Archive of Our Own

These days, mornings came in slow and soft. There was no urgency, no pressing needs, no chance that such an indulgence would have dire consequences. It was just sweet, peaceful.

Sylvain rolled over, a smile already on his lips at the sight of the body still lying in bed beside him. Felix’s shoulders were still so broad, his dark hair making the muscles of his back stand out as it brushed against pale skin. It was doubtful that he was asleep—he never slept in later than Sylvain—but he was doing a decent job at pretending.

With a soft hum, Sylvain wrapped an arm around Felix’s waist, gently pulling him closer as he nosed at his hair. Felix had been using Sylvain’s soaps of late, and there was something about the spiced scent on him that was positively thrilling. It was warm and comforting and…and something uniquely Felix, as well. It made him want to just curl up here, pressing kisses as the hours passed.

It was funny how the simple things could still affect him so much after the year they’d been together.

Felix let out a small huff, turning in Sylvain’s grip. Slowly, he reached a hand up, his fingers carding in the hair by Sylvain’s temple. He was always so gentle in the mornings—in expression, posture, and touch. It would harden the moment he got out of bed—it always did—but for now Sylvain aimed to enjoy it fully.

If he was lucky, he could convince Felix to just stay here. Not that he’d been so lucky yet.

Sylvain hummed softly, nuzzling against Felix’s hand before tilting his head just enough to press his lips against the exposed collarbone there—still radiating warmth from their blankets. Even as Sylvain followed the trail up his throat, pressing sweet kisses and nips every few centimeters, Felix was still so warm and pliant under Sylvain’s touch.

It was the best sign he was going to get. “Stay in bed with me,” Sylvain whispered, enjoying the way Felix shuddered and his heartbeat raced beneath Sylvain’s lips. “Just the two of us today. Playing hooky.” His grip around Felix’s waist tightened. “Enjoying each other’s company.”

Felix snorted, though there was no way he was ignorant of the way his heartbeat thrummed through his body, radiating everywhere they touched. “I’ve spent too long here already,” he grumbled.

Sylvain pouted against his skin. “Aw, please?”

He could feel Felix’s heavy sigh far better than he could hear it. “I stayed because you complained about waking to an empty bed. I’m not indulging you more than that.” Felix’s hand ran down his arm, pinching at the skin there. “I’m not wasting a whole day.”

Sylvain eyed a particularly dark mark he left just below Felix’s jaw the night before. It was a lovely violet blossom against his skin. He wanted to spend a whole day leaving more, especially where his collar wouldn’t hide. For now, he had to simply satisfy himself by nuzzling there affectionately, knowing Felix was as aware of it as he was. “Just one day?”

He winced as Felix tugged harshly at his hair, yanking him back and away. It didn’t threaten to tear hair from his head, but it was certainly unpleasant enough to have him unwillingly whining in the back of his throat.

“Enough,” Felix growled, his voice low and deep in a way that made a pleasant chill run up Sylvain’s spine. “I’ve humored you enough.”

With far more grace than Sylvain could manage, he slid out of bed, well out of the reach of Sylvain’s grasping fingers.

Sylvain frowned into his pillow as he watched Felix take long strides across the room, so quick to pull his clothes from his dresser. He was painfully efficient about the whole thing, pulling them on with little care about how utterly un-sexy of a show it was. At this point, though, Sylvain was well aware that it hardly mattered if he was in the room or not.

With a sigh, he forced himself out of the comfortable warmth of his bed, stretching as he made his way to his closet. He at least had the sense to prepare his outfit the night before, even if Felix’s insistent affection had made the choice hurried. But, so far, his nighttime self never seemed to disappoint.

For this very reason, he was done well before Felix—dressed and tidied and his hair brushed back into something relatively presentable. At the very least, none of the advisers would complain if they wound up needing to speak with him. Not that they usually did; for the most part, they were always anxious for him to leave. Not that that did them any good—the sooner he was gone, the sooner they’d find themselves without a duke when Felix inevitably decided to visit Gautier without warning.

He shook his head; such thoughts were distracting, pointless. They only kept him from enjoying the sight in front of him while he still could—that was, Felix as he slid into his coat, slowly figuring out how to get the buttons into place.

Admittedly, this outfit was one of his favorites. There was something about it that just highlighted everything that was glorious about that man. The tunic and close was tailored close to his torso, emphasizing his slender waist and limber frame; his pants were more tights than anything, clinging close to well-toned thighs. The coat itself also hid other things that Sylvain had always teased him about: most notably, a significant lack of ass and arms that remained slender no matter how hard Felix worked at training them. And, as Felix tied up his hair with a scowl, Sylvain definitely noticed that the collars didn’t entirely hide the signs of Sylvain’s affection—and the color only seemed to make them stand out more.

It made him want to touch…and perhaps leave another.

Sylvain walked across the room easily, sliding his arms around Felix’s waist and burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck. There were too many layers here to leave anything of note…but the fact that he could still smell that spice through the wool made Sylvain mind only half as much as normal.

“How did I get so lucky?” he mused against Felix’s coat.

Felix snorted, reaching into his dresser for something else.

“I get to be with a strong, handsome man, who occasionally lets me dote on him. I must be the luckiest man alive.”

“Get off.” Felix nudged him with his elbow, sharp enough to make a point but not nearly enough to bruise. “You don’t have to bother with that flattery. I already married you.”

Sylvain smiled, unable to hide just how pleased he was. Oh, he knew—there was no way he could forget. Besides, it had also been very clear early on that Felix didn’t care for the flattery—he always rolled his eyes and turned away. Sylvain had to get very clever to get Felix to take his affection seriously. But still, “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

Felix shook his head, pulling away to instead grab his belt and swords from where they draped over the nearby chair. His fingers were deft as he secured it, fingers instinctively resting on the pommel. “I’m going to go train,” he said instead.

“Before breakfast?”

“Yes. The grounds are empty and—”

Sylvain rubbed the hair at his nape. “I know. I was just kind of hoping… you know…”

Felix glanced at him, his fingers tapping lightly against the metal. “Fine. But you’re training with me after.”

*

Sylvain blinked as a sweet roll was dropped onto his plate so gracelessly that the icing splattered onto his sausage. As he scraped the icing off with his fork and licked it off, his gaze flicked up to the man who sat across from him, who was still muttering curses as he stabbed his eggs.

Sylvain couldn’t help the smile. Even his own staff knew better than to serve anything sweet to Felix. At this point, it was probably a matter of spite and minor rebellion. Something Felix would surely make them pay for eventually…albeit in an equally childish way. Maybe by demanding a challenging meal, or ordering them to tend to his weapons and equipment with a highly unrealistic deadline, or something like that.

It was kind of cute, actually. “I do love you so,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth so easily.

Felix’s cursing stalled, his gaze flicking up to Sylvain’s There was the smallest smile on his lips, almost reminiscent of his softness in the morning. But, as quickly as it came, it was gone again. And he was back to muttering about icing that had gotten onto his eggs.

Sylvain didn’t mind, his attention shifting back to his breakfast. Felix never said it back. Hell, he didn’t even say it at the ceremony, when they’d been surrounded by their dearest friends, an ivory cloth around their wrists as they swore to always remain together. He also didn’t say it when he’d come down with a horrid fever, Sylvain dropping all of his work and racing to Fraldarius to take care of him—much to the detriment of his own health. And he didn’t say it when Sylvain helped him loosen up once the sun had set, in a private place where he didn’t have to worry so much about his pride.

He paused as he licked at the icing on his fingers. If he thought about it, Felix had never said it. Ever. He certainly hadn’t said it when Sylvain started to court him, when ‘I love you’ came out as easily then as it did now. Sylvain had repeated it again and again at every opportunity—refusing to let Felix doubt for a second—enjoying the way it made Felix’s face scrunch up and his cheeks turn crimson.

But not once could he remember Felix saying it.

“Hey Felix,” he said, his voice soft as he wiped his hands with his napkin, “when was the last time you told me you loved me?”

Felix froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air right in front of his mouth. He stared at Sylvain, but it was hard to tell if he was simply thinking—or if he thought Sylvain was an idiot.

Felix blinked, the fork slowly lowering back to the plate. “What?”

“It’s just…I say it all the time,” Sylvain reasoned. “I can’t remember the last time you said it back.”

Any confusion or hesitation on Felix’s face fizzled away immediately, replaced entirely by annoyance. The wrinkle between his scrunched brows was terrifyingly deep.

“I—I’m not saying you have to!” Sylvain said, his words rushed in a way that was certainly not promising. “I just…I dunno…I thought it might be nice to hear it once in a while.”

Slowly, Felix’s expression turned—not into something more enraged, but into something flat and utterly unreadable. Arguably, it was far worse.

“I’m going to train,” Felix said, not even looking at his unfinished plate as he rose. His footsteps were heavy, his frame stiff as he left. Yet still he didn’t look back at Sylvain as he rapidly fell out of view.

Sylvain frowned, his appetite suddenly soured. He pushed his eggs around on his plate. It didn’t make sense; it was just an idle comment, an observation. Why was Felix mad about it?

*

Sylvain let out a slow breath as he approached the training grounds. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that this was a good idea; if Felix was really mad, then Sylvain’s presence would only make it worse, but if he was still indecisive, then Sylvain’s absence would infuriate Felix far more.

He was slow and careful as he eased the ground’s doors open, his gaze flitting for any clear sign. And—much to his concern—he didn’t have to look hard.

Felix stood in the center of the grounds, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Around him, his knights were collapsed on the ground, panting and groaning and feebly reaching for water. It had been a while since he’d been so merciless toward them—but clearly Sylvain had screwed up exceptionally well.

A part of Sylvain wanted to be surprised at the immense gap in skill. It wasn’t unusual for Felix to train with them, after all (perhaps not so harshly, but still), so it would be rather reasonable for them to have caught up. Then again, Felix’s training had been unrelenting, fighting like he was still going to fight the best warriors on the continent, even though the war was firmly at an end. And theirs was…really just a matter of formality, mostly to handle bandits and the like.

Felix’s gaze flicked to Sylvain as he sheathed his sword, a scowl immediately on his lips. Sylvain couldn’t help but swallow as Felix approached, that expression as cold as Felix used to be when they were younger.

“Don’t worry,” Felix muttered, brushing by Sylvain with far too much ease, “I’m not asking you to train with me.”

The training ground’s door slammed heavily behind Sylvain, making him wince.

Okay, Felix was mad mad.

“Margrave,” one of the knights walked up to Sylvain, an impressive bruise already forming on his cheek, “pardon my asking but…what did you do to piss off the Duke?”

Sylvain frowned, his gaze flicking to the other knights. All of them were watching him, too. It was unnerving. “Not sure what you mean.”

“Well,” the man rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a slow breath, “he was relentless today. He’s only like that when you,” he cleared his throat, “when you anger him.”

Sylvain winced. So it was obvious to them, too.

“Not sure,” he said, glancing toward the shut door behind him. “But I’ll, uh, I’ll try to set it right.”

“We’d appreciate it, margrave.” The knight smiled brightly. “I don’t think the unit could take another day of that.”

Sylvain nodded, out of the door before any of them started trying to be helpful.

“Hey, Felix!” he yelled, jogging after the rapidly repeating figure stepping into the manor. “Wait up!”

Felix most certainly did not wait.

In most circumstances, Sylvain was inclined to wrap an arm around his husband’s shoulders, to try and ease him to calm his nerves. He was pretty sure that would end in his demise today. Instead, he tried to keep up alongside Felix, very much aware of the other trying to increase his pace in an attempt to evade him. Sylvain had to be grateful for his longer legs.

“Sorry I was late,” Sylvain said, hoping some level of ignorance would earn him some grace. If he pretended that he wasn’t aware that Felix definitely wouldn’t have wanted him there for training, then maybe Felix might understand his confusion. “One of your council members held me up when I was done eating. They’ve been really pressing for us to go back to Fhirdiad…can’t tell if they’re worried about His Majesty and want him to have his shield…or if they just wanna get rid of us for a bit.”

Felix didn’t even acknowledge his words with a grunt.

“I told him we were discussing it,” Sylvain continued. “That should keep him off our backs for a few days.”

Still nothing.

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair. This was worse than he thought. “Where are you off to, anyway?”

“It should be obvious.” Felix still didn’t look at him, his eyebrows scrunched like he was annoyed at himself for responding.

“Humor me.”

“I’m going to take a bath.”

It took all Sylvain had not to perk up at that, to keep his tone level and controlled. Friendly, not like a dog desperate for attention—even if he was really starting to feel like one. “Can I help?”

Felix’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Fine.”

*

It probably should have been weird, how getting Felix to relax seemed to have an extended effect on Sylvain, too. It wasn’t that it was a terribly hard thing to do normally, given the right circumstances.

After all, Felix always just seemed to melt whenever Sylvain’s fingers were in his hair, the scrubbing slow and meticulous and more a massage than anything else. The suds, of course, smelled of Sylvain’s soap—something Sylvain explicitly didn’t comment on when Felix had first handed him the soap.

Sylvain hummed softly, letting his fingers massage the spot at the base of Felix’s skull, smiling as Felix’s shoulder-line softened and he slid more beneath the soapy water of the tub. Now only Felix’s head and neck were really visible, his gaze unfocused and distant.

Sweet like this, Sylvain couldn’t help but let his fingertips trace over Felix’s collarbone, sliding down to the toned muscle obscured by the water. He wrapped his arms around Felix’s neck, uncaring of the way the soapy water soaked into his rolled sleeves.

“You know I know I’m lucky to have you, right?” Sylvain whispered, all affection and adoration in his tone.

It made him frown as Felix immediately tensed, shifting uncomfortably against the porcelain.

“I know I mess up a lot,” Sylvain continued. “And I know I make you mad. But that doesn’t change how much I adore you. How much I—”

“Shut up,” Felix growled, turning in the tub to press into a demanding kiss.

Sylvain had never really been good at following—whether it was manners, orders, or even Felix’s sometimes aggressive method of kissing. It often left his lips bitten red and sore, and even his teeth tended to ache from how often Felix’s insistence resulted in their teeth clacking. This time, though, he let Felix take what he wanted, his nails scratching lightly against Felix’s chest whenever something felt particularly good.

But then it shifted. Aggressive nips turned into gentle touches, his lips brushing teasingly as much as they pressed to deepen the kiss. It made Sylvain ache, yearning to touch—meaning it was exactly the way he adored. It was the sort of kiss that was sure to leave his head buzzing for the next three hours.

Sylvain pulled away softly to catch his breath, brushing his lips along Felix’s pulse point. “I love you so,” he whispered against warm skin.

“Tch.” Felix’s gaze snapped away, focused on one uneven stone in the wall across from the tub. “I told you to stop talking.”

Sylvain hummed, running his hand down Felix’s arm and lacing their fingers together. When he pulled their hands from the warmth of the water, he couldn’t help but grin at the matching gold rings that twinkled back at them. “Is it so wrong to tell you how much I love you?”

“Stop,” Felix growled, his voice low in warning.

Sylvain blinked down at him, utterly confused. That tension was back, all the muscles in Felix’s body tense and coiled tight. “What?”

Felix’s glare sharpened, but it was still very much focused on the stone. “How many girls did you say that sort of stuff to?”

Sylvain withdrew on impulse, wincing as water splashed when Felix’s hand fell back into the tub. “What?”

Felix glanced at him, remarkably level for a man who so openly insulted Sylvain right to his face. “How many girls did you compliment and say you loved them?”

Sylvain felt his face burn hot. It wasn’t like this was entirely untrue; much of his youth had been spent telling girls everything they wanted to hear—well, mostly everything. He’d loved the ways they reacted to his every word, clinging to them like their lives depended on it. It had always given him a sense of control he couldn’t enjoy anywhere else—and ensured he always had company so he didn’t need to consider the dark loneliness always crawling into his heart.

But it wasn’t the same with Felix. With Felix, he didn’t want anything. He wasn’t trying to lead him on or coerce him into something he wanted. He said these things because they curled in his chest, and he would burst if he didn’t let them out. He had so little control of the affection that sprang from his lips, utterly incomparable to anything else.

Felix had to know, didn’t he?

“I…I didn’t marry any of them,” he replied, the argument lame to his own ears. But it was hard to be sensible when he was so hurt.

Felix scowled. “That wasn’t my question.”

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tight in the hope the pain would help keep him grounded. It didn’t work. “Are you serious?”

Felix huffed, his fingers curling around the tub’s edge as he pulled himself up and out. He was quick as he wrapped his towel around himself, shaking his head as he slowly began to dry off. “I can never tell if the stuff that spews from your mouth is just…the same nonsense you used to say when you wanted a girl to like you.”

Sylvain gaped at him. “That’s not fair.”

Felix glanced down at him, his expression painfully cold. “You only say those things when you want something or when I’m mad at you.”

That was unfair. Felix knew it; Sylvain knew it. Sylvain said these things all the time—even when he knew Felix would just reply with a roll of his eyes and a snort. For it to be minimized so much—

Fine. Sylvain could play the same game. Screw being the one in perfect self-control. “Funny. ‘Cause you don’t say anything at all.”

Felix dropped his towel to the floor, as gracelessly putting his clothes on as he’d done this morning.

“Do you have any idea,” Sylvain continued, “how hard it is to figure out what you’re thinking—what you’re feeling—what you want? At least I make it easy for you!”

Felix’s glare turned absolutely vicious, his lips curling into a sneer that certainly foretold of venomous words. Instead, though, he turned to the wall, staring at it as he got dressed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

Sylvain frowned. It wasn’t fair how Felix could just tune everything out when he was done, leaving Sylvain to dwell and attempt to decipher. He dried off his arms, rolling down his sleeves. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and cold in a way he hadn’t heard from himself for a long time, “I’m trying—I really am—and yet you keep doing this.”

Felix didn’t respond.

“C’mon Felix. Meet me halfway. I’m trying.”

Felix ran his fingers through his hair, tying it up in a way that was far messier than normal, water dripping heavily onto the floor. “I remember,” he muttered.

“Remember what?”

“What you were like before.” Felix’s jaw was clenched tight. “Before you were courting me. It makes it…hard to believe you. Especially when it tumbles from your mouth as easily as breathing.”

Sylvain rubbed his face. “But I mean it. Every word.”

Felix snorted. “Actions are louder than words.”

Sylvain blinked. Words were an action, weren’t they? Something someone committed to, even if they didn’t always mean it. A purpose, a direction. And actions were often indecipherable without a word or two to support them. To divide the two was just incomprehensible.

But trying to explain that to Felix—especially when he was mad—was pointless. It was better to try to fix things first…or at least try to.

*

Fixing was impossible, Sylvain soon realized. Even if they weren’t yelling at each other, things between them were still awkward, even tense. Sylvain couldn’t get a word in without Felix glaring at him. It was as if a chasm had formed between them, and every one of Sylvain’s words just made it wider.

It made handling their work, walking around the manor, and even eating dinner horrendously awkward.

It was most notable, though, when he stood in the center of Felix’s room, staring at his husband’s form on the bed. They hadn’t said a single word as they changed into night clothes (even Sylvain knew better than to expect anything other than sleep), and Felix’s method of falling into his bed had been pointedly aggressive. He was just short of spreading his limbs across the mattress—but only barely.

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you…do you want me to go to my room?” he asked, his voice soft and uncertain. It was actually physically painful to say; when he was here, the room was just a formality. He’d not slept in it since the day they were married.

Felix didn’t respond, instead rolling to his side and facing away from Sylvain.

Well, there was his answer. Sylvain nodded numbly, even though he knew Felix couldn’t see.

Sleeping was impossible, Sylvain realized quite quickly. Sure, he knew Felix’s room would be awkward, but at least he would have eventually fallen asleep once he convinced himself he could make things better. Here, so horribly, horrendously alone, he couldn’t even pretend. He couldn’t push away the thoughts that prodded at his mind, threatening to pluck him apart like crows around a corpse.

He pressed his face against his pillow, trying to quiet his own mind. It was a pointless endeavor; he’d have more success if he just went to his office to work and read. It wasn’t like Felix would notice and try to lecture him, anyway. Maybe he’d even relish in Sylvain nodding off during the day, where at least his mouth wouldn’t be digging his own grave.

His body immediately went tense at the sound of wood scraping against stone, his fingers curling hard into his sheets. He didn’t have much to work with here—not so far from things that used to have him trembling in his sleep—but surely he could manage something. Surely he could have a way to fight back if—

The bed shifted as a new weight settled into it, immediately warming with a familiar presence. Slowly, Sylvain forced himself to relax as an arm wrapped around his waist, a hand finding its way under his shirt and a thumb brushing slightly over his skin.

Sylvain swallowed. Was it unwise to acknowledge this? To tell Felix how much he missed him—how much he couldn’t bear to sleep alone?

No; Felix hated words, after all. It would just make him leave again.

With a soft sigh, Sylvain placed his hand over Felix’s. He could at least take comfort as the other man didn’t pull away, his forehead pressing between Sylvain’s shoulders. His breath ran down Sylvain’s spine, warm and regular.

Like this, Sylvain could easily fall asleep.

*

Sylvain was slow to wake up—he could tell by the way light shone in the window and Felix’s thumb traced the contour of an old scar. It was one Felix loathed, he knew—one earned from taking the brunt of an ambush that Sylvain would never regret.

Slowly, Sylvain turned to face him, not really surprised that Felix’s expression was already fairly guarded and severe. He had the feeling this would be a common sight for a long time.

“Good morning,” Sylvain said, hoping any lingering irritation didn’t show in his voice.

Felix glanced at him, his lips pressed together. “Morning.”

Well, that was something. “I’m surprised to see you in here.”

Felix looked away. “I couldn’t sleep without you,” he muttered. “I didn’t…expect you to just leave.”

Sylvain swallowed. “You didn’t ask me to stay. I didn’t know if you wanted me.”

Felix’s scowl was impressive. “I always want you there.”

“You never say it.”

Felix jolted up, glaring down fiercely at Sylvain. “I just did.”

Sylvain looked up at him, a frown on his lips. He was tired of this argument. One time didn’t make up for everything. And it was clear Felix was just doing this out of spite.

Felix let out an annoyed huff, running his hand through hair that had been loose and messy in his sleep. “Does everything have to be said with you?!”

Sylvain swallowed, looking away. “It helps.”

He could feel Felix’s glare, his rage practically radiating off of him. It made Felix’s simple question startling, actually, especially in its softness: “Why?”

“I…,” Sylvain’s fingers twisted in the sheets, “I guess I’m just used to people saying what they think.”

That was, perhaps, not entirely true. There weren’t many who ever spoke the direct truth to Sylvain. Most of the girls he used to date only told him what they thought he wanted to hear. They spouted merits he knew they didn’t have, praised him for things he knew he could never be. It had always been sentiments beyond layers of illusion, which was something that Sylvain had always hated them for.

But then there was Felix, and some of his friends from Garreg Mach. They didn’t hesitate to tell him of his shortcomings, of the thousands of ways he burdened and annoyed them. And then there was his family—his brother’s loathing clear in his every direct word, and his father’s disappointment riding every chide and lament that his son could never be useful enough.

But if the negative words were true when uttered, then perhaps the positive ones would be, too. Perhaps he could just let himself soak in the few Felix offered him, just to indulge in the same way that he used to punish himself.

His fingers ached from how hard he was clenching the sheets. “Why is it so hard to say it?”

“Words are pointless,” Felix grumbled, rubbing his face. “Actions mean far more.”

Sylvain frowned up at him—but something in Felix’s expression made him hesitate. It reminded far too much of when he’d lost his brother, his father.

And then it clicked; Rodrigue had always offered nonsense words—platitudes and empty words that did nothing to fill the Glenn-shaped hole left in their family. The condolences and well-wishes of others didn’t bring his brother—or, eventually, his father—back. In the end, words had accomplished nothing. They were pointless.

“Oh,” Sylvain breathed.

Felix’s gaze flicked to him from between his fingers.

“I think…I get it.” Sylvain shifted, sitting up and letting his fingers brush over Felix’s. “You…you want me to show you. To prove the things I say to you.”

Felix nodded. “Obviously.”

“Well,” Sylvain inhaled slowly, “I want you to say it. Because sometimes the things you do…it makes it hard to know what’s going on in your head. And sometimes it helps to just…know. Without question. Without guessing.”

Felix’s head tilted slightly, his lips curling back into that frown.

But Sylvain didn’t give him the chance to argue. “When it’s from you, I know it’s not hollow or meaningless. I know you wouldn’t bother if it wasn’t what you thought. So,” he took Felix’s hand in his, kissing the knuckles softly, “please?”

Felix flushed, his gaze flitting away rapidly. His jaw shifted like he was literally chewing on his own words. “I…,” he grumbled softly to himself, shaking his head and starting again. “I love you.”

Sylvain couldn’t help the grin on his face.

“And…,” Felix cleared his throat, “and I’m hungry so can we just eat?”

Sylvain laughed, pressing a kiss to Felix’s temple. “I’ll get breakfast. Wait here.”

Felix smiled softly, his cheeks still pink. “I’ll be waiting.”