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Sylvain has known Felix for a long time: basically his entire life, to be exact. This makes Sylvain something of a self-appointed Felix Expert. He knows most of the man’s idiosyncrasies and how to figure out what he’s actually trying to say underneath all the rudeness and sarcasm, but even then, there are still some things that escape him.
Such as why Felix has tea with Dorothea, of all people, every Monday.
Apparently, it started back in their academy days. Dorothea had basically annoyed him into spending time with her, and Sylvain has to give her points for persistence. The fact that they’re still doing it even five years and one declaration of war later, however, suggests that Felix doesn’t mind her company nearly as much as his complaining would suggest. And really, Sylvain is glad Felix is making friends outside of himself, Ingrid, and the original Blue Lions. Being sociable every once in a while won’t kill him.
So, the problem isn’t that Dorothea has her Felix Time on Mondays. The problem is that it’s running late and is now cutting into his Felix Time. The two of them generally take their meals together as long as they’re both at the monastery, and he’s going to be pissed if Raphael eats the last bread roll before they even get to the dining hall. Evidently, Felix must’ve lost track of time, so Sylvain has to go and get him.
Tea parties with Dorothea usually happen in Felix’s room. Sylvain knows this because it’s more or less the only time his tea set actually sees any use other than gathering dust on his shelf. See? Felix Expert. Anyway, Sylvain is a few feet away from Felix’s room when he notices that they’d left the door slightly ajar and he can hear voices from inside. He’s not trying to eavesdrop, he really isn’t, but there’s no one else in the hallway and the only other sounds he can hear are the birds outside.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t know I can sing,” Dorothea is saying.
“Hmpf.” That’s Felix, definitely. “It’s not that I didn’t know. I told you, I forgot.”
“Which isn’t any better. In any case,” Dorothea continues, “you don’t have to come.”
“You can’t just invite me somewhere and then tell me not to come.”
“Well, you could at least try to look more enthusiastic if you’re interested.”
Sylvain can practically hear Felix rolling his eyes. “When is this concert, again?”
“Opera,” Dorothea corrects, “and it’s this Friday, in the cathedral. Why don’t you bring someone with you? That would make voluntarily spending more time with me slightly less unbearable.”
“If I found you so objectionable, I would have stopped this routine of ours several dozen Mondays ago.” Felix pauses, only briefly. “You’re...slightly less obnoxious than some of the other people we know.”
Coming from Felix, that was basically the equivalent of singing her praises. Sylvain tries not to laugh.
“Aw, Felix, you really know how to make a girl blush,” Dorothea muses. “Oh, I know! Why don’t you bring someone to the opera as your date? It’ll be fun.”
“I take back what I just said. You’re insufferable.”
“Oh, come now, I was only teasing you. I know you hate socializing almost as much as you hate having fun. Unless...there is someone you’d ask?”
Sylvain is really, really trying not to eavesdrop. The fact that he could’ve waltzed in and collected Felix several minutes ago by now is entirely circumstantial. It would be rude to interrupt him in the middle of a conversation. That’s all. It isn’t as though he actually wants to hear the answer to Dorothea’s question.
Goddess, now he sounds like Felix. Considering he knows what the man is going to say, it’s silly to—
“...Maybe.”
Maybe?!
Sylvain feels as though he’d just been doused with a bucket full of cold water. Maybe he doesn’t know everything about Felix, because that was not the answer he’d been expecting. Since when does he have someone he’s interested in? How did Sylvain not know about this? Actually, how had he not seen it before? What sort of parallel universe had he just woken up in that Felix Hugo Fraldarius actually has someone he’d ask to an opera, of all things?
Thankfully, Dorothea sounds as shocked as he is, which makes him feel a little better. “Oh?”
Felix huffs, as though he’s just realized what he said and is now trying to walk it back. “I said ‘maybe.’ That’s— shit, I should be meeting Sylvain for lunch right now.”
“Sylvain, hm? You’re a busy man, Felix.”
“Shut up.”
He doesn’t hear the rest of their conversation, because Sylvain suddenly remembers that he’s standing right outside the door in a way that totally looks like he was eavesdropping, and— okay, he kind of was, but still. As it turns out, the quickest way to make it look like he wasn’t doing that is to dash to his own room as fast as possible and casually stroll back out the minute he hears Felix’s door open all the way. Sometimes, those noisy old hinges can be useful after all.
“Felix! And Dorothea, the loveliest flower in the monastery,” he says theatrically once they both spot him. The fake flirting is just for show at this point, but Felix rolls his eyes anyway. “Stunning as always.”
Dorothea chuckles. “Oh, Sylvain. I’ll never grow tired of your false flattery. Well, Felix told me you have an appointment, so I’ll be off. And Felix—”
“I won’t forget.” Felix folds his arms. “Though I doubt that will stop you from being insufferable about reminding me.”
“You do know me after all!” Dorothea smiles and pats his cheek, to which Felix scowls. “Well, I’ll be seeing you.”
The songstress disappears down the hall, and Sylvain raises an eyebrow for show. Gotta pretend like he hadn’t just heard their entire conversation, after all. “What was that about?”
“Forget it,” Felix says conversationally. “Let’s go before Raphael eats the last bread roll and I never hear the end of it.”
In the great scheme of things, there are far more important things to worry about than who Felix may or may not be asking to Dorothea’s opera on Friday— especially considering that the whole damn continent is at war— but Sylvain has always been exceptionally good at hyperfocusing on all the wrong things. Besides, he finds this preferable to worrying about the fate of Faerghus, even though it somehow gives him the same sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.
It’s ridiculous, honestly. Felix is a grown man and can do what he wants, and Sylvain has no idea why he’s getting so worked up over it. He’ll find out his answer one way or another, anyway.
But, really, how had he not noticed that Felix maybe potentially has a crush on someone? Or is at least interested in them enough to ask them to an informal monastery opera?
The mystery of it all is the only reason he’s this invested. There’s absolutely no other reason. None whatsoever. He can figure this out by Friday; it’s only Tuesday now, so he still has a few days to play detective.
His first guess is Annette. Felix has always been noticeably nicer to her than he has to most other people, after all. Hey, he’s not mad about it. Annette is a sweetheart. Anyone would love her.
…Wait, why would he be mad about this? Nevermind. Poor choice of words.
The universe has always had a twisted sense of humor when it comes to Sylvain in particular as well, because on his way to pick up his newly-repaired silver lance from the blacksmith (contrary to what Felix says, he can be responsible when it comes to his equipment sometimes), he passes by the greenhouse and overhears Annette’s voice from inside. It’s sort of hard not to overhear her given how loud she can be when she’s flustered, so really, he can’t be blamed here.
“Thanks again for helping me clean this up, Felix,” Annette says. “I don’t know where that crate came from, I swear!”
“So it jumped out at you, then?” Felix sounds…amused, almost. Oh, he was right. It is Annette.
He’s not sure why his heart suddenly sinks a bit in his rib cage, but he ignores it.
“It’s not funny!” Annette protests. “Let’s just…not tell the professor about this, okay? She has enough to worry about right now.”
“I doubt a few broken pots will cause her to lose any sleep.”
“Hey, you never know! She’s so hard to read sometimes, I’d never be able to tell!” Annette insists. “And you definitely can’t tell Caspar. Definitely not him! Okay?”
“Why would I ever strike up a conversation about broken gardening equipment with Caspar?”
“Because…because…” Annette sighs. “The truth is…I was trying to plant these flowers for him. He always does such nice things for me and cleans up after my messes during training, so I wanted to give him a little something to tell him how much I appreciate it. Except now I’ve gone and made an even bigger mess.”
Oh, Annette. If Sylvain wasn’t trying to pretend that he wasn’t walking super slowly to hear what they’re talking about, he’d go in and hug her. If Felix had any clue how to talk to girls whatsoever, that’s what he would do here. Maybe he will. Sylvain holds his breath.
The moment never comes. He can hear broken terra cotta being swept against the floor, which means that one or both of them is still cleaning.
“You didn’t break every pot. A few of these can still hold soil.” Felix seems to think on something for a moment. “Caspar usually trains with axes whenever we spar. The blacksmith may have something more appealing to him than a flower.”
“An axe! Felix, you’re a genius!”
There’s a beat before Annette comes running out of the greenhouse, rushing off towards the smithy with a speed Sylvain had only seen from her on the battlefield and when there was extra ice cream at the dining hall during their Academy days. Her face is bright red, and wait— is she blushing?
“Hi, Sylvain!” she calls as she passes, completely oblivious as to the fact that he’d clearly just been standing halfway between the greenhouse and the fishing stall for no apparent reason. “Bye, Sylvain!”
“Hey, Annette!” Sylvain’s eyes widen as he sees where she’s going. “Watch out for the—”
Too late. There’s a CRASH as fishing equipment scatters across the ground and rolls in every direction. In a weird way, it’s sort of comforting to know that even in the midst of an awful, continent-wide war, some things never change.
“Oh, who put that barrel there?!”
Upon re-assessing his evidence, Sylvain is now fairly certain that he can strike Annette off as the prime suspect. Based on what happened in the greenhouse, he’s pretty sure she has something for Caspar and not Felix, which…was not something he would’ve seen coming, but it does make a lot of sense. Good for them, honestly. Unfortunately for him, however, that means he’s now back to square one.
Weirdly, he’s more relieved than frustrated over it, but he’s not going to examine that any further. He’s happy for Annette, and that’s all there is to it. What other reason could there possibly be?
On Wednesday morning, he finds Bernadetta looking at a poster someone (probably Dorothea) had put up outside the dining hall to advertise for the opera, and it hits him: new prime suspect.
Bernadetta and Felix have had a weird-but-genuine friendship since they were still students at the Academy, to the point where Sylvain is pretty sure that Bernie likes Felix— Felix!— the most out of anyone in the old Blue Lions class (and possibly the Black Eagles too, but he’s not sure what the dynamics were there). He’s spotted them on more than one occasion feeding the monastery cats together, and if there’s one way to Felix’s heart, it’s through cats.
Obviously, Bernie wouldn’t have been his first guess, but then again, he hadn’t seen Caspar and Annette coming or even that Felix is apparently interested in someone to begin with, so maybe he isn’t as good at this as he thought he was.
“Hey, Bernadetta,” he says cheerfully, which makes her yelp and almost jump out of her skin. “Nice to see you outside today.”
“S-Sylvain!” Bernie squeaks. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Sorry! Just saying hi.” Over her shoulder, he can make out the words “Help boost morale!” and “Bring a friend (or a date)!” on the poster. “Excited for the opera?”
“I-I guess a little. My mother took me to the one in Enbarr when I was little, but I don’t remember it much.” Bernadetta fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. “Dorothea wants me to go, and…I-I can try, right?”
“That’s the spirit!” He offers her a smile. “You’ve come a long way, you know.”
Unfortunately, the smile seems to go right over her head. “Y-You’re not mocking me, are you?!”
“Nope! Never. On my house’s honor,” Sylvain says, which seems to make her relax a little. And then, because he hates himself: “So, anyone lucky enough to be going with you?”
Two things happen.
The first is that Bernadetta turns bright red, which isn’t unexpected.
Then she scurries off at a truly impressive speed while somehow managing to half-mumble and half-shout something, most of which Sylvain can’t make out. The words he does catch, however, include “stupid,” “no,” “embarrassing,” and, most interestingly of all: “Abyss.”
For a moment, he thinks she was damning him to the abyss for asking, but then he remembers that Abyss is a place. He doesn’t know much about it other than it being shady and generally off-limits to most people, but he does know people who live there; four, in fact, who regularly fight alongside and once attended classes with them. Come to think of it, Bernadetta does tend to stick close to one of those people in particular on the battlefield, almost as if he’s some sort of human security blanket.
Yuri?
Huh. Somehow, that makes more sense to him than basically everything else he’s heard all week.
Well, so much for that guess, then. Sylvain takes one final look at the poster before turning to go get breakfast, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth at the word “date” as he does so.
So, not Annette, and not Bernadetta. Felix still hasn’t asked this mystery person, either (to his knowledge, anyway), so there has to be something that he’s missing. Could he be spending his time more productively than worrying about this so much? Probably. But there’s not much he can do to drive the Empire out of Faerghus or end the war himself right now, so he’ll take what he can get. Weirdly enough, however, this is probably equally as stressful.
Maybe he’d been approaching things from the wrong angle. Maybe Felix hasn’t been planning to ask a girl at all. In all the years he’s known Felix— all twenty-two of them— the man has never once expressed an interest in women. Sylvain used to chalk that up to Felix being single-minded about most things and only focusing on swords, training, and occasionally cats, but maybe he isn’t into girls at all. It’s not something the two of them had ever really sat down and spoken about, but it would explain why Felix always got so angry whenever Sylvain offered to wingman and try to get a girl for him.
Oh, he’s an idiot. Possibly the biggest idiot in all of Fodlan, but he’ll reprimand himself for the potential insensitivity later.
If Felix isn’t into girls, then obviously, he’s going to ask a guy.
Question is, though, who?
Sylvain’s first thought is Dimitri. Felix and Dimitri’s relationship has always been…complicated, to say the least, but it’s getting better now that the latter’s mental state seems to be improving. The two of them had been practically inseparable when they were younger, and he still remembers how badly Felix had taken the news of Dimitri’s “execution” before they all returned to the monastery. It would make sense. A lot of it, actually.
Only problem is, everyone with eyes can see that Dimitri is practically head-over-heels for Byleth. Even Felix, who never seems to care about these sorts of things, knows that. Sylvain knows he does because Felix has rolled his eyes at Dimitri tripping over himself around her before, and again: Felix has eyes.
Back to square one, then. Again.
Knowing Felix, he’d probably want a guy who’s good at fighting and enjoys sparring. That…really only eliminates a few people they know, like Linhardt and Ignatz. He’d also never tolerate anyone who goes on about noble values, so Ferdinand can safely be removed from consideration as well (and he’s pretty sure he has something going on with Dorothea anyway). Sylvain nearly chokes to death on his water when he tries to picture Felix anywhere near Lorenz, so that one’s right out as well. Caspar and Yuri are also, potentially, spoken for.
This is harder than he’d thought.
Like a lot of things in his life lately, he doesn’t realize what the answer might be until it almost smacks him in the face— or in this case, he walks right into it in the hallway Thursday afternoon because he’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice where he was going.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sylvain!” Ashe says. “Are you alright?”
“That was on me, Ashe.” Sylvain shakes his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”
Then it hits him: Ashe.
Okay, sure, Ashe wouldn’t have been his first guess, or maybe even his second. But Ashe is a skilled archer, and he trains harder than almost anyone to prove himself worthy as a knight. He does value chivalry, but Felix is also nicer to him than he is to other people who talk about it, so that’s gotta count for something. Besides, Ashe is one of the kindest, most earnest people he’s ever met. It’s hard not to like him, even if you’re as grumpy as Felix can be.
“You do seem distracted.” Ashe frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”
“Totally fine, don’t worry. Just…thinking about a few things. That’s all,” he says, which isn’t a lie. “Where are you headed today, Ashe?”
“Oh, I was just going to check on our food supplies for the professor. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”
“Sure. I don’t have anything better to do.”
And that’s how Sylvain found himself sorting through supply manifests while Ashe double-checks the amount of bread, potatoes, water, and other goods left in the pantry. It’s a good thing most of the army is from Faerghus, because it isn’t as though much of what’s available has much taste (even with Lord Rodrigue’s additional supplies). Speaking of lacking taste, he can see Ashe studying a bag of potatoes as if it’s a complex magical tome, so he’s probably thinking the same thing.
“You know, if you stare at those potatoes any longer, they might combust,” Sylvain teases lightly, which makes Ashe start a little.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was just thinking that maybe Dedue and I could make a stew out of all these potatoes. Some variety in our food would be nice every once in a while, don’t you think?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. If there’s one thing I don’t miss about the Kingdom, it’s the food.”
“Food can boost morale,” Ashe says thoughtfully, resting his chin in his hand as he considers the idea. “That’s why Dorothea’s holding the opera on Friday, after all. Maybe we can do our parts, too!”
Sylvain couldn’t have asked for a better opening if he tried.
“You heard about the opera too, huh?” Sylvain says far too casually as he checks off an unnatural number of potatoes on his manifest. “You’re going, right?”
“Of course!” Ashe nods. “I’ve never been to an opera before. This will probably be a lot different from the ones in Enbarr, but I’m excited to see one in person! I wonder if Professor Manuela will be participating as well?”
“If Dorothea asked, I’m sure she wouldn’t say no.” Again, far too casually (though Ashe doesn’t seem to notice): “So, are you going with someone?”
“Going with someone…? Oh, right! The posters did encourage us to bring a friend.” Or a date, but Sylvain decides not to remind him of that just yet. “I suppose I could ask Dedue, but he’ll probably be going with His Highness anyway. I just wouldn’t want him to miss it.”
“I don’t think Dimitri would want him to either,” Sylvain agrees, “though you know he’s probably going to ask the professor, right?”
“You think so?”
“Ashe.” Sylvain stares at him, incredulous. “You’ve seen how His Highness is around her, right?”
There’s a pause. “Now that you mention it…”
Oh, Ashe. Naive, adorable Ashe.
“Well, in that case,” Ashe continues, “I’ll talk to Dedue and see what his plans are. What about you, Sylvain?”
“Uh.” That’s an excellent question, actually: in the midst of worrying so much about what Felix is doing, Sylvain had completely forgotten to figure out what he’s doing. Oops. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he showed up somewhere single lately. It’s not the end of the world. “I’m still figuring that out.”
“Huh.” Ashe seems a little surprised at that, which stings a bit. “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something!”
“...Yeah,” Sylvain says, not quite meaning Ashe’s earnest gaze. “I will.”
Alright, he’s officially given up. It’s time for desperate measures.
That evening, he slides into the seat across from Ingrid in the dining hall and waits for her to finish chewing her food before he reveals exactly how stupid he’s been for the past few days.
“Hey, Ingrid,” he says, “can I ask you a question?”
“That depends.” Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “What is it about?”
Here goes.
“Has Felix said anything to you about the opera on Friday?”
Instead of answering him right away, Ingrid studies him for a moment. Sylvain can’t read the look on her face, which makes it even more disturbing. He squirms a little, unsure of what to make of what’s going on. Whatever it is, he doesn’t think he likes it.
Finally, she says, “why do you ask?”
Sylvain sighs.
“Because he hasn’t said anything to me about it? And…” Alright, confession time. Ingrid’s heard infinitely worse from him, at least, so she probably won’t judge him too much. “I sort of overheard him talking to Dorothea about it, and he said he might ask someone to go with him. I can’t figure out who it is, though.”
Ingrid’s expression remains unreadable. Yeah, he definitely doesn’t like that.
“Have you tried asking him about it?”
“What? Goddess, no. You know Felix. He…” Sylvain shakes his head. “Besides, what am I supposed to tell him? ‘I overheard something you said to Dorothea and now I want to know about your plans for the opera?’”
“You could.” Ingrid tilts her head. “Or maybe you can figure out why this is bothering you so much.”
“It’s not bothering me.”
“Sylvain.”
It’s not bothering him. It’s not.
Is it?
“Look, Felix is my best friend. Our best friend. And if he’s interested in someone and never told me about it, that’s a major personal failing in the best friend department.” It sounds like a weak excuse even to his own ears, but he pushes on anyway. “Unless he’s said something to you.”
Ingrid says nothing. She takes a bite of her mashed potatoes. The fact that she’s not saying anything is somehow worse.
“I think,” she finally says, after a horrible, terrible silence, “that you should talk to him.”
“You’re killing me here, Ingrid.” Sylvain flops back in his chair, which is only slightly more melodramatic than how he feels. “Killing me.”
“Talk to Felix,” she repeats, folding her arms. “There’s my answer.”
“You hate me.”
“I care about you, actually. Both of you. Despite how ridiculous you’re being.” Ingrid shakes her head. “You need to talk to Felix about this.”
Sylvain sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk to Felix about it.”
“Good.” Ingrid motions to his mostly untouched plate. “Are you going to finish your peas, by the way?”
Sylvain does not talk to Felix about it.
He knows Ingrid’s right. Realistically, he should have just asked Felix about this three days ago. Now that the posters are up, he wouldn’t have even had to mention the fact that he’d overheard his conversation with Dorothea. He could have just pointed to the wall and asked who his date was. It would’ve been in-character, to the point that he can already imagine Felix’s scowl upon being asked.
But no; instead, he’d done the completely roundabout way of going to almost everyone else to get an answer first. Why? Well, that’s a good question, isn’t it?
Asking Felix from the get-go would have been the easy thing to do, but just like almost everything else in his life, Sylvain had gone and overcomplicated it beyond belief. Maybe he likes making everything harder for himself.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to know Felix’s answer.
That would be ridiculous, though; why wouldn’t he want to know? Isn’t that what he’d spent the past few days fixating on? Then he remembers the bitterness he’d felt when he thought Annette might’ve been the one, or the relief he felt when Bernadetta and Ashe didn’t pan out. None of it makes any sense.
Having had enough of dwelling on this for one night and not wanting to confront his own answers, Sylvain rolls over and goes to sleep.
The next morning— Friday, at long last— Sylvain had just finished getting dressed when there’s a knock at his door.
“It’s open!”
He expects it to be Ingrid, or maybe even Dimitri or the professor. What he does not expect is Felix opening the door and glaring at him, which nearly makes him jump almost as high as Bernadetta did the other day.
“You’re avoiding me.”
“Hello to you too, Felix,” Ridiculously, he feels his heart skip a beat. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Yes, you are.” Felix folds his arms. He looks annoyed, but there’s something else Sylvain can’t quite place in his expression. “You’ve barely spoken to me all week.”
“I’ve been…” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? “Busy.”
Felix scowls. “Bullshit.”
“Okay, okay, maybe I haven’t spent as much time with you this week as I normally do. It wasn’t on purpose, I promise.” Sylvain raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That seems to get Felix to relax, just a little. He’s still eyeing Sylvain like he doesn’t completely trust what he’s saying though, which…fair. “What have you been doing all this time, then?”
“I…” Alright, here it is. Time to fess up. Sylvain takes a seat on the edge of his mattress. “You’re going to make fun of me.”
“Possibly.” Felix finally lowers his hackles and sits down next to him. “If it’s foolish enough.”
“Yeah, it definitely is.” Sylvain chuckles nervously. “I…kind of overheard you talking to Dorothea on Monday. About the opera.”
Felix’s expression hardens. Uh-oh. He’s definitely in trouble now. “Go on.”
“Specifically the part about you maybe wanting to ask someone.” Sylvain doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he fidgets with them in his lap. Goddess, why is this worse than staring down the Imperial Army? “I thought…I don’t know what I was thinking, actually. I guess I got caught up in trying to figure out who this mystery person is. I’m sorry, Felix. I know it’s stupid and I probably should have just said something to you to begin with.”
Sylvain expects Felix to be angry at him for eavesdropping. He’d take the yelling. Inexplicably, though, Felix does something far worse.
He doesn’t say anything.
What’s even more bizarre is that he doesn’t even look mad, either. Much like Ingrid yesterday, Sylvain can’t quite name whatever the emotion on his face is at first, but this time it’s because he sees it so infrequently on Felix that it takes him a moment to realize what it is. He’s avoiding Sylvain’s gaze and looking at a spot on the wall, and he’s shifting a little where he’s sitting.
Nervous. Felix is nervous.
What the hell.
“Then you know that I haven’t asked anyone yet,” he finally says, “right?”
“Well, yeah. I kinda figured as much, since every guess I made didn’t work out. Anyway, I’m sorry I made you think I was avoiding you and eavesdropped on your conversation with Dorothea. I hope you have a good time with whoever you end up taking to the opera later.” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. The words taste like ashes in his mouth, but he forces a smile anyway. “Now then, wanna go get breakfast?”
Felix doesn’t move. Now Sylvain’s really getting nervous.
“Uh, Felix? They’re not going to have any bacon left if we don’t—”
“I’m taking you to the opera later,” Felix cuts in, his face as red as Sylvain’s hair. “You fool.”
Sylvain has taken a few blows to the head in his time. He’s had training accidents, fallen off of his horse, and an older brother who had a vested interest in making his life as miserable as possible. But somehow, none of those things compare to this: Felix, beet red, looking him dead in the eye and practically demanding that he go on a date with him.
“What,” he manages eloquently.
“I didn’t ask anyone,” Felix mumbles, “because I was going to ask you.”
The world tilts a little. The last puzzle piece slides into place.
The bitterness he’d felt upon realizing that Felix could have feelings for Annette or Bernadetta; the relief upon realizing that he didn’t. The roundabout way he’d gone about all of this in the first place. The way he’d avoided the chance of rejection by not asking Felix outright. The overwhelming fondness he feels for the man in question having asked him out in the single most Felix Hugo Fraldarius way he could’ve possibly managed. It all makes sense now.
Sylvain had wanted to be the one all along.
“...Unless you already asked someone,” Felix suddenly says, which makes Sylvain realize that he probably should’ve said something sooner instead of just stare at him, “because then I’ll—”
“No!” he says quickly, grabbing Felix’s hands before he can get up and visibly startling him with the force of his tone. “Felix, no, wait. Of course I’ll go with you. I…I think I was kind of hoping you’d say that, to be honest.”
It takes a moment, but Felix slowly relaxes and squeezes Sylvain’s hands. “Then maybe you should have just asked me to begin with.”
“Yeah, probably. What can I say? I like making things difficult.” Sylvain laughs, real and happy and true. “Come here.”
As for who leans in first, it’s hard to say, but they both end up meeting in the middle for a kiss. Felix very clearly has no idea what he’s doing; his nose is digging into Sylvain’s cheek and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but his enthusiasm more than makes up for it. Fortunately, Sylvain has more than enough experience to know how to guide Felix’s head to a better angle and put his hands on his waist, and really, it’s the best kiss he’s ever had— even more so once Felix gets bold and pushes him flat on his back and deepens the kiss.
Bacon be damned. He could get used to this.
The opera turns out to be a big hit. Most of the army shows up to watch Dorothea and Manuela (and whoever else they could rope into it) perform an old Faerghan folktale about the King of Lions, which Sylvain recognized from Glenn’s old book of stories. The show was pretty great, but he’d really been into the fact that Felix had humored him and let him hold his hand most of the time they were seated in the audience.
As far as first dates go, this one was easily the best he’d ever had.
“You actually came, Felix!” Dorothea says, upon finding them after the show. Ferdinand is with her, and Sylvain mentally pats himself on the back for getting at least one thing right this week. “And you brought a plus one! The wonders never cease today.”
Felix rolls his eyes and valiantly tries to ignore the way his cheeks turn red. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Good concert.”
“For the last time, it’s an opera. Honestly, Felix,” Dorothea sighs and shakes her head, though she sounds more amused than anything else. “I’ll take the compliment, though. I’m glad you made it too, Sylvain.”
“Anything for the most beautiful songstress this side of Fodlan.” He winks and bows theatrically, mostly to show that he isn’t serious about flirting with her. He very much has a reason not to be, now. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?”
“I believe Dedue and Ashe have prepared a new stew in the dining hall. We would be remiss to waste their culinary efforts, if you are open to joining us,” Ferdinand says. Felix looks like he might object to the idea until he adds, “I was actually hoping to discuss swordplay with you, Felix. Your technique is unlike that of most nobles in the Empire. Truthfully, I find it fascinating.”
“They are different. If you spar with me sometime, I can show you.”
“Oh, now they’ve gotten started on it.” Dorothea rolls her eyes. “Well, Sylvain? What do you say to sharing Felix for the evening?”
“I don’t see why not.” Sylvain grins, squeezing Felix’s hand in his. “We’ve got all the time in the world together anyway.”