Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

spring, present day

This is how it starts:

Sylvain knocks on the door to his friends’ apartment, puts on a smile as the door swings open, and. . .feels his greeting roll to a stop on the tip of his tongue.

This is not Dedue nor is it Mercedes. This is—dark brown hair, swept back, a few strands and a stray lock slipping from behind his ear to fall over his face. Three piercings all on the left ear, two on his earlobe, a hoop with three tiny rings hanging off it and an emerald stud. A daith, a golden earring that outlined the shape of a crescent moon adorning the inside of his ear. A little facial hair, on the jaw. Which looks nice on him, surprisingly. Green eyes, appraising Sylvain in turn after a few blinks. 

The silence is stretching on too long. Sylvain should say something.

“Nice, uh,” he gestures loosely to his own jaw. He’s unsure what to call it, since it’s not quite a beard. 

“Um. Thanks.” 

“Claude? It has been a minute, who is–-” Dedue appears into view, coming up behind the guy’s shoulder. “Oh, Sylvain.”

“Dedue! Hey.”

”Claude, this is Sylvain, he is Mercedes’ friend from college. Sylvain, this is Claude, he is my friend from high school.”

“Only the last year of it,” Claude says. “We’re really more of college friends too.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you,” Sylvain decides on his greeting, sticking his hand out. Claude takes it after a beat, shaking it.

“We thought you would be here by seven, though I am glad to see you here already,” Dedue smiles.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, not late after all.” Sylvain spreads his hands in a ta-da motion and smiles in a way that makes his face feel like it’s cracked open, thinking about an argument from a little less than an hour ago. “Sched freed up, so I thought I’d head over now.”

“I see. Please, come in,” Dedue says, his expression hardly budging but Sylvain can sense the shift from surprise to warmth, anyway. They’ve known each other long enough. Sylvain goes in for a quick hug, moving past as Claude steps aside to give them room. He hears the door click shut behind him. Dedue continues, “Feel free to make yourself at home. Annette and Mercedes are in the kitchen.”

“Is that Sylvain?” Annette’s voice rings, clear as bells, from the kitchen. “Sorry, we’ll be out in just a moment! We’re just taking out the cookies.”

“Annette and Mercedes’ world-famous cookies? Please, take your time!” Sylvain calls out, shrugging his jacket off. Mercedes’ laugh, light and airy, drifts out faintly from the open doorway leading to the kitchen.

“How are you?” Dedue asks. Claude silently moves past them, stooping to pick up an open hardbound book balanced on the edge of the coffee table, and sitting down on the couch. Sylvain turns his head to face Dedue.

“Great! I’ve been great,” Sylvain says, lilting his voice upwards. It’s his usual answer. Dedue smiles wryly. 

“Then so have I,” He says. 

“Oh, I know you have. How’s the engaged life?” Sylvain winks.

“Mostly the same,” Dedue answers. He looks thoughtful, as he considers his words. “Though it’s nice to think of what is ahead.”

“The future is bright for sure,” Sylvain says. “I can’t wait to be an uncle. You guys will let me be an uncle, yeah? I’ll be the cool one.”

“Of course!” Mercedes pipes up, and Sylvain spots her coming up to him in his peripheral vision, drying her hands with a towel and tucking it into the pocket of her long skirt. “But let’s not get carried away. We haven’t even had the wedding yet!”

“It’ll be here before you know it,” Sylvain declares, pulling her into an enthusiastic hug. Mercedes laughs, a soft, happy sound that fills Sylvain with warmth. “Really, though. I’m overjoyed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Sylvain, you’re early!” Annette calls out, dashing in from the kitchen. Sylvain lets go of Mercedes in time to catch her in a hug. He picks her up a little to make her yelp and laugh. “So glad you could make it!”

“We thought it was Ashe at the door,” Mercedes says. “He’d just texted that he was nearby with Dimitri.”

“Oh, I didn’t see anyone on my way in.”

“Constance is about ten minutes away,” Annette says. “Oh, and Mercie, Ingrid said she couldn’t make it today. I think a work thing came up.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Mercedes pulls out her phone from her skirt pocket. “I’ll send her a text.”

“Have you met Claude, Sylvain?” Annette asks, gesturing to the couch. “He just moved back to Garreg Mach this week and he’s a friend of Dedue’s! And, well, me, and Mercie too but you’ve been friends with Dedue since high school, right Claude?”

“Mm-hm,” Claude hums in agreement, looking up from the book. Dedue sits down next to him.

“Yeah, we met at the door,” Sylvain says.

“I think he also went to GMU,” Annette adds. She faces Claude, “Though you’re friends with Lysithea, so I thought you went to college with her for a while. . .she’s mentioned something about you being a good feedback partner for research papers.”

“I did,” Claude smiles, closing the book and tucking it back under the coffee table. “Go to GMU, I mean. I just went to a couple parties at Macuil too, wanted to see what it was like.”

“Huh, I didn’t think Lysithea went to parties,” Annette says, her eyebrows raised.

“She doesn’t,” Claude says. “I, ah, happened to run into her somewhere else.”

“He somehow infiltrated the library,” Dedue says. “He was reading a textbook Lysithea needed.”

“Why are you exposing me?” Claude turns to Dedue, hand flying up to his chest dramatically. He turns back to face the rest of them, smiling sheepishly and shrugging. “Yeah, alright, I was doing a little bit of crime and she found me out. We all gotta live a little every now and then, right?”

“Oh, I love this story,” Mercedes says, sweeping her hands over the back of her skirt as she drops into an armchair near Claude’s side of the couch, beaming. Sylvain moves to sit in the one opposite her nearer to Dedue’s side. “Lysithea and Claude got into an argument when he tried to convince her he was a student and that he’d just forgotten his ID.”

“I mean, I was a student.” Claude says, matter-of-factly. “. . .Just not at that university.”

“Then Lorenz Gloucester overheard their voices and jumped in to defend Lysithea’s honor."

“He was dialed up to eleven from the get go,” Claude says.

“Because you answered ‘I’m good, thanks though’ when he declared, ‘is the fair maiden in need of assistance?’” Dedue delivers the information in his usual deadpan tone, which makes it funnier. Claude makes a pfft noise, hiding it behind his fist. Sylvain laughs.

“And then Lysithea started tearing into him along with Claude, saying both of them were all sorts of insufferable!” Mercedes laughs, continuing.

“Wait, Gloucester?” Annette asks, “Like. . .”

“The weird bowlcut guy,” Sylvain supplies, lifting a hand to draw a triangle over his forehead and illustrate the peculiar hairstyle. Claude wheezes out a laugh. “He was in my year in high school.”

“I was in the year below with Ingrid and our other friend Felix,” Annette tells Claude.

“He wore a fedora in freshman year before growing out his hair,” Claude says. “I didn’t know he’d been sporting the bowlcut that long.”

“A fedora?” Sylvain blurts out incredulously, looking at him.

“With a rose on it. Just for a month or so, I think he realized his haircut was awkward at some point and tried to cover it until it was long enough to style differently.” Claude says, smiling at the memory. “Hilda–I mean, our friend–told him to wear a hat and that was what he ended up choosing.”

“Well, I guess it does sound like his style,” Annette says, then she gestures to Mercedes, “Oh, Mercie, sorry! Please, continue.”

“That’s alright! Anyway, someone heard the commotion and went to find a staff member. At the time, Dedue was working part-time as a student assistant at the library, and he recognized Claude when he went to investigate the matter. He vouched for him and that’s how they started up their friendship again in college!” Mercedes finishes, clapping her hands once in delight. Annette laughs, and Sylvain smiles. “It’s one of Dedue’s favorite stories!”

Claude turns in his seat to face Dedue. “So, how many people have you told about my little adventure?”

Dedue’s mouth twitches. “Just a few. You were extremely lucky I was the one on duty that day.”

“Nah, a miracle like that? That was fate.”

“Isn't Macuil's library open to outsiders on Mondays? I mean, given that you have a referral.” Annette says.

“I did have one,” Claude says. “But my class sched at the time was fully booked on Mondays and someone, uh, struck a deal with me. Given that I'd get them access to GMU's library. And it was only the one time, I made sure my Mondays had a vacant period the next semesters. But hey, I ended up kicking off wonderful, years-long friendships with Lorenz and Lysithea both, not to mention it reunited me with our fantastic friend Dedue. So all’s well that ends well, right?”

“You really are quite the odd charmer. I met you through Lorenz before Dedue even introduced us,” Mercedes says to him. She turns to Annette. “And didn’t he meet you abroad, Annie?”

“At an academic convention in Almyra,” Annette answers. “We were doing postgrad programs at different universities.”

“Yeah, we started hanging out after.”

“You know, it’s kind of funny that Claude and Sylvain are the only two in the room right now who actually went to GMU and only met now,” Annette laughs. “Universities are big but I would’ve thought you’d have run into each other somehow, since you’re both pretty social. And Claude hung out with Dimitri in college!”

“That’s pretty ironic,” Claude agrees. 

Sylvain laughs, shifting in his seat. “Well, we were in different courses—probably, I guess.”

“Yep, didn’t see you around my building,” Claude chimes in quickly. 

“Yeah, yeah, me too.”

The doorbell buzzes.

“Oh, that must be Ashe and Dimitri!” Annette rushes to get it. Sylvain gets up to get a glass of water. Claude offers to reveal the full story to Dedue and Mercedes, and Sylvain hears him saying "so I met this guy at a house party, he was napping outside and. . ." as he hurries into the kitchen. 

✧✧✧

Mercedes and Dedue had set up a get-together over the weekend for most of their wedding party to get to know each other–or rather, reacquaint themselves. Really, most of the ones who’d made it to this initial gathering already knew each other in some way: Sylvain met Mercedes first but grew close to Dedue some time after graduation, taking a freelance job making social media materials for the small cafe-bakery Dedue had opened. Annette was a friend from high school, Ashe, he’d met through Dedue, Constance through Mercedes and Annette, and he’d already known Dimitri since before they were double digits. 

Claude had been away from Fódlan for some time, and only recently moved back to Garreg Mach, but seemed to know even Constance and her girlfriend, and had met Ashe and Dimitri way back in high school through Dedue. Constance was a bit more out of place, but generally had met everyone at some point or another. She wasn’t any more than acquaintances with most of them, having been a childhood friend of Mercedes and her brother who had found her again in university. Mercedes often called her a sister to her, though Constance would blush and wave it off.

It was kind of a headache to think through the intricate web of who knew who first and which started where and all that, but to sum things up, it seemed to be that the two people in attendance who were completely out of each other’s orbits were Claude and Sylvain. Apparently they kept dodging each other somehow.

Ashe had said, over dinner, “I would’ve thought you’d known each other by now, but now that I’m thinking about it you two have never been at the same gatherings over the years, from what I’ve seen. It’s always just been one or the other.”

“Weird,” Sylvain had commented. “It’s not like we’ve been avoiding each other. Or could, anyway.”

“Yeah. Seems like this was where we were supposed to meet,” Claude shrugged. 

“Claude, it’s nearly six thirty. Didn’t you say you had to leave early?” Dedue had asked, glancing at the clock. 

“Oh, right, uh, my friend texted me, she found someone else to fetch her. I can stay a bit longer.”

Most of them disperse a little half past eight, with Dimitri leaving first due to an early morning commitment the next day. Claude tags along on the way out. Constance leaves shortly after, bidding them good night. Ashe stays to chat with Dedue longer, and Sylvain stays to keep Mercedes company as she dries off the last of the dishes.

“It was a nice time catching up with everybody,” Sylvain is saying, taking the plate Mercedes hands him and placing it in the dish cabinet. “And meeting others, I mean. It’s gonna be fun. You’re having two engagement parties, right?”

“Yes, we’re having the engagement party with the families sometime soon, at the Uberts’ restaurant in Arianrhod. Would you like to come? Oh! I forgot to message you about that,” Mercedes tuts. “Dedue’s parents, siblings, and some of his aunts and uncles will be there. My mother and Emile will come, Constance and Annette as well.”

“I’ll catch up too, it’s been a while,” Sylvain says.

“Wonderful, my mother asked about you just the other day,” Mercedes laughs. “And Dedue’s sister will be a bridesmaid, so it would be nice for you and Annie to meet her.”

“Aw, I missed Mrs. Martritz too, and sure. I suppose Ashe will be there?” 

“Yes, and Dimitri. Claude as well. Dedue’s family is familiar with him and everyone’s been so busy lately, he volunteered to come up with some party games and host them to entertain the children. Oh, that’s everyone who was here tonight, wasn’t it? I suppose that makes sense, since you’ll be the core group. . .”

“Ah, yeah, that’s neat.”

“Did you two know each other?” Mercedes asks, and Sylvain freezes up. 

“Uh, what?” He asks, and laughs. “Who?”

“Claude,” Mercedes answers nonchalantly, like it wasn’t obvious, then she smiles slightly. “Something just felt off, and I wondered. You said you were in different courses and it felt like you knew that already.”

“I mean, he doesn’t really seem like a marketing guy, no?”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to discuss it,” Mercedes says gently, after a moment. “I won’t pry further.”

“We barely knew each other,” Sylvain says. “Don’t worry about it, okay? This is about you and Dedue. We’re fine. Promise.”

“Okay. But, Sylvain, you’re always free to talk to me about such things, please don’t worry about the wedding arrangements. I’m sure we can work something out if there’s a problem! Just let either me or Dedue know, and there will be no questions asked.”

“No, no problem, really. Just a little thing that’s kind of awkward. Thanks. But it’s not a big deal, believe me–you know what is a big deal, though? I got here early because my girlfriend—you remember her, right? She started this ridiculous fight. I already called off going here, then plans changed and I pushed to make it late instead, but she. . .”

✧✧✧

Okay, alright, jig’s up. That’s fair, because it was kind of a shock. Sylvain hadn’t known Claude was back in Garreg Mach. They could’ve done better than that. At least Claude tried to do some sort of save, and it was lucky that Dimitri and Ashe grabbed all the attention coming in at that exact moment.

It’s not some sort of deep dark buried past. It didn’t even feel that long ago, Sylvain isn’t that far off the mark if you look at it in a certain way. Time is a social construct, yeah?

summer, seven years ago

“Listen, just relax and have fun, okay?” Sylvain said. “It’s my birthday and you asked what I wanted.”

“You said you wanted nothing,” Felix grumbled half-heartedly. He addressed Ingrid, “So we should have just done nothing instead of going along with this shit.”

“Sylvain is not spending his birthday evening alone and drunk,” Ingrid insisted, crossing her arms.

“I meant we make him do nothing with us too,” Felix said impatiently.

“Oh, I will be only one of those two things by the end of the night,” Sylvain said, facing Ingrid and holding up one finger to illustrate. Ingrid groaned. “Come on! It’s—“

“Your birthday, yes,” Felix interrupted, scowling. “The only time you bring it up is when you’re using it as a card to get out of something.”

“Is that not what birthdays are for?”

“No!” Ingrid and Felix yelled, in unison.

“It’s for—“ Ingrid started. She sighed, finishing, glumly, probably knowing what was to come, “It’s for taking time to celebrate another year.”

“And is that not what I’m doing?” Sylvain raised his eyebrows and spread his hands. Ingrid sighed raggedly. “Listen, honestly, I’ll be fine. I can call you guys a cab back to the house. You don’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“No, don’t,” Ingrid said, as Sylvain had just started to pull out his phone. “Come on, let’s just go inside.”

“Your idea of treating yourself is shit,” Felix said, plainly. 

“But it’s my idea,” Sylvain pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows, and that was how Ingrid Galatea and Felix Fraldarius ended up attending a college party at a different university when partying itself was already out of character enough for both of them. In fact, that might’ve been the only party Felix ever attended in his entire university life.

Honestly, it kind of threw a wrench into Sylvain’s real birthday plans, which were:

One, get wasted;

Two, go somewhere where he could be just some random face in the crowd and not Oh hey it’s Sylvain how are you doing man? I saw it was your birthday, that’s today, yeah? Happy birthday! Hey guys, it’s Sylvain’s birthday! Someone get him a drink—

And three, probably have no-strings-attached sex and feel assured by the idea that he probably wouldn’t ever come across the other person(s) again at least for the next couple of years unless it’s by a weird stroke of fate. Sylvain doesn’t believe in fate, just good and bad luck, so he’s all good there.

He ushered Ingrid and Felix into the house with a sort of half-disappointed half-exasperated feeling, maybe a little bit of fondness that negated everything else because of course they’d be stubborn about it. He couldn’t exactly fault them for insisting on accompanying him, so he'd made the silent decision to take his car and drove them to a more relaxed-looking house party he'd caught wind of instead of the rowdier thing he'd been initially planning on going to.

Either way, it was kind of amusing to watch Ingrid inspect the drink Sylvain hands her and Felix stand around gruffly and try to ignore the couple engaging in PDA on the couch to the left of him. 

“Cheers,” Ingrid tapped her cup against his in a toast before bringing it to her lips. “Oh, this is iced tea.”

“Yep, stay safe kids.” Sylvain said, lifting his own cup and drinking. He’d fished a few cans of Ingrid and Felix’s favorites out of the cooler he’d seen in the kitchen and poured them into cups just to be cheeky. 

“Did you take non-alcohol too?”

“Nah.” Sylvain leaned back as Ingrid made as if to pinch his arm. “I’m joking, I’m joking! Come on, are you gonna make me say the line? I know I’m driving.”

“You can go ahead if you want, I’ll take over on the way back,” Ingrid said, after a moment. “The only rule is that Felix never gets behind a driver’s wheel again.”

“Whatever. I’m not ten, I can drink,” Felix rolled his eyes, sipping at his cup. “Oh. Huh.”

“I gotcha,” Sylvain said. “I know you can drink.”

“I can too,” Ingrid said. 

“Yes, but you’re a lightweight. Felix only starts his Song of the Swamp Beasties performance when he’s chugged like a barrel.” Sylvain took a sip as Felix scowled and flushed bright red.

“I’m not that much of a lightweight anymore, you know, I just needed to build my tolerance a little,” Ingrid said, then she blinked at something over Sylvain’s shoulder. “A-ah.”

“What?” Sylvain turned and nearly spat out his drink. There was a hot girl walking towards them, brown hair blowing behind her, green eyes sparkling, and she was beaming right at Ingrid.

“Ingrid!” She exclaimed, sweeping Ingrid into a hug. Ingrid sputtered a little, holding her cup out safely and using her free arm to loosely wrap around the other girl’s waist. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t ask before going in. I’m just so happy to see you here!”

Sylvain exaggeratedly mouthed “introduce me ” while pointing at himself from behind her. Ingrid rolled her eyes at him before pulling away. 

“Dorothea! Hello, hello,” she addressed the girl, smiling. “It’s fine. I, uh, I didn’t know you went here.”

“Neither did I!” 

“Oh, no, I’m enrolled over at GMU,” Ingrid started to point, then realized she didn’t know which direction to point in, clearly frazzled. Sylvain snorted quietly and masked the sound by lifting his cup and drinking. “I’m just visiting with my friends. This is Felix and Sylvain. Guys, this is Dorothea. Remember that summer camp I went to a couple years ago?”

“I’m Sylvain,” Sylvain smiled flirtatiously as he shook Dorothea’s hand. “Wow, I have to say, you look amazing. Maybe I should’ve enrolled here instead.”

“And maybe I should’ve gone to GMU if the guys were like this. Charmer, aren’t you,” Dorothea gave him a once-over and smiled, and something in her tone told Sylvain she already had him pegged. And not in a sexy way.

“You bet.”

“That makes you. . .Felix?”

Felix grunted.

Dorothea took a liking to Felix too and she stuck to them, citing that she saw most of the people around the party on a regular basis anyway. Sylvain slipped away as soon as he could tell that Ingrid and Felix were doing fine and were engaged in conversation with Dorothea and some of her friends, nudging Felix and murmuring that he was going to refill his drink.

He decided to try and see if there was still a can of a specific brand of iced tea that he liked; he’d seen a few earlier. He’d been mostly playing it up about Dorothea. She really was beautiful, but Sylvain was beginning to feel less and less enthused about meeting people, for no apparent reason.

The birthday blues are kicking in, he thought to himself amusedly, and regretfully he wasn’t allowed to drink it away. There was a makeshift stage set up outside the house for anyone who wanted to perform, and the music drifted in through an open sliding door to the side of the huge living room. The kitchen was a bit more quiet. He squeezed past a person who was just leaving and lit up, seeing the distinct label peeking out from a few half-melted pieces of ice, and—

His hand bumped up against someone else’s. 

“Oh, sorry,” The hand withdrew, and Sylvain looks up into another pair of green eyes. He startled in surprise. “You can take it.”

Sylvain’s eyes widened. “Uh, yeah. It’s no big deal, I can get another one.”

Dark brown hair, short and tousled, one lock of hair by the right temple, braided and ending in a gold clasp. One earring on the left ear, a small hoop with three smaller rings hanging on it. He’d seen this guy around at some parties, always in the company of Hilda Goneril—who was someone Sylvain had tried to flirt with at some point last year but she’d shot him down with a sick burn and a sugary sweet smile, though they'd ended up sort of fake friends who greeted each other at parties. Sylvain was pretty sure this guy was a student at GMU. What was he doing here? 

The guy hesitated and peered more intently at the cooler, leaning forward and poking around a little. “There’s no tea left, just soda and water.”

“That’s fine.”

He watched Sylvain for a moment, then shrugged and took the tea, popping the tab open. Sylvain sifted around, starting to pick up a citrus soda. 

“I’ll give you half,” He said suddenly, before Sylvain could open it. Sylvain blinked, muttering a thank you. The guy took a cup from the plastic bag next to the cooler and tilted the can over it, amber liquid shining under the brighter lights of the kitchen.

“Come here often?” Sylvain couldn’t help but say in the silence.

He snorted softly, head still tilted down as he poured; Sylvain watched the way his braid swung slightly. He pulled the can back and shook it a little to check the weight. He handed it to Sylvain, “Enough to know my way around a little. You?”

“Nope, first time here,” Sylvain said, eyebrows raised as he took the can. He looked around, half-expecting to see a flash of pink somewhere. “Is Hilda around?”

“Nah.” The guy raised his drink slightly as if to say cheers, then drank. He moved to an empty corner and Sylvain followed. He sounded amused as he said, “We’re good friends but we’re not attached at the hip, you know. I have my own fun every now and then.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sylvain laughed a little. “You two are like a package deal at parties back at ours. I kinda thought you were dating.”

Hilda's friend was in the middle of taking a gulp and choked a little at that, eyes wide. He started laughing. “Are you serious?”

“She’s always hanging off of you.” Sylvain raised his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

“She’s a clingy drunk,” He said, still giggling a little. “And Hilda is into women only.”

“I—huh.” Sylvain said “Oh. Oh. So that’s why she made that joke before turning me down. Something about wives and husbands.”

"You thought we were dating and you still hit on her?"

"Uh, well, no, I was drunk and I hadn't seen you around at that point--"

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. Yeah, she can get a bit harsh sometimes, especially when she’s been drinking.” Hilda’s friend leaned back against the counter, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Eh, all things considered, she was pretty nice. I wouldn't be going to her parties if I thought I was gonna get my ass kicked. Which is great, because she throws really nice ones."

The guy snorted a little, at that.

"What?"

"Eh, nothing." He took another sip of his drink, then snickered into it. "It's just, she doesn't plan those, you know."

"Huh? Aren't they at her place?" Sylvain asked.

"They are."

"So, who planned them?"

"I did. Thanks for the compliment." The guy hummed, thoughtfully. "She makes sure to tell everyone who mentions it. That's probably why I do get the occasional question about us dating, now that I'm thinking about it."

"How'd that happen?"

"I wanted to throw a party but I live in a dorm, she wanted to go to one and is too lazy to leave her house sometimes, she has an older brother living with her taking postgrad studies who spoils her and would be easily convinced to do most of the cleaning, you do the math," He said. "I kinda wanna try making the dorm thing work though. Seems like a challenge."

"A dorm building party?"

"Yeah, I mean, the other guys near my room seem easy to convince."

"Party animal, huh?"

"Eh, I guess you could say so." He shrugged. Sylvain watched him curiously. "Do you have friends here?"

"Nah. I brought some with me, they're out in the living area. Just needed some quiet, y'know?"

"I should get out of your hair then. I've been told I'm somewhat of a 'yapper'."

Sylvain laughed. "I can tell. But this is okay."

There was an easy rhythm to the way they exchanged words. Sylvain usually drew from a bank of knowledge on current events, literature, art, and pop culture to be able to navigate his way around any kind of small talk, prepared to carry conversations through lulls to keep them going, but this guy managed to pick up tangents out of tangents so easily and Sylvain found himself talking freely without much thought to it, simply letting himself be carried by the flow for once. He really was a yapper, though he seemed to try being aloof about it. It was kind of fun. At some point he'd burst out a short laugh at a joke Sylvain made, and Sylvain had grinned back and noticed that Hilda's friend looked pretty cute when he was smiling genuinely, and, well. He didn't have his reputation for nothing and Sylvain wasn't one to let a good thing get in the way of a bad decision. So he threw out a pickup line out of something the other guy had said.

Then the guy threw it back. 

"Switching out Hilda for me so soon?" He added, mouth quirking up in a smile. Sylvain couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested or if he was just playing.

"Oh, no, it's not like that. I've actually been noticing you for a while now," Sylvain said easily, "I love a guy who knows how to style himself, y'know? The braid is a nice touch, very unique."

"Right, I think so too. Hey, what's my name?"

Sylvain opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. The guy was watching him, a neutral set to his mouth in the appearance of an open, expectant expression. His eyes looked amused though. Sylvain was on a mission now. "Well--a rose by any other name's just as sweet, y'know? Or a sunflower, that suits you too."

He gestured to his corn yellow sweater.

"Really? . . .Okay, I don't know enough about flower language to contest that. Not my thing." The guy snorted. "Nice save, though, and I guess there's a point to that. I thought you'd fold."

"I don't go down that easily." Sylvain winked. "Do I get the answer as a prize?"

A short laugh. "I didn't think we were playing for anything. It's Claude."

"Sylvain."

"Yeah, I knew that already." Claude said, and Sylvain's eyebrows rose. "Hilda told me about you."

"And you're still here?" Sylvain joked. "Must be my lucky day."

"Well, I've been known to follow my curiosity every now and then," Claude huffed out a laugh. "Sometimes to my detriment."

"Is this one of those times?"

"Not sure yet. Keep it going if you want."

He kept such a casual air about him. From afar, he'd seemed like a relaxed, laidback kind of person, but up close it felt more like some sort of detachment. Sylvain was having a hard time reading him, and he'd met his fair share of enigmatic people. Claude seemed friendly, but there were points where it felt like he was obfuscating, and other points where it felt like he wasn't taking it seriously and just having fun. Well, Sylvain could get behind the latter. The energy in the air wasn't exactly like a hard tension; more like soaking in water, cool and weightless but it was there, and there was a flow that Sylvain wasn't all that interested in going against. At some point he'd boldly stepped into Claude's space, almost caging him against the counter as someone had passed by behind them, and Claude hadn't budged at all, still nonchalantly sipping at his drink, and Sylvain did not feel in control of this encounter at all. But he saw the glimmer of curiosity in Claude's eyes.

"So, who is your type?" Sylvain asked him, after Claude had shrugged and said that most people he'd met at school weren't his type anyway, in reply to Sylvain commenting that the Hilda thing must've gotten in the way of his love life. 

"You know," Claude said, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling as he thought, "I'm not sure. Easier to say who isn't."

"Got a verdict for this one?"

Claude brought his eyes back to him, clearly amused. "Well, you're not not my type, I can give you that."

Sylvain laughed, "Not sure if that means I've got a shot."

"You've always got a shot," Claude pointed out. "The question is if you should shoot."

"Can't argue with that, but mainly because you're doing everything but answering the actual question," Sylvain said.

Claude blinked. "You mean the one you're not asking?"

They fell silent for a moment.

Sylvain laughed. Claude ducked his head to hide his grin behind his cup, as he drank. 

"We've been dancing long enough," Sylvain murmured, and something unreadable flashed in Claude's eyes before he tilted his head up ever so slightly in silent acquiesence.

Sylvain was barely brushing his mouth against his when Ingrid’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“Sylvain, there you are! I kinda get what you’re saying now, parties are pretty fun!”

Claude pulled back. Sylvain jolted, looking over his shoulder to pull on years of friendship to try to communicate to Ingrid telepathically and visually that he was trying to shoot his shot and was actually, by some miracle, winning. Claude shifted, ducking a little to obscure himself even more out of view behind him. Huh. Sylvain hadn’t taken him for a shy type. 

“Oh! Oh, um.” Ingrid’s eyes widened comically, finally noticing Sylvain was standing over someone, and she froze in a panic. Felix appeared from behind her, his face set in its usual resting frown. He was holding a beer and there was a slight flush creeping up his neck. It took a second for the scene to register for him, but he startled and grabbed Ingrid’s shoulder.

“Ingrid!” he hissed, “They’re—“

“I know, I know, I just didn’t see,” Ingrid hissed back. They were both loud enough that their voices still drifted into the corner of the kitchen where Claude and Sylvain were. Sylvain felt like shriveling up and dying where he stood.

“Sorry, Dorothea’s gathering a bunch of people for a party game,” Ingrid said in a rush, as she and Felix hurried away. “You can, ah, you can just catch up! I’ll let them know! Your friend is invited too!”

They retreated hastily. 

Sylvain turned back, mouth opening to apologize, but he paused. Claude’s face was back to how it was at the very beginning, mouth set in a neutral smile and eyes that were unreadable. 

“Well, looks like you’re needed,” Claude said, huffing a laugh as he gave Sylvain a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’d join but I have places to be, people to see, you know how it goes. This was fun though.”

It was like watching a basketball tantalizingly circle the hoop and ultimately fall out of the ring, thudding sadly against the floor. Sylvain sighed, pushing off the counter and letting Claude pass. Claude waved as he exited the doorway without looking back.

✧✧✧

Well, the night hadn’t been ruined anyway. Sylvain still had fun, he’d spent a little while shooting the shit with a bunch of strangers and two of his best friends. At some point Felix had gotten drunk enough to start bragging to Dorothea about this wonderful song penned by their high school friend Annette, discovered that the stage and instruments outside were open for anyone to perform on provided they paid a fee—which Sylvain enthusiastically offered to cover—and Felix regaled them all with a truly entertaining rendition of the Song of the Swamp Beasties, even getting a small crowd to sing the chorus with him. 

Sylvain had sat behind him and plucked out a random accompaniment on a guitar to aid him, beaming at the camera as Ingrid held up his phone to record them. The video is still on his computer, but he’s also still under threat of being killed by Felix so it’s assuredly under digital lock and key and has not been shown to anyone else ever really scout’s honor (Except Dimitri). 

Felix had grabbed up all the attention on stage, so Sylvain was free to fuck around behind him and at some point he’d zoned out, idly scanning the crowd and the people milling about, and there was no one in a corn yellow sweater walking around. Ingrid had whispered, “happy birthday ” as she handed his phone back to him, and Sylvain had blinked and realized that for a tiny bubble of time he actually had truly forgotten it was his birthday without drinking anything at all. For some reason in the years following there was always the memory of a very faint brush against his mouth when he thought about that little adventure, soft and fleeting like a night breeze.

It wasn’t the last time he encountered Claude von Riegan, but it was still pretty memorable.

spring, present day

Sylvain had met Mercedes’ mother a few times over the years, and helped Annette coordinate surprise birthday parties with the Martritz matriarch a couple of times–Mercedes was completely shocked without fail for three years in a row, though her increased absentmindedness during those times had partly been to her exhaustion at medical school. Mrs. Martritz found him entertaining, and once said that she would be delighted to have him as a son, after Sylvain had blurted about a joke about being the troublemaker in the family. She called Dedue a son too, naturally, and had also practically adopted Annette and Constance, but hey, Sylvain was just a close friend and she still. . . anyway, that kind of affected Sylvain a little.

When Sylvain comes up to her at the engagement party she immediately compliments him on the digital invites Mercedes and Dedue had sent out, and Sylvain got around to catching her up.

“I started out more on marketing research, so numbers and marketing plans and brand analysis, all that, but I drifted into advertising, so most of my work is in graphic design now, copywriting too,” Sylvain is saying. “Partly self-taught, but I also learned a lot from coworkers and an internship.”

“Do you draw?” Mrs. Martritz claps her hands together excitedly, and it looks exactly like Mercedes when she’s delighted. Sylvain smiles fondly.

“Uh, well,” Sylvain laughs. “I do sketches before I start, but they’re not any good, they’re just for planning. I’m great at vectors. Uh. That’s not exactly drawing in the sense that you’d think, but—“

He connects with new people easily enough, meeting Dedue’s sisters, the older ones, and starting a few conversations with others that he comes across, and people that Mercedes and Dedue introduce him to, and everyone seems to find him entertaining enough. He mostly sticks to the adults, though he entertains the kids that he encounters and smiles warmly when he catches their stares. Sylvain tends to avoid children, mostly because he feels awkward and ill-suited for interacting with them, but he isn’t the kind of asshole who’s cruel to kids. 

At some point in the night Claude comes up to host a few party games. He’s great at hosting, taking over well for the short intermission before handing the mic back to Dedue’s sister. His sense of humor is dry and earns a consistent stream of laughter from the crowd with well-placed comments, and he treats the kids warmly, generous with consolation prizes. Sylvain even spots him discreetly approaching Dedue’s youngest and most timid sibling between games, handing her a small package as a reward for participating in the first one and winking at Dedue’s grinning mother before hurrying back to start the next game.

“He’s pretty charismatic,” Ashe says, smiling as he pops a chocolate in his mouth, a consolation prize he’d gotten from an earlier game. Sylvain had opted not to participate in the current game to make room for the kids. “Between the two of you everyone’s been positively charmed!”

Sylvain laughs, “Aw, I don’t hold a candle. I just like to keep everyone’s spirits up through small talk.”

“Yeah, but that’s it, exactly!” Ashe exclaims, offering him the bag. Sylvain takes a piece and starts to unwrap the candy. “Claude works the crowd from the stage, and you come in and work the crowd from within! It’s like you’re working together.”

“I guess,” Sylvain snorts at the poetic description, plastic wrapping crinkling as he crumples it. He chews on his candy, smiling wryly as he remarks, “We’re both people persons.”

Ashe nods sagely. “We need more of those. I’m really not one for this kind of stuff.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Sylvain says. “Sure, Claude and I are your regular charmers, but I’m pretty sure every kid’s favorite is you. You’re like a dashing knight in armor to them. Not to mention we’re sitting in your family restaurant right now.”

“That’s too much, I’m just the oldest of my siblings, so I’m really used to working with kids,” Ashe laughs, flushing. “But thank you.”

Sylvain elects to stay and help a bit with the clean up afterwards. Dimitri effortlessly handles all the heavy lifting, politely waving off the Uberts’ hesitance and moving the tables and chairs back to their usual spots under their direction. Sylvain offers to bring the trash bag Constance is holding to the dumpster out back. 

He isn’t alone in the alley. Claude is standing outside, peering down at his phone.

“Ah,” Claude says. “I’ll come back in, I was just. . .”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sylvain says, hefting the bags into the dumpster. “You did a lot already. The games were fun.”

“Thanks. Though I stole most of them from my family.”

“Big family, yeah?”

“On my dad’s side,” Claude says, tapping at his phone. “They’re pretty rowdy. We always, always have to have party games at every family reunion. I’m not complaining, though.”

Sylvain hums.

“Did you like the games?” Claude asks, looking up. He seems genuinely curious. 

“Some of them, yeah. They’re fun. I just suck at anything involving aiming.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Thanks for not calling me out for comic relief.”

“Least I could do,” Claude smiles, somewhat awkwardly, before turning his attention back to his phone. Sylvain smiles back briefly before heading back inside. 

They’re fine, really. The tension’s just hardened into something more like ice, but they’re chipping at it. Claude doesn’t seem like the petty kind, just the avoidant kind, and Sylvain doesn’t have the heart to hold a real grudge against someone who seems like they’re genuinely trying not to get in his way. Mercedes doesn’t have to worry. 

It’s been like how many years, anyway. Five? Sylvain should have forgotten about it by now. If anything, he takes a little private solace in how Claude seems to remember too.

Their situation is kind of weird enough that probably nobody knows what exactly their deal is except each other, and even long time friends like Annette, Dedue, and Dimitri have no idea Claude and Sylvain even knew each other. At least it seems like they’re both on the same page about not letting anyone know.

And again, Sylvain thinks pointedly, it’s not a big deal. Claude is hard to read, but Sylvain is positive he would agree: It’s just awkward.

✧✧✧

Life goes mostly back to normal, except that he’s more frequently in contact with Annette and everyone. That’s a good thing, honestly. Sylvain had mostly been drifting, maintaining a few shallow friendships with colleagues and having a string of relationships that varied in length. His last one ended badly, and he’d taken a break that hadn’t ended yet. He wasn’t really that torn up about it, but she’d kind of read him for filth. 

Apparently Sylvain ‘doesn’t care’ and his gestures are all ‘performative’ and he ‘pretends not to understand to get out of things’ and talks like he’s ‘putting accusations in quotation marks so he doesn’t have to take responsibility for them’. Touché. 

He’d roomed with Felix for a year or two after college, then opted to live alone after Felix had moved out to travel. Sylvain’s dating habits made it kind of awkward to have a roommate who wasn’t used to his antics, and he’d been earning enough to live alone comfortably anyway. 

Ingrid had moved a little south for work, close enough to Garreg Mach to be able to make it for important occasions but far enough that it was a hassle to make the trip for casual get-togethers. Dimitri still lived nearby, and sometimes they hung out, but it was stilted. Sometimes you just grow in different directions. Sylvain would still drop everything if Dimitri needed him, hell, they’ve known each other for over two decades, but casual settings? They both didn’t know what to do with each other sometimes.

Work was work and everyone’s too busy to have the energy most of the time and it’s kind of a slog to rinse-repeat-rinse-repeat-rinse-repeat over and over, but hey, at least Sylvain’s getting his own money and calling his own shots. That’s useful, especially because he’s disowned after what he did.

His last exchange with his father had been listening to him rage at him then end the spiel with the declaration that Sylvain is getting none of the family inheritance. It’s not a problem because Sylvain is actually pretty good at numbers and managing finances. He’d spaced out during most of the call anyway, simply waiting for his dad to quit yelling.

“Okay. I understand. Take care,” he’d said politely, before ending the call.

It wasn’t the best, but after the rough patch things were a bit better than they were before. Maybe his last girlfriend was right, and he has no real concept of responsibility, but someone had told him once that it wasn’t the end of the world, neither for him or his family if he refused to take part in the family business, and if Sylvain thought that it ought to die off then the solution was to step back from it and let it run its course naturally, not to die along with it.

Claude probably doesn’t remember that. He’d actually been drunk for real that time. 

winter, six years ago

“I said, don’t wait up,” Sylvain half-yelled into the phone, walking away from the noise, “I’m either crashing at someone else’s place or going home at an ungodly hour. Get some sleep. Tell Ingrid too.”

Felix simply grunted and hung up. Sylvain wheezed a laugh. He couldn’t blame him; finals had wiped out pretty much everyone.

He’d started to turn back to go in, now that the call had ended, but he’d heard a curse and the sound of skin thunking against wood.

“Is everything—“ Sylvain nearly dropped his phone, watching Claude stumble out of the small forest next to the property. “Claude?”

“That’s, uh,” Claude blinks, “That’s quite the question. I believe in myself a lot but I wouldn’t go so far to say that.”

“You are. . .actually drunk.”

“What gave it away?” 

“It was a hard read, but I’d say that empty bottle in your hand,” Sylvain pointed.

“Wow,” Claude said, and he snickered. “Relying on solid evidence. You’re good.”

Then he tripped over his feet. Sylvain yelped, making it just in time to catch him. 

“What the hell are you even doing out here,” Sylvain grunted, holding him up. Claude flailed a little, then insistently wriggled out of his arms. He tripped again. Sylvain caught him again.

“Pursuing a lead.”

“What?”

“Hilda’s brother said he’d found a wild mushroom around here and ate it when he was drunk in college,” Claude said, “And he swore—on his life— that it instantly made him sober. I called bullshit but the picture he showed me was a mushroom I’d never seen before. I still think it’s bullshit but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. So I went looking for it after drinking.”

Sylvain fell silent. “You got drunk and decided to go mushroom hunting as your first order of business?”

“No, I got drunk because I wanted to try looking for it. I thought, maybe I needed to be drunk to see what it was and, um, retrace his steps, if he’d gotten it wrong, just a little bit, then I couldn’t find it so I just kept drinking, then I thought, how would I test it anyway if I wasn’t drunk? Doesn’t make sense, right? So. . .”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been doing it trial and error.” 

“Of course not, I’m not stupid. I was just telling you what I thought.” Claude gave him a look, like Sylvain was being stupid, but the intensity was undermined by his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes. He held up his other hand, something black catching the moonlight. His phone. “I took pictures. Like Holst. Then I’ll compare in the morning. I just need to know.”

“That’s. . .uh. . .”

“The flash gave me a headache. I’ve gotten enough pictures so I figured I could stop.”

“Good call,” Sylvain managed, feeling totally out of his element. All he could do was stand still and hold Claude steady.

Claude clung to him. “I’m. . .uh. Can you stop moving us?”

“I’m not moving.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going to be sick?” Sylvain gently maneuvered them nearer to the bushes.

“I don’t think so.”

Sylvain took a closer look at him. He moved with less coordination than usual but he seemed relaxed, for real this time. They weren't exactly friends, but for some reason Sylvain often ran into him during odd situations:

In the bathroom of the fine arts building one time, Claude grimacing over the sink as he tried to get paint out of his hair and Sylvain taking pity and offering to get the hard-to-reach areas;

("Didn't take you for an arts guy." 

"I'm not. My friend Leonie wanted to go to this workshop and she almost backed out because she hasn't painted since she was a kid so I signed up too." 

"So how. . .?" 

"I was trying to open this bottle and my hands slipped. Are you here for that too?" 

"Nah, there’s a storybook illustration one going on too. No painting, just markers." Sylvain had been accompanying Bernadetta for moral support.

"Damn.")

At a bookshop off-campus;

("You like books?" 

"Uh, just looking for something I need for class.” Sylvain had picked a topic that he was interested in for an essay, but the literature available was scarce. 

"Ah.")

At a train station in Faerghus of all places during the summer break, after Sylvain had been leaving a game board convention he’d went to alone;

("I'm not even gonna ask if you come here often anymore. . ." 

"It's never the same place but I feel like whatever 'here' is keeps following us.”

"I’m headed back to Fhirdiad, I was just here for a thing,” Sylvain coughed, not wanting to seem like a nerd in front of Claude.

"Ah, I’m going the other way," Claude didn’t elaborate on his reasons.)

Things like that. It wasn't so frequent, but it happened enough that Sylvain was caught off guard every time. It seemed about time for another one of those, he figured.

“Let’s, uh, camp out here, to be sure.”

“Why here?” 

“Convenience. The cold, fresh air will do you good too, y’know?”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Claude let Sylvain move him. “Wait, why are you out here?”

“It was noisy inside and I was on the phone.” 

“With who?”

“Felix,” Sylvain answered, watching Claude in fascination. 

“Who’s Felix?”

“My friend. Why are you asking so many questions?”

Claude reached out, and covered Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain raised his eyebrows and looked down. Claude’s hand looked clean enough, but he hoped to the goddess fervently that he hadn’t been digging around in the dirt in search of that damn mushroom.

“I’m asking the questions here,” he told Sylvain, very seriously. Sylvain took his hand and guided it back down.

“O-Okay,” he said, trying not to laugh. He coughed, shoulders shaking. “Fire away, detective.”

Claude stared at him, squinting. That was the face of a man who’d run out of questions, but Sylvain waited patiently.

“Yeah, I got. . .Oh, wait. What are you doing for winter break?”

Sylvain blinked. “Uh. I don’t know yet. Sleep? Or play video games. Maybe go out too.”

Claude nodded. “Pretty solid plan.”

“Am I allowed to ask about yours?”

“Yeah. Um. I don’t know yet either.” Claude paused. “They want me to come home.”

“Uh. . .who?”

“Family.” 

“Oh. Do you want to?”

Claude picked at the grass, looking away. “That’s a difficult one. Next.”

Sylvain snorted. “Yeah, I get you.”

“They want you to come home too?”

“Uh, I guess. They don’t care if I go home now,” Sylvain said, figuring that he could answer a bit more freely in this situation. “They’ll care in a few years.”

“Why the delay?”

“Because I need a degree, and they want me to work in the company’s marketing team, help expand the business.”

“Ah. That’s pretty big. Do you want to?” Claude echoed his question.

“No,” Sylvain said, immediately. “But I should, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because. . .it’s my family. They’re counting on me.”

“Are you counting on them?”

“Uh,” Sylvain was stumped. “No. Well, I mean, they’re paying for this. So yeah. In a sense.”

“They’re s’posed to do that,” Claude waved the answer off irritably. “Here’s a better question. Do you care about the business?”

“Huh.” These questions were getting pretty deep. Sylvain thought that he should probably get out of the water before it reached a boiling point. “Not really. It’s a dairy business. We’re not that big, just in Faerghus but they’ve been monopolizing the local industry over there for years. And our business practices aren’t the best, and I hate how they treat the animals. I’d basically have to advertise that shit. I mean, maybe I could work my way up and eventually my dad will hand me the whole business when he either retires or. . .but yeah, that’s a long ways off.”

Sylvain sighed, massaging his temples. He went to a party to forget about his troubles, not have a whole discussion about it.

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

“Not really,” Sylvain answered, tonelessly. He mentally noted that this was the last one. He’d find someone else to take care of Claude after. Was he normally this nosy?

Claude did not ask another question. He threw his hands up, looking exasperated. “Then don’t. I mean, do.”

“Huh?” Sylvain asked incredulously. 

“Step back. . .down. Away. Do what you want. Whatever.” Claude said, as if it were that simple. “I don’t know. You don’t have to work there. If you do you’re going to spend the rest of your life just—doing a balancing act. Listen. The world isn’t resting on your shoulders. It’s a fucking dairy company. People need dairy. There are other dairy businesses. The world will survive. I’d say follow your heart and dedicate your life to revolutionizing the dairy industry if you actually cared but I bet—I bet you don’t even care about dairy. Do you?”

Nobody had ever asked Sylvain that question before. He’d been friends long enough with Dimitri and the others that it was just kind of a given, and nobody really thought about it that deeply. Sylvain never liked talking about his family life or his future so he avoided those topics like the plague so it wasn’t like anyone had the opportunity to. And in that moment, he completely forgot about his frustration because the mere act of opening his mouth to answer felt like reaching fucking nirvana.

Sylvain didn’t know if he was mad at Claude for prying too much, but his entire life was a bad joke and this was the moment he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for, the punchline:

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

Claude opens his mouth around nothing, at a loss for words at the revelation of the clown show that was Sylvain’s lot in life. He pushed his hands into his hair, grasping at the strands. Sylvain offhandedly notices that the clasp on his braid had come off at some point, and the sections had started to stick out. There was a small leaf caught in a loop of hair. He silently reached out and flicked it away. That seemed to snap Claude out of the trance he’d fallen in.

“You’re fucking lactose intolerant!” Claude cried out. He looked genuinely and utterly dismayed. “What are you doing ? Is this a joke?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Sylvain wheezed, unsure if he was going to start laughing or crying. Maybe both. “I mean, it’s kinda mild so. . .it’s not. . .so bad. . .most of the time.”

“Don’t do it,” Claude pleaded. “Don’t. You’re smart .”

Sylvain smiled bitterly, “You know, I’m kind of sick of being told what to do.”

Claude blinked, clearly taken aback. Sylvain felt a rush of—something. He didn’t know what exactly.

“But you just said you didn’t want to,” Claude argued.

Sylvain paused. “I. . .I did say that.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t tell you what to do,” Claude said. “I don’t like being told either. I just. . .I think people should be able to choose."

Sylvain opened his mouth and something must've been written on his face because Claude interrupted.

“Don’t even fucking do it for the bit,” Claude said. “Don’t you dare. ”

Sylvain burst out laughing hysterically. His emotions were all over the place. 

“Claude! I’ve been searching the house for half an hour—I thought I heard yelling—Sylvain ?!” Hilda Goneril’s voice sounds out. “Oh my gosh, Claude! What did you say to this poor boy?”

“Hilda. He’s lactose intolerant,” Claude told her, the distress in his voice giving Hilda pause. 

“That is no reason to confront him! We should be sorry for him!”

“You should,” Sylvain agreed, his laughter dying into soft wheezes. Claude looked at him and started to laugh along, but winced and ducked his head.

“My head hurts so bad,” Claude moaned, clutching at his hair. “Gods.” 

“I should get him back to his dorm,” Hilda addressed Sylvain, sounding apologetic. She clasped her hands together and did some curtsy-like motion that looked dainty and very practiced. “Sorry, he doesn’t usually drink this much.”

She probably thought they were about to get into some kind of altercation and was trying to sweet talk and bat her eyes to salvage Claude’s reputation and placate Sylvain before escaping. He could see through her. In a way it was also kind of sweet that she cared about protecting the public opinion on Claude, because Claude himself never seemed very concerned about those kinds of things. 

Sylvain should probably reassure her that it was really fine. But he didn’t exactly want to reveal that he’d been practically pouring his heart out and Claude had actually been making points trying to help him out. So he shrugged and let the show commence.

“It’s all good. I’ll help you.”

“No, no, I’ve got it. You go back to the party and enjoy yourself, there’s a good few hours left.”

“But—“ Sylvain’s response died in his mouth as Hilda stooped down low, and hoisted Claude up like he weighed absolutely nothing. She held him up in a bridal carry, and turned to Sylvain. 

“He’s very light! Don’t let appearances fool you. You’re a nice guy, Sylvain. Don’t tell anyone, mmkay?” She smiled sweetly. “I’ve got a delicate reputation to maintain.”

“Literally. She keeps telling everyone she’s a delicate flower,” Claude said, weakly. He held a hand over his eyes, grimacing. “It’s bullshit, right? Look at us.”

“Shush,” Hilda hissed. She faced Sylvain and smiled sheepishly. 

“That’s peak Claude for you,” She sighed airily, looking perfectly at ease carrying a man a full head taller than her. “Even drunk he just becomes even more of a yapper and sticks his nose in everyone’s business, throwing his opinions around everywhere like candy. No restraint! He’s usually very relaxed, you see. I’m really sorry if he overstepped or anything.”

“How dare you. . .insinuate I’m not in peak condition while sober.”

“How much do you have to drink before you stop using words like insinuate ?”

“Are you sure you want to find out?”

“Claude I am trying to save face for both of us right now, don’t test me or I am going back in the house to drop you in the pool—“

Claude laughed, like she’d said the funniest thing in the world. “Try me, I’ll pull you in and we’ll both go down. I hope you like swimming.”

Hilda smiled tightly at Sylvain, a threat beginning to show in her eyes. He mimed zipping his lips and crossing over his heart, finishing it off with a hand up, palm facing out in a scout’s honor. Hilda’s smile turned into something sweeter, and she winked.

She turned and started walking away into the night, heading back in the direction of the dormitory buildings with Claude in her arms. Sylvain watched them go in amazement. They started arguing again once they were a couple feet away, Claude’s voice incomprehensible but carrying an undertone of petulance.

So that was why Claude avoided drinking too much, Sylvain thought to himself.

spring, present day

Honestly, Sylvain didn’t have more than a surface level comprehension of Claude, but it did look like peak Claude: wandering in, asking too many questions to the point of almost pissing off people, somehow presenting his own take with valid points just before they did get too pissed off and walking away having changed lives in his wake. Or minds. 

Claude’s drunken, earnest incredulity at a simple fact of Sylvain’s life had been jarring enough that Sylvain had gone home thinking, what am I doing with my life?

His thesis year had started a couple months after, and he’d ended up basing his undergraduate thesis off another local, small family-run dairy business, creating and presenting a marketing plan for them. They still use his materials and it was a hit in practice and in theory with GMU’s faculty, which is something that Sylvain finds a lot of pride in. His father hadn’t even been aware of it until years later, sending Sylvain an angry email demanding for ‘the meaning of this’, ‘this’ being a link to one news article in Garreg Mach’s local paper that was like, three years old.

Sylvain had done a lot of thinking about it on his own, of course, and he hadn’t simply followed Claude. He’d found his own way. Honestly, the other most striking thing for Sylvain from that conversation was Claude telling him not to do it for the bit, which is still really funny in hindsight because if Sylvain had experienced the revelation with anyone else he would’ve walked away telling himself that his life was a joke but at least he was committing to the bit. Claude had beaten him to the punch with enough drunken, honest feeling for Sylvain to understand that he had been communicating with some sort of a kindred spirit that night.

Anyway, Sylvain thinks, with just a touch of bitterness, it seems like lady luck had seen it fit to drop Claude von Riegan back into his life this way in return for escaping the whole lactose-intolerant-miserable-marketing-head-of-a big-dairy-business thing. What was that thing that Bernadetta always quoted? The rule of equivalent exchange or something. 

✧✧✧

Before spring ends, they hold a more casual apartment party for Dedue and Mercedes’ friends in celebration of their engagement. As maid of honor, Annette takes the reins planning the thing with Sylvain’s assistance, Dimitri offering to do what he can as Dedue’s best man but mostly relying on Claude to support him, not having much interest in party planning. Ingrid is able to make it, and Felix even makes an appearance over video chat, Sylvain holding his phone up with a grin so Dedue and Mercedes can call out hi to him. 

He spends a bit of time chatting with Mercedes while it’s early. They talk about work and various TV shows until there’s a tangent and Mercedes asks about the relationship troubles he’d been talking about last time. 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mercedes says, after he’s finished explaining how he’d bought a package of pottery classes for him and his now ex-girlfriend upon her request that they do something together and now has no girlfriend and four non-refundable sessions of pottery lessons for two at a local workshop. “I’ll see if I have any friends who might want to attend!”

“Nah, it’s okay, unless you know a couple who wants to go,” Sylvain says, thinking about how he’s not really in the mood to spend a couple hours with someone he doesn’t know for four weekends. He’d asked a few coworkers and even Bernadetta, but no luck. “It’s just funny. I’ll figure something out. Hey, didn’t you and Dedue go to one before?”

“Yes, he keeps two of our mugs displayed at the cafe,” Mercedes flushes, unable to stop her wide smile. “He’s very proud of them.”

He lets Mercedes go shortly after to chat with more guests, and drifts over to Annette. Annette gasps in the middle of their conversation, He does raise his eyebrows when he sees Lorenz Gloucester walk in, long, silky purple hair practically shining like in the shampoo commercials. 

“Whoa,” Annette says. “His hair!”

“Zero to one hundred,” Sylvain agrees. 

“Lorenz,” Claude does a double take. He looks flabbergasted.

“Yes?” Lorenz asks, frowning. “Is something the matter?”

Claude tilts his head, affecting a concerned expression. “It’s just. . .your fedora. Where is it?”

Lorenz’ expression goes from mildly perplexed to just-swallowed-a-lemon in 0.5 seconds. “You—Every time!”

“It’s just so iconic,” Hilda laughs, covering her mouth as Lorenz turns to give her a look. “Really! I work in fashion, trust me.”

“I trust neither of you,” Lorenz declares. “Where is Mercedes?”

“Oh buddy, she was not in favor of that look, I can tell you that,” Claude says.

“I mean to offer her my congratulations!” Lorenz slashes the air in front of him with his hand, as if he can dispel the conversation physically. “I am well aware of the nature of my past choices.”

“What choices?” Ferdinand von Aegir says, stepping into the apartment and shrugging off his jacket. “Lorenz! What a delight.”

“Woah!” Annette whispers to Sylvain. “ His hair!”

“Damn,” Sylvain says. Ferdinand’s long, wavy auburn hair, cascaded over his shoulders and tumbled down his back. “I gotta give it to him, if this was a shampoo commercial audition I’d go with Ferdinand.”

“I’d find a way to get both!” Annette whispers, smiling. Sylvain laughs.

“You’re a ray of sunshine,” he tells her fondly. “Maybe you should audition, you’d kill it for sure.”

“No way!” Annette flushes, but her smile widens into a grin. 

There are a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. Sylvain doesn’t know how to feel about some of them. He’d seen Dorothea somewhere off to the left, and he does genuinely like her but he’s not so sure he wants to find out how they’ve both changed, if in her eyes he’s still the same guy from college. 

He also spots Hubert and Edelgard chatting with Constance and Hapi and makes sure to cast a wide berth. Edelgard and Hubert probably still think he’s an idiot and Sylvain isn’t interested in attempting to validate or disprove their opinion. 

He spends a little time with Dimitri, and Ingrid, then Annette and Ashe. Then drifts off by himself to the table, picking off a few snacks. He looks around and decides to go out onto Mercedes and Dedue’s balcony to get some fresh air. He turns sideways and slips through the narrow gap, avoiding the fuss of trying to slide the doors open wider.

“Ah,” Claude says. He’s leaning back against the railing, phone out. “Hi.”

Of course. It’s the joke theory. The equivalent exchange. Of course Claude is here.

If he turned around and left now it’d seem bad. So Sylvain continues on and stands a little ways away from him, resting his forearms over the metal railing.

“Hey. Just went to get some fresh air,” he says, squinting out into the darkness. “Don’t let me bother you.”

Claude hums quietly, going back to looking at his phone. 

It’s nice out here. The noise from the party is a murmur and the wind is cool and steady, brushing his bangs out of his face almost gently. 

Claude is completely quiet. Sylvain half expects him to be gone when he glances to the side, but he’s still there. Scrolling. 

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, you know.” Sylvain says. 

“Hm?” Claude looks up. “I’m not.”

“Really?”

Claude sighs. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s not what you think. Probably.”

“It’s weirding me out that you’re being so nice.”

“Well, that just makes me feel even more like an ass.”

Sylvain huffed out a humorless laugh, leaning down and resting his chin on his arms. “You feel what you feel.”

“I play it up, you know,” Claude says. “In different situations. Just because I’m not teasing doesn’t mean I’m not trying. This is less of an act, actually.”

“Less,” Sylvain points out, eyes closed. 

“Old habits die hard. You’re not exactly an open book either.”

“Were we ever?”

Claude snorts. “You tell me. Congratulations, by the way, on your thesis. It’s about. . .5 years late, but who’s counting, y’know?”

Both of us, apparently, Sylvain doesn’t say.

“Thanks. I realized I could commit to other bits.”

Claude is silent for a moment. “Alright, I’ll take the bait. I’m glad you’re not the sad lactose intolerant head of marketing sitting in an office chair in a cheese factory in Faerghus or something right now. Really.”

Sylvain straightens up, eyes snapping open. He whirls around to point a triumphant finger, whisper-yelling, “I knew you were lying about being so drunk you couldn’t remember! I fucking knew it!”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell Hilda. I was really drunk, I just remember more than I claimed to. I’m still pretending I have no idea I threatened to yank her into a pool and kept her up half the night sitting in my dorm bathroom while I was puking my guts out.” Claude clears his throat. “I did do her a few favors in gratitude though. Subtly.”

“Did you ever find the mushroom?”

“No,” Claude sighs, with all the weight of the world. “None of the pictures matched up. A mystery left unsolved. Still keeps me up at night sometimes. I think Holst really was just messing with me, but I don’t know where he got that weird mushroom picture to sell it. I even asked Ashe if he’d ever seen anything like it.”

Sylvain laughs, shaking his head. A smile spreads over Claude’s face, then it falls off. 

“Hey,” he starts.

“Oh, here it is,” Sylvain says. Claude sighs.

“Let me get it out first, okay?” Claude laughs, but it’s an insincere sound. He pushes a hand through his hair to keep the strands out of his face. He inhales and breathes out, quietly, and significantly less insincerely, “I’m sorry.”

Sylvain settles down, leaning back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, it’s okay. What’s done is done, yeah?”

summer, five years ago

Sylvain didn’t feel much of anything about graduation, just a hollow sort of relief and a little bit of regret. Looking back, it didn’t feel like he’d done much of anything, just coasted around and barely kept afloat until it was done. 

Not that he’d want to do it again. But he couldn’t help but remember what he’d told Annette back in high school: guys like him, guys who just sort of got by on their wits, everything falls apart for them eventually. Sylvain got out of this okay, like always, but honestly? He was tired of constantly feeling like he'd escaped what he had coming to him and waiting around for the other shoe to drop. 

He’d smiled for the camera, posed with his parents, accepted the gifts his friends had gotten him. He was the first of most of them to graduate, except for Mercedes. He graduated first over Miklan, who had reportedly dropped out of his university back in Faerghus and was doing goddess-knows-what these days. He'd gotten an award for his thesis, which his parents still hadn't known about judging by their reactions. He felt his dad clap him on the back and wondered if he was doing the right thing.

Either way, he'd already committed to still living with Ingrid and Felix, so. He didn't know if that was the right thing either; he loved his friends but they weren't always good for each other.

He was collecting some documents at the university office when he'd bumped into someone.

"I'll save you the line this time. Come here often?" 

By now Claude wore his hair a little different, a little pushed back and a little tousled. His braid had gotten a bit longer and he tucked it behind his ear these days, the gold clasp a little more hidden. One time during another of their weird encounters, Sylvain had pointed at his piercing and asked if he was getting another one. Claude had informed him that he wanted multiple, actually, but he was still deciding what he wanted. As of now it only seemed that he'd gotten another lobe piercing, bringing the number to two. The emerald stud he wore looked nice; it matched his eyes pretty well--provided that Sylvain had been the one to idly point at the thing during said weird encounter in the shop. Claude had shrugged and said he'd take his opinion into consideration, walking into the back room as he'd been called. Sylvain hadn't even come out of it with anything. He'd been there with a guy he was dating at the time and broke up with a week after. 

"You know, I actually do," Sylvain said. "But this'll probably be the last, or close to it I guess."

"You're not taking a break?"

"Nah. Wouldn't really know what to do with it."

Claude hummed, "I see."

"Are you in line?"

"Nah, I'm done," Claude held up a brown envelope. "You?"

"Yeah."

They walked together, out of the office and down the steps of the building, through the mostly empty campus. There were only a few people milling around, in the gap between the start of summer classes and the end of the last semester. 

"I didn't see you at graduation," Sylvain said.

"Didn't go," Claude said. Sylvain made a noise of surprise. "I've been knocking off credits during the summers and testing out of courses to graduate early. I just thought it'd be kinda pointless since I didn't really know anyone in the graduating batch that well, and it'd be a hassle to have my family travel just to watch me walk across a stage for a couple minutes."

It sounded practical. And initially, kind of sad, but when Sylvain thought back to sweating in an uncomfortable seat for hours zoning out listening to the names being read out then having to pose endlessly for another amount of time with his parents he understood. Claude didn't sound much of anything about it; just logical. 

"Makes sense. I didn't know you graduated early. Huh." Sylvain hummed. 

"Never skipped a summer," Claude said, cheerily. "If I went a normal pace I would've graduated next year."

Sylvain's eyebrows rose; from their conversations over the years he could tell that Claude was smart, but he wouldn't have guessed that Claude was such a hard worker too. He'd kind of thought of Claude as similar to himself sometimes, laidback and easygoing. He whistled.

"That's impressive. With your penchant for partying and all the places I run into you, I couldn't have guessed you were working like a madman behind the scenes."

"I'd appreciate it if you kept the wraps over my secret," Claude winked. Sylvain laughed.

"Pretty sure it's out in the open now, since you won't be here next year."

"True," Claude said. "I'm sure they'll miss seeing this handsome mug around campus."

Sylvain laughed. "Do they know?"

"Oh, yeah." Claude snorted, looking up at the sky. He sighed. "You know Hilda threw me a surprise party on graduation night, when I skipped? Hilda, of all people. It was friends-only, though she went all out on the preparations. She got an impressive number of people together. She even got some of my friends from other universities to come.

Sylvain whistled. Claude laughed.

"I have no idea how she got my friend Dedue's contact number. He came in holding this huge homemade cake. I couldn't believe it."

"That's sweet." Sylvain said. "Hearing about that, let me tell you now: you didn't miss anything at the ceremony."

Sylvain was used to jealousy; there were certain things in his childhood that he found himself wanting with such an intensity that had surprised himself and even made him feel a little guilty, so he'd hid it from Felix and the others. It wasn't like they had cushy lives growing up either, especially Dimitri. He didn't really hold it against people. He might've, when he was younger, but most of the time now it was really just an "oh, well" sort of feeling that he wrapped up to hide as soon as it reared its head. Hearing about Claude's graduation day made his heart ache a little, yeah, but the day after his own celebration with family Sylvain had gone out to dinner with his childhood friends, and even Annette and Mercedes and Bernadetta had come, and it was a lot of fun. So all in all his own experience was good too.

But he couldn't help but wonder what it would've felt like to be there, to watch how Claude would react to a surprise party and surprise attendees and a surprise cake. That was a lot of surprises. Surely it had broken through the cloud Claude kept himself hidden behind. Sylvain was curious. Maybe if he'd made a little more effort, somehow gotten past one of his many starts with Claude, Hilda would've deemed him worthy of the guest list. 

"I did wonder how it went." Claude said. 

"Yeah, well, it was just hours and hours of sitting around then posing for pictures."

"Yeah, I figured." Claude seemed to be holding back on saying something. “Well, what’s done is done, anyway. There’s a lot to look forward to.”

“Not taking a break after all that?”

“Eh, I’ve got plans.” Claude shrugged, smiling. “Kind of.”

“Care to tell?” Sylvain asked, genuinely curious. Before graduating, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask what Claude was even studying, so he’d been surprised to hear his name announced during the ceremony and find out that he’d been taking a degree in public administration.

“Ah, well,” Claude said, hand coming up to fiddle with an earring, “It’d take longer than a walk through campus to explain. Not first date material, I can tell you that.”

He finished his statement off with a wink, smiling mischievously. Sylvain snorted.

“I have to go this way, though,” Claude said, his hand coming down from his ear to point.

Sylvain looked and noticed they were at the campus gates already. Claude was pointing in the direction of the bus stop. 

"Ah, I'm meeting a friend nearby." Sylvain said, remembering to take out his phone and check if Felix had sent him any texts. 

"I'll see you around, then. Or wherever 'here' is next." Claude grinned. Sylvain laughed.

Claude turned away, shouldering his backpack. Sylvain watched a little bow and arrow keychain swing on the zipper and found himself calling out, "Hey, wait."

"Hm?" Claude looked at him from over his shoulder. The light glinted off his earrings as his head turned; Sylvain looked at the emerald stud on his ear and strengthened his resolve.

"I mean, since it's summer, you wanna try actually going somewhere instead of waiting for it? You and me?" Sylvain's used to asking people out, but for some reason the words exit his mouth with a little more difficulty than usual. He cleared his throat.

"You and me, you mean like. . ." Claude trailed off, then turned back around to face him properly, "Like a date or. . .?"

"Yeah," Sylvain tried to put on his most charming smile. "You can tell me about your plans then. Think of it as that elusive second date, yeah?"

Claude paused for a while, a blank look on his face. He seemed almost skittish, even, but before Sylvain could take it back he said, "Okay."

Sylvain tried to keep his cool, unlocking his phone and navigating to the contacts app. Claude took it gingerly, inputting his number.

"You know, it's been like two years and I only got your number now."

"I'm a bit of a wait, I guess.”

✧✧✧

They set a date. Sylvain went through all of his usual motions: he initiated a text conversation or two over the week, he bought a bouquet of sunflowers and roses to present to Claude with a clever pick-up line, he readied just in case Claude did surprise him and went back to his room with him. 

He waited at the table for about thirty minutes before his phone pinged with a message, as a waitress is refilling his glass of water. Claude wouldn’t be able to make it. There was no mention of rescheduling. Sylvain knows how to read between the lines. He wonders what to reply, beginning to get up from the table.

“I’m sorry,” the waitress said, giving him an apologetic glance as he looks up from his phone. Well, Sylvain isn’t. Sure, he was a little surprised, and she’d probably seen enough disastrous dates to be able to tell more easily. He gives her a well-practiced, charming smile, holding out the bouquet. 

“Eh, I’m sure everything happens for a reason. Are those sunflower earrings? Maybe this was meant for you instead.”

spring, present day

“It’s really not a big deal,” Sylvain says. “It wasn’t a complete failure of a night. I got the waitress’ number and we ended up having a fling for a bit. Sure, you were a bit of a whirlwind, but I always land on my feet eventually.”

“Uh, okay. Still,” Claude says. “I know how it looks—“

“Yeah. We only happened to end up here again and now it’s awkward because we probably never expected this since it's been so long. Exactly,” Sylvain says. “So I get it. Really. I don’t have the best track record, okay? I’ve been there, believe you me. I understand.”

“Just let me finish, will you?” Claude bites out, visibly struggling to conceal his exasperation. Sylvain can distantly appreciate the courtesy. “Okay. Maybe it’s not a big deal—“

“Why are you saying that like a hypothetical—“

Claude reaches out and hooks his fingers under Sylvain’s chin, pushing upwards firmly but not roughly. Sylvain’s mouth clicks shut. Sylvain hates how his stomach flips and his breath catches.

“It was still really dumb of me to do that,” Claude continues calmly, fingers still pressed against the underside of Sylvain’s chin to keep his mouth shut like it’s nothing. “A thirty minute late text with barely an explanation then complete no contact is a dick move no matter how you look at it. Sylvain, I am sorry. Honestly, I’m just not sure how to make it up to you, but you deserve an apology, at least.”

He drops his hand. Sylvain’s mouth remains shut, tongue stuck to the roof. 

Well. There you go. Still no real explanation, but—well, Sylvain figures he doesn't need to hear Claude telling him he didn't like him and decided to skip out, anyway. Ingrid would probably call this Sylvain’s just desserts if she knew about this, and she’d be right, but not in the way she thinks. Sylvain feels some sort of weird, embarrassed emotion rising up in his throat and he swallows before it can get too far. 

Some part of him hadn’t wanted Claude to apologize at all because now he’s staring at Claude’s serious, solemn expression, grand old I’m-sorry-and-you-deserve-better speech echoing in his ears, and his first thought is that Claude actually sounds a hell of a lot more convincing than Sylvain ever did using almost that same exact combination of words to placate jilted ex-lovers. Sylvain doesn’t belong on this end of the speech, but now he thinks that he didn’t ever do quite a good job being on the other side anyway either.

And the funniest, most absurd thing about all this is that they never even dated. They had some really memorable interactions, half-starts that never really resulted in anything real between them, and then they almost did but Claude stood him up on the very first date, before it could even start and figuratively backed out of that weird game of chicken that Sylvain had been the unenthusiastic victor of, feeling very much unlike a winner. 

And somehow this all feels so very serious for something that’s been prematurely dead in the water for like five years, like they’re pseudo-exes or something because apparently Claude von Riegan just makes that much of an impact. If anything, Sylvain can marvel at the fact that Claude himself is treating this just as seriously. He can appreciate that. It makes him feel less crazy. He doesn’t even know what it’s like to actually be in a relationship with him.

He has no idea how long he’s been silent, but Claude is still standing off to the side, observing him. He’s leaning back, still, one arm crossed over and the other using it to prop up his elbow as he fiddles with his earring, the hoop, spinning the rings on it. Sylvain’s mind feels blank. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to dive back into possibly another weird game of chicken but they’re going to be seeing and hearing more of each other in the next months and presumably they’re older and wiser, so. If Sylvain perishes by the end of this then so be it. He’ll just make sure it’s after Mercedes and Dedue get hitched so everyone else is distracted.

“Okay,” Sylvain says. “I—Damn, I don’t know. Let’s just start over, yeah?”

Claude blinks, then exhales a surprised laugh that’s hardly even audible. But it is sincere. Probably. You can never be too sure with Claude. 

“Yeah,” he says, and if Sylvain knew him any better he might say that Claude actually sounded relieved. 

“One thing, though,” Sylvain says, “Uh, did you ever. . .I mean, does anyone know?”

Claude starts to shake his head, then stops. “Hilda.”

At Sylvain’s silence, he holds up his hands placatingly. “I swear it’s not gossip, she just. . .helped me out. Sort of. She’s sworn to secrecy, by the way. We don’t talk about it at all, I almost forgot she even knew.”

“So did she like warn you off me or something,” Sylvain deadpans. “I guess I deserve that.”

“No , on both counts.” Claude sighs. “I’ll tell you some other time. Not here.”

Sylvain nods, reluctantly. Then he throws his head back and covers his face with his hands.

“What?” Claude asks, alarmed.

“I’m amazed we’ve gone on so long like this,” Sylvain says, muffled. He drops his hands, looking at Claude tiredly. “That library story Dedue likes? I immediately knew it was you, you were written all over it. The stories Annette tells about that guy in Almyra who tried analyzing her silly little songwriting and connected it to ancient Faerghan rituals? Again, I’m sitting there and I’m thinking yeah, that sounds like Claude. Then she says her friend’s name is Claude. Then I go and laugh and tell them wow, sounds like a fun guy.”

Claude grimaces. “Uh, yeah, sorry. No controlling word of mouth. At least you didn’t have to see me around so much, yeah?”

“Huh?” Sylvain says. “Wait. Are you telling me you orchestrated not running into me?”

“I just, you know, I figured you wouldn’t wanna see me,” Claude says, then he pauses. “Okay, I’m kind of seeing how stupid this is.”

Sylvain turns around and starts cackling uncontrollably, clutching at the top of the railing. Claude hastily pushes the sliding door shut all the way.

“I don’t know where you get the energy to pull off shit like this,” Sylvain gasps out, looking back over his shoulder. “Five years . Man, you’ve got issues.”

“Hey, wait—I was not employing some elaborate grand scheme that spanned five years!” Claude argues, his head whipping around to gape at Sylvain. Somehow his quick, almost frantic denial makes Sylvain laugh harder, until he’s coughing over the balcony railing and wheezing. “I meant the get-together!

“I wasn’t going to put it off too long. I was feeling out when to talk to you. I don’t think even I can pull off avoiding someone who’s in the same wedding party, even if you are on Mercedes’ side of it,” Claude says. “It just caught me off guard that night. I’d just moved back literally two days prior, Dedue asked me to be a groomsman the day after that, and as far as I knew you weren’t even going to that one.”

“Yeah, my schedule was a bit chaotic that weekend. Trouble in paradise, you know how it is.”

Claude snorts. “I don’t—know where you get the energy for that. I haven’t dated in a while.”

“Well, I’m taking a break, so technically, I don’t right now,” Sylvain says. 

“Ah, I see.” Claude says.

They stand there in silence for a bit. 

“Well!” Claude claps his hands together once, looking away, “I'm glad we've cleared this up.”

They briefly discuss the matter of their friends, and conclude that they have now (somewhat) resolved the matter on their own like perfectly capable adults and therefore don’t need to explain themselves and make a fuss out of it. They can simply continue on and refrain from correcting the assumption that they are new friends. Sylvain kindly says that he will preserve Claude’s dignity and keep quiet about his insane avoidance skills. 

“I’m joking,” he clarifies, after a moment.

“I know. You don’t have to,” Claude tells him. 

“Nah, really, it’s okay. It’s not like it was that serious or anything, yeah?”

Claude thanks him and tells him that the whole thing has blown out of proportion and that Sylvain can let him know if he needs anything and Claude will do his best. Sylvain tells him he’s too kind and maybe they could just get a coffee together at some point. Maybe they really can put the pseudo-exes status behind them and this will be the start to a beautiful pseudo-friendship where they keep telling each other things like “we should really hang out sometime” and never do then greet each other warmly at get-togethers pretending there’s nothing hanging over their heads and rinse and repeat.

When they slip back into the apartment, the party is starting to wind down.

“Oh, you guys were out there?” Annette asks. Mercedes peers over at them from her side. “I was wondering where you went, Sylvain!”

“Yeah, we were just,” Sylvain shares a look with Claude and shrugs, “having a talk.”

Claude hums in agreement. “The air outside was really nice.”

“I thought I was hearing laughter from there at some point,” Mercedes says, covering her mouth to hide her growing smile. Dedue drifts over to them, Ashe in tow. “I hope you two had fun!”

“We did,” Claude says, remarkably composed for the person who was the subject of said laughter. Sylvain simply swallows the new laugh bubbling up his throat and grins, giving Mercedes a thumbs up. 

“We’ll get a coffee sometime or whatever,” Sylvain tells her, in a bid for reassurance. “Get to know each other better.”

“That sounds nice,” Mercedes hums, then she lights up. “Oh, Sylvain! Don’t you have those classes you bought with no one to go with? Maybe you can ask Claude to join you, if he's free!”

“What classes?” Annette asks.

“Pottery classes,” Mercedes says. 

“Pottery. . .” Claude says.

“You are always saying you will try to appreciate different art forms as someone who is more into the theoretical side of things,” Dedue says, thoughtful. He smiles at Claude. “I myself have taken a few basic classes in the past, as you know. I think you would like it.”

“Hm? What makes you say that?”

“I think it would be best for you to try and see it yourself,” Dedue says. “It is quite therapeutic.”

Claude looks at Sylvain. 

“Uh, well, I do have a spot open since I’m not going with the person I was anymore,” Sylvain says. “I already paid, so. It’s on Saturdays but not a fixed schedule so we can skip weekends if you want. Three hours, four sessions.”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t turn down something for free.”

For people who are supposedly out of each other’s orbits, Sylvain can read the look in his eyes. He’s thinking. Maybe he’ll suggest a switcheroo with Hilda or something. Hilda looks more like someone who likes the crafts over Claude. Actually, better yet, maybe Sylvain can foist off the entire thing on Claude because Sylvain was actually dreading getting his hands dirty with the clay. Claude and Hilda can bond over it and Sylvain won’t have wasted money.

“Uh, unless it’s far,” Claude adds. “I might work some weekends.”

“It’s on Azure, near the city museum.” Sylvain says. “It’s on the second floor above this gym. . .”

“Oh, I live near there.” Claude looks genuinely caught off guard. “I didn’t know there was something like that there. My new roommate works at that gym.”

“Me too,” Sylvain says, after a moment of silence. “Live near, I mean.”

“Okay, I can give it a shot.” Claude shrugs.

✧✧✧

Claude pulls Sylvain aside after the party and tells him, “Uh—“

“Yeah, you can take someone else if you want,” Sylvain says.

“That was not what I was going to say.” Claude blinks at him. “I was going to offer to pay the half of it.”

“Huh?”

“We don’t have to do unnecessary dancing around, you know.” Claude points out, sounding perfectly logical. “We can just go to the first session and then work something else out, I’m sure there are other people in this city who’d be up to take pottery classes. We can discuss it with the instructor. It’s not a crime to not like something, I’m sure Dedue and Mercedes are just trying to be encouraging. They wouldn’t take it personally if we didn’t want to.”

“That makes sense.” 

“And I’m not trying to avoid you like the plague,” Claude says, sighing. “I just figured it’d be easier if we stayed out of each other’s ways, but now it’s kind of messy. I don’t mind taking an art class or being at a party with you, as friends. I did like talking to you.”

“So it was the relationship part that sent you running,” Sylvain says. 

“Pretty much,” Claude says, unable to meet his eyes. 

“You could’ve just said so,” Sylvain sighs. “I know how to take a rejection.”

“It’s like you said,” Claude says lightly. “I have issues.”

This is the most confusing man on earth that Sylvain has ever had the pleasure of knowing. Ingrid has told him several times over that Sylvain is nonsensical, but Claude completely blows Sylvain out of the water and Sylvain is kind of fascinated. He’s pretty sure that if Ingrid knew about this she would tell him that this is what the kids call a toxic relationship. Toxic fascination. Whatever.

“I did mean what I said about making it up to you,” Claude says, snapping Sylvain out of his thoughts. “I just. . .have a tendency to avoid things.”

“You don’t say.” Sylvain coughs, then he says, “Okay, just. You’re completely logical about things one moment and the next you can’t even tell me you don’t want to go out on a date and spend the next five years sidestepping me so you don’t have to explain.”

“Yeah, that’s—“ Claude winces. “Okay, yeah, that’s something I don’t have the words for right now." 

"Raincheck," Sylvain says. "Too much talk already."

"Normally I'd disagree," Claude says. "But not tonight."

Someone calls their names. Sylvain turns. It's Dimitri.

"Claude, did you need a ride home again?" Dimitri asks.

"Uh, sure. I was just talking to Sylvain about some plans."

"He's taking me up on the pottery thing," Sylvain explains.

“Oh. Glad to see you’re getting along,” Dimitri says. He scratches at the back of his neck, “I always thought you two would’ve made good friends, but I never really found any opportunity to introduce you to each other personally back in school.”

Sylvain finds himself at a loss of words at the irony in that statement, but luckily Claude has an endless supply.

“Well!” He says cheerily, patting Sylvain on the shoulder as he moves past. “Better late than never, yeah? We’ve just begun.”