[That's the gayest possible thing to say? Felix would combust? Anyway, hearing Sylvain admit that, no, he can't make Felix do a god damn thing... works wonders for Felix's mood. ...Kind of. His shoulders relax, at least; like, he no longer looks poised to snap at any given moment, which is further helped by the fact that his hot pocket is soon back where it belongs: his hand. Maybe he's just hangry... or maybe Sylvain knows how to get under his skin better than anyone else...
It's definitely the latter, and it's definitely an art.]
Make your own, then, [he grumbles around another bite.] And keep the glasses. I didn't tell you to waste money on them.
[So he isn't obligated to keep them! And let it be known that he's about to say as much, too, but there's a pointed pause, the corner of his lip curling as he watches Sylvain lick cheese off a finger. That's—hmm.]
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It's definitely the latter, and it's definitely an art.]
Make your own, then, [he grumbles around another bite.] And keep the glasses. I didn't tell you to waste money on them.
[So he isn't obligated to keep them! And let it be known that he's about to say as much, too, but there's a pointed pause, the corner of his lip curling as he watches Sylvain lick cheese off a finger. That's—hmm.]
...You're disgusting.
[Unsanitary.]