Year 2

Felix hated sparring with Alythia. Hated it. Against Byleth was a duel of strength. But against his sister was a competition of wits. Everything was a game of chess to her, and he knew she saw him as a pawn. He didn't want to think about the environment, or leveraging their surroundings, or the footwork. He craved a straight-forward match of brute strength.

At a jut sword, Alythia would parry quickly, reflexively. To compensate for lack of strength, she was evasive in nature. It was always a game of cat and mouse. He chased, and she leapt backwards. At first, he'd blindly follow like magnets, pulled together. One time (and the only time), she lured him into slipping in mud.

How had these twins always found a way to embarrass him?

Yet when their blades finally intersected, it felt like a gravitational pull. It was always in the same fashion. He'd cut downwards and she counteracted with an upward swing. When their faces were close enough, he could see the fierce struggle in her eyes to match the might. As the months went by, he noticed it was getting more difficult for her to meet his strength. He was growing older and stronger.

But by far, the most frustrating part was when she yielded. And she always yielded. He'd sneer, return the sword to its hilt and resume his training while she rushed off to ready for a council meeting.

Until one day, he didn't relent and kept pressing his blade. It was the morning of the day he was supposed to leave for a month-long mission.

"I yield."

A slight pain stirred in her expression.

"Didn't you hear me? Felix, I yield." She repeated, her words sounded more strained this time.

Felix heard her but he didn't listen. Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew that her yield was a signal to the end of their meeting. That innate part of him knew this was the only chance they could get physically close.

Leveraging her angle, Alythia swung clockwise and disarmed them both; their swords hitting the cobblestone yards away. Felix, mind not entirely in the present, was just now realizing the missing blade from his hands. Then he realized he was falling on top of her.

Like from one of Sylvain's scandalous stories, they found themselves in an uncompromising position. He breathed shakily, as he felt her underneath him, not squirming, not rejecting, but… accepting the situation. She noticed the same of him too; he didn't scramble to get off her or lose composure.

He felt that gravitational pull again. And he swears she could, too. He swears she leaned her face closer as he did. They close their eyes, finally accepting this attraction... Until they feel a hot pain on their foreheads instead of soft lips.

Alythia and Felix reel back from each other instantly, holding their heads. When she moved her hand and revealed a red forehead, he could feel the pit of his stomach drop.

That's going to leave an obvious bruise on both of them .

"We collided while training," Alythia answered dismissively to the inquisitive maids. Even to Rodrigue.

"Sparring accident," Felix retorted defensively to Ingrid and Sylvain. Especially to Rodrigue.

They'd all respond with an unconvinced nod and a raised brow. Felix and Alythia could feel the doubt from everyone around them, but stuck to their excuses. Though Alythia and Felix didn't say it out loud, both were thankful for Felix's month-long mission to defend Galatea territory against the Gloucesters, allied with the Empire.

When Felix departed on horseback with Ingrid and Sylvain that afternoon, Alythia awkwardly waved as she stood next to Rodrigue. The entire time, they refused to look at each other directly.

They'll have a chance to talk about it later, they think.

On the day he was supposed to arrive, he didn't turn up. Rodrigue sent a bird to House Galatea, but to no avail. No response. No word of a win, no word of a loss. What happened?

Alythia formed a habit out of staring out the window again. Doubt nipped at her faith every day. She'd clutch the pendant at her hip and smooth her fingers over the ridges. She wasn't sure if she could handle another loss.

She cursing the Faerghus snow for playing tricks on her mind. Some days, for a fraction of a second, Alythia lets out a breath of relief. She makes this mistake too often when Rodrigue arrives at the gate. Their eyes, nose and hair color are the same. Alythia wouldn't dare confess it to him, but Felix is the spitting image of his father. Rodrigue quietly acknowledges Alythia's reaction when he enters a room without announcement, but minds his business and carries on as usual.

But finally, weeks after his expected homecoming, she sees someone on horseback approach from her window. It's him. Unmistakably him. Alythia runs out. The thought of bolting out the door barely surfaced to mind as she felt her bare feet brushing against cold dirt. She hears the questions of everyone she hurries past dwindling behind her.

The tired, slumped figure perks up as she approaches. A familiar blue cape flaps with the cold, unforgiving Farghus wind. And before she knows it, she's in his arms again.

'Did he grow taller?' She wonders as his body envelopes her in a warm embrace. Felix no longer bore resemblance to the lithe figure from those days at the monastery. There's more muscle now. More roughness of a grown man.

"Why did you expect the worst?" He pulled away and smirked, gently cupping her face in his gloved hands.

"It saves time," she replied, blinking away tears.

Felix caresses them away with his thumb and pulls her closer. This time, they kiss without hitting heads. He feels a wave of relief. A calm inside him. It feels like a drink of water in the middle of the night. A balance that is finally set right.

And she tastes so sweet.

"Are you blushing?"

"Shut up. No. I'm sunburnt."

Alythia laughs as they walk back to the Fraldarius manor and Felix, still red-faced, improvises an explanation about the difference of sun exposure in Galatea territory.