Archive of Our Own

They’re three days into this absolute fiasco of a situation and Felix thinks he’s taking it like a champ, all things considered.

“Feeeee-liiiix!”

Sylvain’s syrupy nonsense rings out through the door, and a moment later Felix punches a wall.

Alright maybe he’s not exactly taking it like a champ. Even if he was the reigning featherweight grappling champion in the Garreg Mach training grounds back in his school days. From the way he’d been putting dents in his walls this week, it looked like he’d be defending his title.

“Fuck,” Felix hisses under his breath, shaking out his wrist and fingers. Maybe he should go back to taking his frustration out with a sword and spare his knuckles for one day.

“Sweetheart, please, you can’t keep a guy waiting like this. It’s agonizing,” Sylvain whines.

Felix winds up for another punch but loses steam in the follow through. Putting up with Sylvain  is going to be plenty painful without any other incidental injuries. Meanwhile, he’s now escalated to rhythmic knocking, playing the door like it’s a goddamn drum, humming along to whatever shitty tune he’s thumping out.

“What,” Felix hisses, “could you possibly want at this hour, Sylvain?” punctuating his name with an extra little growl as he swings open the door with all his might. Sylvain, who had apparently been leaning his entire massive body into the door, tumbles forward and face-plants directly into Felix’s chest. Felix silently thanks his low center of gravity for keeping his feet firmly rooted to the ground.

“Mmmm...nothing like the sweet smell of weapons oil in the morning,” Sylvain murmurs into his chest, drinking in a deep breath of his scent. Felix’s scowl deepens, as does his blush. 

“Disgusting,” he spits back. He shoves Sylvain off immediately at that, probably harder than necessary but definitely not as hard as he deserved. Sylvain has the gall to put on his fake wounded face as he smooths out the creases in his shirt. Felix glares at the top three – no, four– buttons he left undone and considers going AWOL, Byleth and the Boar’s war efforts be damned.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again, idiot,” Felix snaps, in lieu of desertion.

“You know, ‘repeat myself’ and ‘again’ sound pretty redundant, Felix. Wouldn’t repeating yourself already imply ‘again’? For a man of so few words I’m shocked that you’d go out of your way to use an unnecessary...”

“Cut the crap, Sylvain,” Felix sighs. Exhausted already and the sun’s hardly up, how delightful. “What the hell are you doing in my room? It’s barely dawn, aren’t you usually just getting to bed now, anyway?”

Sylvain looks down at his toes sheepishly, reaching back to run fingers through his bed head.

“Please Felix,” Sylvain begs, turning those horrible puppy dog eyes on him, “Mercedes said I’m on the mend but she kept me cooped up in that damn infirmary for three whole days. I think my brain is legitimately going to rot out of my skull if I don’t get outside and do something.”

Sylvain groans, leaning back to rest his head on the doorframe. “I am. So. Bored,” he says, punctuating each word with a little thunk of his head.

Felix winces. He’d almost forgotten about the incident for a moment there. Surprising, considering it was all he’d been able to think about since they returned from the last battle. The whole reason Felix was pissed off in the first place.

Pissed off at the situation, anyway. It was getting difficult to distinguish being mad at the circumstances, rather than being mad at Sylvain (though he might start feeling the latter if he keeps getting these early-ass wake-up calls). But after that initial wave of anger subsided, terror began to set in. 

During their last skirmish…when Sylvain threw himself right in the line of fire, shielding Felix from that dark mage’s attack…

Every time he thought about it for more than a few seconds he started shaking with rage. Even still, for the last few days it hadn’t been far from top of mind. Like looking at the sun out of the corner of your eye for fear of going blind. Sylvain may not have been thinking when he dove into action (typical), but there was no way he could’ve known the attack in question would turn out to be an extremely powerful form of experimental magic.

Four days prior, Mercedes and Annette led Felix down the vacated corridor, stopping just shy of the infirmary door. Felix hated the look in Mercedes’ eyes. Pity. He could read it all over her face, and he was terrified of the implication.

“Well?” he choked out, wringing the life out of his leather gloves. “How bad is it?”

At the same time that Mercedes let out a deep sigh, Annette perked up.

“Oh don’t worry Felix, he’s...”

Mercedes gave Annette a quick side glance and gestured to her, halting the answer Felix was dying to hear. There was a different expression on her face after that, one that Felix couldn’t quite decipher. Annette, however, gave an almost imperceptible nod and pursed her lips. Glancing at Mercedes, she reached for Felix’s hand and said nothing.

Felix flinched at the touch, but gradually eased into it. His closest friend in the whole world may well be on his deathbed on the other side of that heavy wooden door – if there were ever a time to let his walls down, wouldn’t it be now? He could allow himself the smallest measure of physical comfort, just this once.

“Felix,” Mercedes sighed. He braced for impact. He didn’t want to feel the blow, but he knew he could take it. He always did.

“Sylvain is going to be okay, but...”

Felix’s heart shot straight up through the ceiling only to come crashing right back down.

“But what?” Felix snapped.

Annette gave Mercedes another wary glance. Mercedes blinked at her, and Annette stepped back, translating her silent communication.

“Sylvain is fine, but,” Mercedes continued, pausing to carefully search for her words, “he may seem....different to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Felix spat back, summoning every ounce of inner strength to not lose his composure completely. “Is he going to live or not?”

“Oh yes, definitely not life-threatening! But...”

Before her voice could taper off again, Felix threw his gloves down with a stomp of his foot.

“Stop with the fucking ‘buts’, just spit it out, Mercedes!” If Felix weren’t already driven to the emotional brink, he would’ve said he hadn’t thrown a temper tantrum like this since he was a toddler (if he would admit it at all), but in truth he did this no fewer than three times a week.

“Felix, honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it.” Mercedes eyed him cautiously before continuing. “Sylvain was hit with a love spell.”

Felix stared back, incredulous.

“A what?” 

“I’ve never heard of any magic like that before…” Annette started, perplexed.

“Well it certainly wouldn’t have been taught here at the monastery, or the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad,” Mercedes continued. “I believe it’s something altogether new that our enemies have come up with to incapacitate soldiers on the battlefield.”

“I don’t care who came up with it,” Felix snarled, “how do we fix it? Can’t you just use some sort of healing spell or...I don’t know...antitoxin or something?”

“Felix, I’ve tried everything I can think of. Sylvain’s stable now, and he’s definitely going to heal up alright, but I think it’s just going to take some time to wear off,” Mercedes said.

“How much time? Days? Weeks? What the hell does a love spell even do?” Felix barked back.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Felix. We’ll just have to wait it out and see what happens!”

“Okay fine, but what does it mean?” 

“Right,” Mercedes exhaled, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Sylvain dove in front of you to shield you from that attack, right?”

Felix nodded. His skin prickled at the memory. Remembering the numerous occasions Sylvain nearly got himself killed was not one of Felix’s favorite pastimes.

“I think what happened is that, after Sylvain was struck by the attack, he saw you.”

“Obviously,” Felix scowled. “He threw himself right in front of me, like a fool. I could’ve protected myself. Easily. So what?”

Mercedes shook her head. As usual, Felix was not connecting the dots.

“Well,” Mercedes said, slowly so even Felix could understand, “right after he got hit by the love spell, you were the first person he saw. You are the person Sylvain fell in love with. Presumably.”

“Sylvain’s in love with Felix!” Annette squeaked, perking up immediately. That was all statement and no question, which Felix found very confusing. Shouldn’t this be a shock to her, too?

“Sylvain...me…” Felix mumbled, stupidly, “in...love?”

“Most importantly, he’s going to be just fine, like I said. You can go in and visit with him now, if you’d like,” Mercedes replied.

Felix’s shirt collar suddenly felt a lot tighter. Was it always this hot in here? How long had he been sweating like this? He’d wanted nothing more than to see Sylvain from the minute they left the battlefield, but how was he supposed to see him like this? How could Felix be expected to interact with Sylvain like nothing happened while Sylvain is just sitting there being...in love with him?

Isn’t that what you always wanted, idiot? Felix’s brain supplied, unhelpfully.

No. Felix thought. Not like this. This was a fate worse than death. Felix half wished Sylvain had let that mage finish him off so he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable living hell he was about to face. Felix took a deep breath and steeled himself, easing open the infirmary door. He could handle this. It was only his worst nightmare, after all.

“Hey...Felix, is that you?” Sylvain said, voice hoarse. He sounded tired, but his smile radiated warmth. Nestled up in the infirmary’s white linens he looked so much smaller than usual. The last rays of sun seeped in through the window, casting him in golden light.

Felix’s breath hitched. It was easy to forget sometimes, when Sylvain gallivanted about like a damn fool, how beautiful he really was. But then there would be moments like this – Sylvain, walls down with nothing left between them, when only hours before Felix had thought he might never see him again.

“Just the two of us here, alone at night? You scandalize me, Felix. What will people think?” Sylvain smirked.

That was when Felix remembered he had actually been eternally damned to the hell from whence he came. 

“Sylvain you absolute ass, what were you thinking?” Felix hissed through his teeth. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t, did I?”

“That’s not the point. You have got to stop being so reckless.” Any lingering affection Felix had felt evaporated as rage set in. “One of these days your fucking around will come back to haunt you and I won’t be there to save you.”

“Aww sweetheart, were you worried about moi?” Sylvain smiled, batting his eyelashes.

“This isn’t funny, Sylvain!” Much to Felix’s chagrin, his stupid heart dropped in his chest at the pet name, as it always did when Sylvain ran his mouth like this. But he was not going to back down now. Not after everything Sylvain had put him through.

“Alright, fine,” Sylvain sighed. “I’m sorry, Felix. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hmph,” grumbled Felix. He was definitely still mad, but this whole situation was shockingly not as bad as he had initially expected. So far Sylvain was acting...well...fairly normal. Like an asshole. Nothing weird about that. Maybe Mercedes miscalculated and the spell had already run its course.

“Hey,” Sylvain said gently, reaching to take Felix’s hand in his own. “I really am sorry, Felix. When I saw that guy come after you...I didn’t think. Instinct took over, and before I knew it I was shoving you out of the way.”

Sylvain exhaled slowly, caressing Felix’s knuckles with his thumb. “You’re just…” Sylvain’s face contorted into an odd shape as he tried to put voice to his thoughts. He locked eyes with Felix.

“You mean a lot to me, Felix.”

Felix’s entire body tensed.

“I’d be lost without you, you know?” A small, sad laugh escaped Sylvain’s lips. “I’d never be able to live with myself if you died and there was something...anything I could’ve done to prevent it.”

The weight of Sylvain’s gaze was too much; there was too much affection in it. Felix’s cheeks were on fire. He had to look away. 

“So I’m sorry for making you worry,” Sylvain continued, “but I can’t promise you I won’t do it again.” Felix felt Sylvain’s grip on his hand tighten.

“Because I’d do anything for you, Felix.”

Felix stared back, incredulous. Unmoving. Eons passed. Possibly longer. Time was a flat circle and no longer held any meaning.

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that? He must’ve done something terribly wrong in a past life to finally become the object of Sylvain’s love and affection, only for it to be cruelly ripped away whenever this fucking spell wore off. His eyes darted across the room, locking on to anything but Sylvain. Glancing down, he realized that Sylvain was still caressing his hand. Immediately, Felix snatched it back.

Everything about this was too much. Felix’s heart was running a marathon. What Sylvain was saying, the look in his eyes, it all felt too...real. Under any other circumstance, Felix considered himself absolutely fearless. But the feel of Sylvain’s warm, calloused hands and the love in his gaze scared the living daylights out of him.

“Hurry up, Sylvain,” Felix growls to the door, kicking at the carpet like a pissed-off teenager.

“Alright, alright, give me a second! Just have to take care of something real quick…”

Felix consciously unclenches his jaw and stares down the same spot on the wall that he’s been glaring at for the past five minutes. He finally acquiesced to spending the day with Sylvain after it was clear that he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer, and of course Sylvain decided to thank him by going back to his room to “get ready” and “clean up” for another ten fucking minutes. 

“Why did you even bother coming to my door in the first place if you weren’t ready to go?”

“Oh come on Felix, don’t be like that,” Sylvain calls back through the door. “For one, you and I both know the probability of you telling me to go fuck myself was a solid sixty-five percent.” Felix pointedly rolls his eyes out of spite, knowing full well Sylvain can’t see him.

“And, more importantly,” Sylvain continues, swinging the door open with a flourish, “I couldn’t possibly have wasted a single waking moment not being with you.”

He winks, sending Felix into a blind fury. If Felix had thought Sylvain winked a lot before this whole love spell business, he had another thing coming. It was becoming such a common occurrence that he was beginning to wonder if Sylvain actually had something stuck in his eye.

Sylvain laughs off his stupid line at Felix’s cold reaction. Apparently the romance magic has had no effect on Sylvain’s self awareness. Go figure.

“Here,” Sylvain says, handing Felix a small, cloth-wrapped parcel.

“What’s this for?” Felix says, glowering at the package as if it might spontaneously combust at a moment’s notice.

“Breakfast!” Sylvain grins. “I wanted to get an early start so I smuggled some rations out of the dining hall – we can eat on the walk into town.”

Felix grumbles, but the sight of some smoked meat and a hunk of crusty bread perks him up a bit.

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?” Felix mutters through a mouthful of beef jerky. 

“I was stuck on bedrest at Mercedes’ demand for days now, I needed to get out. And besides, her healing magic is nice and all but what I really need is some good old-fashioned retail therapy,” Sylvain smirks.

Great. A day made up entirely of Felix’s two least favorite pastimes – remembering Sylvain’s newfound feelings are entirely fabricated by dark magic and that Felix is going suffer for the rest of his life until he eventually dies alone with his thirteen cats who will proceed to betray him and eat his remains after precisely 72 hours – and shopping. 

Maybe one of those things is a little bit worse than the other. But Felix has always hated shopping with Sylvain, on the rare occasion he lets himself be dragged into town. It’s always been a chance for Sylvain to peacock for every woman within a five mile radius. Then again, if Mercedes is to be believed, maybe this love spell will make Sylvain calm the fuck down and buy what he set out for in the first place. Or maybe all of his attention will be shifted to Felix instead, which has the possibility of being equally catastrophic. Either way, this day is already a total bust and would’ve been much better spent channeling his rage at the training grounds.

“Come on,” Sylvain says, tossing an arm over Felix’s shoulder and hustling him down the hallway. “This is going to be fun. Promise.”

Had Sylvain always touched him this much?

Not possible. There’s no way Felix wouldn’t have noticed this amount of contact before. The weight of Sylvain’s arm draped over his shoulder, the heat of his body pressing into his side – it was oppressive. Not to mention the glances from the occasional curious passersby in the marketplace were starting to make him feel like Sylvain’s prized hog.

“Sylvain, I’m not your prized hog,” Felix bristles.

“Um…Felix, what?”

“Nevermind,” Felix huffs, shirking away from Sylvain’s embrace. “Can you just hurry up and get what you came here to buy so we can leave already?”

“Aw, come on Felix, don’t be like that,” Sylvain purrs. “Let a man enjoy some window shopping! I’ve been trapped inside for days. I need to be stimulated by the sights and sounds of the city.” 

Felix looks Sylvain directly in the eye so there’s no way he can miss his extremely exaggerated eye roll.

“There’s that good ol’ Fraldarius glare I missed so much,” Sylvain coos into his ear. The feeling of Sylvain’s breath on his neck sends a shiver down his spine.

“Disgusting,” Felix thinks, not realizing he said it out loud. Sylvain chuckles, responding with a wink and a smirk. Sickening. Typical.

“I know my company is absolutely agonizing to you, so I’ll try to make it quick,” Sylvain smiles, “as long as you promise to have dinner with me tonight.”

Dinner? Why is Sylvain formally asking him to dinner? They all eat in a fucking mess hall for every meal, it’s not like he’s not going to see Sylvain anyway when breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served on the same goddamned schedule daily.

“Whatever,” Felix scoffs, crossing his arms, refusing to press the matter any further. It’s better if he doesn’t think about it too much, lest he start spiraling anew over the whole love spell bullshit.

“Thanks, babe,” Sylvain grins.

“Disgusting,” Felix says again, purposefully aloud this time. Felix is too busy wishing he’d never been born to notice that Sylvain has finally stopped outside a market stall. 

“The armory?” Felix scoffs, looking up at last. “What business could you possibly have here, you’ve never willingly picked up a weapon once in your pathetic life.”

“Touché, Felix. If you must know, one of my sources told me about something interesting here that I’d like to check out for myself. Hence the early start.”

“Your sources? Who are you, fucking Yuri?”

Ignoring Felix entirely, Sylvain breezes past, making a beeline for the counter.

“You coming, sweetheart? Seemed like you were in such a hurry a minute ago.”

Felix balls his hands into fists, fighting every urge to land a hit directly to Sylvain’s jaw. Three days ago he was worried his friend was dead, but now he was about three minutes away from making him that way. 

By the time he gets his wits together, Sylvain is already mid-conversation with the armorer.

“What do you think, Felix?” Sylvain asks.

“About what?” Felix responds, indignant.

“This.” Sylvain turns, brandishing the most beautiful sword Felix has ever seen.

“A sword?” Felix says, dumbly.

“No, Felix, the weather,” Sylvain says. “Yes, the sword.”

“Why are you holding a sword?” Felix asks, incredulous.

“Because we’re at the armory, Felix.”

“You idiot you know that’s not what I meant!” 

“As someone who knows far more about swords than I ever will, I’m asking for your opinion, Felix.”

Felix doesn’t need to look at the sword twice to know it’s of the highest caliber of craftsmanship. It looks as if it’s been expertly cared for, too. 

“It’s perfect,” Felix mumbles. “A Sword of Zoltan. Refined. They’re almost impossible to come by,” he adds, just for the flex.

Sylvain smiles, further examining the elegant death machine in his hand. The way the edge glints when it catches the light while he twirls it about is dazzling – and beyond infuriating. How someone so radically inept at swordplay could be allowed to handle such an exceptional weapon is beyond comprehension.

“Why do you care? Since when do you give a shit about swords?” Felix grumbles.

“Since now,” Sylvain says, shrugging. Returning the blade to the armorer, he reaches for his coin purse.

“You can’t be serious,” Felix hisses, “were you planning on buying that?”

“Why not?” Sylvain says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world for him to casually impulse buy a sword worth more than his entire education at Garreg Mach. Felix is fuming.

“You barely even know how to wield a sword!”

“Ah whatever, I’ve used one enough to know what to do with it. Just gotta point the sharp end away from me, right?” Sylvain says with a cheeky wink. Felix is unamused. 

“Aren’t you always the one encouraging me to train more?” 

“This isn’t a wooden training sword, Sylvain. This is even better than my sword. Hell, it might be better than my family’s sword. It’s meant for someone who’s spent their entire life studying the blade, not a fool like you.”

“Well if I’m going to practice, might as well have the very best. Besides, I’ve got a Crest, right? I’ll figure it out.” Sylvain continues to reach into his purse, completely ignoring Felix’s icy glare.

“You’re unbelievable,” Felix spits, turning on his heel and bolting. He needs to get away from this stall and into a crowd so the noise can drown out the unbearable sound of Sylvain’s pathetic voice as he wastes an unholy amount of money on a sword he has no business owning in the first place.

Moments later, Sylvain finds him on the outskirts of the marketplace, stupid sword in tow, complete with an ornate leather sheath. Felix serves up the death glare to end all death glares. Sylvain, unfortunately, is unfazed. The very last thing in this world Felix needed today was a pathetic display of Sylvain strutting about with his gaudy sword like the shittiest pirate he’d ever seen.

All smiles, Sylvain waltzes up to his side, settling his arm back in position over Felix’s shoulder like a lead weight. Apparently, Felix had not successfully conveyed the message of Sylvain this is the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever done with one furious scowl. 

“Let me guess,” Sylvain says, peeling away from Felix’s side. He steps back, straightens up and crosses his arms, putting on his best frown.

“Sylvain, this is the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever done,” he states in his frustratingly accurate Felix voice. Felix flushes, taking a sudden interest in the dirt beneath his boots. Leave it to Sylvain to read his mind.

“Whatever,” Felix scoffs, looking anywhere but Sylvain to avoid that smug face and knowing stare. “It’s true. You’re never going to train with it. It’s an absolute waste on someone like you.”

“Well now, I wouldn’t say it’s a waste–”

“No? Prove me wrong,” Felix interrupts, eyes locking with Sylvain’s.

“Alright,” Sylvain says matter-of-factly, as if this was the exact response he wanted out of Felix. “Let’s go now.”

“Go? Where?”

“To the training grounds,” Sylvain answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You said I’m never going to train with it, so I’m proving you wrong. Let’s go now.”

Unable to come up with a witty response, Felix simply grumbles and stomps off towards the monastery. 

If Sylvain wants to get trounced within an inch of his life, that’s what he’s going to get. Before, Felix may have been persuaded to go easy on him after his stay in the infirmary, but that was totally out of the question now. So Sylvain stupidly decided to buy the fanciest sword money can buy, just to train with Felix. Fine. Ask and ye shall receive.

If there was any small measure of comfort to be taken from this whole debacle, it was that it all felt completely in character for Sylvain. Certainly nothing abnormal about Sylvain being an absolute buffoon. Maybe the spell had worn off while they were shopping. Felix sure hoped so – it would make his life much easier to go back to just plain loathing Sylvain instead of feeling an awful mix of pity, concern, and fury. Quashing any errant slivers of hope or other dangerous feelings was what Felix did best, and he was more than ready to return to the status quo. Besides, Felix knew the quickest way to brighten his day was always by training. Training, and giving Sylvain a long-overdue, good old-fashioned ass whooping.

Dashing several paces ahead, Felix bursts into the training grounds, not even caring if Sylvain is behind him or not. As he’s beginning his usual warm-up stretching routine, he notices Sylvain heading straight for the rack of practice weapons. And he picks up a wooden lance. 

Sylvain has the Sword Worth More Than Most Merchants Make In A Year at his hip, and he’s ignoring it in favor of an oversized toothpick. Felix almost drops his own sword out of shock and pure rage. Almost.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Felix spits.

Sylvain shoots him back a questioning look, doing his best (and failing) to mask a shit-eating grin.

“You dragged me all the way down to the market,” Felix snarls, “to buy that crazy expensive sword. And you’re abandoning it in favor of a training lance?”

“Come on, Felix, you said it yourself. We both know I’m a miserable swordsman. Lances are much more my speed.”

“You spent all that money on that fucking sword and you’re not even going to use it?” 

“No, I’m not,” Sylvain says, inexplicably chuckling. “You are.”

Felix is halfway to wringing Sylvain’s neck when his brain decides to play catch-up, string of profanities dying on his lips.

“What?” Felix somehow manages to scream and whisper at the same time.

“I didn’t buy it for myself, Felix,” Sylvain says, reaching for the sword on his belt. “It’s a gift. I bought it for you.”

Felix stands shocked still, completely dumbstruck. Seeing that Felix has neither intention nor capacity to move, Sylvain eyerolls with a smirk and reaches for his arms, pulling them out and posing them to receive the gift. Arms outstretched like a fucked up cactus, Felix barely notices Sylvain gingerly placing the sword into his open arms.

“For you,” he says, with a genuine smile. One that actually reaches his eyes. One of Felix’s very favorite sights in the whole world.

“Sylvain, what the fuck–” Felix starts, cutting himself off. Oh, that was an actual, sincere moment right there. And he ruined it. Classic. Fortunately for Felix, Sylvain is unfazed. Used to it by decades of his prickly demeanor by now, no doubt. Grinding his teeth in an effort to school any emotion off his face, Felix soldiers on.

“You said you wanted to go to town for fun, and you went to drop a disgusting amount of gold on a sword for me? Whose twisted idea of fun is that?”

Sylvain throws his head back in a laugh. “You know how much I love to bankrupt daddy dearest,” he says. “Besides, I couldn’t care less about the money.” Something in Sylvain’s expression shifts, all traces of joking gone. Eyes full of…something that Felix can’t place.

“I wanted to make you happy, Felix. In my book, that’s the most fun a guy can have,” Sylvain says, sincere as the Goddess herself.

“Well...maybe second most,” he finishes with a wink.

There’s that horrible look again. The one where Felix feels like Sylvain is staring into the depths of his very soul. Sylvain smiles down at Felix – an honest-to-Goddess real smile, eyes crinkling at the sides and everything. His second one in five minutes. This must be a new record. Felix stares directly into the sun.

“Besides,” Sylvain says, “this is an apology for me slacking on my training and almost getting myself killed.”

Felix’s expression sours, his mouth flattening into a hard line. Picking up on Felix’s discomfort at the memory, Sylvain drapes his arm over his shoulder with a genial nudge.

“Now you can punish me for it and absolutely wreck me with that nice big sword of yours.”

Felix chokes on his own spit and hacks up a lung onto the training ground floor. It’s not even lunch and this is already the longest fucking day of his life.

Two hours later and the sentiment still holds. Felix has kicked Sylvain’s ass six ways to Sunday, but he’s still not satisfied. Maybe because he can tell Sylvain is holding back, for whatever reason. Probably laziness. He’s painfully aware of how ruthless Sylvain can be when he gets serious (see: the dark mage debacle of four days ago), but apparently his survival instincts only kick in when Felix’s life is on the line. Ugh.

“You tired yet?” Sylvain groans, propping himself up with his training lance as he wipes sweat from his brow. They finished their water break a few minutes before, but Sylvain still hasn’t quite caught his breath.

“Not even close,” Felix replies, assuming his fighting stance once more. “Remember, you asked for this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bought you a fancy sword and it pissed you off, I get it,” Sylvain chuckles. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Felix snarls, readying his blade and preparing to strike.

“Oh, come on,” Sylvain laughs, taking a defensive stance. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“No,” Felix strikes, breaking Sylvain’s pathetic attempt at a parry, “I don’t.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sylvain says, countering left, barely missing Felix’s ankles with a wide sweep.

“Not bad,” Felix concedes, stepping back to circle his opponent, “but I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Sylvain proclaims, narrowly dodging a diagonal slash, “but you have a pretty nasty habit-” he takes a step back, adjusts his grip – “of rejecting people's affection.” Lunges forward with a well-timed thrust. “Even when you want it.”

Felix feels the blunt end of the lance connect with his gut and crouches down to avoid doubling over. Sylvain takes advantage of his momentary weakness to draw in closer.

“Any time I try to show you some love,” Sylvain smirks, readying another jab, “you bite my head off.”

“Shut. Up.” Felix growls, slashing wildly. He’s losing control. His fighting is compromised. He needs to lock this down before–

–Sylvain gains the upper hand, using his unfairly long legs to sweep Felix’s knees, dropping him to the floor.

“You’re proving my point, Felix,” Sylvain says with a tired smile, planting the base of his lance by his feet and looking down his nose at Felix, lying prone in the dirt.

Felix looks up at the sky. Sees a pegasus knight flying far overhead, a speck against the clouds. Counts the slow flaps of its wings as he tries to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him.

One…two…three…four…

“Hey Felix, you okay down there?” Sylvain asks, obvious concern on his face. “I honestly thought you’d dodge that no problem.” He reaches a hand out; Felix swats it away.

“Fine,” Felix responds, standing up and brushing the dirt off his trousers. “I’m leaving. I’ve had enough for today.” He turns toward the exit but only makes it a few steps before Sylvain’s clutching his arm.

“You’re doing it again,” Sylvain sighs, hurt leeching out of his words. “You’re shutting me out.”

Felix wrenches his arm from Sylvain’s grasp. 

“You don’t understand,” he grits through his teeth, still refusing to face his pursuer.

“Try me.”

“It’s not–” Felix starts. It’s not real. “You just–” You just care about me because you’re under a spell. 

He can’t get the words out. 

“When you were in the infirmary,” he says instead, “did Mercedes tell you anything?”

“No? I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Felix,” Sylvain replies, obviously confused. 

Felix has an uphill battle ahead of him. He can’t say it. He can’t tell Sylvain about that spell. It’s the worst, the absolute worst, but the words keep dying on his tongue. 

But if he leads a horse to water…

“Why’d you do it?” Felix asks.

“Do what?”

“The sword. Why did you buy me that sword?”

“I told you already,” Sylvain says, “it’s an apology. For slacking off.”

Sylvain brushes it off. Expected. A textbook Sylvain reaction. 

“You could’ve apologized by buying me a drink. Or a whetstone. Or…hell, beef jerky or something, I don’t know. You’ve apologized to me a thousand times before, but never like this. What gives?”

“Okay, well,” Sylvain says, scratching at the back of his neck, “I guess you could say…it’s a promise.”

“A promise?” Felix doesn’t like where this is going.

“Yeah, a promise. That I’ll do better to stay alive, so I can honor our other promise.”

Our other promise. Felix knows the one, knew where this was going in an instant. The cornerstone of their relationship. To never leave the other behind. To stay together, to the very end. 

“But what does it mean?” Felix asks again.

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” 

“Why do you go out of your way to do stuff like this for me? Bringing me breakfast, buying me gifts. Fussing over me. It’s weird. It’s not like you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Felix,” Sylvain sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It might be news to you, but I’ve always been like this.”

Felix swallows. This is proving to be more difficult than he anticipated.

“Okay, maybe you’ve pulled shit like this before,” Felix acquiesces, “but I’m asking you why.”

“Why does anyone do anything? It’s simple. Because I want to,” Sylvain replies.

“Why do you want to? Why are you acting like you care so much?”

“You’re starting to sound like a whiny toddler asking me why over and over,” he snaps, visibly exasperated. “I’m not sure why it’s so difficult to get it through your thick skull but I’m not acting like I care. I do care. Honestly, Felix, I care so much that it makes me sick sometimes.”

Felix, willing his heart to stop pounding out of his chest, watches Sylvain take in a slow, steadying breath before he continues.

“I’m not asking for a ‘thank you’, I don’t give a damn about that. I know we joke around a lot, but I wish you’d stop writing me off and understand that I care about you. It’s not out of pity, or some misplaced sense of brotherhood. I just care, Felix. As long as you understand that, I don’t need anything else in return.”

Everything he’s saying…it all sounds too real. Too much like him. Too good to be true. He can’t do this anymore. He needs to stop Sylvain before this gets out of control and Felix does something he’ll regret.

He breathes in. Closes his eyes, counts to three. 

“Sylvain,” he asks, “do you know anything about the spell that hit you?”

Sylvain shakes his head, clearly blindsided by the change in subject.

“Felix, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Uh okay. Well, yeah, I recognized it immediately. One of those anti-cavalry spells. Lysithea studied them, back in the day. Spooked the hell out of my horse and sent me flying. I told Mercedes all about it when we got back. Guess I’m lucky you were there to get me to her so quickly; she said I busted up my ribs pretty badly, almost punctured a lung. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Anti-cavalry? Busted rib? But…then the love spell…that would mean…

That’s when it dawns on him. 

Felix knew something was off when he first went to the infirmary. Mercedes was being weird, he always knew she was a shit liar. And her accomplice, too. No wonder Annette kept bursting out in giggle fits every time she saw the two of them together over the last three days. 

Mercedes and Annette, those two-faced, lying, good-for-nothing–

Felix can be smart sometimes. He sees it now. Sylvain flirts relentlessly, always has, but every shitty line he drops on him has a nugget of truth. He’s letting Felix catch the briefest glimpse at what’s really underneath before putting the armor back on. All his life Felix thought Sylvain would never keep secrets from him. He knew Sylvain better than anyone, he thought. And here Sylvain was, hiding in plain sight, covering up the biggest secret of them all. 

Moments from the past flood his mind before he can stop the onslaught. Years worth of memories, all of Sylvain. Every deliberate touch, every arm around his shoulder. Every time the backs of their hands would brush as they walked side by side. His stupid winks, his tacky pickup lines, his dorky pet names – it all keeps coming, with no end in sight.

Their childhood. A younger Sylvain, lanky and awkward as hell, riding all the way to Fraldarius in the worst rainstorm Faerghus had seen in a decade, just to personally deliver Felix’s birthday present.

Last winter. Sylvain bringing soup up to his room every night for a week, replacing cool towels on his forehead and staying at his bedside while Felix recovered from a particularly nasty fever.

Today. Sylvain going out of his way to surprise Felix with quite possibly the nicest gift he’d ever received. Putting up with Felix’s jabs and jeers, smiling knowingly all the while. All leading to this moment, right now.

Felix understands. At last, he understands.

There never was a fucking love spell. No dark magic, no enemy forces at play. Every day from the infirmary onwards, and every day before – Sylvain’s the same as he’s always been.

It’s kind of a sick joke, when he thinks about how long he’s spent beating his own feelings into submission, agonizing over this big orange idiot. Years gone by, wholly convinced Sylvain could never feel the same. A lifetime together, suffering needlessly. Now here they were. 

Felix supposes he should thank Mercedes later, for opening his eyes to what was right in front of his face for as far back as he can remember. At least that’s what he’d like to do, but right now he’s still too riled up and pissed off at her meddling to feel gratitude quite yet.

How blind had he been to not realize Sylvain had been in love with him this whole goddamn time? And Sylvain, that coward! Tiptoeing around his true feelings but never willing to take the plunge. Spending his savings on that damn sword instead of telling Felix how he really feels. Bastard. 

“Sylvain…what do you want?” Felix asks.

“Felix did you not listen to a single word of what I just said? I swear, why do you have to be so stubborn all the damn time–”

“I heard you, Sylvain.” Felix says, measured and low. Level-headed and unafraid for the first time since the start of this whole mess. “You said there wasn’t anything you needed. I’m not asking what you need. I’m asking what you want.”

“Felix…” The frustration on Sylvain’s face disappears in an instant, replaced with sheer bewilderment, and perhaps a twinge of panic.

Felix has to get serious. It’s now or never. He’s got one shot to do this before he loses his nerve permanently. It took them over two decades to work up to this conversation – goddess knows if they don’t sort their shit out now they’ll be old and gray by the time they quit dancing around each other.

He’s not sure when it happened, or who initiated it, but they’ve gotten closer. Inches apart, if he had to guess. Out of the corner of his eye he spots the Sword of Zoltan abandoned in the dirt. He must’ve tossed it aside at some point. Felix didn’t even register the feel of it leaving his hand, or the clatter of it hitting the ground. Looking ahead, he catches Sylvain’s eye. Finds a look there staring back at him. One he’s only seen a handful of times before. Gaze so intense it bores right down into Felix’s soul. Like someone else’s eyes on that face he knows so well. Or maybe this is the real Sylvain, after all – stripped raw, on display for Felix and Felix alone.

He knows Sylvain can read him like a book. Always could, better than anyone else. Felix stares right back, hoping he doesn’t stop now.

“Sylvain. Tell me,” Felix says, imbuing every ounce of resolve into his final question. “What do you want?”

Before Felix can process what’s happening, his ass is in the dirt. He’s being crushed under the weight of a fully grown man. Hands are clutching into his hair and—

Oh. Sylvain’s lips are on his.

He should probably do something with his hands, right? That’s what people normally do when they kiss, right?

But before Felix’s limbs can follow through on his grand ambition, Sylvain pulls back, searching his face for some sort of answer. Apparently he doesn’t find what he’s looking for because his face contorts into an embarrassed sort of grimace before Felix even has a chance to speak. In an instant, Sylvain’s mask is back on. He’s going to backtrack, to try and smooth this over. Felix knows it, can feel it in his bones.

Sylvain breaks the silence with a hollow chuckle and a plastered-on smile. “Whoa, sorry buddy, not sure what happened there but–”

No.

Never again.

Before he can utter any more of his bullshit, Felix jumps him. Finally gets his hands buried in that stupid orange hair and pulls with the force of a thousand men. Their teeth are clacking together. He tastes blood. He couldn’t care less. He couldn’t care more. They’re kissing. It’s so much worse than he ever imagined. They’re covered in dirt and Felix’s ass hurts from the fall and he’s vaguely aware that Sylvain might be crying (from pain? From emotion? Both?) but none of it matters because they’re finally, finally kissing after goddess knows how long and it’s messy and awful, but it’s perfect. 

Gasping, Sylvain tries to pull back but is rooted in place by Felix’s iron grip in his absolutely ruined hair. There are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and blood dribbling down his lip onto his white shirt. 

“You look like shit,” Felix says.

At that, Sylvain’s laughter rings out across the empty training grounds, louder and more genuine than Felix has ever heard before. The tears that were threatening to come before have burst forth at full force and Sylvain gathers Felix into his arms, smothering him into that stupidly broad chest. 

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Sylvain chuckles into Felix’s hair. Felix merely grunts, feeling Sylvain’s laughter rumble through his chest.

“All these years and all I needed to do was buy you a sword. I’m kind of kicking myself for not trying it sooner, really.”

“Shut up,” Felix snarls, but the intended effect is lost considering his face is still buried in Sylvain’s pecs.

“I guess since we’re talking expensive gifts and promises…and I know you’re not much of a jewelry guy…maybe this could serve as another type of promise too, eh Felix?” Sylvain smirks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up!” Felix hisses, choosing to bury himself further into Sylvain’s chest to avoid revealing the catastrophic blush he feels rising to his cheeks.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Sylvain laughs. It certainly doesn’t feel like a joke, the way he’s clutching Felix tighter and tighter in his arms.

“Ugh this is all Mercedes’ fault,” Felix groans, balling his fists into Sylvain’s bloodied shirt.

“Huh?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. “Tell you later.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Sylvain sighs.

Felix punches him in the gut, for good measure.

“How about we clean up and get something to eat? A man can’t subside on love alone, much as he’d like to,” Sylvain says standing up, arm outstretched.

“Whatever,” Felix mumbles, taking his hand and letting Sylvain pull him up.

“And you better pick that thing up,” Sylvain scolds, nodding towards the abandoned sword. “Tossing it in the dust like that. Disgraceful, Felix.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Noooo Felix you can’t threaten the man you love like that!” Sylvain whines.

Felix levels him with an icy glare as he sheathes the sword with altogether too much force. He turns on his heel, making for the exit without a second glance. Unsurprisingly, Sylvain wastes no time catching up.

“Still chasing me around, I see,” Felix says, eyes forward.

“Obviously,” Sylvain replies, wrapping an arm around Felix’s shoulders.

“Good. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Felix smirks.

“Did you just—” Sylvain stammers, jaw hitting the floor. His incredulity is ignored.

“Felix!!!”

As fate would have it, on their way back from the training grounds, who do they run into but Mercedes and Annette. 

“Ladies,” Sylvain smiles, greeting them with a stupid little bow.

“Fancy meeting you two here,” Mercedes giggles with a curtsy.

“Annette,” Felix says. “And Mercedes,” he growls. Things might have turned out for the better after all, but he’s not ready to forgive and forget quite yet. Unfortunately for him, however, all of Felix’s animosity is immediately annihilated by Mercedes’ carefree aura and gentle smile. She merely winks, concealing another ladylike giggle behind her hand. 

“Oh, Sylvain! What happened to your lip?” Annette chimes in with concern, oblivious to the silent battle occurring beside her.

“What, this?” Sylvain laughs, playing it off. “It’s Felix’s fault. You know how merciless he gets when he’s training. He really taught me a lesson this time, that’s for sure.”

“Of course,” Mercedes replies with a knowing smile that is far too presumptuous for Felix’s liking.

“You. Later. We need to talk,” Felix barks. Sylvain and Annette look back and forth between them, confused. That same serene smile never leaves Mercedes’ face.

“Until later, then,” Mercedes says, taking Annette’s hand and bidding them farewell.

“Care to explain what that was all about,” asks Sylvain, once the girls are out of earshot.

“Nope.” Felix simply takes Sylvain’s hand in his and charts a new course forward.