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He was 14 when he realized he was different.
It happened at the nearby lake as they skipped rocks across the freshly melted water. The sky had started to darken, and the sun cast a gentle orange hue across the forest interior, illuminating the ripples caused by the stones. Sylvain hated the water. No matter what colour blanketed it, Sylvain knew it was a dark, cold void absent of warmth and light. He was still haunted by the day when Miklan threw him into similar murky waters, watching Sylvain from above as the deep well swallowed him, an excited, sick glint in his eyes while he watched his brother drown. But that was years ago and Miklan left. Instead, Sylvain was there with his second girlfriend, J-something... Joanne? Julie? She was 15 years old and beautiful, with dirty blond hair and vibrant brown eyes. It didn't matter, though. Sylvain didn't like her, but her father was acquaintances with his father and a powerful Lord too. 'A good match,' his father once said. But Sylvain didn't care. Still doesn't; he can't even recall her damn name. But Sylvain does remember her hands, pink and freezing from the cold, as they suddenly lifted his shirt. He knocked her hands away, but she giggled and put them back on his bare stomach, which twitched uncomfortably. 'You're warm,' she said, and he frowned. 'Everyone else is doing it,' and she kissed him, and Sylvain slowly kissed her back despite the wave of nausea rising in his throat. She was his first, and the memory of it still stings like an old wound.
"Was it, um, good?" Felix asked him wide-eyed, curious and childlike when Sylvain told him months later. They sat on the steps outside the Fraldarius estate as Margrave Gautier and Duke Fraldarius spoke within, waiting for their parents to finish work; it was supposed to be a business trip, but Sylvain had begged his father to come. He needed to visit Felix and tell him everything; the feelings within threatened to overflow. Still, as they sat together on the cold stairway, Sylvain shrugged and looked away, overcome with sudden apprehension.
"I think so? It was mostly weird. Her hands were freezing but sweaty at the same time, and she bit me really hard," Sylvain chuckled and rubbed his neck where it took days for the bite marks to fade. He slowly glanced at Felix and smiled when he saw a scowl that made his cheeks puff out. It makes him look like a bab y, Sylvain thought as he leaned over and bumped his shoulder into his friend, who frowned even harder. "Hey now, what's that face for, Fe? Jealous?"
"No!" Sylvain almost laughs. "It just… it doesn't sound like it was good," Felix said, and Sylvain's stomach suddenly twisted into a knot. How could he have known? "Sylvain, did she hurt you? Did she force-"
"I think I hear your father calling," Sylvain said as he suddenly stood up, bounding up the steps before Felix could finish his sentence. Sylvain rubbed his neck nervously as he pushed open the door, holding it just long enough for Felix to slip inside before running down the hall, goading Felix into chasing him. Despite Felix's worried gaze, they didn't speak of it again for the rest of the evening, but Sylvain thought of it often.
He wishes he had been honest that day.
It was like that with his third girlfriend too. And the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth. The anxiety never faded, and things never got easier as he fell from one girl to the next. Sylvain didn't know what was wrong with him; there were no words to describe how he felt. Sylvain knew that he desired affection, but every one of their lurid touches burned like fire, and he would suddenly withdraw, hurting the girls in the process. He knew the breakups never affected him as how it did them. Where his exes agonized over a broken heart before eventually moving on, Sylvain stayed stagnant, a dull, guilty ache settling deep in his chest. He was lonely, and it embarrassed him how much he longed for affection yet could not accept it. And soon, that embarrassment made it hard to be honest with people. He often listened to the other boys at the training grounds talk about their so-called conquests, sometimes joining in with his own stories. Most of those stories were lies, but if the other boys knew, they didn't show it. It probably didn't even matter to them. Sylvain would pretend it didn't matter either, and place his shaking hands behind his head and hide his ache behind an easygoing smile.
At some point, kissing became acceptable. Sometimes, it was even fun. It felt good if the girl stroked his cheek or held his hand. And he liked it if they hugged him, petting his hair as they talked about their day. But that affection was scarce. Kissing would lead to wandering hands that popped open buttons and ripped clothes away. And Sylvain got good at pretending he wanted them too, his gentle smile and low voice encouraging and wanton. But, afterward, when he was left alone in his bed, restless and nauseated, the tears would come, and the tightness in his gut would become unbearable. And as his girlfriends slept undisturbed, Sylvain grew to hate their content smiles, a bitter resentfulness stewing low in his stomach. It wasn't on purpose. Sylvain can't pinpoint when his feelings toward his suitors turn into animosity. Honestly, though, it surprised Sylvain it didn't happen sooner. One after another, it was all the same damn story, daughters of lesser nobles hoping for a better life and using him as their ticket into true nobility. No love for him, no matter how hard Sylvain would yearn, but that's how these things went, right? When you bare a Crest, you do what you must to ensure your house's future. This was Sylvain's responsibility to bear and has been since his birth. And the more he lied to himself, the easier it became to believe those lies. And, eventually, with enough practice, he grew numb to it all, his loneliness settling over him like a thick blanket, heavy and secure in its certainty.
His closest friends, Ingrid and Felix, were his only reprieve from that blanket. Formerly, Sylvain included Glenn, but he's gone now, his empty grave gathering dust in the Fraldarius crypt. Sylvain wanted to include Dimitri, but the Tragedy of Duscur changed him; where there was a once sweet, well-being boy, there now walked a ghost, a shambling carcass pretending to be Sylvain's beloved friend. Ingrid and Felix changed too, but not beyond hope, not beyond Sylvain's reach. Despite Felix's verbal beratement and Ingrid's short temper, he was comfortable with them, safe and loved. And it was enough.
But Sylvain had never been lucky.
He's 20 when he realizes he's in love.
Feelings resurface as he watches his world destroy itself. He leaves with Edelgard because he believes in her future without Crests, despite the agony of leaving his family and friends behind. He trusts his professor; he trusts Byleth's confidence and devotion to doing right. And when he sees Felix in Garreg Mach, harrowed but uninjured, sitting on an empty box sharpening his blade, Sylvain wants to fight for their future together .
Felix suddenly halts his hand and lifts his head, meeting Sylvain's gaze. Sylvain stills and his mind goes blank, embarrassment at being caught watching settling deep within him as Felix's cold gaze stares him down, an unspoken tension hiding deep within. Before Sylvain can challenge whether or not he can read minds, Felix quickly looks away, feigning disinterest as he scoots across the box. Sylvain smiles at that, the familiarity washing away his doubts as he walks forward, sitting down silently. Their shoulders momentarily bump into each other, and Felix is cold against his side. Sylvain wants to wrap an arm around him but keeps his hands in his lap instead, twisting into one another.
"You came after all," Sylvain carefully breaks the silence, the tension between them tight. Several agonizing seconds pass before Felix shrugs, staring at the ground.
"Someone had to," Felix's voice warbles, and Sylvain looks at him now, watching Felix struggle to swallow. "I won't fight for the boar; that thing is beyond hope. And Ingrid…"
"Stayed with him," Sylvain finishes, looking away as his voice cracks. He clears his throat and feels Felix's cold stare again, but he doesn't meet his gaze, looking at his hands. They're shaking and he curls them into white-knuckled fists, nails biting into the meat of his palm. "Yeah. Heh, you know, I think she's the smartest one for that. Being a traitor doesn't look too good for future nobility. Especially since she'll probably survive this war, and we wo-"
" Quiet ."
Sylvain startles, fumbling slightly as Felix's voice rings in his ear. He looks down at Felix and frowns at the furious gaze, narrowing his own eyes in return.
" Ow , Felix. I'm not deaf."
"But you are stupid."
" Hey- "
"No! Shut up. I- augh, Syl vain ," Felix turns to him now, crowding Sylvain's space as anger rolls off him in waves. He hesitates with his following words, but for once, Sylvain doesn't interrupt, sitting patiently while Felix finds his voice. " Don't say that. We're surviving this because I'm going to see this through." Sylvain raises a brow, and Felix sighs, irritated. "We made a promise, remember? If you croak first, then we won’t be able to die together. And I'm not dying any time soon. So- just- shut up!"
Oh. Oh wow . Sylvain feels his body flush, chest heating quickly; Felix is talking about their childhood promise. He still remembers it, after all this time? Sylvain can't help but grin, especially when Felix turns away with a huff, his anger lessening into a simmer. Sylvain gently leans onto Felix's shoulder and contently sighs when he isn't immediately tossed off, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of maintenance oil and pine. It's here when Sylvain realizes he loves Felix. Dependable, rude, lovely Felix with his sharp wit and even sharper blades. A man who voluntarily follows Sylvain into hell because he values a silly promise made well over a decade ago. Sylvain can almost cry but laughs instead.
"Well, aren't I the luckiest guy in all of Fódlan to have such a caring best friend," Sylvain's voice is more doting than intended, and he rolls his eyes at himself for being so obvious. "Maybe we should exchange wedding vows now. Go all the way since you're being so nice to me," Sylvain smiles as Felix suddenly stands to shove him off the box, landing in the dirt with a soft thump. He laughs again and feels light and carefree, staring at Felix's pink cheeks and furrowed brows.
It's years before Sylvain feels this free again.
He's 24 when he stops pretending.
Nameless faces haunt Sylvain's dreams. They scream in agony, for mercy, for his death. They crowd Sylvain, and once again, he's drowning, and when he looks up, there's Miklan. His skull is caved in and within lays an endless void, dragging Sylvain deeper and deeper and deeper until-
He wakes with a gasp, sweating body surging forward with exhausted abandon. Sylvain sits in the dark as he pants, his heart thumping against his ribcage as he looks around like a wild, frightened animal. There's no water. There's no Miklan. The moonlight only illuminates an empty room, and Sylvain takes a deep breath, holding it for thirty seconds before slowly exhaling. A dream. It was just a dream. There is no water. Miklan is nothing but bones rotting in an unmarked grave alongside the countless warriors Sylvain has killed. He hates the ache that grips his chest when he thinks of his brother; Miklan would've never thought twice about where Sylvain's corpse rested, but Sylvain does. He wishes he could've buried Miklan properly.
Maybe then his ghost wouldn't haunt Sylvain.
Sylvain gets up slowly, his limbs moving mechanically. He doesn't rush getting clothed, taking his time as he dresses in the dark. The monastery is quiet as Sylvain exits his room, a barren husk that sits vigilant, waiting. Sylvain feels the cold Pegasus Moon wind blow in from the open window but doesn't shiver, humming as the breeze creeps along his back. Sylvain's feet move automatically, taking him down the stairs and across the broken-down courtyard to the training grounds. The main doors barely crack open an inch before he hears the sound of a training dummy getting carved into. Felix's grunts and pants seem laboured and exhausted as Sylvain tiptoes inside, settling onto the edge of the sands as he watches Felix train.
"What, Sylvain?" Felix doesn't stop, his sword cleaving into the dummy's chest, splintering the wood as a chunk flies off. It's impressive, and Sylvain whistles in appreciation, low and wolflike. Felix halts then, turning to look at Sylvain with a familiar frown. He arches a brow and Sylvain sighs.
"I couldn't sleep, Fe," Sylvain eventually says, and Felix hums, his frown softening.
"Is it your wound? I hope you weren't sleeping on it again; Linhardt won't coddle you for your recklessness this time."
Sylvain laughs, rubbing his torso where the mage's thoron tore into him. It stings like hell still, but the skin is together. Just another scar alongside the rest. He shakes his head.
"Nah, it's fine. It's fully healed now, almost as good as new," Sylvain smiles but Felix glowers in disbelief and stalks over to him, sheathing his sword before he tugs at Sylvain's shirt, a silent ask for permission. Sylvain nods and Felix tenses as he reveals the huge, red, and scabbed scar, but his hands are gentle as he cautiously presses at the skin, ignoring how Sylvain shivers. It shocks Sylvain how different Felix's hands are from everyone else's; they're rough and war-torn, calloused and hard from wielding a sword day in and day out. But they're so warm and careful as they flutter across his skin, mindful of where it hurts. It fills Sylvain with a tenderness he couldn't hope to smother out as he stares down at Felix with a soft, doting gaze, reaching up to pat the hand and examining his side.
"See, Felix? Fully healed and ready to get back out there," Sylvain says as Felix sighs, dropping the shirt as he stands back up, hands fixed firmly on his hips as he scowls down at Sylvain.
Uh, oh.
"Sylvain," ugh, here we go again. "It's nowhere near ready," can't Felix find something new to say? "You're always so careless," oh, like he can judge. "It won't kill you to take a rest for once, you know."
"It might kill you, though," Sylvain says under his breath, looking down at Felix's chest.
" What was that? " Felix hisses and Sylvain snaps, standing up to his full height.
"I said it might fucking kill you, though!" His yell echoes through the empty training grounds. "You always chastise me for being so careless , but you don't realize that I need to be up there. No one else is strong enough to take the hits, Felix, and if I don't disrupt their defenses first, then by the time you rush in, they'll- you'll…" Sylvain cracks with a sob, and he grips Felix's shoulders, fingers digging into the old, soft fabric. "I have to protect you, Felix. It's all I care about now. But I can't do that if I'm stuck here, licking my wounds while you play the hero."
Sylvain watches as Felix's initial shock slowly morphs into a flustered frown, cheeks reddening under the moonlight. His gaze briefly flickers from Sylvain's eyes to the ground and back up to focus on his nose, awkwardly tracing the faint sunburn Sylvain knows is there. Felix is patient as Sylvain calms down, his panting sobs slowing down into soft sniffles. Sylvain lets go of his bruising hold and gracelessly sits with an exhausted sigh, crumpling in on himself miserably. Felix quietly settles down next to Sylvain on the sandy ground, and they sit in silence as Felix mulls over Sylvain's words, brows furrowing as his cheeks continue to heat up.
"I don't need your protection, Sylvain," Felix finally speaks, and Sylvain laughs darkly, wiping at his tired eyes with the collar of his shirt.
"I know."
"Then why do you insist on doing it?"
"Didn't you hear me?" Sylvain barks out, immediately cringing and shaking his head. He doesn't want to argue anymore. "Sorry."
"Hmph."
Sylvain groans and turns to Felix, who stares at his injured side with an intense frown. The worry creases Felix's brows and Sylvain's heart thumps loudly in his chest. He reaches up and gently cups Felix's cheek, raising his head to look him in the eye. Felix's gaze is sharper now, hollowed by war, but they're still the same eyes of the boy who saw right through his lies all those years ago. Sylvain can't stop himself as his feelings surge.
"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Felix. When I joined this war, all I could think about was you, and the future we could build together. Saints , Felix, I… I love you." Felix closes his eyes with a sigh but reaches up and holds Sylvain's hand, pressing it hard against his cheek.
"You're so selfish, Sylvain-"
" Really?!"
"Let me finish! Bastard, you're always interrupting me," Felix opens his eyes to glare in bewilderment, sliding his hand to grip Sylvain's wrist and shaking the limp arm. "Sylvain! You're so selfish to think I don't feel the same damned way. I care for you too, but you make it so damn hard on me. Work with me and listen to me rather than constantly trying to sacrifice yourself for my sake!"
Oh.
"Oh…" Sylvain exhales, blinking at Felix.
" Oh ." Felix mimics in a low, mocking tone.
"Hey now, don't be mean to me," Sylvain gently says with a smile, a genuine smile that crinkles the sides of his eyes. "You love me, after all."
"Tch, unfortunately," Felix says, with no bite to his bark, as he grins back, fixing his grip, so he holds Sylvain's hand in his own again. They sit there in silence, enjoying the newfound peace that envelops them until Sylvain yawns, trying to stifle it behind his free hand. Felix snorts and squeezes Sylvain's hand.
"Tired already? What are you, ten?"
"Don't tease me, Felix," Sylvain grunts behind another yawn, blinking wearily at his friend. Felix snorts again, just short of laughing, as he stands up.
" Don't be mean to be, Felix. Don't tease me, Felix, " Felix says, poorly imitating Sylvain as he helps him stand, free hand pressing gently onto Sylvain's chest. His thumb caresses the smooth muscle as he leans into Sylvain's space. "What can I do to you then, hm?"
Sylvain's speechless as he watches Felix's hand, briefly stunned at the unexpected boldness of the question. Sylvain waits for the familiar anxiety to build, for the hard knot to form in his gut that makes him push Felix away, but Sylvain feels nothing but welcome warmth flood his body, making his knees feel weak. He sighs in relief and wraps his arms around Felix's waist, pulling him tight to Sylvain's chest. Sylvain wants to reciprocate the feeling, but…
"Maybe you can cuddle me until I pass out. Hold me to make sure I get a good night's sleep," Sylvain gently says, a new type of anxiety building when Felix blinks up at him, eyes wide with surprise.
"That's quite modest of you, Sylvain," Felix says but doesn't pull away, his voice low and nonjudgemental, though curious. Sylvain nods and lets out a weak laugh, more akin to a scoff.
"Yeah, I know, but…." Sylvain pauses, swallowing hard. He looks away and frowns, unable to meet Felix's eyes as he rests his cheek on Sylvain's chest. "I'm sorry, Felix, but can we go slow… ish? I don't want to rush into this, um, us; I want to do it right. I want to treat you right."
A moment passes before he hears a muted "of course" and Sylvain feels the tension physically leave his shoulders, exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I promise I won't push you into doing anything you don't want to," Felix presses a kiss to Sylvain's collarbone, cementing his vow. Sylvain can feel the vibrations of Felix's voice deep in his chest and leans into the feeling, gently placing his cheek on top of Felix's head as Sylvain fully embraces him. Felix hugs him back awkwardly at first before he melts into Sylvain's heat, holding him back just as tight. It feels good, feels right, to be in Felix's strong arms.
Sylvain doesn't know if he'll ever figure out why he's different. But at least, with Felix, it doesn't hurt as much. And that's enough for him.