Archive of Our Own ^beta

It has been nearly a year. Nearly one full year since everything went to shit. A year since that failed mission.

A year since he’s seen Sylvain Gautier.

Sylvain has always been good at hiding. His father started training him as a hunter when he was four years old. Much of it involves hiding; it involves stealth. People like to think that monster hunting is all dramatic toe-to-toe battles with the things that go bump in the night, but it’s not quite so simple. A head-on attack against most monsters is the fastest way to get yourself killed. Unless, that is, you’re a monster yourself.

Not all monsters need to be hunted, that’s something that humans have realized over the centuries. Vampires can live on donated blood and animals, werewolves can be pacified when transformed, witches aren’t all curse-laying potion-brewing hags, sirens aren’t always looking to drown/eat you, etc, etc. But some monsters are still killers, and only those with proper training are able to deal with them.

That’s not to say it always works. Sometimes missions go very, very badly.

And so here Felix stands almost a year later, outside a nondescript apartment building in the middle of Fhirdiad. It’s old and covered in graffiti, and to the untrained eye it looks like it’s been abandoned for decades.

Felix’s eyes are not untrained.

The first time they met, Felix and Sylvain made each other cry.

Okay, technically it wasn’t the first time they met. They’d met each other a few times as babies, but this was the first time either one could really remember.

Felix was four years old, which made Sylvain six. Their fathers, along with the father of another of Felix’s friends, were leaving for a mission. Sylvain’s father thought he should stay with Felix’s family while they were away. At the time, he said it was so the boys could bond—they would be teammates one day, after all—but looking back, Felix thinks it had more to do with getting Sylvain away from Gautier manor and what lurked in its dark corners.

The Fraldarius family, still a unit of four back then, met Sylvain and his father at the entrance to the estate. Rodrigue and Matthias greeted each other before prompting their sons to do the same.

“Glenn, Felix, you remember Sylvain,” Rodrigue said, gesturing to the boy.

“Of course. Nice to see you again,” Glenn said and shook Sylvain’s hand.

“Nice to see you too, Glenn.” Sylvain flashed the charming smile he’d already perfected, then turned to Felix. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“H—hi,” Felix mumbled, shaking Sylvain’s hand once and retreating behind his brother.

Sylvain and Glenn didn’t pay much mind to Felix’s shyness. Both of them, but especially Glenn, were aware that he took a while to warm up to new people.

“Oh! Glenn—wanna see what I can do? I learned a really cool trick,” Sylvain said, practically jumping up and down.

“It is not a ‘trick,’ Sylvain,” his father said. “It’s a skill to be honed.”

“Come now Matthias, let the boy have some fun. Magic is far more than a weapon,” Felix’s mother said.

“Anything that gets him to practice, I suppose,” Sylvain’s father muttered, but none of the children were paying attention.

Instead, Glenn and Felix were solely focused on the sigils Sylvain was painstakingly drawing in the air, taking the utmost care to get every line and curve just right. As he neared the end of the last line the sigil appeared and began to glow; a similar light surrounded Sylvain’s hands. Then he snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared. It was no more than that of a candle, and danced just above the skin of his index finger like it was a wick. He wiggled his fingers and the flame separated, dancing in the air until five small lights floated in his hand.

“Whoa,” Felix exhaled, absolutely awestruck.

“Yeah! It’s cool, right?” The smile on Sylvain’s face was wide and genuine.

Sylvain’s father turned to Rodrigue. “I tried to put a weapon in his hands and fireballs came out. Strongest magic blood I’ve seen in generations. I could sense that he had some magical potential, but I didn’t realize just how strong it was until recently. The boy’s a born witch if I’ve ever seen one. Not the family tradition, but once he learns to control it, every monster in Faerghus will be sent running.”

“I can sense it,” Rodrigue said. “I’m sure Felix and Glenn can, as well.”

Off to the side, Sylvain was making the flames spin in a circle above his hand. Then he pulled them back together into one flame, which he started to toss between his index fingers. “I’m getting really good at moving the little fireballs around. I can do some other small stuff too, but it’s not as cool.”

“Are you making it bigger?” Glenn asked.

“Huh?”

Sylvain looked down as Glenn said, “The fire. It’s getting bigger,” to see that yes, it was absolutely getting bigger, even though Sylvain wasn’t trying to do so.

“Oh no. Uh, I can—I can pull it in, it think, let me—”

The next few things happened in a matter of seconds: Sylvain raised one hand above the fireball to snuff it out; Rodrigue and Matthias noticed the growing fireball. Their shouts startled Sylvain and instead of shrinking, the fireball expanded between his hands and exploded in front of him.

The blast knocked all three boys back. Thankfully, none of them were burned and nothing caught fire; the only damage was some minor bruising from the landing. The moment he recovered, Sylvain jumped to his feet and ran over to Felix and Glenn. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that—are you okay? I’m sorry I don’t know what happened. Are either of you hurt?” His words came out in a rush.

“I think we’re okay,” Glenn said, standing and brushing soot from his clothes. He turned behind him. “Felix? What about you?”

Felix, still on the ground where he landed, just stared up at them with wide eyes. No—he was staring at Sylvain, frozen and unblinking.

Then the wailing started.

When they were young, Felix and his friends used to compete to see who could hold their breath the longest. Most of the time, Felix won. His record is four minutes and seventeen seconds. The closest runner up is Dimitri, at three minutes and eight seconds. It’s been a running joke that Felix must have siren or mer blood in him somewhere, with lungs like that.

When a young Felix would start crying, most people would prefer the siren.

Felix’s wails were ear-piercing, loud, and long. One scream could go on for almost a minute before he had to suck in a gulp of air, and he never lost the habit of breathing from his diaphragm instead of his chest—meaning, he uses all of his lungs instead of just the upper part of them. Which is why babies, trained singers, and an upset Felix Hugo Fraldarius can be heard fifty miles away. Glenn and the adults all covered their ears, but Sylvain could only stare in horror.

“No, no, Felix no don’t cry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you I’m sorry don’t cry please—”

When Sylvain reached for him, Felix shrank back and somehow screamed even louder. Sylvain flinched and Felix sprinted inside to hide. Sylvain could only watch him go, mouth still hanging open and a sick feeling settling in his gut.

Felix’s mother touched Rodrigue on the shoulder. “I’ll go check on him,” she said before turning and hurrying after Felix.

Sylvain jumped more than he should have when Glenn clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I think he’s more spooked than anything. He would have run straight to Mom if he was hurt.”

Sylvain frowned. That wasn’t better, just less bad.

“Are you two unhurt?” Rodrigue asked.

Sylvain and Glenn nodded.

“Alright. Stay out of trouble. And, perhaps no more fireballs for the time being. Especially inside. Okay, Sylvain?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Rodrigue ruffled his hair. “It’s alright. Accidents happen and no one was hurt.”

With that, he followed Felix inside.

Sylvain’s father showed him to his guest room and told him to stay there for a while and unpack. Instead, once the door closed, Sylvain curled up in a ball on the floor and cried. The look of horror, of unbridled fear and terror on Felix’s face played over and over in his head. Sylvain was disgusted by himself, appalled that he could put that look on his friend’s face. He knew how it felt to be afraid. He never wanted to do that to anyone.

Felix had spent the next three days avoiding Sylvain before Glenn locked them in a room and forced them to make up. Felix hadn’t been hurt; he was just really freaked out, and came to understand that it was an accident. According to Sylvain, it wasn’t the first time something like that had happened either. His magic was prone to getting out of control, not only because he was inexperienced but also because of how powerful it was. It practically radiated off of him. Even Felix and Glenn, young as they were, could sense his magic.

Sylvain was a slacker, that much was true. But he was powerful; anyone who saw how he weaved his spellcraft could attest to that. A witch to the core, just as his father had said. Using magic became as natural as breathing. When Felix and Sylvain lived together, the apartment always reeked of Sylvain’s magic. Felix can’t count how many times he’s seen Sylvain teleport away or turn invisible to avoid an argument or a lecture, or levitate something across the room because he forgot it when he sat down and didn’t want to get up. Felix had been telepathically sent memes at three in the morning on many occasions, because Sylvain liked to annoy him and knew he wouldn’t answer his phone.

Their apartment had also been covered in warding sigils, which Sylvain regularly recharged and strengthened. The downside to his magical power was how potent it was. Yes, every monster in Faerghus knew to be wary of him—but without proper precautions, they would also know exactly where to find him. Outside of that, they had plenty of enemies just from being monster hunters. Sylvain always made sure they were well hidden from anything that meant them harm, and that if anything found them, they wouldn’t catch them unaware.

Sylvain Gautier could hide from anyone. If he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

Felix Fraldarius could track anything. If it could be found, he would find it.

It was only a matter of time.

Usually when Felix finds his quarry’s den, he stakes it out for a few days before approaching. Or, well, that used to be Sylvain’s job, gathering information. You need to know what you’re getting into before you launch an attack. Otherwise you’re just asking to get yourself killed.

But this isn’t a normal hunt, and this isn’t a normal quarry. There’s no research to be done when he already knows them better than he knows himself. And he can feel it deep in his core, as if written into his very being, that he has nothing to fear. He knows the one he’s searching for will not hurt him. No matter how much time and distance have passed, or what transformations they’ve undergone—they will always be safe with each other.

Felix and Sylvain were well-known as hunters by the time they reached their twenties. Part of this was due to their parents’ reputation, but they were also skilled hunters in their own right. They were originally supposed to be a team, Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri, like their fathers’ had been. But Dimitri had a bad mental breakdown after they graduated high school and ultimately stepped away from the monster hunting business.

So that left Felix and Sylvain. Perhaps it was better that way—while the trio worked well together as a group, Felix and Sylvain were downright terrifying as a pair. As a trio, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. As a pair, it was like Sylvain and Felix were of one mind. They didn’t move as two smooth parts of the same contraption; they were two halves of the same whole.

Over the last year, Felix has often wondered if they should have followed Dimitri’s lead and left hunting behind. Then they wouldn’t have taken that last mission. Then Sylvain would still be here.

Maybe the first red flag should have been that the mission came directly from Matthias Gautier. Or how vague the request (demand, really) had been. Feral vampires in a warehouse in Conand. A nest, maybe thirty of them. Very violent and very loud. He wanted Felix and Sylvain to take them out. The quicker and quieter, the better.

Felix went on his first real hunt when he was fifteen, accompanied by Dimitri and Sylvain. Sylvain had been on a few hunts with his father at this point, but Felix and Dimitri were still green.

It was a standard assignment, as far as monster hunts go. Livestock disappearances in a farming village outside Fhirdiad. Nothing left except some blood. Standard wandering beast.

Felix set out before the others to track it. He’s like a bloodhound, his father once said. Tell him to find something and he’ll flush it out within the hour.

It was easy for Felix. Follow tracks, find patterns in behavior, narrow down the hunting zone, add in what he knew about various wandering beasts, and it was like child’s play. It only took him a day or two to narrow down the beast’s possible hiding spots. He marked them on a map and set out with Sylvain to check them. Felix was stealthy enough to get close without being caught, but it was Sylvain’s magical perception and general observation skills that could gather the most information.

They found the beast in the second den they checked. It was a small cave a few miles into the woods. They were a few hundred feet out when Sylvain suddenly went stiff and his eyes started darting around. Felix’s hand automatically went to the knife at his hip as he scanned the area. “It’s close,” Sylvain said, barely above an exhale. “It’s really close.”

It was a wolf creature. Moderate size, probably wandered into the area a few months prior, made its nest in the cave and grew tired of the small woodland pickings. Unlikely to start feeding on humans, but the chance was always there. Even if it didn’t, it was already a danger to the livestock.

Dimitri was their primary muscle. Felix and Sylvain could easily hold their own, but it was still Dimitri who ultimately brought down the beast. Unfortunately, that was partially because Sylvain jumped in front of him and took a nasty bite to the leg. It gave Dimitri the opening he needed to finish it off, but Sylvain was laid up for two months while he healed. It would have been longer if not for a lot of healing magic and Sylvain’s stubbornness.

Felix had yelled at Sylvain for nearly an hour after he was bandaged up. How could he do something so foolish, so idiodic, so dangerous? He could have gotten himself killed.

“Monster hunting itself is dangerous,” Sylvain had said.

“That doesn’t mean you need to make it worse,” Felix snapped.

Sylvain had merely shrugged. “I get that you were worried, and I’m sorry about that. But every mission, no matter how standard or straightforward, will have its risks. There’s no such thing as a ‘simple’ or ‘easy mission.’”

Maybe that should have been the red flag, when they were told the mission in Conand was “straightforward” and “run-of-the-mill” for hunters of their caliber.

Nothing was simple when it came to monster hunting. Matthias taught Sylvain that himself.

The doors of the apartment building have all been long rusted shut, but most of the windows are broken. Felix finds one along the side of the building where most of the glass has been removed. A few shards stick out from the top and the left side of the frame, purposely left there so it isn’t obvious that this window is an entrance.

When Felix was eleven years old, he was the tallest of his group of friends. He’d hit an early growth spurt and went from four-foot ten to five-foot four over the course of one summer. Back then he was sure he’d hit another one in a few years and maintain his lead.

Well, the next summer he found out that his genetics hated him when he didn’t grow a single centimeter. Dimitri and Sylvain, on the other hand, both got taller than him. And continued to even get taller. Even Ingrid grew to the same height as him (technically, she’s a centimeter or two taller, but Felix will die before he admits that. Both of their driver’s licenses say they’re five-foot four).

This is all to say that Felix can’t reach the window. The current inhabitant of the building, with his long arms and longer legs, can. For a moment, he debates looking for a trash can or a rock or something he can drag over to give him a boost, but then he notices that the bricks on the building aren’t even. The spaces between them aren’t very deep, but they’ll do.

He gets one foot up first, wedging it into the gap between two bricks, then reaches up with both hands to find a decent grip. His other foot finds a spot a few bricks above the first and up he goes (He’s suddenly plagued by the memory of Sylvain projecting the “crave that mineral” meme into his head during a hunt some years back, while he observed Felix scaling a mostly flat vertical wall. He’d scolded Sylvain later for nearly blowing his cover, but they had a good laugh on the way home).

From here he can reach the window. Maybe he should’ve climbed a little higher, but he has enough upper body strength to haul himself up and through the frame without much trouble. He drops to the floor on the other side a little less gracefully than he intended, but thankfully without much noise. He stands and takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

He’s in a high-ceilinged lobby. He can tell it was nice, once upon a time. The floors are hardwood, still smooth beneath the layer of dust and animal droppings. A long grey carpet, now matted and falling apart, stretches from the front door to what remains of the front desk. To the right of the desk are two restrooms. The women’s room is boarded up, but the door to the men’s room hangs precariously by one hinge. Felix doesn’t want to know what the inside of it looks like.

To the left of the desk is an elevator. Faded yellow tape with “OUT OF ORDER” in bold black letters still clings to the frame. Beside it is a door marked “Stairwell.” It doesn’t make a sound when he opens it.

The red flag hadn’t gone up until Sylvain had returned from scoping out the vampires’ base. A warehouse in the town of Conand, just like they were told. Sylvain had found out everything they needed to know for a plan of attack. He also found out things that maybe it would have been better not to know. Or to have known before they took the job.

The first sign that something was off was that Sylvain started writing everything down the moment he returned to the apartment. Normally he jotted down notes on his phone or a memo pad he kept in his jacket, but only the most important things. Things he couldn’t forget if he wanted to keep the two of them alive. He could remember the rest, and he couldn’t afford to divert his attention for too long while so close to the base. He would rattle off the rest to Felix when he returned. Maybe a rough sketch of a plan too—he was bound to come up with something on his way home. Usually, this rundown went on while he made himself a snack before going to take a nap.

“Recon is a lot of work. It tires me out,” he would say before passing out for most of the day. Sylvain was a slacker, but using that much magical energy for an extended period of time was a massive energy drain. So Felix would let him sleep and make sure there was a meal ready when he got up.

The notes Sylvain wrote that day were messy—the next red flag. Sylvain’s handwriting was impeccable. Pretty, even. His letters flowed like water, almost an art form itself. It was in direct opposition to Felix’s own handwriting, which the other once compared to the logo of a black metal band (Felix was perpetually plagued by that picture of a pile of sticks, regularly sent to him through telepathic link when Sylvain was trying to decode his handwriting late at night. After the third time, Felix had the image of a banana slicer ready to go in response). The notes Sylvain scribbled down that night put Felix’s too-close jagged lettering to shame. He wasn’t sure if it was even meant to be words. Sylvain didn’t seem to notice how bad his hands were shaking.

“Sylvain?” Felix tried to get his attention.

“Three, maybe four dozen of them.” He wasn’t sure if Sylvain was talking to Felix or himself. Either way, he didn’t respond to Felix’s presence. “Five floors in the building, plus a basement level. Second through fifth floors have the same layout, first floor is mostly open, leader’s headquarters is at the back of the top floor. Most feral, not all. Almost entirely men. Potential captives in the basement.”

“Sylvain?” Felix tried again.

“Building surrounded by weeds, most notable is hemlock, likely put there on purpose. Poison making? Spellcraft? Not sure.” Sylvain straightened up like something had just occurred to him. “Spellcraft. Wards. We need wards.”

He crossed the living room in three long, quick strides, and put his hands to the sigils carved around the door. Sylvain closed his eyes and his hands glowed with magical energy. After a moment the sigils flared the same color, almost blindingly bright before settling back to their usual day-old glow stick brightness level. His breath left him in a rush and he sagged against the wall for a couple of seconds before moving on to the magical alarms.

“Sylvain,” Felix said with more force this time. “What’s going on?”

Sylvain started to repeat the charging process on their alarms, but his magic fizzled out and he fell limp against the wall. He took out a small vase of flowers on a side table as he slid to the floor.

“Sylvain!”

Felix managed to catch him before he hit the ground, but it was a near thing. He carefully lowered them both the rest of the way, taking care to avoid the puddle of water and daisies scattered across the floor. At least the vase didn’t break. He didn’t want to deal with broken glass right now. He turned Sylvain to face him. “Sylvain, talk to me. What is going on?”

Sylvain shook his head and tried to stand up. “I need to recharge everything. We can’t take any chances.”

Felix kept his grip gentle but firm. Sylvain was in no state to fight him. “You recharged everything three days ago. They only need it every other week. We’re fine.”

“I need to make sure.” He tried again to stand.

“Sylvain.” Felix shook him, gently but forcefully. “Something happened. What was it?”

Finally, Sylvain ground to a halt. His breath was quick and shallow. Felix could see the thoughts racing in his head, but it no longer felt like Hurricane Sylvain was tearing through their apartment.

Sylvain’s eyes were glazed over and darting back and forth around the room, like he was trying to remember where he was. Then his gaze snapped back to Felix and his eyes started to clear. “Felix…” He sighed and tipped forward to rest his forehead against Felix’s shoulder.

“I’m here, Syl. Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen while you were at the nest?”

Sylvain huffed. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. “Something like that.”

Felix waited while Sylvain pulled himself together. He could feel in his core that something was very, very wrong.

“I found out everything we need to know to strike at the nest,” he finally said. “I have their numbers. I have the building’s layout. I know the schedule for the lookout rotation. I know when they leave to feed and how many they leave back at a time to guard the place. I have a good grasp on their overall strength. And…”

“And?” Felix prompted.

Sylvain took a long, deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Then, “And I found out who their leader is.”

“Who?”

“Miklan.”

Miklan Gautier had been cast out five years prior to that fateful mission. He was officially disowned and stripped of the Gautier name, and banned from the estate. There were rumors that Matthias Gautier took out a restraining order too, but it’s unconfirmed.

He laid low for five years. They knew he was causing trouble, but his father had washed his hands of the situation, declaring that Miklan wasn’t a Gautier anymore and therefore not his problem. Theoretically, standard law enforcement should have been enough, even if he kept managing to dodge them. He was human like the rest of his family.

Until he wasn’t.

There had been rumors, of course, that the eldest Gautier boy got himself turned into a monster. Some said it was a brawl or feeding gone wrong, others said he’d done it on purpose to stick it to daddy dearest, while others speculated that he just wanted the power that came with it. Felix hadn’t believed the rumors until he heard it from Sylvain that night, huddled on the floor of their apartment.

Miklan had gone and gotten turned into a vampire. And knowing what a piece of shit he was before, it was no surprise he’d gone feral, or that he’d wrangled a bunch of other violence-craving bloodsuckers together to follow under him.

It also made sense that Matthias Gautier handed them the mission personally, and why he’d left so many details out. This was a matter that needed to be handled quickly and quietly if he was going to save face, something that required as few people to know about it as possible. Three people may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. Gautier was always fond of that quote. But he couldn’t go and have his vampire hunters “disappear,” so he had to find ones he knew would get the job done and keep their mouths shut. Sylvain still listened to his father, Goddess knows why, and wouldn’t let anything slip if ordered not to. While Felix wanted to put Gautier Senior on blast and grind his reputation into a fine powder beneath his heel, he wouldn’t start that hell storm if Sylvain wasn’t ready for it. Felix’s hatred for Matthias ran deep, but his love for Sylvain ran deeper.

So there they were, with a simple mission that just got a thousand times more complicated because of one intentionally omitted detail.

“You don’t have to do this,” Felix had said. “I can take them out myself.”

Sylvain shook his head. “No. I accepted the job too.”

“That was before you knew.”

“Doesn’t matter. Even if I had known, I would have taken it anyway. He’s my brother. He’s my responsibility.”

Felix bristled. “You’re not his fucking keeper,” he spat.

Sylvain shrugged, unaffected by the venom in Felix’s voice. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I’m not blameless in this situation. I’m at least part of the reason he’s been able to cause so much trouble, so it’s on me to stop him.”

It’s an old, tired argument. Even after being cast out, Miklan never lost his hold over Sylvain. Maybe he couldn’t hit him anymore, but that didn’t mean he was out of Sylvain’s head. It didn’t mean Sylvain stopped blaming himself for their father’s actions.

Felix sighed. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?”

“Nope,” Sylvain said, popping the p.

“You know how this mission has to end, right?”

There was silence when Sylvain didn’t respond.

“You know we have to kill him.”

Another long silence. Then a long sigh. Sylvain didn’t turn to look at him. “Yeah. I know.”

“Can you do it?” The question comes out softer than he intended.

“He’s just another monster now. Just another murderer that needs to be taken out.”

Felix frowned. He knew it wasn’t that simple, but arguing with Sylvain wouldn’t get them anywhere. The best he could do was avoid stressing him out any further and keep close. And be there for him, whatever came after.

It was a trap. Obviously it was a fucking trap, one that Felix should have seen coming miles away. Miklan had avoided being found for five Goddess-damned years. Even if he’d gone feral, this was still far too sloppy.

He wanted to be found. He wanted to stir up enough trouble that his father would intervene.

Miklan wanted a fight, and he wanted home court advantage.

He knew Sylvain was coming.

Felix finds Sylvain on the third floor. The door bears a weathered brass “3E” clinging to the wood by one rusted nail. The door hinges appear rusted too, but, like the door to the stairwell, it opens without a sound.

The apartment is warded to Hell and back; Felix knows that the moment he enters. Alarm sigils are drawn with chalk and in the dust in the entrance way; there are likely more scattered around. Various anti-creature wards are spaced among them. There is a noticeable absence of anti-vampire wards.

Felix isn’t the magic user Sylvain is, but even he can dispel some basic wards and shields. And, when necessary, create some of his own.

It helps that he knows Sylvain’s magic. With a few chalk drawings of his own, the path through the apartment is clear. He can search without tripping anything.

It was a bloodbath in Conand. Miklan’s vampires were largely feral and untrained. They were used to prey that didn’t have a chance of fighting back. Felix and Sylvain cut through them like melted butter as they made their way through the building. They took a few hits just from the sheer number of them, but they made it to the top floor without much issue.

Miklan, of course, was waiting for them.

“Well, well, the great monster hunter has graced me with his presence. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Every word from Miklan’s mouth dripped with mockery and disdain.

“It’s over, Miklan,” Sylvain said, back straight, shoulders back, chin up, gaze unwavering. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

Miklan let out a bark of a laugh. “Aw, daddy’s little princess can’t get what he wants?”

Felix could see Sylvain’s jaw clench.

“It must be a shock to you that Dad can’t wave his wallet and make everything go your way,” Miklan continued. “You’ll have to get off your worthless ass and do something yourself for once.”

“Enough!” Sylvain snapped and Felix saw true, genuine anger on his face. “I get that things sucked for you growing up, but you have no idea what I’ve gone through. I get that you’re mad at Dad—I’m fucking pissed at him too—but I never asked for this. Neither of us asked for this. But you made a choice to be a vindictive piece of shit your entire life. And now, I’m gonna put you out of your misery.”

The Gautier brothers had always been evenly matched in strength. When they would spar as children, the winner usually came down to luck. A half-second of hesitation, a movement a heartbeat too slow, an innocuous patch of mud under a heel, an imperceptible crack in a practice weapon. They had undergone the same training when they were young and even if Sylvain was far superior when it came to magic, Miklan’s martial prowess and tactical mind were nothing to sneeze at.

A handful of vampires had waited with Miklan on the top floor. Their job had been to keep Felix away from the fight. Miklan wanted to kill Sylvain himself and didn’t want anyone getting in the way. It was obvious from the first strike that the remaining vampires were much better fighters than the mobs downstairs. Felix didn’t doubt he could beat them, but it would take too much time. He tried to focus on breaking through their ranks, but every time he made an opening he was either dragged back into the thick of it or another thug filled the gap. By the time he cut down the last one, who had dragged him to the floor and gotten a knife in the neck for his trouble, it was too late. He turned as he got to his feet and saw the fight was already over.

Sylvain’s weapons were scattered around the room; his leather armor had been shredded to nothing. He was half collapsed on the floor, his entire body limp, eyes glassy, and mouth hanging open. Both men were covered in blood and it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Sylvain wasn’t moving—unconscious or paralyzed or dead Felix didn’t know. All he could focus on was the set of fangs buried deep in Sylvain’s neck.

Felix blacked out then, he thinks. He certainly can’t remember what happened next. Which is a bit of a shame, really. Maybe it’s messed up that he wishes he could remember killing a man, but Miklan had it coming. What Felix does remember is Miklan, flat on his back with a silver knife through the heart Felix still didn’t think existed; and Sylvain, crumpled on the floor with blood lazily trickling from twin puncture wounds at his pulse point, his breathing almost nonexistent.

Felix broadcast an S.O.S. to everyone he could think of through every channel he had. Texts and calls were sent to Dimitri and their other friends. Though his magic was nothing compared to Sylvain’s, Felix could still send short messages over telepathic link over a fair distance, and he blasted the S.O.S. and their location to anyone in range who could help. He looked for the worst of Sylvain’s wounds and stopped the blood flow as best he could, then started chest compressions. One, two, three, hold his nose and breathe into his mouth. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe. Keep breathing Sylvain, keep breathing. You’re not allowed to die on me. One, two, three, breathe.

Sylvain’s heart stopped before help arrived. When it started beating again, it had nothing to do with Felix or the paramedics.

Actually, it did have a little to do with Felix.

There’s a small amount of venom in a vampire’s saliva. At that concentration it only acts as a numbing agent to make the bite easier. More can be injected from their fangs. A small amount acts as a sedative; a larger amount acts as a paralytic. To turn someone into a vampire, a certain amount of venom must be injected into the bloodstream and circulated.

Miklan’s intention had not been to turn Sylvain. It had been to ensure Sylvain couldn’t fight back. While Miklan fed and Sylvain bled, the venom would stop him from moving and it would not get a chance to circulate through his system.

Felix kept Sylvain’s heart pumping. His blood hadn’t been moving the way it should, but it was enough for the venom to circulate. It was enough to turn him. Felix found this out weeks later.

Sylvain spent three days unconscious in a hospital in Conand. He was alive, by some people's definition of the word. By other’s, he was dead. Miklan had not intended to turn him and no one knew what would happen when he woke up. Guesses ranged from miraculous survival to already being feral, to concerns of permanent physical damage, maybe brain damage and some memory loss. Felix put his foot down when someone suggested cuffing Sylvain to the bed in case he was violent when he woke up. They could deal with a possibly violent Sylvain in the future, or a very present violent Felix now.

In retrospect, maybe he should have let them.

What did not happen: Sylvain did not go feral. He did not wake up and attack anyone.

What probably did not happen: A miraculous, non-vampiric recovery.

What did happen: The night of the third day, Felix finally passed out at Sylvain’s bedside. He awoke to the faint smell of citrus—Sylvain’s magic signature—and jerked up from the bed. The blanket was half tossed to the side and the sheets were rumpled. The pillow still bore the indent from his head, but Sylvain was nowhere to be found. Instead, in the center of the bed, was a small cluster of flowers. Pale blue, several blossoms clustered on one head. Felix wasn’t a witch, but he knew flowers and he knew their language.

Blue hydrangeas. I’m sorry.

That was ten months and twenty-two days ago. The last time Felix saw Sylvain Gautier, practically a corpse in that hospital bed.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. A man who can hide from anyone and a man who can track anything.

When he enters apartment 3E, Felix finds the man who cannot be found.

Sylvain is passed out in the apartment’s bedroom, the only presentable room in the building. For a moment, all Felix can do is stand in the doorway and stare.

Sylvain’s hair is longer than it was. Where before it had fallen in unruly curls around his face, it now drops almost as far as his shoulders. He is thinner too; his clothes sit loosely on his frame and make him look small, almost frail. Felix is struck by an image of a younger Sylvain, gangly and skinny with at least one bandage always stuck to his skin. Back before he’d grown taller and bulked up.

He is pale, too. That’s the most noticeable and most expected change. Sylvain had always been tanned. He spent as much time outside as he could, out in the sun and its warmth. He’s still not as pale as Felix, who can put fresh snow to shame, but much of his sunkissed tone is gone.

“Finally. I finally found you.”

Felix drags in a chair from the living room and plants it next to the head of the bed. It’s dusty and the fabric is full of holes where bugs have chewed it, but Felix intends to be here for a while and it’s probably the most comfortable thing he’ll find.

Up close it’s easier to see just how exhausted Sylvain is. He hasn’t been sleeping well, judging by the prominent bags under his eyes. His face is sunken and a little grey beneath the dirt. Hasn’t been eating well or feeding enough either, then.

He hasn’t bathed in a while either. That, or he was rolling in the dirt before he fell asleep. Felix has always known Sylvain to be a very neat person. One of the first signs of a depressive mood was when he went at least two days without showering; stress was denoted by a sparkling clean, practically spit-shined apartment. Sylvain was the one who made Felix start using separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash instead of the 3-in-1 “abomination,” as he called it. Sylvain always changed his sheets at least once a week. Felix’s too, if he didn’t do it himself. Felix doesn’t want to think too hard about when the sheets on this old bed were changed.

Despite all the dirt, grime, and exhaustion, Sylvain still looks beautiful. It’s an unshakeable fact: Sylvain Gautier is beautiful. He always has been; that’s something Felix has realized over the years. He first realized when he was a child, long before he knew what it meant. The revelation came again later, when Felix was in middle school and learning a lot about himself. That’s when it was first accompanied by the observation that Sylvain’s lips looked really soft, and that they shined faintly with lip balm. Felix had wanted to know what it tasted like.

But Sylvain wasn’t interested in serious relationships. He wanted to “have some fun and not get tied down,” as he put it. So rather than make a fool of himself, Felix buried his feelings.

But then he and Sylvain graduated high school, and they became hunters in their own right. They moved out of their childhood homes and got one together. They were always in each other’s space; they learned each other’s routines and schedules. Sylvain’s conditioners’ sat next to Felix’s in the bathroom. Both their toothbrushes sat in the same cup. Felix knew when Sylvain needed to be dragged from his room, blanket burrito and all, and plunked down on the couch with some ice cream and a bootleg musical. Sylvain knew when Felix had crossed the line between “staying in shape” and “overworking because he doesn’t want to think,” and that a dinner of Korean BBQ and a quiet opportunity for him to speak on his own terms was the best fix. Felix learned that the most successful way to deal with Sylvain’s nightmares was a cup of bergamot tea and company while he fell back asleep. Sylvain learned that Felix’s sleepless nights could be helped by a hot shower and a massage.

They knew each other’s takeout orders. They had a pizza and movie night every other week. They started sleeping in the same bed more often than not. They were living like a married couple and they weren’t even dating.

They almost did, Felix thinks. Start dating, that is. He’d thought for so long that Sylvain would never be interested, but then he noticed Sylvain stopped going on dates and stopped bringing partners over. And one of his friends, frustrated with his obliviousness, pointed out how disgustingly domestic the two of them were, and how physically affectionate Sylvain was and Felix thought it might be possible. He had decided he would say something, that he would take that chance.

But they accepted a mission. And Sylvain died.

Felix sighs. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on what if’s and should haves. Even the most powerful magic users can’t turn back time. There is only the present moment. There is Felix and Sylvain, alone in a dilapidated apartment building. There is Sylvain, asleep and strikingly beautiful. There is Felix, making himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed and gently running his fingers through Sylvain’s tangled curls. There is Sylvain, relaxing into the touch on instinct, no longer twitching as he sleeps.

There is Sylvain and there is Felix. And at this moment that’s all that matters.

Sylvain wakes up a few hours later. Felix knows the exact moment he does, when he suddenly goes stiff beneath his hand. But he does not move, perhaps hoping that Felix hadn’t noticed.

“It’s been a while, Sylvain,” Felix says, voice a little hoarse from dust and definitely not whatever emotion has formed a lump in his throat.

Sylvain slowly turns his head and Felix meets those honey brown eyes with his own. It’s the first time he’s seen them since Conand, when they stared sightlessly at the ceiling while he bled out on the floor.

His pupils are slitted now, like a cat’s, and expand further than a normal human’s, but they’re still Sylvain’s eyes. Warm and beautiful.

“Felix,” he breathes. “What are you doing here?”

Felix takes a breath, trying not to let his anger flare up at the question. “Looking for you, obviously. You’re damn hard to find.”

“That was the point,” he says.

He pushes up from the mattress and swings his legs over the edge. Sitting up, it’s more obvious just how thin he’s gotten. His shirt looks like it’s sitting on a hanger, not a twenty-six year old man’s shoulders. “I—Felix I…”

“Why did you leave?” The question comes out before he can even think to stop it.

Sylvain is silent for a long moment, gaze fixed firmly on the scuffed up hardwood floor. Felix can barely hear him when he says, “Why do you think?”

Silence, again.

“Are you here to kill me?”

The question is like a slap to the face. Felix is so stunned by it that for a moment he can’t speak. “What?” he finally chokes out.

“A monster and a monster hunter walk into an abandoned apartment.” Sylvain snorts. “Almost sounds like the setup to a joke. Except we both know the punchline already.”

Felix flounders, opening and closing his mouth while he looks for something to say. “Of course I’m not here to kill you, you absolute fool.”

That gets Sylvain to look at him. “Then why?” he asks.

Felix glares at him. “You think you can nearly die in my arms, then disappear without a word, and I’d just sit on my ass and let you?”

Sylvain shakes his head and looks away. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is. Or am I missing something?”

“You’re leaving out that fact that now I’m a fucking vampire, Felix.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“But doesn’t it?” Sylvain looks up again, watching Felix from behind overgrown bangs. “We’re monster hunters, Felix. Or… we were, anyway. We come from generations of hunters. We made our living off of killing things that lurked in the night. The last time I saw you we had just wiped out over a dozen murderous bloodsuckers. How could I—”

Sylvain’s voice cracks. He runs a hand through his hair and drops his gaze. “How could I possibly face you after that?” His voice is barely a whisper.

They’re both silent for a long moment while Felix figures out what to say. He wants to berate Sylvain for being so stupid—how could he think that Felix could ever reject him? That he could do anything, become anything, that would drive Felix away? Even if they’d been born two hundred years ago, when most people still thought all non-humans were monsters, were feral, Felix wouldn’t abandon him. He wants to tell Sylvain what a fool he is, yell at him for just up and leaving, but he knows none of that will help.

And, if Felix is being honest… he’s not angry. Okay, maybe he’s a little angry. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t been angry at all. But now, with Sylvain in front of him? Skinny and dirty and tired, but still whole, still breathing, still with him? All he can feel is relief. All he wants is to hold Sylvain tight and never let him go ever again.

Felix doesn’t know how to put it all into words that won’t come out wrong. Between them, Sylvain has always had the silver tongue. Sylvain is the wordsmith.

Felix is a man of action. He stands from the chair and moves to sit beside Sylvain, who tenses up at the movement. Then, Felix wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. He hears Sylvain’s breath hitch as he processes what’s going on. Felix was never one to initiate physical contact, even though he likes it when it’s Sylvain.

“I don’t understand,” Sylvain says, still stiff in his arms.

“You’re a fool, Sylvain. The biggest fool in all the world.” He tangles his fingers in Sylvain’s hair again and tucks his face into his shoulder. “There was no reason for you to run away. I wouldn’t—I won’t—let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

“I’m a vampire,” Sylvain stresses. “I’m a monster now.”

Felix holds him tighter. He can feel Sylvain relaxing, if only minutely. “Never call yourself a monster ever again. You’re a vampire, but you’re not a monster. You know that not all vampires are monsters. I know this. Our friends know this.”

“Felix…” Sylvain deflates against him. “I could be, though. I could become a monster. A true, genuine monster. You saw what happened t—to Miklan. And I… I’m—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Felix takes Sylvain by the shoulders so he can look him in the eye, hatred of eye contact be damned. “You are nothing like him. Miklan was full of anger and resentment and decided to take it out on everyone else. I know you’re angry too, I know that’s there, but you have never hurt anyone like he did. Miklan did reprehensible, unforgivable things. He enjoyed hurting other people. He reveled in it. But you, Sylvain?”

Felix moves his hands to cup Sylvain’s cheeks and leans in so they’re nearly touching. “You have never been a cruel man, Sylvain. You’ve never wanted to hurt people. You have spent your entire life trying to be everything that you father and brother aren’t. So fucking what if you need to drink blood now? That doesn’t do a single Goddess-damned thing to change who you are. Miklan was a terrible person long before he turned. The first thing you did when you turned was run away because you were afraid of hurting someone.”

“Things can change,” Sylvain tries to argue. “You haven’t seen me since I turned. How do you know I haven’t changed? That I haven’t become that?”

“Because I know, Sylvain. I know you. Otherwise, prove me wrong. Right now.” Felix’s gaze is firm and unyielding, and Sylvain is forced to concede.

“But how can you be sure?” Sylvain’s voice is wretched and his eyes shine with unshed tears. “Felix. I ran because—because when I woke up…” He looks away again, unable to meet Felix’s eyes. “I had a nearly overwhelming urge to bite you. I wanted to bite you. You were asleep next to my hospital bed and all I could think of was feeding from you.”

“I’d let you,” Felix says without hesitation.

Sylvain’s eyes snap back to his, wide with horror. “No, never. What if I—Felix what if I-I—”

Felix tips his head forward, finally closing the gap to rest his forehead against Sylvain’s. “You won’t. You don’t need so much that it would kill me. Even if you did, it can be supplemented. There are blood banks specifically for this stuff, you know.”

Sylvain deflates, resting some of his weight against Felix. “Yeah, I know. I know. But I… Felix I’m scared. What if I lose control? I could never forgive myself.”

Felix pulls Sylvain into a hug again. He feels Sylvain sag fully against him now, finally wrapping his arms loosely around Felix’s waist and tucking his face into the curve of his neck. Felix starts petting his hair again and Sylvain practically purrs.

“I know you’re scared. I… I was scared too, Syl,” Felix admits. “I tried so hard to get to you, but by the time I did it was too late. And I tried to save you. I couldn’t bear the idea of living in a world that didn’t have you in it. When they told me that you were going to survive… fuck, I didn’t care why. I didn’t care if it was medicine or magic or a transformation or intervention from the Goddess herself. All that mattered was that you would still be here.”

Felix takes a deep breath before he continues. He never imagined saying this part in a crumbling apartment building in Fhirdiad while covered in dust and a hand greasy from Sylvain’s hair, but maybe he should have. They’ve always been an unconventional pair. “I love you, Sylvain,” he makes himself say. “I want you by my side for as long as you’ll have me. Nothing will change that.”

“Not even becoming something that goes bump in the night?” Sylvain asks and lets out a breath that might have been a laugh.

“Not even that.”

They hold each other tighter and for a while they just sit there, together on an old bed in a dusty apartment wrapped up in each other.

“Come home with me, Sylvain. Please come home. I’ve missed you so much.”

He feels Sylvain nod against his shoulder. “How can I say no to an open display of emotion like that?”

Felix flicks him in the forehead. Sylvain just chuckles, and Felix doesn’t bother to hide his smile. How quickly they slot back together, fall into old banter like nothing has happened.

“I’m sorry I left,” Sylvain says.

“You better be,” Felix says, then softens again. “Don’t ever do something like that again. I was so afraid I’d lost you. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Felix. Every single day since I ran. I just…” He shakes his head. “I was scared of myself. I didn’t feel like I could allow myself to come home. But… I think I’m ready now. Or, maybe I’m not, but I’ll figure it out. I won’t leave you again.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. We promised to live together, didn’t we?”

Felix and Sylvain’s last monster hunting mission was twenty-two months and seventeen days ago. Save for the occasional specialized call, they’ve retired from the business.

“I’m too old,” Sylvain says when asked about it. “My old man bones pop and creak when I get out of bed; I can’t stay up past eleven p.m.; I’ve taken up knitting. I’m old. Monster hunting is a young person’s game.”

A shrug and “Didn’t want to do it anymore,” is Felix’s response. He doesn’t elaborate.

Sylvain has instead gone into research. He was never able to foster his love for knowledge when he was young. There’s no time for higher education when you’re up all night chasing shadows. It started with a couple of classes for something to do during the day while he figured out what else to do with his life. After Felix had to drag him away from a five-page paper turned independent research project, Sylvain smiled and sheepishly said, “Yeah I… may have gone overboard. It’s… fun though. I like it. And I think I want to keep doing it. It might be a little weird to go back to school when I’m almost thirty, but…”

Felix had given him a peck on the cheek and told him to follow his heart. One month later, Sylvain was accepted to Fhirdiad University for the upcoming semester. He wants to delve deep into history and mythology to create a more comprehensive understanding of non-human beings, both in a historical sense and how it impacts the world now. Felix can’t help the fond smile that crosses his face when he finds Sylvain asleep on the couch, laptop still open on the coffee table, and surrounded by books. He just wraps him up and brings him to their shared bedroom.

Felix is still a fighter at heart, but he’s tired of every battle being life-threatening. Now, he teaches martial arts and self-defense classes. It’s not the most lucrative job in the world, but he makes enough for them to live comfortably and he enjoys the work. Especially, to his surprise, teaching the kid’s classes. They’re blunt, honest, and can be single-mindedly focused when something catches their interest. Felix likes that about them. They’re like him.

Twenty-two months ago, Felix and Sylvain usually spent their nights doing research on monsters and scrolling through news reports, looking for patterns in crimes or strange happenings that could point to a monster. Or they were on the hunt for their monster of the week.

Tonight, they’re still home when the sun goes down. A crummy bootleg musical plays on Felix’s laptop, vocals crackling through the bluetooth speaker. A box of pizza, half empty, sits partially open on the coffee table next to some paper plates and two cans of soda. When the hour is late they wrap up what’s left of the food and retire to bed together. Sylvain on the right side of the bed, Felix on the left. Felix clicks on the dim string lights hanging on the walls; if one of them wakes in the middle of the night, it won’t be pitch-dark. Sylvain takes off his glasses and places them on the nightstand beside a small stack of books. They curl up against each other and share a soft kiss as their hands twine together, matching silver rings warmed by their touch. They don’t always sleep easy, but they know the other will always be there for him. And that’s what matters.