#sylvix week

A glass of punch hovers in front of Felix's face. He stares at it for a beat, before looking past it to find Sylvain's waiting face. 

"It's spiked." Felix doesn't uncross his arms to accept it. 

"How do you know that?" Sylvain responds, raising an eyebrow. 

"I know you."

Sylvain tips his head in a 'fair enough' motion, setting the glass down on the table Felix is leaning against, before taking a sip of his own. He doesn't pull a face at the taste, but it's a near thing. 

He spins to stand at Felix's side, before also leaning back against the table. The liquid inside his glass swirls around, berries knocking into the sides. "I'm pretty sure it was Claude, by the way." 

Felix doesn't deign that worth an answer, outside of a tiny scoff as he turns his face the other direction. Across the dance floor, Claude is leading Byleth in a simple waltz, Byleth's footing unsure but keeping up with his surprisingly well. Claude, with his uncanny knack of always knowing when someone is watching him, meets Felix's eyes. He holds it for a moment longer than Felix is comfortable with, but he breaks the contact before Felix can, and his gaze slides across to the glass in Sylvain's hand. The smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth stretches just the smallest bit more.

So maybe Sylvain is innocent, just this once.

"Do you want to dance?" Sylvain asks, and Felix has to physically fight his own face as he whips back around, an insult at the sheer incredulity already forming on his tongue.

"Excuse me?" he manages, far more polite than he feels. 

Sylvain gives him a banal smile. "Do you want to d—"

"I heard you the first time," Felix interrupts him. "What gave you the impression that I would want to?"

Sylvain's dimples deepen. "I dunno," he says, taking another drink from his glass (only Felix is close enough to catch the way his nose wrinkles as he does so). "You're here, aren't you?"

"Out of social obligation and nothing more." Felix turns his glare away.

The song ends to a smattering of light applause, partners bowing to each other before parting ways as new people filter onto the floor. When the music begins again, Sylvain still by his side, Felix gives him a sidelong glance.

Sylvain tips his head, watching Felix back out of the corner of his eye. "Hm?"

"Nothing," Felix says quickly. "I just expected your dance card to be filled."

"If it was," Sylvain replies, "would I have asked you?"

Felix presses his lips together, turning away once more. "… Guess not," he concedes. 

All that talk about dancing with every girl in the academy, and Sylvain decides his time is better spent hiding in the corner. Felix knows they're far from the only ones— he spotted Bernadetta tucked away on the far wall earlier, but hasn't seen her since. He suspects she's already made an escape, disappearing the moment the White Heron Cup was awarded. 

"His Highness has never been very good at dancing, has he?" Sylvain says after a minute, and Felix follows his gaze out over the dance floor once more.

It's true; Dimitri never did take to the more delicate lessons of being royalty. His handwriting suffers the most from it, but his dancing leaves much to be desired. Even from their distance, it looks as if Edelgard is the one leading Dimitri in their dance, his focus entirely on their feet between them. Dimitri narrowly misses stepping on Edelgard's toes, and she pulls him upright, scolding him about something or other.

Sylvain downs the rest of his drink, before giving a short cough. "Woah, that has a kick," he mutters to himself, and Felix blinks away the image of a boy he knew long ago, brow furrowed in concentration as he counts steps. He gives a pointed look to Sylvain, who simply grins in response.

"Well. Social obligation complete." Sylvain drops his glass on the table, next to the full one he'd intended on giving Felix, the glass starting to sweat a little as it sits untouched. "Want to get out of here?"

Felix can't help the smile that creeps into his voice. "Thought you'd never ask."

A lot of their lives goes like this: Sylvain leading, Felix following. He's the older of the two, the more likely to get in trouble, the one who likes to strike up conversation. Despite that, he's rarely the first to leave a social event— not if there's a chance for him to smear his reputation further than it already has been.

Felix fixes his eyes on the curl of hair around the shell of Sylvain's ear as he follows him through the winding pathways of the monastery grounds. Sylvain is sure in his steps, the same confidence he brings to everything. He doesn't falter at any forks in the path, leading Felix on, further and further from the crowds.

(He doesn't give Sylvain enough credit. Ever since they've started attending the academy, he's mellowed out some. Yes, he's still chatting up every handsome face he can see, but nothing is a scandal worth writing home about.)

Felix waits until the sounds of the ball are distant, a few notes of music rising into the night. "Where are we going?" 

It's a question in phrasing only. 

Sylvain turns back to look at Felix, moonlight glinting in his eyes. "If I told you," he says, "you wouldn't come with me."

If he wouldn't go with Sylvain knowingly, why should he follow in ignorance? There is a clear flaw in logic, one he knows full well that Sylvain sees. 

Felix stops in his tracks, and Sylvain scuffles to a halt a few steps later, spinning to face him. "Aww, c'mon, don't be like that," he whines, knowing exactly the thought process behind the motion. Felix folds his arms, a metaphorical show of him digging his heels in, and stares at Sylvain.

(He's one of the only people that Felix can meet the eyes of; he always has been.)

"Fine, fine…" Sylvain sighs, pulling a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I just… thought that the Goddess Tower would be…" he trails off uncertainly.

Felix continues to stare for another beat, processing Sylvain's words. "You can't be serious."

Distantly, there's the sound of a crashing glass and a shriek, followed by some laughter. It's as if a spell is broken, and Sylvain straightens up, the wince he had been holding in his shoulders disappearing as he turns on his heel and continues cutting a path into the night. 

Felix follows.

The steps up the tower are uneven after centuries of being worn down by climbers, and Felix presses a hand to the stone as he goes so as to not lose his footing. Sylvain is silent as they ascend, eyes glued forward. Felix can see the tension in his back, holding him upright.

"If you say anything about some asinine legend, I'm leaving," Felix warns, but there's no real threat underlying his tone. 

Sylvain has the audacity to laugh, clipped and low. "I just thought you'd want some quiet away from the dance, that's all."

"There are plenty of places around the monastery good for that."

They reach the top of the steps, and Sylvain shoots Felix a grin as he steps aside to let him pass. "Yeah," he says, "but none of them have a view like this."

He has to admit, Sylvain has a point. The Goddess Tower provides a view on almost the entire monastery, lanterns lining the pathways like spirits to guide people back down into the town or to their dorms. Light spills out of the entrance hall onto the lawn, a few shadows moving past from within. From all directions it's inky blackness of night, punctuated by lamplight.

The scattered lights of the ground beneath them has nothing on the expanse above, a tapestry of stars.

When they were children— all five of them— Rodrigue used to bundle them up in furs and take them out into the mountains, teaching them how to find their way home by following the stars. Glenn showed them how to look for the constellations and wove tales about them.

Felix rests his forearms against the crenellation as he stares up at the night sky above them. He takes a moment to locate the Blue Sea Star, right on the horizon.

(It's the last glimpse of it for a long time.)

"Thought this would be a more popular hangout for people wanting to ditch the festivities…" Sylvain murmurs as he leans against the stone next to Felix. "We're all alone up here."

Sylvain is haloed by moonlight, and Felix almost has to take a step away when he realises they're close enough that he can see every individual freckle, even in the cover of night. Something keeps him rooted in place, however, and Sylvain leans ever-so-slightly closer.

"Stop," Felix mutters.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that."

Sylvain breathes out a laugh, the smell of alcohol fanning out over Felix's face. "That's just my face, Luschka."

He hasn't called Felix that in years, the last time being before—

Felix cuts off the thought before it can fully form. He pushes off the crenellation and Sylvain moves to mirror him, standing nearly chest to chest. This close, he can see the scar on Sylvain's top lip, a tiny nick of white.

So distant Felix isn't sure he can truly hear it, there's a round of applause, and the next song starts— one he recognises, a traditional Faerghan tune.

"You wanted to dance?"

It's not something he ever thought himself saying, and he can see the surprise flit over Sylvain's face at the words. His eyes widen a fraction, lips parting, the scar shifting.

"You sure?"

"There's nobody here to see." He'd hoped Sylvain would take him up on the offer without giving him the opportunity to second guess himself, but apparently his words have brought Sylvain's mind to a grinding halt, unable to do anything but gape at Felix.

There's a 'forget it' on his tongue as he goes to step back.

Sylvain's hand on the small of his back stops him in his tracks.

A lot of their lives goes like this: Sylvain leading, Felix following. When they were young, it was often commented on that wherever Sylvain was, Felix would be close behind. But here they stand as equals, no clear leader in the dance. Sylvain counts under his breath for the first few steps until he realises neither of them needs it. There's a push and pull; a flow to the motions, steps light and quick as they circle around one another.

"For someone who doesn't like to dance, you're good," Sylvain teases.

Dancing is like a sparring match— it relies on both parties trusting the other, anticipating the next move. Any dance floor can be a battlefield and while the two face each other, they're working together. Where Felix steps back, Sylvain moves forward to fill in the gap. Where Sylvain throws himself outwards, Felix reels him back in.

Felix never once looks down at his feet, never once second guesses a move, never once falters to figure out where they're going next. Sylvain lifts Felix easily off the ground and whirls him around, pushing a laugh out of his chest.

It's just the two of them alone in the world.

All too soon, the song comes to an end, the last notes held for as long as they are able. Sylvain continues to hold Felix up, almost nose to nose, each step in his spin slower than the last before he comes to a stop. Felix sets his feet on the ground again, but doesn't remove his arms from around Sylvain's neck.

Sylvain almost always has something to say, speaking for the sole reason of filling silences— but he doesn't utter a single word, eyes roaming over Felix's face. He's searching for an answer to a question he hasn't even asked yet.

Sylvain leans in the slightest bit closer, head tipping to the side just so, hair falling over his face. Felix is fixated on the way a few strands catch in his eyelashes, how he doesn't move to push or blink them away.

He pulls back again, hand leaving Felix's hip, the warmth immediately leaving in its absence. Felix has to fight himself not to chase it, releasing his own hold.

"We should head back," Sylvain says, though every syllable is tinged with a layer of reluctance.