Chapter Text
37. I don't mind just what you do
Felix spent Saturday in Byleth’s bed, making up for lost time amidst the unspoken thoughts that had piled up in their separation. And if their communication was mostly physical expression, calloused caresses, and piano dueling, that was just who they were.
Sunday adopted the leisurely twangs of your basic twee romance: Studying and lounging, cuddling, and necking in Byleth’s tiny apartment. They made grilled cheeses when hungry. When they studied, they listened to shoegaze playlists, Arthur Rubinstein recordings while they ate, and they even took a nooner to a recording of Six Morceaux.
When played on Byleth’s electric piano, their duet was a pale imitation of the real wires they sounded in the practice rooms. There was consolation, however, in the ease of their playing. Now, their fingers yearned to dance so closely together, as they trilled a sublimation of emotions that continued to catch in both of their throats.
If Felix would get huffy, because Byleth bent the rhythms of the Romance with a little too much rubato, she shut him up with a kiss. And when Byleth became annoyed every time Felix left her behind during the Scherzo, he smirked a bite right against her jaw.
For a long time, there was an awkward email draft in Byleth’s inbox addressed to Seteth. In it, she informed him of her duet with Felix, stating their intention to host a performance. Every morning, after she answered desperate emails from her students, Byleth’s finger hovered over sending it.
The stage of rebuilding trust was as Edenic as it was needy. In her mind, Byleth imagined Felix’s knife-thin smile decorating her stomach with kisses. Her mental images of their time together were tinged by the rich campfire warmth and shadows from their first intimacy, rich contrasts coating the scene like a photoshop overlay. She moved her hands down her waist, imagining that they were his.
Felix, of course, would not mention what thoughts of Byleth tended to fill his mind. Nonetheless, there’s a lot to infer from the particularly wicked smirks his mouth would form in the middle of a boring theory lecture. Or the careful way he snatched the cig from her fingers, grinding it under his heel before he backed her against the siding of the coffeehouse.
Their plans were as careful as the negotiations between two distrustful swordmasters, each waiting to counter the first move of the other. Perhaps the only thing saving them at this point was that they both agreed to observe the no-walking-out rule. But it's likely there was more to it than that.
Byleth had always known Felix’s skill for seeing right through the bullshit, but as he opened up more she found him to be reliable and bright. When she managed to inspire it, his laugh could make her whole body feel numb and buzzing, like taking a choking-coughing hit of a purple-so-purple indica.
The vein of their courtship continued to pulse with the unique rhythms of the music they played. Their duet had shaped up to the point that they were consistently playing each part well. One Sunday morning, after Felix left her warm bed to get some work done, Byleth pulled the trigger on sending the email to Seteth.
Seteth managed to arrange a small, private recital for them on the same weekend as the concert with Rodrigue. If Byleth felt butterflies about playing a duet with Felix, that was for Spring-semester Byleth to worry about. This was the winter, and their primary job was keeping each other as cozy as possible.
They lazily interspersed their Thursday opening chores at Mach with stolen kisses, their hands like brush strokes painting each other with rosy blushes. When it was just the two of them, Byleth smoked less. She could satisfy any array of cravings by distracting herself with Felix, playfully tugging his hair with one eye on her research notes. When he minded, he let her known by batting her away. His hands half-heartedly clawed her with the same curved fingers needed to play his precious Bach. And even that made her smile.
Felix had his own brand of affection, which wasn’t limited to the warm way he sometimes called her an idiot, with his eyes all wide and glossed like he had just found a precious morel on the forest floor. Sometimes, when he was sure no one was looking, he just snagged her and held her, as if needing to take a quick hit before going on with his life. And, almost as good, he scowled forbiddingly at anyone who made her uncomfortable enough to sink back into her cold, expressionless mask.
When the semester ended, Felix spent winter break with Rodrigue, while Byleth peppered her holidays with visits to Jeralt. It sufficed for the couple to communicate briefly by phone every few days.
Felix sent messages about how glad he was to play the familiar studio upright he had learned on. Every so often, he mentioned what he was doing: That he and Rodrigue were having dinner, that Dimitri was visiting, that Sylvain and Ingrid came by to watch a movie, that he and Rodrigue were practicing together.
Felix never said, I miss you or I’m thinking of you, he just said stuff like, you should learn this prelude or he sent links to other contemporary composers whose styles he thought she should study. His messages were all text, but Byleth could read the subtext loud and clear.
Byleth sent audio clips of jamming with her dad. She had managed to teach Jeralt the melody line of Chopin’s famous Nocturne in Eb Major on the electric guitar, and together they had made a post-rock hybrid from the piece. She told Felix about all the shows she and Jeralt went to, as all the far-flung rockers came back to their families and towns for the holidays, covering Don McLean each night and filling the pubs where they had, years ago, quaffed their first beer.
Jeralt was settled into a small house owned by an old bandmate of his. The fridge was stocked with the necessities of beer, cheese, and crackers. Large amps served as end tables for the couch where Jeralt had taken to sleeping while Byleth used his room.
“So you like teaching, huh?” Jeralt asked, passing her a beer across the kitchen table. She did like her students, she explained, but academics wouldn’t be her end-game. She didn’t see herself teaching past her contract’s terms.
By their third beer, Byleth was able to fully explain her composing ambitions to her dad. In his own way, Jeralt knew what it was like to write music. He knew the firebreathing excitement of startling yourself with an emotional stroke of genius that seemed to rise from nothing. He understood the strength that came along with being able to say what you meant.
And as he and Byleth gushed, she let slip how grateful she was to have someone perfect to play it all. It would never make her famous, she admitted quietly.
“I don’t care about you being famous, kid,” Jeralt said, quaffing the whole last third of his beer in a gulp. “I’m happy you found something you care about. You were always so bored with everything when we were on the road. But tell me about this perfect pianist.”
Byleth blushed and looked away from Jeralt. “Come on, I thought three beers would be enough to get you to talk about it. Do I need to ply you with another one?”
“I’ll take another,” Byleth puffed out a laugh.
“Only if you tell me about him.” But Jeralt was already getting up to open the fridge.
“Well, aside from being a ‘perfect pianist’ as you put it. He’s pretty grumpy. I don’t know how else to explain it. But beneath all that he’s very kind, protective, concerned about others—”
“He’s good to you?” Jeralt asked, sliding the beer across the table to her, along with a bottle opener in the shape of a skull.
“So much so.” Her mind brushed back through memories of seeing Felix’s text-messages in the morning—ever practical, as if he filled the earliest moments of every day searching out something relevant to message her. “Actually,” she said, after swigging the cold beer, “There’s something I wanted to ask you. Would you be interested in visiting the campus, if I was giving a recital?”
38. as long as it’s with me
The Spring semester began with a bang—or, well, a lot of banging. It took an unproductive week or two before Byleth and Felix could manage to get their too-valuable hands off of each other and onto the keys.
When she had finally recovered the semblance of a routine, Byleth sent Felix an empty email with a single pdf attachment. He opened and printed it as soon as he was out of class. He grabbed each sheet as it fell from the printer, running his fingers over the bars and staffs as if they were a special kind of braille. The title “Prelude in C Minor”. The subtitle, “for Felix.”
The first chance he got, he took Byleth’s composition to the practice rooms. He let his hands trace the melody, but it was frequently swamped by a rising tide of loud banging chords. He didn’t mind the thunder and strife, though, and his fingers seemed to remember and add their own sorrow to the parts that she had written during their separation.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel rays of hope under his fingers. She had written in runs that seemed to be fleeing the harsh dissonant chords, their structure clean and bright. Chromatic scales grand enough to rival Chopin’s turned the piece from a tragedy into a harlequinade. And then softly, so smoothly, as if she were playing the transition herself with her unique improvisation, she changed the key using the inversions he had suggested.
And there, in the key of D was their romance. The sweet parts of it. The quick tumbles in the sheets, and the long, drawn-out makeouts when no one was watching. The supportive way she attended every concert whether he played or not. The strong way he occupied the once empty seat next to her, despite whatever gossip it let fly. She had even managed to write in the kindly way that their golden-hearted friends looked upon their stupid, soppy romance.
When he finished the final run, which had trickily doubled back on itself twice before ending with a bang of major chords, she was the only one he wanted to see.
The students renewed the Spring with concerts, shows, and parties, and the warm air revivified the students. Even Rhea was going a little easier on Byleth. If this was due to Byleth mellowing out, she’d never admit it herself.
The new semester also meant that she was teaching a new class, which freed many of her previous students to be her friends. Over cards and tea, she told Claude about her musical ambitions, and he told her all about his travel plans to head East after graduation.
Under Byleth and Felix, Thursday nights at Mach attracted a gathering of the skilled and the strategic. Claude lounged on the porch, boneless as a cat and dealing cards for a game of spades. Byleth made sure to sit across from Felix so that they would be paired, while Sylvain lounged between them.
“Is that fair?” Claude complained, looking between Byleth and Felix. “Don’t you guys have some kind of telepathy these days?”
“Nah, we can take them,” Sylvain said with a wink. “Byleth can’t use her poker face when Felix is around. She’s too much in love.”
Byleth’s face blanched, just as Sylvain had expected. Across from her, Felix’s was burnishing red. Byleth expected her surly spades partner to get defensive. He might yell at Sylvain not to tease them or huff off and leave her to deal with the other two card sharps. Instead, though, he singed his annoyed glare straight at her, willing her to say something—anything. Or wait—anything?
“There’s no way I won’t still beat you, Sylvain,” she did her best to act natural. “Should we do a few rounds of suicides to begin, just to prove who’s best?”
“No,” Claude cut in, “The usual scoring. Besides, you already had an unfair advantage growing around card sharps. I still think you cheat.”
“We’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Sylvain said with another wink.
“You always do,” Byleth spoke under her breath. If anyone registered her words, though, they were promptly distracted as the group began placing bets.
“Two tricks,” Felix said, his mouth clenched tight in a way that made Byleth fairly sure he was about to sandbag them.
“Six tricks,” she bid, already looking for ways to take the extra spades Felix so obviously had in his hands. He wasn’t a bad player, he just needed to learn to bid better. Whatever, they weren’t going to lose on her watch.
39. I’d take you where nobody knows you
Annette’s concert was the first event that pulled everyone together that Spring. After furiously writing lyrics all Winter break, Annette had handed Byleth a pile of note pages, accompanied by a pleading look that she couldn’t turn down.
Fortunately, Byleth enjoyed writing the piano parts for Annette’s rapidly maturing setlist. She could twirl in tones from jazz, honky-tonk, bluegrass, classical, mixing and gathering any sound that would make the song pop.
The Mach Coffeehouse crew set up Annette’s outdoor show. Caspar hauled the supports for a raised platform, and Edelgard directed where everything should go, while Leonie gaphed about running the wires. On the platform, it would just be Annette and Byleth, coming through with the keys.
Outdoor concerts invited a sense of sprawl, not only in space but also in pacing. In between songs, Byleth got a chance to observe her friends as they milled around. They swayed and danced, clapped at the right times, and sang along to the few covers that were on the set-list. As their heads nodded to the soft beats, Byleth couldn’t help but assume that a good ten percent of them were stoned, looking like they had opened a magical door to the heart of music.
Felix stuck by Byleth whenever she stepped off the raised platform. They had fallen into an ease at the few Mach concerts they attended. Felix took the lead at hardcore shows, shadowboxing at her with his dancing-punching, and she dodged around him in a strange two-step. They had enough fun with it that they had even started to attend Catherine’s kickboxing lessons on the weekends.
When it came to the softer, more melodic shows—the space rock, the shoegaze, and sweet singer-songwriter stuff—Felix didn’t always know what to do with himself until he got a moment to sink into the vocals. Sometimes Byleth would take his hand, or he would drape his arm around her waist in rare moments of PDA. Other times, he would just watch her as she reacted to the mellow tones.
Annette’s concert was no different. Except that, whenever Byleth got on the platform to play, he felt like he was falling right into the sound.
“Remember that one time we improvised together?” Byleth asked as they sat side-by-side on the piano bench in the practice room, having just finished a good run of the Waltz.
“What about it?” If she wanted him to remember the melody, she would be sorely disappointed. All the events of that day had been felted into his memories of kissing her, the leaping joy of her taking him back to her apartment, and—
“Would you want to try it again?”
“I don’t know,” he watched Byleth’s face. He watched it not smile at him. Had she expected him to be excited about improvising, just because she was? “Maybe another time.”
“Okay. It’s easier if you get a little liquored up, anyway.”
“Then we should try it at your place,” Felix raised his eyebrows, shooting Byleth a message that she needed no cue to receive. “I do have something I want to play for you, though.”
He reached into his portfolio and brought out the pages of her score, printed on cheap copier paper that didn’t deserve the notes that graced it. He had marked it up with his sharply inconsistent handwriting. His notes tracked the sticky spots and filled in accidentals where things got a little confusing. He had even added in some of his own dynamics.
Seeing the familiar heading, Byleth brought around the folding chair to give him space. It gave her something to do while she closeted her nerves back inside. Hearing the first five bars, however, was all she needed to allay her fears.
Felix’s playing made music that she had only been able to achieve in her mind. Even her own fingers couldn’t trail the notes so ideally across their keys. Each bar told a part of the story she had written to convince him that everything she felt was real. And yet, he was the one pulling it into reality.
His fingers rendered that last run of difficult sixteenth notes, then rose with the loud crash that she knew was normally so uncomfortable for him, before resolving into the soft ghost sigh of the whole note. His fingers left the keys—practiced and clean—and he looked silently at Byleth, waiting, wanting, not knowing if he had done it right.
“Felix.” Her breath was short from hearing him bring into existence the thing she had worked at for so long. “That was exactly how I imagined it should be. That’s just what that piece should sound like. You did it—you did it perfectly.” As she might have predicted, words weren't really saying everything she needed to communicate.
She dropped onto the bench beside him, and his eyes grew large and encompassing as she grasped him. She slipped her hands into the shallows of his sweater to hold on tighter, and he cradled her there, with her head resting against his chest to listen to his musicbox heartbeat, which was still ticking out her rhythms.
“I—” she began, but she didn’t know how to say it. “I—”
He smiled down at her. “I know.”
“You’re such an amazing musician,” she fell back lamely.
And yet, he knew what she meant. “You’re not so bad as a composer. Now let’s get out of here.”
The second concert was Dorothea’s in the Abyss Pub, and it was a much larger affair. Dorothea had brought on a drummer in addition to her saxophonist, she was playing a guitar now, and Yuri was there with his vocals and auxiliary percussion. Bernadetta fluttered in a corner close to the stage, smiling as her lyrics came out so bright and beautiful from the two trained voices.
Byleth and Ingrid had volunteered to grab a round from the bar. From where she stood next to Ingrid’s steady presence, Byleth watched Felix nod his head. His faraway look told her that the vocals were hitting the spot.
“He really likes you, you know?” Ingrid said, following the direction of Byleth’s eyes. “I haven’t seen him like this before.”
“I probably haven’t been like this before either.” Byleth's smile was coy and she hid it by looking at the glassy bottles lining the back of the bar.
“Good.” Ingrid left it at that, turning around to grab three of the drinks Catherine was sliding to them across the counter.
It was no surprise that the band was good. What was more of a surprise was seeing Sylvain at a concert. He carried a bouquet that looked a little worse for wear, as if they had been purchased that morning and dragged through the school day. Sylvain rushed to where Felix was standing, looking almost as ruffled as the bouquet.
“Who’s that for?” Felix asked, squinting at it.
“‘Thea of course,” Sylvain said. He trained his eyes on the splendid vocalist. He checked his appearance with his phone camera and smoothed back his hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go up closer so that she knows that I’m here.”
When the concert ended and ceded to the afterparty, Felix and Byleth went together. Felix watched Byleth like a hawk as she assured Edelgard she would take at least one Mach shift over the summer. He tracked her as she chatted with Ferdinand and Hubert, knowing that time spent with him was less time she spent at Noble Tea. Over Ingrid’s shoulder, he saw her chatting with Claude and Hilda, whose wide eyes kept slanting over to where Felix was standing, constantly on the verge of asking something improper.
Ingrid stepped aside to create an opening for Byleth to gravitate back to Felix’s side. Byleth took a sip from Felix’s rye glass, first, and then asked him permission, second. He glared at her, but it was the special smoldering glare he reserved just for her.
For once, the parties didn’t feel like the dwellings of hostile gossip, and it had become easier to enjoy the good of them. The swaying freedom of the dancing. The bright way that everyone greeted each other. The quiet conversations, as their friends opened up and unraveled each other in the secret mysteries of their individual courtships.
40. and nobody gives a damn
On the morning of his father’s concert, Felix woke up in Byleth’s bed. He was getting used to this. In the night, they turned and sprawled in separate directions, Felix remaining toward the outside of the bed and Byleth often wedging herself into the corner where the bed met the wall. As he started to wake—since he generally got up earlier than her—he would pull himself back to her side, prying her from the corner and tucking her head into his neck.
Byleth was a heavy sleeper. Sometimes she even snored, particularly if they had been drinking the night before. Sometimes he worried about her lungs, painted black, when he heard her breathing harder than she should. But she was getting better. Smoking was no longer the first thing she thought to do when she woke up, kissing him was.
That morning Felix slipped out of bed quickly to get to his practice with Rodrigue. Things weren’t exactly good with his dad, but they weren’t as bad as they could be either. It helped that after his current tour, Rodrigue was going to settle down and do some recording. It helped that Rodrigue’s playing was so familiar to Felix, after a childhood of hearing it, that their duet parts fit easily into place. It helped that somehow Felix had learned to become a little flexible, a little expressive.
He spent the day in Rodrigue’s rehearsal space, wondering when it would be a good time to mention his concert with Byleth in two days. Even worse, he was wondering how to phrase asking his father to come at all. He wasn’t used to being the supplicant in the relationship.
“Old man,” Felix said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Rodrigue had just finished rehearsing one of the last pieces that Lambert had written.
“Yes, Felix?” Rodrique said, turning around and pinching his nose as if staving off a Felix-headache.
“I’m performing again in two days.”
“Oh! Yes, Dimitri informed me.” Rodrigue held his tongue from telling Felix that he already intended to attend the recital.
“I’d like you to be there.”
“Of course, if you wish it,” Rodrigue brought his hand away from his face. If Felix noticed his father’s relieved look, he didn’t say anything.
“But no marketing—at all—it’s just our friends.”
“‘Our’ friends?” Rodrigue’s cat-like eyes flashed lightly with the tease, but of course, Felix would take him too seriously.
“My duet partner and I.”
“I see. Will your ‘duet partner’ be attending our concert tonight?”
“If she feels like it,” Felix said dismissively while thinking to himself that she damn well better.
From the wings of the concert later, Felix searched Byleth out of the crowd of stuffy suits and finery. He frowned until he finally saw a row of people with green hair. Regent Professor Rhea sat next to Seteth’s little sister, then there was Seteth, Byleth next to him, and on Byleth’s other side was an older man with a broad chest and graying-brown hair. She leaned toward him in her chair. As Felix watched them throughout the concert, he noticed the two of them sharing a closed-faced commentary.
When Rodrigue finished his solo part of the concert, he introduced Felix in the clean, plain style that Felix preferred. Felix entered the stage to the loud, bright applause of people who had come to see a famous father and son, but his eyes were searching out Byleth the whole time.
The notes came easily when he sat down to play the Vivaldi. Despite the minor key, it felt bright and jumpy under his fingers, after all the mellow tones he and Byleth had been playing. Fortunately, Rodrigue’s playing was perfectly predictable. This allowed the rest of the show to continue just as predictably right up to the final applause.
It’s customary for musicians to greet their audience at the end of a show. Rodrigue never went all the way out into the house. Instead, he lingered at the edge of the stage, and Felix walked alongside him, taking his place as a duty.
Clustered toward the front of the house, Byleth and her father were standing with the grouped music faculty. She was smilingly introducing Jeralt to Seteth, while Rhea greeted Rodrigue, both of them of-a-pace in their upper-crust pleasantries.
While Felix scowled to deflect the hangers-on who came to congratulate him, Rodrigue turned to them graciously with easy greetings and jokes. That is until Byleth brought her father toward them and Felix felt his tension become something else entirely.
She introduced her father to Rodrigue, presenting herself as a graduate candidate in the music faculty, then their fathers shook hands, the grungy bar rocker meeting the classical musician. Byleth and Felix locked eyes behind the men’s backs, and she rocked him a tiny smile that made him feel less like a sick cat. If either of them was concerned that Rodrigue had no idea who he was meeting, they didn’t have to social savvy to explain it.
Rhea approached the group. Her face beamed, and Byleth struggled to bite back her suspicions. “That was well done,” Rhea said to Felix. “We are so glad you decided to perform. May this be the start of many grand performances for you.”
“And it won’t be Felix’s only performance this weekend, either.” Rodrigue cut in. Byleth could feel Jeralt shadowing her. She didn’t know how everything had become so tense.
“No, of course, our two best pianists will be performing together, and we are so proud.” Rhea agreed smoothly. “Now hopefully Felix can convince Byleth to pursue her Ph.D, just as Byleth had convinced Felix of this performance.”
“Not if Byleth doesn’t want to,” came Jeralt’s hackles-raised response.
“It’s not the same.” Felix protested at the same time. “Byleth convinced me to play for one night, you would have her do research that she hates for the next five years.” Byleth meant for her shaking head to tell Felix to back down, but he had his stubborn glare set on Rhea.
“Is that how she feels about it? Do you hate our research, Byleth?” Rhea’s serene face held a modicum of shock, as she confronted something she had never stopped to consider.
“I don’t feel strongly about it,” Byleth said, hoping that came off as sweetly as she meant it to.
“I see,” Rhea said, “and you think your life would be better as a composer?”
“It’s what I want,” Byleth responded resolutely.
“Composing is a hard life,” Rhea said.
“Nonsense,” Felix said. Byleth watched Rodrigue close his eyes wearily at the disrespect.
“Felix, enough,” Rodrigue said.
“She’s good,” the son growled turning toward the father.
They held each other’s eyes for a few tense moments before Rodrigue nodded. “Well, if it’s composition that we’re talking about,” he said pleasantly, his quick recovery giving Byleth a sense of whiplash, “then I certainly have some pull in that.” Byleth was amazed at how well he could keep abreast of the conversation despite all the nothing Felix had told.
“See?” Felix said not looking directly at Rhea.
Byleth wanted to stop time. She wanted to open up space for just the two of them, where she could grab Felix’s hand, drag them both backstage, pepper him with kisses, and hold him where no one could get them. As kind as Rodrigue's offers were, Byleth imagined hiding the two of them somewhere no one was trying to know their names or make them into people they weren’t.
She felt Jeralt’s calloused hand directing her out of the firing line. She wanted to ask him if she was doing the right thing, but he was looking down at her with so much pride that one glance silenced all her qualms.
“Indeed,” Rhea said looking weary, “Well, we have kept our guest too long.” She smiled at Rodrigue, “The rest of the music faculty will be awaiting us at the restaurant.”
“Ah, yes,” Rodrigue said, “I am looking forward to it. Felix are you interested in joining us now?”
“No,” Felix said, still looking annoyed at how the conversation had turned. Rodrigue shot him a swift glare. “I’m not interested in speaking with donors.”
“Probably for the best,” Byleth heard Rodrigue under his breath. Jeralt’s light chuckle behind her was like a little mallet breaking the tension. Byleth said her awkward goodbyes to the music faculty, before standing aside as Rhea led Rodrigue out.
“So what now, kid?” Jeralt asked, his hand back on Byleth’s shoulder.
“To the pub, of course,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“I really have been a bad influence on you, haven’t I?” Jeralt laughed.
Felix looked like he was about to bolt, but Byleth caught his arm. “You’re coming with us,” she said. “Meet my dad.” Jeralt and Felix shook. Felix looked begrudgingly curious, as the corner of Jeralt’s mouth deepened with mirth.
The three of them made their way to pub abyss. It only took two rounds before the little complaints about the scene back at the concert had become water under the bridge. Third-beer-Jeralt started telling stories about Byleth.
How, when she caught her first fish, she couldn’t get the hook out of its mouth and ran it around the local pub showing it off—the bloody hook still goring the fish’s mouth and her hands cut up from grasping its sharp writhing fins.
How her first piano performance had been accompanying a fiddler playing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” And how everyone had thought she was so cute that she earned three times the tips of the other performers.
The third whiskey-ginger freed Felix’s laugh. Byleth and her demons. He loved every last one of them. Loved, though?—oh, shit, he should slow down.
By Jeralt’s fifth beer, someone had tipped the others off to where they were. Suddenly Sylvain and Claude were walking through the door, followed by Ingrid, Mercedes, and Annette. None of them asked as they pulled up a chair, or as Sylvain reached over Felix to shake Jeralt’s hand.
Felix fell into a conversation with Sylvain of which Byleth could only hear snippets. Sylvain was saying things like, “…It’s the right thing...” The chatter was making it difficult to pay attention to anyone conversation.
Byleth raised her eyebrows to Jeralt, as Catherine came over to him with a comped beer, introducing herself jovially. “Sorry for the noise,” Jeralt said to Catherine, gesturing and shrugging about the throng of college students that seemed to continuously materialize around them. “We tip well,” he promised.
Still, more kept appearing. Ignatz, Leonie, and Lysithea were coming over to their table now, and Byleth waved them on. “These were my first students,” Byleth told her dad excitedly.
Catherine merely shrugged. “It just makes it a good Friday night for me,” she said before going back behind the bar, bragging to Shamir about shaking Jeralt’s hand.
Byleth’s sixth beer slapped hard. She was feeling well beyond buzzed, and she was more than ready to be anywhere but there. Her mind kept flickering to the quiet campfire clearing, and the silent moments she had shared there with Felix.
Felix, who had stood up for her to Rhea with nothing to gain from it. Felix, who was now looking deeply uncomfortable, forced to share half his seat with Ingrid.
“I’m going to get out of here, dad,” she said to Jeralt.
“Okay kiddo,” he said. “Thanks for hanging out with your old man. You know, it’s crazy seeing you like this, so relaxed and open. You really like these kids, huh? It’s good for you, I’ve never seen you smile so much.”
Byleth was at a loss for words and her head was feeling too warm. The nice thing about Jeralt, though, was that he didn’t always need a response. “Are you going to stick around here longer?”
“I could use a few more beers in the tank before bed. But you’re welcome to go. It looks like someone else needs to get out of here too.” He was looking at Felix who was half-way between wilted and lashing out aggressively at the crowd.
“I’ll find you tomorrow,” she said, standing up before Leonie almost immediately dropped into her spot.
Byleth said her goodbyes, giving drunken one-armed hugs. She saved her most sincere hugs for Annette, Claude, and Sylvain, before she pulled Felix up by the arm.
“Let’s go.” She steadied him as he stumbled slightly.
“Finally,” he just about slurred.
They both wobbled outside of the bar, leaning against each other in the loose-limbed way that was more drunken survival than PDA.
“Where do you want to go?” She hummed close to his ear. “I could walk you home or…”
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course, I want to go home with you.” She laughed and drunkenly pecked his cheek, as they supported each other down the sidewalk.
41. what I’m trying to say
His calming teal button-down was tucked neatly into perfectly fitted pants. His hair looked neater than she had ever seen it, but she missed the soft fringe of flyaways around his face. And he smelled good too, like pine and a little smoke, and was that tonka bean vanilla? In other words, Felix looked stunning for their concert.
Byleth felt herself melting. She could get lost in the sharp wings of his amber eyes. She wanted to wrap her fingers into the tight hold of his hair and turn it all to fly-away. In her mind, she saw herself untucking his shirt, running her hands up his chest, and kissing his stomach with her open-mouthed biting until he made those deep groans that sent spasms up her spine.
Byleth, for her part, was wearing a deep-blue gown. Annette had picked it out for her, shooting Byleth a mischievous wink in the store when she had selected it from the rack. It was sleeveless to free her movement while playing.
Its real draw, however, hadn’t been this practicality. For example, Felix couldn’t stop looking at her chest, and he blushed his nervous rose madder to his hairline. The color in his face looked so soft and delicate with the teal of his button-down.
“Byleth—” he choked out.
“Don’t say anything,” she warned. However, she couldn’t hide how gratifying his reaction was.
“This isn’t the place for.” And still, the prospect of it sent a round of blushing between them.
“Everyone we know is in the next room—our dads included,” and yet, she reached out to him, her fingers brushing his jaw. “Is it too distracting?” She made matters worse by throwing her shoulders back and looking down at herself, trying to see herself the way he did. “I can still change.” Felix cleared his throat.
Byleth looked up to see him staring at her, eyes darkened, lips slightly parted. She slipped a finger into his belt and watched as his jaw dropped just a little bit more. She was raising her hand toward his face again, but he intercepted it before she could touch him. “Stop,” he hissed in exasperation. “I should be asking you the same thing, huh? Keep it in your pants.”
“For now,” she teased, twisting away from him. “It’s just, you look great.”
“I thought we weren’t going to say anything.” When she shrugged he kept his eyes away from her chest. He watched her toned shoulders lift, her coy smile, the curve of her neck right above where the dress cloaked it—and, oh, there was no safe place to look. He turned his eyes toward the high ceiling and catwalk of the small theater. “You do too.”
“We’re ready for this, right?” This was unexpected. Was she nervous?
“We are.” His affirmation was clear and stubborn. He wanted to play all the music with Byleth, to compose and record with her. He wanted to tour with her in small, intimate venues and local clubs, booked by people who loved music more than they did donors. He wanted to cut his path with her, even if that meant giving up the clear and certain opportunities for which he had been groomed. And he had more shortterm goals too. He wanted to skim his hands down the front of her low-cut dress and kiss her on the neck until she melted against him.
“Seven minutes,” she said. Yes, seven minutes until they performed their duet. Seven minutes before validating that cherished practice that taught them about each other. And then, after, there would be the rest of their lives.
“Byleth, I—” she turned her green lamps on him, and it was like the wind went out of the room, leaving him choking in a vacuum. Six minutes. “I—”
“Felix, I know.” Her hands were shaking. “You don’t have to say it. But right now, I feel nervous.”
“Stop shaking, you’re the best pianist I know,” he kissed her on the top of her head.
“Besides you,” she said under her breath.
“But this isn’t a competition, right?” He walked into the small wing of the tiny theater. The minutes counted down to one. They went out to the piano together, grateful for keeping their recital a small affair, where the intimate house was full of their friends and remaining family.
They slid onto the stool, their legs brushing naturally. “Count us off,” Byleth said under her breath. So, Felix began the concert, rocking and swaying just as they practiced. He remembered the first time he saw Byleth perform, how her soft, turbulent interpretation of Mendelssohn had caught him off his guard. He toned the depths of the lagoons, while she skimmed the high salty airs of the boat song.
They switched seats for the Scherzo. That fast piece seemed to characterize all of Felix’s flashy jabs and light-footed whirls. Byleth bit back a grin, remembering Felix in the midst of his absurd mosh-dancing, allowing himself that rare loss of control.
The Russian Theme came next, and with it, Byleth told the audience a soft narrative of two stubborn people learning about each other. Theme-forward and repetitive, it revealed the characters—a blustery man and a frigid woman—who pulled each other close with an obsession that rivaled the force with which they simultaneously repulsed each other.
When Felix took over the Waltz, Byleth could feel the blush of falling for the one person you fight with, the one person who could knock you right out. The light, prancing movements told of an instructor who was just learning what she wanted. The departures, fears, and arguments, as they learned how to listen to each other, and the kiss that broke down both of their defenses.
Byleth played primo on the Romance, her fingers skirting Felix’s as they sang out their first intimacy and the pain that followed. She confessed her stupid fragility and indecision, his hurt and betrayal. They sank low in the notes, trying to pridefully own the way that two people who know each other the best can hurt each other the most.
For the finale, Felix led the Slava, the great reprisal of all the themes. Under his fingers the composition revised Byleth’s original boat songs, reworking them in his style. Their duet rose into a complex call and response of “I—” and “I know.” And, “is this love,” and “perhaps.” And, “I really want to slip you out of that dress,” and “you would look so good with your hair down right now.” And, “the future looks alright with you,” and “do you think we can get away with this? You writing my music, me playing your music, us finding our own way,” and “yes, of course, of course, we’ll make it all work.” And “I—”; “I know.”
They raised their hands in unison at the end of the piece. It was a gesture that had taken them a week to practice, mostly because neither of them had managed the self-control not to grope the other before the last note died.
They took their bow, keeping it brief. Byleth was about to bee-line down the stage stairs to her dad’s seat, when Felix grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the wings. “You haven’t performed like this before, have you?” He hissed as he brought her behind him. “You can’t just go down there. You have to give them space.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so ceremonial about this,” she said, once they were safely nestled into the small wingspace of the stage.
“There’s a method. Sometimes it’s for a reason.” But he no longer looked at her like a man who was drowning, because her’s was a strong hand that had reached down to pull him into the boat. “Besides, we need a moment to—” he didn’t finish the words in his head, his hands already reaching toward her, seeking her with the pent up desire he had been pressing down all evening. His mouth tasted like caramel and brine, a scotch aged in bourbon barrels, a bourbon aged in the ocean.
He leaned her back against the flat of the wing. Her body slung into his, filling in all his gaps. Her knee raised against him. It was too hot too soon. It was all he wanted. It was completely inappropriate.
Byleth pulled away from him slowly. She had something she wanted to say. “Felix, I—.” Why was this so scary? They had already shared everything else. “I—”
Felix looked at her with a little frown on his face, and some of the heat went out of his body. “It’s okay,” he said, brushing it away. “I know. Now let’s get the rest of this over with.”
Byleth left the wings first, hurrying down the steps to hug her waiting father. Felix headed in the opposite direction to greet Rodrigue.
“Thank you for coming,” Byleth was saying, “I know it’s not your thing.”
“I’m not such an old punk, that I can’t recognize beauty when I hear it. You did well. Big dinner, tonight, huh kid?” Jeralt asked. “Practically everybody here was talking about attending.”
Byleth grinned at him. “We can skip out of it if you want to,” she said.
“Me? Please,” Jeralt rubbed his hand across his hair. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just glad to know you have so many friends.”
Between Byleth and Felix, the entire staff of Mach Coffeehouse made it out to the concert for support. Not to mention the music faculty.
“Byleth,” Seteth said quietly from beside Jeralt. “I’m sorry I can’t make it to the dinner. I just wanted to congratulate you. You interpreted those pieces well.”
“That wasn’t just me, Seteth.”
“Well, I do congratulate you for inspiring hidden depths from Fraldarius. But that’s not what I want to talk about. As you probably know, one indication of a good composer can be how they interpret others’ music. I think that you have shown that. And despite not being your adviser, I would be happy to write you a recommendation when the time comes for you to apply for composition programs.”
“Oh Seteth, that is an honor, thank you. I’ll take you up on that—count on it.”
“And I as well,” Rhea said, coming to stand next to Seteth. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye. Nonetheless, if there is a direction where you would prefer to direct your studies, then we can discuss it.”
“Thank you, Rhea,” Byleth said stiffly. Albeit gratified, she didn’t relax until the two of them left.
“So you got what you wanted,” Jeralt said.
“I think I did,” Byleth responded, but she wasn’t looking at the retreating backs of the music faculty. Byleth’s eyes were all for Felix’s sullen face, as he walked with his dad over to where she was standing. “Who do you think is more intimidating,” she whispered up to her father, “you or my boyfriend’s dad?”
“You think that violinist has anything on me?” Jeralt laughed.
42. knock down the walls, I’m coming home
Their performance may have gotten Felix and Byleth off the hook for all sorts of obligations around the music faculty, but not exams.
And yet, as tedious as exams were, Felix dreaded when they would be over. Summer break meant weeks of campus closure before summer classes began. Weeks that Mach Coffeehouse would close before it opened again for the summer.
It also meant making the last-minute decision of whether he should move back in with his dad since he and Byleth hadn’t planned this far into the future. Sylvain would be traveling for the summer. Ingrid had already left on a rec league tour with her rugby team. Dimitri would be staying on campus to take additional classes, and his pad was Felix’s unfortunate backup plan.
Summer thoughts drifted like pollen through Felix’s mind as he took his exam. They distracted him with thoughts of Byleth, the future, and that strange inscrutable look that Seteth was giving Felix every time he looked up. So he finished the exam as quickly as he could and turned in the assignment. To his surprise, Seteth followed him out of the classroom with something in his hand.
“Another instructor left this in my box for you,” the Dean said, handing Felix a large envelope. Then, Seteth paused, looking like he had more to say. “You’ve done a great job this year, and I know it hasn’t been easy.” This kind of praise always made Felix uncomfortable. To begin with, Felix had to agree that yes he did do a great job—he worked hard and he learned a lot. But at the same time, it still felt like it wasn’t enough.
“Thanks,” he said. Seteth nodded before stepping back into the classroom.
The envelope was thin, and he could feel something shifting around inside it. The first thing that he pulled out was the finished photocopy of Byleth’s new Nocturne. He smiled at the paper, already recognizing it as the melody that she had been humming for weeks now, whether she realized it or now.
But there was something else in the envelope. Rather than digging, he upended it in his hand. Out fell a key with a tag tied through its top. Written on the tag in Byleth’s handwriting was,
“A key to my apartment. Come by whenever you’re ready. Love, Byleth.”
Felix frowned. His heart raced, as he bent and turned the tag in the fluorescent light of the hallway. In the end, though, he had to admit that it was all her handwriting, all her ink, nothing pre-printed. His pulse hammered his throat.
Byleth had actually written ‘love,’ and she had given him a key to her place.
Felix rushed through the rest of his day, printing and stapling and turning in assignments with an urgency that had nothing to do with exams. Once all his tasks were accomplished, he directed his hurrying feet to Byleth’s apartment. He had made this trek many times now, and each time he did it, it felt more automatic, like heading home. And now, for the first time, he had a key to open the door.
So Felix did. He inserted the key, paused to knock, and then, he twisted the key and opened it. Byleth turned toward the widening doorway from her kitchen. She had a chef knife raised in her hand, a rushed threat made ridiculous by the tomato juice dripping from the blade. She lowered the knife when she recognized Felix’s amused smirk. “You’re here.”
“Were you going to stab me?”
“If I had to.” She grinned. “You received my note then?”
“I decided I was ready.” He walked toward her into the kitchen. “You can cook?”
He peered down into a saucepot. All they’d ever prepared together were grilled cheeses. She kept the space meticulous, using different prep boards for different tasks. There was something comfortingly domestic about it. This side of Byleth was kind, warm, and a secret all his own.
“A few things,” Byleth responded, trying to mitigate expectations. She looked dubiously at the tomato she had just diced, wondering if it would be enough. Then, she shrugged and scraped it into the saucepan.
Felix stepped around her, taking in her charmingly domestic motions. She seemed comfortable with him there, at least. “Well, it looks appetizing”
“It still has a ways to go, though,” she said. “This needs simmering.” Byleth leaned against the one clean counter and looked up at him. “So you used my key?”
“Indeed.” He drew closer to her, wondering what new adventures she had been considering for their summer.
“Do you intend to use it again?” Her words came out short, in puffs. She was looking for something.
“I do.” And again and again and again.
“Interesting. So what does that mean?”
“I think we both know,” he said. But, if his eyes were pleading with her not to make this weird, he found no reprieve from her.
“But I want to hear you say it.” She tugged his hands bringing him closer.
“Byleth, I—” Here they were again, choking on the words they both knew. But suddenly it seemed so absurd that something so obvious should be so difficult. “I love you.”
Byleth grinned at him, her eyes those same green seas that he’d happily drown in. Except that he was treading water, waiting for something. He pulled back from her slightly, raising his eyebrows.
“Well?” he asked. His amber eyes narrowed to sparks.
“Didn’t I already—?”
“You wrote ‘love’ to sign a card. It’s not the same.” His sudden angry expression pinned her against the counter. Then, he straightened up and stepped back to measure calm breaths through his nose. “But if you’re not ready, I can wait.”
As he took another step back, Byleth felt a painful sore-throat tug. She didn’t want him to walk away again. This should be so easy, she had almost told him so many times now. And she thought it in her head every morning that they woke up together.
“Wait!”
“What?” He stepped back toward her. That red frustration refilling his face like a wineglass.
“I love you too.” They felt a light hush around them, no less significant because of the white noise from the simmering pan.
Felix dropped his forehead to hers. “Oh, okay then.” A pause in the quiet. The rhythm of their breathing. Then his hands went around her waist, and he lifted her onto the clean countertop. Her eyes dazzled, and she couldn’t stop grinning as she leaned forward against where he stood between her knees.
“Did you see what else I sent you?” She nuzzled against his neck and chest. Afraid to see his face just then, worried he might have thought too little of the music—of those ambitions of hers.
“The Nocturne?” he asked, coiling some of her hair around his finger. “Fitting to write it in 6/8.”
“That’s not uncommon for a nocturne,” she jerked up defensively, and her eyes narrowed. If they were going to battle about music theory Felix had the upper hand by far. Well, for now he did, she thought.
“I know. Still, I wish you would name it something more like … Night Barcarolle?” He grinned as she barked out a little laugh from the breath she had been holding.
“Night Boat Song?” She kissed him.
“Evening Sailing.” He said half into her lips as she turned her head to the side.
“Goddess, we’re terrible at words,” she groaned. She held his face lightly in her hand as if wondering how she could have found someone who was such a perfectly wonderful disaster, just like her. “Now go play it, idiot.” He bit her lip, seduced by the sound of his words coming from her mouth. She pulled back but not before giving him a soft headbutt. “I need to stir the sauce before it burns.”
Felix grinned and slowly drew his body away from hers. He looked fully at home there, as he walked into the living room with its electric piano. Byleth slid off the counter and sped their dinner along, her ears perked to hear the first soft notes of the boat song she wrote for him.