Chapter Text
It’s almost 12pm and Felix’s blinds are still closed, which is a little embarrassing, really. What’s the worst that can happen—Sylvain sees him here, working (questionable) at his desk as he always does? Withholds the mail Felix still isn’t getting? He’s being—dare he think it—a little immature.
So when Felix hears the heavy footsteps on his porch and the clang of coupons in the slot, he decides to take charge. Literally—he charges to the door and yanks it open, startling the mailman on the other side so hard he drops the letters in his hands, and—
Felix’s mouth snaps shut around the “I’m sorry,” as he stares blankly. Because this isn’t Sylvain.
“You’re not Sylvain,” he says, and what a strange, hyper-specific deja vu.
“Uh, no,” the man says shortly, bending down to gather up his scattered letters. It’s not sexy to watch, at all. “I’m not.”
“Right—sorry. Do you uh, know when he’ll be back?”
“Dunno.”
The man shoots him a curious look, like Felix is asking a weird question, which he’s not. He’s allowed to care about his mailman’s well-being. He’s allowed to worry. Wait—he’s worrying? Why is he worrying?
“You good?”
“I’m fine,” Felix says automatically.
The man raises his eyebrows with a ‘sure you are’ skepticism stamped across his features. “Well, I’ve been asked to cover his shift indefinitely. But I can always tell the office you asked about him?”
Felix tries to ignore his reddening face. “That’s not necessary.”
“Mhmm. Okay.” The man studies him a second longer, shrugs, then throws a casual wave and a see ya over his shoulder as he steps off the porch.
And Felix is abruptly left standing alone in his doorway. He’s missed his chance.
He’s missed his chance.
Weeks go by; the flowers are dying.
He’s missed his chance.
The notes stay piled on his dresser, a mockery of their previous intention. He should toss them—he knows it—but he can’t bring himself to. Instead he tortures himself, staring at their innocuity, day after day, ad infinitum.
He’s missed his chance.
The mail clangs again and again into the slot. Spam coupons, incorrectly delivered letters for the previous tenant, flyers for the local farmers market. It piles up until it no longer fits, until the box is stuffed so full it doesn’t close and every item is bent beyond repair. No post-its. No flowers. No Sylvain.
It shouldn’t matter; it matters. Felix thought—Felix felt—and really, that has always been his ultimate mistake, hasn’t it? He resigns himself to never feeling anything again, and clicks on yet another excel cell in an endless sheet of lonely numbers.
And then a flurry of knocks at his door startles him so hard he rips from his chair, smacking his shin on his desk corner so acutely his vision blackens at the edges.
“Dammit—”
He hobbles to the door and fumbles it open, intent on giving whatever solicitor has had the unfortunate task of… soliciting—a piece of his mind, thus it doesn’t fully register that it’s Sylvain standing there until he cracks a hesitant smile and an even more hesitant,
“Hey, Felix.”
Scattered shoreline freckles, tempting broad frame, purposely tousled hair. So beautiful and so much that Felix feels unsteady on his feet from the sight alone. Though something is different; once Felix recovers enough to take stock of the man before him, he finds Sylvain is wilting—same as the day lilies sitting pathetically on his dresser. Shoulders hunched, eyes tired. A small box tucked under an arm, mailbag barely hanging on. It’s unsettling to see defeat on someone whose entire state of inertia is normally in motion. So what outside force collided with him?
“Sylvain,” he says, neutral because he’s not sure what emotion should come with it.
It seems Sylvain is on the same page. His eyes dart awkwardly away, stealing Felix’s usual coping mechanism—and that’s when Felix realizes it's Sylvain who doesn't know what to say, another jarring first to experience in rapid succession.
Felix searches for his weeks-old determination to have courage. Maybe now’s the right time to give that a shot.
“Hey.”
Sylvain’s eyes snap to his immediately, waiting. (Hopeful?) And in an interesting reversal, he finds himself asking a question normally directed at him.
“Are you okay?”
“I—” Sylvain exhales, the tension sliding from his shoulders along with his bag, which flumps onto the peeling deck. “I’m okay.”
Felix’s eyebrows raise disbelievingly, and Sylvain cracks a less hesitant grin. “No, really, I am. A lot better than I was, trust me. Even better now, you know—” he clears his throat, scratching at the back of his cap— “seeing you. I missed you.”
“Mmm.” It’s Felix’s turn to look away, partially annoyed that Sylvain’s words still have such an effect on him, especially after so many weeks. But any residual wariness has all dissipated, replaced with relief—and to his horror—genuine concern. “I—” he wants to say he missed Sylvain too. Painfully. Stupidly. “I got your flowers. And notes. They were—thanks.”
Sylvain’s smile brightens a little more. “I’m glad you liked them. And I meant what I said—the cookies were amazing. Alsoooo I talked to Yuri—uh, the guy who was covering my shift? He said you… asked after me?”
Felix’s face goes instant crimson. “I told him he didn’t need to tell—it’s not a big deal,” he finishes weakly, watching Sylvain’s smile turn both teasing and incredibly soft.
“On the contrary—it meant a lot to hear you were worried.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Oh no, of course not,” Sylvain agrees, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Listen—I am… really, really sorry. It’s kind of a long story, and I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that. Especially after—shit, wait, Felix—are you okay?”
“I’m—”
Is he okay? Maybe, a little. Probably not. Yes and no. With Sylvain here, looking worse for wear yet still so genuinely apprehensive… he was more okay than he had been in a month.
“Same as you, I guess. Better than I was.”
Sylvain nods, opening his mouth, then hesitates again. And shit—Felix has officially run out of his short-lived courage. In a last-ditch effort to salvage it, he gestures at the package under Sylvain’s arm.
“Is that—”
“Oh. Right. Uh—” It’s pulled from its perch but when Felix reaches for it, Sylvain clings on.
“Is it not—”
“No. Well, not no. I mean yes. It’s yours, just there’s no return address. Here.” He presses it into Felix’s waiting hands. “I think you should open it. Now—you know, that way if it was addressed incorrectly or it's something hazardous, I can report it.”
“O…kay? Uh, hang on then.”
So, Sylvain’s being weird.
When Felix glances through the door it's to him fidgeting, still standing next to his abandoned mailbag instead of sitting in his usual seat. His smile is being bitten bloody by chewing teeth. (To be fair, the last time he’d given Felix a package it hadn’t exactly ended positively.)
Come to think of it, aren’t return addresses required for shipping? Could this be something dangerous? Felix’s curiosity overpowers his trepidation, and he takes it to his hall table to rip open. And finds—
“Oh.”
Well okay, so, technically the package is dangerous, just not dangerous to Felix.
In a trance he pulls out the item and gently unwraps it. The dagger slides like butter from its hilt with a simple tug—it’s surprisingly sharp, Felix can tell just by looking at its edge, perfectly balanced in his hand with a blade consistency that rivals his authentic katana mounted above his bed.
But through his overwhelming disbelief he’s confused, too—because who—?
He runs through the extremely short list of people who even knew Felix had his eyes on it, and when Felix turns, open-mouthed, to his front door, Sylvain is staring back.
“Is there a card?” he asks, voice muted by the glass.
Wordlessly Felix abandons the knife for the rest of the box, and indeed finds a folded piece of paper and—a pen? That seems random.
Less random when he flattens out the paper and takes stock of what’s written on it.
Fe,
I was trying to come up with a good way to apologize but I figured I’d already left enough flowers to last the rest of the summer, so I hope the dagger hits the target (get it?). I missed you a lot these past few weeks, even with everything going on, and it’s made me realize something. You’ve captivated me with your sharp words and sexy death-glare and cat that can’t get enough of me.
But in all seriousness, you’ve been my favorite part of the summer, and I’m tired of pretending post-its and lunch breaks are enough.
So, with that said… will you go out with me?
( ) Yes
( ) No
Signed,
Your very sorry and insanely smitten postman (Sylvain)
With a decisiveness Felix hasn’t known in years, he clicks the pen open.
When he returns to the door, Sylvain greets him with a sheepish smile, his nerves betrayed by the peach brushing across his cheeks and the tremble in his hands.
“So?” he asks, more hesitant than Felix thought possible.
It’s… annoyingly cute. But Felix doesn’t relinquish the page nor his answer. Not yet.
“I can’t believe you left me flowers,” he mutters, and Sylvain lets out an amused huff.
“Yeah, well, you seemed down and I wanted to cheer you up. And flowers happen to be pretty easy to come by on my route.”
“Okay, but what part of me screams flowers?”
Sylvain softens, taking a tentative step closer. “Every part, Felix. Every part.”
Goddess, Sylvain is so—it’s a little rude that he can be so blunt in his honesty, so disarming in comparison to the cheesy lines Felix has gotten used to hearing.
“Yeah, well—whatever.”
He clears his throat with absolutely no further rebuttal and takes his vulnerability to the ground, yet again shoving loose mail back into Sylvain’s bag. It’s more stacks of coupons, veritably dozens of them, and as Felix looks closer he notices—hang on—
“These are—” he snaps his head to where Sylvain has crouched next to him. “These have my address on them.” A useless comment. Sylvain obviously knows that. It’s why he looks so guilty, fruitlessly trying to tug the stack from Felix’s grasp. “Sylvain.” He shoots to standing, brandishing the mail like it's the most vital piece of evidence in a court case. ”I thought I said to just take me off the list!”
Sylvain joins him, lunging for it and missing as he sighs in feigned annoyance. “Feeelix, I told you that's not how it works! You have to go yourself and request a hold.”
“Wait—So you’ve just been—what? Holding onto them yourself?
“Well yeah. Kinda. I mean I just collect them during the week and then either take them home or throw them out later. It’s not a big deal, they’re just some coupons and I—”
Felix is at max capacity. The gift, the letter, the coupons, that damned smile and stupid sinful freckles and everything else that Sylvain has been for months—it’s all too damn much.
The mail flutters to the ground and he’s suddenly clenching fistfuls of Sylvain’s dumb uniform, yanking him into a stumbling, off-balance kiss.
It’s… sweaty. Felix’s A/C had finally crapped out a few days ago and he’s been surviving on ice packs and a box fan, which aren’t nearly enough to dispel this kind of heat. But it’s intoxicating—Sylvain’s mouth is burning and Felix takes a bite; the enticing wet of Sylvain’s smile mirrors his own, only showing itself when Sylvain can’t take stock of it.
He can’t settle now he’s had a taste. The storm door slams as he pushes Sylvain against the wall, his hat lost to the floor, Felix’s hands clumsy where they ruck up his shirt and press into the freckles he’s wanted to kiss ever since he first saw them, one by one. Tongue diving deep with no finesse, with a desperation he’s embarrassed by but can’t seem to quell.
“Felix—mmph—sweetheart, hey.”
He’s not sure if it’s the endearment or the sensation of both of Sylvain’s hands, soft and all encompassing, on either side of his face—whatever it is, it’s enough to get Felix to stop his assault and look up.
Eyes of pretty honey are eclipsed by black, cheeks darkened with a blush the color of ripe peaches. Sylvain is smiling, and when Felix meets his eyes, he runs a thumb gently across the expanse of Felix’s jaw.
“There you are,” he murmurs, soft, too sweet.
Felix can’t help but press closer still.
“Sylvain, I—I want—”
“I know.” Their foreheads knock together; his hand leaves Felix’s face for his waist, holding him in place. “I know. I do too.”
Another surge of want; this time, Felix allows Sylvain to pull him apart with slower kisses, with flicks of his tongue sending Felix’s head spinning, with the hand that never leaves the comfort of Felix’s face. A place for Felix to take shelter, to lean into and allow Sylvain to turn him for a better angle.
Felix barely registers where his fingers have roamed until a low rumble vibrates from Sylvain’s chest—he grips at the muscle there, brushing over hardened nipples. Again and again, savoring the small noises spilling discordant from Sylvain’s lips.
“Fe,” he gasps on an experimental pinch, breaking apart to nestle against the veins of Felix’s neck.
Then it’s Felix’s turn to try and repress his moans, Sylvain’s teeth shooting fire straight from the source to the base of his spine. His tongue laps at the marks he’s left, marks Felix hopes will last through tomorrow. He wants to see the evidence of Sylvain wanting him, evidence that Felix has let him want him. To know, beyond doubt, that he still has the capacity to do so.
It ignites another swell of need and Felix grinds forward, rewarded with a groan and proof that Sylvain is in the same, desperate state. And Felix wants more. He wants everything.
“Can we—”
His voice is hoarse, shaky, but Sylvain is nodding and scrambling for his belt like he, too, cannot wait another second.
Felix has just enough sense to kick the front door closed, separating them from the rest of the world—and then they’re alone in the abrupt shade and quiet of the foyer. Felix could cry at the intimacy of it all, at the safety, except Sylvain’s gotten their clothes out of their way and a hand where Felix needs it most, and his vulnerability washes away with every languid stroke Sylvain offers.
He’s burning up. Sweat rolls down the divots of his spine and his upper lip, slippery where his hand has crept to the meat of Sylvain’s hip. And slipping lower, touching Sylvain, is pure fire—thick and firm and hot, a tentative swipe over the head enough for Sylvain to sink a few inches down the wall.
“Felix—”
Their lips meet again and Felix’s hand stutters and squeezes, pulling liquid from the tip to ease his motions. When Sylvain breaks away, he looks ruined. Felix wonders distantly how his own face is faring.
Sylvain glances down with a bravery Felix can’t match and his thumb does something that drags an incoherent whine from Felix’s throat.
“What did—shit—” he gasps, when Sylvain does it again—and this time he catches the smirk spreading across Sylvain’s lips. He’s such a bastard and Felix can’t be mad, not when Sylvain looks back up at the same time he eases Felix’s hand away from himself.
“Is it okay if I—”
“Yes,” he hisses, huffing at the widening smile being shot his way. “Shut up, just—fuck—”
It’s so good. It’s so fucking good and Sylvain still looks too pleased with himself. It’s grounding enough for Felix to buck his hips in Sylvain’s grip, to get the skin of Sylvain’s neck in his teeth and leave his own claim.
“Shit Felix, yeah, just like that, fuck my hand, come on—”
Felix swallows against Sylvain’s pulse, embarrassed but harder than he’s ever been. And he listens, the friction from Sylvain’s cock and the gentle callouses from his hand and the slick sweat of the early afternoon an irresistible force.
He leaves another mark and another and another, a reddened line to Sylvain’s parted lips. It’s here, tongue back in Sylvain’s mouth, that he feels that inevitable loss of control coiling low.
“Syl—”
Sylvain lingers on one more kiss before moving to Felix’s ear.
“You getting close, baby?”
Felix can only nod and Sylvain tightens his hand—shit, it’s too good, it’s too, too good—
“Cum for me Felix, I wanna feel it, you’re so perfect for me—”
Sylvain’s shoulder freckles are in Felix’s mouth and he’s tasting blood. He shudders and shakes and spills and Sylvain’s drawn out groan tells him Sylvain has followed. For a few moments, everything is bliss—just humid heat and sweet skin and the smell of musky summertime.
The embarrassment hits right after, because shit, did he really just do that? Did they really just—he releases Sylvain’s shoulder in horror, wondering how he could get out of this. Maybe he should run—no they’re in his damn apartment, he can’t go anywhere—or apologize, perhaps, but that would require looking at Sylvain which feels like an impossible task—how can he—
“Felix.”
His face is being guided again, to exactly where he doesn’t want to look. His eyes remain shut—he knows he’s a mess and he doesn’t want to see whatever is reflecting in Sylvain’s eyes, like now is the time to care about being seen.
A soft kiss is pressed against his lips, lingering. The hand on his face is still there, keeping him tethered. Another kiss, and another, and the panic slowly bleeds away.
“Felix,” Sylvain says again, unhurried, and Felix feels sane enough to crack his eyes open.
It’s… not so bad, actually. Sylvain is flushed and glowing from the refracted light. No judgment in his gaze, just a hint of concern at Felix’s stiff silence.
“Hi. Was that—are you okay?”
The concern deepens, and any remaining awkwardness Felix was holding onto vanishes. Because this is just Sylvain, just them—just Felix trying to navigate when it means to give in to his own desires. A smile finally breaks across his features, allowing itself to be admired, and Sylvain looks awed by the sight. Good.
“Stop asking me that,” he mutters, before leaning in to steal yet another kiss.
☼
Felix leans on the fridge while Sylvain cleans up, a glass of ice water pressed to his forehead in a vain attempt to cool off.
“Ever try standing in the freezer?”
Felix raises a sluggish eyebrow as Sylvain joins him, an arm snaking gently around his waist.
“What?”
“You know, the freezer.”
He reaches over with his other hand to tug it open, nudging a reluctant Felix into the space it offers.
“Here, like that. Small step back aaaand—perfect. There, better?”
It was, in fact, miles better—but an absolute waste of electricity. Sylvain doesn’t seem to care, leaning over Felix’s head to press his own against the ice box while sighing in relief.
“This your secret summer heat solution?” Felix asks, and Sylvain snorts ice into Felix’s hair.
“Secret? This is a tried and true method. And not just for summer—migraines, nausea, fever, you name it. All can be solved by the simple magic of standing in the freezer.”
Too tired to argue—and too comfortable to object—Felix allows them to stay for a few minutes until their sweat has cooled and the wary eyes of Neko peer out from around a cabinet.
“Aw, if it isn’t my second favorite girl,” Sylvain croons, upon hearing her questioning meow.
“Honestly surprised it’s taken her this long to investigate.”
Felix relinquishes his place in the cold, indicating for them to head to where Neko is trotting ahead of them, tail raised. Sylvain’s fingers thread between his own. Warm.
“I never thanked you, by the way. The dagger,” Felix clarifies, upon seeing Sylvain’s furrowed brow, “I’ve had my eye on it for a while.”
“Oh! Of course. I’m glad you like it. Would love to see that baby in action sometime.”
Felix rolls his eyes and leads them to their destination, where Neko has jumped on the bed and is staring expectantly at her owner. He placates her with a scratch under the chin.
“So this is where the magic happens, huh?” Sylvain leans on the doorframe, casting his eyes around the sparse room. “Looks like all work and no play—though you know, I could change that for you if you’d like.”
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Felix gives him an unsubtle once-over. “I’ll hold you to it,” he deadpans, basking in the surprise that flits across Sylvain’s face and the blush that follows.
Sylvain takes another step into the room and gestures to Felix’s dresser, one of the only spots filled with color.
“So… you really saved them, huh?”
“Idiot.” Felix closes their distance, keeping his eyes on the dying flowers even as his hands find Sylvain’s again. “They reminded me of you. I guess.”
“Awww, Felix! I didn’t realize you were such a romantic—”
“Don’t—I’m not. Shut up,” he adds, to counter Sylvain’s obvious grin. “Anyway, listen.” He finally drags his eyes to Sylvain, keeping his expression serious. “Are we going to talk about this? You know—what happened? Where you went?”
Sylvain’s smile fades to apprehension, and Felix tightens his hold. “You don’t have to tell me—”
“No it’s fine—I’ll try. I mean, I want to. It’s just a lot.”
“Try me.”
Felix tugs them to sit at the edge of his bed, Neko padding around them and nudging her nose against the hem of Sylvain’s shirt. He watches her for a while, face carefully neutral as though Sylvain hasn’t decided what should show on it just yet.
What could be minutes later, Sylvain speaks towards the bedsheets.
“I have a brother.”
What a loaded sentence—Felix would know, because he’s said the same one countless times. He waits for the rest instead of trying to fill in the blanks.
“He’s not great—actually, you know, what, scratch that. He’s kind of the worst. We don’t talk about him much, or at all.” Sylvain’s got Felix’s comforter in hand, twisting the fabric until his knuckles turn white. “Anyway, last week they finally got him. Arrested, for everything under the sun. Assault, drugs, battery, I think manslaughter was in there—I don’t know. The list was too long and I was too—that’s not the point. Anyway, I was dealing with that fallout.” He huffs a mirthless laugh. “And then my own. So yeah… that’s the short of it.”
Heavy silence falls, and Felix weighs his words—because what do you say to that? What would Felix want to hear that he hadn’t already heard from everyone else?
“You’re right,” he says abruptly, causing Sylvain to look up at him, “that is a lot. Brothers are—complicated. Families are complicated. I don’t know who your brother is—” no shit Felix. There’s a better way to say this, he’s sure of it, but he barrels on anyway— “but he’s not you. I hope you weren’t falling out because you felt some unwarranted misplaced karma or responsibility or something.”
Sylvain’s eyebrows raise before his expression falls into something that reads both defeat and amusement.
“Look at you playing the mind reader, huh? Impressive.” He slumps, fingers releasing their brutal hold on Felix’s bed. “But yeah,” he says, softer, “maybe. It was a long time coming, really, but… I wasn’t ready. I really, really, wasn’t ready.”
“Yeah. We never are.”
“That sounds like it’s coming from experience.”
Felix shrugs, and the thing he’s been avoiding admitting slips out like it's nothing. “My dad died three months ago.”
It’s out there. Shit—Felix isn’t sure he’s ever said it aloud before, aside from when it first happened. It’s been over there, in the periphery of Felix’s vision, or under his bed, taped up in a cardboard box. Never in front of him to be examined, and definitely never to be shared.
And yet here it is, front and center and threatening to drag him back under.
“Oh, Felix.”
A hand settles in his own, another coming around his back to keep him secure. He’d hate it from almost anyone else, being touched with what could only be pity. But this feels different, the way Sylvain doesn’t say anything more, the way he allows Felix to use him as a pillar to lean against. And really, he’s been so, so tired.
“Is that related to what happened when you got the box?” Sylvain eventually asks, and Felix nods against his shoulder.
“Yeah it’s—” he grimaces, another piece of the situation he’s not sure he’s ready to reveal. “I have a friend. It’s…”
“Complicated?” Sylvain supplies, and Felix snorts softly.
“You could say that. Anyway he send the box with some of my dad’s old stuff and I guess I just—”
“Wasn’t ready?”
“Tch. Now who’s the mind reader? But. Yeah. I wasn’t. I just needed some time to deal with it. When I came to the door to explain to you, I got that sketchy guy instead. Didn’t trust him.”
“I’ll let Yuri know your opinion towards him next time I see him,” Sylvain smiles, before shaking his head. “Seriously though—what were the chances that this all happened at the same time? It seems our misfortunes are aligned. You know, fiction writers might call us star-crossed for that, Fe.”
Felix’s cheeks flare red. “Please. We’re not lovers.”
“Hmm, I have memories from the past hour that definitely beg to differ.”
Felix shoves Sylvain away, who only grins in self-amusement. “Fine, we are then,” Felix says, vindicated to see Sylvain choke on his laughter in surprise. And really, even though the phrase feels too intimate, too soon, Felix can no longer deny that it’s exactly what he wants.
When Sylvain calms down from his choking fit, the look on his face is weirdly serious. “Are we? I mean, like, can we be? I mean—you know, you never gave me back my paper…”
“Me kissing you wasn’t enough?”
“I dunno, I may need more convincing.” Sylvain grins again, and this time it’s all freckled, summer affection. “Why don’t you try me again?”
☼
Apparently “trying Sylvain again” was another twenty minutes of things that definitely crossed past kissing, and Sylvain still had the audacity, even afterwards, to pout over his forgotten paper.
“Fine! Fine.” Felix stomps his way to the hall, snatching it from the table with such aggressive haste that stacks of weeks-old mail (see also: coupons) crash to the ground.
Along with a particular invite that stares up from the carpet, Felix’s name in smudged filigree offering a tempting idea. So he brings it with him when he returns to Sylvain’s side.
“Here,” he says shortly, stuffing the paper in Sylvain’s palm. It does not have the desired effect of placation.
“Felix! You didn’t even check the box!”
“It’s clear enough.”
Sylvain slumps, holding the slip up in front of his face. “You just wrote ‘idiot’ across the bottom of the page. That’s not exactly clear.”
“Well, it’s what you get for being so…” he trails off and gestures towards Sylvain’s everything, who only takes the insinuation as a challenge.
“Attractive? Witty? Irresistible?”
Felix whacks his arm with Annette’s invite. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re distracting. Impossible.” He looks away, towards the front window he’d watch Sylvain through. “And… maybe a little charming,” he reluctantly admits, blushing when Sylvain eagerly rests his forehead against Felix’s temple. “Shut up,” he adds needlessly, and brandishes the now dented invite in his hand. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Come wh—wait—isn’t this invite for the party you told me about?”
“Mmm.” He figures he should probably tear the thing open, seeing as he’s had it for the better part of a month, and, you know, the details might be important. (even if Annette would most likely text them to him the day before anyway).
The thick card stock is the usual, perfectly decorated in flowers and more pretty script, except for a hastily written note at the bottom scrunched under the Bring a bathing suit and towel!
Felix squints to read it and immediately wishes he hadn’t.
Can’t wait! Feel free to bring a cuuute date (the postman) (sylvain) (obviously). No but seriously Felix if you’re reading this and you haven’t invited him yet—
“Looks like I’m already expected as your plus one,” Sylvain says near his ear, leaning forward to pluck the card from Felix’s damp fingers. “I knew I liked that friend of yours. I accept, by the way. You think they’d be cool with it if I brought Mooks?”
“I’ll ask,” Felix mutters, resigned to the fact that he’s painfully easy to read and even more painfully easy to sway, “but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Sweet. She loves meeting new people–plus, hey! Their place is only like, a ten minute drive from me.”
“What—you’re near Ridgewood?” Felix’s brows furrow. “That’s across town. What the hell are you doing on a postal route forty minutes away?”
To Felix’s surprise, Sylvain doesn’t meet his eye, combing a hand through the back of his sweaty hair subconsciously.
“Haha, so, it’s a funny story, actually…” He licks his lips, a guilty grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “So it’s possible that I may have been asked to cover a different route, and it’s maybe also possible that on my first day I just so happened to meet this guy... You might know him—stubborn, merciless, and a total sweetheart?”
“You—”
“Aaaand after that day I knew I was pretty much done for soooo—” His grin turns sharp— “I begged for a permanent transfer. It’s really not so bad. The doggie daycare is between here and home so it’s fairly convenient anyway.”
Felix realizes his mouth is hanging open and shuts it with a snap. “You—” he starts again, only to fail immediately. Because, seriously. Seriously—he what?
Sylvain’s looking at him again with that damned smug smile he loves to wear and Felix can’t take it. He can already sense a very inconvenient pattern forming.
Between frenzied kisses and an invite that’s now hopelessly crumpled, Felix laments that it’s the middle of the damn workday and it’s still too damned hot—it’s a miracle neither of them have passed out yet.
“We should go on a date,” he says abruptly, and Sylvain blinks up at him from the bed. Felix can see the darkening of sweat behind his head. Gross.
“What—now?”
“No, not now. We’re still working. Or well, we should be.” Before Sylvain can deflate too much, he adds, “but later. After work or something.” He sits up, folding his arms over his chest. “I need a new A/C.”
“You want our first date to be buying you a new A/C?” Sylvain asks, but he sounds the opposite of displeased.
“If you want to keep doing this—” he gestures to the state of both of them, “—in here, then yes. Anyway, who else will carry all those coupons? You are my postman. Seems fitting.”
“Hmm, that is true.” Sitting up, Sylvain wraps his arms around Felix’s waist, eyes big and brown and just as eager as the first day they’d met.
“Plus as they say,” Sylvain continues, voice dropping into an astute tone, “ neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. This is my sworn duty.”
“I take it back. You’re a pain in the ass.”
Sylvain steals a salty, pouty kiss, not deterred in the slightest. “Uh huh, and you love it.”
And Felix comes to the ultimate conclusion that he’s tired of denials—that Annette was ridiculously right, and that he does, truly, love every stupid thing about his friendly, neighborhood postman.
“I do,” he says simply, and comes to another ultimate conclusion: that the delighted smile breaking across Sylvain’s face was worth suffering through the summer heat.
☼