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The man with the red hair looks at Felix, a kind of manic excitement lingering in his features. His eyes are a little too wide, his grin too pointed, his shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
“I found you,” Felix says.
The man’s eyebrows pinch in for a split second. Understanding dawns across his features. “You were in Alois’ car?”
Felix snorts. “Yeah, it was. Something.”
“He helped me.”
“Oh, sure, but his puns –”
“I mean, they’re just terrible , aren’t they?”
The two of them freeze, looking at each other, Felix’s searching look mirrored in the other man’s eyes. He drags his gaze across crimson hair, big brown eyes like coffee with a splash of cream, freckled cheeks. Felix traces further, outlining scars he can’t see, hasn’t seen before, but that he knows are there: marks on his knuckles, a gash across his back, a cut on his forearm.
The man with the red hair’s eyes catch on Felix’s scars, too; one on his shoulder when he’d goaded Glenn to stop holding back when they were fencing and had gotten nicked because of it, the burn on the inside of his left wrist when he’d been making dinner and heard about the crash and couldn’t get control of his body fast enough to lift it off the stovetop. The man with the red hair’s face tightens as the subway lurches to a stop, doors opening with a hiss as people pile out. Felix keeps his vice grip on his hand as they’re forced to go with the tide. They move in silence, clinging to each other, until they’ve climbed out and onto barely familiar New York streets. The sun is going down, closer to the horizon than Felix has seen it– than either of them had seen it, he realizes– in months. Dark clouds close in to cover it. Felix can’t bring himself to glare at the incoming rain.
“Sylvain.” The man with the red hair says.
Felix turned to him. I know , he almost blurts, which is ridiculous, because he hadn’t known, but now that he heard it he couldn’t imagine what else this man could be called. “I know you,” He says instead, barely an acknowledgement. “How?”
“I think I’ve been dreaming about you.” The man– Sylvain – says. “And there’s– nothing happens in them, really it’s just you and me and–”
“I promised.” Felix’s hand reaches up of its own accord to card through Sylvain’s hair, comforting as a memory and soft as a dream.
Sylvain leans into it, the tension finally starting to slough off his shoulders, even though the fire-bright light in his eyes doesn’t dim. “I think you kept it.”
Felix rolls his eyes, habitual, and something smaller sparks in Sylvain’s eyes. The bright blaze dims down to something tamer. Wonder , Felix realizes. His body moves without his say-so, again, tilting just so, so that he’s nestled just underneath Sylvain, the hand still tangled in his hair pulling him down, until their mouths rest so close to each other that Felix can feel Sylvain’s breath ghost across his lips.
“Is this alright?” Felix whispers, eyes locked on coffee-brown and wonder.
Sylvain doesn’t respond, just closes the distance. Sparks light their way down Felix’s spine as Sylvain brings one hand up to cradle his jaw, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns against his cheek. Thunder claps above them, and Felix pushes further, digging his hand in Sylvain’s hair, breathing harder.
“Felix,” Sylvain whispers, and the rain begins to fall.