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Sylvain sauntered into the dining hall with all the discretion and nonchalance of a peacock. The murmur of conversations briefly hushed, eyes stealing glances his way as he paused to lazily let his gaze roam across the room, one hand resting on his hip in a casual show of confidence; seemingly oblivious to the attention, yet subtly basking in it.
His eyes quickly zeroed in on their target: a certain surly swordsman, perched alone at his usual table, his intense gaze fixed on his plate as though it held the secrets of the universe—or perhaps, more realistically, pondering the most efficient technique to skewer a boar. As he stabbed his fork into a chopped carrot, Sylvain sashayed in his direction, putting on a practiced frown.
“Felix,” he announced in a voice that could rival the contents of a beehive, draping himself into a chair across from his friend. “You wouldn't believe the horrible luck I’ve had with girls lately. The usual lines just don’t seem to work anymore.”
Felix made a noise that was a mixture of a sigh and a grunt, gaze still glued to the contents on his plate.
“I need a fresh start,” Sylvain continued, accustomed to ignoring Felix’s dismissive signals, “and I was thinking maybe you and I could go into town together and try our luck? Now, before you say anything, I know you hate having fun, but if you do this for me, I’ll—”
“Hey Felix!”
Sylvain looked up as Lysithea, the human equivalent of a sugar rush gone bad, barged in and interrupted his question. Seemingly ignorant of Sylvain’s presence, she shoved Felix’s plate of food out of the way before thrusting a slice of cake in front of him with the excitement of a child showing off a new toy.
"You have to try this. It has even less sugar than the last one."
Sylvain sucked in air between his teeth, giving Lysithea a pained glance before returning his attention to Felix—who was scowling at the cake, fork still clasped in his hand. Getting between Felix and his food—well, between Felix and his anything —was never a good idea. But Lysithea just stood beside him with her arms expectantly crossed over her chest, waiting for him to taste the cake she’d offered.
“Hey, Fe,” Sylvain said with a soft chuckle in an attempt to defuse the situation, “I don’t think your usual intimidation tactics will work on that cake.”
Felix’s scowl deepened. Whoops; did I misjudge? But then he paused, his glare softening just a fraction. In an unexpected move, he skewered a piece of cake with his fork, hesitating for a mere second before tasting it. After chewing for a moment, he nodded curtly.
“Not bad. But it could use some more cream.”
Lysithea’s face lit up like a classroom full of faith mages. “Yes! I knew something was missing. Hang on, I’ll go fetch the recipe, and we can make some notes.” And she whirled away as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Sylvain to stare at his friend in shock while said friend continued eating from the cake as if it had always been there, completely ignoring the remnants of his other food.
He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was just now, but caught himself before the words could slip out. Better to just pretend it didn’t happen—Lysithea had probably just gotten herself caught in the challenge of finding a cake Felix wouldn’t immediately spit out. Shaking his head, he leaned in to rest his elbows on the table.
“So anyway, what I was saying was—”
“There you are!”
Sylvain cut himself off, gaze darting toward the new voice. Enter Dorothea, the very epitome of elegance and beauty, gliding up to place a gentle hand on Felix’s shoulder. He barely even twitched at the touch, which Sylvain took careful note of.
“Would you like to have some tea with me later, Felix?” she asked in a silky voice; the only one that could rival Sylvain’s perfectly honed smoothness. “I found this bitter flavor at the market that should suit you perfectly."
Felix grunted his agreement, as eloquent as ever. Still, the lackluster reply seemed to please Dorothea, because she smiled contently, letting her fingers not-so-casually graze the locks of hair by his neck as she withdrew her hand.
“Perfect! Come by after you’re done with your afternoon training,” she said with her angelic voice before floating away like a dream, exiting stage left and leaving Sylvain feeling more like a stage prop than the lead role he’d grown accustomed to. She hadn’t even glanced in his direction.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back, studying the stoic warrior on the other side of the table as he continued to eat the cake, unconcerned by the interruptions. Since when had Felix become Garreg Mach's most sought-after afternoon tea companion?
And since when was he not bothered by it?
"U-uh, um, Felix?”
With a sigh, Sylvain glanced toward the next girl in line for Felix’s attention, only barely surprised to see who it was: Shy, reclusive Bernadetta, who seemed to regard human interaction as a kind of extreme sport, yet approached the Fraldarius heir with a confidence that might even rival Ingrid’s.
“I wanted to ask if maybe you’d like to read the latest chapter of my, my book?” Bernadetta squeaked, jumping slightly as Felix looked up and turned his gaze toward her. “Um—not right now I mean! If you’re busy!" Her eyes darted around like she was searching for an escape route, every now and again pausing on Felix with something like hope in them.
Sylvain watched on in silence, intrigued and curious despite himself, as Felix, surprisingly, turned on his charm once again. "I look forward to it," he said, his voice as flat as the Tailtean Plains, but there was a hint of something there that might pass for contentment.
He might as well have recited a poem, for all the awe that filled Bernadetta’s eyes in response. She bounced on her toes in excitement, stammered something about reading over her chapter a few more times first, and then, spotting Sylvain, yelped and scurried away like a startled rabbit.
Eyebrows arching high enough to challenge the arches of Garreg Mach itself, Sylvain watched in bemused astonishment as Bernadetta scampered away around a corner like a scared cat bolting from a surprise bath. It was nothing out of the ordinary for Bernie, true, but the sheer speed of her escape—following her starstruck moment with Felix—was as jarring as seeing Hubert break into a spontaneous dance routine with Annette in the middle of the marketplace.
"Did you need something, Sylvain?"
Felix's voice cut through his thoughts. Sylvain turned to face him, meeting a gaze as sharp as those double blades of his that Sylvain so often found himself staring down during their bouts in the training grounds. Long gone were the hint of contentment, the grunt of agreement and the curt nod he’d graced the others with; left was the usual grumpy Felix, expectedly annoyed at being disturbed with something so banal as Sylvain’s unsuccessful love life. Still, there was a clear question there; a question that Sylvain couldn’t make himself focus on for long enough to answer.
Had he even noticed the three girls just now? The girls who, in the span of five minutes, had practically melted around him?
Three admirers in five minutes was a new academy record that even Sylvain, with all his practiced charm, hadn't managed to achieve. And there sat Felix—precious, oblivious, but oh-so-fierce Felix—scowling with his usual intensity, as if Sylvain's prolonged silence was the greatest inconvenience he'd faced all day.
Sylvain coughed, shifting back in his chair as he tried to think of a response. “Well… Uh…”
What had he come there for again…?
Ah, right.
“I was going to ask if—”
“Feeeeelix!”
Sylvain sank further down in his seat, leaning his head back with a heavy sigh as the light steps of a skipping Annette made their way past him and over toward Felix. Not Annette too? Felix couldn’t possibly be charmed by Annette of all people? She was the complete opposite of him. Screw her and Hubert breaking into dance; seeing her and Felix on the dance floor would truly go down in history.
"Felix, Felix, Feeeeelix!” she repeated excitedly as she rounded the table, barely managing to stop before she crashed right into him. Wouldn’t that have been something? “I wrote a new song inspired by you. It’s called 'The evilest of villains'! Do you want to hear it?"
Felix's reaction was a snort; the kind that suggested amusement rather than derision, a rare enough occurrence to mark the day in the annals of Garreg Mach history. "Of course I do."
"Oh!” she exclaimed, clutching her notebook against her chest. “Great! Right now? Are you busy?"
Felix’s gaze flicked toward Sylvain, and for once, it wasn’t filled with the usual irritation. It was more contemplative, as if he was weighing his options. Maybe even as if he was asking a silent question again, but with more earnestness this time; asking whether he was busy, whether Sylvain really had something to say that took priority over Annette’s request, or whether it was just another one of his dumb whims.
Sylvain felt a tightness in his chest. His lips shifted automatically into a feigned grin—an act that came so naturally to him at this point that he could almost fool even himself with it.
"Go ahead," he said with a wave of his hand, "I'll find you later. Have fun, you two." He added a wink in Annette's direction for good measure.
Annette beamed, clearly pleased with the turn of events. Felix just sighed and gave a curt nod as he stood from his chair, his face betraying nothing of what he might be thinking about any of this.
Watching Felix and Annette stroll away, Annette bubbling over with excitement and Felix wearing the closest thing he had to a patient expression, the grin that had been plastered on Sylvain’s face slowly melted away, leaving behind a sour taste in his mouth. Whether because of himself, because of Felix, the abundance of girls who seemed to flock around him, or something else entirely… He wasn’t sure.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the table as he let out a slow breath. A part of him wanted to shake off the feeling, chalk it up to the bruised ego of a self-proclaimed ladies' man who'd just been outdone in charm by the least charming person he knew. But there was more to it than that, and he knew it.
It wasn’t just disappointment that Felix wouldn’t be joining him for a night out, either. He’d known Felix would say no anyway; going out for drinks and hooking up with girls wasn’t exactly his favorite kind of activity. But still, Sylvain had gone to the trouble of seeking him out so he could ask—only to be upstaged by cake, tea, books, and now a silly song. Only to have Felix say ‘yes, please’ to every single suggestion thrown his way, when Sylvain knew damn well that he wouldn’t have been granted the same courtesy.
And maybe that was the source of his strange, uncomfortable feelings about all of this. He was used to being ignored by Felix: Ignored, insulted, shoved at. It hadn’t always been like that, but when they’d gotten old enough that girls had entered the picture, Felix had always provided a refreshingly sharp contrast to the shallow attention given to him by practically everyone else. Felix, with his sharp tongue and sharper eyes, who could cut through Sylvain's façade like a knife through butter. Felix, who never fell for his charms, who always saw him for who he really was. Felix, who could apparently be relatively soft and gentle with the likes of Bernadetta or Annette, but always seemed to reserve his harshest words for Sylvain.
Perhaps naively, he’d thought that was just the way Felix was now—with everyone. But seeing how he’d been almost pleasant to all those girls just now…
Was it jealousy that made him feel these strange sensations? That couldn't be right. Annette was a fresh breeze of air, and cute as a button, but he felt about as deeply for her as he did for any other girl in the academy. The only one among Felix’s admirers that Sylvain might even consider making a serious move on was Dorothea, but she’d made it extremely clear early on in their acquaintance that if he so much as winked at her again, she’d expose him to faith magic so painful he’d wish she were a dark mage.
It definitely wasn’t jealousy.
Was it simply annoyance then? Annoyance that Felix, who never looked at him with anything but disdain these days, could somehow be less prickly with others? Nah, that couldn’t be it either. It was too… superficial an explanation for what he was feeling.
The realization that he was spending this much time thinking about Felix of all people was enough to make Sylvain scoff at himself. What was he doing? He should be laughing this off, making a joke out of it, not sitting here brooding like some lovelorn—
He paused. Lovelorn? The word echoed in his mind, mocking him with its absurdity. Sylvain Jose Gautier, lovelorn? The idea was laughable.
Eh, screw Felix. He could keep his cake and his tea parties and his book club. Sylvain was an attractive noble with a Crest, after all, and the world—or at least, the town—was his oyster.
He stood up, straightening his jacket with a flourish. He could still go out into town. He could turn his horrible luck around—just smile a little wider, be a little bolder in his flirting, give a little more of himself to those who actually wanted it. He was Sylvain Jose Gautier—the charmer, the heartthrob, the man who could have any girl he wanted. It’s not like he needed Felix as his wing-man.
He tried to envision the evening ahead. The taverns with their lively music, the warm smiles of the girls who knew him—or knew of him, which was often enough. His mind conjured up vivid images of smiling faces, of girls who would be more than happy to spend their time with him; unlike certain other people. In his mind’s eye, he saw the bright lights of the town, heard the clinking of glasses, felt the scent of the soft perfume of the girls who would flock around him, laughing at his jokes, hanging on his every word in the hope that they’d be the lucky girl who managed to sweep the Gautier heir off his feet.
But each imagined scenario felt dull, lifeless. Even the thought of their attention, usually so gratifying, now seemed… Unimportant. Uninteresting.
Unattractive, even.
No… Now that he thought about it… He’d much rather spend the day in the training grounds than go out. Maybe when Felix was done listening to Annette’s singing, he’d go there to train, and Sylvain could get another chance to ask him out—on a guy’s night out, that was.
He forced a casual gait as he headed for the doors, each step feeling more like a performance than a natural movement. As he walked, he ignored the stolen glances toward him just like he always did; but this time, it wasn’t just a part of the game.