Archive of Our Own

X—I.

Ad infinitum

They were the only two words that Sylvain caught from his professor's current lecture about the ancient religions of Fódlan. His stomach lurched, he’d hoped that Dr. von Brucken, the absolute fossil that he was, wouldn’t have time for such romanticisms. 

There was only twelve weeks to get through the exhaustive curriculum in his HIST6620: Comprehensive History of The Religions of Fódlan. So Sylvain had assumed—clearly incorrectly—that taking any time to talk about the Goddess’ penchant for creating soulmates would be off the table. He wouldn’t have to hear people talk about how envious they were of those bestowed such fortune. How lovely it would be to have someone who intrinsically knows everything about you; how it was a blessing.

Sylvain straightened his back, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Surrounded by the predictable dreamy sighs of his peers as they listened to their instructor speak matter-of-factly about the subject. As if he knew a damn thing besides the glamorized historical recollections. The only reason people cared about it at all was because after the Adrestian Empire dismantled the Church of Seiros in 1186, the Goddess Sothis had scarcely been seen or heard from. But soulmates had lingered on—branded into the very fabric of reality. Trapped in an endless cycle of death and reincarnation until they achieved their creators desired ending. As if Sothis was playing one of those shitty gacha games Bernadetta loved; resetting her save file until she acquired the character she wanted. 

Reality wasn’t as pretty as the whimsical accounts passed down through generations. Soulmates were born, plummeted into unavoidable tragedy, and died. Rinse, then repeat. A blessing they said it was? To reincarnate and always find the love of your life? What a sick joke.

It was a curse.

Because he’d lost track of how many times it had happened now.

He carded his fingers through his hair, scratching his nails along his scalp. Closing his eyes, a loud sigh escaped his lips. This was about to be a very long week. 

I.

The Tailtean plains were stained crimson. Sylvain clicked his tongue, spurring his black mare forward through the battlefield, her hooves pulverizing tissue and bone into a bloody muck below him. He ignored the loud crunching as her canter further desecrated the deceased. All around him the Kingdom and Empire's banners lay burnt and torn on the ground. If Ailell was considered hell on earth, then Sylvain questioned what history would classify this as.

Sylvain brandished his lance with one hand, pulling the reins gently, nudging the horse eastward towards the distant sound of fighting. He hadn't a clue who from Faerghus remained now. Having already glanced upon Galatea's green uniforms; dyed red, along with a crippled white pegasus making a futile attempt to get on its feet. He'd witnessed the pox marks that scarred the plains, the only trace of the monster the Tempest King's vassal had become.

For miles in every direction, death and destruction was all he could see. When the Empire inevitably avowed its victory and abandoned the razed landscape; scavengers would descend onto fields, attracted to the worsening scent of carrion that permeated through the air. And perhaps then, amongst the ruin, a seed would sprout, a tiny flicker of life despite the devastation.  

He pulled back on the reins he held loosely in his left hand, urging his steeds to stop. In front of him a teal cape fluttered in the wind. A sense of dread snaked its way through his veins, thorny tendrils threatening to pierce his heart. Of course one of the last men standing was the first person he didn't want to see. All is as the Goddess wills it, afterall. 

“Felix,” the breathy whisper escaped Sylvain before he had time to think. His hand grasped tightly onto his weapon as he witnessed the other man's head tilt to the side, casting a glance behind him.

“Sylvain,” came Felix’s monotonous drawl. His eyes half-lidded and lips pressed into a straight line. 

It was the kind of acknowledgement that made a person feel as if they were paralyzed beneath the oppressive gaze of a court; awaiting judgement for their crimes.  

Perhaps that was precisely what was happening, and Felix intended to be his judge, jury, and executioner.

A silence settled between them, the wail of the wind rushing across the steppe muffled the remaining cries of the battlefield. A temporary reprieve before an ineluctable demise. Felix kept his back to Sylvain, his sword limp at his side. It felt as if he were daring him to cut him down, just like the coward he thought he was.

“Hey, Felix? Remember when we were kids and we made a promise about dying together?” Sylvain asked, unsure what compelled him to break the silence.

“I remember,” Felix affirmed, slowly turning on his heel to face him. His teal jacket mottled sanguine that wasn't his own, while he wore an expression painted cinereal; apathetic.  

“Well, seems we're about to kill each other.” Sylvain donned his finest mask—a brilliant, empty smile from a man who might delude himself into thinking he had no regrets. Because even in the final hour, he couldn't be honest with Felix.  

“Sorry, Sylvain. You'll die first.” Felix languidly raised his sword, placing his left hand on the hilt. Positioning himself into a stance Sylvain had seen a thousand times. As if this was just another sparring match between close friends on the training grounds at Garreg Mach; not a final affray between bitter adversaries.  

Felix charged forward and Sylvain spurred his horse, pulling the reins hard so she jumped to the right, narrowly avoiding the incoming assault. He quickly moved his blade to parry the lance Sylvain lazily heaved it down towards his shoulder, backing away, and circling Sylvain on his mount. He struck quickly like a snake—low and practiced—slicing the entire length of the horse's left front leg below her armor.

Sylvain tried to maintain his balance as the mare threw her legs into the air from the sudden pain. He might have been successful but a silver flash in his periphery caused him to abort the attempt, dismounting with a trained ease. Ever a good warhorse the steed remained loyally beside Sylvain despite the sudden lameness in her front quarters. He sighed, firmly smacking her flank, commanding her to continue without him. At least she had half a chance at surviving.

He raised the Lance of Ruin—which glowed a sickening red—yearning for an offering. Felix remained steadfast, readying himself for another assault. No more words were exchanged as both men dashed forward, intending to make their next clash the last. Sylvain cleaved his spear downwards, and Felix expertly released his sword from his right hand, swinging it exclusively with his left. 

Blood spattered onto Sylvain’s face; it wasn’t his own. An immediate numbness followed by a white hot pain blossomed from his shoulder. He glanced down at vacant brown eyes, dead in an instant. When Sylvain went to remove the lance embedded in Felix’s chest; he could not generate the force to pull his arm backwards. His eyes scanned the length of his arm until he reached where his arm connected to his body. Rather where it was supposed to connect to his body.

He panicked, stumbling backwards. The bisected arm fell limp, fingers still wrapped around the handle of his weapon. His vision blurred, a sudden onslaught of dizziness overcame him; he smelled blood. 

A piercing ringing assaulted him—and all he remembered was white.

X—II.

Sylvain often lingered after his classes, wanting to chat with the professors about the current unit. Today however, he slammed his computer shut the instant the clock read 10:45, gathering his things and bolting from the lecture theater ahead of everyone. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his bag over his shoulder and stormed from the University of Enbarr’s historic arts building. 

The exhaustion was all encompassing; how much longer would he have to carry several lifetimes of memories before this punishment was considered satisfactory? 

His shoulders sagged. Sylvain had no further classes on Tuesdays; he considered going back to his apartment and calling the day a wash but he had a paper due on Friday in his class about the Noble Families of Faerghus. He sighed in defeat, why had he decided to pursue a graduate degree in history again? Probably deluded himself into thinking it would be easy. Considering he’d been alive during so much of it. 

The library was a towering building in the center of the campus. When the Adrestian Emperor had dismantled the aristocracy and formed the Commonwealth of Fódlan; the Imperial Palace had been donated to the newly established University of Enbarr. Her Majesty, Edelgard von Hresvelg had affirmed by decree that every citizen would have equal access to education and opportunity. It was the final nail in the coffin of the nobles, with crests already abolished and their names no longer counting for anything, Fódlan embraced modernity. The palace became home to the institution's academic offices, library and concert halls. The commonwealth government had been reestablished on the monastery’s ruins at Garreg Mach; now the bustling capitol.

He pushed the large wooden door with a bit too much force, causing it to crash into the pathetic rubberized doorstop. If Sylvain hadn’t been in such a terrible mood he may have flinched at the bang that echoed through the entrance. Instead he stormed towards the entrances of the study rooms. Sylvain dropped his bag onto the wooden table tucked against the large picture windows. When he couldn’t focus, he liked to observe students going through their days unblemished by a distant war. 

A sigh escaped his lips when lowered himself into the office chair, he retrieved his textbook from his bag and flipped it open to a random page. He scowled when he saw the detailed illustration of a familiar crest staring back at him. Another reminder of a past life determined to haunt him.

He leaned back, tilting his head to the side, not focusing on anything in particular. His vision blurred; colours blending into one another. 

The second time he’d met Felix he’d been a healer.

Sylvain had fallen off his horse and smashed his skull into a stone wall on the way down, he recalled the blood but not much besides it. When he regained consciousness in an infirmary in Derdriu, he heard the shuffling in the room; felt the healer gently pressing his wrist to check his vital signs. When he finally opened his eyes he'd been greeted by an all too familiar stoic face and mess of long dark hair. Not a shred of recognition in his eyes. 

Which frankly, Sylvain wasn't sure was better or worse in the grand scheme of it all. Who would want to remember the person who betrayed them, who had plunged a spear into their chest. Felix could live his life blissfully unaware of their shared past lives; find his own happiness and satisfaction. He was free, and Slyvain wouldn't dare burden him. Even as his stomach twisted into knots and it hurt to breathe.

This weight was his alone to carry.

Every iteration of Felix from thereon seemed to gravitate towards helping people. At times making him wonder if beneath that brutal warrior's surface had been aspirations locked away for the sake of duty. If Glenn hadn't perished in Duscur, what would Felix have become? 

He slid down on the chair, his feet obstructing the narrow passage between the study areas.  It was unfortunate that these long buried memories had returned to the surface, piercing through the soil in the direction of the sun.  

“Fucking—watch it!” Sylvain heard the voice hiss, as they stumbled over his overextended legs. 

“Hey man, I'm so sorry,” Sylvain replied cordially on instinct. He quickly straightened himself in the office chair and blinked several times to refocus his vision. A breath caught in his throat as the blurriness abated and he was left face to face with a scowl he'd memorized centuries ago. 

In the direction of the sun indeed. 

IV.

There was a major uprising in Sreng. 

The centuries long peace treaty that had been negotiated by the late Margrave; on behalf of the then newly formed Commonwealth of Fódlan and the Coalition of Srengi Tribes dissolved overnight. Fódlan's borders were breached through the northern corridor of Gautier. 

Those who came into power had no desire to renegotiate with the Commonwealth. They were a proud nation of warriors, who had kept their blades sharp through their many civil wars. The newly formed Srengi Federation had assumed the nearly two hundred years of peace within Fódlan had made them weak.

Unfortunately, Sreng wasn't prepared for the ever modernizing Fódlan, and they certainly hadn't anticipated the actualization of gunpowder. 

It hadn't been fair, but Sylvain supposed war never was.

He'd be deployed to the base of the Ruska mountains after the Srengi military had been pushed back. His cold weather training, skiing proficiency, and exceptional marksmanship made him an ideal candidate for the environment. A soldier highly capable of neutralizing any threats to the northern border. 

At first Sylvain had been miserable. Even with contemporary comforts; camping in Gautier for an extended period wore a person down. The frigid isolation capable of luring even the most resilient of people into madness. Yet for him, it became the opposite—he'd experienced four cycles now—and maybe being holed up in the most remote, inhospitable part of Fódlan would prevent him from meeting Felix a fourth time.  

He would never be so lucky.

Their unit's chief medic abruptly fell ill, and was rushed to the nearest populous town for treatment. The garrison was notified four days later he was being transported to Fhirdiad for more specialized care. A replacement had already departed Galatea and was expected to arrive within the fortnight.

Sylvain found it bittersweet, his detachment had been together over a year now with no changes to the post. They had all bonded, and built trust with one another. Now an outsider would be entering their ranks, and for all the excitement about someone new joining their team, an anxiety lingered, too.

His hair was cut blunt at his chin; not reaching his shoulders, and he wore the cardinal coloured uniform designated for the Commonwealth's highest military officials. The deputy surgeon general—someone had muttered that night while they ate—but to Sylvain, he was just Felix.  

Ultimately, what was important was how well they worked together, and the two of them became thick as thieves almost overnight. The red threaded curse woven through their souls made sure of it. Without words, on pure instinct, they coordinated with one another. Patrols together led to effortless banter and an easy friendship. 

But for as close as they became; Sylvain saw the silver coloured ring on the fourth finger of Felix's left hand. A promise he would never ask him to break, no matter how tightly fate wove them together.  

The Srengi Federation quietly conceded ten months after Felix's arrival at the Ruska mountain base. They'd accepted they were unprepared for a war of attrition with the Commonwealth. So a new treaty was ratified—one much less favorable towards Sreng than the centuries old one they'd abolished. At this point the writing was on the wall, most members of the far north unit would be reposted elsewhere as their operations winded down.

Sylvain's second tour of duty concluded nine months later, with any further service to the nation elective. He was one of only half a dozen soldiers remaining now; tasked with decommissioning the base and assuring all sensitive documents were sent back to Fhirdiad or destroyed.  

“You should come to Galatea,” Felix spoke casually as he sifted through another box of classified files to be sent to the defense ministry. “They're always looking for innovative minds in the science division.” 

“You say that like it's easy,” Sylvain drawled, flashing Felix a teasing smile to show he didn't mean it negatively. “I'm not the youngest deputy surgeon general in Commonwealth history. I can't just show up to Galatea and demand some cushy research position.”

“You can if said deputy surgeon general writes you a letter of recommendation.” Felix nudged him with his shoulder as he stacked another box on the wooden palette. 

He hummed, wondering what exactly Felix got out of having Sylvain follow him back to Galatea. He was the second highest ranking military official in the nation's medical corps, and Sylvain was a corporal valued for his exceptional ability to kill people whilst skiing.

“My, my General Fraldarius, it almost sounds to me like you're asking me to come keep you away from your wife a little longer.” Sylvain didn't know why he said it, or why he stepped in front of Felix and looked down at him with a coy grin. Equally tense and mocking. 

Felix stared up at him, expression unforthcoming. Eventually he reached up and grasped the collar of Sylvain's uniform, pulling him down until they were close enough to feel one another's breaths.

“And if I am, Corporal?” Felix asked, his voice just barely exposing his longing. 

Sylvain had been honorably released from duty five days later by his commanding officer in Fhirdiad. 

From there he'd tucked the notarized letter of recommendation safely away in the hidden pocket inside his jacket's lining, and vanished into civilian life.  

X—III.

“Just keep your shit out of the aisle, before someone gets hurt next time,” Felix huffed, folding his arms over his chest and staring down at Sylvain.

He observed the subtle furrow of Felix’s brows as he scowled. It was always the same, just as everything else about him was. Messy navy hair, amber coloured eyes; wearing only anger and irritation on his sleeve. The only thing that ever seemed to change was the length of said hair and the placement of the scars that marred his pale skin.

What an idiot he was. Since the inception of modern medical training; after the complete collapse of magic, he always became a physician. Sylvain had avoided every university in the whole of Fódlan with a medical program expressly to minimize his opportunities to find Felix again. But he’d fallen deep into his interest in history—rather the version of history taught versus the version he knew personally, and he’d taken a PhD opportunity at University of Enbarr. A school that objectively had one of the most prestigious medical schools in the world. Felix was three years younger than him, and two years behind him in school, but he’d still reasoned with himself that the chances they’d be attending at the same time, were low.

But Sylvain knew deep in his chest that wasn’t how this worked. He’d come to understand the way the universe pulled soulmates together, and that for every time he’d escaped its influence; it resurfaced stronger than before. 

The fourth time they’d met was the first time Sylvain had pulled away; fought against the chains the Goddess had subdued him with. And then the fifth time, they had been introduced before he was even capable of forming memories. Their mothers were always arranging play dates for him and Glenn; before Felix was even born. That time Sylvain found himself lulled into a false sense of security, thinking this would be the final cycle.

Too bad that Felix didn’t find men attractive; too bad that Sylvain thoroughly ruined their friendship when he’d kissed him.

“I know, I know,” Sylvain finally replied, as Felix showed no sign of leaving without acknowledgement. “Sorry again, I was spacing out, shitty day of class you know?” He ran his fingers through his hair and laughed blithely.

“…Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, a ghost of a frown on his lips.

That caught Sylvain by surprise. If Felix had ever felt the pull of the threads that stitched them together for an eternity, he’d never shown it. The one-sidedness of their soulbond had left Sylvain feeling profoundly lonely for an unknowable number of lifetimes. Stuck courting the man he was sure would never offer him forgiveness should he know the personal betrayal he'd suffered.  

“It's mostly that I didn't sign up for a graduate level religious history course to listen to everyone wax poetic about the pure children blessed by the Goddess to have a soulmate.” Sylvain grimaced like he'd been forced to drink one of the bitter aromatic concoctions Felix dared consider tea.

“Well your first mistake was taking a class on religion,” Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Can't expect anyone to feel sorry for you.” 

“I can't argue with that.” He grinned in spite of himself. “I'm Sylvain by the way,” he added, figuring he should get the introductions out of the way before he puts his foot in his mouth. Especially when talking to Felix sometimes felt as natural as breathing. 

“Felix,” he said, succinct as always. I know, Sylvain answers wordlessly.

“So what brings you to the library if not some existential crisis?” He joked, flashing a smile that was as flirtatious as it was disingenuous. 

“Studying, like a normal person who isn't getting a graduate degree based on some ancient scam,” Felix retorted, even after all these years his edges were as sharp as always. 

“In my defense it's just one part of my program, which is Imperial Era Fódlan,” Sylvain replied, chuckling softly as he watched Felix shift his weight. “Anyway I won't keep you from your studying, it was nice meeting you, Felix.” He lied, it was miserable meeting him, it made him want to drop out and disappear to Brigid or Almyra. Anything but experience this again.  

Felix grumbled a reply Sylvain couldn’t make out before trudging further into the study hall. A past version of himself would have badgered him until he repeated himself, but his current iteration just wanted to get this chapter over with. The sooner they meet, the sooner Felix is torn away from him. The sooner he could carry on with life. It was a wonder if Sothis had any control over it, why she would aim to embitter him to his soulmate. 

Then again, perhaps other soulmates didn't struggle like this.  

Maybe it was Sylvain who was the unprecedented fuckup.

 VI. 

He stood in front of the incredibly weather worn, hand-carved marble monument. His tie fluttered in the wind as it carried his parents familiar voices across the field.  They'd just laid Miklan to rest, the final victim of his own demons. Sylvain always hoped he found peace in the afterlife.  

As he walked through the sea of headstones towards the gate of the cemetery, his eyes caught on the elaborately detailed cat statue. It belonged to a child.  

Sylvain never meets Felix the sixth time. 

X—IV.

The week concluded without any further incident. He'd caught glimpses all over campus of messily tied up dark hair, but they never orbited each other close enough to speak again. It was the most preferable outcome.  

On Saturday night, Lysithea and Bernadetta barged into his apartment unannounced; both obviously pregaming before going to some house party. They gave him big puppy dog eyes, pleading with him to accompany them for their safety. As if he ever needed his arm twisted.

He'd gotten used to the ever rotating cast of familiar faces in every lifetime he lived. Many scholars had philosophized that a finite number of souls existed in the universe, therefore it was inevitable that those souls would live multiple lives. Sylvain could confirm that without a shadow of a doubt, which was what made his situation with Felix all the more daunting.  

Sylvain had observed the same faces over and over again, but they were always different people. Their aspirations, careers, hobbies, and friend groups would change in the same way a forest does throughout its existence.  Meanwhile Felix and himself were as consistent as the tides.  

“Syl—vaaaain. Walk fasterrrr.” Bernadetta pouted, pulling him across campus towards whatever fraternity was hosting this week's rager. Lysithea giggled as she flagrantly took a swig from a bottle of clear liquid. 

“Bernie, my love, if I went any faster you wouldn't be able to keep up,” he teased her, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

“But it's super important!” She declared, wrapping an arm around his waist. Sylvain had a laugh to himself at the juxtaposition between the shy, socially awkward, romance author and the bubbly, it girl with a lowkey gambling addiction. 

“Oh? Is “super important's” name Khalid by chance?” Sylvain asked. Bernadetta squealed before shoving him, causing Lysithea to burst out into a fit of laughter.  

When the brightly lit house came into view, Bernadetta scurried off ahead of them. He imagined she was eager to locate and commandeer the attention of the Almyran man she definitely wasn't interested in. 

Lysithea and he helped themselves to drinks and found themselves an empty sofa to chill on. They made small talk about classes, fully aware the other wasn't all that interested. It would only be a matter of time before Lysithea would be whisked away by one of her dozens of admirers. She was pretty, smart, and athletic, with the added perk she wasn't dying from magical cancer.

“My boyfriend is coming tonight,” she whispered dreamily to Sylvain, startling him slightly. He'd forgotten that she'd been tentatively seeing someone, met him online and he was apparently just as into horticulture as she was.  

“I thought you said he lived and worked in Garreg Mach,” he murmured back. She'd kept most information about him secret, Sylvain had assumed she was worried people would think he was a catfish. According to her he was really, really, really, hot.

“His brother is a student here, guess he's visiting for a week and wanted to meet in person… finally make it real between us.” Her face was flush and she clutched the fabric of her skirt in her fingers. He realized she wasn't as inebriated as he'd thought. Maybe the bottle she'd been drinking from really was water and not poorly concealed vodka.  

“Is that why you and Bernie roped me into this party then? Just in case?” He kept his tone playful, but when she gave a small nod he was honestly flattered he made her feel secure. A little reminder this current life hadn't been all bad.

“Lys?” Both she and Sylvain turned their attention to the source of the voice. If not for his wavy hair and bright blue eyes he'd be dead ringer for Felix. Glenn. Lysithea's mysterious, plant obsessed boyfriend with a big fancy government job in Garreg Mach was Felix’s—very much alive—older brother.

“Glenn!” She exclaimed, a bright smile appearing on her face. She pushed herself up from the sofa, allowing him to pull her into a gentle hug.  

A tiny part of Sylvain's heart ached for a distant memory of Ingrid, who never had the opportunity to see Glenn grow into the man he was destined to be. But he wasn't sure Ingrid's soul was even on earth right now and if the way Glenn looked at Lysithea was any consolation… The two hadn't been soulmates anyway.  

“Hey, Lysi said you were visiting a brother. Does he happen to be a near mirror image of you with brown eyes? Goes by Felix?” Sylvain asked, leaning forward. He licked his lips, wondering when they'd gotten so dry. It wasn't like he didn't already know the answer, he was just curious where he was currently haunting.  

“Ah you've met my lesser half?” Glenn laughed but before he could say more the cushion on the couch sank beside Sylvain as that very same man sat beside him. He scowled at Glenn who just flashed him a smile over Lysithea's shoulder as he wove their fingers together. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, Sylvain thought.

“Well I guess your lesser half will have to keep me entertained since you appear to be stealing my friend,” he smiled back at Glenn before turning his gaze towards the man beside him.  

He barely heard Glenn's muffled “guess so” because Felix was staring at him with an uncomfortable intensity, the corner of his mouth slightly downturned. It was a silent demand, as if to say: what the fuck are you doing? 

And Sylvain didn't have an answer.

 VII.

Sylvain boarded the redline in Enbarr destined for Garreg Mach, from there he’d transfer onto the eastbound yellow line to Derdriu. Where he’d spend the next two weeks wining and dining a party of business men from Almyra. His father was a diamond magnate now, at the cutting edge of industrialization, and a kimberlite deposit had been found on the Almyran side of the mountains. So of course Matthias Clément Gautier—ever consumed by greed—wanted to be cut into the deal.

However he was far too busy overseeing mining operations in the Oghma Mountains to travel to Derdriu, so he shouldered his youngest son with the task. The eldest couldn’t be trusted not to be seduced into the bottom of a bottle and make a mockery of the Gautier name. 

He dropped himself into his seat in the first class carriage and stared out the window watching people scramble around on the platform. A jealousy reminiscent of a wild, voracious beast gnawed at his heart as he watched families hug and kiss their loved ones goodbye; warm wishes for safe travels that Sylvain could only ever long for. He leaned forward, undoing the clasps that secured his leather briefcase and retrieved a book from inside. It was a collection of parables and oral recollections from a distant time, when dragons and monsters roamed the land, Sylvain simply hoped it would temper the restlessness of a nine hour train ride.

The train was scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes, the attendants walked the aisles offering pre-voyage refreshments—a perk only provided to those who could afford first class seating—a concept fundamentally in conflict with the future Sylvain had once fought for. The ruling class, once led by the aristocracy, had been replaced by opportunistic snakes, and sometimes the venn diagram depicting those in power was a circle. Such was the case with his own father.  

An annoyed noise from the aisle caused Sylvain to glance from the book he held in its direction. Amber eyes, long messy hair, face pinched into a scowl; he'd become accustomed to their paths crossing at inopportune times. 

“Is there a problem?” Sylvain asked with that dazzlingly fake smile of his.

“I was under the impression I was sitting alone,” Felix snapped, refusing to make eye contact. The miscommunicated seating wasn’t Sylvain’s fault, but that never stopped him from misdirecting his anger at whoever was nearest in the past. He was a wounded animal, full of distrust, by nature.

“Ah, sorry,” he replied quietly, looking back out the window onto the platform. “Well I'll do my best to be quiet then.”

Felix was within his grasp again, but he didn’t find there to be any reason to bridge the gap anymore. Not when the ending was as certain as the setting of the sun. 

“…It’s fine.” Sylvain looked back at him, his hands had balled into fists and his jaw clenched. Full of evident discomfort at being forced to share a space with a stranger.

He smiled trying to help him relax as he stowed away his bags and flopped down onto the aisle seat arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring straight ahead.

“I’m Sylvain, I’m traveling to Derdriu for business,” he offered the introduction with trained ease. To everyone else he’d come off as a man who spent a lot of time socializing professionally. The reality was he’d done this introduction so many times now it was second nature.

“Felix. I’m going north.” The reply almost made Sylvain laugh at how wonderfully vague it was, just about every part of Fódlan was north of Enbarr.

“North huh? You a northerner then? You look like one.” Felix’s eyes snapped in his direction for a brief moment before returning to their fixed position straight ahead.

“Yes,” came the terse reply. He wrinkled his nose after a brief moment of silence and dared to glance in his direction again. “You look more northern than I do,” Felix muttered hastily.

“Makes sense, I was born near Sreng, my father has a stake in the mining operations in the Ruska mountains,” Sylvain replied casually, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Is that why you’re going to Derdriu?” Felix’s disinterest bled into his tone while he opened one of his travel bags, retrieving an anatomical textbook and notepad from inside.

“Mhmmm,” he hummed as the passenger train began to inch its way from the terminal. “And you’re… a student? Going to or heading from school I presume?”

“Yes.” It was another nebulous answer, but Sylvain didn’t pursue clarification. “So if you wouldn’t mind… I need to study.”

Sylvain nodded an affirmation before returning to staring out the window. Anticipating an incredibly grueling nine hours sitting beside Felix in complete silence. However he must have fallen asleep—or disassociated, because time blurred past him as quickly as Fódlan’s countryside and next thing he remembered was the announcement they’d reached Garreg Mach and for all passengers to collect their things and disembark their carriages. 

He heard Felix move as he tucked his books back into his bag and pulled his personal items out of storage. Always in a rush to go nowhere; if he was heading to Fhirdiad the blueline didn’t depart for another hour. He stretched his arms, lazily collecting his briefcase and bags. They glanced at each other in silent acknowledgement and against his best interest Sylvain opened his mouth to speak

“Well it was nice meeting you Felix, maybe I’ll catch you again sometime when you don't need to do something.” It was a flippant comment; maybe even a rude one. However, Sylvain was confident this would be their first and last meeting in this cycle.

Felix’s brows furrowed, painting his face with visible confusion. Sylvain threw him a cheeky grin and stepped past him into the aisle of the train car, before trudging towards the door.

“Maybe,” Felix whispered breathily, promising an inevitable meeting in another lifetime—one he’d never know of.

X—V.

The commotion around them was overwhelming, but what could Sylvain honestly expect at a house party hosted by university students? He sighed softly as Glenn whisked Lysithea away to the quaint backyard garden she told him about. He could imagine it now strung with fairy lights, meant for lovers to sneak kisses and private conversations.  The idea of the two holding hands and sharing jokes only meant for one another definitely didn't make his heart ache with want.

Felix turned himself sideways, in a way that was almost welcoming. His legs propped up on the sofa, knees tucked against his body as his head rested on the back cushion. He watched Sylvain through half-lidded eyes, his body language neutral.

“I never did ask what you were studying,” Sylvain said, breaking the silence. He leaned back, sliding down on the couch.  

“Medicine,” Felix replied, his eyes downcast now as his hands as he idly played with a throw blanket covering the back of the sofa. 

“Explains a lot,” he laughed softly, hoping it didn't sound bitter. It was endlessly the same with Felix.  A final confirmation that he didn't just share a face with a visage from Sylvain's past.

“How so?” Was Felix's brusque reply. His stare returning to Sylvain, face slowly setting into a scowl. 

“I just mean in my experience medical students are intense about their studying!” Sylvain exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. And you've never half-assed anything in your life he didn’t add.

“Right,” he huffed, his eyes rolling and the corner of his mouth turning ever so slightly upwards. “Well what about you then, how did your soulmate religious studies lectures go?” His smirk deepened at Sylvain's cringe, showing off his sharp canines. 

“Let me get another drink and I'll tell you about it,” Sylvain sighed, shoulders sagging slightly as he willed himself onto his feet and trudged towards the open bar. Felix's eyebrows raised at him ever so slightly but he said nothing.  

He poured several syrups and spirits into a glass creating some sweet abomination that should mask the sheer volume of liquor he'd added. Then before returning to his proverbial date with destiny on the sofa of some frat party he made his company a drink too, it felt only fair. 

When he returned to Felix he wordlessly held out the red plastic cup for him, as he casually took a sip of his own drink. He tilted his head, clearly confused by the gesture. 

“I don't like sweet shit,” Felix said flatly.  

“S'not sweet. Gin and Tonic,” Sylvain replied, swirling the glass in his hand. Felix frowned but slowly accepted the drink, bringing it to his nose to give it a little sniff before tasting it. Inside him two sides of him warred, one that wanted the man to shrug it off as a lucky guess and the other that wanted Felix to demand how he knew his niche preference for alcohol.

Sylvain dropped back into his seat, keeping his eyes straight ahead while he nursed his cocktail. 

“So those lectures,” Felix prompted him, wisely choosing not to press the drink issue at all.

“I just don't get the novelty,” he blurted out.  A deep frown settling on his features. “What's so fucking enticing about being a slave to fate? Having the person you'll fall in love with preordained? It's hardly romantic that some people never get to choose who they want to spend their lives with it's set in stone ad infinitum.” There was almost a sense of relief in getting that off his chest. Even if he couldn't fully explain the full scope of it; that if an individual bearing a soulmate did make a choice they'd be punished brutally in the next lifetime for it. 

“But it sounds like you believe in it, anyway,” he answered so casually it sent a jolt through Sylvain's nervous system. Of course he believed in it, he was living proof of it; of its cruelty. 

“Well what about you then?” Sylvain bit out. The words felt like poison, leaving his mouth numb. 

“I don't know,” Felix began before taking a drawn out drink of his cocktail. One of his legs slid across the couch until his socked foot nudged against Sylvain's outer thigh. “Should I?” 

Suddenly the room was too hot, the music too loud, and his chest too tight. He needed some fresh air and quiet he thought as he sprung from his seat and marched himself towards the door like he was part of the army still. He vaguely thought he heard Felix speaking to him as he pried open the front door and stumbled down the front steps.

He couldn't breath.

His vision swam before his legs gave out on the final cement step, sending him careening down onto the concrete sidewalk. 

There was red pooling on the stone and Felix’s familiar voice was devoid of its normal edge as some kind of terror seemed to seep in. 

Before Sylvain lost consciousness from a mixture of the alcohol, anxiety and head trauma he was sure he heard Felix whisper to him. 

“You can't do this—” to me again.

 IX. 

The room was quiet sans the steady beeping of the Holter monitor. Sylvain opened his eyes and was greeted by a dimly lit hospital room. He groaned and sat himself upright in the bed, unfocused eyes glancing around the empty room. Confusion clung to him as he attempted to recall recent events to no avail. 

He saw the cord of the call button wrapped around the handle of the bed and reached out to press it and alert the medical staff of his awakened state.  

After a couple minutes a dainty woman—one of the nurses, scurried into his room. She offered him a reserved but warm smile.

“Mr. Gautier, do you recall the events leading up to your hospitalization?” She asked softly. The way she spoke reminded Sylvain of someone but his brain couldn't seem to place it. 

“No,” he croaked out his throat dry. The woman hurried over and brought a white paper cup to his lips, helping him drink it down.  

“You were having dinner with a date and experienced a tonic-clonic seizure, when you fell you hit your head and did not regain consciousness,” she answered, filling him in. He squinted at the identification tags clipped to the pocket of her scrub shirt. Mercedes.

“Well I'm awake now, so when can I go home?” He asked, trying to offer her a flirtatious smile.  

“I'll inform the doctor you're awake Mr. Gautier,” Mercedes answered with a visible frown. “If there's anything you need please don't hesitate to call us.” 

She quickly excused herself and exited the room, leaving him alone in the silent sterility of the hospital room. Sylvain sighed and leaned back into the pillows, he stared at a fixed point at the edge of his bed but his eyes refused to focus. Maybe that had something to do with hitting his head because his vision hadn't been an issue prior. He gave up for now, choosing to rest them instead.

When the door to his room opened again he knew three things to be true.  Firstly. no more than fifteen minutes had passed, secondly, his vision was still blurry, and thirdly he didn't need to be able to see to know his doctor was Felix. 

He adjusted the brightness in the room, still keeping it relatively low lit but it made it a little easier for Sylvain to make things out now. Felix wheeled a stool towards the side of his bed before sitting down gently and opening up a folder he'd carried in with him.

“Hello Mr. Gautier, I'm Dr. Fraldarius, the oncologist who's been assigned your case,” he spoke slowly and kept his lips pressed into a tight line. 

“Oncologist,” Sylvain repeated, as bile rose in his throat leaving an acerbic taste.

“Correct.” Felix shifted slightly, watching Sylvain attentively. “When you arrived in the emergency department unconscious after having a seizure and hitting your head, my colleagues ordered a CT scan to check for any blood on the brain. Fortunately there was no bleeding, unfortunately there was something else.”

“A tumor,” Sylvain exhaled, swallowing thickly. It was a horrible joke and the universe must be laughing at him. 

He'd spent the better part of his forty years of life avoiding all types of healthcare as much as possible in fear he'd run into Felix again. So of course Sothis would personally bless him with a damn tumor and make him one of his patients to assure they reunited again. 

“Mr. Gautier—Sylvain, evidenced by the sheer size of your tumor, I must assume you've been sick for several months.” He exhaled, his eyes looking down at the chart in his hand. Sylvain thought he was briefly chewing on his lower lip but it could be his eyes playing tricks on him. 

“So what? We cut it out, beam some radiation at my head and I go home?” Sylvain waved his hand with a nonchalance unbefitting the situation. He was met with an inexorable silence.

“I'm afraid, your tumor—a glioblastoma—already occupies a significant portion of the right hemisphere of your brain and is showing signs of spreading bilaterally.” He could feel Felix’s gaze cutting into him like he was a corpse in a medical school cadaver lab. “It is my professional opinion that it's a statistical impossibility that you will be discharged at all. I'm sorry.” 

Sylvain couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Long, drawn out, hysterical laughter, and he could hardly catch his breath. Felix remained quietly at his side, perfectly professional and unfazed that he'd just delivered the cruelest punchline imaginable. 

“So that's it then,” he wheezed between his laughter. “I’m going to die alone in a fucking hospital bed.” 

“One of our patient coordinators can contact your fami—”

“I don't have any family, Dr. Fraldarius,” he interrupted, hissing. You were the closest thing to family I ever had, he omitted. 

There was another uncomfortable silence while Felix seemed to chew on what he should say next. Sylvain wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Eventually the younger man slouched slightly, closing the folder on his lap and dragged himself to stand. 

“I'll arrange to have you moved onto the hospice unit, the team there will have your comfort as their top priority,” he said, still maintaining an even, neutral tone. He offered a nod that looked more like a bow before he shuffled to the door. Felix placed his hand on the handle and pushed it down but hesitated keeping the door shut. “...You won't die alone Sylvain,” he muttered before pushing the door open and exiting the room leaving Sylvain alone again. 

Within weeks his vision worsened until he was completely blind; his hearing failed him too, with everything sounding like it was under water. The hospice team hadn't been exaggerating when they told him how quick and aggressive the tumor destroying his brain was. By the end of the month he could no longer eat and the care team discontinued IV fluids per the advanced directive they'd drafted when he first arrived. 

The last days were intermittent, in his few waking moments his senses were completely numb leaving him with nearly no awareness of his surroundings. But there was one thing he remembered with perfect clarity;

A hand that gripped his own, as if to cling onto its only lifeline.  

And Sylvain had ended that cycle desperately wanting that hand to belong to Felix. 

X—VI.

Sylvain hissed loudly, breaking the silence of the dark room. From what little was illuminated by the light filtering through the window he could tell it was someone's bedroom. His head throbbed and he didn’t know if that was from the alcohol or the fall he vaguely remembered taking. With a soft groan he propped himself up on an elbow and patted his head until he felt the scab forming near his right temple. After confirming his skull was intact he attempted to get a better look at the room. His gaze found Felix, sitting arms crossed over his chest and leg bouncing restlessly his body froze. 

You can't do this to me again.

Again.

“Fe–” he was interrupted by Felix moving across the room and pushing him back down onto the bed, pinning him under his weight. “You remember?” He whispered, tendrils of pathetic hope wrapping themselves around him. Above him Felix elicited a joyless laugh. 

“Remember?” Felix whispered, sharp edges so close Sylvain's brain screamed danger. “No Sylvain, the truth is I never forgot.” The words washed over him like the frigid sea water people submerge themselves in on the new year; a shallow passage of rebirth. 

“What?” Sylvain's voice came out shrill. “Why did you never say anything then?” He wrenched himself out from under Felix and sat up, his back resting against the wall. 

“I could ask you the same, couldn't I?” Felix sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I didn't… every time we met you never seemed to feel anything at all.” 

“I fucking kissed you the fifth time I found you Felix what more of a sign did you want?” Sylvain sneered, his teeth on display. 

“After you vanished into the night the time before!” He nearly shouted. “I… so desperately wanted you to come to Galatea with me.” The confession made Sylvain's heart ache. 

“I didn't want to ruin your marriage,” Sylvain muttered, picking at the duvet. 

“I was only married for political purposes.” It was another tiny stab into Sylvain’s chest.

“Oh.” He breathed out. “But then why did you—the next time?” 

“I was angry. At everything. Completely disillusioned. I'd already let go of our past, realized I didn't give a shit about what happened during the war. Then you went and abandoned me again.” Felix answered softly, and even in the dark Sylvain could see the shame and sadness wash across his face. “Every single time after that you seemed more and more disinterested and I just… gave up.” 

“It was the same for me,” he admitted before slowly reaching his hand out to where Felix still kneeled on the bed. “I was so exhausted and convinced the Goddess had determined me irredeemable that by the time we met on the train I didn’t even want to learn anything about you anymore.”

Felix slowly took Sylvain's hand in his own and wove their fingers together. There was a sadness that lingered in the air as they lamented the missed connection. One of many opportunities that may have ended differently if either one of them had found the confidence to take action. 

“I'm sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling; dangerously close to cracking. It was apparent he was suppressing tears. 

“For what happened last time?” Sylvain asked, and Felix gave a terse nod. “That wasn't your fault, how could that ever be your fault?” Sylvain closed his eyes and focused on the way Felix's hand grasped his own. A silent confirmation that not only had he not died alone, he'd died loved. 

“I really didn't want to do it again after last time,” he admitted, rotating the hand that held Sylvain's to reveal a long ugly scar down his forearm. 

“Goddess Felix,” Sylvain's other hand came up to gently run his fingers across the jagged scar.  “I don't know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, watching you walk away was hard; watching you die? Being completely powerless to stop it?” He let out a shaky breath. “I guess we're both lucky that fucking Hubert von Vestra saved my life,” Felix’s tone was devoid of malice, in its place a very clear fondness actually. 

“Hubert huh,” Sylvain chuckled softly. “Do you ever find it weird? To see the same faces over and over but they live completely different lives each time.” 

“It’s dreadfully weird, I live with him and Jeritza.” Felix shook his head, jostling his loose hair. He withdrew his hand from Sylvain's, quickly shuffling to sit between his legs, allowing his arms to snake around Sylvain’s neck. “Well he's just Emile this time actually.” 

Sylvain gave a quiet snort in response before wrapping his own arms around Felix's waist and pulling him closer. He sighed and dropped his head onto Sylvain's shoulder, burying his face into his neck. 

For the first time in eternity the pieces seemed to slot into place. 

“Do you think this is it?” Sylvain murmured, as one of his hands slid up Felix's back and into his messy hair.

“I hope so,” the response whispered against his ear, making him shudder.  

Fódlan hadn’t seen war in centuries, there was no longer any risk that they’d be torn apart by their ideals. Here now, they were simply two young men with a bright promising future ahead of them. One that may see them grow old together, and return to the natural cycle of reincarnation; anew.  

So in that quiet, dark bedroom, two soulmates shared their first real kiss in ten lifetimes, silently declaring: 

I have loved you since the first time I lost you.