#sylix

He had no signs of illness, which filled the back of Sylvain’s throat with bile. If he wasn’t sick, he might be permanently mute. He hovered next to him, throwing a rebuffed arm toward his shoulders and joking like nothing had changed.

No one noticed anything off except for Claude and the Professor. They had a conversation in a glance and exchange of nods and Sylvain wished he could go back to the days when he had that with Felix. Back before Glenn died and they lost Dimitri to the darkness.

Without a word between them, Sylvain lead Felix to the courtyard where he’d thrown his gear. In the light of the setting sun, Felix uncrossed his arms and scowled. When that didn’t warrant a reaction, he swiped the underside of his chin in a sharp motion before pointing to Sylvain.

Sylvain sat on his bound bedroll and stared up at Felix. Though he didn’t think that gesture had explicitly meant “Say it” everything else about the interaction did. “What-” He coughed about the lump, the grief in his throat, “what happened?”

Felix fell into a cross-legged sit next to Sylvain’s pack and tore it open. He reached in and pulled out his map of Fodlan without having to look for it. He unrolled it and jabbed his finger at Fhirdiad.

“You went after Dimitri?”

Felix nodded once, sharp enough to cut silk. He grabbed the collar of his dark blue turtleneck and yanked it down, revealing an ugly, twisted scar that spanned from ear to ear.

“...Oh.” He reached across the space the touched the old scar, his heart dropping even further at how deep it went.

Felix grimaced and turned his head, but didn’t move away. Without looking, he pointed at the map again, mimed slitting his own throat and tossing something heavy away. Then, his hands lit with White Magic and he painstakingly dragged them across his throat.

“You healed it yourself? That’s amazing. I… I can’t believe you went through that. I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

Felix gestured too quickly for him to follow, but he got the gist: you would have died. Before Sylvain could defend himself, Felix held out his pinky finger.

“Yeah, we made a promise. I remember.” He leaned back and away, letting Felix’s collar cover up the scarring. “I didn’t think you’d come. That you’d be too busy commanding the Fraldarius armies.”

Felix shot him a dark look.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve been trying to get out of being the Gautier heir my whole life. This was just the first time I actually had the courage to turn my back on my father.” He laughed like it was a joke and Felix swatted his shoulder. Then he laughed for real. “Hey, you know what I just realized?”

Felix crossed his arms over his chest and frowned so hard his face threatened to get stuck that way.

“I can say whatever I want and you can’t disagree with me!”

He jabbed him in the chest with a single finger.

“So if I just went up to the Professor and said this was us eloping, you’d just have to stand there and frown.”

Felix scowled and made a threatening motion.

“Nope, it’s too late, I’m doing it.”

Felix grabbed him by the hair when he tried to stand, then dragged his face close. He knocked their mouths together, lips brushing in a rough, perfect facsimile of a kiss. Then he shoved Sylvain away and jabbed his finger at him again.

“We could always make it not a joke.”

Felix scowled and kicked a rock at him before disappearing into the rest of the monastery.