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It’s too dark. It’s too dark and Sylvain is losing his mind. It’s too dark and Sylvain is seeing things behind his eyelids. It’s too dark and Sylvain is starting to feel cold.
He tosses in bed and opens his eyes again, staring blankly at the ceiling. It helps calm his heart, seeing the space around him gently lit by the moonlight filtering through the tiny window in his dorm. It doesn’t help with his sleep though.
He rubs his palms against his eyes. Goddess, he didn’t plan well at all tonight. He’s usually better at this. Over the years he’s developed different ways to cope with his sleep terrors, some more healthy than others. Being in the monastery has proved more beneficial than he ever would have thought— makes finding a bed mate easier. He sleeps better when it isn’t deathly silent, when he can feel another person near him and hear them breathing. Even if it’s someone with a name he’ll never repeat and a face he’ll immediately forget. On nights where he doesn’t feel like putting any effort into acting, he usually has candles on hand. The light helps ground him, remind him he’s not in some cold, dark abyss.
Tonight, he has neither. He burnt through his last candle last night, and he was too busy to go buy more, which meant he was too busy to sweet talk some damsel into cozying up underneath his covers. And now he’s restless. He can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes it’s pitch black, and it’s too quiet, and he can’t stop thinking about stone walls and ice cold water and the heavy metal lid shutting him off from everyone else and it’s so dark and it’s so cold—
He groans, tossing his covers aside and abruptly standing up. He doesn’t bother grabbing a jacket, doesn’t bother putting on his shoes. He opens his door and shuts it quietly behind him. Sylvain tiptoes two doors down and gently, very carefully, knocks three times against the door. It’s silent. After it’s been almost a minute Sylvain is ready to call it quits and just not get any sleep before, thankfully, the door opens.
Felix stands there, hair down and eyes barely open. He takes one look at Sylvain and wordlessly moves to the side. Sylvain steps in.
They don’t share any words— don’t have to. Sylvain moves towards the bed like he has a million times before, pulls back the covers and lays down on the side closer to the wall. He tucks his arm underneath the pillow and watches as Felix trudges towards his desk. He pulls out a candle and a match, lighting the wick and filling the room with a gentle orange glow. The effect it has on Sylvain is instantaneous.
Felix climbs into bed next to him, pulling the sheets up to his chin and curling up in a ball, hair a mess of raven tangles draped across his pillow. Sylvain takes a deep breath. When he exhales, the tightness in his chest and shoulders leave with it, and he relaxes into the mattress. He listens to the sounds of Felix’s soft breathing, the barely there crackle of the candle. When he closes his eyes, the warm light of the candle makes his mind ease, images of a cruel face and stark red hair floating away. He reaches out with his hand and finds Felix’s. And without a word, Felix links his pinky finger with Sylvain’s.
——
Felix shuts the door to his room, towel thrown over his head. The sauna had proven to be a good decision, the tension and soreness in his arms and shoulders from training dissipated in the hot steam. He’s never felt quite as relaxed as this. He moves slowly, leisurely folding his clothes. He tousles his hair with the towel, walking past his desk towards his closet. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of something and pauses, his heart hammering against his rib cage. He snaps his head towards the source, heart racing up towards his throat—
He meets his own eyes in the small mirror on his desk. His own brown pupils staring back at him is like a bucket of cold water dousing him.
With his hair pushed out of the way and hidden underneath the towel, for a second…for a second, he…
He slams the mirror down against his desk hard enough to break. He hears the crack of glass, the sting of a piece nicking him, and he tosses the towel across the room. He immediately wants to run to the training grounds and beat some stupid dummy to shreds. He would, except it’s late at night and the grounds got locked when he left. He knows how to sneak in, but the Professor already lectured him about it, and they seemed serious about not wanting to find him in there after hours again.
He huffs and stomps towards his door, having half the mind to at least shut it quietly behind him before he marches two doors down. He stops for two seconds, listens for the sound of voices or movement, before he opens the door and steps inside without knocking.
Sylvain barely even acknowledges him when he walks in, seated at his desk, surrounded by books and candles.
“You’re actually studying?”
“Professor wants me to take my paladin certification exam soon,” he speaks without looking away from his paper. He scribbles some notes down. “And they’re pretty scary when I fail.”
Felix clicks his tongue and sits down on Sylvain’s bed, scooting back so he rests against the wall. He crosses his arms and stares at Sylvain’s back as he studies, nothing but the sound of his pencil and the occasional flipping of the page filling the room. Felix tries to focus on these things to calm him down. He still feels out of control of his body, like the shock of his reflection was enough to send him out of his body and watch like he’s an outside observer. He hates feeling like this. He digs his fingers into his arms, trying to ground himself some more. Trying to feel the ache of it, to bring himself back.
The scratching stops and Sylvain stretches, groaning as his back pops. He stands up out of his chair and turns, finally facing Felix. He must look as bad as he feels, cause the moment his eyes land on him, Sylvain’s face twists into concern and he’s at his side in an instant.
“Hey, what happened?” Sylvain rests a hand on his shoulder and Felix is momentarily grateful for the extra source of warmth. It helps. Sylvain’s eyes rove over him and stops at his hands. “…you’re bleeding.”
Felix looks down. The small cut he got from the mirror is somehow gushing blood, staining the sleeves of his shirt where he was gripping. He didn’t even realise.
Sylvain doesn’t say another word. He stands back up and walks over to the table next to his bed. He opens it and pulls out bandages and cloth. When he sits down next to Felix, he gently takes Felix’s bloody hand and carefully wipes away the red, cautious of causing any pain. Felix can’t say for certain he’d feel it anyways. Sylvain’s gentle nonetheless, hand cupped in his. When he wipes a majority of the mess away he slowly wraps the bandage around the wound, securing it tight. He gives a soft squeeze.
“I’ll give you a different shirt.”
Felix just nods. He takes the offered shirt and quickly takes his own stained one off. Sylvain’s shirt is much bigger than him. It’s a strange sort of comfort.
They move in unison, in a way that implies routine; Sylvain puts away his notes and neatly stacks his books to the side on his desk, Felix peels away the top covers of his bed and nestles in— he leaves the space against the wall empty for Sylvain. Sylvain locks the door and crawls in next to him, arm tucked under the pillow. They reach for each other at the same time, hands meeting in the space between them. They link their pinkies together, and Felix goes to sleep comforted by the sound of Sylvain’s breathing. He’s here. He’s still here.
This little routine of theirs gets them both through the toughest times. It developed shortly after they joined the monastery, the sleeping in each other's rooms. They always felt comfortable with seeking the other out during their bouts though. When Sylvain can’t escape the memories of his childhood, and when Felix can’t escape the face of his brother, they find solace in each other. There’s no pressure to talk, no need to explain, just a safe space to exist. It’s something only the two of them have with each other. Felix can’t go to the boar or Ingrid with things like this, with Glenn things. Sylvain can’t go to Dimitri or Ingrid about Miklan things, cause they don’t know the extent of it all— Felix does.
Before it was a bit harder to comfort each other when they needed it. Living at the monastery has made that easier. They’re usually one door away from each other at all times. When one can’t sleep, they walk to the others room. They don’t usually talk about what plagues them. They just move in coordinated silence, laying in bed with the comfort of their presence. The only constant in each other's lives.
It’s not every night that they get together like this. Just when they need it. And as the months in the monastery pass, they start needing it more and more.
When Conand tower hits, Felix goes to Sylvain’s room instead. He doesn’t even stop in his own dorm. He doesn’t wait until the moon is high enough, he doesn’t wait for the halls to be completely clear, he just goes. He doesn’t knock. He never does.
To his (slight) surprise, Sylvain is cleaning. Felix isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to walk in on, but Sylvain wiping at his windows with the fervour of a man crazed was not high on the list. It isn’t entirely out of the norm— Sylvain has always been the cleanest out of the four of them growing up. Second place is nowhere near close.
Sylvain looks over his shoulder towards Felix. To the average person, he would appear fine. Great. Like nothings wrong. Felix has known him since he was in the womb though. He sees the lines underneath his eyes, notices the way his hair is messier than usual, and the smiles he throws Felix’s way is strained and doesn’t meet his eyes. It reminds Felix of the smile he gives to the hoard of girls he strings along. It makes his skin itch.
“Hey, Felix! Wasn’t expecting you.” That’s a lie. You can always tell when I’m coming. “What’s up?”
Felix notices the death grip Sylvain has on the cloth in his hand. Notices the slight tremble in them. Sylvain’s eyes look distant, like he’s seeing right through Felix. Like I’m not even here. He doesn’t really know what to do. He didn’t have a plan before coming here. He just knew that Sylvain needed him, and knew him well enough to know that Sylvain wasn’t going to seek him out for this. Felix isn’t the best at offering words of comfort. He’s always believed in actions more than words. So.
He walks over silently and pries the cloth from his hand.
“Hey—“
He grabs both of Sylvain’s hands and tugs him towards the bed, shoving him down. “Woah, okay—“
He walks over to the desk, pulls out all his candles and lights them one by one. It’s not super dark out, the sun almost fully set but not entirely. The candles bathe the room in light anyways.
“Setting the mood, are you? Should’ve told me earlier, Fe.”
He rolls his eyes, not bothering to respond. He kicks his boots off and tosses them towards the door before walking back to the bed. He shoves Sylvain some more until he goes down. Felix gets in next to him. He grabs Sylvain’s hand. Their pinkies link.
Sylvain stares down at where their fingers are connected. His eyes are blank.
“You know I’m not good at…this,” Felix’s voice is a whisper. “The…comforting thing. But if you want to…talk, then. I’ll listen. If you don’t, and you just want to lay in silence like usual, then I’ll lay here. If you actually want to be alone for once, I’ll leave.” He gives his pinky and gentle squeeze. “Whatever you need.”
Sylvain’s eyes waver when they meet his.
“Stay.”
Felix doesn’t say I always will. He doesn’t say All you need to do is ask. I’ll never leave you. He doesn’t say We made a promise.
Instead, he nods his head, he squeezes their pinkies together a little tighter, and he hopes that conveys what he doesn’t say.
Sylvain’s eyes shimmer against the soft warm glow of the candles. He’s not yet crying, but it’s obvious he’s holding it all in. He looks pained. It makes Felix’s skin boil and freeze at the same time.
“I didn’t think it would hurt this much…” His voice is frail, weak when he speaks. “…I hated him. I really did. For a second I thought he deserved it…”
Understatement of the century. Felix keeps his retort to himself.
“…he didn’t have any more a choice in who raised him than I did. We both got shafted by the goddess.”
He can’t keep quiet on this, though. “That doesn’t mean it was okay for him to take it out on you.”
Sylvain huffs, strained smile on his face. “No. No, it wasn’t. But…” he looks down at their hands. “…I can’t help but wonder. If it were different.”
Felix knows that feeling all too well. The wondering, the thinking about the what-could-have-been and the what-if’s, what if things were different, what if we had a choice, what would’ve happened if it was me, what if it was me. For a couple months after the tragedy he spent countless nights wishing it was him.
“I don’t think it would have been that different. I wouldn’t let you become an ass.”
That gets a genuine chuckle out of him. Sylvain meets his eyes again. “You think we still would’ve been friends?”
We’ll always be friends. “I think so.” I’d always look for you.
Sylvain smiles, sincere. A tear rolls down his cheek. “Good to know I could count on you to keep me in line.”
“What else would I be here for.”
He laughs again. Felix would bottle up the sound if he could. It’s better when Sylvain is happy. He knows how often Sylvain pushes his own feelings down and aside so he can be someone the rest of them depend on, to be a solid rock in their lives when everything is rapidly deteriorating around them, but Felix also knows that being a rock is tiring. Pretending like everything’s fine is tiring. Bottling everything up and never talking or doing anything about them is tiring.
So he hopes that by laying here, in Sylvain’s bed, with Sylvain’s pinky wrapped around his, he can provide some sort of comfort. He hopes he can make Sylvain feel a little safer, hopes he can let Sylvain feel like he doesn’t have to put up a front.
He assumes it works. As the minutes go by, as the sun sets completely and the moon rises to take its place, as the candles continue to burn and the soft noise outside becomes silent, Sylvain lets more and more of his guard down. His shoulders relax. He unclenches his hands. He stops holding back the tears. And Felix stays with him through it all. He wraps them up in the covers and doesn’t look directly at Sylvain as he cries. He scooches closer and lets their foreheads touch, just barely. He doesn’t say what he wants to say. You didn’t deserve this. You shouldn't have to have gone through this. If I could take your pain away from you I would. I would take it in a heartbeat. They fall asleep at some point, when the moon is high and the candles are low and Sylvain’s sniffles have silenced.
——
Remire Village happens.
Tensions are high everywhere. What they all saw that day sticks with them. Sylvain can’t stop hearing the children screaming for help, the flames, the deranged laughs from those possessed…it haunts him, in a way. He can see the anxiety and tension in everyone— Annette is more timid, Ingrid is watching over them like a hawk, Dimitri is…distant. Felix never takes his hand off his sword. Everyone is as taut as a bowstring, and they all seem ready to fire.
Sylvain tries to check in on everyone as best he can. He takes tea breaks with Mercedes, follows Ashe around the library, dutifully helps Dedue in the greenhouse.
He starts training more often with Felix. Both to keep a close eye on him, and to help reassure Felix. He’s never liked how lenient Sylvain’s been with his training, and Sylvain has come to the conclusion that it’s because he’s simply worried. Worried about something happening to him, about him not being strong enough to protect himself. Perhaps that’s why Felix trains so much— to protect them all himself. Sylvain certainly understands where he’s coming from.
It’s late at night after a session one day, the two of them walking back to the dorms from the saunas. They naturally gravitate towards Sylvain’s room. The conversation between them is sparse. It’s hard for Sylvain to pretend to be the optimistic one nowadays, but he tries. He crouches down on the floor and reaches underneath his bed, pulling a bottle of wine out from underneath, holding it up in offering.
“Where’d you get that?”
“I have my sources.”
“Swiped it from the kitchens?”
Sylvain just offers a grin. He pops open the bottle and takes a sip, sweet red wine washing over his taste buds. He holds it out again.
Felix stares at it for a second before he plops down on the floor with him, taking the bottle and downing a generous swig. He seems to regret it for a moment, face scrunching up in disgust. “What the fuck? Is that what wine is supposed to taste like?”
Sylvain laughs. “Don’t like it?”
“Disgusting.” He snatches the bottle away from Sylvain’s outstretched hand, glaring at him.
“I thought you said it was gross.”
Felix takes another swig. “It is.”
They sit there like that, side by side on the floor as they trade the bottle back and forth, the contents slowly but surely disappearing drip by drip, filling their stomachs and hazing their brains. The moon rises higher and higher. Sylvain doesn’t get up to light any candles.
“Do you…” Felix breaks the silence with a whisper, staring down at the ground. “…do you…do you feel like…like something bad is about to happen?” Felix passes the bottle. “Like we’re just sitting ducks waiting for everything to fall apart?”
Sylvain takes the bottle, holds it up and drinks the last droplets. He sets it on the floor, head thrown back against his bed. He stares up at the ceiling.
“Like the calm before the storm?”
“…yes, except we’re not all that calm, are we?”
Sylvain laughs. It’s an empty thing. “No, not really.” If he weren’t so drunk, he’d be more surprised over Felix actually initiating a talk. Over Felix actually wanting to talk. He’s too focused on the buzz swimming in his veins though.
“…you remember our promise, right?”
“Hah, which one?” Felix shoves his shoulder. Sylvain chuckles. “I’m kidding. Yeah, I remember. Of course I remember.”
They were still so young. Just kids. They had no idea how real that promise made on a whim would turn out to be. Felix was so small, so fragile— a crybaby with a heart of gold and the determination that rivalled anyone and everyone. He hadn’t experienced loss yet, but was still so afraid to lose anyone. You’ll always be with me, right Syl?
It was so sudden. Sylvain remembers laughing, not out of malice, but out of surprise. And from how absurd it was. Of course I will! We’re best friends, Fe. Little Sylvain never loved anyone more. Felix was his sanctuary. We’ll never be apart.
Even if we…even if we die? Felix, so young and wide eyed, fascinated yet so scared of death. He used to show all his emotions on his face.
Even then, Fe.
Then…then promise me! Felix was obsessed with promises. Even if it was something small. He was always forcing everyone to promise to him. Always with his little pinky out, pout on his face, pinky promise! We won’t ever leave each other! Not even if we die!
Sylvain always promised him whatever he asked. We stay together until we die together, that’s a promise.
“Don’t forget it.”
“I could never, Fe.” He holds up his hand, pinky out. He turns his head away from the ceiling and towards Felix. He’s glowing red from the alcohol, eyes lidded from exhaustion. His ponytail is loose. He’s beautiful.
Felix holds up his hand, pinky out, and links them together.
——
Everything descends into chaos in the next following months.
The professor’s father is killed, and in an effort to bring justice to his death, the professor had…changed.
The Flame Emperor, the mastermind behind everything that happened thus far, the one escaping their grasps time and time again— revealed. Felix takes little pleasure in seeing Dimitri reveal who he is at his core to the others. Deep down, he really would have liked to have been wrong on this. Foolish to think. Once a beast, always a beast.
Edelgard declares war.
The professor dies.
They’re all forced to flee. Felix stopped being one for sentimentality ages ago, but he does admit he wishes he had more time to say goodbye. There was nothing that could be done. Mercedes fled with Annette in tow. Ashe travelled behind them. Dedue did his best to wrangle the boar away from the battle. Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid travelled together halfway. They left Ingrid at the border to Galatea. It was harder than Felix thought it would be, walking away from her.
At the border between Gautier and Fraldarius, Felix and Sylvain stop side by side. It’s deathly quiet all around them. The snow is falling.
Felix doesn’t want to leave. His grip on his horse's reins is deadly. He doesn’t want to leave.
“Hey.”
He turns towards Sylvain. He burns the image into his mind; Sylvain, atop his horse, draped in furs to fight against the cold. Cheeks bitten red from the wind, striking red hair flowing wildly. His eyes are misty. His eyes show anxiety. Fear. Worry. He holds out a hand. “We’ll be okay.”
Felix feels a lump form in his throat. No, not now. He reaches a shaky hand out, clasps Sylvain’s hand in his. It’s cold, like ice. He squeezes. He says nothing.
“I’ll see you soon, Fe.”
No. Don’t leave. I don’t want to leave you. I’m so scared. How can I protect you from so far away? What’s gonna happen?
He lets go of Sylvain’s hand, just for a moment. Eyes never straying from his, Felix links their pinkies together. Voice wavering, he says, “I’ll see you, Syl.”
The tears only fall once he’s ridden far away from Sylvain. They practically freeze to his face, the wind whipping against his skin. He makes his horse gallop as fast as he can through back trails and winding paths until he makes it to Fraldarius.
His mother and father are waiting outside the doors. The messenger got to them before he did. He jumps off his horse and his mother immediately crushes him in a hug. He doesn’t have the energy to return it. “You’re safe.”
For now.
His father looks on. He opens the door. “Let’s get you warm.”
He doesn’t think the heat will help with the cold inside him. He goes in without a word anyways.
The following months are a blur. He sends and receives letters from everyone— Ashe checks in periodically, Mercedes and Annette send their regards, Ingrid writes to him more than others. He and Sylvain send letters as frequently as they possibly can. It’s not the same, obviously. There’s no voice accompanying them, no smarmy smile tacked on the end of teasing sentences, no big brown eyes staring through his soul. They bring a sense of comfort nonetheless.
It’s two years before he sees Sylvain again, though.
Gautier has it a little rougher during the war— they have to fight off empire invaders at their borders, and while they are distracted with that, on the other side of the mountains Sreng forces knock at their doors. Sylvain’s letters mention this often, how tired his soldiers are, how aggravated his old man is having to fight two wars on all sides.
‘ He still won’t give up his position though,’ Sylvain would always write.
‘Most stubborn man this side of Fodlan. His kind of stubbornness is different than yours however. I find myself missing your brand more and more every day. Crazy, huh?’
The things this man felt comfortable writing. Felix wishes he could throttle him every time a new letter graces his desk.
Another one of his letters came through one day, bearing the seal of Gautier. It doesn’t land on his desk though— rather, it lands on his father’s. It was short in content, simply an official request for assistance. The Margrave is busy fighting at the border between Gautier and Sreng, and Sylvain is fighting the empire on the other side. He’s requesting supplies they can spare and any man they can willingly send.
There’s no hesitation when Felix offers to lead their men and fight with them. His father was against it at first, but just like Sylvain said; he’s a very stubborn man.
He and his battalion meet with Sylvain and his men on a snowy and cold day. They’re in the middle of battle— an ambush it seems. The enemies don’t bear Empire regalia, so just a group of bandits and thieves looking to catch a group of soldiers off guard. They’re outnumbered.
Until Felix arrives, of course.
He jumps off his horse and dashes towards an unsuspecting bandit, sword slicing right through him. Sylvain, thrown off his horse and laying on the ground, looks up at him. There’s a look of wonder in his eyes. Felix notes his hair, how it’s gotten longer. He also notes how he’s gotten…bigger, somehow. The dark armour suits him…
Sylvain smirks up at him. “Wasn’t expecting you, Felix.”
“Tch,” he reaches out a hand. “You should’ve. Get up.”
Sylvain wraps his hand around Felix’s and he tugs him up. He definitely didn’t grow in height, so how is he so much bigger now?
“Nice haircut.”
Felix feels his face burn despite the cold air. He glares up at him. “Shut up and call your horse, we’re in the middle of a fight you know.”
Sylvain laughs. “Right, right, no time for sentimental reunions,” he says before he turns his head and whistles, long and high pitched, and his horse comes galloping through the crowds. He hops on. “Though I expect a hug when this is over!”
Felix rolls his eyes. “Shut up and fight, Gautier.”
With Felix’s forces fighting alongside Sylvain, the battle comes to a swift end. The weather doesn’t let up, snow barreling down around them. They move back to their camp, Fraldarius soldiers setting up with Gautier. They’ll spend the night here, and head back home in the morning, if the snow stops falling.
Felix invites himself into Sylvain’s tent at the end of the night. It’s warm inside, fire going in the corner. Sylvain is sat at his desk, hunched over papers and books and maps. His armour is set off to the side, his lance propped beside it. Felix is suddenly transported a few years back, when they were silly teens just attending school and living relatively normal lives. Ones without battles everyday and bloodshed around every corner. Ones where they worried about their exam the next morning and who they’re gonna get paired up with for tasks at the end of the week and what’s for lunch. When Sylvain turns his head, it’s obvious they are no longer those silly little teens. His hair is longer, artfully swooped around his face and curling around his neck. Still just as fiery as before. There’s bags under his eyes, stress lines in his forehead. A little, faint scar, resting right above his brow. And there’s so much Felix wants to say. So much. There’s so many words filling up his lungs and bursting out in his brain.
“Hey,” Sylvain says, except it sounds like I missed you.
“Hey,” Felix says, except it sounds like I missed you too. “Your hair got longer.” You look so different.
“Your hair got shorter.” So do you.
“Had a mishap.” You don’t understand how much I worry about you everyday.
“Unfortunate. Suits you though.” I do understand. I worry about you just as much.
Felix can’t stand all the emotions swirling around the room and squeezing his rib cage. “How have the efforts been going so far?”
They talk statistics and tactics for a while, exchanging information and helping each other with plans and strategies. A few hours go by, candles around them dwindling while the snow outside piles higher and higher, shutting them inside their own little alcove. They eventually move to the floor, on top of Sylvain’s makeshift bed. Sylvain lights some more candles before he lays down next to Felix, letting out a sigh full of exhaustion.
“So what really happened to your hair.”
“Mishap. I was in the middle of a fight when the enemy had me cornered. I had an opportunity to escape, but in doing so he slashed through my hair.” Subconsciously, Felix raises a hand to run through his bangs. “Better than my head, so I’ll take it.”
“Definitely a lot better.”
They fall into an easy and comfortable silence after that. The wind howls outside, the tent shuffling ever so slightly, the candles flicker around them and the fire crackles. Felix can feel Sylvain’s body heat radiating off of him. And there’s so much he wants to say. And there’s so much he doesn’t say.
He hears Sylvain move next to him, turning over and resting his head on his arm to look over at Felix. “I missed you, ya know.”
Don’t say that. Don’t say that in that voice. Do you know how much I’ve missed you? All the things I’ve felt the past two years? Your letters have been a northern star among all this dark and despair. Do you have any idea how much it means to me to see you alive and breathing?
“Did you now.”
“Yeah.”
How is it so easy for you to say whatever you want? “It’s been so quiet without you, I’ve actually been getting some sleep.”
Sylvain laughs at that, filling Felix’s ears with a deep and soft melody. It spreads through his brain and seeps into his bones and warms him better than any fire ever could.
“Good to know you’re taking care of yourself, Fe.”
The childhood nickname hits him like a punch to the gut. Oh, how he’s missed Sylvain. He thought all these feelings, these feelings he’s been shoving down or pretending don’t exist since he was a kid, would have gone away after being apart for so long. Could have written it off as some silly childhood crush formed in his younger years, when he was more naïve and gullible to believe in such things. Unfortunately for him it seems like the time apart has only made those feelings stronger, and they’re threatening to boil over now that Sylvain is here, in front of him again.
He won’t let them though. Now’s not the time for silly romances or entertaining delusions…
“Same to you.”
——
Sylvain should probably leave him alone. Sylvain knows that he should probably wait for Felix to come to him with something like this. Sylvain knows all these things. But he also knows that that’s what everyone else is going to do— leave him alone. Sylvain didn’t want to be alone when he killed Miklan, and while their situations are drastically different, he doubts that deep down Felix wants to be alone right now. If he does, so be it. He’ll walk away and keep an eye on him from afar. But it’s worth a shot, right?
So he goes.
He knocks three times on Felix’s door like he always does.
“Go away.”
Sylvain’s heart clenches. His voice is muffled and distant but there. He’s probably talking from his bed. Sylvain knows he shouldn’t push, but he also knows Felix. He won’t say what he really means or wants, so he needs a little nudging. Hopefully this doesn’t backfire.
He knocks again. “Fe, it’s me.”
“I said go away.”
“Oh, c'mon, you know I can’t do that.”
“I don’t care, go away.”
Sylvain sighs. He tries the doorknob. Locked. He pushes one more time.
“Felix, if you really want me to leave, then I’ll leave. But I just want to make sure you’re okay. You were with me before, and I know how scary it was to be alone,” he rests his forehead against the door. “So if you want me to leave, then fine, but if you need me to stay, I will.”
It’s silent on the other side. Sylvain prepares to give up and walk away before the door opens slightly. He catches himself before he falls over into Felix’s room and lifts his head up.
The door is cracked open, but Felix isn’t there. He mentally sighs before he opens the door and steps in.
Felix is curled up in his bed, covers thrown over him so he looks like a big ball of cloth. He hasn’t seen him like this since Glenn died…
He carefully walks over and kneels on the floor beside his bed. He gently rests a hand on top of the large lump that is Felix. He whispers, “hey, Fe. It’s me.”
The lump doesn’t move.
“If you wanna talk, you know I’m here. But if you want me to sit here next to you until you’re ready to come out, that’s okay too.” He caresses the space where his hand rests. “Whatever you need.”
Felix stays silent for a couple moments. Sylvain adjusts his position and sits on the floor with his back resting against the bed, head thrown back and staring up at the ceiling. How many times has he stared up at this ceiling? How many times has he spent nights in this very room all those years ago, laid on this bed with Felix beside him? They had no idea how much their lives would change. Sylvain wishes he could have cherished those nights more. Sylvain wishes he could have done a lot of things differently, but that’s beside the point.
Eventually, the mass behind him starts to move. Sylvain doesn’t turn to look at him, just bores his eyes into the ceiling. He feels Felix turn over behind him. He’s silent.
“…remember how you said you didn’t think it would hurt that much?”
“…yeah.”
“ …why the fuck does it hurt so much?”
Sylvain laughs dryly. “I wish I knew, Fe.”
Silence.
He hears a sniff behind him. He pretends he didn’t.
“I just…I hated him. I really did. I hated him so much. For how he treated Glenn’s death, for how he seemed to see us as pawns for the royal family, for how he cared more for a child that wasn’t his and casted the other to the side…” Felix huffs a breath, shaky and wet with emotions and tears. “Even until the very fucking end…he only ever cared about some stupid duty to whoever holds the crown.”
Sylvain knows how much Felix hated being second place. It was one of the first things Felix ever confided to him with. As a little kid, it was being Dimitri’s second best friend after Glenn. After the tragedy, it was being second to the memory of his brother his father clung on to. As an adult, it’s been second to Dimitri himself. His whole life though, he’s always, always, always, been second best and was always right behind his father’s ideals and sense of duty.
“He told the boar that his life is his and his alone to live. To live for what he believed in.” A pause. “What a fucking hypocrite.”
It pains Sylvain to hear the sadness in his voice. Pains him even more to know that he hasn’t heard sadness in Felix’s voice for years, but has heard the strain of Felix keeping that sadness in. If there’s anything Sylvain hopes he can do for him, it’s to give him the space to make him feel comfortable enough to stop holding it all back. It’s the least he could do, after all the times Felix gave him a safe space.
So he tries to not look at him, tries to fight the urge to turn around and climb in Felix’s bed and hold him and wipe away his tears and tell him everything’s gonna be okay— because he knows it wouldn’t work, and he knows that’s not what Felix wants or needs. What he needs is to be assured that he’s not alone. What he needs is to feel safe in expressing an emotion that isn’t anger or hatred. What he needs is for Sylvain to sit here, on his bedroom floor, in silence, and just be . Sylvain takes it a step further and reaches a hand up and drops it near where he thinks Felix’s face is. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to grab, just offers it. Rests it there if Felix needs it.
He takes a deep breath before speaking. “…shit like this doesn’t make sense. The hurting of it all is confusing. Grieving for someone who caused you so much pain…” another dry laugh. “It all makes no fucking sense. But,” he feels Felix’s hand move, feels fingers brush against his. “…but it’s okay that it doesn’t make sense. Sometimes things just don’t. So feel free to be mad about it all. Be angry, be confused, be sad.” Felix rests his hand in his, and Sylvain takes a chance— he squeezes gently, pouring all of the words that he can’t bring himself to say into the gesture. All the things he’s not yet ready to say. “…I’m here.”
There’s a muffled sob behind him. The hand in his trembles. But Sylvain still does not turn. He fights against every bone in his body yelling at him to turn around. He will not move, will not turn, will not look unless Felix says so. He faces up at the ceiling and holds Felix’s hand and stays with him as he cries. Sylvain wonders when the last time Felix cried like this was. It’s certainly been years since he’s done it in front of Sylvain. Does he cry when he’s alone? Does curl into a ball like this and sob till his throat is raw? Sylvain did nothing but worry about him those years they were separated. He spent countless nights awake in his bed itching to run to the stables, hop on his horse and race towards Fraldarius to make sure Felix was okay. The letters helped, but nothing brought him more ease than seeing him in the flesh. Alive.
Eventually the sobs behind him dwindle to occasional sniffles, and the shaking stops, and his grip is less firm. The moon is slipping in through the curtains, bathing the room in a faint blue glow.
Sylvain feels Felix tug at his hand.
“…get up here already.”
With no hesitation, Sylvain stands up, pulls the covers to the side and climbs in behind Felix. Back against the wall, laid on his side, arm tucked under the pillow. Felix turns over to face him.
Sylvain smiles. “Hey.”
Felix looks over at him. “…hey.”
“You okay?”
Felix looks away, down towards where his hand is clutching the sheets. “I don’t know.”
Sylvain rests his hand on top of his. “That’s okay.”
When Felix doesn’t pull away, Sylvain pushes. He reaches his other hand over towards Felix’s face and slowly, carefully wipes away the tears streaking his cheek. When Felix doesn’t pull away, Sylvain pushes again and gently cups his face, caressing underneath his eye. When Felix doesn’t pull away— in fact, he leans into the touch— Sylvain pushes again and he scoots closer to him, touching their foreheads together.
When Felix doesn’t pull away, Sylvain pushes.
Heart racing, hammering in his throat, nerves alight and hair on the back of his neck on end, he slowly, slowly, slowly tilts his head up. He presses his lips to Felix’s forehead, soft, a brush of skin against skin. He pulls back.
Felix looks up at him. He doesn’t pull away. He squeezes Sylvain’s hand and nudges even closer, tucking his head under Sylvain’s chin. Sylvain feels like he might be dreaming, finally experiencing something nice in his moments of unconsciousness instead of reliving his fears. But the warmth, the way he feels Felix’s shoulders rise and fall with his breathing, the slight ticklish feeling against his nose from where Felix’s hair brushes against him, the way his heart is pounding against his chest; it’s all real. He somehow falls asleep at one point, lulled by the sound of Felix breathing and the warmth of his body pressed up against his.
Something about them changes that night.
Something about all of them changes after that day. Sylvain feels it’s for the better. It definitely feels so when Felix sticks closer to him and looks at him with this…this look in his eyes, and this gentle tilt to his smirk, and this softness in his voice. Sylvain feels like he’s floating everyday, even though they’re in the middle of a war. It makes ending the war a lot easier to imagine.
And when Dimitri and the professor emerge from the throne room in Enbarr, it’s a whole lot easier to imagine. When Dimitri steps into the light, alive and victorious, they all erupt into cheers. There’s hugging all around, friends crying in relief, soldiers clapping each other on the shoulders and whooping in excitement.
Sylvain searches for Felix first. He runs around the halls and weaves around group hugs and fallen pillars. He jumps over a pile of rubble and narrowly avoids smacking right into someone. Apologies on the tip of his tongue, he’s about to move before his eyes land on the person in front of him—
His heart lurches up to his throat as Felix stands there, hair a mess of raven strands, soot and dirt and dried blood covering him all over, chest heaving in exertion. When they lock eyes, Felix breaks out into the widest, most genuine grin Sylvain has seen from him in years.
Was he looking for me too?
Sylvain smiles back. “Hey.”
Felix’s grin widens even more. There’s a pretty flush to his cheeks. “Hey.”
Sylvain has never even dared to dream of this, of Felix looking up at him like this. He feels drunk, giddy, feels electrified from the energy coursing through his veins. There’s so much he wants to say, so many things he wants to confess— I’ve loved you for so long, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count, you were the only thing that got me through all these years, you mean so much to me, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Felix has always preferred actions over words, though.
So he picks Felix up by the waist, arms wrapping tightly around him and spinning him in a circle. What’s even better, Felix laughs, Felix starts to laugh as he’s spun in Sylvain’s arms and he wraps his own around Sylvain’s shoulders, holding him close as he laughs. And Sylvain feels like he can take on the world.
He stops spinning them but doesn’t set him down. He looks up at Felix, smile splitting his face and cheeks flushed red and drops of happy tears beginning to escape his eyes. Sylvain’s own tears break the surface, and he laughs, he laughs out loud in joy and triumph, and he reaches his head up and presses his lips against Felix’s. Everything falls into place. All those nights spent in each other's rooms, all those letters they exchanged, every close call and stern lecture, every glance and brush of hands and pinkies clutched together, it was all worth it for this very moment. For the moment where Sylvain can taste Felix’s tongue against his, where he can feel Felix’s lips against his, where he can break away and feel Felix chase after him and kiss him again.
He breaks away again with a laugh and rubs his nose against Felix’s. He looks up into those beautiful brown eyes, looking at him with love , with so much love Sylvain doesn’t know what to do with.
“I’ve been in love with you for so long, you know that?”
Felix huffs fondly. “You have no idea.”