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When Felix’s heavy eyelids finally open - albeit barely - the first thing he notices is that some of his books are in the wrong spot.
He doesn’t think much of it at first, attributing the confusion to typical early-morning bleariness. He opens and shuts his eyes a few times, trying his best to blink the room into clarity.
The second thing he notices is that his head is pounding. If he thinks really hard to last night, he vaguely remembers Sylvain and Yuri and a round of some pretty high-grade alcohol.
Felix groans, shoving his face deeper into the pillow and trying to ignore the pulsing behind his temples.
The third thing he notices when he peels his eyes open again, is that his rug is the wrong colour.
It’s enough for him to jolt upright, because it’s enough for him to realize that this isn’t his room. Those aren’t his books, that isn’t his rug, and that definitely isn’t his bra thrown over the back of what isn’t his desk chair.
There’s movement on his right, someone rolling over and dragging the thin blanket with them.
He rubs at his eyes, doing a double take at the body he was currently sharing a bed with. His eyes nearly pop out of his skull when he sees a mess of light green hair splayed out across the pillow.
Holy fuck.
As quickly as his alcohol-imparied body can manage, Felix slips out of bed and realizes the worst— that he was completely naked. He pads around the room, collecting his clothes and quietly slipping them back on before reaching for the doorknob. It was bright out now, and Sylvain would be at his door any minute to bother him. If he wasn’t there...the idiot would come looking.
“Felix?”
He whips his head around, brain feeling as if it smacks into the side of his head as he does so. “Uh, yeah?” His voice is hoarse and his throat is scratchy. He needs water.
Byleth is sitting up, and it’s with mild embarrassment that he wonders if she’d been watching him scurry around her room naked. “Do you want to have tea with me later?”
__________
“Hey, if you’re headed to the training grounds, mind if I tag along? Ingrid is on my ass about training, so I need to get super buff as soon as possible.”
Felix pauses mid-stride, lips pressed into a bitter line as he stares longingly at the exit. He was so close.
“No.”
Sylvain whines behind him. Felix rolls his eyes. “What? Why not?”
He hesitates, contemplating his next step. Should he tell the truth, or just lie?
It doesn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that, either would result in Sylvain needling him for answers anyways. He supposes that the truth might placate him for the time being. “Because I’m not going to the training grounds.”
He’s already walking away, but apparently he’s not fast enough to escape Sylvain’s stupidly long limbs and insatiable appetite when it comes to Felix’s private life. “Where are you going then? Can I come?”
God, he’s so damn nosy.
Felix shoves his friend (a debatable title, really) aside. “It’s none of your business, so no.”
He tries to speed up - keen on getting the hell out of there before the idiot sidetracks him for good - but said idiot body blocks him this time, his idiot face much too close to Felix’s own. Sylvain hums, hand cupping his chin contemplatively as hazel eyes bore into him as if they could pierce his skull and read his thoughts.
(It takes all of Felix’s strength to not knock him out, drag his unconscious body down to the fishing pond, and toss him in.)
Then there’s a gasp, and the redhead’s entire face is lighting up, the smirk on his lips is his most punchable by far. “You’re going to meet someone, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t want me to come.”
There’s a strange sense of panic rising in his chest, and his moment’s hesitation is apparently all Sylvain needs to draw his conclusion of,
“You’re going on a date! Does this have to with that—
“It’s not a date.” He cuts in, with a glare. He’d punch him if he didn’t need his sword hand in prime condition for tomorrow’s mission.
Felix pushes past the red-headed nuisance to stomp down the stairs, his heart thumping against his ribcage. He needs to get out of here before Sylvain can ask more questions.
He curses the man’s long legs, because even as Felix briskly walks off, Sylvain remains adamantly glued to his side, still pouting. “If it’s not a date, why can’t I come with you?”
They’re reaching the landing when Felix turns around and growls, “Because I don’t like you!”
Sylvain is hardly affected, laughing heartily as he slings an arm around Felix’s shoulders. “I know you’re trying to hurt my feelings, but I’ve been rejected so many times by now that it doesn’t even sting anymore— Wait. Did I just insult myself?”
Felix actually snorts at that, simultaneously ducking out from under the heavy arm. “You’re so bothersome, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Arms crossed over his chest, the cavalier offers a half-hearted shrug. “Why can’t you just tell me who your date is with?” He juts his chin towards the box clutched tightly in Felix’s hands. “So what are you bringing for your date? ”
He holds the box of tea leaves close to his chest in order to avoid Sylvain’s grabby hands. “As if I’d tell you. Now go away, or I’m going to be late.”
“Hm. I could…” A smirk slowly curls on his lips. “But I don’t really want to.”
Sighing, Felix rubs at his temples. Would anyone really notice if they were missing a cavalier? “If you follow me, then I’ll tell Ingrid that you were the one who ate her sweet bun last night.”
It’s with a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that Felix watches the easy grin crumble from Sylvain’s face. “It was an accident! I thought she was saving it for me!”
“You think she’s going to care? They used the last of the Albinean berries in that batch.”
Sylvain pales considerably, groaning as he drags a hand over his face. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you go, just don’t tell—”
Felix is already gone.
__________
Byleth is already set up by the time Felix makes it to the gazebos. While her back is to him, Felix takes the opportunity to straighten his uniform and smooth his hair back.
Not that he was intentionally trying to look nice for her or anything. It was just really windy today.
“Oh, you made it,” Byleth smiles when he finally drops into the seat across from her. “Everything alright?”
He looks around before answering. No Sylvain.
“Everything’s fine,” he sighs, setting the small wooden box onto the table. “I thought I’d bring the tea today.”
“You really didn’t have to,” she begins to insist, but Felix doesn’t miss the curious look in her eyes as he pushes the box towards her. “I have a surplus of it.”
He knows she does. He knows that she’d accumulated a variety of tea blends as rewards and thanks for completing tasks and favours. Some she even picked up in the monastery’s nooks and crannies. He knows she keeps them in a similar box next to her bed. He knows that, of all the blends she has, her storage of Almyran Pine is always the highest.
He also knows that it’s his fault that her stock of Almyran Pine is always the first to run out. It was about time he brought something to their little table.
Felix is absolutely not nervous as she lifts the lid of the box, taking a tentative whiff of its contents. He totally doesn’t give a shit if she likes it or not, because at least he bought it.
(That being said, his stomach does not drop and his breath absolutely does not catch in his throat when she glances up at him, brows slightly furrowed.)
Byleth just hums, plucking a small spoon from the table and measuring out two scoops for her teapot. “Four-spice, huh? Good choice.”
Felix just shrugs, as if he hadn’t spent hours scouring the market for the best quality leaves. As if he hadn’t been searching for it because she’d once expressed the slightest preference for spiced blends, knowing this was the best. “It’s the least I could do.”
“It smells wonderful,” she states matter-of-factly, carefully setting the lid atop her porcelain teapot to let it steep. “Thank you, I love it.”
His chest swells with pride, even as he scoffs and turns away to hide his blush. “It’s nothing.”
(It’s everything.)
“So,” Byleth starts after the few awkward moments of silence that Felix always struggles to find the courage to fill, “how has your day been?”
“Good,” he replies, acutely aware of how rapidly his knee is bouncing under the table. “Yours?”
“It’s been good.”
He nods once, lacking the courage to look her in the eye. “That’s...good.”
Was this conversation too dry? It felt dry. Small talk has never been his thing, a fact that he’s painfully aware of each time he sits at this table with her.
(Yet he always finds himself sitting here anyways, each and every time she offers.)
He’s never had a problem with his…lack of social grace before. Even around his friends - people he’s known for years - he’s never really tried, or made any real effort to make pleasant conversation.
Felix leans back, slouching in his seat as Byleth smiles, reaching for the teapot. He pushes his cup forward, allowing her to pour him a generous amount before pouring a cupful of her own, sipping at it quietly as she watches him.
Usually, tea with Byleth was easier. It’s typically not this awkward, because they have similar interests and he finds that her presence was generally less taxing than the other’s. They talked about training and swordsmanship and gambits. It was stuff that he liked, and their conversations never hit any snags that made him feel uncomfortable, or slowed down enough that he felt the need to reciprocate in order to fill the silence.
Today is different. Today, the air between them is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn’t, Felix might. There’s a cloud of...something hanging over them today, its presence so foreboding and suffocating that it’s almost demanding to be addressed.
He wonders who’s going to snap first.
“So, about last night...”
It’s Byleth, because with Felix’s explicit lack of social tact, of course it has to be.
“What about it?” He snaps, the words coming out harsher than he intends as his entire face burns as his traitorous brain recalls the fragments of last night. The feel of her lips pressed against his own, the movements of her body against his, the tingling sensation of her breath across his skin.
Fuck.
Her expression is almost unreadable, but by now Felix knows her well enough that he can find trace amounts of confusion and amusement in the slight raise of her brows. He’s irritated by how unbothered she seems. How unbothered she always seems to be while he spins out.
“I just wanted to say that I had a good time. From what I can remember you were…” She pauses for a painstakingly long time, the end of her sentence breathed out in a near incoherent mumble. “…very good.”
He chokes on his tea, because since when was that ever up for debate? “Why do you sound so surprised?”
Byleth just shrugs, and Felix can’t decide if her lack of response is more infuriating or nerve wracking. He waits for her to say more, to give him some feedback, goddess forbid, but she simply grabs a biscuit and doesn’t add anything further so Felix decides then that it’s both. He really wants to swing his sword at something.
He’d voice how annoyed he was, if Byleth wasn’t...well, Byleth.
Because then, with a tiny, almost undetectable blush she finally adds, “I’d...like to do it again.”
And Felix thinks it doesn’t make any sense, how the smallest bit of validation from her can make the bubbling anxiety in his gut suddenly evaporate. He doesn’t know what makes her so different from everyone else, or why he’d be so quick to anger with Sylvain or Ingrid but never with her.
Maybe it’s the fact that she was sleeping with him, and wanted to do it again.
“I would too.”
Felix lets out a slow, controlled breath to try and allow himself to loosen up a little. It works a bit, and he leans back in his seat again as he takes a few deep sips at his tea. Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad. The tension between them was uncoiling, the clouds over their heads slowly parting—
Wait a minute. If the clouds were parting, what was with the shadow—
“Hey, guys!”
Oh fuck.
The shadow cast over their small tea table was not in fact a trick of the clouds, but belonged to one redheaded beanstalk of a man.
Again, Byleth is unaffected, smiling up at Sylvain as the idiot grins down at them.
“Sylvain, hi,” Byleth greets amicably as Felix grumbles, “What do you want?”
The glare Felix sends him would be enough to scare anyone else away, but Sylvain’s never been the type to sense when he’s in immediate danger. It shows when he pulls up a chair and sits his ass down at their table without even being invited. “I was just passing through on my way to the training grounds. You know, for training.”
That’s absolutely not it and Felix knows it. Sylvain has always been a shit liar.
“Good for you,” Byleth says blankly. “You need it.”
Sylvain looks dumbstruck, and Felix has to hide his laugh behind his fist.
“Professor,” Sylvain gasps, gripping at his chest, “Oh, how you wound me!”
“So will the Empire’s weapons if you don’t take your training seriously,” Felix cuts in with a smirk. “Shouldn’t you get going?”
“And miss out on this precious time with my favourite professor and best friend?” The redhead questions, as if offended. “So, what are we talking about?”
“I’m your only professor,” Byleth reminds him, while Felix mutters, “I’m not your friend.”
“Sylvain? I thought we were going to train together?”
No.
No.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Sylvain exclaims. “It’s my other best friend, Ingrid!”
Ingrid is striding over to their table now, and Felix wonders what god he’s pissed off to earn this. “What are you going on about now, Sylvain? You were supposed to meet me at the training grounds ten minutes ago.”
Sylvain waves his hand, beaming up at her. “I know, I know, but look who I happened to run into on my way there!”
Ingrid looks between the three of them, taking in the situation before narrowing her eyes at her two friends. “I’m sorry they’re bothering you, Professor.”
“It’s fine, Ingrid.” Byleth dismisses easily. “Felix and I were actually having tea.” She slides the plate of biscuits towards the blonde, whose eyes immediately brighten at the prospect of food.
Please say no.
“I guess I can stay for one,” Ingrid sighs as if she has no choice, pulling up a chair from another table and grabbing two fat biscuits .
“Great,” Felix mutters, staring up at the heavens and wondering if this was some sort of nightmare.
“Professor, Sylvain said that you wished to speak with me?”
T his was really shaping up to be a shit morning.
The boar stands off to the side, wringing his hands as he looks between the four of them, then stares expectantly at Byleth, who mostly looks confused.
Sylvain, on the other hand, looks ecstatic. Felix really wants to punch him, and knows that no one at this table would really be mad at him if he did.
“I...don’t believe I said that, Dimitri,” Byleth says slowly, casting a wary glance in Sylvain’s direction. The smug asshole just winks.
The boar’s face flushes. “Oh, well, I apologize for intruding then—”
Yes. Leave.
Sylvain opens his mouth before that can happen. “Whoa, there, Your Highness!” Felix kicks him under the table, but it doesn’t shut him up. He desperately looks to Ingrid for help, but she’s too absorbed in her biscuit to be of any assistance at the moment. “Get your royal ass over here and join us!”
He can see the hesitation in the boar’s face, his gaze lingering on Felix in particular before shuffling over to the table with all the awkwardness of an anti-social teen.
“Thank you,” he murmurs when Ingrid places a chair between her and Byleth. “Good morning, Ingrid...Felix.”
“Hmph. Whatever.” It was shaping up to be a pretty terrible morning, actually.
Then there’s this silence that falls over the table, the only sounds being Ingrid’s chewing, Sylvain’s loud slurps of tea, and Dimitri clearing his throat so many times that Felix is tempted to throat-chop him. The tension in the air is thick, so much so that even Byleth - who tended to be their mediator and ensured the smooth flow of conversation - was oddly quiet.
This must be what hell is like.
“So,” Ingrid starts when she finally finishes shoving the pastries down her throat, “where were you last night, Felix? I saw you coming in pretty early this morning.”
He was so out of it, so unbelievably hungover that he didn’t have any recollection of seeing Ingrid anywhere in his peripheral vision this morning.
And now he was paying the price. Three pairs of eyes are zeroed in on him, and the sudden shift of attention makes his heart hammer against his ribcage.
He doesn’t miss the way Byleth sinks into her seat.
“I left the Wilted Rose pretty late,” he sniffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I, uh, didn’t make it back to my dorm until this morning.”
Okay, it’s not an absolute lie.
“Did you fall asleep in a bush or something?” Ingrid asks, already unimpressed.
It’s hard to lie to someone who knows him better than he knows himself, but he tries anyways. “I just got...a little sidetracked.”
“Sidetracked?” Dimitri repeats, and goddess, Felix already wants him to shut the fuck up. “The only thing between Abyss and your dorm are the first floor dorms…”
Felix cuts him a warning glare, and the prince immediately backs off.
He isn’t the one that he needs to be worrying about, though.
“You were pretty tipsy last night, but definitely not drunk enough to pass out in a bush,” Sylvain chuckles, nudging him with an elbow that Felix bats away. Asshole.
“So, what happened? Did you stumble into Dedue or Ashe’s room and fall asleep?” The redhead starts, a finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Or did the professor have to pick you up and—” His sentence is cut short by a sharp gasp, and Felix knows that he’s doomed.
He freezes, feeling his blush bleed from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck.
Byleth shifts in her seat and sets her teacup down, suddenly interested in a nearby hedge.
Sylvain shoots up out of his seat, palms slapping the table and making it rattle. He whips his head in Felix’s direction, then Byleth’s, his mouth hanging open the entire time.
A quick glance around the table confirms that Ingrid, while looking slightly irritated by Sylvain’s antics, is probably seconds away from figuring it out herself. Dimitri, predictably, still looks confused, so there’s really no trouble there.
“No way!” He’s shouting so loudly that Felix is convinced that the entire monastery can hear him, his face lighting up like a child eying a tableful of gifts. “Is this real right now? Is this actually happening?”
“What are you going on about, Sylvain?” Dimitri questions, sounding so genuinely confused that Felix thinks it must be tiring, being that oblivious.
Byleth is hiding her own blush behind her teacup, glancing at Felix apologetically. It’s not her fault, these aren’t her idiot friends.
(Felix didn’t wake up planning to murder anyone today, but, well, plans change.)