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“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. My apologies.”
Felician stops glaring at the hors d’oeuvres for just long enough to acknowledge Aymeric as he approaches. “No, these quiches are fascinating.”
“But not the festivities?” Aymeric prompts, keenly aware that Felician has been less than enthused since he’s arrived. Actually- less than enthused doesn’t quite cut it. If looks could kill, at least three minor noble houses would have been wiped out this night.
Felician casts another warning glare around the room, then brings his hand up to rub the space between his eyebrows. He makes a noise. “Lord Aymeric.” It sounds unnatural when he says it. “I’m a bit lost on what I’m supposed to be doing.”
From the moment Felician had arrived, armed and in his adventurer’s garb- actually, did he have anything else?- Aymeric had had the suspicion that this evening would not go as planned.
“Enjoying yourself, of course.”
Felician’s eyebrows scrunch in a distinctly displeased way. He looks around the room one more time- giving the impression of surveying a battlefield. He looks back at Aymeric. “Right, well. When you asked me to come, I assumed you wanted extra security.”
Aymeric internally winces, his suspicions confirmed.
Felician squints at him for a moment before saying, “If you need a representative for the Scions, ask Alphinaud next time.”
“I-,” I wanted to spend an evening with you . Aymeric clears his throat. “How about we get some air? The garden is lovely- and quiet.”
Felician hesitates for just a moment before he nods his agreement.
Aymeric leads him out of the hall, holding the door open for him. He’s not two steps onto the veranda before he visibly shivers.
Aymeric feels a thrill of satisfaction- or maybe it’s just the chill- as he drops his coat onto Felician’s shoulders. He’s more confident it’s satisfaction that he feels when Felician pushes his arms through the sleeves.
He takes just a moment to take in the silhouette of Felician in his coat before he strides to the railing of the balcony and stares out at the city.
“This is what I was most hoping for tonight,” He confesses.
“Quiet? Frostbite?” Aymeric can just barely hear Felician take two steps towards him.
He turns back to look at him. “The chance to be alone with you.”
Felician’s eyebrows shoot up into the shadow of his hat brim, and Aymeric worries that he read the signs all wrong, that Felician’s interest in him is purely professional. The idea briefly flashes that perhaps the scions will send another liaison to Ishgard. Mayhaps for the best. Unless it was Thancred, which would compound the humiliation.
As the silence stretches, Aymeric tries and fails to think of something he can say to take that back, make it a less romantically charged comment, and comes up totally blank.
“It’s nice out here,” Felician says, despite how tightly he grasps the coat to himself, and steps up to the railing next to Aymeric.
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
They stand in silence. Aymeric doesn’t look at Felician, but he’s keenly aware of his presence by his side. Reassuring. He considers taking his hand off the wall, pushing his luck, tangling their fingers together. Instead he says, “I admit, getting caught in the political undertow was not my plan for tonight. I must apologize for abandoning you to the hoard.”
“Can’t say I’ll ever forgive you.” Felician turns to meet his eyes. Aymeric can only just see his sardonic expression under the brim of his hat. “They’re ravenous.”
“Flesh-eating,” Aymeric agrees.
“I prefer the actual hoard,” Felician says, sounding serious.
Aymeric laughs. “I suppose Nidhogg wouldn’t ask you to recite your family tree four generations back.”
Felician makes a face. Aymeric abruptly realizes he doesn’t know anything about Felician’s family. Does he have parents? Adventuring is usually a profession for the unattached, and for the first time it occurs to Aymeric to wonder what Felician’s early life was like, where he grew up, who raised him. Though it may not be the best time to ask.
“I don’t know how you’ll ever make it up to me,” Felician says.
It’s a warm, reassuring, false feeling that tells him that they have all the time in the world to get to know each other, but he surrenders to it for the moment. “I have the beginnings of an idea.”
Felician looks at him quizzically.
The music from the string quartet floats all the way onto the veranda, muffled and softened by the lightly falling snow.
“May I have this dance?” Aymeric extends a hand.
“If you don’t mind breaking your feet.” Felician takes it, easily. Aymeric savors it, the feeling of his calloused, chilled fingers in his palm. “I never learned to dance.”
“I challenge you to do your worst.” Aymeric laughs at the eyebrow Felician quirks at him. He places Felician’s hand on his shoulder and hooks the fingers of their spare hands together. He begins to sway, and laughs softer at the intent way Felician stares at his feet through the first steps.
Felician looks back up at him. “It’s your insteps I’m trying to spare.”
“My hero,” Aymeric teases.
Felician doesn’t take his eyes off their feet, and Aymeric let’s his gaze linger. Felician is a fast learner, quickly adapting to the rhythm that Aymeric sets. So Aymeric treasures his first halting steps to their waltz- something he would only see this once.
Aymeric guides him through a spin, and Felician’s heel catches him on the toe.
“Sorry,” Felician mutters.
“Tis alright,” Aymeric says, and bites back affectionate laughter. “Unbroken toes are a luxury."
Felician looks up at him with a frown and what’s maybe a blush, though Aymeric is sure if he said something Felician would claim it was due to the cold. “Not that you can even feel them. I'd rather go somewhere warmer next time.
Aymeric stumbles, and Felician stumbles into him.
Next time.
"Oh?" Aymeric's heart swells.
Felician coughs. “I’m attached to my fingers. Wouldn’t want to lose them.”
Next time. Aymeric smiles, slowing their waltz to a sway.
“Of course. Somewhere warmer sounds nice.”
“No banquets.”
Realization dawns, and he remembers the last two celebrations he and Felician attended together. He sighs, a seed of guilt somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He agrees, “No banquets.”
Felician rests his forehead on Aymeric’s shoulder, and he doesn’t feel the cold anymore. Barely feels anything except that one point of contact and the blanket of muffled sounds that shroud them.
They sway to a stop and stand there on the balcony together, just breathing.
The peace is all-encompassing, but he can feel it ebbing away, the sounds of the ballroom cresting and burgeoning the longer he stays away from the party. And he knows he’ll have to let the stolen moment pass.
Felician seems to feel it too, straightening up and looking away, towards the doors. “Thal’s balls, it’s cold out here.”
“Shall we go back inside?” Aymeric asks.
Felician shrugs out of Aymeric’s jacket and hands it back. “I think I’ll make my way out.”
He turns towards the path around the veranda.
Aymeric reaches out and grabs his hand.
Felician stops, turns back, tilts his head in a silent question.
Aymeric raises Felician’s hand to his mouth, presses his lips to his knuckles. "Forgive me my selfishness. My thought was to make it more bearable by having you here."
He releases his hand and Felician studies it like a foreign object.
He looks back to Aymeric, lips twitching into a rare, soft smile. He braces his hand on Aymeric’s neck, leans in and presses a kiss to Aymeric’s lips, so quick he barely believes it happened. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”
I need you to stay, Aymeric thinks. But he bites his tongue, and watches Felician vanish into the street, away from the muffled sound of string music.
Next time, he thinks. He raises a hand to his lips.