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6 Garland Moon
9:23
Villa Wilhelmina
Felix is dead.
At least he’s pretty sure he’s dead, given the scorching flames of the eternal hells blinding him and the terrible pounding in his head. What did he do to deserve such a wretched fate (aside from spilling a bowl of cereal on Glenn’s gaming laptop that one time in sixth grade)? Nothing! Felix is innocent! There’s been some kind of mistake—
Felix rubs his tired eyes and curses the idiot who didn’t close the hotel blinds. The sun in Enbarr is ridiculous; it can’t possibly be the same one he sees in Faerghus. That sun is a shy maiden, always looking for a cloud to hide behind. This sun is a whore.
He rolls over in the futile hope that putting his back to the windows will improve his headache and discovers the idiot who didn’t close the curtains also forgot to turn the air conditioner on. White bedsheets cling to his sweaty, sticky body, making him consider again if he’s woken up in hell, and then he sees something that absolutely confirms it.
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is in his bed, and he isn’t wearing any clothes.
Felix yelps.
Dimitri sleeps on obliviously, drooling onto his pristine white hotel pillow. His expression is peaceful, calm—the look of someone who has found serenity in their dreams. He’s probably frolicking in some meadow and feeding baby goats wildflowers.
Felix scrambles to put distance between them, bringing the bedsheets with him to cover his equally naked body. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He needs to get away before Dimitri wakes up and notices him. One of them is in the wrong hotel room. Probably Dimitri because Felix would never make such a ridiculous mistake. Felix just needs to put some clothes on and then kick him out. No big deal. The situation can still be salvaged.
Unfortunately, between the shock of waking up in bed with his oldest childhood friend and the worst headache of his life, Felix isn’t exactly at his most graceful. The hotel sheets tangle around his legs, and he falls to the floor with a loud thud.
“Ow.” Felix’s back is going to feel that later, but that’s a problem for his future self. Right now, his only concern is staring at the red and black ceiling lamp. It’s a very Adrestian looking lamp, but that makes sense given they’re in Enbarr. Sylvain wanted to celebrate his 30th birthday somewhere fun, warm, and with a minimal amount of exes. That ruled out all of Faerghus, the good bits of Leicester, and the main island of Brigid.
A groan comes from the bed, the kind of groan that comes from a waking person.
Shit. Fuck. No time to put on clothes. Maybe if Felix crawls under the bed Dimitri won’t notice him. Felix carefully shimmies on the carpet and bumps into a solid wood bed frame. Fuck. There’s no under the bed. Fine, Felix can just cover himself with the sheets he stole and hope Dimitri doesn’t examine them too closely.
Yeah, right. Dimitri is the kind of weirdo who makes his own bed at hotels (ironic given that at home he only does it on days when he switches out his bedding).
The jig is up. Dimitri is going to find him. The best thing Felix can do is cover himself and stand up. Hopefully, they can just laugh off this little mix up and commiserate over their matching hangovers.
Felix gets up from the floor and momentarily forgets his entire plan as he’s faced with the full-frontal nudity of a man he’s known since they were in diapers. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t a big deal. They used to play hockey together. Their parents used to bathe them together. There’s nothing novel or interesting about seeing Dimitri’s dick.
“Ah?” Dimitri’s face reddens to his ears.
“There better be a good reason why you’re in my bed.” Felix glares, pointedly, at Dimitri’s face and nowhere lower.
“Your bed?” Dimitri’s eyes dart around in confusion. “Isn’t this my room?”
“No.” Felix is manifesting this truth through sheer willpower, or at least gaslighting himself and Dimitri until they both believe it.
“Hmm.” Dimitri remains skeptical.
“Well?” Felix hones in on Dimitri’s beard as he forces his eyes from wandering any lower. It’s a nice beard; a little scratchy but not unpleasant against Felix’s skin.
Wait—why does he know that?
“Isn’t that my suitcase?” Dimitri asks politely.
“Dimitri!” Felix raises his hands in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whose room it is! Why are we both in it?”
If he thought Dimitri was blushing before, well—he looks outright sunburned now.
“What?” Felix asks, still refusing to look below Dimitri’s neck out of self-preservation.
“You’re not wearing any clothes.”
Oh. The sheets fell when he raised his hands. “Neither are you!” Felix accuses as he lifts them back up.
There’s a panicked shuffle on the bed as Dimitri grabs a pillow to cover up his vital areas.
At least Felix doesn’t have to stare at his face anymore. It was getting on his nerves.
“Felix,” Dimitri asks with a certain amount of terror, “where did you get that ring?”
“What ring?” Felix doesn’t own any rings. He finds them annoying and lame, but sitting on his ring finger like it belongs there is a shiny gold band with faint lines etched around it. Nothing about it is familiar, but he feels a sense of dread anyway. A ring like this—isn’t it—
Felix’s eyes search for Dimitri’s left hand and find exactly what he was worried about: a gold band identical to his.
“What the hell is going on?” Felix’s mouth is as dry as the Srengese desert.
“Did we… Did we get married?” Dimitri asks, horrified.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Felix needs water, and he needs it now. “We couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.”
“Felix…”
Felix runs to the bathroom and locks the door.
4 Garland Moon
11:04
Backseat of a Car
Sylvain leans over Felix and points at a bright orange bridge. “That’s Aegir bridge. Right on the other side of it is the best bar I’ve ever been to.”
Felix pushes him off with a growl. “Would you stop crowding me?”
The backseat of their rideshare is more than a little cramped with Felix and Ingrid on either side of a very excited Sylvain. Dimitri’s the lucky one in the front seat, though Felix suspects he doesn’t agree based on the stilted conversation he’s having with their driver about the traffic conditions of Faerghus.
“Why is every place you know in Enbarr a club or a bar?” Ingrid asks.
“Hey,” Sylvain says, pretending to be offended. “I know a few restaurants too.” Sylvain being Sylvain can’t help but add, “And some strip clubs.”
Felix and Ingrid make matching noises of disgust.
“Always with the judgment! These are some real classy joints, I swear to you. This isn’t Faerghus. Some of them even have burlesque nights.”
Neither Felix nor Ingrid is particularly impressed by this clarification, forcing Sylvain to change the subject to other Adrestian delights he hopes to partake in over the weekend—namely drinking, gambling, and partying, all things Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri would rather do without. Fortunately, they’re not the only ones flying in to celebrate Sylvain’s birthday or else it would be a pretty miserable weekend, but that’s exactly why they’re here a day early, the four of them caught the same Friday morning flight to spend a little extra time together. It’s a disgustingly sweet notion, the kind that reminds Felix that Sylvain… isn’t the worst. Sometimes Felix even enjoys his company.
Sometimes.
Their rideshare pulls up in front of the hotel lobby just a little before 11:30, and Felix has to begrudgingly admit that he’s impressed with Sylvain’s choice. The ocean isn’t visible from this side of the building, but Felix can smell it, and if the world would quiet down, he bet he could hear the waves. The location would make even a shady motel worth the stay, but this place is as far from that as possible; he vaguely recognizes the resort’s name from his father’s travel magazines. If this is the place Felix is thinking of, there’s a giant, stunning pool running along the beachside part of the building. Damn. Sylvain went all out—or rather, Sylvain’s excessively large trust fund went all out, as he’s currently “in-between” jobs after the art gallery he was working for closed.
“This place looks expensive,” Ingrid says, gripping the handle of her worn out suitcase like a lifeline. “Are you sure—”
Sylvain slings an arm around her shoulder and smiles charmingly. “If I want to spend my father’s money on a vacation with my friends? Yeah, I’m sure. But, if you’re really so worried about it, we can always double up. You can stay in my room, while Felix and Dimitri—”
“Absolutely not,” Felix says.
Dimitri looks up from the free Enbarr guidebook he took from an airport information desk. “I heard my name?”
Sylvain’s eyes are hidden behind his dark sunglasses, but his eyebrows rise above them mischievously. “I had to cut costs; you’ll be sharing a room with Felix, and there’s only one bed.”
“Oh?” Dimitri scratches his chin thoughtfully; he’s been growing out his beard for the past moon, and it’s already enviously full. Felix tried the same once and had to shave it after a week of relentless mocking by Sylvain and Ingrid. “I can help cover costs.”
“He’s kidding,” Felix says, annoyed. “We all have separate rooms.”
“Oh.” Dimitri looks relieved. “The offer still stands.”
“Please—keep your money.” Sylvain lets go of Ingrid’s shoulders. “Better yet, convert it to cash and I can take you to this burlesque show downtown—”
“Can we check in already?” Felix snaps. “I’m starving.” He isn’t actually, but the mention of food makes Ingrid’s face light up instantly. She might be uncomfortable with spending Sylvain’s money on a fancy resort room, but when it comes to food, she’ll happily bleed his bank account dry.
“Oh, let’s hurry,” Ingrid says, charging into the hotel lobby at full speed.
They pick up their room keys and promise to meet in the lobby at noon. Sylvain and Ingrid’s rooms are two floors above Felix and Dimitri’s, probably in the same ocean facing positions. Felix is grateful it’s two floors and not one; he has no desire to share a ceiling with Sylvain. Pity for the poor person who does.
Felix doesn’t bother to unpack his suitcase. He just pulls out a change of clothes and goes outside on the balcony once he’s switched to them. Afternoon in Enbarr is much hotter than the Fhirdiad morning he left behind. A light breeze keeps him from totally melting, but the heat is still beyond what he’s used to for early Garland Moon. It isn’t even summer yet, but Felix can barely make out any sand from all the towels, chairs, and umbrellas covering it. The boardwalk is just as bad: there are people walking, running, bicycling, skateboarding, and even rollerblading their way across it without any care in the world. So many people. Does no one in Adrestia work? It’s lunchtime on a Friday—who has the time to sunbathe and chat? (Or whatever it is that brings people to a beach. Felix has no idea; the beaches in Northern Faerghus aren’t exactly tourist friendly—lots of rocks and cliffs, not imported white sand from Brigid.)
“Oh—hello there, Felix,” a voice to the right says.
Dimitri. He had the same idea to go out on the balcony.
“How much time do we have left?” Felix calls out.
Dimitri checks the wristwatch he inherited from his father. “Just a little under ten minutes.” His shirt is untucked from his pants, a classic Dimitri vacation maneuver.
They stand outside in silence for a few minutes as the wind musses up their hair, but eventually their phones buzz with a message in the group chat from Sylvain. He and Ingrid are already downstairs choosing where to eat.
Translation: Ingrid is choosing where to eat—not that Felix is complaining about it. Aside from sweets, what Ingrid likes, Felix likes; it’s Dimitri and Sylvain who are likely to get the short end of the stick, but Felix is okay with that because they both have terrible taste. Dimitri in a literal sense—he can barely taste anything—and Sylvain because he considers food secondary to service. The last time they were in Dagda, Felix almost ended his friendship with Sylvain after being tricked into visiting a café where the waitresses wore maid costumes and called the patrons “Master.” Even if Felix was into women, a subservient maid wouldn’t be it. He’s not a pervert like Sylvain. His one and only college girlfriend Leonie is proof of that. They bonded over their shared love of MMA and making fun of bad action movies. They only broke up after a haircut on his part made her realize she was a lesbian. (He doesn’t get it either.)
“I guess we better get going,” Felix says as he texts Sylvain that they’re on their way.
In the hallway, Felix is shocked to discover that Dimitri is wearing jeans. Dimitri never wears jeans. Not since college, at least—back when he was dating the bane of Felix’s existence, a man who Felix once considered running over with a borrowed car. Sylvain says the relationship was good for Dimitri; it made him loosen up and accept his bisexuality. Felix thinks there are better ways to do both, starting with not dating obnoxious twerps.
“You left the price tag on your pants,” Felix says as the elevator doors open.
“What? Where?” Dimitri spins around searching for it like a pathetic ballerina.
“I’ll get it,” Felix says, pushing Dimitri inside the elevator before it closes on them.
Felix holds onto Dimitri’s belt loop for leverage and breaks the plastic keeping the tag on. It snaps easily in his grip, and he shoves the trash into Dimitri’s back pocket before Ingrid can see the price. Felix is sure the jeans are from some ethically, fairly, sustainably produced brand that donates half of their proceeds to charity (or whatever the fuck), but it’s still the kind of price that makes Ingrid furrow her brows and go silent for a few hours. Clothes are one of those things that especially set her off; everything she owns is thrifted and has been seen since she was a child.
The elevator dings as the doors open into the lobby. Sylvain sees them right away and waves at them as Ingrid chews on something and scrolls through her phone. As they get closer, Felix notices a small ziplock baggie of homemade trail mix sticking out of her shirt pocket.
“There’s a seafood place nearby that looks good,” Ingrid says, still not looking up from her phone, “but there’s also this Dagdan barbecue place that looks amazing; it’s just a bit of a walk.”
“I like walking,” Sylvain says. He doesn’t. Any exercise he does is solely out of a desire to look good shirtless. He has the best abs out of all of them while also being on the verge of death if asked to climb up more than two flights of stairs.
“I’m fine with either,” Dimitri says unhelpfully. The only foods he truly hates are frozen ones—ice cream, smoothies, shaved ice—as he gets nothing out of them except brain freeze.
It’s up to Felix to settle the debate. “I’m sick of fish.”
The walk isn’t that long, but it does take them away from the coast and into the city. Somehow, even that little bit of distance from the ocean makes a huge difference in the temperature. The breeze is gone, blocked off by mid-rise buildings, and he can practically feel the burning concrete through his shoes. The humidity is higher too—something about all these people and cars and buildings is poisoning the air. To add to Felix’s suffering, Dimitri dares to rolls up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms and blond hair that catches in the sunlight. Felix’s temperature rises in disgust every time he looks in their direction, which is a problem given that he can’t stop; at one point he has to pretend he’s looking at Dimitri’s watch for the time.
(“Don’t you have a phone?” Ingrid asks evilly before emptying trail mix crumbs into her mouth.
“I don’t feel like taking it out,” Felix huffs. He hates his friends.)
Felix is relieved when the restaurant comes into view. He’s the first inside, telling the hostess there’s four of them in the friendliest tone he can muster. Unfortunately, it’s not friendly enough, as the woman decides she hates him and leads them to a booth instead of a table. Somehow, Felix ends up caged against the wall like an animal as Dimitri takes the aisle seat next to him.
“So we just put it on the grill like this?” Dimitri asks when their first batch of meat arrives. “How do we know when it’s done?”
“You’ll have to eyeball it,” Ingrid says, reaching for the same slice of short rib Felix wants.
Felix smacks her tongs away. “Get your own meat.”
“Jerk,” she says even though Felix’s tongs were already hovering over the slice and everyone knows that’s enough to stake a claim.
“Um.” Dimitri’s eyes go very round and innocent, like a golden retriever who just left muddy paw prints on a clean floor. “And how do you eyeball it?”
It finally occurs to Ingrid that Dimitri hasn’t suddenly picked up any culinary skills in the years since they’ve graduated from college. “You have cooked meat before, right?” she asks.
“Does microwaving corn dogs count?”
“No!” Ingrid’s tongs slip violently out of her hand, smacking Sylvain in the face. “That does not count! Are you guys hearing this?”
Felix shrugs; he’s well-acquainted with Dimitri’s numerous failings. He can’t cook, he can’t sing, swimming backstroke freaks him out, and he keeps a roll of toilet paper on his kitchen table to use as a napkin—really, the list doesn’t end.
“Ow,” says Sylvain, rubbing his cheek. “Luckily, Dagdan barbecue is pretty much idiot-proof. None of these cuts are going to struggle to cook through, so you can stop worrying about food poisoning. Just put down some meat, flip it around occasionally, and take it off when it stops looking raw.”
“That’s it?” Dimitri asks.
“Yup,” Sylvain says optimistically. “Idiot-proof.”
Ten minutes later, Dimitri has a piece of what looks like charcoal on his plate. Dagdan barbecue might be idiot-proof, but it certainly isn’t Dimitri-proof.
“I just don’t understand,” Ingrid says, staring at the blackened remains of what was once a slice of pork. “How do you feed yourself?”
“We live in a vibrant city,” Dimitri says somewhat defensively. “I don’t see a reason to cook when I can get whatever I want, day or night.”
“Like frozen food and convenience store sandwiches,” Felix mutters as he places a few slices of meat on Dimitri’s plate. (Felix expected this would happen and cooked for them both.)
Ingrid shakes her head. “I don’t even want to know how much you spend on takeout every month.”
(Less than she’s expecting given how often Felix, Dedue, and even Ashe ends up cooking for him.)
Tempers rise when they’re done eating and are forced to make the horrible, sweaty walk back to the hotel. A passing bus nearly sends Felix into a frenzy, as it means they didn’t have to walk at all, but Ingrid disagrees; paying to take a bus for such a short distance would be a waste of money. Just as Felix is on the verge of saying something he’ll regret, Sylvain butts in and suggests they cool off in the hotel’s fancy swimming pool. Everyone likes that idea, and they spend the next few hours lazing about in the water (but not before Felix makes everyone apply copious amounts of sunscreen—he’s not dealing with another Almyran Vacation Incident).
“I could live here,” Ingrid says as she floats by on an inflatable pineapple. The pool is ludicrously large (especially for the hotel’s size), which Felix loves because it means he can swim without bumping into people.
“Enbarr or this pool?” Felix asks, vaguely swimming in her direction.
“This pool.” She sighs dreamily. “Sylvain, I think I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend out here.”
“If you do that,” Sylvain says from his inflatable chair, “you’re going to miss dinner at The Emperor’s Circle.”
“You’re joking.” Ingrid sits up so fast she nearly flips over on her pineapple. “Tell me you’re joking, and I’ll forgive you.”
“Not joking in the slightest. I made reservations for tonight. Speaking of—we should probably go make ourselves presentable.”
“Sylvain! I didn’t pack anything nice enough to wear to The Emperor’s Circle!”
“It’s fine—there’s a shopping center across the street.”
“That’s what you call fine?” Ingrid frantically paddles the pineapple towards the side of the pool. “What if I can’t find something nice enough? What if I do and it doesn’t fit? I can’t believe you sometimes! And what about Felix and Dimitri? No, scratch that. I’m sure Dimitri has something nice to wear. What about, Felix?”
“Oi—what’s wrong with my clothes?”
“I packed an extra sport coat that Felix can wear,” Sylvain says as he gets out of the pool much more relaxedly than Ingrid. “It’ll be good enough to make sure he doesn’t get us kicked out.”
Felix rolls his eyes, not that anyone is paying attention to him. It’s the principle of the thing. Is it his fault that Sylvain booked them dinner at some fancy restaurant?
“Be ready by seven o’clock!” Sylvain calls out as he follows Ingrid back into the hotel.
Felix waves them off, happy to spend a little more time in the pool.
6 Garland Moon
9:46
Villa Wilhelmina
It becomes a little easier to face Dimitri when they’re both wearing clothes again, but not by much.
“What do you remember?” Felix asks.
“Brunch, I remember brunch.” Dimitri looks at his bare wrist. “What time is it?”
“Where’s your watch?” Felix asks, frowning. It’s rare to see Dimitri without it as he only takes it off when absolutely necessary (their Friday swim being an example, but he wore it later that night when they went to The Emperor’s Circle).
“I don’t know,” Dimitri says, looking dejected. “It wasn’t on my nightstand—”
“My nightstand,” Felix interjects, “because we were in my room.”
“Yes, your nightstand, obviously. And it wasn’t with… the rest of my clothes either.”
“Hmm.” Felix feels a pang of something. He knows what that watch means to Dimitri. “I’ll look for it in my—your room later. If we can’t find it in the hotel, I’ll help you file a police report.”
“A police report?” Dimitri asks, alarmed. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“Dimitri, that watch costs more than some people’s houses. You can’t just shrug your shoulders if it gets lost.” The money isn’t really the point, but he doesn’t want to have a conversation about Dimitri’s sentimentality. “Where’s my phone?”
“Here—I found it in my pocket.”
The battery is almost dead; he’ll have to charge it in his—the other room. “What do you remember after brunch?”
“Um, getting on the party bus and going to the beach. You were wearing a teal flower shirt, and you refused to drink until we got to that Brigid beach bar. Then we played volleyball, and you threw the ball at Sylvain’s face.”
“On accident,” Felix says; he remembers that much. The drink at the beach bar wasn’t very strong. “And after?”
“Sylvain wanted to take group photos.” Dimitri sits up in excitement. “Check your phone! There might be pictures of last night. I remember taking a bunch—or maybe it was Ingrid? I don’t know. But someone kept taking pictures.”
A pier and a flashing light. The sound of waves in the distance. Felix’s memory feels jogged, but it’s not enough to prepare him for what he sees in his camera gallery.
“Felix? What is it? What did you find?”
“Nothing!” Felix screeches as he throws his phone across the room; it clacks against a cabinet, but Felix’s stupid protective case saves it from breaking.
“Felix! I deserve the right to know if it’s something that concerns myself. You’re not the only one with missing memories.” Dimitri lowers his voice. “You know how I feel about not being able to trust my own mind, which is why I don’t normally drink. Please, Felix. Don’t do this to me.”
Felix takes a deep breath and retrieves his phone from the floor. The battery remains precariously low, but everything is in working order; the throw didn’t leave so much as a scratch.
“Here,” Felix says, “Look at them yourself.”
5 Garland Moon
10:39
Villa Wilhelmina
“I think Ingrid is mad at me,” Sylvain says as they wait for their rideshare to arrive.
Felix looks over at where Ingrid and Dimitri are chatting away, checking for any signs that Ingrid is behaving out of the ordinary, but she just looks like herself.
“If Ingrid was mad at you, she would be at the hotel pool. But she’s not. She’s wearing a stupid flower shirt like the rest of us.”
Sylvain winces; somehow, Felix doubts it’s because of the stupid dress code he made up.
“What?” Felix asks.
“It started with the dress,” Sylvain says. “I wouldn’t let her look at the price, but you know Ingrid—she’s not an idiot. She probably searched for it online.”
“How much was it?” Felix asks.
“A few nights at the hotel. With the shoes and the coat—maybe a week. Two weeks?”
Felix closes his mouth when he realizes it’s been hanging open. The price isn’t what shocks him (he’s been known to splurge on a nice jacket and a pair of boots himself) it’s that Sylvain spent the equivalent of several months of Ingrid’s rent on a single outfit and expects her to act normal about it.
“Yeah, she’s mad at you.”
Sylvain’s shoulders slump. “What if I tell her she can resell them and keep the money?”
“I think she would punch you, and you’d have to spend your birthday with a black eye.”
“Who’s punching Sylvain?” Dimitri asks a little too excitedly.
“A stripper named Ginger Hale,” Sylvain says cheerfully.
It’s the kind of uncomfortable comment that usually sets Ingrid off, but this time all she does is furrow her eyebrows a little as their rideshare pulls up to the hotel.
Oh, she’s definitely angry.
“Who’s ready for brunch?” Sylvain asks.
Only Dimitri acknowledges him with a tepid smile.
It’s going to be a long day.
6 Garland Moon
10:02
Villa Wilhelmina
The brunch group photo isn’t too bad. Aside from Felix and Bernadetta, everyone is smiling—even Ingrid. What’s a little more incriminating are the candids Felix took when he started feeling a bit tipsy.
The blue of Dimitri’s flower shirt matched his eyes a little too well; Felix was compelled to capture it for posterity’s sake. He has no excuse for the other photos though. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Dimitri is—
A friend. Dimitri is a friend.
“We kissed,” Dimitri says, his voice perfectly neutral. “I don’t remember kissing—oh. Fucking Sylvain.” It’s rare for Dimitri to swear outside a hockey rink.
“You remember something?” Felix asks.
“Sylvain took this picture. We were playing a drinking game—loser had to do what the other said.”
Felix stomach does a panicked somersault. “Who won?”
“Sylvain, obviously.” Felix breathes a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t planning on drinking that much.” Dimitri closes his eyes. “This is where my memories start to jumble up. Beach to the bar. No, dinner? Dinner, bar—club? Why do I remember walking on a pier?”
Crashing waves. A salty smile. And a hand pulling him close—
Felix rubs at his temples. “How many piers are in Enbarr? And where’s the closest one?”
“Let me check.” Dimitri minimizes Felix’s incriminating gallery only to suck in his breath like he’s been punched when Felix’s navigation app opens. “Felix… I think you should see this.”
Felix leans over Dimitri and reads a list of recent searches on his navigation app.
wedding place
marriage 24/7
where to get married
courthouse open now
shrimp cocktail
“A search doesn’t mean something exists,” Felix says reasonably.
Dimitri clicks on“wedding place” and a list of wedding chapels appears, some of them proudly proclaiming that they’re open 24 hours.
“We should retrace our steps,” Dimitri says. “It might help us remember what happened.”
What Felix wants is to forget, not remember. He wants to go back to Friday when things were simple, and he didn’t have to see a picture of himself kissing Dimitri.
Felix touches his lips. The only memories he can drag up about the kiss was a sense of warmth and a loud crowd of people goading them. His first and only kiss with Dimitri, and that vague recollection is all he has left of it.
It’s not fair.
“Before we start running around all of Enbarr, we should ask Ingrid and Sylvain what they remember. It might help us figure out when we split off from the group at least. Assuming we did.”
“Good idea. Do you think they’re awake?”
Felix grimaces. “Let’s go find out.”
5 Garland Moon
12:38
Enbarr Beach
“Sylvain thinks you’re mad at him.” Felix sets his empty drink down on the beach bar counter.
Beside him, Ingrid sighs. “I’m not mad, I’m just…”
“Disappointed? Annoyed? Hungry?”
Somewhere in the distance behind them, Dorothea yells at a volleyball player to watch where he’s hitting the ball.
“My sincerest apologies,” Dimitri calls out. “It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, that was you?” Dorothea says. “Well—just be more careful.” Felix can practically hear the blush in her voice; no one is immune to Dimitri’s charms.
“Tired—I’m just tired.” Ingrid chugs down the rest of her beer and slaps the empty bottle on the counter. “Let’s go play volleyball.”
Felix doesn’t really understand the rules of the game beyond the basics, but the basics are good enough for the tipsy revelry happening on the sand. Petra, Caspar, and Lorenz are the only ones who are playing to win; everyone else is smacking the ball around with the barest idea of where it’s supposed to be going. When Felix gets a chance to swing at it, he copies what Petra does, but she makes the control she exerts look easy; Felix’s poor attempt sends the ball right into Sylvain’s face, knocking off his sunglasses.
“Hey! Don’t kill me on my birthday!”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Felix says as Sylvain wipes his sunglass off on his green and orange flower shirt. “If I wanted you dead, you would be,” Felix adds. It sounded funnier in his head.
“Ominous.”
Behind Sylvain’s back, Dimitri throws Felix a questioning look. Felix ignores him and keeps playing, accepting his fate to be a bad volleyball player. The sand is hot and annoying to play on and hitting the ball wrongly hurts his arms. Stupid, stupid game. He wants to cool off, or maybe have another drink. Anything but sweat in the hot sun while Dimitri keeps staring at him.
Water wins out for all of them. The bus is going to pick them up in an hour to take them to whatever fresh hell Sylvain has planned next. Time to swim and dry off before it comes, though with the sun in such full force, Felix doubts it will take more than ten minutes for his swim trunks to dry.
Beautiful, soothing water. The ocean might be a different one from what he’s used to in Faerghus, but it’s just as enjoyable on a hot afternoon. He likes it better than any sanitized pool. The ocean is wild. Unpredictable. The ocean demands respect.
“Should you really be swimming while you’re drunk?” Dimitri asks, interrupting his blissful contemplation.
“I’m not drunk,” Felix says.
“Okay.”
Felix splashes water in Dimitri’s face. “I’m not. Why would you even think that?”
“You seem relaxed.”
“We’re on vacation. It’s Sylvain’s birthday. What’s there to stress about?”
“You usually find something,” Dimitri teases.
“As if you’re any better,” Felix counters. “Aside from Ingrid freaking out about Sylvain spending money on her, everything is perfect.”
“The dress?” Dimitri asks.
“The dress,” Felix confirms. It would be wrong to think of Ingrid’s family as poor. They own a ranch the size of a small country; it’s easily worth millions if sold. The problem is they won’t. Almost everything they earn from the property goes right back into maintaining it. Felix doesn’t find it a very logistically sound financial strategy, but it’s not his business to comment on.
“They’ll figure it out,” Dimitri says, smiling softly. “If not, I’m sure you’ll make them before the weekend is over.”
“Someone has to. Race me?” The water shines in the sunlight, glittering and beautiful, but it’s Dimitri’s face that feels like the most dazzling thing in sight.
“To the buoy?” Dimitri asks.
“To the buoy.”
6 Garland Moon
11:14
Villa Wilhelmina
“It’s almost noon,” Felix says as he knocks on Sylvain’s door yet again. “Get up. We need to talk.”
“I’m trying to recuperate!” yells a muffled voice through the door. “Come back later!”
“Let’s just find Ingrid first,” Dimitri says, much too magnanimous considering Sylvain’s role in their lurid night.
“Fine.”
Ingrid isn’t in her room, but they find her easily in the second place they look: the hotel poolside, floating on a giant pink flamingo.
“Wow, you guys look terrible,” she says. Felix refrains from pointing out that her skin is already turning pink; serves her right if she burns. None of his idiot friends take his warnings about using sunscreen seriously.
“Ingrid, my dear friend,” Dimitri says, “we’ve come to discuss the events of last night. Namely, what were they? And did we ever split off on our own?”
“We can’t remember shit,” Felix says bluntly.
“Seriously? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Yeah, everyone left the last club on their own. You guys said you were going to get shrimp cocktails and walk back to the hotel.”
“What club?” Dimitri asks.
“The Sand Trap. It’s like a ten minute walk from here.”
“Did anything… strange happen?” Felix asks.
“Strange how?”
“Something we wouldn’t do normally. You know—something weird.”
“No, I don’t know. You guys are always weird.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Do you know how many times I have to tell people you’re not actually dating, you’re just bizarrely obsessed with each other?”
Dimitri and Felix hide their left hands behind their back.
“What was that?” Ingrid asks.
“What was what?” Felix asks.
Ingrid gives him an icy stare. “What did you two idiots do? Did you get matching tattoos?”
“No,” Felix says, making a face. “That would be extremely lame.” The only tattoos Felix has are an incredibly cool wolf on his back and a historically accurate Sword of Zoltan on his lower leg (there are lightning bolts surrounding it, upping the coolness factor by even more).
“Show me your hands,” Ingrid demands. Neither of them budge. “Don’t make me get out of this pool.”
Dimitri cracks under the pressure and holds out his left hand. In the sunlight, the gold looks extra shiny.
“Is that a wedding band?” Ingrid asks. “Wait—do both of you—”
“Yes, dammit.” Felix holds his hand out next to Dimitri’s. “And neither of us remembers how it happened.”
“I can’t believe you got married without me,” Ingrid says, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I was right there. Wait—this means your wedding anniversary is on Sylvain’s birthday. He’s not going to like that.”
“We’re not married!” Felix snaps.
“We might be,” Dimitri says unhelpfully.
“Or we might have bought matching friendship rings.” Ingrid and Dimitri give Felix identically dubious looks. “The point is, we don’t remember where they came from, so no one should jump to any conclusions.”
“Well, there’s an easy solution to your memory problems,” Ingrid says.
“There is?” asks Dimitri.
“If you actually got married, you’ll get the marriage certificate in the mail.”
“That’s your solution?” Felix asks. “Wait around for our doom? We can’t be married! We need to fix this right now and get a divorce if we have to.”
“You don’t need to divorce. You can just get it annulled. It’s not like you slept together.” Felix tenses. “You were way too drunk for it. So just don’t until then, and you’ll be fine.”
“Don’t sleep with Dimitri. Easy. No problem.” Felix barely feels aware of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’ve never been less tempted by anything in my life.”
Ingrid stares at him like he’s speaking in tongues. Maybe he is. He feels possessed by something. A demon, perhaps. A demon that is making him want things he shouldn’t.
“Thanks for the help, Ingrid.” Felix marches back to the hotel, but not before calling out, “And put some damn sunscreen on!”
5 Garland Moon
15:18
Debbie’s Lookout
“Loser does whatever the winner wants,” Sylvain says.
Cheers and shouts fill the room. Not from Felix though—he’s nursing a headache by the bar. Too much sun and too much alcohol. He’s pacing himself for the rest of the day. Water, food, a little time away from the crowd—mainly Sylvain, who convinced him to take a shot of something putrid.
The thing about Sylvain and alcohol is that he never drinks as much as he pretends to. Whichever idiot is challenging him to a drinking game is about to find out that he’s basically sober. The cheery, tipsy attitude is just a front to make people let their guard down.
The barstool next to Felix scrapes against the floor. “Wasted already?” a woman asks.
Leonie. She looks handsome, but if he said that, she would probably punch him.
“No, but I will be if I don’t eat these cheese fries.” He picks one out to eat for good measure. “How... are you?” he asks, awkward and slow.
“Still great at small talk, I see.” She laughs and steals a cheese fry. “Good, and you? Still training every day?”
The cheering gets louder; it sounds like a winner will be declared soon.
“Not every day,” he admits.
“Hey, as long as you haven’t quit, I’m impressed. Almost everyone else has.” She means the other members of their old college MMA club. He’s not surprised; most of them didn’t take the sport that seriously.
“What about you?” he asks, picking up more cheese fries.
Leonie curls her arms. “What do you think?”
The room erupts into applause. Leonie pretends it’s aimed at her (admittedly impressive) biceps.
“Thank you,” she says, bowing. “Thank you.”
They talk a little longer as Felix finishes up his motley assortment of bar snacks. His headache goes away and the vague fuzziness of his thoughts clears up. He feels like himself again.
Someone taps him on the shoulders. Felix spins around on his bar stool, ready to snap at them for interrupting his peace, but it’s a red-faced Dimitri who’s to blame.
“Dimitri?” Sylvain leers off to the side with his phone raised up like he’s recording a video.
“Sorry,” Dimitri says, and it’s the only warning Felix gets before Dimitri’s lips are pressing against his.
Felix closes his eyes instinctively as his body tenses in surprise. Dimitri is kissing him. Dimitri is kissing him?
It’s over in seconds—or it would be if Felix didn’t wrap his arms around Dimitri’s neck. Whatever demon is possessing Felix has been given the okay and drives Felix to kiss Dimitri back, to suck on his lips and taste the beer on his breath. And if Dimitri tries to back away? Then the demon makes Felix stand up and chase him.
“Felix.” Dimitri’s voice is pained as he holds Felix in place. “I—”
Sylvain whistles, breaking the demon’s hold on Felix. “Well, that was interesting.”
Everyone is looking at them. Looking at Felix. Some of them are pleased, some are confused, but it’s Dimitri’s expression that lodges into Felix’s heart and makes him want to be sick.
Not revulsion like Felix used to imagine when they were teenagers. Not disinterest like Felix thought would happen in college. Not even annoyance like Felix assumed would happen now.
No—it’s pity.
“Excuse me,” Felix says, pushing Dimitri away.
Dimitri half-heartedly calls after him, but he has enough sense not to follow. Good. It’s the least Dimitri can do after whatever that was.
Why did Dimitri kiss him? Did he think Felix was someone else? But no—he apologized before it happened. He intentionally kissed Felix, but not because he wanted to.
Sylvain. The beer on Dimitri’s breath… Dimitri, who almost never drinks because alcohol doesn’t mix well with his medication.
Felix locks himself into the stall of a unisex bathroom and takes deep breaths, one of the few tricks he’s retained from the grief counseling his mother made him go to after Glenn’s death. He feels like throwing up, but he refuses to let it happen, not when his stomach is full of greasy bar food and questionable drinks. It was hard enough getting those things to go down; he’s not finding out what they feel like when they come up.
Breathe, breathe. This is Sylvain’s fault somehow, which means Felix has someone to take his frustrations out on.
FELIX: what the fuck was that!?
FELIX: what did you do???
SYLVAIN: dude, were you not paying attention?
SYLVAIN: dimitri lost the game.
FELIX: i have no idea what you’re talking about.
SYLVAIN: well, he lost and had to do what I say.
SYLVAIN: so I told him to kiss someone in the restaurant and he picked you.
SYLVAIN: [photo34342323784627834.jpeg]
FELIX: why did you send me that
SYLVAIN: I’m making it my background 😘
FELIX: fuck you
SYLVAIN: hey
SYLVAIN: it’s my birthday
SYLVAIN: you have to be nice to me
SYLVAIN: look, I wasn’t actually trying to upset you.
SYLVAIN: I just wanted him to loosen up.
Felix is typing out am angry reply when the door to the bathroom opens, and the last person he wants to speak to says, “Felix? Are you in here?”
“No.” Felix’s finger hovers over the send button.
“I think we should talk,” Dimitri says. His tone is frustratingly neutral.
“Don’t wanna.” Felix shoves his phone in his pocket, but not before downloading the picture Sylvain sent. For safekeeping or something. Or maybe just torture himself with later, as he wonders how he could be so stupid to think Dimitri would willingly kiss him.
“Don’t talk then,” Dimitri says, and Felix wants to smack him. “You can just listen. I made a bet with Sylvain—”
“I know—he made you kiss someone. Got it. Now, will you please excuse me? I have to take a shit.” Felix kicks the toilet seat down to create some proper bathroom ambience, hoping it will make Dimitri leave.
“Stall doors aren’t very sturdy; I bet I can pull this one off of its hinges.” The door creaks menacingly. Dimitri’s brute strength is no joke; the bastard might really rip the door down.
Felix unlocks the door before they both can get in trouble for property damage. “You’re such a—” The insult is muffled as Dimitri, for the second time that day, kisses him without any warning.
This time, when their lips meet, it’s a violent clash. Felix’s teeth and head rattle, the latter because Dimitri backs him into the stall wall as he squeezes in after him. Two grown men are a tight fit in such a small space, but Dimitri doesn’t seem to care. He slams the stall door shut and crowds into Felix’s space to keep kissing him.
“What,” Felix asks between kisses, “are you doing?”
Dimitri slows down, remembers how to be soft. These kisses are much harder to resist, but one of them has to be the responsible one, no matter how much Felix’s body is telling him to just go with whatever Dimitri wants.
“Dimitri.”
Dimitri stops. “Felix.” He says Felix’s name like it’s a prayer.
“You wanted to talk.”
“Yes.” Dimitri’s eyes look almost dark with the way his pupils have taken over the blue. “I wasn’t supposed to kiss you again. No—don’t look at me like that. You’re not letting me explain myself. I was going to ask for permission.”
“To kiss me in a public bathroom? How romantic.” Felix pushes Dimitri as far away as he can in a one-person bathroom stall; it isn’t very far, but it gets the point across.
“I know it isn’t ideal—”
Felix scoffs.
“You’re angry at me.”
Duh, Felix’s face says.
“But is it the bathroom? The not asking? Or do you not want to kiss me at all?”
Felix’s headache is back. Or something close to a headache. He feels like he’s being split apart. The Felix from before Dimitri kissed him, and the Felix after. Nothing makes sense.
“You’re drunk, Dimitri.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Try kissing me when you’re sober,” Felix says, pushing past Dimitri to unlock the stall door. “Maybe then I’ll actually believe that you want to.”
6 Garland Moon
11:55
The Sand Trap
The Sand Trap is closed when they arrive, but it doesn’t matter. Felix isn’t here to go inside but to figure out where the closest place to buy shrimp cocktails is.
“I think we should talk about what happened,” Dimitri says as Felix messes around with his navigation app. An hour of charging has brought his phone up to 50%—a healthy, respectable amount of battery life for a four-year-old phone.
“Felix, you can’t just ignore things and hope they go away.”
“If we turn right on Derick Road, there’s a bar that sounds promising. Adelaide R. claims they sell ‘the worst shrimp cocktail I’ve ever had in my life.’”
“Felix.” A gentle plea that Felix ignores as he follows the directions of his navigation app.
The bar is barely a bar. Just a hole-in-the-wall place on a small side street with barely enough room to walk past the bar stools to the counter. On a Sunday afternoon, it’s almost empty except for an older man intensely watching a rugby match on an ancient mounted TV.
“Oh, it’s the lovebirds!” The bartender, an older woman with dark skin and darker curly hair, smiles at them. “I’m surprised to see you’re out of bed so early.”
“Uh,” Felix says. He’s certain he’s never seen this woman before in his life. “You recognize us?”
Her perfectly groomed eyebrows shoot up as she puts down the glass she’s been wiping off. “You don’t remember me?”
They shake their heads.
“I’m hurt. It’s Anneliese,” she says, not looking at all offended by their lack of recognition. “No? Nothing. Ha! You must have had quite a night after you left.”
“Did we say where we were going?” Dimitri asks.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch it if you did. Why? Lose something?”
“Not exactly.”
The man watching the rugby match leans toward the TV. “Come on, come on—don’t fucking fumble it.”
“Why did you call us lovebirds?” Felix asks.
Anneliese looks surprised. “Why, because blondie here proposed, of course.”
“Yes!” the man watching rugby screams at the television. “Finally!”
5 Garland Moon
19:06
Fathom’s Feast
Felix can hold his liquor. It would bring shame to all his northern Faerghus ancestors if he couldn’t.
But that doesn’t mean he can drink with impunity.
“Woah there,” says Sylvain, taking away the glass Felix was about to drink from. “Slow down there, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy,” Felix snaps.
“Okay, so you’ve reached the cranky stage. Not my favorite.”
They’re outside again in a restaurant with outdoor seating along the shore. There’s enough space past the seating to even dance if someone cared to. Felix doesn’t care to. He hates everything about the place except for the breeze that keeps him from cursing the sun.
“Give me my drink back.”
“Not until you tell me why Dimitri is acting like a kicked puppy. It’s really ruining the laid-back, celebratory vibes I’m trying to cultivate on my birthday.”
“Why would I know why Dimitri does anything? Am I his keeper? His watchdog? His wife?”
“Alright, let’s all take a deep breath.” Sylvain pushes Felix back down into his chair, a chair that Felix doesn’t even remember standing up from. “I was just asking because he went after you back at Debbie’s, and then returned looking all mopey. Just felt like there might be a correlation?”
“Why don’t you ask him about it?”
“I did. He apologized for being such bad company and tried to return to the hotel. I had to text Dedue to call him and convince him to stay.”
Felix scoffs. “Typical.”
Sylvain takes a sip of Felix’s drink and makes a face. “I expected better from this place,” he says.
Sylvain doesn’t push Felix any further about Dimitri, but he doesn’t have to. The damage has already been done. Felix’s mind keeps wandering to Dimitri long after Sylvain abandons the topic.
What right does Dimitri have to mope about Felix’s rejection? As if Dimitri’s sudden interest in Felix can compete with Felix’s lifelong devotion?
No—Felix isn’t supposed to think that way. What he feels for Dimitri is friendship. Dimitri kissing him was unpleasant and terrible, and Felix never wants it to happen again. Obviously.
(As soon as Sylvain finds someone else to bother, Felix orders another drink.)
6 Garland Moon
12:30
Arachne Road
The nearest 24 hour wedding chapel is nowhere near walking distance. Neither of them is rushing to visit when they still have the pier to find. They must have gone there after the… proposal and, what—celebrated?
Felix kicks a stone across the sidewalk. “Where did you even get matching rings on a Saturday night?”
Dimitri shrugs. “Maybe I bought it earlier in the day.”
That makes it sound like he was planning the proposal for hours; Felix can’t decide if that’s better or worse.
“What with these lines anyway?” Felix asks, examining the ring a little more closely. “They look weird.”
“I think they’re heartbeats,” Dimitri says.
Felix squints a little harder and yes, he supposes those could be heartbeat lines. “Weird.”
Dimitri chuckles.
“What?” Felix asks.
“Nothing… It’s just, you haven’t taken the ring off.”
“I forgot I was wearing it,” Felix claims.
“Okay, but you’re still not taking it off.”
“It could be a clue,” Felix says, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Besides, what does it matter? You’re still wearing yours too.”
“I know, but I’m wearing it because I want to.”
Felix stops walking. “Why?”
For a moment, it seems like Dimitri isn’t going to answer him, but when he does, his words are a different kind of shock than Felix expects. “I lied when I said I don’t remember anything.”
“What?”
“It didn’t seem real. And with my history… why would I trust my own mind? But coming back to where it all happened has helped.” He touches the gold on his hand. “They were paper rings in my memory. I made them out of a napkin—or maybe it was a menu. That part is still fuzzy, but I know we didn’t get these rings until much later.”
“You proposed with paper rings?”
Dimitri smiles a lonely smile. “And you said yes. We were being silly. It wasn’t real yet.”
“Yet?” Felix feels another headache coming on as he tries to remember anything Dimitri is talking about. Paper rings, a proposal… none of it stirs even the slightest recognition.
“This part I’m less sure about, but we talked on a pier. After that is when we searched for a chapel.”
“What did we talk about?” Felix asks.
“You haven’t taken the ring off,” Dimitri says again, and this time Felix really does feel a prickle of recollection: A hand holding his under a light polluted sky, the wind whipping his hair. The heat of the day was gone, leaving him shivering until he was pulled against a warm chest.
“I don’t want to,” Felix says, and he knows he’s said this before.
“Why?” Dimitri asks.
Felix shakes his head. “Let’s just find this stupid pier.”
Felix expects Dimitri to push back, but he says nothing, whatever momentum that was driving him, lost.
5 Garland Moon
20:24
The Sand Trap
Their final destination for the night is a club called The Sand Trap. The party bus drops them off with little fanfare, their driver likely relieved to finally free of them.
The hotel is a short walk away—or so Felix has been told. He could leave after wishing Sylvain a happy birthday; no one would mind; no one would miss him. Ingrid has Mercedes and Annette to entertain her, while Sylvain is enjoying himself on the dance floor
Surprisingly, Dimitri hasn’t left yet. Whatever Dedue said to him worked wonders. Felix wishes Dedue was here instead of at his sister’s graduation; none of this would have happened then.
“Why don’t you go talk to him?” Ingrid asks.
Felix ignores her.
“Talk to who?” Annette yells, leaning forward to better hear the answer.
“It’s whom,” Felix corrects; no one pays any attention to him.
“He keeps staring at Dimitri,” Ingrid yells back.
“Who? Felix?” Annette peers at him; her sugary perfume wafts into his face and makes him want to cough.
Felix looks past Annette to glare at Ingrid. “Did you make up with Sylvain yet?”
“We’re talking about you, not me. And you’ve been staring at Dimitri since we got here. Go apologize—or demand an apology. Whatever applies.”
Felix looks for a friendly face in Annette or Mercedes, but they’ve both sided with Ingrid over him. Figures—it’s sexism, pure and simple (he’s pretty sure that’s what sexism means).
“Fine, whatever.” Felix only gets up because he knows they’re going to keep bothering him about it if he stays there. He has no intention of actually talking to Dimitri, but his legs carry him there anyway. It’s not like there’s much of a choice—Felix doesn’t want to dance, and most tables already have people sitting at them.
“You,” Felix says, taking an empty seat next to Dimitri. “Haven’t you had enough to drink already?”
“Hello, Felix,” Dimitri says pleasantly. “This is apple juice.”
“Really?”
“They use it in some of the drinks but nevermind that. What are you doing here? I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Ingrid got tired of me.”
“What about Sylvain?” Dimitri points vaguely toward the mess of bodies on the dance floor
“I’m not dancing with him.” Felix’s head feels very light.
“What about with me?” It’s a joke, probably. The kind of joke meant to lighten things up and give Felix a reason to scoff and berate him for suggesting it.
“Okay.”
Surprise. “Okay?”
“I’m not saying it again.” Felix stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”
The music is loud and unromantic, too much bass and treble at the same time, pounding through his body and splitting against his ears. He has no idea how to dance to music like this. If he heard it on the radio, he would change the station.
It doesn’t matter. When he dances with Dimitri, it’s to a song only they can hear.
“Dimitri, I—” The music—it’s too loud. He can’t hear himself think.
“Fresh air?” Dimitri shouts.
Felix nods. “Yes.”
He follows Dimitri outside to a closed off space for the smokers. There are a few of them outside poisoning the air, but there’s a space in the corner near a potted tree that is almost smoke-free, if Felix stands at the right angle.
“What were you going to say?” Dimitri asks.
“I know how you felt about Glenn,” Felix says. He doesn’t know where the confession comes from, but he can’t take it back now that it’s been said.
“That was over a decade ago,” Dimitri says, “before I even dated—”
Felix’s cuts him off. “Don’t say that bastard’s name around me. But yes—I knew you liked men before him.”
This seems to be a sticking point. “I can’t believe you made me come out to you. Do you have any idea how nervous I was?”
“Yes, I have an idea.” Felix snaps; Dimitri at least has the sense to look sheepish.“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. I’m not a replacement for a dead man. Do you understand me? I’m not him, and I never will be.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because we’ve been friends all our lives. Friends. But suddenly Sylvain dares you to kiss me, and you forget that it’s me, your friend, not my dead brother you had a crush on.” There’s a burned out cigarette on the floor; Felix crushes it into smithereens with his shoes.
“I know who you are, Felix. I’ve loved you since we were children. You, not someone else. You were the one I wanted, and it scared me. I was too young to make sense of it. So I ignored it, and yes, I did have a crush on Glenn. That’s exactly the right word for it. He was safe. He was leaving. I thought telling him would be easy, but I was wrong. It still felt like the end of the world.”
Felix doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want to know how Dimitri was feeling when he confessed to his brother. Did he do it in person? Did he leave a note? Felix never asked; Glenn just told him when Felix—when Felix—
“Safe,” Felix scoffs. “I guess that means I’m dangerous. Not the kind of person someone feels safe loving.”
Dimitri puts a gentle hand on Felix’s arm. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I heard you just fine.”
“‘Heard’ doesn’t mean you’re listening. Maybe I’m a fool for having this conversation when we’re both inebriated, but I’m worried that tomorrow I’ll be back to being terrified by how much I feel for you, and before I know it, another decade will have passed.
“I know you’re not Glenn. I’ve never wanted you to be Glenn. There’s never been anyone who makes me feel the way you do. Will you scorn me and hate me for taking so long to understand my feelings?”
“I don’t hate you.”
Dimitri sighs. “Talking to you is like pulling teeth sometimes.”
Felix stomps on his foot. “Oi.”
“I love pulling teeth,” Dimitri says with a wince. “It’s my favorite activity.”
“Shut up,” Felix says, but there’s no heat to it.
The music from the club is a muffled thrum, more like a heartbeat than a song. Felix listens to it and tries to match it, but his heart refuses to slow. Dimitri can’t have feelings for him. If he did, he wouldn’t keep choosing someone else. That’s what he does, isn’t it? Felix must be inadequate in some way. A second choice. Dimitri’s expression might be fool of love as he looks at Felix, but Felix has always known Dimitri loves him. He feels it every moment they’re together. What he doesn’t feel is desire.
At least not until today.
Is it new? Or has Dimitri been hiding it all this time?
Or… has it been there for years, obvious to everyone who isn’t Felix? No—surely Ingrid and Sylvain would have told him. It’s much more likely Dimitri is good at hiding it, maybe even from himself.
Fool. Dimitri is such a fool.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Felix says.
Dimitri flushes.
“To talk!” Felix clarifies, even as a part of him swoons at Dimitri’s reaction.
“Alright,” Dimitri says. “I really do enjoy talking with you.”
“I know,” Felix says. It’s never been their friendship that Felix has doubted.
6 Garland Moon
13:05
Hresvelg Pier
The pier is busy in the daylight, offering none of the quiet solace in Felix’s half-forgotten memories. There are children and families everywhere; people screaming and eating and drinking; obnoxious music blasting from speakers and phones. It’s awful and hot, and Felix hates everyone around him.
“I can’t take much more of this,” Felix says. “Are your memories back yet?”
“Maybe if we walk to the end,” Dimitri says. He doesn’t look much happier about the situation than Felix; both of them struggle with crowds.
The end of the pier is more of the same, but Felix does feel a sense of recognition. The flag of Adrestia flaps above them in the wind, and it feels familiar somehow. Like an afterthought in his memories.
Of course I love you. Cool wind, a surprised breath.
I was just imagining what it would be like if it was real. A stark white paper ring.
You don’t mean it. The smiling face in front of him blurs.
Stupid! You don’t get to take it back! His eyes are hot with tears, but he’s happy.
Felix can’t remember everything no matter how hard he tries, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe he remembers enough.
“Dimitri—”
“Felix—”
Felix laughs. “You first.”
“I remember now,” Dimitri says, grabbing Felix’s hand. “We didn’t get married.”
All the lightness in Felix’s heart is replaced by sinking, heavy dread. “We didn’t?”
“No—there was an old lady selling jewelry on the boardwalk. We bumped into her as we were leaving. It’s not really gold. Probably.”
“Oh.” Felix pulls his hand away from Dimitri. What was he going to say again? Nothing. They’re not married. It was all a silly misunderstanding.
“Felix, when I marry you, I want to remember it.”
“When?” Felix asks eagerly, even though he surely meant to sound reprimanding.
“Whenever you wish to,” Dimitri says smoothly. “Though, I would like to choose a date that isn’t the birthday of one of our closest friends.”
“Would you now?” Felix shakes his head. “I haven’t even agreed to marry you.”
“Felix.” Dimitri gets down on one knee and takes Felix’s hand.
Felix is coming down with a heatstroke, he just knows it. He’s going to faint on Hresvelg Pier and end up on the news.
“Will you go out with me?” Dimitri finishes.
The heatstroke miraculously heals. “Go out with you? I thought you wanted to marry.”
“What I want is to do right by you. To show you how much I love you so that one day when I ask for your hand, there won’t be any doubt that I mean it.”
A part of Felix is disappointed, but Dimitri is right: there is doubt in Felix’s heart. Old worries and insecurities that creep into his heart and tell him he’s a second choice. A replacement for who Dimitri really wants, but can’t have.
How foolish. In the light of day, Felix knows such thoughts are ridiculous. Dimitri isn’t cruel, and it isn’t fair to dismiss his feelings because he once had them for someone else.
“Okay,” Felix says. “Now would you get up? Everyone is staring at us.”
Dimitri smiles.
6 Garland Moon
01:45
Villa Wilhelmina
Felix’s keycard refuses to unlock the door. “Stupid door,” he says before giggling.
“Here,” Dimitri says, “use mine.”
For some reason, Dimitri’s keycard works. The obvious answer as to why eludes Felix.
“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Sylvain asks. He found them at the hotel bar and insisted they return to their rooms to “sleep it off.” Whatever that means. Felix isn’t tired at all.
“Stop worrying so much,” Felix says.
“Felix is right,” Dimitri says, “You shouldn’t be worrying on your birthday.”
It’s not exactly what Felix said, but close enough. The two of them cross their arms and stare down Sylvain.
“Not my birthday anymore,” Sylvain says. “So I guess that means I’m allowed to worry all I want.”
“We’re going to bed like you asked,” Felix says. “So there.”
“I’m relieved,” Sylvain says. Felix can’t decide if he sounds sarcastic or not. “Where’s your watch?” He nods at Dimitri’s wrist.
“Felix was convinced a man was eyeing it,” Dimitri says, “so I put it in my pocket.” He touches his pocket and gasps. “It’s gone. Felix—”
“It’s in my pocket,” Felix says, taking it out and dropping it.
Sylvain snatches it from the floor before Felix or Dimitri can pick it up. “I’m just going to take that.”
“Thief!” Felix shouts.
“You can get it in the morning,” Sylvain says. “I have a safe in my room.”
“Thank you, Sylvain,” Dimitri says.
Sylvain tucks Dimitri’s watch into his pocket. “You’re welcome. Try to get some sleep—and drink some water before you go to bed.”
Once Sylvain is satisfied that they’re not going to run back to the bar (or whatever it is that he’s worrying about), he wishes them a goodnight and returns to his own hotel room upstairs.
“Water, water,” Dimitri says, running around with a small paper cup. “Oh, this is hot.”
“Wrong faucet,” Felix says. “I’m sweaty. Where’s my suitcase?”
The shower turns on. “Oh! That’s cold. Felix, come here. You need to drink.”
Dimitri is standing inside the shower, a little away from the shower head but not far enough to completely escape getting wet. He looks very pleased with himself, like he’s solved a particularly difficult puzzle; it’s a look he often gets when talking to Felix.
“You—idiot!” Felix yells. “You’re going to catch a cold!”
“That’s a myth,” Dimitri says calmly. “Colds are—”
“Take off your clothes if you’re going to shower!” Felix tugs on Dimitri’s flower shirt until a button pops off. “Oops.”
“Would you like to join me?” Dimitri asks.
Join him? Join him in what? Standing clothed in a shower?
Yes, apparently. Another of the night’s terrible decisions. A paper ring joke of a proposal turned, what—real? A walk along the beach and a woman selling costume jewelry. Kissing Dimitri and tasting shrimp and garlic and booze. A fruitless search for a wedding chapel. Almost being hit by a cab as they crossed the street to the hotel, Dimitri holding Felix back as he cussed out the driver. Talking about nothing and everything in a hotel bar until worrywart Sylvain dragged them upstairs.
A little kissing in the rain won’t kill them, Felix reasons. Even if that rain is falling from a shower head and not the sky.
If they catch a cold or make a mess, well—that’s a problem for their future selves.
Felix is sure they’ll figure something out.
6 Garland Moon
15:27
Villa Wilhelmina
“You thought you got married… but you didn’t.” Felix can feel Sylvain’s judging stare even through his dark sunglasses as they talk in the hotel’s restaurant.
“Yes, that’s the gist of it,” Dimitri says, his father’s watch returned to his wrist at last. Apparently, Sylvain took it from Dimitri when he found them “acting like idiots” at the hotel bar. Felix has no memory of this, but strongly challenges Sylvain’s recollection of events anyway.
“That’s ridiculous. Where would you even find somewhere to get married on a Saturday night?”
“There are places,” Felix snaps. “Navigating at night is just hard when you’re in an unfamiliar city.”
“And drunk,” Ingrid adds. Her skin is the color of the raw, cut up fish Dagdans like to eat. Serves her right for refusing to head his sunscreen warnings.
“And drunk,” Dimitri agrees, the betrayer.
Sylvain shakes his head. “I can’t believe you guys were going to get married without inviting me and Ingrid. That’s messed up.”
“I promise we’ll invite you to the real wedding,” Dimitri says.
There’s a beat of silence as Sylvain and Ingrid assess whether Dimitri is being serious, or if his deadpan humor is shining through, but once they look at Felix they have their answer.
“Oh.” Sylvain grins like a maniac. “Well, well, well—what do we have here?”
“Great,” Ingrid complains with a smile, “you were annoying enough as friends.”
Felix stares out the great glass window where the ocean glitters in the sunlight, overwhelmed by the happiness of his friends. “Tch, we’re just dating or whatever.”
“Uh huh,” Sylvain says. “Congratulations on ‘just dating or whatever.’”
“Thank you,” says Dimitri before turning toward Felix to give him a kiss.
This time, Felix is sure he’ll remember it.