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The Officers Academy closed long before they could have the ball, and only now does Dimitri feel the weight of disappointment. He's never been a big fan of anything that involves dancing, and he's never truly known how to relax and have a good time outside of training or horseback riding.
But when Felix starts training to be a dancer, the regret rushes at him like a runaway horse.
If we'd only had the ball, I could have asked you for a dance. He knew now that even at the state their relationship was in two years ago, Felix likely would have said yes.
I never hated you, even back then.
They're at war, with an Empire barely able to stand on its own, and the reason for that is one Dimitri doesn't like to think about. Even with the once-feared Ashen Demon and Blade Breaker added to their ranks, they have their work cut out for them. And while he's grateful for the Alliance's aid, there's the issue of how their leader feels about Lady Rhea and the Central Church.
They're at war. It's the worst possible time to be thinking about merriment like balls and dancing. But every time he sees Felix training in his new outfit, he doesn't care.
"You're staring." Felix turns to him. "You've been staring for the past hour."
"Your form is beautiful," Dimitri says. "Graceful as ever. You were born to hold a blade." Felix rolls his eyes, his cheeks turning pink as he grabs one of the training swords and hands it to him.
"If you're going to hang around the training yard, you might as well spar with me." Dimitri doesn't need to be asked twice. They've been sparring regularly for the past two years and six moons, but he remembers a time when it was tinged with resentment from Felix, or they'd end up arguing over the past and never actually cross blades.
There's so much he missed during the two years they were at odds, things he's so happy to have back in his life.
For the next several minutes he focuses on their blades. Felix's thrusts and parries, the movement of their feet, his own strikes. When they were young, Felix would cry whenever he lost, not because he was a sore loser but because he feared he'd never be strong enough to be Dimitri's knight. Now, though, he seems to dare him to win.
"You're giving it your all, huh," he says mid-thrust. "Good to know you're not that distracted." His tone is unusually teasing, Dimitri nearly losing his focus before he remembers to parry.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
It ends in a draw. By now their bodies are less than an inch apart, the wooden swords clattering to the ground. Felix is sweaty, strands of hair are coming loose from his ponytail, but that makes him all the more alluring.
They're at war. They're standing on the training grounds, not in a ballroom. No music is playing. But they're together, closer than they've been in years, and his heart is so full of longing it might burst. He offers his hand, trying to look as gallant as he can with his hair a mess and his face so sweaty.
"Dance with me, Felix." The other's cheeks redden, eyes widening before shifting to the side.
"Are you serious, boar?"
"When am I ever not?"
Felix shakes his head, smiling, before taking his hand. Dimitri wraps his arm around Felix's waist, and they spend the rest of the evening waltzing around the training grounds in silence.