[ a promise is a promise, nothing more or less than that. it is not a guarantee, as much as they may have believed it to be when they were children, as much as they wanted it to be something more than words that could be easily broken. but it carried him throughout the years in spite of that—carried him through the academy and the war and everything else in between, and never once did sylvain entertain the possibility that felix would die before him. because sylvain is the one who disappoints between the two of them, the one who lets everyone down from the start—to expect anything of him is an exercise in futility; he does what he wants, this is who he is. but felix was always the one who made him want to listen, always the one who made him want to try: to be better, to stop making excuses for himself and everyone around him.
and yet, even now, knowing that there is another version of himself out there that watched felix fall, that wasn't there to protect him like he should have... it's a heavy weight. if he was stronger, if he was faster; if he had tried harder back then, maybe none of it would have happened. but it's fitting, in a way, that he had followed felix in the end because he knows himself, and he knows this to be true no matter the timeline or version of himself: he is nothing without felix.
he's been spoiled, he thinks. he's had the luxury of being by felix's side for most of his life and here in this new world; the alternative is just as hard to accept as hearing what became of them from hilda. ]
It's been a few days, give or take. [ zoltan has gone limp in his arms, dozing a little now that he isn't the center of attention anymore. sylvain sets him gently in his basket and takes one of felix's hands, loosely threading their fingers together. more to ground himself in this moment, to assure himself that they're still here. ] I ran into Hilda at the stables earlier. She started crying the second she saw me and I had a feeling something happened.
[ he wouldn't blame him if felix was upset. he looks up at him again, searching his gaze and feeling a little lighter after coming clean with it. ]
I know I should have told you sooner. I guess I just... needed time to process it, too. [ he rubs his thumb back and forth over felix's knuckles, squeezes his fingers briefly. ] But you're here and I'm here. Us dying in another lifetime doesn't change that. It doesn't mean I'm not going to keep our promise here either.
[Felix watches Sylvain place the puppy in its little basket with such care? Considers that there is a world—many worlds, perhaps—in which such a thing can never happen, and while this strikes at his very core, he's only just heard the news; Sylvain has apparently had days to digest it, to ponder it, and yes, Felix is angry. He is. It is, however, less about the fact that Sylvain hid something from him and more about the fact that Sylvain shouldered this alone. He didn't have to, because as Felix drops his gaze, tracks the fingers slipping so easily between his, it's—well, look at that. Look at this: yet another thing other versions of themselves will never do, but that they can do. There are so many things that they can do.
So yes, Sylvain is right: Felix is here, and Sylvain is here, and nothing will change that. They're together in this world; they'll be together when they return to theirs, and Felix huffs out a quiet breath, ignoring his twisting stomach. This news will linger with him for far too long, he's sure of it, but it hardly matters. Sylvain is what matters. This fool Felix loves.]
I know that.
[Because he is not that Felix. Because they are both here, which is why Felix brings his other hand up, fingers hooking into Sylvain's collar so that Felix can tug Sylvain down, can guide Sylvain's forehead to bump against his. Maybe it's stupid; it's certainly sentimental, but breathing the same air feels... comforting, in this moment. Reassuring, even as Felix fixes Sylvain with the sharpest look he can manage, given the angle.]
I don't need you to remind me, [he murmurs into that bit of space between them, so firm, so stubbornly cross.] I won't leave you, Sylvain. You're not alone.
[Which means more than the simple, obvious fact that so many friends are here. They are friends? Something more than friends, at this point, and thus Felix is here for him, will always be here for him, refuses to accept the idea of him suffering in silence for no reason at all.]
[ it's so sentimental, the way felix tugs him down to his height to press their brows together. it's certainly a much more tender display of affection that sylvain expects from him in this moment, but as always, he goes down easily to meet him without felix needing to put any force behind that tug. sylvain blinks at him for a moment, an odd warmth spreading up the back of his neck to his ears; something not quite embarrassed, but pleasantly surprised and pleased. sylvain has always been more tactile and more intimate between the two of them, the one to initiate the easy affection that's become more frequent lately. but while he doesn't expect it from felix, it's... it's nice to be on the receiving end. it's nice to be able to enjoy this and know that felix is giving this to him freely, because he wants to.
and only felix can look at him like that and sound like that while saying things like i won't leave you, and mean it completely and genuinely. his whole life, felix has been the one to say them: stay with me and promise me we'll be together. for as much as sylvain had stayed behind to comfort him, felix has always reached for him; he has never stopped reaching for him, and they're just words, really, but they linger and they leave impressions on him deeper than any touch, any wound. sylvain remembers, and he feels oddly choked up all of a sudden, feeling so foolish that felix can wreck him so easily with a few simple phrases less than ten words long. ]
And they called me devastating during the Academy, [ he chuckles, voice rougher than he'd like as he cups felix's cheek with his free hand. ] It's you all along.
[ flowery words never meant anything to felix, he knows. for once, sylvain is out of them as he runs the pad of his thumb over the smooth curve of felix's cheekbone, feeling so fond and in love that he's likely sick with it. so he tilts his head and kisses him instead, soft and slow; a gentle caress more than anything, like their kisses on that couch that afternoon, when sylvain knew without a doubt, that he was doomed. ]
[Sometimes it's less about what is easy for Felix and more about what Sylvain wants, or needs, or both? A thing Felix is slowly figuring out as they settle into this new normal of theirs, because it's—well. Sylvain is better at initiating; Sylvain always seems to know when Felix needs a hand on his shoulder, or a warm presence simply standing a step or so behind, and while Felix has unthinkingly taken advantage of that for so, so long, now he wants to do all that he can to offer Sylvain the same sort of... comfort. Love. It's difficult, at times; Felix frequently finds himself difficult to overcome, but as Felix forces himself to hold Sylvain's gaze, expression still stubbornly determined, Felix knows that Sylvain is well worth it.
And Sylvain drives this point home with that kiss, gentle as it is. Sweet as it is, tinged with such undisguised warmth that it makes Felix's jaw ache, sends Felix tilting into Sylvain's touch without a second thought. It's difficult to be difficult when Sylvain is... Sylvain? When Sylvain is as he is now: open, just a touch vulnerable. In need of whatever Felix can, will, give him—and Felix's heart aches for the Sylvain in the other world, the Sylvain some other version of himself left behind. What did that Sylvain need, in that moment. What could have been done for him.
...Stupid thoughts that will stay with Felix for days, if not weeks; stupid thoughts he shoves from his mind here and now, hands finding their way to Sylvain's chest, Sylvain's shoulders, as their kiss comes to an end. No takebacks. Hmm. Felix huffs out a short breath, expression softening the slightest bit as he thinks back to all the time spent alongside one another, or writing to one another, or bothering one another in various ways.]
I've been stuck with you. For years, now. [Simple and quiet as he closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of Sylvain's warm hand as he refuses to think about Sylvain dying for him in another life.] I've hardly minded.
[Even if he's complained about it. You know what? Just shush.]
Oh, yeah? [ he lets go of felix's hand to wind his arm around his waist instead, tugging him closer as he kisses the tip of his nose. ] What was it you called me earlier? Insufferable, wasn't it? Or intolerable. [ a peck to the furrow between his brows— ] Both?
[ his tone is dry despite the stupid smile on his face, all thanks to the way felix tilts into him so readily and easily. felix keeps spoiling him like this and sylvain is never going to be able to leave; not that he wants to. not that he's able to, really, if he thinks about it. like the other sylvain who had followed felix to death, he knows it would be the same for him in this lifetime, should it ever come down to it. and it's a sobering thought, like fraldarius-gautier, like bringing a puppy home and knowing they'll end up taking care of it like one of their own. they don't know the first thing about being parents, but they know how not to be parents, and sylvain supposes that's as good of a place to start as any.
and isn't that what it's about? being in love and being together, learning together and growing together. five years ago, sylvain never entertained the idea that he'd ever be capable of really loving anyone, much less himself. this sort of thing wasn't meant for someone like him, despite the fact that he'd always secretly craved it and longed for it. but as it always is with felix, he razes all of that to the ground, doesn't leave room for any of sylvain's defense mechanisms and self-destructive tendencies; leaves him open and vulnerable in the best kind of way, putting him together again piece by imperfect piece and still finding a reason to care about him anyway. ]
[The barrage of kisses (re: all two of them) at least provide Felix with an excuse to keep his eyes closed? He squeezes his eyelids together all the tighter, nose scrunching up as he pretends that he does not appreciate this "attack." He doesn't, in a way. He's still not good with... this; things are easier when he's the one initiating them, but Sylvain being his annoyingly affectionate self is further proof that Sylvain is, you know. Fine, more or less. Alive and well. Felix can't find it within himself to tell Sylvain off, let alone pull away.
But he does, however, open his eyes as Sylvain mentions decades, expression easing as he studies him, because—ah. Well. They've been friends for decades, it's true enough; they'll continue being friends, Felix is sure, but there's something about hearing such a thing now? Maybe it's the press of Sylvain's hand against the small of his back; maybe it's the memory of Sylvain holding him close in the bath, looking back at him with such raw emotion. It's you, Fe, Sylvain whispered. It's always been you.
...Felix's future has always been a nebulous concept. He helped win the war, because the war needed to be won, and when they return, he'll... find something else to throw himself into; he'll do whatever needs to be done—but now, as Felix searches those brown eyes, Felix allows himself to consider the decades to come? Dares to imagine something solid, because it's always been Sylvain, for him. He's suddenly sure of it.
Far be it from Felix, however, to give voice to such a thing at this moment. He's overwhelmed over nothing at all; like, he very much wants to be punchy, pithy, but as he sucks in a breath, all he can manage is the incredibly stupid:]
You're so—
[Sylvain is many things. Felix likes most of them, strangely enough, and so Felix cuts himself off with a low, frustrated noise, pressing forward to express with a kiss what he can't express with words. It's forceful—Felix's general setting—but there's a distinct lack of teeth. No biting, this time; this is Felix savoring Sylvain, like he'd savored Sylvain's touch a scant minute or so ago.
Meanwhile, somewhere down by their feet, Zoltan slips free from his basket, excitedly sniffing about his new surroundings.]
[ so what? is what he wants to ask but never gets out as felix surges up to kiss him, brute forces his way in with that determined focus he uses with everything else. but it's a little different this time, a little softer and a little slower, and it makes something in him melt, sinking further into felix. he doesn't think he could ever get tired of this: kissing felix is nothing short of overwhelming, riddled with emotion that he'd never dared to voice, never dared to let himself try to find. he never thought he deserved this—the luxury of being able to hold felix close, to be able to touch him in this way without having to hide behind years of friendship, telling himself that felix deserves better than anything he could provide.
but the thing is, felix makes him want to try anyway in spite of it, makes him want to work for it. and maybe there will be a day when he can finally be worthy of it, the love that felix gives him freely, the belief he has in sylvain that never fails to push him further whenever he feels like he can't. felix has always done more for him than he knows.
he has his fingers in felix's hair when he pulls away, his heart threatening to thud right out of his ribcage when he remembers what breathing is. it's so easy to lose himself in felix, like a dying man taking his first sip of water after months of wandering a desert, and he wonders if felix knows. he wonders if felix understands that because it's still always been him, no matter what lifetime; every single one of them. but maybe he does, because he's felix and he knows him better than he knows himself sometimes, and maybe he knows the thing that's been on the tip of sylvain's tongue for the longest time, now that he's all but said it. that last piece to slot in place, one that sylvain has been working up to for years now.
but before any of that, he feels a small nudge against his ankle, a wet nose bumping against the side of his foot, and sylvain looks down to see zoltan sniffing around their feet in a more active bid for attention. ]
C'mon Zoltie, your parents are talking. [ he still has yet to let go of felix even as zoltan wriggles between them, trying to get to the other side and further into the apartment. dryly, as he looks back up at felix: ] This must be what it's like to have kids, huh?
i had this typed up for hours in a tab? i forgot to hit post, what the fuck
[Felix's mind is mess? He's thinking of everything and nothing as Sylvain shifts back, aware, on some level, that the end of the kiss surely means more talking—but he fails to account for Zoltan. Zoltan. The tiny ball of energy that drags Sylvain's attention downwards, and Felix is grateful for him, grateful that there's something light for Sylvain to focus on. Felix was immediately fond of Zoltan when he spotted him peeking out of Sylvain's shirt; now that fondness takes on new meaning, new depth, even as Sylvain says the stupidest shit. So they're parents now, are they...
...Felix shoots Sylvain a Look, of course, lips pressing into a thin line as Sylvain shifts his attention upwards once more. It's expected. It's all so blessedly normal, despite the fact that Zoltan is a strange new addition to both their lives. Their shared lives? Hmm.]
"Zoltie?" [Hmm, no. Firmly:] Zoltan.
[That's a very important name, you little shit—and Felix will be forced to Accept this cutesy version of it within a week. So it goes. Now, however, Felix is seizing upon this opportunity with reckless abandon, because he can and will sort through this bombshell when Sylvain's arms aren't around him, when Sylvain isn't holding him so closely. He should pull away; he does no such thing.]
We're not his—parents. He's your dog, and if he makes a mess, I won't be cleaning it.
[Again, give Felix a week. He'll be grumpily whipped.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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and yet, even now, knowing that there is another version of himself out there that watched felix fall, that wasn't there to protect him like he should have... it's a heavy weight. if he was stronger, if he was faster; if he had tried harder back then, maybe none of it would have happened. but it's fitting, in a way, that he had followed felix in the end because he knows himself, and he knows this to be true no matter the timeline or version of himself: he is nothing without felix.
he's been spoiled, he thinks. he's had the luxury of being by felix's side for most of his life and here in this new world; the alternative is just as hard to accept as hearing what became of them from hilda. ]
It's been a few days, give or take. [ zoltan has gone limp in his arms, dozing a little now that he isn't the center of attention anymore. sylvain sets him gently in his basket and takes one of felix's hands, loosely threading their fingers together. more to ground himself in this moment, to assure himself that they're still here. ] I ran into Hilda at the stables earlier. She started crying the second she saw me and I had a feeling something happened.
[ he wouldn't blame him if felix was upset. he looks up at him again, searching his gaze and feeling a little lighter after coming clean with it. ]
I know I should have told you sooner. I guess I just... needed time to process it, too. [ he rubs his thumb back and forth over felix's knuckles, squeezes his fingers briefly. ] But you're here and I'm here. Us dying in another lifetime doesn't change that. It doesn't mean I'm not going to keep our promise here either.
no subject
So yes, Sylvain is right: Felix is here, and Sylvain is here, and nothing will change that. They're together in this world; they'll be together when they return to theirs, and Felix huffs out a quiet breath, ignoring his twisting stomach. This news will linger with him for far too long, he's sure of it, but it hardly matters. Sylvain is what matters. This fool Felix loves.]
I know that.
[Because he is not that Felix. Because they are both here, which is why Felix brings his other hand up, fingers hooking into Sylvain's collar so that Felix can tug Sylvain down, can guide Sylvain's forehead to bump against his. Maybe it's stupid; it's certainly sentimental, but breathing the same air feels... comforting, in this moment. Reassuring, even as Felix fixes Sylvain with the sharpest look he can manage, given the angle.]
I don't need you to remind me, [he murmurs into that bit of space between them, so firm, so stubbornly cross.] I won't leave you, Sylvain. You're not alone.
[Which means more than the simple, obvious fact that so many friends are here. They are friends? Something more than friends, at this point, and thus Felix is here for him, will always be here for him, refuses to accept the idea of him suffering in silence for no reason at all.]
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and only felix can look at him like that and sound like that while saying things like i won't leave you, and mean it completely and genuinely. his whole life, felix has been the one to say them: stay with me and promise me we'll be together. for as much as sylvain had stayed behind to comfort him, felix has always reached for him; he has never stopped reaching for him, and they're just words, really, but they linger and they leave impressions on him deeper than any touch, any wound. sylvain remembers, and he feels oddly choked up all of a sudden, feeling so foolish that felix can wreck him so easily with a few simple phrases less than ten words long. ]
And they called me devastating during the Academy, [ he chuckles, voice rougher than he'd like as he cups felix's cheek with his free hand. ] It's you all along.
[ flowery words never meant anything to felix, he knows. for once, sylvain is out of them as he runs the pad of his thumb over the smooth curve of felix's cheekbone, feeling so fond and in love that he's likely sick with it. so he tilts his head and kisses him instead, soft and slow; a gentle caress more than anything, like their kisses on that couch that afternoon, when sylvain knew without a doubt, that he was doomed. ]
You're stuck with me now. No takebacks.
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And Sylvain drives this point home with that kiss, gentle as it is. Sweet as it is, tinged with such undisguised warmth that it makes Felix's jaw ache, sends Felix tilting into Sylvain's touch without a second thought. It's difficult to be difficult when Sylvain is... Sylvain? When Sylvain is as he is now: open, just a touch vulnerable. In need of whatever Felix can, will, give him—and Felix's heart aches for the Sylvain in the other world, the Sylvain some other version of himself left behind. What did that Sylvain need, in that moment. What could have been done for him.
...Stupid thoughts that will stay with Felix for days, if not weeks; stupid thoughts he shoves from his mind here and now, hands finding their way to Sylvain's chest, Sylvain's shoulders, as their kiss comes to an end. No takebacks. Hmm. Felix huffs out a short breath, expression softening the slightest bit as he thinks back to all the time spent alongside one another, or writing to one another, or bothering one another in various ways.]
I've been stuck with you. For years, now. [Simple and quiet as he closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of Sylvain's warm hand as he refuses to think about Sylvain dying for him in another life.] I've hardly minded.
[Even if he's complained about it. You know what? Just shush.]
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[ his tone is dry despite the stupid smile on his face, all thanks to the way felix tilts into him so readily and easily. felix keeps spoiling him like this and sylvain is never going to be able to leave; not that he wants to. not that he's able to, really, if he thinks about it. like the other sylvain who had followed felix to death, he knows it would be the same for him in this lifetime, should it ever come down to it. and it's a sobering thought, like fraldarius-gautier, like bringing a puppy home and knowing they'll end up taking care of it like one of their own. they don't know the first thing about being parents, but they know how not to be parents, and sylvain supposes that's as good of a place to start as any.
and isn't that what it's about? being in love and being together, learning together and growing together. five years ago, sylvain never entertained the idea that he'd ever be capable of really loving anyone, much less himself. this sort of thing wasn't meant for someone like him, despite the fact that he'd always secretly craved it and longed for it. but as it always is with felix, he razes all of that to the ground, doesn't leave room for any of sylvain's defense mechanisms and self-destructive tendencies; leaves him open and vulnerable in the best kind of way, putting him together again piece by imperfect piece and still finding a reason to care about him anyway. ]
What's another decade or two, right?
[ or three, or four. ]
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But he does, however, open his eyes as Sylvain mentions decades, expression easing as he studies him, because—ah. Well. They've been friends for decades, it's true enough; they'll continue being friends, Felix is sure, but there's something about hearing such a thing now? Maybe it's the press of Sylvain's hand against the small of his back; maybe it's the memory of Sylvain holding him close in the bath, looking back at him with such raw emotion. It's you, Fe, Sylvain whispered. It's always been you.
...Felix's future has always been a nebulous concept. He helped win the war, because the war needed to be won, and when they return, he'll... find something else to throw himself into; he'll do whatever needs to be done—but now, as Felix searches those brown eyes, Felix allows himself to consider the decades to come? Dares to imagine something solid, because it's always been Sylvain, for him. He's suddenly sure of it.
Far be it from Felix, however, to give voice to such a thing at this moment. He's overwhelmed over nothing at all; like, he very much wants to be punchy, pithy, but as he sucks in a breath, all he can manage is the incredibly stupid:]
You're so—
[Sylvain is many things. Felix likes most of them, strangely enough, and so Felix cuts himself off with a low, frustrated noise, pressing forward to express with a kiss what he can't express with words. It's forceful—Felix's general setting—but there's a distinct lack of teeth. No biting, this time; this is Felix savoring Sylvain, like he'd savored Sylvain's touch a scant minute or so ago.
Meanwhile, somewhere down by their feet, Zoltan slips free from his basket, excitedly sniffing about his new surroundings.]
no subject
but the thing is, felix makes him want to try anyway in spite of it, makes him want to work for it. and maybe there will be a day when he can finally be worthy of it, the love that felix gives him freely, the belief he has in sylvain that never fails to push him further whenever he feels like he can't. felix has always done more for him than he knows.
he has his fingers in felix's hair when he pulls away, his heart threatening to thud right out of his ribcage when he remembers what breathing is. it's so easy to lose himself in felix, like a dying man taking his first sip of water after months of wandering a desert, and he wonders if felix knows. he wonders if felix understands that because it's still always been him, no matter what lifetime; every single one of them. but maybe he does, because he's felix and he knows him better than he knows himself sometimes, and maybe he knows the thing that's been on the tip of sylvain's tongue for the longest time, now that he's all but said it. that last piece to slot in place, one that sylvain has been working up to for years now.
but before any of that, he feels a small nudge against his ankle, a wet nose bumping against the side of his foot, and sylvain looks down to see zoltan sniffing around their feet in a more active bid for attention. ]
C'mon Zoltie, your parents are talking. [ he still has yet to let go of felix even as zoltan wriggles between them, trying to get to the other side and further into the apartment. dryly, as he looks back up at felix: ] This must be what it's like to have kids, huh?
i had this typed up for hours in a tab? i forgot to hit post, what the fuck
...Felix shoots Sylvain a Look, of course, lips pressing into a thin line as Sylvain shifts his attention upwards once more. It's expected. It's all so blessedly normal, despite the fact that Zoltan is a strange new addition to both their lives. Their shared lives? Hmm.]
"Zoltie?" [Hmm, no. Firmly:] Zoltan.
[That's a very important name, you little shit—and Felix will be forced to Accept this cutesy version of it within a week. So it goes. Now, however, Felix is seizing upon this opportunity with reckless abandon, because he can and will sort through this bombshell when Sylvain's arms aren't around him, when Sylvain isn't holding him so closely. He should pull away; he does no such thing.]
We're not his—parents. He's your dog, and if he makes a mess, I won't be cleaning it.
[Again, give Felix a week. He'll be grumpily whipped.]