Archive of Our Own

Sylvain is having a rough day.

First- he sleeps through his alarm. (Strike one.)

Then, Felix gets pissy at him for hogging the bathroom again, even though they’ve been roommates for two years and he should honestly know better by now. Usually, that wouldn’t be too bad, but he gets distracted by Felix yelling at him through the bathroom door and ends up nicking himself while shaving. Ouch. (Strike two.)

During his lunch break, he decides to treat himself and eat out. Also, he kind of forgot his lunch at home. Of course, it turns out his favorite casual dining cafe and go-to lunch spot has apparently been shut down for numerous health code violations. (Strike three, aaaand he’s out.)

He’s walking back to work, hungry and dissatisfied, when he overhears shouting from behind a store.

“-give it BACK!”

“No, it is my rightful property and I will not allow you to place your hands on it!”

That sounds vaguely concerning, he thinks.

He peers around the corner and immediately wonders if he’s actually dreaming right now.

Because before him is what looks to be a small white-haired girl and a freakishly tall snake-faced purple beanstalk playing tug of war with a weird glowy stick. They both look like they’re dressed as extras for a Medieval reenactment, if the costume designer was weirdly obsessed with the color purple. The girl has some elaborate purple veil and her purple-and-white dress looks to be equal parts inspired by Hot Topic and Disney. The man is wearing a purple suit of armour- which, okay, whatever- and has a bright red rose affixed to his chest.

“I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, and Thyrsus should be mine to wield!”

“Well, too bad, I use it better! Claude gave it to me!”

What the fuck did I just walk into.

Sylvain snaps out of it, because hey this small child is being robbed, and steps into the alley.

“Hey! Stop that! Let her go!”

They both freeze, turning to face him. The girl’s eyes are pink- which, okay, that is not normal.

The man recovers first.

“I must ask you to leave. This does not concern you,” he says, glaring very snootily for someone who is not very subtle-y still trying to wrench back the glowing orange stick.

Sylvain blinks slowly, because seriously?

“I’m sorry, but are you not mugging this twelve year old child for her Sailor Moon cosplay stick?”

That seems to snap the girl to attention.

“This is not a Sailor Moon stick, you idiot, it’s a staff,” she snaps as she tears the Sailor Moon stick from Purple Man’s hands. “And I am not a child, I am an adult. I can handle my own problems.”

She does not look like an adult. Sylvain is very distinctly reminded of being in middle school and being way too prideful about his supposed maturity- wait, school, maybe that’s it.

“Hey, look, it’s okay- I won’t tell your parents you were skipping class. Just, this is not a safe situation for you, okay? You could be seriously hurt-”

“Are you fucking serious,” she screams, gesticulating wildly, accompanying each pointed word with a swing of her arm. “I am not a child, I am. Twenty. Two. Years. Old.”

Except with her last downward swing, she gestures with the arm holding the orange stick, which glows brighter as it points at him-

Her eyes widen and the purple man yells “No!” but it’s too late, Sylvain feels his bones popping and his eyes bulging and the world falls out from under his feet and he tumbles to the ground and what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-

Everything feels brighter, yet duller, and there’s a sudden pungent smell pervading his nose and everything is so loud. He can’t see because there’s some dark fabric covering his eyes, so he tries to rip it off, but his hands- they’re not working as they should, and oh fuck actually his whole body seems to be caught up in some restrictive binding, so he struggles blindly letting out a low, involuntary whine and wait shit.

He manages to rip the cloth off his body and crawls out. He shakily takes in his surroundings. The girl, horrified and slack jawed. The man, mouth covered by a delicate hand. The ground, much lower and closer than it was before- and he looks down, and sees two small paws.

“What the fuck,” he screams, or he tries to but it just comes out as a series of loud yips.

He stumbles backwards, but his legs- paws, fuck he has paws, aren’t cooperating and he flails, falling over.

“Lysithea what did you do,” the purple man hisses, except wait shit he’s not actually purple anymore, he’s this weird gray-blue tone.

“I didn’t mean to!” the girl says, gray eyes wide and fearful (Gray? Weren’t they pink he remembers they were pink-). “I didn’t- I was just waving my arms and I forgot I was holding Thyrsus and you know my magic gets amplified when I’m mad and, fuck, I didn’t mean to turn him into a dog!”

Dog.

He’s a fucking dog now.

He lets out a loud whine, because holy fucking shit, oh dear lord, he’s a fucking dog.

“What do we do? We can’t just… Oh god we just used magic on a regular human, oh god we’re so fucked.”

“No no no no no, it’s okay Lysithea, it’s fine, we’ll just, we’ll just…” The man trails off for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “Marianne! We can take him to Marianne. She is proficient with animal magic and she will know what to do.”

“Lorenz, we can’t just take him to Marianne, she’ll tell Hilda, and Hilda will tell-”

“Riegan.” The man grasps his hair in his hands and begins to pace frantically back and forth. “Oh god, no, Riegan cannot know.”

Sylvain slowly gets to his feet (feet? paws?). The two are clearly still losing their minds and maybe Sylvain is too, but he knows he needs to get out of here, now.

He stumbles out the alley, into the street and shit, all his senses are so amplified it’s overwhelming. He blinks, but everything is so much and it’s a different angle and it’s hard to get his bearings.

“Lorenz he’s getting away-”

Shit, he doesn’t have time to recalibrate. He runs, and maybe he fumbles and trips a little, but he runs because there’s no way in hell he’s letting the people who turned him into a freaking dog take him away.

He hears them shouting behind him, but luckily they don’t seem to know the city as well as he does. Even as a dog, even if all the colors have shifted and he’s closer to the ground and running on four limbs, he knows how to get home.

Eventually, he hears their shouts fade. He keeps running, glancing over his shoulder, and only slows to a walk once he’s sure he’s lost them. He pants heavily, tongue lolling, and shit, he’s still got maybe a twenty minute walk left.

But also. He’s a dog now.

Of all the ways to find out that magic was real, getting turned into a dog was probably the worst.

God, this day sucks.

-

By the time he manages to find his apartment, he’s exhausted.

It’s a hot summer day, he still hasn’t eaten lunch, and he just ran halfway across the city. The adrenaline rush from, you know, getting turned into a dog (no he’s still not over this) has mostly faded, leaving him with a bone deep fatigue.

He’s not really sure what his endgame here is, but he figures “Getting Back Into My Own Apartment” is a good start.

He settles down in front of the door and closes his eyes. Just for a minute, he tells himself.

-

“What the fuck?”

Sylvain rouses to the familiar sound of Felix cursing.

At least some things always stay the same, he thinks blearily as he blinks awake. His head is foggy and his mouth is unbearably dry. He lets out a low whine of discomfort.

Felix looks different in Dog Vision. It’s his eyes; they’re not the right color anymore. They’re a cool toned yellow-brown instead of his normal warm, almost orange, shade of brown.

“No collar… Get up, you.”

He feels Felix start to push gently, and Sylvain wants to obey, but his body doesn’t want to listen. His limbs feel like dead weights and his eyelids are far too heavy. Discomfort turns to distress, and he whines louder this time.

“Shit… Hey Siri… How do I know what’s wrong with a dog?”

Even in his fatigued state, Sylvain can’t help but huff in amusement. Felix has always struggled with using a phone like a normal young adult and has a comical overreliance on speech to text and Siri. Hell, he even prefers calling over texting. It’s the reason why Sylvain went through the trouble of setting up a custom voicemail, the kind that starts off with a conversation and makes you think you’re actually talking to someone for a few moments before he cheerfully declares “Well, that sounds great, but I’m not actually here, so leave a message after the beep!”

Siri politely informs Felix that “She can’t really say”. Sylvain closes his eyes and spaces out to the familiar sound of Felix bickering with his phone.

“No, Siri, what does it mean if a dog can’t move… Ugh, no, what does it mean if a dog. Can. Not. Move.”

God, why can’t you just use Google like a normal person.

He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off again until he’s being scooped up into the air. He lets out a panicked whimper, but Felix ignores him, pushing open the door to their apartment.

Felix sets him down on the kitchen floor. Sylvain only gets a minute to relish the cool tile before Felix shoves a bowl of water in front of him.

Sylvain eagerly laps it up and lets relief slide down his throat. It’s a bit awkward to drink as a dog, but it’s not like he has much choice. He ends up spilling a little, well, a lot of water on the tiles. Oops.

It’s a good thing Sylvain’s the neat roommate. Felix just sighs and throws their dish towel over the spill. Sylvain barks in protest because seriously Felix we dry our dishes with that.

Felix, of course, ignores him. He’s squinting at his phone and using his index finger to stab at it.

“Sylvain. I don’t know when you’re getting home but there’s a dog in our apartment.”

Ah. Speech to text. Sylvain is really starting to appreciate Felix’s old man habits.

He winces a little though because he knows Felix isn’t going to get an answer anytime soon. Come to think of it, his phone is probably still behind the store with his clothes. And his wallet.

Shit, his wallet is lying in some alley. God help his credit score.

Hopefully when he turns back, he can plead his case and it’ll be fine. Yeah. When he turns back.

He’ll think more about that later.

Right now, he needs to work on Felix letting him stay.

Felix… does not exactly look thrilled to be having a dog in his apartment. He’s giving him a considering look, lips pursed tight. Sylvain’s pretty sure his good will only extends to ‘not letting a dog literally die on your front doorstep’ and not much further.

Sylvain gives Felix his best pleading look. After all, he does have literal puppy dog eyes now.

Felix just sighs loudly and turns to their fridge and takes out some frozen chicken. Sylvain figures that if he’s making dinner instead of kicking him out, he might be safe for now.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on his paws, listening to the soothing sounds of Felix cooking.

Neither he nor Felix are the world’s greatest cooks. Sylvain is, admittedly, hopeless without a clear cut recipe with specific ingredient amounts (what the hell does season to taste mean?), while Felix has never been one for following directions, even for cooking, and still hasn’t quite graduated from his college student habits.

Sometimes, though, it’s nice to cook together. Even when work keeps them busy, and cooking together might just entail boiling pasta and opening a jar of store bought sauce. It’s fun to tease Felix about how he adds taco seasoning and hot sauce to his pasta (because, gross Felix), or for Felix to mock him in return for the liberal amount of sprinkle cheese he uses.

Other times, they’ll get ambitious. Sylvain remembers the time they tried making meat pie. While rolling out the dough, he’d flicked water at Felix’s nose, who wiped his gross floury hands on his shirt in retaliation. When he sautéd the vegetables, Felix laughed at him for roasting them for the exact amount of time the recipe specified, but handed him his neatly premeasured seasonings without complaint. When it was Felix’s turn to cook the meat, Sylvain protested his spice improvisions but Felix just shook his head, a smile creeping up onto his face.

The end result was a pie with dry crust, bland filling, and soggy bottom. “The fruit of our labor! The efforts of our love!” Sylvain had declared, and Felix threw a bit of pie crust at him.

He’s just starting to fall asleep again, when Felix nudges him.

“Hey.”

Lifting his head, he blinks in confusion. Felix has apparently boiled some chicken wings and put them on a plate, which he is now offering to him.

Chicken wings. With bones. Boned chicken.

Sylvain levels Felix with the best deadpan stare he can manage in dog form.

Felix frowns, and nudges the plate closer.

Holding direct eye contact, Sylvain pushes the plate back with one paw. Unfortunately, his stomach grumbles loudly at the sight of food.

“What the fuck?” Felix mutters, trying to push the chicken under his face.

Sylvain, steadfast despite his hunger, turns his head to the side.

Felix, you are an incredibly intelligent person in many ways but dear lord I hope no one you love ever asks you to petsit for them.

Luckily, Felix is distracted from unintentionally murdering him by his phone ringing. Scowling at the screen, he swipes to accept and jabs the Speaker option. Another one of Felix’s old man habits. Apparently, holding up the phone to his ear is too technologically advanced for him.

“Hey Ingrid.”

“Felix. Have you seen Sylvain?”

Oof. He was supposed to go over to Ingrid’s after work and help her assemble some new cabinet she got. Felix hadn’t been invited because they all remember the last time Felix tried assembling IKEA furniture (Sylvain still mourns that table). He’s not exactly sure what time it is, but judging by her tone, it’s probably far past their scheduled meeting time.

“No. Did he not show up?”

Ingrid sighs heavily.

“No, he didn’t. I tried texting and calling him, but he didn’t pick up.”

“I don’t know then. I texted him and he didn’t respond, but I just figured he was with you,” Felix frowns, resuming his attempts to coax Sylvain to eat the chicken. He picks up one of the wings and waves it in front of Sylvain’s face.

Sylvain whines in protest, which catches Ingrid’s attention.

“Felix, what was that?”

“...A dog.”

“A what?”

“There’s a dog. In my apartment.”

“I- Wait, seriously?” Ingrid sounds floored.

“Yes.” Felix abandons his mission of murdering Sylvain to scowl at his phone.

“Felix. Did you just, get a dog. I… Does Sylvain know?”

“No. Like I said, I texted him, but he didn’t answer.”

“Felix, I can’t believe you just got a dog, without asking Sylvain!” Ingrid says, indignant.

“I didn’t get a dog. It just showed up,” Felix protests. “Besides, Sylvain’s always wanted a dog.”

That is true. Somewhat.

“Even so,” Ingrid says. “You should still ask the person you are living with about bringing a dog in. You’re not seriously planning on keeping it, are you?”

“Maybe.”

Huh?

“Wait, really?” Ingrid sounds just about as surprised as he feels.

“I don’t know, Sylvain likes dogs. His birthday’s coming up anyway.” Felix says, absently picking at a hem on his shirt, as if he didn’t just casually drop a major decision that he had vehemently argued against in the past.

“Felix, I don’t know how to tell you this, but a dog is a horrible surprise birthday present. Do you know how much responsibility a dog is? Is it even house trained? Is your apartment dog-proofed? You know how Sylvain gets about mess. What if it tears up your stuff?”

Felix frowns slightly, as if just now contemplating the consequences of taking in a random dog off the streets.

“If you’re going to keep it, you should definitely talk to Sylvain about it. Also, you’ll need dog supplies,” Ingrid starts listing things off. “Food, bowls for food and water, a dog collar and leash…”

“Maybe we can just look through Sylvain’s shit. He probably already has a sex collar somewhere.”

Sylvain barks in protest because hey, rude. Also, he doesn’t. Not anymore, anyways.

“Felix, I think you’ve exceeded your allowance for Bad Roommate-isms today. You got a dog without asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Felix acquiesces. He resumes his earlier mission of choking Sylvain to death, pressing a chicken wing to his mouth. Sylvain keeps his jaw firmly shut and whimpers loudly.

“Felix, what’s wrong with the dog?” Ingrid asks, sounding genuinely concerned. “It sounds like it’s in pain.”

“Siri says it’s dehydrated. I already gave it some water. Right now I’m trying to feed it, but it won’t eat the chicken wings for some reason-”

“Chicken wings?”

Oh thank god Ingrid was an animal person.

“Yeah? I just boiled them, I know you’re not supposed to give animals seasoned food, I’m not a fucking dumbass-”

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius you cannot feed chicken bones to a dog.”

“Why not.”

“Oh god, did the dog eat any of the chicken bones? Did it?”

“No, it keeps pushing them away. Why the fuck can’t I give it chicken wings, they’re carnivores-”

“Do. Not. Give the dog chicken wings. You know what? Don’t do anything, I’m coming over. I’ll pick up some dog food on the way.”

There’s a click as Ingrid hangs up. Felix looks mildly disconcerted.

“...Hey Siri, why can’t I feed a dog chicken wings?”

-

Felix has ceased all attempts to end Sylvain’s life, unseasoned chicken tossed in the bin. He even takes him out for a short walk, but Sylvain still doesn’t have a lot of energy so he just half-heartedly trudges behind Felix for a few minutes before Felix picks him up and takes him back in.

Currently, Felix is lounging rather mulishly on the couch as Ingrid fusses over Sylvain.

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

This is incredibly degrading, Sylvain thinks as Ingrid rubs his head lovingly.

“He’s actually pretty clean for a stray. Too bad Dimitri’s on that business trip. He loves dogs,” she says wistfully, scratching under Sylvain’s chin. Human Brain is telling him this is weird, but Dog Brain is, admittedly, kind of into it.

Felix grunts in response. Very Felix of him.

Ingrid, used to his Felix-isms, carries on as if he had actually replied.

“You should send him pictures of the dog, I bet he would really appreciate it. Though, you’ll have to email him or use some online messenger unless you want to deal with international texting.”

Another grunt.

“Of course, I still don’t think it’s a great idea to get a dog. Especially without discussing it with Sylvain! Have you thought about vaccinations? Vet bills? Also, have you considered how he might react to being cooped up in your apartment all day while you guys are at work? Maybe you should just drop him off at the shelter-”

Sylvain whines abruptly.

“What is it, dog?” Felix asks, looking all too eager to escape Ingrid’s lecturing.

“Maybe he’s hungry,” Ingrid suggests. Just on time, Sylvain’s stomach grumbles loudly.

“Guess you’re right. How much stuff did you get?”

“Just a few cans of dog food. Like I said, I don’t think it’s a great idea to just adopt a pet, so I didn’t want to jump the gun on getting supplies if you were just going to take him to the shelter.”

Ingrid pulls the tab on one of the cans, dumps it in a bowl, and sets it down in front of him.

He stares at it. It’s a jiggly blob still holding the form of the cylindrical can. Ingrid nudges the bowl closer, and the meat cylinder topples over onto its side.

“Eat up!”

Is it too late to go back to the chicken bones? He thinks mournfully, sniffing at the mystery meat concoction.

His stomach gurgles once more, reminding him that he still hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Tentatively, he takes a bite. It’s… Not that bad, surprisingly. Its main fault is its blandness and texture. Like a very unappetizing meat jello.

Yeah, okay, I can work with this.

He takes big, gulping bites and tries not to let it sit on his tongue too long. Ingrid ruffles his fur encouragingly.

“Why do you even want a dog anyways? I thought you were a cat person.”

“I don’t know, Sylvain likes dogs, and he got really weird about it the last time we talked about it.” Felix shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “Besides, just look at it.”

“I don’t… Oh, his color?”

Sylvain looks down at his paws. They’re a very unimpressive indistinct grayish-brown-yellow shade.

“You like the dog because his fur is the same color as Sylvain’s hair?” Ingrid asks, tone incredulous.

He looks at his paws again. Come to think of it, dogs were colorblind, which would explain a lot. Doesn’t explain why Felix wants to keep him, though.

“Shut up.”

He can feel how hard Felix is avoiding eye contact right now.

“I didn’t know you were so sentimental, Felix.”

If Sylvain didn’t know better, he’d say Ingrid’s tone bordered on teasing.

“Ugh, whatever. Shut up.”

“I mean, I guess it is a pretty unusual color for a dog,” Ingrid concedes, and very generously changes the subject. “Do you even have a name for the dog?”

“Dog.”

Sylvain snorts in spite of himself.

“Felix- You can’t name your dog, Dog.”

“Yes I can. See, it responded.”

Oh nooo no no. Sylvain fixes Ingrid with his best pleading look. You can name me Kyphon or Loog or whatever nerd shit you want, are you seriously going to let Felix-

“Whatever, Sylvain can just name it when he gets home. You owe him that much, at least.”

I guess my name is Dog now. As if this couldn’t get any more degrading.

“Yeah, I guess,” Felix says, pulling out his phone. “He still hasn’t texted me back.”

Sylvain finishes eating, and he pads over to scrabble up onto the couch. He sits next to Felix, who stiffens momentarily, before hesitantly reaching a hand down to pet him. It’s a bit heavy handed, but Sylvain bears it nicely because at least Felix is trying.

“He’s surprisingly well-behaved for a street dog.” Ingrid observes, a contemplating look on her face.

“Yeah, I took it for a walk earlier and it was pretty obedient.” Felix is now mimicking Ingrid’s earlier motions of scratching under his chin. Except, his touch is way too light now and it’s more ticklish than anything.

“Oh really?” Ingrid asks, then she pauses. “Wait, how did you walk him without a leash?”

“I just took it outside and it followed me?” Felix looks confused, brows pulled together and mouth pinched. “Is that not normal?”

“That’s… Kind of weird. Most dogs aren’t just naturally off-leash trained.”

“Really? Should I… Get a leash?”

Ingrid sighs. Heavily.

“You know what? Tomorrow, if you still want to keep the dog, we can go to the pet store and get some real supplies. Tonight, just make sure he doesn’t make a mess of Sylvain’s stuff.”

Ingrid and Felix hash out some weekend plans, which Sylvain mostly tunes out. He’s just about nodding off again when he’s suddenly being lifted in the air. He startles, but it’s just Felix. Ingrid has evidently already gone home.

“C’mon, Dog.”

Felix carries him to his bedroom. Sylvain squirms a little, uncomfortable, but Felix simply dumps him on his bed and turns off the light.

“Don’t piss on my bed.” he instructs, as he shucks off his shirt.

Sylvain politely looks away. He also notes that Felix’s room is very much not dog proofed. He has swords lined up against the wall, for god’s sake.

He hears some shuffling behind him, and Felix is sliding in under the covers. Sylvain curls up at the foot of his bed, not letting himself near the warm Felix-shaped bundle, and closes his eyes.

-

“Felix, let’s get a dog.”

They had been lounging on Sylvain’s bed together. In Felix’s words, the TV he had in his bedroom was better than the one in the living room. Sylvain wasn’t going to fight that.

“No.” Felix answered bluntly and immediately. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen, where a man lined up a row of ten colorful shot glasses on the rims of ten pints of beer. Nine of the shot glasses were filled with liquor. The last one had two raw egg yolks. The man knocked all ten shot glasses into the beers, and proceeded to chug all of it in the span of the one minute video.

Sylvain didn’t comment on Felix’s viewing choices. It was a step up from the Russian dash cam car crash compilations.

“Why not? Give me one good reason we shouldn’t get a dog.”

He rolled over to tug on Felix’s hair. Felix scowled but didn’t push him off, so Sylvain let his hand linger longer than necessary, grazing the back of his neck.

“I don’t want one.” Felix nudged Sylvain’s leg harshly with his foot, just shy of a kick, and Sylvain nudged him back, albeit more gently, and withdrew his hand.

“Okay, what about a cat?”

“No.”

“Seriously? I know you love cats Felix, you can’t fool me.”

Everytime they passed the Sunday adoption fair next to the grocery store, Felix’s eyes strayed to the cats. Not to mention that one time Sylvain walked in on Felix watching “Cute Cat Compilation” videos on Youtube, never to be spoken of aloud lest Felix actually kill him.

“Ugh, shut up- I don’t want a pet,” Felix said, face flustered and nose wrinkled.

“Why not? Pet deposit fee’s not bad here. I could cover it for you too, if you’re really on the fence on it.”

Felix was still caught up in the awkward post-college graduation dance, flitting between jobs and career paths, while Sylvain had, thankfully, secured a steady, if not boring, nine to five.

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it? Think about it Felix! A cute little cat, cuddled up to you, waiting for you when you get home-”

“What about when you move out?”

“Huh?”

Felix had a strange look on his face.

“We’re not going to live together forever. Cats live for what, 15 years? If we get a cat together, we’ll have to figure out who gets to keep it when we’re not roommates anymore.”

Sylvain’s next words were only slightly strangled.

“Ah. I… Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

They didn’t get a cat.

-

When Sylvain wakes up, he’s still a dog.

Which. Okay, he’s starting to get a little freaked out.

He’d been kind of half-hoping that the spell would wear off overnight and he’d wake up human and he could laugh about it with Felix in the morning. Which, in hindsight, was a pretty dumb plan.

He should really try to make some plan of action, but for some reason, it’s hard to think big picture about what to do about the fact he’s a dog. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the vague notion of ‘I should probably do something about the fact that I am currently a dog’, but his head’s still foggy. Probably something to do with lingering effects of dehydration.

He promptly gives up after ruling out some half-baked thoughts of “barking in morse code” or “pissing a message into the dirt”.

The bed is empty, so Sylvain hops off and enters the living room, and all thoughts of magic and dog bodies evaporate from his mind the moment he sees Felix eating cereal on the couch. The nice couch.

I knew it, I fucking knew it, he eats on the nice couch when I’m not here.

He yips loudly at Felix, who just pets the spot next to him. On the nice couch. Not the ugly lumpy couch with numerous stains of dubious origin from Sylvain’s college days. No, the nice couch that is white and has a lovely floral pattern. Felix invites him, a dog, to sit with him on the nice couch.

He pointedly jumps up onto the gross couch but Felix just scoops him up and deposits Sylvain next to him. Seething quietly, he mutinously settles down next to Felix, who obliviously pets his head in awkward, halting motions.

Sylvain’s ears perk up though when he hears bickering coming down the hall.

“-sure this is the place?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Lorenz. I used his watch for the tracking spell.”

Sylvain freezes.

It’s them. Small Child and Beanstalk are here.

He whimpers, and Felix halts his petting.

“What is it, Dog?” he asks, but there’s a knock, sharp and insistent at the door. Felix looks up and frowns. He goes to answer, leaving his half-eaten cereal on the coffee table.

No no no. Dread builds in his gut and he whimpers, louder this time.

Felix looks back, evidently perplexed.

“Look, I’ll get the door, then I’ll feed you, okay?”

He whines, trying to communicate to Felix don’t open the door don’t open the door don’t open the door, but he ignores him and opens the door.

There they are. They’re both dressed slightly more normal this time, in plain t-shirts and jeans, but even with his restricted vision, Sylvain can tell that their hair and eyes are still unnatural hues. Preemptively, he bares his teeth at them.

“Hello there,” the man begins in a very regal tone. “We have recently lost our dog, and we were wondering if-”

“No. Fuck off.”

Seriously, Felix? Okay, yeah, he’s grateful that Felix isn’t just going to hand him over, but seriously? Does he have to be so openly hostile to two people who, for all he knows, are completely innocent and have lost their beloved pet?

“Isn’t… Look, I can see him. He’s right behind you. That’s him. That’s our dog.”

The girls points an accusing finger at Sylvain, and he flinches backwards and whimpers.

“Is that so.” Felix says flatly, shooting a look backwards and frowning as Sylvain hides behind his legs. Every instinct in his body tells him to run, but he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Felix alone with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. It’s not like there’s anything he can do to protect Felix from getting turned into a frog or whatever, but he feels better keeping him in his sight.

“We have been looking everywhere for him, so if you could kindly return him to us, I would very much appreciate it.” The previously purple, now gray-blue man declares very primly.

Felix squints at them, a considering look on his face.

“What’s his name?”

“Arthur.”

“Rusty.”

They both stop, and stare at each other. Felix looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“I mean, uh, Rusty, is… It’s a nickname. Yeah, Arthur is his, his official name,” the girl backtracks.

“Rusty. Is a nickname for Arthur.” Felix repeats.

“...Yes.”

With a pinched smile, the girl lowers herself to the ground.

“C’mere… Come here Rusty....”

Flattening his ears to his head and taking a step back, Sylvain lets out a low growl.

Felix narrows his eyes.

“How did you even know he was here?”

“Look, can we just have our dog back?” the girl snaps, irritation leaking into her voice.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Beanstalk looks incredibly offended.

“He obviously doesn’t like you. I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit you did to him, but you’re not getting him back.”

With that, Felix closes starts to close the door, but the man frantically reaches out to him. Sylvain snaps at his fingers because yeah no. Felix starts to shove them out, but the girl pushes her head under his arm and looks directly at Sylvain.

“LET ME KISS YOU!” she screams.

What the actual fuck.

“What the fuck,” Felix says. Good to know they’re together on this.

“LISTEN! The curse will be broken if someone kisses you! You have to-”

Felix slams the door on their faces.

“Fucking freaks,” he mutters as he locks and chains the door. “C’mon, Dog, I’ll give you some food.”

But Sylvain remains rooted to the spot.

A kiss? Seriously? God, Sylvain hates his life.

Okay, but this should be easy, right? Just a kiss, and he’ll turn back- plenty of people like to kiss dogs!

Except, he’s living with Felix. Felix, who does not show affection voluntarily except under extenuating circumstances. Felix, who can’t even admit that he likes animals. Felix, who doesn’t even know how to pet a dog.

At least, he consoles himself. At least, Ingrid is a dog person.

-

Ingrid is, indeed, a dog person. However, Sylvain soon realizes Ingrid is not exactly a kiss the dog person.

“Good boy! Do you want to play? Playtime!” she coos, rubbing his belly.

Sylvain sighs. He thumps his tail for Ingrid’s benefit, but unsurprisingly, he is not exactly entertained by Ingrid’s thrilling games of Peek-a-boo or play wrestling.

She huffs, sitting back on her heels.

“Your dog is weird,” she says, sounding oddly put out. “He’s really calm.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Felix agrees easily. “I think his previous owners made him do dog fights or something.”

“They what?” Ingrid asks, clearly expecting a follow up explanation. Felix ignores her in lieu of frowning at his phone.

“Have you heard from Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” Ingrid tips her head to the side. “No. Is he not here?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. He didn’t text me back, even when I sent a picture of the dog on the ‘nice’ couch.”

Felix says ‘nice’ with the same level of disdain he usually reserves for his father. Sylvain feels his face twitch involuntarily.

“Hm, that’s weird. I haven’t heard from him either. Not even an explanation for why he blew me off yesterday.” Sylvain can’t help but wince a little at that. He’ll make it up to her, once he turns back. “Maybe his phone died?” she suggests.

“Maybe.” Felix sounds unconvinced.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Felix. I wouldn’t worry that much. He probably just went on a date or something. You ready to head out?” Ingrid asks, straightening up and brushing the dog hair off her pants.

Felix doesn’t respond immediately. He just frowns slightly as he shoves his feet into his boots, before muttering “He doesn’t really go out anymore,” eyes focused downwards.

“He doesn’t? Well, he’ll probably be back by the time we finish.” Ingrid says this with an air of finality. “And when he gets home, he can chew you out for getting a dog.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

And with that, they leave, and Sylvain is left with a growing sense of dread.

-

Being a dog, Sylvain quickly realizes, is boring.

There’s nothing he can do, as a dog, to entertain himself. Worse yet, he has no concept of time, so he has no idea when Felix and Ingrid will be back. He’s starting to understand why dogs go nuts when their owners come home.

He attempts turning on the TV, but in the interest of not causing irreparable property damage, he gives up after a few tries.

After poking around the apartment for a bit, Sylvain wanders into the kitchen, where he sees Felix’s half open cereal box on the counter. Inspiration strikes, and he leaps up, knocking the box off the counter. Corn flakes spill out over the kitchen floor, scattering haphazardly.

Okay, cool. Hopefully, if he can communicate to Felix he’s a dog, it’ll be easier to turn back. Now all he has to do is spell out his name.

Spell out his name. Spelling out his name.

Shit.

Sylvain remembers the time Felix, age five, had shown him a picture he’d drawn at school. He had scrawled ‘Me and my Frens’ at the top, with four stick figures labelled ‘Me’, ‘Dima’, ‘Ingy’, and ‘Silvan’. He remembers he made fun of Felix for misspelling his name and Felix had cried, as he was wont to do at that age.

If only five year old Felix could see him now.

S-I-L-L-V-A-N-E? No, that’s not right, he knows he has a Y in there somewhere. S-Y-L-V-A-Y-N? Shit, too many Y’s.

Sylvain curses his insignificant dog brain. Okay, whatever, Felix will lord this over him later, but he’ll just do the best he can. He tries shuffling around some of the cereal with his paws, but he quickly realizes that his hand-eye, sorry, paw-eye coordination is lacking, to say the least.

He resorts to moving around the cereal bits with his nose. A lot more effective, but with the unfortunate side effect of leaving him disoriented and dizzy from using his head to move around small objects.

He’s only gotten through S and I when he hears the front door unlock.

Ohhhh no.

He hurriedly tries to finish up L too, but it’s too late, he hears Felix before he sees him.

“What the fuck! DOG!”

He slowly turns his head. Felix is staring, aghast, at the cereal spread over their kitchen floor. And Sylvain, guilty, in the middle of it.

Shit.

-

Sylvain is banished to the bathroom while Felix and Ingrid sweep up the mess. He had hoped that they would notice how he had valiantly spelled out ‘SI’, but judging by the muffled sounds of Felix cursing, they had not.

“Do you see what I mean now, Felix?” he hears Ingrid’s voice, distorted through the door. “A dog is a lot of responsibility!”

“Whatever. If Sylvain has a problem with it, he should have just texted me back.”

Sylvain whines loudly and scrabbles against the door. Maybe if he makes a fuss every time they mention his name, they’ll draw the very logical conclusion that magic exists and Sylvain has been transformed into a dog à la Animorphs.

“I’m going to head home, unless you need help with anything else?” Ingrid calls out.

“No, I’m good, thanks Ingrid.”

Sylvain hears the door open and shut. He whines, bracing his paws against the door, only to yelp when the door is jerked open, falling over onto Felix’s feet.

Felix, thankfully, looks less murderous than before. He just frowns at Sylvain disapprovingly and steps aside to let him out. Shaking himself out, he steps out and follows Felix to the living area.

One perk to being stuck in a dog's body is that he gets to observe Felix in his natural habitat. As it turns out, Felix doesn’t act that much different when he thinks he’s alone. He just huddles up on the couch and puts on a twenty minute long video detailing how to make an Edwardian tea gown. As far as Sylvain knows, Felix has no interest in fashion, the Edwardian era, or the art of seamstressing. Yet, here they are, watching as a faceless voice narrates how she sewed the pieces of her skirt with a French seam, the proper method for doing lace inset work, and the exact length to gather down the fabric to form the sleeves.

At one point, Sylvain attempts shoving his face up to Felix in the vague hope that he’ll be seized by the natural desire to kiss his pet dog, but Felix just pushes his head to the side.

“Do not lick me,” he hisses, not even taking his eyes off the screen as ‘Bernie Bear’ narrates her creative process.

Why couldn’t you have been a dog person, Sylvain thinks petulantly. This would have been so much easier if they turned me into a cat instead.

When the video ends, Felix checks his phone, idly petting Sylvain’s head.

Felix has this cute little habit where he’ll call someone, wait through one or two rings, then hang up and call again, repeating the process. Personally, Sylvain doesn’t see the benefits over just waiting for someone to pick up. And, okay, maybe he’s still a little salty over all the times he came back to find his phone had up to 17 missed calls, which equated to maybe two or three Normal People missed calls.

Point being, Sylvain watches in amusement as Felix subjects some poor soul to his Pisces-Sun-Aries-Mercury tendencies. Surprisingly, after a few tries, Felix actually decides to wait for whoever’s on the line to pick up.

There’s a click as the call connects, and an all too familiar voice rings out.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Sylvain freezes, because he knows exactly what’s about to happen.

“What the fuck!” Felix snaps, almost immediately. “Where the fuck have you been-”

“Mhm.”

“-you fucking idiot, I’ve been texting you-”

“Yeah.”

“-and you haven’t been home since-”

“Well, that sounds great, but I’m not actually here, so leave a message after the beep!”

Felix stares at his phone in disbelief as the tone sounds. Internally, Sylvain groans at his past self.

Now, here, Sylvain expects Felix to grumble out some vague death threats- “I’m going to fucking kill him,” or “I will strangle that dickhead,”- something along those lines.

But instead, Felix just looks… Kind of upset? Like, actually, genuinely, upset. His brow is furrowed and he bites his lip hard, hard enough that Sylvain is worried he’s going to draw blood.

He bumps his head at Felix’s side, startling him out of his stupor.

“It’s fine,” Felix says, half to himself, half to the ceiling. “He’s fine,” he says firmer, but still not sounding quite like he believes what he’s saying.

Sylvain feels something stirring inside him, almost like regret, but it slips away into the fogginess of his mind.

Later, he tells himself, and closes his eyes to the feeling of Felix scratching at his neck. Later.

-

Today, Sylvain is at Ingrid’s apartment.

Apparently, Felix has put Ingrid in charge of dog sitting while he’s at work since Sylvain can no longer be trusted to be left to his own devices. And as it turns out, when Ingrid thinks she’s alone she likes to binge incredibly cheesy period dramas.

Ingrid is never allowed to mock my taste in movies ever again, he decides. Onscreen, the actor playing Sir Whatshisface gives a rather unconvincing death rattle, before flopping over dramatically in Lady Something-shire’s arms. The episode ends with an uncomfortably long close up of her crying face.

Sniffling, Ingrid gets ready to queue up the next episode- God please no Ingrid you’ve been watching this show for hours and I still have no idea what the plot is- when she’s interrupted by a phone call.

Quickly, she wipes her nose, before picking up.

“Hi, Felix-”

Immediately, she’s cut off by Felix yelling something at a rapid pace. Sylvain can’t really pick up what he’s saying, but he catches “work”, “missing”, and “clothes”. Not the most illuminating combination of words.

“Wait, wait, Felix- Slow down!” Ingrid says, sitting up fully. “What happened?”

He hears the muffled sound of Felix speaking, this time slower, and he watches as Ingrid’s face pales.

“No, that can’t- Are you serious?”

Some more half-intelligible words. Sylvain really wishes Ingrid was more like Felix and used speakerphone.

“I… Alright, I’m coming right over. I just- No, I can’t... I’m… Okay, okay, okay. I’ll, I’ll call you when I get there.” Ingrid hangs up, and runs a hand through her hair. She looks flustered, and she drags a hand down her face.

“Shit,” she says, with feeling. Sylvain’s head jerks up. He can’t remember the last time he heard Ingrid curse. “Shit.”

-

When Felix opens the door, that’s when Sylvain knows something is wrong.

His hair is down and he’s still wearing his work uniform- both of which are rare enough sights and enough cause for concern, but really hurts is the look on Felix’s face. His eyes are wild and there’s something like terror written across the lines of his face.

“Ingrid,” he says, voice small and watery in a way it hasn’t been since they were children.

Ingrid all but throws Sylvain to the floor and he couldn’t care less, he watches dumbstruck as Ingrid pulls Felix to her in a fierce hug.

“It’s okay Felix,” she starts, but Felix shoves her off.

“No, no it’s not.” He turns and retreats into the apartment, shoulders hunched.

“Felix…” Ingrid trails off, following him in. Very cautiously, she sits next to him on the couch.

“They’re going to investigate some more. They said they’ll keep me posted.” Felix switches to speaking in a detached, far-off voice, as if reading off a script. His head is turned to the side, and he’s staring blankly at the wall. “They’ve contacted his parents, they want to run some tests against some DNA samples they found.”

DNA?

“That’s…” Ingrid hesitates, as if choosing her words carefully. “Do they suspect foul play?”

Foul play?

Felix draws his knees up to his chest. “Yes,” he whispers, arms tightening around his legs. “Yeah, they do.”

This time, Felix doesn’t push Ingrid off when she embraces him.

Sylvain whimpers at their feet, pressing himself closer.

There are pieces of incomplete information swirling around his head, and try as he might, he doesn’t know how to fit it all together. His head feels like its bursting, and each thought slips away, falling out of reach. All he can hold on to is the knowledge that Felix is hurt, that Felix is upset, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Kiss me, he thinks. Kiss me, tell me what’s wrong and I’ll tell you it’s okay until you believe me.

But he doesn’t, so he can’t; it’s Ingrid who holds Felix as his shoulders shake, Ingrid who eventually pushes Felix to bed, Ingrid, who stands at their door, a stricken expression on her face as she blinks back tears, before turning her face to stone and leaving.

And there is nothing for Sylvain to do, but to snuggle his nose to Felix and pray for a miracle, the small miracle that Felix Hugo Fraldarius actually fucking kisses his dog.

-

Felix hates his job. Sylvain knows this, knows that Felix hates everything about it- the garish uniform, the entitled customers, the overbearing managers.

Yet these days, it’s like all Felix does to go to work. Maybe it’s just because he’s a dog and has a shitty perception of time, but it seems like Felix is spending more time at his job than ever. He leaves early and comes home late in the evenings.

Are they working you too hard? Are they overscheduling you? Did your coworkers call out? He wants to ask, questions burning. Why are you sad?

When he’s not at work, he’s restless and careless. Felix sleeps fitfully and eats shitty takeout and goes on long, punishing runs until exhaustion pushes him to pass out as soon as he hits his bed.

Sylvain tags along on his runs. At first, Felix tried making him stay at home, but Sylvain couldn’t, not when he saw how Felix would come home afterwards. So he comes with him, runs until he can’t go any further, and patiently sits on the sidewalk, waiting until Felix loops back around.

Stop, he wants to say. Stop doing this to yourself.

He doesn’t know how long Felix can last like this, doesn’t know how long he can last like this, pushing and pushing and pushing until someday something breaks; whether that something is him or Felix remains yet to be seen.

Maybe that someday is today, he realizes, as he runs beside Felix. He’s lasted longer than he’s ever lasted before, and all he wants is to stay by Felix’s side just a little longer, just a little longer-

He can’t, he can’t. His legs give out and he falls to the ground, limbs splaying out in exhaustion. Felix, eyes focused straight ahead, doesn’t notice and keeps going. Sylvain watches his back as he runs further out of reach and closes his eyes to the sight.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t keep up.

Before he can even catch his breath, he feels hands on him. He blinks and sees those eyes, familiar, but the wrong color and with the wrong emotion.

Sad, he looks too sad, and Sylvain whimpers at his own uselessness. But for some reason, Felix picks him up and holds him close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into his fur, face buried deep. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

What for, he wants to ask, but he feels the air moving around him, and Felix carries him home, cradled close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, like a broken record. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I know, Sylvain wants to say. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

-

Afterwards, Felix is kinder to himself.

He eats proper meals, doesn’t push himself to passing out, works a normal schedule. Instead of the grueling runs, he lies in bed and holds Sylvain, as a child holds their teddy bear. Sylvain doesn’t mind, because he wants to be there, be something for Felix, and if this is what brings him out of this funk, he’ll be something to hold and comfort. Each time he sees that sad look in his eyes, he nuzzles his nose into Felix’s neck until his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.

To his surprise, Felix starts buying him what is frankly an excessive amount of dog treats and toys. Perhaps even more surprisingly, Sylvain finds that he enjoys them quite a lot. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been eating gross, bland, vaguely meaty kibble, but the dog treats actually taste delicious. And maybe it's the onset of accumulated boredom, but he finds himself more receptive to actually playing along with the asinine dog games.

You’re missing something, a voice whispers from the depths of his consciousness, but the thought is gone just as soon as it appears.

-

Felix is pacing the room and keeps checking his phone.

Wonder what he’s waiting on, Sylvain thinks, letting his eyes follow Felix as he walks from one corner of the room, across, and then back again.

The phone rings and Felix swipes immediately. He doesn’t even bother to turn on speakerphone, just holds it to his ear, face set in an intense expression.

“Ingrid!” he yells. “Ingrid, fuck, what did they say-”

He hears a crackling voice across the line, and Felix’s face crumbles.

“No,” he says. “No no no no.”

Ingrid says something else, but Felix is already talking over her.

“Are they sure? Did they check-”

More muffled words, and Felix just screams “Fuck!” and throws his phone at the wall. Sylvain flinches at the sound, haunches rising. Felix’s eyes are squeezed shut tight and he’s taking gasping breaths.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

Sylvain noses at his face, but Felix just turns away, biting his lip.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck.”

Sylvain whimpers, loudly.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong?

He presses himself against Felix, who runs a trembling hand through his fur. He looks up when he hears a particularly ragged gasp, and he sees that Felix is crying.

It’s okay, he tries to communicate. I’m here for you.

With shaking hands, Felix picks his phone back up. The screen is shattered, but Felix doesn’t seem to care that much.

A call lights up the screen, and Felix doesn’t hesitate before picking up.

“Dima,” he cries. “Dima.”

Dima?

Sylvain doesn’t understand. Dimitri… He was abroad, wasn’t he? And Felix, why is he so upset? All he knows is that Felix is sad, and calling Dimitri’s name like it hurts.

Felix hasn’t relied on Dimitri like this in a very, very long time. Not since Felix started calling him ‘Dimitri’ instead of ‘Dima’, and then ‘Dimitri’ became ‘Boar’. Not since Felix started running to Sylvain instead of Dimitri when he cried, and it was Sylvain who made him feel better.

Now, apparently, it’s Dima again.

“He’s gone,” Felix sobs. “He’s gone.”

Who’s gone? Who hurt you?

Sylvain thinks back to when Dimitri was still Dima, back when it was Sylvain who made Felix cry. He thinks back to that crayon drawing with misspelled words and crude stick figures.

Felix sniffled, even as Sylvain wiped the tears from his eyes. “It’s okay Felix,” Sylvain said. “What matters is this!” and he pointed to where Felix had misspelled ‘friends’. “I’ll always be there for you. I promise.” And Felix had beamed, bright and beautiful. In that moment, Sylvain remembers how even back then, before he even knew what love meant, he knew he would do anything to protect that smile.

Except now, he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, because he’s a fucking dog. All he can do is watch, helpless, as Felix sobs.

Dimitri doesn’t know how to comfort Felix, not like Sylvain does. He hears his staticy voice over the line, but Felix only cries harder.

Kiss me, he thinks. Please, please, kiss me. Kiss me and I’ll turn back and hold you and tell you it’s okay.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and Sylvain stays a dog and Felix stays heartbroken and the most comfort he can offer is a wet nose and his fur to sob into.

-

After that, things are different around the apartment.

Felix takes him out twice a day for perfunctory, minute long stints in the grass beside the apartment building, staring off in the middle distance, before stepping back in and returning to his daily routine of curling up in bed for hours at a time.

Sylvain almost wishes for the Felix that pushed himself to exhaustion, because at least he knew that Felix was alive. Now, he’s listless in a way he’s never seen him before.

Ingrid is here too. She’s all but moved in, and perhaps Sylvain would be more grateful for her presence if it weren’t for the fact that she’s much the same as Felix.

The two of them talk in low, hushed tones, reminiscing about their childhood for some reason. Sylvain will quietly nuzzle his way in between them, letting Ingrid squeeze him tight and Felix bury his face in his fur, as they share nostalgia stained memories of when Sylvain told Dimitri Santa wasn’t real and he cried for hours, when Ingrid and Felix accidentally broke Sylvain’s GameBoy but he just laughed it off, when all four of them got caught trying to sneak into an R-rated film but Sylvain took the fall.

(Some of the stories they tell are old and oft repeated. But some of them are new to him, tugging at the edges of his memory. Something forgotten rises up, then sinks down again.)

Sylvain is nothing if not confused. Ingrid was right when she said Felix wasn’t the sentimental type. Usually, he hates being reminded of the days when he cried easily and wore his heart on his sleeve. But now, he doesn’t argue or storm off when Ingrid brings up the time when Felix cried after dropping his ice cream and only stopped when Sylvain gave him his.

He just sighs, and says “He always was a self-sacrificing idiot,” in a too small voice with no bite.

“And you were always his favorite,” Ingrid says, smiling softly.

“I… I know…” Felix looks conflicted. “He… I…” He trails off, biting his lip.

Something like regret flashes across Ingrid’s face.

“I’m sorry, Felix. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Felix sighs heavily. His next words are equal parts bitter and wistful.

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter, now.”

Silence settles over them, awkward and stilted. Ingrid clears her throat, once, twice, before speaking.

“I brought some old tapes. Did you want to…?”

“Yeah.”

Ingrid hums as she sets Sylvain’s TV up. That’s another thing. Felix and Ingrid like to have these nostalgia sessions in Sylvain’s room for some reason.

The screen flickers to life. It’s an old home video.

Sylvain, at the ripe age of nine, had decided to take it upon himself to teach Dimitri how to ride a bike. Felix and Ingrid had already learned from Glenn, so they had been recruited as his assistants.

Felix, behind the camera they’d filched from Rodrigue’s desk, giggled as Sylvain and Ingrid steadied the bike on both sides, with a pale-faced Dimitri seated in between.

“Okay, Dimitri, all you got to do is keep pedaling, yeah?” Back then, Sylvain talked way too fast and tripped over his words often, but his friends always understood what he said.

“Glenn told me the faster you go, the more stable you’ll be!” Ingrid chipped in. She’s missing one of her front teeth, so there’s a slight whistle as she speaks.

Dimitri nodded, but his hands were fisted tight over the handlebars.

“Ready, Dimitri?”

And before they can even start, there’s a loud SNAP! Felix of the past squeaks, and the camera points to the ground, then up, and there’s Dimitri, all of seven years old and holding a broken handlebar in his hand.

Dimitri is flushed bright red as he stumbles off the bike. Ingrid’s face is captured perfectly on camera: complete and utter shock, eyes bugging out of her head, mouth hanging open. And Sylvain? Sylvain stares for a single moment, before bursting into loud, unrepentant laughter. Felix joined in soon after, childish giggles overtaking the audio.

It’s a happy memory, so Sylvain doesn’t quite understand why Felix is crying.

-

“Alright, that’s enough of that.”

He looks up at the sharp tone. For one terrifying moment, he doesn’t know who he’s looking at, before the fog clears. It’s just Felix, freshly showered and hair tied up, dressed in a casual outfit. He hasn’t looked this put together in a while.

“Huh?” Ingrid looks morose, and she’s in the middle of eating her way through a pizza that Sylvain is pretty sure meant to serve four people.

“Ingrid. We’re going outside. We’re leaving in five minutes. Go get dressed.”

With that, Felix snatches the rest of her pizza. She makes a noise of protest, but Felix just pulls her up to her feet.

It’s almost a relief to see Felix blunt and rude again. Almost, because it’s not quite right. There’s something a little forced in the harshness of his voice, and his face wavers when he fixes Ingrid with a stern glare.

“Felix, what-”

“I’m sick of watching you mope,” Felix snaps and he pushes her towards the door. “Grieving like this doesn’t help anyone.”

Ingrid, however, doesn’t go. She scowls deeply, and slams her hands on the table, startling them both. Felix leans back, wary.

“Are you serious? Are you actually going to enforce your stupid, stupid, stupid philosophy about not wallowing in grief, to this? To him?”

Her words cut like knives and it's the meanest Sylvain has ever heard Ingrid. He flinches back as though he were the one her words were directed towards. Felix, however, just narrows his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Am I wrong? What good does it do just wasting around like this?” Felix’s lips pull back into a sneer, an expression too cruel by half and unsettling on his face. “It’s pathetic I even let us get to this point.”

Stop it, he thinks. Stop fighting, but something is pulling at him, pulling him under.

“Do you even care? How can you even say that!” Ingrid’s tone is acrid, the hostility foreign on her tongue. “He wouldn’t want us to force ourselves to feel something else, to be something we weren’t! He was always the one who told us, to be ourselves, that it was okay to feel, and be-”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Felix snaps. “He’s gone, Ingrid. He’s gone. He’s not here to tell us that anymore, is he? He’s gone. Sylvain’s gone.”

Felix’s voice breaks, and it’s like a mask drops from his face; the harsh lines are replaced with pain and he just whispers Sylvain’s gone.

Gone? He’s right here, isn’t he?

Ingrid’s face crumples too, and she just sinks into a chair, exhaustion settling into her face.

“I… I know.”

Felix just lets out a half broken noise, and drops his face into his hands. He takes deep, shaky breaths, until his breathing evens out again. They sit in awkward silence, dead air hanging between.

“Sorry,” Felix half mumbles, not lifting his head.

Ingrid lets out a shaky exhale, dragging a hand over her face.

“I’m sorry too, Felix. I know you care. I just… It hurts that he’s… Sylvain’s...”

“I know,” Felix says. “I know.”

Ah. Is that it? Sylvain thinks, half on the edge of an epiphany. But the thought drifts away along with his consciousness and he feels his mind being dragged back, even as he claws onto the present, desperate to see the conclusion to their reconciliation.

He catches a half-fuzzy vision of Felix reaching out to Ingrid before the edges blur and he loses himself to nothing.

-

Sylvain has a problem.

Or rather, two problems.

Felix and Ingrid are sad, obviously. They alternate between parsing through childhood memories and screaming at each other, between sobbing and holding each other, between anger and grief and hurt and comfort. Their upset doesn’t dissipate and there’s so very little Sylvain can do other than offering the minimal comfort of companionship.

He knows they’re upset, but doesn’t know why. The answer is right in front of him, isn’t it? It should be obvious. It would be obvious. But Sylvain has another problem.

It’s hard to put into words, but that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it?

He can’t think.

His mind is clouded by a haze that refuses to lift. Trying to hold on to his thoughts is like trying to grasp water. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, how much time he has before it gets worse. He doesn’t live out full days anymore, just short vignettes in his memories, with gaping blank spaces in between. He can feel it, his memories of now and the past slipping, slipping, slipping away.

There are memories he holds dear that are already faded and blurred. When Felix drew that picture, what did Sylvain say to make him cry? What did he say to make him laugh? What did his smile look like? His mind conjures up a flash of teeth and nothing more.

Worse yet, are the moments he remembers with perfect clarity but no awareness. There are moments he looks into Felix’s face and does not know who he is looking at.

But it’s not like he can give it much thought. He feels a swell of bitterness before the familiar fogginess takes over once more.

-

His human is taking him for a walk, when a man and a girl stop them.

“Hi there, could I pet your dog?” the girl asks, voice muffled. She’s wearing a beanie, a face mask, and a pair of oversized sunglasses that conceals most of her face.

“...Sure.”

“Thank you.”

She kneels down, and beckons him closer. But when she looks at him, he feels danger, and he growls.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s me, Lysithea. Let me kiss you, yeah?” and she pulls down the face mask and leans in close, close, closer, danger danger danger.

He snaps at her face. She screams and jerks her head back, scrambling backwards.

“What the fuck-”

“Uh, Dog, don’t do that-”

He snarls, baring his teeth. This girl, she hurt him, he knows this for a fact.

“Lysithea-”

It’s him, this man, he hurt him too. He lunges at him, but the man is quick and pushes him off. He tries to sink his teeth in the man’s leg, but he’s being pulled back harshly.

“Dog, what the hell is wrong with you? Look, I’m sorry, he’s not usually like this.”

The girl ignores him. She’s staring, wide eyed, maybe a little horrified.

“Oh my god, he’s a dog,” she says, voice trembling.

“Uh, yes? He’s a dog?”

His human sounds confused, and he’s struggling to hold him as he squirms to get free, snarling at these two people that he knows have wronged him in some terrible way.

“Oh god, Lorenz, what did I do?” she pulls at her face, wretched.

“Lysithea…”

“He’s… He really is a dog, holy fuck.”

“Yes, my dog is a dog. I’m sorry he tried to bite you, but can I go now?” his human snaps.

“Lysithea. Let’s go. We can… We can come back later.”

The man gently grabs her arm, begins to guide her away, but she digs her feet in, looking back over her shoulder.

“No, I have to-”

“He’ll bite you if you try again, Lysithea. Maybe if we can get a calming charm…”

The two walk away, and he scrabbles at his human’s arms. His human just sighs, and carries him away.

It’s only when they’re back in the apartment that Sylvain comes back to himself and realizes what he has just done.

He freezes, as his consciousness comes back in waves. His head jerks up, looking around. Felix frowns at him from his spot on the couch.

“Dog, why-”

Sylvain throws back his head and he wails. Felix flinches back, obviously bewildered, but Sylvain can’t even begin to explain.

So close, I was so fucking close-

He howls for all he has lost and the memories seeping out even now, he howls and howls and howls.

“Dog, what the hell-”

He falls backward, whimpering, scrabbling at the floor. Hopelessness rises up, quickly followed by encroaching darkness.

No, he thinks, trying to fight against the pull. Just let me have this, this emotion, let me feel, please.

But the thought is gone before it’s even completed.

-

Someone was sad, right?

Who?

-

“Dog, what’s wrong with you?”

He doesn’t lift his head. He can feel it, feels his consciousness slipping, not into sleep but into the feral mindset he doesn’t want to take over. It takes up so, so, so much energy to repeat to himself, I am human, I am human, I am human.

“He’s probably just tired, Felix. He ran around a lot today when I walked him. You know how excited he gets over the squirrels.”

“I don’t know why he’s acting up like this. He used to be so much calmer. I think we might actually have to start using his leash.”

Kiss me, he thinks. My name is Sylvain Jose Gautier. Kiss me, so I can remember it.

-

He can’t remember what color Felix’s eyes were anymore.

-

“You didn’t have to come back early,” he hears as his human opens the door. He lifts his head and sniffs. There’s someone new today.

“Don’t say that, I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” The voice is deep, rumbling, and it reminds him of something he can’t place.

“Booking an international flight on short notice can’t have been easy. And I know those business contacts were important.”

“Not as important as… well...”

There’s an elongated pause.

“You can say his name, you know.”

“I know. It’s just, it’s hard to know he’s not here.”

They come into view. His human looks tired today. The stranger next to him looks around before his gaze settles on him.

“Hey there,” The man crouches down to look at him and reaches out a hand to rub his head.

He looks up at the man. Big, familiar, he thinks, then the haze finally lifts. Dimitri.

“This is your dog, right? Ingrid told me about him.”

“Yeah. She’s here, but she’s taking a nap right now. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

Sylvain blinks slowly as his mind clears, watches as Felix enters the kitchen, then focuses back on Dimitri.

There are deep bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in days. Dimitri smiles weakly, petting his head.

“You’ve been a very good boy, haven’t you? You’ve been taking good care of Ingrid and Felix for me while I was gone.”

And Dimitri leans forward to press a soft kiss to his face wait what holy shit-

Sylvain lets out a loud yelp as his skin stretches and bones shift and he falls forward except this time he knows what’s happening.

“What the shit-” he hears Felix yell, as he runs back in from the kitchen.

He barks joyfully and jumps at Felix and licks his face in greeting-

Except, the noise that comes out of his mouth is not a bark because fuck, he’s not a dog anymore. Sylvain the Very Naked Human tackles Felix to the ground and licks a wet stripe up his face.

Fortunately Felix doesn’t look that upset. In fact, his eyes are blown wide and his mouth is agape as he stares up at Sylvain.

“Felix! Felix! Felix!” he yells, and okay, maybe he’s still stuck in Dog Brain and maybe he has a very strong urge to wag the tail he doesn’t have anymore, but he’s back, he’s back, he’s back, and it’s incredibly important that Felix knows this.

“What- I-”

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he says, and he moves to cup Felix’s face and feels warm skin against his (human) hands.

“Sylvain?”

“That’s me,” he responds. He ducks his head down to nuzzle his nose into Felix’s neck, and breathes him in. He still smells good, albeit not as strong. Felix huffs in surprise, and Sylvain pulls back to look down at him.

His eyes are a soft, golden amber shade and Sylvain commits it to memory. He runs a thumb over Felix’s cheekbone, and he feels Felix’s breath hitch beneath him.

“How-?”

“I got turned into a dog,” he says simply. “And now I’m human again.”

“I don’t-”

“I love you,” he interrupts. “I love you, I love you, I-”

“Sylvain?!”

And oh yeah, fuck, Dimitri’s still here.

He jumps up, then immediately stumbles. He falls backwards onto Felix and hears a pained grunt. Oops.

“Hi! Hi! Hi!” he says, picking himself back up. He settles on four limbs before remembering, wait no, that’s not right, and pulls himself up to his feet.

He barks cheerfully, or at least he tries to, but it just comes out as a loud shout.

“What the hell is going on out here- SYLVAIN?”

Ingrid stumbles out of Felix’s room, hair disheveled and eyes wide.

“Foodgiver!” he yells instinctively, which is mildly and immediately embarrassing. “I mean, shit, Ingrid!”

He bounds forward and immediately falls flat onto his face because bipedal walking is hard, okay.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he groans as he turns over, laying on his back.

There are three pairs of eyes gathered above him, staring down at him.

“Hey,” Sylvain says. “Oh man, I have got the craziest story to tell you guys.”

-

Ingrid makes him put on some clothes, which, okay, fair enough.

What’s not fair? Both she and Felix get weird about him grabbing the box of dog treats and going to town.

“I can’t help it,” he whines. “I was a dog!”

Also not fair?

“How come,” Sylvain asks. “I lived with both you and Felix for, like, a whole week, and not once did either of you even try to kiss your very adorable pet dog. Yet, within five minutes of Dimitri getting home, I get turned back into a human.”

Ingrid just stares blankly. She’s still hung up on the whole ‘Sylvain-was-a-dog’ and ‘magic-is-real’ thing or whatever.

Felix isn’t doing much better. Sylvain expected him to make more of a fuss, maybe make fun of him a little, but apart from the strangled noise he had made when Sylvain grabbed the dog treats, he’s been uncharacteristically quiet.

“I… I am, uh, glad that I was able to help?” Dimitri offers. His face is pinched tight in consternation.

“Like, seriously! I was getting pretty sick of eating doggy kibble every day. I mean, the two… I guess they were witches? Yeah, witches... Anyways, I think they were trying pretty hard to get me back, but-”

“Sylvain.” Felix interjects abruptly.

“Yeah?” he asks, a little confused.

“We thought you were dead.”

“Wait, what?”

“We thought you were dead,” Felix repeats, voice wrecked. “And, it wasn’t one week. It was three. We thought you were dead for three weeks.”

“I- Oh.”

Sylvain sucks in a breath, and takes a minute to look at his friends, to really look at them.

Felix looks like he’s been through hell and back. His eyes are swollen red and the bags underneath are deep. He doesn’t look like he’s had a proper rest in days, maybe even weeks, and he’s wearing one of Sylvain’s old t-shirts.

Dimitri’s eyes are watery, and he’s blinking rapidly as if to dispel the tears. He’s dressed in all black business casual, but his clothes are rumpled and his tie is crooked.

He hears a muffled sniffle and he sharply jerks his head to look at Ingrid, who is still staring directly at him. When was the last time he had seen Ingrid cry? Her face is blotchy and she’s trembling slightly, hands curled into tight fists.

It’s starting to dawn on him that Ingrid might not actually care about whether or not magic is real, that Dimitri’s sour face might have more to do with grief than annoyance, and that Felix’s silence might not have been judgemental, but rather, shocked.

“Oh,” he repeats, dumbstruck.

“We thought you died. We mourned you, Sylvain,” Ingrid says, speaking through her tears, voice thick and warbling.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I… I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, I’m here now.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t realize?” Felix asks, vexation creeping into his tone. “You lived with us for weeks, how could you not know-”

“I was a dog! I didn’t understand most of what was happening! I knew you guys were sad, but I didn’t know why.” Sylvain protests, even as things start to click into place. Half formed memories and vague recollections come together and paint a now crystal clear picture of grief.

“Why? Why? It’s because, because, you were missing! And they found your belongings, your clothes, ripped to shreds, in some alleyway,” Ingrid yells, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “And, and, there was blood on your clothes, your blood- they compared it to your parents!”

“Uh-” Sylvain hesitates. “I don’t think I was injured that day. At all,” but then he remembers the sting of nicking himself while shaving. “Or, definitely not enough to suffer heavy blood loss or anything,” he amends.

Ingrid’s eye twitches, and she huffs. “Okay fine, it was only a few drops. But your murderers, they-”

“Wait,” he interrupts. “I have murderers?”

“Yes. This tall skinny man with long purple hair and a small girl with white hair-”

“Oh, Lorenz and Lysithea!” Sylvain says, snapping his fingers. “Those are the guys who turned me into a dog.”

“I… Okay, well, the thing is, they were spotted making a scene the day you disappeared. And they showed up to your apartment! And this woman walked in on them doing this weird Satanic ritual with something that turned out to be your watch-”

I used his watch for the tracking spell, he remembers hearing a voice saying.

“-and when they were questioned about your whereabouts, the man said, and I quote- ‘His physical body may be gone, but spiritually, he is still with us.’”

Sylvain winces.

“Ooooh. Okay, I kind of see how you guys thought I was dead,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But good news! I’m not!”

There’s a beat, and then Ingrid punches him weakly in the arm.

“You idiot,” she says, but then she envelops him in a crushing hug.

“Hey,” Sylvain says, rubbing her back soothingly. “I’m sorry, Ingrid.”

There’s a touch to his side and he turns to see Dimitri, who has tears falling from his eyes.

“Sylvain, I… I missed you dearly,” Dimitri chokes out.

Sylvain smiles weakly. “Come here, big guy,” he says, and he pulls Dimitri into his side, letting him cry softly into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t think you guys would be this upset-”

Ingrid pulls back, face wrinkling out of… Anger? Disappointment?

“Sylvain,” she chokes out. “How could you even think we would be anything less than devastated if you disappeared, if we thought you were dead.”

“Oh,” he says, because the look on her face is hurt.

“Sylvain, we love you. You’re our family. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he says. “I know, I… I love you guys too.”

Embarrassingly, he can feel his eyes start to water because maybe he hadn’t known, didn’t realize how much his friends loved him until now.

Blinking, he looks up to see Felix, gazing fondly at them.

“Not gonna join the cuddle pile?” he teases, voice watery, and Felix barrels forward, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

He can feel a wet spot where Dimitri is crying into his shoulder, his arm sort of hurts where Ingrid is gripping him, and it’s a little hard to breathe because Felix is squeezing the air out of his body.

It’s the most at home he’s felt in years.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into the nebulous space that is Felix’s hair, Ingrid’s arm, and Dimitri’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m here now.”

-

Saying goodbye to Ingrid and Dimitri is a teary event with bone crushing hugs and watery farewells.

“I am beyond happy that you are back,” Dimitri says as he hugs Sylvain once more, mindful to not literally crush his bones. “I don’t know what… Well, you are here now, and that is all that matters.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Ingrid promises fiercely.

“Yeah, of course,” Sylvain says. “Text me when you guys finish.”

“I will,” she says, and darts forward to give him one last hug. “We missed you,” she says softly.

“I know, I missed you guys too, even when I was here.” Sylvain admits. “I’ll see you soon.”

Maybe it’s a little dramatic, considering that they’re just going to report that Sylvain is officially un-missing and not dead, and should be back in a few hours, tops.

With a final nod, she and Dimitri leave. The door shuts and Sylvain closes his eyes and leans his forehead against it, taking a deep breath.

“You okay?” Felix’s voice is soft, and the hand he places on his arm even more so.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m just overwhelmed, I guess.”

Felix hums in response. Sylvain sighs deeply, pushing himself off the door, and turns to Felix.

“Hey,” he says. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Felix says jerkily, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Sylvain smiles softly, and pulls Felix to him. He holds him tight, wrapping his arms around his back. Hesitantly, Felix returns the hug, burrowing his face into Sylvain’s neck, and he can feel Felix’s little puffs of breath tickling his skin. He feels content, feeling Felix warm against him.

“Did you mean it?” Felix asks suddenly.

“Huh?”

“What you said when you turned back. Did you mean it?”

“I don’t-”

“You said you loved me.”

Sylvain feels his heart stop in his throat. There’s an easy way out, he knows. He can brush it off with the Iloveyous already shared with Ingrid and Dimitri. But that’s not exactly the truth, and both he and Felix know that.

He swallows roughly, before speaking.

“Yeah. Yeah I meant it.”

“...Okay.” Felix flushes slowly, then all at once, red creeping up his neck and to his ears.

“Okay?” Sylvain asks, a little amused.

“Okay.” he repeats, eyes darting up, then looking away immediately upon making eye contact.

Sylvain rests his head on top of Felix’s, humming, and traces a pattern on his back. Felix relaxes into him, fitting his face into the curve of his neck once more, as if he belongs there.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” Sylvain says softly. Up, down, up, down, he runs his thumb over Felix’s spine. “Or ever, if you don’t want to.”

Felix just holds him tighter, clenching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers.

“I really did miss you, you know,” Sylvain confesses. “I missed talking to you, I missed being able to hold you like this-”

“Sylvain.” Felix says, firm, and Sylvain freezes, wondering if he went too far. Slowly, he pulls back to look at Felix’s face. There’s a flush high in his cheeks, but his brows are furrowed.

“I thought I lost you,” Felix says in a small voice, still not making eye contact. His fingers curl tighter into Sylvain’s shirt, bringing him closer.

“You didn’t. I’m here, I’m right here.”

“I can’t, I can’t lose you again.” Felix says, desperation coloring his voice.

“You won’t. I’m yours, Felix, now and forever.” Sylvain swears it like an oath, whispers it into the shared air between them.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he says. He cups Felix’s cheek in one hand and laces their fingers together with the other, pressing Felix’s hand to his chest so he can feel the ba-dump of his heart, alive and true.

Felix squeezes his hand firmly, and finally, finally, looks up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are warm like honey and golden as the sun. Sylvain’s breath catches in his throat, and he hesitantly, reverently, brushes his hair back before letting his hand cup his jaw.

“Felix,” he says. “Let’s get a cat.”

Felix hesitates a moment, before saying, “No.”

“No?” Sylvain asks, heart sinking.

“No,” he says, firmer this time. “Let’s get a dog.”

Sylvain laughs, happy, feels his chest flutter as he looks into Felix’s face, open and unguarded, eyes shining with hope.

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “We’ll get a dog.”

It’s a promise towards a future, together, and it’s a promise worth keeping.

It’s a promise that Felix seals with a kiss, soft against his lips and as warm as the gentle memories they carve out together, a promise shared again, and again, and again.