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“I know you don't want to face it, but I think it's important for both of you.” Sylvain is speaking slowly and carefully, like Felix is a horse about to get spooked. It's annoying, but that's nothing new.
Felix keeps his arms firmly crossed. “Just get to the point. I don't even know what you're talking about.”
Sylvain takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. And he has the nerve to call Felix the dramatic one. “You're in love with Dimitri.”
Felix waits for more.
Nothing comes.
“I know.” Felix says, almost concerned. Did Sylvain hit his head? Is he carefully going through basic facts to make sure he still understands the world around him? What's next, counting backwards from ten before saying that the sky is blue?
“What?” Sylvain's jaw goes slack, but he rallies quickly. “You know?”
“Of course I know.” Felix rolls his eyes. This is getting very close to insulting.
Felix remembers realizing that dresses and being called a little lady grated against the core of him. He remembers telling his family and all of his friends that there must have been a mistake, because he was absolutely not meant to be a baby girl, and the goddess got it wrong. He remembers sitting on his mother’s lap while his father held a thick book, and together they selected a name that suited him more properly.
And yet, Felix quite literally can't recall a time in his life before loving Dimitri.
He adored Dimitri when they were children, shameless in his affection. Of course that love didn't stop when the Tragedy reared its ugly head. When Felix watched Dimitri laugh on the bloodsoaked ground during the Western Rebellion, it didn't erase the last fifteen years of his life. Water doesn't stop being wet when your best friend becomes a monster. The facts of the world remain, even if you're desperate for them to change.
Felix knows that he loves Dimitri. Lack of awareness has never been the problem.
“Okay,” Sylvain says, still looking a bit baffled, but apparently coming around to the simple truths of the world. “You know. So why haven't you said anything?”
A cold rush of feeling floods Felix’s gut. There's a lump in his throat, and his tongue is numb. He hates this part. It's critically unfair that there should be any anxiety leftover when he's loved Dimitri for more than two decades.
He swallows and looks away from Sylvain's stupid face and awful understanding. “I did.” His mouth tastes stale. “It didn't matter.”
“They aren't wrong.”
“I'm surprised, Felix. I never thought I would hear you agreeing with the council.”
“Shut up. Most of them are idiots who would rather tax their people to starvation than wield a weapon of their own volition, and I can't stand to hear them speak.”
“See now, that sounds much more like the Felix I know.”
“Didn't I just tell you to shut up, bo—Dimitri? And stop smiling like that.”
“Of course. I would hate to go against the word of my advisor.”
“Ugh. Look, all I’m saying is that they make a decent point about your marriage. Not that the people need settling, though I’m sure they’d be happy to celebrate. But it might get some of the traditionalists off your back.”
“...Felix, you know that I value your input. I swear to you that I am not rejecting this out of hand. It is only…if I ever do marry, I should like it to be a true partnership, not a scheme for political gain.”
It shouldn’t be a surprise that Sylvain told Mercedes about their conversation. Sylvain tells his wife everything, and Felix ought to know that by now.
He glares at the teacup in front of him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We don’t have to.” Mercedes says, in that frank but gentle way of hers. “I’m happy to listen if you’d like to share your troubles, but I won’t force you.”
Felix fidgets in his seat. How does she always sound so reasonable, even when he knows full well that she’s being nosy? “Fine. Ask your questions.”
Mercedes hums. “I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs—” Felix barks a laugh, which Mercedes delicately ignores. “—but I am curious about one thing. Sylvain mentioned that you and Dimitri used to be betrothed?”
Felix’s hands clench into fists on his thighs. He knows why it always comes back to this. He just doesn’t want to think about it. It still sits wrong, even after all this time. It would even without what Dimitri said.
“Our fathers were thrilled when House Fraldarius got a baby girl just a few moons after the Crown Prince was born.” Felix keeps staring at the tea in front of him. The surface is so still and calm, unlike the storm inside of him. “After all this time, Blaiddyd and Fraldarius could share a family line. It seemed perfect.”
“I see.” Mercedes keeps clicking away at her knitting, leaving Felix the space to decide if he wants to continue. He might hate her for it, if he wasn’t so busy loving her.
He sighs. “After I—well, you know. After that, my father sat me down and said he didn’t want to make a bride of me.”
Maybe he was always going to be furious with his old man, eventually. The awful line about Glenn hurt most of all, but the fracture first began that day in the study. Felix’s feet dangled from a chair that still feels too big, even all these years later, and his father said that he and Dimitri couldn’t be together.
It was intended as kindness. Felix knows that. He thinks he knew it back then, somewhere under the shock and sadness. Rodrigue had many failings, but Felix knows that he’d only ever meant to support his son.
Of course, even the best intentions are no substitute for actually asking a person what they want.
“Obviously you should only do it if it makes you happy. I’m not saying that you should just shack up with some Adrestian woman to silence your lords for a few moons.”
“Then who would you suggest?”
“Well. When we were children, before I—that is, before our fathers…what I mean is that we were betrothed once.”
“Ah. Yes. So we were.”
“Okay, but did you actually say the words ‘I love you’ or did you yell at him about something?”
Felix is struck with a sense of camaraderie for all the fathers and brothers of the women Sylvain’s had dalliances with over the years. He would also love to strangle Sylvain right now, until his face gets as red as his hair.
“Alright! I can see that you aren’t interested in outside suggestions.” Sylvain puts up his hands in a motion of surrender, which is undercut by his laughter. “Look, I truly just want you to be happy, and I’m confident that His Majesty does too. Maybe you’re talking past each other. It’s not like this would be the first time.”
Felix crosses his arms, feeling no need to acknowledge that statement. Sylvain laughs again. He does that a lot now, which is mostly a good thing, Felix thinks. It’s also an annoying thing. And if he has to hear about the power of honest love one more time, he doesn’t think he should be held accountable for his actions.
“I know this sounds ridiculous coming from me, but when you truthfully communicate with the person you love—”
“Sylvain.” Felix grits his teeth. “If you keep talking, Mercedes is going to be very upset.”
Sylvain blinks. “Why? She doesn’t mind if I share details about our personal life. We talked about it.”
“But she does mind when you get injured.” Felix taps his fingers next to the sheathed dagger at his hip. “Especially when it’s due to something perfectly avoidable.”
Sylvain swallows. “I see your point.” His lip twitches, and Felix just knows what he’s about to say, even though he wishes he didn’t. “Heh. Point. Like the point of your—”
Felix wraps his fingers around the hilt, and Sylvain shuts up. If only all conversations could end so easily.
“Look, if you don’t want to—”
“I do not think it is wise. Perhaps my earlier phrasing misled you, and if so, I hope you can accept my apology. I am glad that you and I have an effective partnership these days, but while I know it is selfish…I would like to marry for love.”
The problem, of course, is that Sylvain isn’t wholly wrong. If Felix looks back at that awful interaction, he’s fairly sure that he didn’t outright say how he felt. Feels. Ugh. He thinks it ought to be implied, but Dimitri can be stubborn and foolish about these things.
In theory, this should mean that there’s a simple solution. All Felix has to do is tell Dimitri three stupid words. It’s not as though he lacks opportunity. They see each other nearly every day, often at multiple times. It’s—nice. He likes being near Dimitri. Getting to pester Dimitri into actually taking care of himself. Making Dimitri smile, sometimes. On good days.
He does not want to do this. But running is worse. Refusing to face his fear is always so much worse. He dislikes hypocrisy, hates disappointing himself, and if Sylvain is right…if Dimitri is hurting too, unaware that Felix cares…
Anyway, it’s a fixable issue. So he’ll fix it. Simple.
“Felix? Are you quite alright?” Dimitri’s brow is furrowed, and Felix could kick himself. He’s been too quiet for too long. As if Dimitri needs more things to worry over.
He takes a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down, or at least to stay out of his fingers and get back in his chest where it belongs. “About what I said. I was talking to Sylvain and Mercedes, and they told me that I should be more blunt.”
Dimitri’s eye goes wide. “Truly? Not that I don’t appreciate your honesty, but I’m not sure if we could get through a council meeting if you were to be even more blunt. Unless you mean that they told you to be less sharp with your words?”
“What? No, that’s not what I mean at all.” Felix clenches his hands. Unclenches them. Tries to stop sweating. Why is it that fearsweat always feels so cold at first? “I mean…marriage.”
“Oh.” Dimitri swallows visibly. “That.”
“Yes.” Felix glances away. “That.”
The silence is brief, but it feels so terribly loaded, as though a single spark could ignite all the trust and companionship they’ve rebuilt. Just one wrong word, and he could lose Dimitri forever.
Except that’s almost as absurd as Sylvain thinking Felix isn’t aware of his own feelings. They’re stronger than a simple misunderstanding. Maybe it was more difficult before, but they’ve been working on this. They’re better now. He doesn’t have to be afraid.
Felix looks at the greatest constant in his life, and speaks his most fundamental truth.
“I love you.”
Both now and then, there is only silence.
Felix leaves. Goddess, of course he leaves. It’s either walk out or say something cruel, and he’s been making an effort to stop doing that every time he feels vulnerable around Dimitri. He leaves, because the more important part is that he’s going to come back.
He takes a walk in the gardens. He trains until he’s dead on his feet. He sleeps restlessly, but does sleep. He trains again in the morning. He meets with the captain of the King’s Guard. He takes tea with Mercedes, and she doesn’t try to pry anything out of him, just sits quietly and lets him do the same.
None of it fixes the hurt, and each individual thing only helps a small amount. Still, with all of them stacked together, he feels bandaged enough to go to Dimitri’s room the same way he usually does at the end of a day when they haven’t seen each other.
The guards outside of Dimitri’s chamber part easily for him, which is a bit of a relief. It’s not that Felix really thought Dimitri would try and lock him out, but. Well. He hadn’t been completely sure.
He feels vindicated when he walks in and Dimitri looks genuinely surprised to see him. “Felix! I wasn’t expecting you tonight. I thought that perhaps…that is, given the nature of our last interaction, I would understand if you need space.”
Felix scoffs and throws himself in a chair across from Dimitri. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself regardless of your reciprocation.”
Again, that awful silence. It’s shorter this time, just a beat, but Felix still has to flex his hand against a surge of numbness.
“So you did mean it, then.” To his credit, Dimitri does not look away. He seems…not resigned or anxious, but maybe something between the two.
Felix takes a deep breath and tries not to bristle. He can be better than he was. He can do better by both of them. “Obviously.”
Dimitri sighs. “Felix, you used to say that you hated me. Can you really blame me for being uncertain of your affections now?”
If only beating up a training dummy would do a single bit of good in this scenario. Felix aches to use his hands for something. Anything. He’s completely useless here, but he can’t very well not try. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”
Dimitri looks taken aback. It’s almost satisfying. “That is not what I—how would you even—” He closes his eye. “I have not handled this as gracefully as I should have. I know you better than to think that you would lie.”
“Of course I wouldn’t. Not to you. Not about this.” Felix looks down at his hands. He is floating. He is falling. He is caught in a flood of every way he has ever felt for Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and he can hardly stand to tread water. “Look, I meant it when I said that I can handle rejection. If you don’t want me, just say it outright, and I swear I’ll never bring this up again.”
Is that too much to ask? Is he once again being unfair when he should yield? Sometimes he feels that he understands Dimitri better than anyone else in the world, and then at other times he is like this—a fragile, gasping thing still learning how to walk.
Even if he couldn’t see Dimitri stand up from the corner of his eyes, he could swear he feels Dimitri’s approach like a physical weight. Dimitri kneels next to Felix’s chair, which is stupid. There’s a couch right next to them. No one needs to make their knees ache.
“When my father told me that our betrothal was to be dissolved, I was heartbroken.” The softness in that voice is like a blanket in the earliest days of autumn, when it’s nearly impossible to judge how much extra warmth will be too much.
“Yeah.” Felix’s feet touch the floor now. The chair is not too big. He still feels that flash of panic-shock-please-don’t-take-this-from-me. “So was I.”
Dimitri’s hand lands on Felix’s thigh, and he looks up, helpless against Dimitri’s pull in the same way he always has been. Once upon a time, Felix’s world turned on the axis of Dimitri’s smile. Maybe it still does.
“I remember.” Dimitri murmurs. “My father told me to behave responsibly when we next saw you, and I really did intend to try. But then you were crying, and I couldn’t stand not to hold you close, even if I knew that we no longer belonged to each other.”
This is an old memory, dusted with shame and left to rot. They’d been pulled apart before Dimitri could soothe Felix’s hurt in the way he had since they were barely old enough to talk. That was the first time Felix tried to harden his heart. He never did get very good at it. He minds that less these days. What use is a heart of stone?
“You’re wrong.” Felix lays a hand atop Dimitri’s. “I never stopped being yours. Fool.”
If a smile can spin the world, then laughter sets it aflame. Felix remembers the joy of making Dimitri laugh when they were young and the future still looked bright. He feels a flicker of that same happiness now, listening to Dimitri chuckle.
Felix brings up his other hand and cups Dimitri’s cheek. He nearly combusts when Dimitri leans into the touch; nearly passes out when Dimitri plants a kiss on his palm.
“Oh, my Felix.” Dimitri’s lips still brush his fingers. It’s too much. He wants more. “It is the same for me. Even when I was not myself, I have always been yours.”
Felix can only stare—stare and hope. He hopes as viciously as he has ever fought. “Is this your answer, then?”
And Dimitri, who Felix has loved since before he could speak his own name; who Felix never stopped loving, even if he didn’t know how to show it; who Felix will love until the entire world crumbles to ash, and even after that—
Dimitri says, “Yes.”