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Let it be known, Epel Felmier was no coward.
Not when he challenged his Housewarden on the first day. Not when he faced Vil or Idia’s overblot. Not in a Spelldrive game against Royal Sword Academy.
And he certainly wasn’t going to let romance be the thing to make him chicken out.
For a long time, Epel had no interest in love or affection or dating. He was the only kid his age in town, and the next closest ones he was related to. His classmates in middle school were annoying, if not downright cruel, and the only ones who showed positive interest in him turned away when he responded negatively to their gross fawning over his face. And that wasn’t even mentioning his three-hour bike ride to and from school, which put an extra damper on any earnest intent to ‘hang out’ outside of school.
And when he got to NRC, he’d expected romance even less.
Firstly, it was an all-boys school, and Epel hadn’t quite figured out the gay thing yet at that point…
And more than that, Epel was there to get stronger and learn, not really make friends and definitely not boyfriends. He had no intention of feelings distracting him, and it wasn’t like the average NRC student was in the best emotional state for romantic relationships anyway.
(One could make an argument that the term ‘situationship’ was invented especially for the tumultuous dynamics of Night Raven College students.)
So no, Epel had not been expecting to fall in love this school year. But then again, he hadn’t been expecting half a dozen overblots, too many ghost fights, getting shrunk or fighting magic-leeching fire flowers either, so it was far from the only or biggest surprise this year had brought.
And now, nearing the end of his first year, Epel Felmier was proudly in a relationship with one Sebek Zigvolt.
…He thinks.
Look, Sebek was an odd guy, even for NRC standards. For as loud as he was, he was quick to shut down anything about himself that wasn’t about the greatness of his liege or his mentor or his country. He had great pride and great shame, and he was absolutely terrible with emotions, reading the room, or telling when the aforementioned mentor, Lilia-san, was lying to him.
Which meant his courting style (and yes, he exclusively referred to it as courting) was pretty…non-standard, to say the least.
He wrote letters, long and flowery and in calligraphy Epel needed Rook to help decipher (he told Sebek to write in print after that, to avoid ever having to go through that again) and many of them. Epel didn’t know how he didn’t run out of things to say, considering they saw each other nearly every day. He would slip in pictures of himself (this never failed to make Epel laugh) every third letter. He seemed to have the strictest ideas about relationship progression, and for him that meant incredibly slow. Epel didn’t really get it. They’d fought in life-or-death (or eternal slumber) situations together; why act like they ain’t know each other at all?
Heck, Sebek acted like sitting next to each other on the lunch benches was too much the first few weeks they were courtin’!
But Sebek could be as sensitive as he was loud…which Epel liked about him (though he wouldn’t say that in front of any of their friends.) If this meant so much to him, Epel would go along with it.
But Felmiers ain’t cowards, and they don’t lose without giving it their all!
So if Sebek was gonna court Epel in his own fae way, then Epel was gonna go just as hard. Prepare to get courted, Sebek, Harveston style!
— — — —
First things first: Food.
Feeding someone was a sign of care and love. 'The way to someone's heart is through their stomach' was a common saying in the Felmier household. And it was something Epel could do while working on the second phase. Though Epel couldn’t hold a candle to his Ma and Meemaw, he could still pull off some mean Harveston-style cooking, which he remembered Sebek liked when he came for the Sledathon. Though, it was hard to find stuff he wouldn’t eat, with his bottomless pit of a stomach.
Which made it all the better to court him with food! What’s the point of courting if you can’t keep your love warm, fed, and happy?
And with Sebek living in a dorm with the living kitchen hazard Lilia (who Sebek really couldn’t say no to), Epel figured he needed a lot of good food.
So here Epel was, in the (underutilized and underseasoned) Pomefiore kitchen, the smörgåstårta in the oven and salmon soup cooking on the stove. Sebek’s favorite food had salmon in it, so he was sure to love the soup, and the sandwich cake was something he’d liked in Harveston, with the added benefit of letting Epel show off his steady hands.
And Sebek had an unrelenting sweet tooth, though he flushed whenever you pointed it out (which Epel often did), so an apple tart would be a perfect follow-up, though he’d have to make it tomorrow, considering his lack of free time.
And even now he wasn’t entirely free.
“Is any of this consistent with your approved diet plan?” Vil intoned, from where he leaned (posture still somehow perfect) against the kitchen door, asking a question he likely already knew the answer to. Epel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Though he’d respect the dietary plan most of the time, Vil, still white knuckling his food intake, never failed to grind his gears about the subject, even if they understood each other much better nowadays.
“The soup should be good,” He muttered into the rising steam from the pot. “It’s got fresh fish and plenty of vegetables. Hale and hearty like my Ma–, as my Mom says.”
“And copious amounts of cream in it too, I suppose?” Vil raised an eyebrow, though his lips were quirked up in a small smile, realer than any of his modeling pictures ever showed.
Epel sighed, but nodded where he would’ve half-heartedly shrugged before.
“The soup’s not for me anyway,” He spoke, cheeks feeling slightly too warm to be explained away by standing by the stove. He looked resolutely down at what he was cooking instead of looking into Vil’s knowing gaze. He wasn’t naive enough to think Vil didn’t already know about him and Sebek; the man was incredibly aware of almost everything that happened in his dorm, and that ain’t even including Rook’s presence as the vice and watchful eye. And double that considering Rook's adoration of all things love-related.
So there was little chance Vil couldn’t guess the plan Epel was working with.
“I presume it’s for your paramour then?”
Epel’s nose wrinkled.
“You sound like Rook-san.”
Vil laughed, warm and low. (Why did people think of him as a villain, Epel wondered in a corner of his mind.)
“I know you do not truly think of that as a bad thing.” Unfortunately, that was true. Though Rook was eccentric to say the least, Epel was fairly used to his absurdities at this point. One could even say fond, though he didn’t hold a candle to Vil’s own feelings about the guy (Ew.)
“...I’m not going to admit that out loud. He’ll manage to hear it somehow.” Epel turned his nose up, a hint of mischief in his voice. Vil laughed again, and Epel’s stomach warmed.
He wished he could bottle the feeling, or spoon it out and capture it in a serving bowl. The kind of affection that made you feel healed, just a bit.
A soft hand, uncalloused but not unworked, ran gently over his hair once. The smell of Vil’s perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the pleasant smells in the oven-warmed kitchen.
“Sebek will love it, Epel. I’m quite sure of it. I have no doubt he’ll enjoy this quite eagerly.” Vil smiled, fond but teasingly. “And I expect a new multipage letter shortly in your future as a response.”
Epel stuck out his tongue at him, an old impulse, and Vil didn’t scold him, a small impropriety allowed in the softness of this moment.
“And I presume you’ve got another step planned in this endeavour? You’re not the type to half-heartedly commit to anything, not that I’d–” Here he gestured to the very occupied stove top and oven, “consider this anything close to half-hearted. But I suspect it’s not enough in your eyes.”
“Definitely not!” Epel puffed up his chest. A simple meal ain’t enough to charm someone (even if it was a darn good meal), and it certainly wasn’t enough for Epel’s standards. “I’ve got it all planned out, don’t you worry, Vil-san!”
“Oh, I assure you, I’m not worried, Epel. Not about this.”
— — —
“Felmier, you–” Sebek stammered, a flush high on his cheeks, “you made all of this for me?!”
“You got that right! And don’t call me by my darn last name, like we’re just classmates,” Epel huffed, fondness bellying the stern pout of his mouth. “You wrote me 33 pages of courting letters in the past two months. That ain’t casual, and you know it. Unless you do that for all our friends?”
Sebek spluttered at the accusation, sounding like the Felmier family's old tractor in the dead of winter.
“Of course not! Do not accuse me of such foolishness, you know that you are—”
“Special?” Epel took a step closer to his boyfriend, cradling the warm pot in his hands as he looked up at him through his lashes. “Am I special to you, Sebek?”
Sebek's face turned even redder, looking like someone who’d been stuck in a snowstorm with the ruddiness of his cheeks, and he hastily grabbed the pot out of Epel’s hands.
“Do not tease me, you–Epel, you already know you are very special to me!” And he teetered slightly, taking a step back and then forward again, rushing forward so quickly Epel almost flinched back out of instinct.
But instead of a headbutt, he felt the softness of lips pressing gently to his cheek, and then leaving just as quickly, with Sebek turning tail and fleeing away before he could react.
Epel felt his face burn.
…Sebek had never done that before.
(He...really liked it.)
Fondness and disappointment and determination mixed in his gut. Sevens, he liked him so much. He had wanted to see Sebek try the food in person, to hear what he thought, to see the contentment spread across his face, bliss closing his eyes and unguarding his features.
And now, Epel was even more certain he was gonna knock this courting thing out of the water on his next step. But first, he needed to call his Meemaw for some extra advice.