[ of course felix knows, it's not the first time sylvain has done this. for all his skirt chasing ways back at the monastery, it's never stopped him from continuing the tradition of invading felix's personal space whenever he can. he could chalk it up to habit, really—they'd been attached at the hip since they were children, even when felix still chased after dimitri like he was the center of his universe. sylvain was always the one who slowed down when the others wouldn't, pick felix up and wipe away his tears whenever he fell behind.

and this isn't nearly the same, but he finds himself lifting his hand, tracing the pad of his index finger over the curve of felix's cheek like he'd done back then. it's a lot less chubby now, a little sharper and a little more defined with age but no less smooth. sylvain's smile fades into something more subdued as his hand returns to the counter. ]

Do you think we'll remember this place when we find our way back? [ rather than if, because sylvain knows they will. it's the one thing he holds on to, because he can't afford to lose hope, can't afford to lose himself. not when felix is here, too. ] I guess I just... wanted something to remind us, even if we don't remember.

[ the microwave beeps but he doesn't move; his fingers have found their way to felix's back, tracing the dip of his spine idly through the fabric of his shirt. eventually, he pulls away with a quiet laugh, straightening up again. ]

Sorry, got a little too sentimental there.