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The truth of it all is that Sylvain Jose Gautier is simply in denial that two-thirds of his best friends in the world—the two he’s not dating—are just not quite normal.
Glenn complains about it—that is, the lack of normalcy that Dimitri and Felix display—a lot, but, you know, he’s Felix’s brother. Of course he thinks Felix is a little weirdo and so, by extension, must be Dimitri, and, extending it further, the two of them as a unit cannot possibly be just a couple of perfectly ordinary guys.
That’s just math, baby. Or science. Magic, even.
For tonight’s dinner-and-a-show double date, picks up Ingrid first, who naturally gets the honour of the passenger seat, because he doesn’t want her to make That Face at him.
Next, he pulls up in front of Dimitri’s dad’s mansion and Felix and Dimitri are already outside on the front step waiting, sitting very close together, like ordinary people. They get up in eerie unison and Dimitri’s all smiles and Felix is all scowls when they reach the car, because that’s just… them.
Like normal people, they get in on the same side. Felix climbs in first, and opts to sit in the middle seat, so that he’s pressed right up against Dimitri’s side. It’s not cold out; Felix doesn’t need to do that for warmth. They just sit real close together because they are extremely cool and normal.
Ingrid twists around in her seat so she can talk to Dimitri. Sylvain keeps his eyes on the road. Felix says nothing at all. Though Sylvain glances at the rear-view mirror to catch Felix grabbing Dimitri’s hand. Sylvain smiles to himself. Normal couple things for them to do.
Because they’re very normal, Sylvain tells himself. Normal and well-adjusted young men. They hold hands on their way into the restaurant, a place they’ve enjoyed going to for years even before Sylvain started driving and they had to rely on Glenn to get them around. They pretend that the car that brought them here is not one of, if not the most, expensive cars the parking lot and they pretend they’re not four rich kids who will use Dimitri’s daddy’s credit card to pay for the meal.
They’re just four perfectly normal people on a perfectly normal double date.
Sylvain settles himself into one side of the booth, against the wall, one arm stretched across the back of the seat with his hand close to Dimitri’s shoulder, and the opposite elbow resting on the tabletop. Ingrid, across from him, immediately picks up a menu. Felix takes hold of Dimitri’s hand again, on the tabletop, and Dimitri indulges him, allowing Felix to turn it over, trace fingertips over his knuckles, follow the lifeline on his palm, press his thumb to Dimitri’s wrist.
There’s nothing unusual about that at all.
Besides, they’ve been mostly apart for months, since they didn’t get into the same university for their first year. Dimitri’s transferring for to Felix’s school for their second year.
They’ve always been joined at the hip, and the separation really was tough on them. And now they’re just joined at the hand. It’s fine. It’s actually even kind of romantic. Right? Right.
By the time their server—her name is Leonie—comes to introduce herself and take their drink orders, Felix and Dimitri haven’t even opened their menus. They do that once Leonie leaves.
They look at each other over their menus a lot, but say nothing, and then place their menus down on the edge of the table at almost exactly the same time.
Dimitri’s dad is away on a business trip, and Felix has spent the time staying over at Dimitri’s place. They’ve probably spent that time melding into one person. A thing that happens, for sure, definitely. Sylvain has heard of it happening before—he thinks?—and assumes they’ll also probably grow out of it. Become their own separate people, once separation stops being a problem for them.
When Sylvain settles on what he’ll have—just a burger, an old standby pretty much anywhere except those restaurants where you get a single pea with an eyedropper’s worth of sauce beside it—he ignores the way Felix watches him keenly as he reaches across Dimitri to deposit the menu on top of theirs.
You’d think Sylvain had just started making out with Dimitri in full view of Ingrid and the goddess and everyone, from the stink-eye he’s getting in response to... moving, he supposes.
It’s fine. It’s absolutely fine, maybe the couples-sitting-across-from-each-other sitting arrangement wasn’t the best idea they’ve had. Because Dimitri and Felix don’t like being apart from each other. Ingrid’s always very insistent when she needs her space away from Sylvain, and he’s happy to let her have it, because he loves seeing her again when he’s spent a bit of time missing her, even if it’s only a few days. She’s so cute when she blushes when he—
He feels a shoe tap against his and looks across at her, but she’s still intently studying the menu. She’s too consumed with window shopping the food more than anything else, weighing and measuring what she wants versus how much it costs, even though it’s Dimitri’s dad’s credit card that’s going to be paying for their meal. And also she’s never played footsie with him before.
“Felix,” Sylvain says, “that’s me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Felix shifts in his seat. Dimitri looks confused, and then blushes, squirming a little.
“Calm down, you two,” Sylvain says.
“Ah, yes, of course, my apologies, Sylvain,” Dimitri says.
Dimitri’s knee bumps Sylvain’s under the table, and Dimitri starts offering more apologies.
Leonie arrives to drop off their drinks and take their orders—Ingrid’s finally decided, and Dimitri makes sure they have a few different kinds of appetizers, mostly for Felix and Ingrid. Sylvain settles back into his casual sprawl, elbow on the table, back against the wall, but this time decides to try to keep the hand on the back of the bench a little further away from Dimitri—not the easiest feat, given the size of Dimitri’s shoulders now.
Felix was the only one who didn’t request a straw for his drink. Instead, he takes Dimitri’s, drops it into his glass, takes a sip, and gives Dimitri his straw back. Dimitri drinks from the straw, too.
They’re being very, very normal. Perfectly normal. The most normal couple to ever grace Faerghus and its environs. No couple in the history of the continent has ever been as normal as Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and Felix Hugo Fraldarius, whose foot bumps against Sylvain’s again under the table. Sylvain refuses to scoot himself any further into the corner.
He clears his throat. “Hey, have we settled on what we’re gonna see after this?” he asks.
“I really want to see the new Dorothea Arnault movie,” Ingrid says, playing with the little blue paper umbrella in her drink.
“Is it a musical?” Dimitri sounds hopeful.
Ingrid nods with a big smile, and Felix groans.
“Come on, Felix,” Ingrid says. “You picked last time.”
“And everyone enjoyed it,” Felix says. “Everyone always enjoys it when I pick the movie.”
That’s not exactly true, but none of them want to be the one to say otherwise, so no one does.
“We could just see Fallen Star one more time before it’s out of theatres,” Dimitri suggests. He doesn’t sound quite as enthused about it as he might have before knowing the new Dorothea Arnault movie is a musical.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Felix says. “If we can’t come to a consensus.” He steals Dimitri’s straw again. Takes a drink. Returns the straw.
He’s playing it too cool. Sylvain knows better—Felix would definitely prefer to go see Fallen Star.
“I’m game either way,” Sylvain says. “Hell, I’d be happy to watch something bad just for the joy of being able to make fun of it.”
“You’ll get us kicked out again,” Ingrid says.
“Okay, you know what?” Sylvain clasps his hands and leans his elbows on the table. “It’s not my fault you three were the only people in the theatre who appreciated my commentary.”
“We did not appreciate your commentary,” Felix mutters.
“Liar. You were trying not to laugh just as much as Dimitri and Ingrid were.”
“You know, Sylvain,” Dimitri says, thoughtfully, stirring his straw around in his drink, “I think it would be quite interesting to listen to you make fun of bad movies just as a… as a thing. Your very own commentary track, almost, while you… riff on the movies. It could be very humorous.”
“Maybe,” Sylvain says. “But who besides you three would want to watch something like that?”
“People, surely,” Dimitri says. “You’re very funny. But perhaps you could have sidekicks? Puppets, perhaps.”
“Puppet sidekicks?” Felix says, sounding more than doubtful. He takes Dimitri’s straw. Drinks. Returns the straw. Dimitri uses the straw, too. “I don’t think Sylvain would want to make it for kids.”
“Well, they wouldn’t have to be puppets, though I don’t think puppets are strictly for children’s entertainment. But the sidekicks could also just be… people. Or robots, perhaps.”
Felix rests his chin on his fist. “I think there’d have to be some sort of… narrative element. About why Sylvain was doing this in the first place. Like, maybe he’s been captured and someone’s forcing him to watch these bad movies, and he makes fun of them to keep himself sane.”
“Go on,” Dimitri says, mirroring Felix’s posture, leaning eagerly towards him.
“Wait, hang on,” says Ingrid, “wouldn’t this be a bit disrespectful? To the people who made the movies in the first place?”
“It would all be in good fun, I think,” Dimitri says. He rests his free hand on the table, and his eyes are glued on Felix. “Sylvain can actually be quite funny without being mean.”
“Yeah, exactly,” says Felix. “Unlike some people we know.”
“Yeah, Felix, you’re mean-mean, not funny-mean,” says Sylvain.
“That’s not…” Dimitri can’t make him finish the sentence. Because it’s not true. Felix is mean.
And Dimitri likes that about him, against all good sense. Sweet, earnest, kind Dimitri likes that Felix is the kind of person who won’t hesitate to cut someone else down to size, no holds barred, everything on the table, even if (and when) it leaves the other person a quivering, crying mess.
But most of that is because of the way Dimitri seems content to allow other people to mistreat him as—as—penance for being the only child of the wealthiest guy in the country? For being so tall? For being ridiculously good-looking? For breathing? Sylvain can’t quite figure that out, but at least he’s got his tiny guard dog boyfriend to tell servers that he didn’t want mustard on his hamburger.
Meanwhile, of course, whenever Sylvain so much as blinks, Ingrid tells him to behave himself. He loves her to pieces.
Leonie arrives to take their orders, then as soon as she’s left, Dimitri and Felix return to planning this endeavour that Sylvain is apparently going to embark on. They’re leaning towards each other, and Felix is even making very sustained eye contact with Dimitri. Frankly, Sylvain’s pretty surprised that they aren’t just making out, but they’d never do something so grotesquely mundane. Not these two.
Ingrid reaches across the table, tapping one finger on the table in front of Sylvain. Now that she has his attention, she glances at Dimitri and Felix, and then she smiles. He takes her hand, rubs his thumb over hers. Dimitri and Felix are discussing the pros and cons of Sylvain pre-recording this “riffing” show he’s apparently going to do versus streaming it live, and wondering how he’s going to get around any potential copyright issues; the medium of film is relatively young, all things considered, and while there are more movies entering the public domain every year, many of the earliest movies have been lost to bad preservation and a few natural disasters.
The server drops off the appetizers. Immediately, they all reach for the fried mozzarella. Felix says, “Okay, so, maybe you just need to switch to copyright law as your focus.”
Dimitri blinks. “Oh. I’m going into copyright law now?”
“This is for Sylvain’s future,” Felix says. “Don’t you care about Sylvain’s future?”
“Of course I do,” Dimitri says, without hesitation.
“Good,” Felix says. He takes Dimitri’s straw. Sips his drink. Puts the straw back. “So you go into copyright law, and you can keep his ass safe from litigious movie studios so he can poke fun at their movies. And, besides, we all already knew one day you’d have to be his lawyer.”
“Fair,” Dimitri says, nodding.
“Hey,” Sylvain protests.
“Shut up, we’re planning your future for you,” Felix says.
Sylvain snags the second-last piece of fried mozzarella. “This could all really be a moot point,” he says, “considering that my dad’s almost certainly just going to want me to take over the family business.”
“No, no, we’re going to make your comedy dreams a reality,” says Dimitri.
He reaches for the last piece of fried mozzarella at the same time Felix does. Their fingers touch. They stare at each other.
“Oh,” Dimitri says.
“There’s still nachos,” Felix says.
“But… these are my favourite,” Dimitri says, plaintively.
They stare at each other.
“Please, Felix?” Dimitri says, his eyes wide and pleading. “I’d really like to have it.”
“There’s cheese on the nachos.”
“It’s not real cheese.”
“I’m not sure this is, either.”
“In that case, it shouldn’t be a problem to allow me to have it.”
They stare at each other for a moment longer. This is the silliest standoff Sylvain’s ever seen since they squared off against each other over the last bit of four-cheese spinach dip at the most recent Fraldarius shindig.
Felix grabs the fried mozzarella. Holding Dimitri’s gaze, he licks it, very deliberately, and then sets it back down in the basket.
Dimitri watches him impassively. He plucks the appetizer from the basket.
“Oh, goddess, no, please,” Ingrid whispers in absolute horror. Dimitri either doesn’t hear her or deliberately ignores her.
Dimitri, sweet, earnest, kind Dimitri, flips the fried mozzarella around so that the part Felix’s tongue touched is facing down—Ingrid says, “Nope,” and clambers over the back of the seat and into the empty booth behind them—and Dimitri pops the appetizer whole into his mouth.
Aghast, Sylvain watches as Felix leans closer to him across the table, staring at Dimitri with a kind of unmistakable horror mixed with blatant and, frankly, unsettling hunger.
“You’re disgusting,” Felix whispers.
Ingrid pops up, reaches over the back of the seat to grab her bag, then disappears again.
There’s a table in front of Sylvain. There’s a wall to his left and another at his back. Then there’s Dimitri on his right. He’s trapped.
Dimitri holds up one finger. He chews. Swallows. “You didn’t try to stop me,” he says.
“You can’t be stopped,” Felix says. “You decide you’re going to do something, and you just do it, because there’s something deeply wrong with you.”
“And yet—”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Felix says with a little sneer. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He reaches for a nacho. He takes a bite. To Sylvain’s mounting horror, Dimitri reaches out and grabs Felix’s wrist, then drags it towards his mouth—
“Let me out,” Sylvain says.
Dimitri plucks the nacho from Felix’s fingers with his teeth.
“Let me out,” Sylvain says, louder.
“You’re an animal,” Felix declares. He snatches his hand away and goes for another nacho. Which he licks, all while holding eye contact with Dimitri. Dimitri reaches out, and—
“Let me out!” Sylvain howls, knowing full well he’s drawing attention, but at least his closest and weirdest friends stop what they’re doing. Dimitri meekly slides out of the booth, allowing for Sylvain’s escape. Sylvain grabs his and Ingrid’s drinks and joins her at the booth she escaped into, sitting across from her again.
“They shouldn’t be allowed out in public without a minder,” Sylvain mutters.
“You’re their minder, Sylvain,” she says.
“Who decided that? That’s a terrible idea for everyone involved!”
Leonie pauses at their table, looking a bit confused. Sylvain puts on his best big, charming smile. “I hope this is okay,” he says. “I think this is just easier for everybody.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Leonie says, suddenly looking tired.
Sylvain thinks everyone who’s ever been a server is probably tired all the time. Especially when they have to deal with rich kids pretending not to be rich kids. He says, “But the big blond guy’s still paying for our meals.”
If he has to watch Dimitri and Felix’s mating rituals, which are not normal human mating rituals in any way, the least they can do is feed him. Ingrid, too.
Especially Ingrid.