["Cute" is a word Felix rarely uses? It certainly isn't the first word that pops to mind when he focuses back on those stupid glasses—but then Sylvain is reaching out to him, carefully setting something atop the bridge of his nose, and the world becomes a, mmm, decidedly darker place.
It's not bad. It's not even wholly unexpected, but Felix still takes an instinctive step back, ass hitting the handle of the... ice-box-thing. Yowch. Take this muttered curse, then, as he brings both hands to his face, fingers feeling the unmistakable shape of these frames. Uggggggggggh.]
Sylvain.
[It's rude to just put shit on his face! Goddess! But as Felix considers when Sylvain had time to purchase these (when Felix was studying a pack of Big Red very, very intently, probably)... ah, well. Sylvain is Sylvain, isn't he? The one person who gets away with shit like this, and thus:]
Don't be stupid. I'm not wearing these. [Grumble, grumble, grumble, even as the only thing he does is slip them to the end of his nose so that he can shoot Sylvain a Look.] I can see in the sun.
[ it's not a word felix uses at all, but sylvain thinks it's completely applicable in this case. the lenses are a soft pink with thin frames painted in gold that contrast nicely with his darker hair... and that Look does anything but discourage him. ]
No one said you couldn't, but now you won't have to squint as much. Makes training easier, doesn't it?
[ even with him name-dropping training, he knows felix would likely never wear these again on any other day, so it's time to take advantage of this. but first, he steps closer and holds out his hand, ]
You haven't set your phone's wallpaper yet, right? I'll show you and we can match.
[What if Felix likes squinting, Sylvain? Or, more accurately: What if Felix likes being as difficult as possible? Because he absolutely does. That mention of training earns Sylvain a low, annoyed tch, like Felix has never heard anything so stupid in all his life...
...But his phone? His phone. The thing he pays little attention to, partly because he'd prefer to speak to his, like, three friends face-to-face and mostly because he doesn't know how to use it. This is just a smaller, trickier microwave. One day he's going to yeet it into the pond by the ice cream shack.]
"Wallpaper."
[Like he's sounding the word out? Maybe wondering how a phone can have a wall. Deep thoughts with Felix—but what matters is the way his shoulders tense, then drop the slightest bit before he reaches into the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't want to admit that he doesn't know what, exactly, Sylvain is talking about, but even though curiosity killed the cat...]
...Why would I change anything? It works.
[He's made all of five calls. Yeehaw. Anyway, his phone is now in hand, factory fresh, so feel free to admire that.]
[ quickly, because he's been around felix long enough to guess at those Deep Thoughts: ]
It's not actually a wallpaper, [ he says as he takes felix's rarely used phone, the guy definitely didn't even make a lock code, did he—yeah, he definitely didn't. ] It's the background on the screen, you can change it so people can tell it's yours.
[ you know, in case he misplaces it or... yeets it into the pond by the ice cream shack. anyway, he shows felix the generic ones that the phones come with and they're all well and good but, there's a better one they can make by taking a picture. so he pulls felix in close and drops his chin on his shoulder, lifting up the phone to take a selfie of them, dumb sunglasses on and all.
and then, it's a matter of quickly setting the picture to felix's home screen and also sending it to himself, before felix beats him up. either way, the damage is done because it's also sylvain's screen now. ]
[No one needs to know who this phone belongs to when it stays in his pocket! Something Felix ponders as he scowls down at the backgrounds Sylvain flips through, because there's no point in personalizing this thing when it's used so rarely.
But maybe, just maybe, there's a point to this madness. Something about Sylvain's arm snaking about his waist, or the sharp point of Sylvain's chin settling atop his shoulder, and listen: Felix should be annoyed by this. His reflexes should send him jabbing an elbow straight into Sylvain's defenseless ribs, but for whatever reason, Felix finds himself thinking of that night not so very long ago? Sylvain's breath fanning against his lips as Felix watched color flood back into his eyes, his hair...
The click of the camera snaps him back to his senses, but the damage is indeed done. The damage is clear the moment Sylvain shows Felix the candid snapshot, because the marvel of this split-second portrait aside, Felix's ever-present scowl is... softer than it should be. It doesn't look entirely out of place next to Sylvain's bright, sunny smile, and Felix wonders if this is what others see when they're together: two people that shouldn't fit, but somehow do.
The matching glasses, however, look absolutely stupid, and thus Felix clicks his tongue in irritation.]
You— [UGH.] Give me that.
[He'll swipe it right from Sylvain's hand, if he has to—but he won't shrug Sylvain away. Not yet, anyway, because he's too busy tapping these apps, paying no mind to the beeping microwave beside them. If he hits the right one, maybe he can... clear it? Go back to black? Don't ask him. It's not a bad pic, really, but... to look so silly...]
I don't want to look at your face every time I use this, [he (halfheartedly) gripes, pausing his tip-tappin' long enough to finally yank those glasses off his face.] I see enough of it as it is.
[ felix has yet to shrug him off, so sylvain continues to take full advantage of their proximity, keeping him close as he watches felix fumble through his phone's settings. he's not even trying to help, or trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, so. sorry, not sorry. ]
You didn't seem to mind staring at it a few nights ago.
[ it's hard not to think about that night—nothing actually happened afterwards, they'd watched the fireworks and finished the rest of the ale, then meandered back to their apartment. but it was everything before that won't leave his mind, the way his color had returned so quickly when it was felix saying those things, as minimal as they were. felix is a man of few words, they both know this, and yet, it doesn't change the fact that the things he does say have an impact all on their own. it doesn't change the fact that sylvain hangs onto them like he does with everything else involving felix. ]
But if you really hate it that much, [ he sighs a little, slumping a little against felix's frame. is he pouting? maybe. ] I'll change it back, okay?
[Thinking about that other night is one thing; hearing Sylvain bring it up is, ah, something else entirely, hence the way Felix stiffens, thumb pausing atop that screen for the briefest of moments. It's the mortifying ordeal of being known? Because Felix could tell Sylvain that it was less about staring and more about memorizing the tiniest details, but while that's factual, is it really any better...
Well, it's like this: Felix can't say that he doesn't like looking at Sylvain's face, because that would be a bald-faced lie. Felix also can't say he hates this picture. The glasses, maybe, but as he remembers Sylvain's smile, thinks about seeing it on those rare occasions he needs to call him, or Annette, or Mercedes—]
Change it to something worse, you mean.
[Maybe he's snapped another picture when Felix wasn't looking! Felix wouldn't put it past him—but the press of Sylvain against him is suddenly yet another reminder of that night, and so Felix finally swings an elbow behind him, pointedly (haha) prodding Sylvain in the stomach.]
No, thanks, [is his dry response as he tightens his hold on his phone.] I'll change it myself. Later.
[And if Sylvain knows anything about Felix—which he does, of course—then he should recognize this for what it is: Felix using this as a convenient excuse to leave his screen as it is.]
[ that elbow to his stomach connects and felix gets a soft oof for his trouble, but hope he enjoyed prodding at all that firm muscle. sylvain may as well not have felt it at all though, because he's too busy grinning, something wide and crooked and just a little toothy because yes, felix can't say he doesn't like looking at his face, nor can he say he hates the picture. but he might as well have, because sylvain hears it anyway beneath that dry tone, sees it in the way felix tightens his grip on the phone as if worried he'd try and snatch it back. and if sylvain knows anything about felix (which he does), he also knows that when later comes around, felix will end up staring at that picture and won't be able to change it.
and that, is almost as dangerous as holding felix against him, tipsy on ale and promises and unspoken feelings just simmering beneath the surface. felix is going to be the death of sylvain one of these days, and like, yeah, he's been on death's door his whole goddess forsaken life, he's ready for it—
what he's not ready for, is that festering ache in his chest that has only gotten worse since the war, since seeing felix again. he thought he had it bad enough during their academy days, but as always when it comes to felix, he has never been so wrong. ]
Sure, Fe.
[ he'll keep your secret. until then, he goes to retrieve the hot pocket that has been sitting done and neglected in the microwave, letting his hand slide from around felix's waist to his hip as he pulls back with the briefest squeeze. the flaky crust is unfortunately less flaky now, but he gives it to felix first so he can pass judgement. ]
[Sylvain can check Felix's phone in, like, a week's time and be smug about the state of it, but for now—this! Felix frowning as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, pretending for all the world that didn't just (unconsciously) note how easily Sylvain's hand spans his hip. It's, you know. Unimportant information. Useless.
Better, then, to focus entirely on this goddess-forsaken Hot Pocket when he turns back around, because at least it has a shirt. A sleeve? Whatever. The point... is that this pastry is covered up—but that doesn't save it from being glared at as Felix reaches out to pluck it from Sylvain's hand. It doesn't look like much of anything, really, and yet, as Felix is a firm believer that one can find fault with anything (and as Felix would rather not go back to talking about phone-related things, thanks):]
...It smells disgusting.
[Hot Pockets always have that faintly plastic-y smell? He is Suspicious as he brings this to his mouth—and also, ah, suddenly very aware that Sylvain is still here in all his shirtless, glasses-wearing glory, so please, Sylvain. Enjoy the Look Felix is shooting you as he refuses to take a bite of this thing, which obviously means, "Why are you watching me?" Read his mind.]
[ sylvain doesn't expect the hot pocket to be an instant winner—this is felix, after all. but they started this weird modern food journey together and he knows that they will at least see it through to the end, bad idea and equally bad taste aside. and to be fair, it actually doesn't look that bad? like, sylvain knows for a fact they've had worse in recent times, but they're still spoiled noble brats at heart, so. ]
Can't be worse than those mystery meat pies Ingrid made us eat when we were still restoring the monastery, right?
[ he's mostly unaware of why felix is looking at him like that, though he could hazard a few guesses. but he's more interested in felix actually trying the hot pocket, so he nods towards it after a moment, expectant. ]
Just try it. I'll eat the rest if you really can't stand it.
[Say what you will about those pies, but at least they contained, like, three days' worth of meat! ...While also being nigh inedible, so yes, fine, Felix sees the point, even if Felix still hates being stared at. The stupid glasses aren't exactly helping...
But what is he to do, other than bring the fuckin' hot pocket back to his mouth.]
I'll hold you to it.
[He halfway hopes it's terrible. It would serve Sylvain right to choke down a disgusting... whatever-this-is, but as Felix takes what might possibly be the tiniest bite of all time, well? Well. Give him a second to thoughtfully chew what is mostly bread(?), considering the taste of it, before he goes back in for a slightly larger second bite. Silent verdict: Edible.
Those glasses, though? Unforgivable, so while Sylvain is presumably waiting for Felix to say something, Felix brings the hand not hold the hot pocket up—and tries to snatch those glasses off Sylvain's face. This is when his high speed stat (hopefully) pays off.]
[ sylvain remembers them being particularly gamy and tough to chew through... one of the few things he felt okay with not knowing about. but anyway, felix is going for it and sylvain watches his expression as he chews, trying to fight down a widening smile as felix takes a bigger second bite. he's not immediately complaining about it, so sylvain considers it a success.
what he doesn't expect is for felix to snatch the glasses right off his face and he's left blinking for a moment as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness that isn't rose-tinted anymore. ]
What have my glasses done to you? [ he's laughing in spite of it though, letting felix have them while he goes to pluck the hot pocket out of his fingers to try it for himself. ] I'm not even making you wear yours.
[Sylvain? Sir? That is Felix's hot pocket, which is why Felix clicks his tongue in clear disapproval—but it's a sacrifice he's willing to make, if it means the end of these glasses. These pink-tinted lenses. Felix was forced to deal with Sylvain's grey eyes for the better part of a month; now that that mess is over with, forgive him for preferring that warm, familiar shade of brown over everything else.
Plus the shape of the glasses is just silly, of course. So dumb. That's totally the main problem.]
They're not mine, [he snaps, placing Sylvain's glasses on the counter beside the pair that is not his.] And you can't make me do anything.
[Only Sylvain brings out this side of Felix? This... childishness. Somewhere far, far away, Ingrid is shaking her head—but anyway, take that. And don't eat all of his hot pocket, or on the Goddess...]
[ you could just say you missed seeing his eyes because you like them, felix? gosh. sylvain just watches as he bristles and fusses and pouts, chewing on his bite of hot pocket while trying not to look too fond and amused. and like, really, the taste and quality isn't anything to write home about, but it's decent. it's alright, and the crust could stand to be flakier, but for something that only took three minutes to cook, sylvain thinks this is what he should have expected. ]
Of course I can't make you do anything. [ that'd be wild. like, making felix fall in love with him or something. imagine that? yeah, better kill that thought before it festers. ] But I bought them for you! So I mean, technically, they're yours now.
[ somewhere far away, ingrid is shaking her head and likely feeling the beginnings of a migraine. meanwhile, sylvain hands the hot pocket back to felix, licking crumbs and cheese off his fingers and lips. ]
[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.]
Nope, too late. You already wore them, no take backs.
[ maybe it's a little bit of both. sylvain knows felix is territorial over his food, even if he gets away with stealing off felix's plate more than anyone else, hissing token protests aside. it's cute, and so is the way the tension bleeds out from his shoulders, as if felix had expected he'd argue rather than agree with him. sylvain has no qualms with pushing buttons just to see how much he can get away with, but they both know when it comes to felix, sylvain would drop everything to follow him. because in the end, felix doesn't need to make him do anything. all he needs to do is ask. ]
Am I? [ his smile slants into something more crooked and he leans in quickly, pressing a kiss to felix's cheek on his way to the freezer, cheesy lips and all. ]
[That makes no sense, Felix wants to say. Is going to say, as soon as he finishes swallowing—but for once, Sylvain is quick enough to catch Felix off guard? There's no chance to duck, or to swiftly step to the side; there's simply Sylvain's lips glancing off his cheekbone, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it gesture, and the world seems to... still. Stop.
...For all of, like, five seconds. The sound of the freezer opening snaps Felix back to reality—just in time for Felix to watch a blob of the hot pocket's filling drip (ooze?) onto the front of his shirt. It is such a small thing, compared to the warmth all but rushing into his cheeks, and yet—well? Easier to focus on this than, ah, anything that came before it, because it's stupid, how such a simple, thoughtless gesture from Sylvain sent his heart racing.]
Look what you— [Did to his shirt? Did to him? Ugh.] Sylvain!
[That's, what, the second time he's said Sylvain's name like this since Sylvain came in here to help him? A new record. Enjoy it—and consider jumping back, perhaps, because Felix sure is aiming a (weak) kick at Sylvain's calf.]
[ he isn't doing a very good job of hiding his laughter at the sight of felix's expression, warm and lilting as it bounces off the walls of their tiny kitchen. felix's cheeks are equally as warm, and sylvain wonders, not for the first time, how it'd feel pressed against his own. ]
I missed how huffy you get sometimes. [ he slides his hot pocket into another sleeve and pops it into the microwave, his grin softening into that same curl of fondness he's been letting slip more and more these days. hm. ] Really brings me back.
[ even the kick at his calf is nostalgic, and sylvain doesn't bother to jump back, making a half-hearted wince as he hooks his leg around felix's outstretched one in an attempt to tug him closer again. only so he can wipe away that dollop of filling from his shirt with his finger and lick it off. ]
[Brings him back to, what? Their Academy days? Those days before their Academy days? Good memories, bad memories, all wrapped together—and Felix can't help but to consider them as he is, in fact, pulled forward, forced to hop toward Sylvain on one foot. This whole thing is childish, really. Too childish for two of Faerghus' top generals, noble heirs...
...And maybe that's why Felix finds himself going along with it, just as he often goes along with whatever stupid shit Sylvain starts. Maybe that's why Felix reaches up to place a palm beneath Sylvain's chin instead of jerking his foot free, making a disgusted noise low in his throat as he tilts—well, shoves—Sylvain's head back.]
You're incorrigible.
[An old line—but you know, doesn't that add something to it? Like, despite Felix's sharp tone, isn't there something almost fond about this, if one squints...]
[ here they are, two of faerghus' top generals, the future duke fraldarius hopping forward on one foot while the margrave gautier's laugh borders on improper. but sylvain has never cared about any of that, as much as he couldn't escape it, and it's in the way he slides his arm back around felix's waist, a steadying hold even as felix shoves his head back. ]
You know me, [ he says, reaching up blindly to grasp felix's hand and pull it away just enough to look back down again. ] I like to stay on an even keel.
[ there's less heat behind that old line compared to before, which is why he shifts his foot, turns them so that felix's back is to the kitchen counter. sylvain leans in to set his forearms on the counter just outside of felix's hips, loosely boxing him in. ]
[Felix is no fool; like, Sylvain takes hold of his wrist and Felix knows, knows, what's coming, but while he's undoubtedly quick enough to slip free, he... doesn't? Refuses to offer even token resistance when he's flipped about, because as Sylvain crowds closer, it's clear that this is a game, of sorts. A challenge.
And as Felix refuses to lose, Felix lowers his chin, meeting Sylvain's gaze despite the way it sends his stomach twisting. Eye contact is so inconvenient; it would be easier to just, like, take the half-eaten hot pocket he's still holding and smash it into Sylvain's face, but as his hands are trapped between them (and as Felix is trying to keep his hands from brushing against Sylvain's bare skin, for various reasons), he settles for a challenge of his own:]
[ 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. ]
[Escalation is the name of this particular game, Felix knows. It's why he expects Sylvain to lean closer, just to continue pushing his boundaries—but he doesn't expect Sylvain to actually touch him? To brush a single finger along his cheek, and it shows in the way Felix freezes, the way Felix momentarily forgets to breathe as he holds Sylvain's gaze. This, too, is nothing new, in the grand scheme of things. Sylvain wiped away Felix's tears when they were younger; Sylvain wiped away blood and mud and who knows what else after recent battles, just because, and yet this gentle touch is...
...Mmph. It's every bit as strange as feeling Sylvain's fingers running down his back, because what should send him jerking away only makes him want to move... closer. An urge he resists, yes, but it's there all the same, still thrumming beneath his skin as Sylvain abruptly turns to deal with that stupid, stupid machine. Felix has never hated it more; Felix has never been more grateful for it.
But then it's a matter of staring at Sylvain's lightly freckled back while thinking of Sylvain's words? Considering the weight of them. Sentimental is, in Felix's opinion, quite the understatement—and yet it isn't as though he wants to forget this, either. Seeing Sylvain first thing every morning, last thing every evening. Watching Sylvain fuss with the fuckin' microwave. Amazing, how the smallest things tug at his heart.]
Sap, [he quietly says, with absolutely no heat behind his words. It rounds out the trio of not-quite-insults nicely, doesn't it? You're disgusting; you're incorrigible; you're a sap, even as Felix shortly (and sappily, in his own way) adds:] I don't need those to remember... this. Any of it.
[And he should leave, lest that urge to press forward returns in full force, but—hmm, no, he's not. He's staying right where he is, looking down at the hot pocket Sylvain made for him as he thinks back to their tipsy moment.]
You said it, didn't you? That you'll be annoying enough that I'll always remember?
[Remember Sylvain's... eyes, or whatever, but listen: it still stands. How can he forget anything that happens here? Sylvain is involved.]
[ there's that swell in his chest again, something that's started to become more and more frequent lately and sylvain is still undecided on whether or not it's a good thing. it's vaguely concerning, at least, because while he's sure it's likely not a premature heart attack (though with their recent diet, that could very well be a contributor), the alternative is something he's sure he isn't completely ready to face yet. it means acknowledging everything that he's been doing a shit job of hiding ever since they all reunited again, and like, he can at least admit that he hasn't been trying at all since arriving in this place. his one saving grace is that felix doesn't seem to have caught on yet, bless him, but sylvain knows without a doubt that he will. probably very soon, if he keeps saying these things and keeps looking at him like that.
it's honestly a little terrifying. this is the part where he would leave, break it off before things get any deeper, cut his losses while he still can. and in spite of all of that, he knows he can't even if he wanted to, because this is felix and felix has always, always been the exception to every single rule and caveat—both the anomaly and the missing piece that's always been there but he'd been too afraid to grasp.
felix says i don't need those to remember this to the tune of i won't forget your eyes or anything else and with his back still to him, sylvain closes his eyes. breathes in deep and silently counts to five, swallows past the lump of whatever emotion that he doesn't know if he can completely identify at the moment.
but the most damning thing is that he already knows what it is. ]
Guess I did.
[ sometimes sylvain wonders if felix is aware of the sheer depth in the things he says, how he can just say these things with the same unshakable sincerity he had when he was eight and tossed out a death pact like it was nothing. and sylvain had taken it, met him with that same amount of sincerity couched in lightness, a casualness that's come back to bite him in the ass more often these days than not. but he doesn't have that anymore; he'd lost it to the war, lost it to the people they've lost; lost it to the luxury of falling asleep to felix's soft breaths against his chest, the warmth and comforting weight of him in his arms. and that's another nail in the coffin, isn't it? ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's not bad. It's not even wholly unexpected, but Felix still takes an instinctive step back, ass hitting the handle of the... ice-box-thing. Yowch. Take this muttered curse, then, as he brings both hands to his face, fingers feeling the unmistakable shape of these frames. Uggggggggggh.]
Sylvain.
[It's rude to just put shit on his face! Goddess! But as Felix considers when Sylvain had time to purchase these (when Felix was studying a pack of Big Red very, very intently, probably)... ah, well. Sylvain is Sylvain, isn't he? The one person who gets away with shit like this, and thus:]
Don't be stupid. I'm not wearing these. [Grumble, grumble, grumble, even as the only thing he does is slip them to the end of his nose so that he can shoot Sylvain a Look.] I can see in the sun.
no subject
No one said you couldn't, but now you won't have to squint as much. Makes training easier, doesn't it?
[ even with him name-dropping training, he knows felix would likely never wear these again on any other day, so it's time to take advantage of this. but first, he steps closer and holds out his hand, ]
You haven't set your phone's wallpaper yet, right? I'll show you and we can match.
no subject
...But his phone? His phone. The thing he pays little attention to, partly because he'd prefer to speak to his, like, three friends face-to-face and mostly because he doesn't know how to use it. This is just a smaller, trickier microwave. One day he's going to yeet it into the pond by the ice cream shack.]
"Wallpaper."
[Like he's sounding the word out? Maybe wondering how a phone can have a wall. Deep thoughts with Felix—but what matters is the way his shoulders tense, then drop the slightest bit before he reaches into the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't want to admit that he doesn't know what, exactly, Sylvain is talking about, but even though curiosity killed the cat...]
...Why would I change anything? It works.
[He's made all of five calls. Yeehaw. Anyway, his phone is now in hand, factory fresh, so feel free to admire that.]
no subject
It's not actually a wallpaper, [ he says as he takes felix's rarely used phone, the guy definitely didn't even make a lock code, did he—yeah, he definitely didn't. ] It's the background on the screen, you can change it so people can tell it's yours.
[ you know, in case he misplaces it or... yeets it into the pond by the ice cream shack. anyway, he shows felix the generic ones that the phones come with and they're all well and good but, there's a better one they can make by taking a picture. so he pulls felix in close and drops his chin on his shoulder, lifting up the phone to take a selfie of them, dumb sunglasses on and all.
and then, it's a matter of quickly setting the picture to felix's home screen and also sending it to himself, before felix beats him up. either way, the damage is done because it's also sylvain's screen now. ]
See? Now we match.
no subject
But maybe, just maybe, there's a point to this madness. Something about Sylvain's arm snaking about his waist, or the sharp point of Sylvain's chin settling atop his shoulder, and listen: Felix should be annoyed by this. His reflexes should send him jabbing an elbow straight into Sylvain's defenseless ribs, but for whatever reason, Felix finds himself thinking of that night not so very long ago? Sylvain's breath fanning against his lips as Felix watched color flood back into his eyes, his hair...
The click of the camera snaps him back to his senses, but the damage is indeed done. The damage is clear the moment Sylvain shows Felix the candid snapshot, because the marvel of this split-second portrait aside, Felix's ever-present scowl is... softer than it should be. It doesn't look entirely out of place next to Sylvain's bright, sunny smile, and Felix wonders if this is what others see when they're together: two people that shouldn't fit, but somehow do.
The matching glasses, however, look absolutely stupid, and thus Felix clicks his tongue in irritation.]
You— [UGH.] Give me that.
[He'll swipe it right from Sylvain's hand, if he has to—but he won't shrug Sylvain away. Not yet, anyway, because he's too busy tapping these apps, paying no mind to the beeping microwave beside them. If he hits the right one, maybe he can... clear it? Go back to black? Don't ask him. It's not a bad pic, really, but... to look so silly...]
I don't want to look at your face every time I use this, [he (halfheartedly) gripes, pausing his tip-tappin' long enough to finally yank those glasses off his face.] I see enough of it as it is.
no subject
[ felix has yet to shrug him off, so sylvain continues to take full advantage of their proximity, keeping him close as he watches felix fumble through his phone's settings. he's not even trying to help, or trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, so. sorry, not sorry. ]
You didn't seem to mind staring at it a few nights ago.
[ it's hard not to think about that night—nothing actually happened afterwards, they'd watched the fireworks and finished the rest of the ale, then meandered back to their apartment. but it was everything before that won't leave his mind, the way his color had returned so quickly when it was felix saying those things, as minimal as they were. felix is a man of few words, they both know this, and yet, it doesn't change the fact that the things he does say have an impact all on their own. it doesn't change the fact that sylvain hangs onto them like he does with everything else involving felix. ]
But if you really hate it that much, [ he sighs a little, slumping a little against felix's frame. is he pouting? maybe. ] I'll change it back, okay?
no subject
Well, it's like this: Felix can't say that he doesn't like looking at Sylvain's face, because that would be a bald-faced lie. Felix also can't say he hates this picture. The glasses, maybe, but as he remembers Sylvain's smile, thinks about seeing it on those rare occasions he needs to call him, or Annette, or Mercedes—]
Change it to something worse, you mean.
[Maybe he's snapped another picture when Felix wasn't looking! Felix wouldn't put it past him—but the press of Sylvain against him is suddenly yet another reminder of that night, and so Felix finally swings an elbow behind him, pointedly (haha) prodding Sylvain in the stomach.]
No, thanks, [is his dry response as he tightens his hold on his phone.] I'll change it myself. Later.
[And if Sylvain knows anything about Felix—which he does, of course—then he should recognize this for what it is: Felix using this as a convenient excuse to leave his screen as it is.]
no subject
and that, is almost as dangerous as holding felix against him, tipsy on ale and promises and unspoken feelings just simmering beneath the surface. felix is going to be the death of sylvain one of these days, and like, yeah, he's been on death's door his whole goddess forsaken life, he's ready for it—
what he's not ready for, is that festering ache in his chest that has only gotten worse since the war, since seeing felix again. he thought he had it bad enough during their academy days, but as always when it comes to felix, he has never been so wrong. ]
Sure, Fe.
[ he'll keep your secret. until then, he goes to retrieve the hot pocket that has been sitting done and neglected in the microwave, letting his hand slide from around felix's waist to his hip as he pulls back with the briefest squeeze. the flaky crust is unfortunately less flaky now, but he gives it to felix first so he can pass judgement. ]
no subject
Better, then, to focus entirely on this goddess-forsaken Hot Pocket when he turns back around, because at least it has a shirt. A sleeve? Whatever. The point... is that this pastry is covered up—but that doesn't save it from being glared at as Felix reaches out to pluck it from Sylvain's hand. It doesn't look like much of anything, really, and yet, as Felix is a firm believer that one can find fault with anything (and as Felix would rather not go back to talking about phone-related things, thanks):]
...It smells disgusting.
[Hot Pockets always have that faintly plastic-y smell? He is Suspicious as he brings this to his mouth—and also, ah, suddenly very aware that Sylvain is still here in all his shirtless, glasses-wearing glory, so please, Sylvain. Enjoy the Look Felix is shooting you as he refuses to take a bite of this thing, which obviously means, "Why are you watching me?" Read his mind.]
no subject
Can't be worse than those mystery meat pies Ingrid made us eat when we were still restoring the monastery, right?
[ he's mostly unaware of why felix is looking at him like that, though he could hazard a few guesses. but he's more interested in felix actually trying the hot pocket, so he nods towards it after a moment, expectant. ]
Just try it. I'll eat the rest if you really can't stand it.
no subject
But what is he to do, other than bring the fuckin' hot pocket back to his mouth.]
I'll hold you to it.
[He halfway hopes it's terrible. It would serve Sylvain right to choke down a disgusting... whatever-this-is, but as Felix takes what might possibly be the tiniest bite of all time, well? Well. Give him a second to thoughtfully chew what is mostly bread(?), considering the taste of it, before he goes back in for a slightly larger second bite. Silent verdict: Edible.
Those glasses, though? Unforgivable, so while Sylvain is presumably waiting for Felix to say something, Felix brings the hand not hold the hot pocket up—and tries to snatch those glasses off Sylvain's face. This is when his high speed stat (hopefully) pays off.]
no subject
what he doesn't expect is for felix to snatch the glasses right off his face and he's left blinking for a moment as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness that isn't rose-tinted anymore. ]
What have my glasses done to you? [ he's laughing in spite of it though, letting felix have them while he goes to pluck the hot pocket out of his fingers to try it for himself. ] I'm not even making you wear yours.
no subject
Plus the shape of the glasses is just silly, of course. So dumb. That's totally the main problem.]
They're not mine, [he snaps, placing Sylvain's glasses on the counter beside the pair that is not his.] And you can't make me do anything.
[Only Sylvain brings out this side of Felix? This... childishness. Somewhere far, far away, Ingrid is shaking her head—but anyway, take that. And don't eat all of his hot pocket, or on the Goddess...]
no subject
Of course I can't make you do anything. [ that'd be wild. like, making felix fall in love with him or something. imagine that? yeah, better kill that thought before it festers. ] But I bought them for you! So I mean, technically, they're yours now.
[ somewhere far away, ingrid is shaking her head and likely feeling the beginnings of a migraine. meanwhile, sylvain hands the hot pocket back to felix, licking crumbs and cheese off his fingers and lips. ]
It's not that bad, you know.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ maybe it's a little bit of both. sylvain knows felix is territorial over his food, even if he gets away with stealing off felix's plate more than anyone else, hissing token protests aside. it's cute, and so is the way the tension bleeds out from his shoulders, as if felix had expected he'd argue rather than agree with him. sylvain has no qualms with pushing buttons just to see how much he can get away with, but they both know when it comes to felix, sylvain would drop everything to follow him. because in the end, felix doesn't need to make him do anything. all he needs to do is ask. ]
Am I? [ his smile slants into something more crooked and he leans in quickly, pressing a kiss to felix's cheek on his way to the freezer, cheesy lips and all. ]
no subject
...For all of, like, five seconds. The sound of the freezer opening snaps Felix back to reality—just in time for Felix to watch a blob of the hot pocket's filling drip (ooze?) onto the front of his shirt. It is such a small thing, compared to the warmth all but rushing into his cheeks, and yet—well? Easier to focus on this than, ah, anything that came before it, because it's stupid, how such a simple, thoughtless gesture from Sylvain sent his heart racing.]
Look what you— [Did to his shirt? Did to him? Ugh.] Sylvain!
[That's, what, the second time he's said Sylvain's name like this since Sylvain came in here to help him? A new record. Enjoy it—and consider jumping back, perhaps, because Felix sure is aiming a (weak) kick at Sylvain's calf.]
no subject
I missed how huffy you get sometimes. [ he slides his hot pocket into another sleeve and pops it into the microwave, his grin softening into that same curl of fondness he's been letting slip more and more these days. hm. ] Really brings me back.
[ even the kick at his calf is nostalgic, and sylvain doesn't bother to jump back, making a half-hearted wince as he hooks his leg around felix's outstretched one in an attempt to tug him closer again. only so he can wipe away that dollop of filling from his shirt with his finger and lick it off. ]
that icon is illegal
...And maybe that's why Felix finds himself going along with it, just as he often goes along with whatever stupid shit Sylvain starts. Maybe that's why Felix reaches up to place a palm beneath Sylvain's chin instead of jerking his foot free, making a disgusted noise low in his throat as he tilts—well, shoves—Sylvain's head back.]
You're incorrigible.
[An old line—but you know, doesn't that add something to it? Like, despite Felix's sharp tone, isn't there something almost fond about this, if one squints...]
u like it don't lie to me
You know me, [ he says, reaching up blindly to grasp felix's hand and pull it away just enough to look back down again. ] I like to stay on an even keel.
[ there's less heat behind that old line compared to before, which is why he shifts his foot, turns them so that felix's back is to the kitchen counter. sylvain leans in to set his forearms on the counter just outside of felix's hips, loosely boxing him in. ]
Are you really not gonna keep the glasses?
it's banned!!
And as Felix refuses to lose, Felix lowers his chin, meeting Sylvain's gaze despite the way it sends his stomach twisting. Eye contact is so inconvenient; it would be easier to just, like, take the half-eaten hot pocket he's still holding and smash it into Sylvain's face, but as his hands are trapped between them (and as Felix is trying to keep his hands from brushing against Sylvain's bare skin, for various reasons), he settles for a challenge of his own:]
Why would I?
[Why should he.]
too bad
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.
no subject
...Mmph. It's every bit as strange as feeling Sylvain's fingers running down his back, because what should send him jerking away only makes him want to move... closer. An urge he resists, yes, but it's there all the same, still thrumming beneath his skin as Sylvain abruptly turns to deal with that stupid, stupid machine. Felix has never hated it more; Felix has never been more grateful for it.
But then it's a matter of staring at Sylvain's lightly freckled back while thinking of Sylvain's words? Considering the weight of them. Sentimental is, in Felix's opinion, quite the understatement—and yet it isn't as though he wants to forget this, either. Seeing Sylvain first thing every morning, last thing every evening. Watching Sylvain fuss with the fuckin' microwave. Amazing, how the smallest things tug at his heart.]
Sap, [he quietly says, with absolutely no heat behind his words. It rounds out the trio of not-quite-insults nicely, doesn't it? You're disgusting; you're incorrigible; you're a sap, even as Felix shortly (and sappily, in his own way) adds:] I don't need those to remember... this. Any of it.
[And he should leave, lest that urge to press forward returns in full force, but—hmm, no, he's not. He's staying right where he is, looking down at the hot pocket Sylvain made for him as he thinks back to their tipsy moment.]
You said it, didn't you? That you'll be annoying enough that I'll always remember?
[Remember Sylvain's... eyes, or whatever, but listen: it still stands. How can he forget anything that happens here? Sylvain is involved.]
no subject
it's honestly a little terrifying. this is the part where he would leave, break it off before things get any deeper, cut his losses while he still can. and in spite of all of that, he knows he can't even if he wanted to, because this is felix and felix has always, always been the exception to every single rule and caveat—both the anomaly and the missing piece that's always been there but he'd been too afraid to grasp.
felix says i don't need those to remember this to the tune of i won't forget your eyes or anything else and with his back still to him, sylvain closes his eyes. breathes in deep and silently counts to five, swallows past the lump of whatever emotion that he doesn't know if he can completely identify at the moment.
but the most damning thing is that he already knows what it is. ]
Guess I did.
[ sometimes sylvain wonders if felix is aware of the sheer depth in the things he says, how he can just say these things with the same unshakable sincerity he had when he was eight and tossed out a death pact like it was nothing. and sylvain had taken it, met him with that same amount of sincerity couched in lightness, a casualness that's come back to bite him in the ass more often these days than not. but he doesn't have that anymore; he'd lost it to the war, lost it to the people they've lost; lost it to the luxury of falling asleep to felix's soft breaths against his chest, the warmth and comforting weight of him in his arms. and that's another nail in the coffin, isn't it? ]
So, don't let me forget either, okay?