A/N: I know this is dumb. Indulge me.

Sylvain's a little dumb, embarrassingly so at times.

He's also blind as a bat now they're into the middle-aged years. Felix watches him fret about, a coffee cup held gently before him. The steam is hot against his face, the coffee little more than sludge, but caffeine all the same. Sylvain's bad at brewing it.

"Felix," says Sylvain, more panicked than he should be. "Have you seen my glasses?"

When Sylvain turns to look at him, Felix raises an eyebrow before taking a sip of his coffee. Yep, absolute muck, gritty with grounds that somehow made it past the filter. He doesn't say anything.

Sylvain pouts. "Seriously, Felix. Any idea where they-" Sylvain stops, frowning ever so slightly. "What?"

"Oh nothing," says Felix. Yes, appallingly stupid at times, but cute if Felix were the honest type. He is, just not to the faces of most. So he just sips at his coffee, barely tolerating it, thinking instead that it would be better to just inject the caffeine into his veins instead, but-

Well, while the coffee is terrible, Sylvain still made it and he made it for him. It's the least Felix can do.

Sylvain switches gears again, turning to dig through the papers and books and other nonsense that takes over his desk. A dreadful sight, thinks Felix. Truly a nightmare. It's a wonder that Sylvain can work at all.

"I swear, they were right here, I just had them."

Felix snickers, hiding a soft smile behind his mug. Sylvain looks to him once more, that adorable little frown spread across his face.

"What?" asks Sylvain again.

Felix takes a long drag of the poorly brewed bean water and then his gaze settles onto Sylvain's chest. And there it stays. It isn't the first time he's stared, won't be the last, and yes, he often gazes longingly at it.

And Sylvain knows, smiling slyly as he catches Felix's glance. "See something that you like?"

Of course, Felix does; Sylvain's wearing a cotton polo shirt, the top three buttons undone and the collar popped up to skim his jawline. Just a hint of his collarbone and the top of his chest are on display. Just a sprinkling of the hair that's there can be seen, ginger and starting to silver the slightest with age. It's funny because it makes Sylvain look like a preppy jockstrap when he's anything but. You're more likely to find him in a library than a football field.

"Always," says Felix, truthfully. Still staring. Still drinking his coffee. "Cleavage," he continues, pointing at Sylvain with his mug. Glorious pectorals indeed.

Sylvain's little grin spreads into a full smirk. "Oh?"

"Yes," says Felix nodding towards him this time. "Cleavage." Sylvain still doesn't get it, still doesn't grasp what exactly it is that he means. So stupid at times for a man with a doctorate.

Sylvain reaches up to press a hand against his chest, only to pause when his fingers crash into plastic and glass. He looks down to find his glasses hanging there, stuck into the open collar of his shirt.

"Cleavage," repeats Sylvain.

"Well, you found your glasses," says Felix, sipping at his coffee once more, nonchalantly. Utterly cool, despite his gaze intently trained on the opening of Sylvain's shirt and where it meets his skin.

"Would you look at that," says Sylvain, putting his glasses back on. He blinks, trying to clear the haze of his foggy vision and readjust to his glasses. He's handsome like this, too, thinks Felix. In a hot, nerdy kind of way.

"I am." There's the delicious line of collarbone peeking forth from Sylvain's shirt that Felix likes to bite at when the time is right. Maybe later.

Sylvain watches him and Felix watches back. Then Felix sips at his coffee, the perfect deflection when he's trying to hide his feelings. It doesn't work with Sylvain, he reads him too well and knows all his little tells.

He also knows that he makes shit coffee and that Felix will always drink it, no matter what.

Sylvain presses a kiss to the side of Felix's head when he passes by. Then, he says to him, "Tease."

Felix pulls his mug down, looks downright amused, and then says right back, "Takes one to know one."

Sylvain laughs again. "Regretful that I have to get back to work," he murmurs, leaning closer, boxing Felix in.

"Downright dreadful," says Felix, deadpan. "It's almost as though this is the only hour of the day. Evenings aren't a thing anymore, nor is a lazy night in the comfort of our bed."

It isn't often that Felix is in the type of mood for jokes. They come rarely but when they do, they come in full force. Sylvain's smile can knock a man right onto his ass, but for Felix, it's like lighting a star and hanging it right in the sky.

"Lazy night," repeats Sylvain. "In bed."

"I always say what I mean."

Sylvain hums, pecks Felix's face once more, and then says, "It's a date." Then, he pats his glasses as though he were just making sure they're still there before leaving the room.

Felix stares after him, the mug of coffee feeling suddenly leaden in his hand. "Dolt," says Felix, but it's with warmth and affection.

He looks forward to their newly planned evening.