[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? ]
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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?