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Some days, Felix wished he weren’t quite so skilled in observation.
Sylvain’s eyes lingering on a particular head of brunette hair. Locking on knife-sharp green eyes. Doffing an imaginary cap. Doing his best (read: worst) attempts at soprano opera.
It wasn’t that Dorothea was bad. She was a flirt, and a materialist, and, quite frankly, most likely too smart for her own damn good. Certainly too smart for Sylvain’s. But she was otherwise amenable. It made Felix dislike her more.
Sylvain drifted towards the Black Eagles’ table singsonging the weakest excuses Felix had ever heard– “Oh Dotty”-- he called her Dotty, now, apparently– “could you help me out with Bolganone after lunch? I don’t think I’m generating quite enough heat,” or “I swear, reason is just not coming naturally to me lately,” both blatant lies; Felix had seen him nail bandits with fireballs and black magic and the like and barely break a sweat. It was almost enough to make Felix want to quit watching. Almost.
Honestly, Felix wasn’t sure why he kept paying attention. He plucked petals from a still-yellow dandelion absentmindedly as his eyes wandered to where Sylvain stood leaned against a pillar, his posture fluid and wound like a cat’s, wearing Dorothea’s too-small hat–a stupid hat, by the way, and she was always adjusting it because she just had to wear it just slightly crooked on her head because she was Dorothea . Light giggles trickled across the courtyard from the gazebo. Felix flinched. It wasn’t fair. Why spend so long mastering her ? Putting all his attention into what got her to laugh, what made her smile, what she was interested in. He knew for a fact that Sylvain didn’t actually like the things she did. He much preferred talking about horses, and weaponry, and the little cakes the Fraldarius cook used to make when they were kids, not things as frivolous as fashion and magic and–worst of all– the opera. Felix scoffed aloud as he pulled himself to his knees, brushing off stray blades of grass and dandelion petals. His hair fell loose around his shoulders; fall was finally making an entrance, and the sharp breeze against his neck wasn’t worth keeping his hair out of his face. He took one step. Hesitated. Some part of him didn’t want to leave. Or, rather, some part of him didn’t want to leave undetected. He wanted Sylvain to know he’d seen everything he’d done, that Felix had watched every awful second of it.
(Which may leave us to ponder– what had Sylvain done? Held a conversation with a friend? Flirted with a girl? Both very standard behaviors for Sylvain, and Felix knew it. No one could say for certain why this one in particular set Felix off. Perhaps the fact that it could have been both things, instead of one or the other.)
There was a twig resting a few inches in front of his foot, too perfect to pass up. Felix moved, slow and deliberate, raising the toe of his boot over it and stealing a glance back at Sylvain. His fire-red hair was lit up in the sunlight, flopping around as he gesticulated at Dorothea. Everything about him seemed bigger when he talked to someone he was trying to chase. Louder, more expressive, laughing more often and harder. Sometimes, on what Felix liked to consider his bad days, it exhausted him just to watch this weird little pantomime Sylvain put on for all these women he didn’t care about.
He never put that much energy into Felix .
The thought, quick, darted from one side of his brain to the other like a soldier seeking cover. Felix looked back at the branch, nestled perfectly in emerald-green grass, and stabbed his foot down into it, sending a loud crack across the courtyard. Dorothea didn’t seem to notice– her melodic voice continued to float up and down without faltering, prattling on about Goddess-knows-what, but Felix felt the telltale prickle on the back of his neck that someone was watching. He turned and met Sylvain’s gaze, Sylvain’s eyebrows slightly pinching in even as the fakest smirk Felix had ever seen stayed plastered across his lips.
Felix arched a lofty eyebrow. The raised half of Sylvain’s lip quirked, a dimple appearing and disappearing in time with it. That was the real one. Something in Felix warmed at the sight of it, at his particular ability to draw it out. Something he hadn’t seen anyone else manage to do yet. Sure, Dorothea had gotten close, closer than most of the rest. A sparkle in Sylvain’s eyes, a genuine laugh that rumbled out from somewhere deep in Sylvain’s ribs, an amused nose wrinkle in response to a particularly witty remark. But this – the way Sylvain’s eyes folded at the corners with the beginnings of crows’ feet, the tiniest dimple dipping down on his left cheek, a hand going up to ruffle through Sylvain’s hair, not scratch, practiced and posed to flex the muscles in his arms, at the nape of his neck– was Felix’s. Felix turned slowly and stalked off towards the training grounds, finally letting the tiniest show of satisfaction flicker onto his face. Eyes still lingered on his back. Felix wondered if they’d stay until he was out of sight, if Sylvain would watch him leave and then some, like Felix did sometimes when Sylvain made the impossibly far trek to the Black Eagles' table for lunch.
“See you later, Dotty– thanks for the help!”
Felix startled at Sylvain’s voice, coming from somewhere much closer than he expected, and then again at the feel of a warm, heavy arm wrapping around his shoulders. He shoved it off of him and turned to the man it was attached to, who was slightly out of breath, the tiniest dusting of pink across his cheeks, and grinning at him with full force. It hit Felix like a punch. “Get off me,” he muttered, with half the bite he meant it to have.
Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Come on, Fe. I know you wanna hang out.” Felix wrinkled his nose, and Sylvain chuckled. He leaned closer, letting his shoulder ghost against Felix’s without really touching it. Felix felt his feet stop moving as Sylvain’s sparkling, coffee-colored gaze locked him in a challenge. Felix tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. He could feel the edges of Sylvain’s breath across his cheeks.
“By all means, don’t let me drag you away from Dotty .” It was out of his mouth before he could pull it back. Regret and anger and something more delicate flared in tandem in Felix’s gut, but he didn’t back down.
To Felix’s surprise, Sylvain didn’t even acknowledge the strike with a wince. Something in his eyes turned feline, irises swirling as he narrowed them, tipping his chin down in a way that forced Felix into making eye contact, which he loathed. “Aw, Felix,” Sylvain breathed, pitched low, with a Cheshire grin, “You jealous?” Heat rushed up to Felix’s face, but before he could retort, Sylvain was gone, back in his own personal space bubble, leaving an unnatural chill across Felix’s mouth, where Sylvain’s breath had drifted to. “Also, you’re kind of being a hypocrite right now. I don’t know why you’re so pissy. I’ve seen you when you’re with Annette, you know.”
Felix felt his face wrinkle in distaste before he even processed what Sylvain had said, his mind still a little scrambled by the lingering but rapidly fading heat across Felix’s cheeks. “When I’m with– Annette ?”
Sylvain rolled his eyes, but his shoulders rested a little higher than they normally do. “I have eyes , Felix. And by the way, if you have any grand designs on asking her out, you should probably get a move on. I hear Mercedes is closing in.”
“You should get your eyes checked– and I mean that– Sylvain, I don’t know what you think you’ve been seeing with Annette but I don’t have any grand designs. ” She was like his sister . Where the hell did Sylvain get that idea from?
Sylvain shrugged, a little stiffly. “If you say so.”
“I do say so,” Felix said forcefully, as if sharpening his words would make them cut deep enough to penetrate Sylvain’s obviously thick skull.
“Ok.” Sylvain frowned slightly. “You didn’t drag me away, by the way,” he added, a little rushed. Felix sensed that Sylvain was changing the subject more than he knew it was happening, but he let him. “Dorothea was just helping me with my stamina–” Sylvain wiggled his eyebrows and Felix rolled his eyes, one piece of normalcy in this all-around strange conversation– “Not like that, though. I tend to burn myself out when I’m doing magic, is all. I wanted to train so I can last longer– heh– but I’m not totally sure that it’s working.”
“Does everything have to be an innuendo with you?” Felix said.
Sylvain raised a hand up above Felix’s head to push open the door to the training grounds, holding it with an ease that made Felix roll his eyes again. His dates must love that. Casual show of his height and his strength, gets them to picture their own hands held up by Sylvain like that, above their head, with that amount of ease. “ Tch . ” Whatever Sylvain was trying to do wouldn’t work on Felix.
Sylvain flashed a grin at him. “No. But I feel like it makes things more fun.”
Felix looked up at him, intending to say something scathing and witty, but something caught him, a mosquito trapped in amber. Sylvain tilted his head to one side, amusement and concern filtering through his gaze in equal measure as the remnants of golden hour sunlight filtered through his hair, lighting it on fire. Felix cleared his throat and walked into the training room, fixing his gaze on the sword rack ahead of him. “Well. I won’t be going easy on you.”
Sylvain chuckled warmly behind him. “I never thought you would.”