”
“Fine. It’s nothing.”
Sylvain, understandably, isn’t convinced. He follows Felix as he leaves the Training Grounds, soon to catch up and take hold of his sleeve.
“Fe, you’ve been like this a lot lately.”
“You’ve noticed?” He asks this before he can stop himself; even with averted eyes, he manages to catch a glimpse of Sylvain’s smile.
“How long have we known each other?”
But do you really know me? Even Felix doesn’t know this answer, for he isn’t sure how Sylvain would ever act with him, should everyone know he is male after all. “I’m—”
“Don’t go saying you’re fine, because I know you’re not.” Sylvain isn’t fazed at all by the glare he receives. “Come on, you know that won’t work! It only makes you all the more attractive when you look like that.”
Felix’s eyes close, a breath escapes his lips, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from blurting what he truly wants to say. Would you say that if you knew I’m a guy? Would you flirt with me, talk about our future, if you truly knew who I am?
Instead, Felix throws all the advice given to him out of the window, as he says something which could be just as much of a mistake. “I want to call the marriage off. I can’t do it anymore.”
It takes something huge to silence Sylvain, the man usually given far too many words to say. He stares. His mouth has dropped open, eyes first simply surprised, before being washed over with an emotion Felix cannot quite pinpoint. It’s probably something along the lines of sadness. Felix swallows, drops his own gaze, guilt hitting his chest despite how Sylvain never proposed properly anyway.
What would Felix say if this was all different, and they were living a future which gave Sylvain this opportunity to ask by his own terms?
“Okay, that was sudden.” Sylvain laughs awkwardly, and it cracks slightly. “Is there any reason why?”
“Lots of things. It’s complicated. I just—” A pain finds Felix’s throat, causing him to wonder if both are close to crying or if it’s just him. “It’s too much for me to handle. I hate everything that they say.”
“You mean the knights and everyone else?” Felix hums. “Yeah, they can be pretty terrible, can’t they? But you’re not usually the type to let things like that get to you.”
He isn’t, which is what possibly frustrates him the most about all of this when it comes to the emotions around his gender. Comments on this and his appearance should be irrelevant. They hold no value, mean nothing to his life, but these pestering feelings he has change everything. Those remarks do mean something. They do cause harm, and Felix loathes how he lets them.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Felix says and does nothing in response. His eyes still avert from Sylvain, mind running a simulation in his mind. The ‘coming out’ he wishes for, to find a single companion in this vastly lonely world of his. Maybe it would change everything. Maybe it wouldn’t.
He doesn’t know a single thing, all the way down to how Sylvain now takes Felix’s hands into his own, giving them a squeeze, and Felix is clueless as to how that can cause his heart to stir when he’s not a woman in the first place.
“I probably know that one thing bothering you,” says Sylvain, “is how it’s never a choice you got to make for yourself, huh? Because I know how that feels.”
Felix hums, glancing up at Sylvain for a moment. “Yeah. I hate it.”
“But not me?”
A shake of his head. “Not you.”
“Good, because if you hated me, then I really would be upset.” Sylvain lets go of Felix’s hands, and his laugh sounds even more strained now—it couldn’t be clearer that he is upset either way. “We can put the wedding on hold until we’re able to call it off later, if that’s something which you need.”
“Yeah. It is.” Felix licks his lips, swallows, wishing for his chest to not hurt this damn much. “Sorry this is sudden.”
“Well, it seemed sudden for a moment, but I guess I’ve kind of expected it. You’ve seemed uncomfortable whenever someone brings it up.” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “I really, really do need to have someone I settle down with, though. Crest babies and all that. Does—does calling this off mean that like, it calls everything off completely? So I’d need to find someone else?”
“Mm. I guess.” It’s the way of the Gautiers, after all, to dictate so much worth behind their Crests. “You can see other people even while we put this on hold. I wouldn’t see it as cheating.”
“Are you sure? Because I might just die if I can’t flirt with someone, you know.”
Felix rolls his eyes, a slight smile of amusement appearing on his face. It’s soon to fade when he realises that the idea of him not being the target for Sylvain’s flirting doesn’t appeal to him either. It makes him uncomfortable, in fact, despite how unfair this is when he is the one asking to call this off in the first place, when he doesn’t have a single clue about his own feelings.
“Just make sure it doesn’t intervene with your studies,” he says, pushing those confusing feelings down as far as he can. “And thanks for listening, even if you can’t fully get it. I—I’m sorry I can’t be fully honest about this.”
Sylvain’s face softens with a smile, which only seems to intensify Felix’s guilt. “It’s fine, as long as you promise to remember that I’m here no matter what. If you ever want to talk about what is bothering you, I’m here to listen. Okay, Fe?”
With his head lowering and eyes closing for a moment, Felix finally manages a proper smile, even if it’s still paired with uncertainty of the future. “Okay.”
Perhaps something can change one day, however small it might be.