Work Text:
If there’s anything Sylvain Jose Gautier knows, it’s his angles. His years of crafting the perfect Tinder profile, putting out exactly the right vibe to reel people in, have made him an expert in group photo posing and selfies alike — not to mention dick shots, including the one he’s sending off, on request of course, to what is sure to be yet another satisfied lady. Which is why he’s surprised when his phone dings to reveal:
H: ew lol
He frowns from the couch in his living room-slash-bedroom, where he’s sprawled out with a mindless episode of something blaring from his laptop speakers. Sexting for Sylvain is a multi-location activity, and it’s all buildup for later anyway. For now sealing the deal would have to wait; his roommate is buried somewhere in his room, and he never knows for sure whether he can hear him through his headphones.
wow you know how to make a guy blush
She’s just another distraction, a cute girl with cotton candy hair he met at the bar a few nights ago, but there’s no reason for her to hurt his feelings.
what do you like uncut or something?
He leaves the chat open for a moment, then swaps apps when he doesn’t see the typing bubble. His laptop talks on in the background. He’s almost completely distracted by an email from his anthropology professor about an assignment he might be behind on when the reply arrives.
H: not especially lol i mean the nasty sock on the floor
Then quickly:
H: most guys know to keep their cum socks out of their dick pics
…what? The snap is already gone so he can’t see the evidence for himself, but he jumps up from the couch, practically stomping to the bathroom that had been his studio, throwing the door open — and there indeed on the floor is a sock, although thankfully it doesn’t look like an actual cum sock.
That’s it. “FELIX!”
He’s already on his way out of the bathroom, to the living room/bedroom that he’d had to take thanks to his habit of stumbling home late and loud too often. Felix’s door seems irrevocably closed; he had thought he was in there but maybe he was actually out for once, maybe with one of the gaggle of weird girls that seem to be the only people he’s made friends with at GMU. Sylvain actually finds it impressive on some level that Felix has managed to surround himself with the only group of girls he doesn’t want to hit on. That and Ingrid, but they were already friends before, for too long for him to see her any other way.
Granted, that same “not seeing them that way” didn’t seem to be applying in quite the same way to Felix. But that was something to keep pushing down, locking away, especially now that they were roommates. There was a whole new layer of things that would be ruined now if that ever got out, right on top of their friendship.
He knocks on his door. “Felix!” he calls again and at that he hears what sounds like a curse and movement. Headphones then, no weird girls. He hopes.
The door clicks open and there he is, looking annoyed and perfect as ever, hair in his usual ponytail, stupid sleeveless turtleneck that somehow makes Sylvain feel like he’s losing his mind, bare arms crossed as he leans against the frame. “What?”
“You’re not busy, right?” He can hear his laptop in the living room/bedroom still.
“I am, I—”
“Whatever it is, it can wait.” Sylvain cuts him off with a wave of his hand, taking full in the face the glare Felix sends him. “I’m taking you to do your laundry.”
“What?” This time it’s like a knife out of his mouth, sharp and almost angry, but that’s just Felix’s style, and the laundry has to get done one way or another.
“Come on,” he wheedles, turning on the charm that Felix says he hates but almost always wins him over anyway. “It’ll be way easier for you if you let me drive you there instead of trying to lug your stuff on the train.”
Felix hmmphs. “I suppose you make a good point. And Hanneman’s paper isn’t that long.”
Sylvain’s grin widens. “You’re working on that? Why don’t we bring our stuff and write it together while we’re there? It’s not gonna be crowded.”
“You are not fucking copying my work,” he says, and it sounds like he means it. But he does disappear back into his room, picking up clothes off his floor as he goes. Sylvain heads back to the bathroom to grab the offending sock, trying to touch it as little as possible while he glares at it. So much for the girl with the pink hair. He sends a couple texts that he’s sure will be his last to her.
it wasn’t a cum sock lol you’re nasty. it was my roommate’s tho
gonna take him to do his laundry rn so the place is perfect for you ;)
Without looking up from where he’s on his phone back in Felix’s doorway he tosses the sock toward the sounds his scuffling makes and is rewarded with a “Hey!”
They pile into Sylvain’s beater, him, Felix, their backpacks and a laundry bag that’s more full than Sylvain’s has ever been, but hey, everyone has flaws. Felix’s just happen to directly contradict all of Sylvain’s driving principles — keep your living space clean, don’t make your food so spicy you can’t taste it, never show anyone what’s really going on. Heh.
They make it to the laundromat no thanks to Sylvain’s truly decrepit car nor Felix’s annoying and white-knuckled passenger side backseat driving and get an unusual spot right in front of the door. They’d expected it to be quiet but it’s downright empty. Sylvain catches Felix glancing at the Open sign for reassurance that they won’t be arrested for triggering the silent alarm in an inadvertent B&E.
They aren’t. Instead they high-five, Felix a little begrudgingly, over the golden opportunity to actually start all of his wash at once.
“All right, get sorting since you have a head start on the paper,” Sylvain instructs as he settles into a chair, swinging his legs over the arm onto its neighbor and pulling out his laptop. “What is it, 1000 words?”
“Look in the syllabus,” Felix says in a dismissive voice that tells Sylvain very clearly that he knows exactly how long it should be and just isn’t sharing.
“All right, all right. Let me know if you want any tips on the best way to sort your laundry.”
“Definitely not,” Felix snaps. Sylvain just laughs and puts his headphones in, opening a new document and hoping that some thoughts come his way on his experiences with a culture outside of Fodlan.
He finds himself surprisingly in the zone for a little while, surrounded by the smell of residual laundry detergent, the light of the sun filtering through the slightly dirty windows, and Felix’s presence off to the side where he’s splitting his clothes into different piles. Right on the floor of course, gross, but it can’t be helped. He gets his opening paragraph down, nothing too complicated this early in the semester, right to the thesis statement — which he still has to think of, and that’s when the unfamiliar and droning song blaring in his ears isn’t so helpful anymore.
There’s a tap on his shoulder and he pulls out his headphones. “Did you see a change machine around? I only brought bills.”
“I brought quarters for you just in case,” Sylvain says, pointing out towards his car. “Take my keys, they’re in a plastic bag in the cup holder.”
“Uh,” Felix says, holding out his hand robotically for the car keys, “you brought them for me?”
“Yeah, dude. A guy who does his laundry as infrequently as you is bound to forget something.”
“Thanks.” His voice is oddly brusque but Sylvain would take what he could get. Sure, this meant he’d have to save up more quarters for toll roads on his drives to and from Faerghus but as he was increasingly realizing the longer they lived in each other’s spaces, this was kind of the way it was with Felix. Didn’t matter what he needed, what he wanted, Sylvain was going to get it done, make it happen. Ugh.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, willing it to somehow make him forget all these not-so-new but newly pressing feelings.
H: wow, a guy who does other people’s work for them! i love that in a man.
Keys splat on his stomach with a jangle, and there’s more rattling from the bag of quarters Felix is holding. “I don’t know why you bother locking that thing. Only an idiot would try to steal from a car as shitty as yours.”
“Hey, the guy that car drove here should be a little more appreciative, huh?”
Felix just scoffs, indulging in the continued emptiness of the laundromat by putting each of his three piles into a different machine at the same time, starting them one after the other. When he sits back down, pulling his backpack over to him to grab his own laptop, it’s on the floor in front of the chair Sylvain is in, which is unusually close for Felix and has Sylvain feeling farther than ever from his stupid thesis statement.
“So, what are you writing your essay about?” he asks, futilely. Felix doesn’t have to turn around for Sylvain to see his glare; he’s been on the receiving end enough times to recognize the frigidity in the air.
“I said you’re not copying my work.”
“Hey, I have my topic. Just thought I’d be friendly.”
“Oh, now you want to be friendly?” Felix asks sarcastically, and that is interesting too.
“What does that mean?” Sylvain asks, cautiously. The wrong word with Felix could mean days of the silent treatment, which he’s not interested in.
“Forget it,” he replies dismissively, but Sylvain doesn’t think he’s totally put his foot in it yet because Felix doesn’t do that thing where he huffs and stomps off, even if it’s just across the room. And as Sylvain pictures it, as accurately as if it were happening right in front of him, he has to face the reality again that he’s been reading Felix for years like he’s the only book around.
They work in silence for a while, Sylvain eventually deciding that he believes strongly enough to write about it that the differences between Fodlan and Sreng should bring the nations closer together, not drive them apart. He’s at two and a half paragraphs with a couple of loosely scholarly references pulled from Google, about ready to actually check the syllabus for the length requirement, when Felix speaks. “This is the first time we’ve really hung out since I started here.”
There it is. The one time Sylvain actually decides to be patient and shut the hell up, it pays off. Go figure. “I guess it is,” he replies, still careful. “Starting a new year is busy, right?”
“Right,” Felix agrees. “Busy.”
“You’re always with — what’s her name, Bernadetta? Annette? Ly… okay, her I really don’t remember.”
“Lysithea.”
“Yeah,” Sylvain says, privately wondering what the hell Lysithea had done to her parents to earn that name. “And if not them we’re with the old Faerghus crew,”
“Thanks for the recap of my schedule,” Felix rasps, pointed as one of his stupid fencing foils. “I just… I don’t know. You have time for Ingrid, and Dimitri, and Dedue, and all the girls you hook up with. Loudly. In our living room. On weeknights.”
“It’s also my bedroom,” Sylvain interjects weakly. “And I’ve only brought a couple girls home. It’s weird sometimes knowing you’re on the other side of the wall.” True and also not really getting at the heart of things. Very Sylvain.
“Sorry to cramp your style.” It tosses off his tongue, sharp and sardonic.
“Listen, if it bothers you I won’t bring anyone home anymore. Really.” And he finds he actually means it, text from Pink Hair be damned, as he moves his arm to pat Felix’s shoulder. He jerks away, touch-averse as ever, but the moment his fingers grazed the bare skin at the edge of his shirt is embarrassingly impactful. Sylvain retreats back into his paper. Felix doesn’t move from his spot.
Eventually the washers ding, one after the other, and Sylvain wonders how wrong he’s doing his laundry that three different loads that should have had varied settings finish almost simultaneously, but decides not to tease. Writing about Sreng is easy, he’s been there dozens of times since he was a kid, and he wraps up his closing paragraph as Felix moves the wet clothes, saving his file and making the call to edit later. Or he and Felix could exchange. Whatever. But if the guy actually wanted to hang out, for once not just shoving him away, he was going to at least pay attention.
His laptop is stored back in his bag alongside his headphones by the time Felix has all the dryers started. He drops back to the floor, but facing Sylvain this time, and again he comes surprisingly close, resting his arms on the edge of Sylvain’s seat where his body still sideways doesn’t quite fill it, perching his chin there. Sylvain raises an eyebrow.
“I’m going to make you bring me here every time I do laundry,” Felix says decisively. “I’ve never had the laundromat all to myself like this.”
“For real,” Sylvain says. “I’m your lucky charm.” And then he wants to wince but instead he winks. Flirting with Felix is so easy, too easy considering they have to go home together after this.
He rolls his eyes though. “I should apologize.”
“Why?”
“It’s not really my business who you bring home. And you’re not so loud,” he admits, ears a little pink. “Not that I’m listening. I usually just put on white noise if I hear anyone else come in.”
“I mean it, Felix. If it bothers you I’m not bringing anyone else home. I don’t wanna make you hate me or anything.”
He scoffs. “I don’t hate you.” Something about the way you comes out strikes Sylvain, but he’s not sure exactly what about it, and he doesn’t want to rile Felix up or make him mad while he’s being so… well, weird. In a good way.
“I should apologize too,” Sylvain says. “You’re right, I feel like I’ve been kinda taking you for granted or something.” Felix raises an eyebrow, looking up at him. He waits. “I just mean like… just because we’re roommates and around a lot doesn’t mean we’re not still friends.” He rubs the back of his neck, hot in the scorch of his openness, and Felix is so close that he feels the exhale of his breathing against the skin where his shirt pulls up a little. Yikes. He lowers his arm quickly. Maybe this is why he hasn’t been making the effort to actually hang out with Felix, it’s a lot harder to ignore the sudden intensity of how he makes him feel when they’re like this.
“You’re right.” He nods, nose brushing his arm. “I’ll make an effort too. You’re clearly still looking after me,” he adds, shaking the lighter baggie of quarters.
Sylvain chuckles. “Hey, just like when we were kids, right? Is that why you wanted to live with me instead of Dimitri, so you’d have someone to give you laundry money and clean your kitchen?” He winks.
“I would have killed Dimitri within a week. Can you imagine how fucking annoying he would be?”
“A gym rat who eats nothing but dairy and protein powder? Yeah, gross.”
“And now, even worse, a political science major.” Out of anyone else it might be a joke but Sylvain has a feeling Felix means it. “I’m glad you’re not like that. I figured you’d be easy to live with, though you’re annoying in your own way. It’s a way I’m used to, though.” And if Sylvain didn’t know better, he’d think he saw the edge of a smile on Felix’s face. But he does know better and Felix doesn’t smile often, definitely not at Sylvain. “Plus, good luck tearing him and Dedue apart now that they’re roommates.”
“Never has an exchange student arrangement gone so well. I’m glad Dimitri wasn’t some kind of serial killer or anything.”
Felix shakes his head. “Dedue either. Just a great cook, really smart, neat, organized…”
“You’re starting to sound like Dimitri.” Sylvain rolls his eyes.
“Honestly, that mostly describes you too.” Felix flushes a little again. “Being your roommate hasn’t been… terrible.”
“High praise!” Sylvain exclaims, and on some level it is. He grins. “It’ll be even better now that I know you still want to be friends. I’ll box up leftovers for your lunch, beat your ass at Smash Brothers every Thursday night…”
“You’ve literally never beaten me,” he says flatly. “Ingrid’s tally has me at the most wins.”
“That also makes you the least fun.”
“Dedue and Dimitri are the least fun.” He rolls his eyes and Sylvain does too in silent agreement. “The just want the other one to win so badly that they play terribly.”
“Don’t remind me. All right, you have a point. But when Ingrid has to tell you to chill out don’t you think you might be taking it too far?”
“Hmmph.” And that’s Felix. Too competitive, too abrasive, but right now he’s also calm where he’s propped close to Sylvain.
“So,” he says, ready to change the topic, wanting to keep him talking while he’s in the mood for it, “what are you writing Hanneman’s paper about? Promise I’m just curious, no copying.”
“I wrote about Dagda,” Felix replies. “I went there when I was a kid for a few months.”
“I remember.” Sylvain remembers well, actually. Felix had begged him to call every single day, and while his parents couldn’t swing a daily long distance call he did get in touch weekly. Felix would cry on the phone about how much he missed him, then tell him how amazing Dagda was, how everyone was so interesting, how the food was so tasty and spicy. Better than that Sylvain remembers how Felix had slammed into him at the airport, where he’d insisted his dad drive so they could meet Felix, Glenn and their dad, arms around him so tight he thought he’d snap, but he didn’t, wouldn’t, let go. All that memory distills into one inane sentence. “You really liked it there, huh?”
Felix nods slightly, chin indenting deeper into the muscle of his forearm. “Maybe I’ll go for summer break.”
“That would be cool,” Sylvain says, brain spinning up an unrequested scene of adult Felix sprinting toward him across an airport, jumping into his arms, and he cuts himself off before the scenario continues down a less innocent path than the one they’d walked as kids.
“Yeah.” They sit quietly for a moment. It’s still warm at the end of the Horsebow Moon, sunlight spilling into the laundromat, dryers spinning off heat of their own. Must be the only way Felix is comfortable in just his dumb turtleneck, he’s usually freezing in whatever he’s wearing. Not so Sylvain. In fact he’s sweating a little, warm inside and out as ever. “So, what made you drag me out here to do my laundry all of a sudden?”
So much for wanting him to talk. Sylvain feels his face heat up and not from the sun or the dryers this time. “Ah. Uh. Well to be completely honest I was… well I just noticed your sock on the floor of the bathroom. And I figured, you know. Better now than later.”
“Well, that was suspicious.” Sharp as ever. No social skills but the unfair perception and intuition of someone much more capable. “You’re usually such a good liar.”
“I’m not… lying.” Not exactly, and not bothering to deny Felix’s statement. “Okay, fine. I was sending someone a… a picture. And your sock was in the picture. No big deal. Just figured now was the time while I was thinking about it.”
Felix lifts his head off his arms, eyes hardening in a way that Sylvain does not like at all, a little different from their usual shuttering when he’s angry about something. “A picture of what, the floor of the bathroom?”
“Nah, that was just in the background, if you get me.” Blood is rushing to Sylvain’s head at a rate he hasn’t felt since he went through puberty. “So, yeah.”
“You’re insatiable,” Felix says, a refrain he’s repeated once or twice through the years, and then he stands and does his huff and stomp routine over to where the dryers are still running, barely started. He stares at one of them with intention, as if he could will it to finish more quickly.
“Felix,” Sylvain whines, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair and onto the floor, following him to the dryers and only wobbling a little when he realizes his legs are asleep. “Felix, I’m sorry.”
“For what? It’s your right to do what you want.”
“Actually, good point,” Sylvain says, inspired, changing tack mid-conversation. “It’s not like you to care so much what I do. You never cared in high school.”
“We weren’t roommates in high school,” Felix says through gritted teeth. “I didn’t have to see all the evidence back then.”
“I guess I just didn’t think it would bother you. Sorry, like I said earlier I’m not going to bring people around anymore. At least not as much.”
“Generous,” he spits. Sylvain senses it’s time to stop pushing and returns back to his seat, dropping into the chair and pulling out his phone.
i’m a giver ;)
what are you up to while i coach this guy on washing his clothes?
If the squabble is a lasting one, Felix won’t want him around anyway. He owes it to him to at least try to get out of their apartment for a while. It’s either Pink Hair or going over to Dimitri’s… or Ingrid’s. Another possibility he doesn’t want to consider. Since Felix seems committed to keeping silent, at least for a while, he stays quiet himself, scrolling through social media to the point that he starts to wonder if maybe he should just give in and start editing his paper.
“Let’s have dinner.”
Sylvain’s head jerks up, locking his phone as he looks at Felix. Felix isn’t meeting his eyes as usual, isn’t even glancing in his direction, leaning where he is against a dryer with his head turned toward the window, reminding Sylvain a little of a cat in the sun somehow. “What?”
“You heard me.” He does face him then, maybe still not looking in his eyes since he’s far enough to get away with it. “Our apartment always smells great, so we’re both clearly capable. If we want to try actually staying friends let’s make dinner together. Or one of us can cook or whatever. Don’t make me keep explaining, you dolt.”
“No, that sounds great.” Sylvain smiles. “You wanna cook first? Maybe something Dagdan?”
Felix nods. “Tuesday?”
Sylvain checks his calendar. “I have work until 7:00 but after that is good.”
“Good.” And then one of the dryers dings and the moment is over. Sylvain goes over to Pink Hair’s later (Hilda, he has to remind himself, but he doesn’t update her contact info in his phone) but he scares one of her roommates half to death on his way out in the middle of the night, weirdly unsettled without Felix on the other side of the wall.
It’s the night of the tenth Tuesday night dinner in a row that Sylvain first realizes he might be in too deep. It’s his turn to cook, and even if it wasn’t he’d gotten a text earlier in the day that meant he should anyway.
fe : picked up a shift at the gym so i won’t be back until like 8:30. eat by yourself if you want.
nah i’ll just start cooking around 8:00 or whatever. see you later
A person that wasn’t potentially completely into Felix might have taken that at face value, but for Sylvain all it meant was that he had the chance to stop by the store after his last class to buy some type of weird meat that was in Felix’s favorite category of food, look up recipes in the parking lot, make another trip in to buy a bottle of some spice he’d never heard of after picking one that looked promising off of Google.
A guy that wasn’t maybe smitten with his roommate wouldn’t have come home and showered, putting some actual thought into his outfit even though he wasn’t leaving his apartment. And yet, Sylvain did just that, selecting a somewhat decent pair of jeans and then pausing as he switched between two sweaters. He sent Ingrid a picture of each one.
hypothetically which one of these would you rather see me in?
like if we were on a date
dumb blonde: why would you even make me imagine that
dumb blonde: but i’d pick the grey one if i were you i guess
dumb blonde: oh and good luck! it’s been a minute since you had a date huh
dumb blonde: does your dick still work
He puts the grey one on but he’s not happy about it.
And Sylvain knows he’s in trouble, because someone not at all possibly hypothetically in love with Felix wouldn’t have remembered that it was the last day of classes before the long weekend celebrating Kingdom Founding Day and bought a bottle of tequila that wasn’t quite stocked on the exact bottom shelf since it would probably go well with the recipe he picked. And someone not in love with his roommate definitely wouldn’t be in the kitchen, waiting for his marinade to sink in, scrolling through Spotify to try to find exactly the right playlist. Felix’s taste in music was so unpredictable, and his mood could be so impacted by it…
Ugh. In the end he goes with something indie and instrumental with a side of self-consciousness for thinking about it for so long.
The worst part about the whole situation, he thinks as he starts slicing vegetables, is that he has no idea where he’s at with Felix. In addition to eating together every Tuesday, like a commitment — and that’s just alone, not counting all the times they’re with Dimitri or Ingrid or Dedue or Felix’s strange coterie of really short girls — they’ve kept up with doing laundry together every couple weeks, struggled through the boredom of Hanneman’s class together, and Felix had indeed beaten him at Smash Brothers more times than he could count during the sessions they occasionally had with anyone else who could put up with Felix’s competitiveness making losing to him even more annoying. It does feel like they know each other a little better from being in proximity, maybe. They keep to the chore wheel Sylvain had enlisted Bernadetta’s help to make pretty, they each know each other’s coffee order and a few take-out staples, once in a while they watch a movie together on one of their laptops, maybe on their sofa but mostly on one or the other of their beds because Sylvain is always taking up too much space on the couch. And yet.
If it was anyone else, Sylvain would have made his move already, like a long time ago. If it was anyone else he would be bored already, onto the next thing, the next distraction, the next mistake. But this is Felix. And in some way the fact that he hasn’t completely pulled back and closed off, has kept up their rituals and their commitments, is enough to give Sylvain some stupid hope that maybe even if things never progress that they won’t change.
He’s just assembling the shish kebab skewers when the sound of a key turning makes his head lift embarrassingly quickly to the door. Felix steps through, bundled in a coat and sweatpants that are, in Sylvain’s opinion, too heavy for the relatively mild Red Wolf Moon in Garreg Mach. It’s way warmer than Faerghus, where at least Felix’s constantly cold blood made a little more sense.
“It’s freezing out,” he offers, dropping his keys in the makeshift bowl Dedue had made them in pottery club and locking the door behind him. “Do I have time to take a shower? I’m disgusting, I swear everyone in the Eagles came to the gym tonight and wanted a spotter or a sparring partner or whatever the hell they asked for.”
“Totally,” Sylvain calls as Felix shrugs out of his coat, dropping it on the back of one of the chairs at the edge of their counter which has to double as a table in their tiny space. “I’m still putting everything together. Let me know if you have a better idea for music.”
“Whatever you picked is surprisingly atmospheric,” he replies, and then his door is closing behind him and Sylvain is trying very hard to focus on making his skewers perfect.
He’s turning over the third set in the pan, regretting that their place is too small for anything even remotely resembling a grill, when he hears that door open again. “It smells amazing in here,” Felix calls, popping into Sylvain’s field of vision at the fridge, and maybe it’s just the atmosphere but he has to take a moment and really stare.
Felix’s cheeks are pink, maybe from the cold outside still or maybe from the heat of the shower, but something about it makes Sylvain’s palms itch to reach out and touch them. He evidently didn’t wash his hair, because it still looks mostly dry in his bun, loosened enough to fall at his nape with stragglers framing his face in dark waves. The joggers he’s wearing somehow look good, and as usual he’s in a turtleneck, although thankfully for Sylvain’s sole remaining brain cell it’s sleeved. Unfortunately he has the sleeves pushed up above his elbows, and apparently that amount of arm exposure is enough to prove distracting. Sylvain forces himself to turn his attention back to dinner before it burns, and Felix grabs the pitcher out of the fridge to pour a glass of water.
“I hope it tastes as good,” Sylvain replies. “I’ve never made this before. And good call getting water, I bought tequila to drink with dinner.”
“Wow, you really went all-out.”
“Hey, we’re on break, I was in the mood.” He turns the skewers in the pan and grabs a piece of pepper that had come loose from one of the ones still warm on the plate by the stove. “Come here, try this.”
Felix steps closer, stretching the hand not holding the pitcher, but instead of grabbing the vegetable from Sylvain he grabs his wrist and guides his hand to his mouth, taking the pepper in his teeth and thankfully not looking at Sylvain’s face, which he has a feeling is betraying him in a big way. He chews and swallows, still holding Sylvain as if he would have spit the food out into his hand if he didn’t like it, and then he grins. “Good.” He drops his arm and pours two glasses of water, leaving one by the stove for Sylvain. “Anything I can do?”
“Uh, nope, I’m wrapping up these and then we’ll be ready.” They finish cooking quickly, Felix quietly sipping water and bobbing his head to the music while scrolling through something on his phone, Sylvain trying really hard not to think about how Felix had been close enough to feel the dampness of his mouth on his fingers. They burn just thinking about it. He grabs a couple plates, scooping rice out of the cooker on the counter that Felix had thankfully brought from home this year, and adds three skewers to each before setting them out at their makeshift table and pouring them each a couple fingers of tequila — maybe a little less for Felix, but enough.
“This is really nice, Sylvain,” Felix says after the first few bites. His voice is unusually genuine, and Sylvain wants to think it’s not just because they drained their first serving of tequila in an exaggerated toast that had made both of them laugh. “I didn’t know you were this good a cook.”
“Well, I get practice every other week at least,” he replies, trying not to look at where Felix’s head hovering over his plate stretches his neck to expose the skin below his jaw over the collar of his shirt, where the pieces of his hair that fall loose half-hide and half-show his face in a way that makes Sylvain’s stomach bottom out. “I’m glad it panned out though.”
“The tequila isn’t bad either. Is it cool if I have a little more?”
“Only if you get me some while you’re up,” Sylvain replies, handing Felix his glass where he reaches for it. “I bought it for us.” Us fills him with a very embarrassing feeling, the kind he’s been chasing for as long as he can remember, the kind he’s trying his hardest to hide and push down and banish away as long as Felix is happy to be his roommate and friend and nothing more.
“Nice of you,” Felix says, and his lips quirk in something like amusement. “That reminds me, I actually grabbed something for you from the bodega on my way home from the gym.” He sets the glasses on the counter, then goes for his coat pocket, rummaging for a second as though it’s bigger than it looks in there before landing on his quarry. “Here.” He tosses something to Sylvain that thankfully he catches. “I noticed you were out this morning when I was on my way out.”
Menthols. “Ugh, Felix, thank you. I’ll get you back next time I have cash.”
“You could Venmo me,” he replies, voice serious. Then, again, his mouth moves like he’s smiling. “Consider it payback for the many quarters you’ve given me. Plus I’m sure I’ll bum off of you a few times anyway.” He pours the tequila, similar size to before, and redistributes their glasses.
They eat quickly, hungry with the lateness of the hour and the warmth of the alcohol spreading in their stomachs. Felix insists on washing the dishes but lets Sylvain dry and put away. “Only because I know you’ll redo it later if I try,” he says as he relents, and he’s not wrong. Felix leans against the counter as Sylvain dries the last few plates, talking with him, keeping him company.
“Goddess am I glad to be on break,” Sylvain groans, hanging up the dishtowel. “Byleth’s class has been kicking my ass this semester. I need one more drink. You?”
Felix nods, passing his glass over to where Sylvain is at the fridge. “Want to watch a movie or something? I don’t feel like working on homework tonight.”
One more indignity on top of his many embarrassments so far, Sylvain feels his face, thankfully buried in the fridge grabbing the tequila bottle, light up. “Totally, I’m the same. You can pick. I even promise not to kick you off the couch by accident if we have to watch another Park flick.”
He turns to hand Felix his glass, and while he’s not one for eye contact in general something about the way he’s not looking at Sylvain feels studied. “I’ll never believe that. You almost cracked my rib during the tongue scene.” He pauses, and Sylvain gives him a little space, turning to pour his own glass. “Let’s just watch it in my room.”
…huh. Sylvain’s heart stutters, stupidly, shiver down his back even under the sweater Ingrid had recommended which is way too warm. “Cool,” he says, trying not to let his voice crack if that’s something he has any control over. “Go pick, I’ll be in in a minute.”
“Okay.” Felix is gone quickly, like he might lose his nerve if he hesitates. It’s not like they’ve never hung out in Felix’s room before, even in this exact scenario, but before there’s always been a specific reason why Sylvain’s somehow less intimate space in the living room wouldn’t work — cigarette smell lingering too strongly for Felix’s lower tolerance, construction outside his less insulated windows too loud, ghost of the person from the night before too present. Tonight there’s no such excuse. Sylvain considers bringing the tequila with him, but reconsiders. If things get weird or Felix gets overwhelmed the way he does on occasion with someone in his space it could be a good excuse to catch a break. If Sylvain wasn’t trying to cut down on his smoking this would be the perfect time for one. Instead, he sighs and grits his teeth, wishing for strength, following Felix into his room. The door is closed when he approaches it so he shuts it behind him again. It makes sense; with their energy bill budget the way it is Felix’s space heater has its work cut out for it even in the confined space.
Felix is on the bed, his bed, slotting a disc into his laptop, but Sylvain recognizes the name on it and groans. “Not the driving one again.”
Felix whips his head around, glaring at him with intensity that doesn’t really belong in a conversation about a movie, but that’s Felix. “If you’re planning on drinking any more I am not committing to explaining a movie you’ve never seen before to you.” Then, strangely, he looks away again with the same intentionality as earlier. “Plus I figured if you wanted to talk—” word forced out like a curse, Felix hates talking “—I’d be less offended if it was during something we’ve both watched.”
“That’s… actually thoughtful. Sorry for complaining.” Sylvain sets himself on the bed, carefully, reaching behind Felix to put his glass near the one already on his nightstand. “Plus the music is good.”
“I like a film with atmosphere,” Felix says primly, and he sounds so pretentious Sylvain has to laugh as he sits back up, next to him in the middle of the bed where the laptop is playing the menu on repeat. Felix hits play.
“I was gonna say that was weird for a guy whose room usually looks like the inside of a Saw set but actually it’s pretty tidy in here today.” The desk looks like a disaster area, but since Felix had classes and work today Sylvain is ready to let it go, especially since everything else looks much better than usual.
“I uh… cleaned it yesterday.” Felix is looking intently at the opening chase scene he’s made them watch at least twice already, as if he hasn’t seen it probably ten additional times. Sylvain raises an eyebrow at him, which he probably doesn’t see. He takes a sip of tequila before continuing. “Just so I didn’t have to do it over break.”
“You’re sticking around for break, right?” Sylvain asks, as if he hadn’t seen it indicated on the weirdly old-fashioned joint whiteboard calendar they share on the fridge. “Old man isn’t giving you shit about it?”
“He’s always giving me shit. You’re here too.” It’s not a question out of Felix. He saw it on the schedule too but he has no compunction about admitting it.
“You know how my family is,” Sylvain says, closing the lid on that topic.
They watch in companionable silence for a while, getting almost to the point where the husband comes up for the first time. Sylvain tops them off one more time, trying to wind down his unusually nervous pulse alone in the kitchen for a minute before heading back to Felix’s room, stretching out a little more on the bed after he drops the glasses off on the nightstand. Felix’s face looks a little pink, maybe from the tequila but pretty clearly not from warmth based on how stiffly he’s sitting up on the middle of the bed.
“Chilly?” Sylvain asks, during a stretch without much dialogue that he thinks is safe for talking. “I really don’t understand how you’re always cold. I’m practically sweating in here.”
“You’re always like that,” Felix grumbles. Both of their voices are a little blurry with alcohol but from Sylvain’s memories of underage drinking experiences together with Dimitri and Ingrid they’re still a ways from the edge of their tolerance. “How about you make it useful for once?”
And before Sylvain knows what’s happening, Felix is scooting back to lean against him where he’s propped up on one arm, settling himself against his side. Oh. Felix shivers against him, shuffling a little closer, and Sylvain holds himself perfectly still for a moment, fighting down all his usual instincts in this situation, scared to make the wrong move in the search for the right one.
“You are warm.” Fact and realization. Felix tips his head up to him, chin brushing against his side, meeting his gaze where Sylvain is already looking down at him trying not to let his eyes blow as wide as they want to. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” he replies quickly, and emboldened he presses his arm around Felix a little, trying to support both of them with the hand flat on his bed. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s definitely okay.” He bites his tongue, shutting himself up for a minute, trying and failing to adjust to the stuttering of his heart with Felix’s weight pressed against him. “I guess it’s from being from so far north? Plus this sweater. Ingrid picked it but it’s way too warm.”
“You look nice though,” Felix says, eyes fixed back on the middle distance directed at his laptop screen, and Sylvain can actually feel himself blushing, like a schoolboy — a schoolboy other than himself, because even then he would never have reacted this strongly. “Wait, did Ingrid buy that for you?”
“What?” Oops.
“You said she picked it. I wouldn’t think you two had similar enough tastes to be buying each other clothes.”
Sylvain wants to be more coherent and less loose-lipped but he’s had a good amount of tequila and he also has Felix’s body closer to his than it has been since they were kids and so instead he just tells the truth. “She didn’t buy it. She just picked it for me. To wear. Tonight. I just, like, couldn’t decide.”
Felix sits with that for a moment. Sylvain can almost feel the gears turning in his head but he can’t, or won’t, say anything and risk ruining whatever the hell is happening. He really is warm against Felix. “Well,” he says, “she made a good choice.”
Another long silence. Felix gradually leans into him more, Sylvain feeling the strain on his arm and eventually pulling them both back to prop them up against the wall that serves as Felix’s headboard, and at that point since why the hell not and he kind of feels like he might never get another chance he fully wraps his arm around Felix’s shoulders and Felix lets him. At some point, Sylvain loses track of where they’re at in the movie when it happens, Felix even uncrosses his arms, resting one of them against Sylvain’s leg in a move that seems both calculated in general and calculated specifically to make him unable to think about anything else. Until the knee that was pulled up almost to his chest falls sideways to also press against Sylvain’s leg and then that's all he can think about.
Right before the motel shootout, Felix pauses the movie, leaning away from Sylvain to do it, and his arm feels surprisingly empty without Felix under it. “I know this is your favorite part,” he says, and he’s almost right because the elevator scene is Sylvain’s favorite, duh, but he’d never admit that he’s put enough thought into Felix’s movies to have an actual favorite part.
“Okay?” he says, sitting up against the wall, crossing his legs a little clumsily.
“So I didn’t want to interrupt it.”
“I thought you picked this so we could talk through it if we wanted to,” he says, teasing a little to hopefully obscure his heart which feels as though it will pound its way out of his throat any minute now.
Felix’s face goes red, fully red, flushing to his ears. He’s a little distance away from Sylvain and looking at him blushing he has to hold himself back from closing that gap. “That’s before we got to one of the parts you actually like. And… uh. I wasn’t really… maybe we’re not on the same page, actually. Never mind.”
“What, Felix?” The pounding of his pulse has to be audible. Sylvain finds himself half wishing for the buzzing of the clockwork soundtrack in the background. “You can tell me, doesn’t matter what it is.”
He sighs. “I know I can. I know.” Another loud exhale, like he’s about to jump off a diving board, and then he looks up at Sylvain and his eyes are determined and molten in the low light from the lamp on his desk. Sylvain’s heart stutters to a stop at the sight. “I wasn’t thinking we’d be… talking.”
Sylvain’s mouth drops open, eyes darting unconsciously to Felix’s lips for a second before he jerks them back in order to meet his gaze again. “What would we be doing instead?” he asks, voice low and unbelieving, almost asking for permission amidst the insistent percussion in his ears and veins.
Felix seems shy suddenly, which isn’t like him, especially after drinking a little — Sylvain has seen that before and it usually makes him a little more open, more willing to let other people in. Just slightly. “Like I said, maybe it’s not time.”
This isn’t settling with Sylvain, and he thinks back to when they were kids, Felix trailing behind him always. Maybe he’s just a little in the back again. “Felix,” he says, embarrassingly breathy in the silence of the paused movie, “were you… did you want to…”
“Shut up,” Felix says, and then he leans forward to press his lips against Sylvain’s.
He holds perfectly still for a moment, pinned in place, so sure he would have had to be the one to make a move first that he’s almost not sure how to respond. Felix’s lips are a little cool against his, his eyelids screwed shut in a way that might have been a little insulting if it wasn’t so like him, hands resting on the bed, propping him up where his body is extended to reach Sylvain. Then his eyes open, and since Sylvain’s are frozen wide in surprise he gets the full flash of something like hurt in them before Felix pulls back.
“Uh. Sorry,” he says. His face is flushing again, utterly charming if it wasn’t punching a giant hole into Sylvain’s chest where he’s finally breathing again. “I guess Ingrid was wrong. And me too.”
“Ingrid?” Sylvain repeats, stupidly. His hand comes up, unconscious, to brush over his mouth where Felix’s had been.
“When I told her how I felt she said… she said she thought it was the same with you. That’s all. We were both wrong.”
“How you felt?” What is with him, what is it about Felix that strips him of the charm that’s wormed people of all types into and out of his bed over the years and just leaves his stupid self? He drops his hand and it bumps Felix’s against his comforter but he jerks away.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry again.”
“No, no,” Sylvain says, willing his brain to start working again. He’s only been wanting this, waiting or hoping for this, for months, the least he could do for himself is take advantage of it. “You’re not wrong. Ingrid’s always right. Um, I’m sorry. I just… I was surprised. In a good way. I kinda thought I’d just be like… pining over you forever. That’s all.” There’s a pause. Felix is staring at him, for once, wide-eyed now the way Sylvain was, mouth hanging open a little. “If it’s cool I’d really like you to kiss me again. I promise I’m much better than I—”
Felix lunges at him like a bird of prey, bracing his hands against the wall and bending at the elbow to clamp their lips together again, a kiss like a vise. Sylvain tips his head back to meet him, clutching at his waist to tug him closer, Felix’s knees bumping carelessly at his hips. Maybe he’s moving too fast but when Sylvain parts his lips against Felix’s his open too, letting him in, hot breath exhaling between them as Felix’s fingers curl in his hair. Sylvain’s arms wrap fully around him, like it’s the only time, like he could somehow crush them together until they pass into each other. When Felix’s tongue presses against his it sends a jolt of lightning down his spine and Sylvain pulls him down until he’s sitting in his lap, hungry for him, settling against him in a way that makes Sylvain gasp for breath.
This is normally the part where Sylvain would cross the line into too late to turn back territory. He’s practiced at it, skilled even, not quite at Malcolm Gladwell levels of mastery but close enough. But the implications of going too far with Felix are bigger than the usual consequences — not just their living situation is on the line, and the sudden idea of losing all of him rams into Sylvain with physical force and he jerks away from the kiss so abruptly that his head smacks into the wall, crushing Felix’s fingers under it where they’re still tugging with ripe force at his hair.
“Ouch,” slips out before Sylvain can help it, breathless. “Sorry, I’m sure that hurt.”
“A little,” he says, but he doesn’t move his hands. Neither does Sylvain unwind his arms. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, like… better than okay. Good.” Sylvain is practically stammering, watching Felix’s face go pink under the microscope of his clumsy praise. “I just… I want to go further. But.”
“But?” Felix repeats, quirking a brow over a lidded eye. Sylvain actually feels his dick twitch.
“But I really, really, really don’t want to mess this up. I like you, Felix. Like I really like you.”
“I… like you too. I’m confused.”
Sylvain groans. “Felix. I like you.”
“Then we won’t mess this up.” It’s simple, very Felix, and Sylvain’s learned to read between the lines over the years. Felix kisses him again, slow, then pulls back. “We won’t mess this up.” Another kiss, lazy, hot, hand sliding from his hair down his neck and body to snake under Sylvain’s sweater. “Goddess you’re warm.”
“Just one of many ways we’ll be good for each other,” Sylvain says, voice low against Felix’s lips, eyes closed, heart unusually open. “How much do you like the shirt you’re wearing?”
“Well enough,” Felix murmurs, a note of confusion and maybe amusement in his voice.
“Sorry, then. I’m about to stretch out the neck.” He pulls his arms from Felix’s waist, wrapping one around his shoulders, tugging at his turtleneck with his other hand, fingers hot against his pulse, kissing his way from the corner of his mouth to his cheek to his jaw and down his neck, timing to the rhythm of the noises Felix is making above him, thrumming through him. When he snakes his tongue up a line of tendon raised under his skin, Felix moans and it’s over, everything but making him make that noise wipes from Sylvain’s mind, everything but that and the hand on his stomach inching lower as his mouth does the work and the pressure coiling in his gut hot and insistent.
“My turn,” Felix says, voice breathy but determined and again Sylvain feels himself twitch. He does more than twitch as Felix pulls his hands off of him, rising to his knees and out of Sylvain’s grasp, re-placing forceful fingers at his neck and jaw to tilt his head up and expose his throat. Unsurprisingly, where Sylvain is gentle Felix is definitely not, all pressure and the graze of teeth and the grip of hands that spend too much time in the gym. Sylvain doesn’t mind at all, likes it even based on the sounds he’s making, the drowning grip he has on Felix’s hair, long since unraveled from its tie.
“So,” Felix murmurs against Sylvain’s pulse, teeth brushing on his skin like flint to tinder, “you like me, huh?” Sylvain nods, mistrusting of his voice as Felix tongues over his Adam’s apple. “I asked you a question, Sylvain.” Sighs the word out where he’s made his way up to his ear. “You usually never shut up.”
“You’re making it—” Gasp cutting him off as Felix sucks a bruise back down onto his collarbone. “—ah. Hard to speak.”
Felix pauses at that, leaning back with a quirk on his lips that looks familiar, hands still at Sylvain’s throat. “Sorry,” he says, definitely not meaning it. “Tell me how long.”
“How long I’ve been into you and how long I’ve known about it are probably two different things,” Sylvain says, fingers dropping from Felix’s hair to dangle over his shoulders against his back. It feels intimate, comfortable, and he likes it as much as he likes the shy duck of Felix’s face under it. “You?” Come on,” he adds as Felix shakes his head firmly, “Ingrid and I were starting to give up hope you’d ever find anyone who’d put up with you. I wanna know how long you’ve known I’m the only option left.” Sylvain winks but there’s no heart in it.
Felix barks out a laugh that’s half scoff. “You’ve been the only option for a while now, just not in the way you mean. And everyone else seems to have known before I did.”
Sylvain groans, pulling Felix back to him with a bend of his elbows. “Why—” presses a kiss to his forehead “—did it take—” against the bridge of his nose “—me so long—” one cheek then the other, and the skin there is pink and warm “—to make a move—” on his chin “—when you’re so…”
“Sylvain,” Felix says, thumbs against his jaw to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. He looks at him for a second, mouth open like he’s going to say something, really pushing Sylvain’s restraint with his kiss-blown lips, then bites it back. Sylvain strokes a thumb where his teeth press, hot and tender. “I’m just glad one of us did.” And then he dips his head to slot them together again, the last two pieces of a puzzle falling into place.