Despite his long-harbored crush, Sylvain never thought much of a half-naked Felix until one fateful beach trip.
They're past their high-school years and well into college. Young enough to not be tied down by relationships. That'd be boring to Sylvain, who has a new flavor every week and happily so.
Mostly because it's easier to be casual than commit to something that'd mean more.
Felix is just an old friend, he tells himself. A second glance, really. Okay, well, maybe not second- that's a cruel thing to say. Sylvain would give his left arm for the guy, literally, but he's never really considered the why behind the thought until then.
And sure, he's always liked him, even if Sylvain's never thought much about it. Felix is kinda cute in a deranged cat kind of way.
But now, it makes a lot of sense. Stares him right in the face, a visage of gleaming pasty white skin and deceptively toned muscles. Sylvain's just fucking blind and stupid, and now it can't be unseen.
Felix is no longer a scrawny and gangly thing; now he sports lithe and supple muscle. Defined shoulders and a slim waist that tapers into what's probably the finest ass Sylvain's ever seen. Pert and shapely, perfect in every way.
Sylvain stares long enough for his ice cream cone to melt all over his hand.
"I'd tell you to take a picture," says Ingrid, her laugh pealing through the air from behind her hand. "But that'd only piss him off."
"Ingrid," says Sylvain panicked. He shakes the melted, sticky mess from his hand as he continues to gawk. At least they're in the shade under his umbrella, so it's only a minor mess. "When on earth did that happen?"
Ingrid raises an eyebrow. "When did what happen?"
Sylvain groans. Of course, she'd make him say it. Ingrid's the worst (or the best) when it comes to forcing others to make fools of themselves. She's already adopted a devilish smirk, waiting for Sylvain to dig himself a hole deep in the beach sand.
A grave might be more fitting, considering what Felix would do to him if he ever caught Sylvain staring.
"I mean, what'd you expect?" asks Ingrid, sparing Sylvain from further embarrassment. For the moment. Sylvain knows better than to think that she's done with him. Ingrid's only biding her time. "When people play sports, they get ripped." She points to Sylvain. "Look at you. Look at me."
"I play baseball," says Sylvain in a low hiss. "I can throw a pitch as fast as a car on the highway and sprint the length of an entire field. Fencing is barely a sport when compared."
Ingrid just looks at him, her face flat and unimpressed as she sips at her drink and twirls the tiny decorative beach umbrella within it. "I dare you to tell him that."
Sylvain flounders the tiniest bit. Absolutely not. He likes living far too much. Ever since Felix picked up a foil and learned how to bout, he'd been considerably more dangerous than the crybaby know-it-all they'd all grown up with.
"But, like… how?" says Sylvain as he wonders, persistent in his confusion as to when Felix suddenly became handsome. Like, model handsome. Like, Sylvain would take him around time and then pound him into the sheets handsome.
Sylvain never thinks about sleeping with men. Except for Felix, but that's something that he usually pushes to the back corner of his mind because it's really fucking awkward to think that way about your bestie.
And Ingrid knows, she's known for a stupidly long time because of one shitty night where he'd drunkenly blubbered his feelings out to her. In rare form, she didn't laugh at him that night, she'd only combed her fingers through his hair and called him the world's biggest idiot.
He's good at that. Being dumb. Probably his best quality.
Sylvain can't stop looking, his eyes grazing over Felix's perfect form. My wet dreams are never going to be the same again, he thinks, his mouth going dry.
"Disgusting," says Ingrid, making a face. She knows what Sylvain's thinking, what he can't help but agonize about. But then she waves her hand dismissively. "Also, he does squats from sun-up to sun-down. No wonder his ass looks so good."
"Wait, are you looking?" asks Sylvain a little too quickly. Accusatory. He watches her through a shrewd gaze.
"Oh, Goddess, no. I'd rather choke." She makes another face, this one cross-eyed as she cuts across her neck with a finger dramatically. "I've just been watching your sorry ass moon over him-"
"I'm not mooning-"
"Who's mooning over what?"
Both Ingrid and Sylvain freeze at Felix's voice. Then, Sylvain laughs, high-pitched and incredibly awkward.
"Nothing-"
"Sylvain and how he's-"
Sylvain kicks her and Ingrid curses. Felix watches on, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylvain's rarely rude to Ingrid (okay, so that's a lie; he's rude to her constantly, but she's Ingrid, and she deserves it every time), but he shoots her the meanest look that he can muster.
Which, admittedly, isn't very threatening.
"Is there a reason you look like a fucking five-year-old trying to threaten a classmate who stole your juice box?"
Sylvain nearly congratulates Felix on his brilliant use of imagery. Instead, he starts with, "Felix-"
"Oh, don't mind him," cuts in Ingrid. "He's just annoyed that I called him out on his bullshit."
With that, Felix perks up because if there's something that he loves more than anything else, it's watching Sylvain getting dunked on. Which is more often than Sylvain likes to admit.
"So," says Felix, "The usual."
"Felix, why are you even here?" Sylvain doesn't mean for it to be so biting, but it comes out sounding quite like Felix himself, an absolute feat.
"We're at the beach, and together at that if I must remind you," says Felix, cocking his head to the side. "The sun's high and blazing, and I'm pasty as hell. Help me with this."
A demand, not a request. So incredibly like Felix. Sylvain barely catches the bottle that is thrown at him. "Sunscreen," he reads aloud rather dumbly.
"Yes, you dimwit," says Felix. "Not everyone tans like you. Some of us come out looking like lobsters, and I don't mean in a tasty kind of way."
Sylvain disagrees. Felix looks the tastiest he's ever seen, and Sylvain's known him for nearly two decades.
"So what, like rub this all over you?"
Felix rolls his eyes, replying slowly like he's speaking to a child. "Yes. My arms are short and you're conveniently there. Even if I'm flexible-" Sylvain super doesn't need to think about that, "-there are parts of my back that I can't reach."
Sylvain would rather burn in Ailell than do this because this is now his absolute worst fucking nightmare. A unique hell, tailored just for him. A test of the Goddess.
Or a memory he'll wank to for months to come.
Definitely the latter, knowing Sylvain.
Ingrid, bless her shrew-like and ill-tempered soul, shoots Sylvain an amused glance. Soaks the entire thing up, her mouth tipped to the side as she delights in Sylvain's discomfort. This kind of thing fuels her; juicy gossip feeds her for days and then some.
Especially when it comes to Sylvain.
"Ingrid, fuck off," says Sylvain. Felix, who didn't see her look, reaches out to swat Sylvain in return. "Ow!"
"You fuck off," says Felix. "Stop being rude."
"She's the one-"
"Alright, I'm leaving," says Ingrid abruptly, "Before this lover's spat gets any worse-"
"This isn't a spat-" starts Sylvain.
"Lover's?" exclaimed Felix, pink in the face.
That catches Sylvain's attention as he turns to him. What an odd reaction- the embarrassment as he refuses to look either of them in the face. Sylvain's mouth falls open in surprise and Ingrid's clamps right up. Then, she smiles, the sly little grin that she gets when she's up to no good. Never bodes well. Sylvain's about to say something when she speaks.
"I'll come and check on your boys later, yeah?" Oh, Ingrid's up to no good, about to throw Sylvain to the sharks. Wholly intent of leaving him behind with Felix and his newfound discovery that his crush is probably more than a crush.
"Ingrid-" starts Sylvain, but before he can properly beg her, Ingrid's gone, leaving behind nothing but a trail of footprints in the sand.
Felix plops onto the towel in front of Sylvain, his back facing him. Sylvain looks at the expanse of it, far broader than he remembers. He swallows thickly as his hand hovers awkwardly over Felix's skin.
"Insufferable, that woman. What my brother sees in her I'll never know."
"Even people with terrible personalities have matches," says Sylvain in humor. A decent attempt at distraction that usually works with others.
Felix grunts. "Yes, well, you'd know that best of all, wouldn't you?"
Ouch, thinks Sylvain. Nasty little stinger right out of left-field but incredibly on-brand for Felix. His favorite thing to do is remind Sylvain about his habitually shitty dating habits.
"That's a little cruel, don't you think?" Sylvain uncaps the bottle of sunscreen and squirts a generous amount onto his palms.
"What, can't handle the criticism?" Felix snorts. "Sylvain, you've slept with the entire volleyball team, minus Ingrid."
"Have you seen them, though? Legs up to here, literally. Except for Ingrid of course, because that'd be so gross-"
"Ridiculous," says Felix, snorting again. "Utterly predictable. And you wonder why you're always dead last."
Sylvain frowns at the strange wording. "I'm top of our class."
Felix doesn't immediately answer. "That isn't what I mean," he finally says, tilting his head back slightly to look at Sylvain. Then his expression hardens, turning aggressive again. "Are you going to lather me up or should I go ask Ingrid instead?"
"No," says Sylvain, "Just… yeah, okay. I've got this."
"Sylvain, it's just sunscreen." There's a tiny frown on Felix's face.
Sylvain's a confident man, able to woo anyone into his bed. Rubbing sunscreen into Felix's skin should be easy. It isn't. Sylvain hesitates and hesitates, fingers hovering over the smooth line of Felix's bare shoulders.
Nothing explains Sylvain's sudden dry mouth or the inkling that this is a terrible idea.
"Sylvain," says Felix, clearly waiting.
Felix's skin is warm to the touch and soft under Sylvain's calloused fingers. He starts at his shoulders, massaging the liquid in, squeezing at Felix's tight muscles.
"Tense?" asks Sylvain, teasing him.
"Tired," says Felix, sounding- well, just that. Exhausted, even.
Sylvain's hands pause as he leans forward slightly. "You train too much."
"You don't train enough. You could be on the national team if you gave a shit."
Sylvain laughs and leans even closer, his mouth near Felix's ear. "Yeah, well, that's the difference between us. I don't want to be on the national team."
Felix harrumphs and crosses his arms over his chest. "That just makes you dumb, then."
"I don't doubt that." Sylvain smooths his hands across the top of Felix's shoulders, then sweeps them down and under his blades, thumbs digging into the meat of Felix's back.
Felix lets out a low moan, a sinful-sounding thing that makes Sylvain bite at his lips and look to the sky. He's never really prayed before, doesn't believe in the Goddess, but he asks Seiros for strength.
"Shit, Sylvain," says Felix with a sigh. "That's-"
"Seriously, Felix, you're all locked up."
Felix whines when Sylvain raises his hand to press into the muscles at the base of his neck, his fingernails just barely scratching across Felix's skin. "Sorry," murmurs Felix, pink in the cheeks again, hands shifting awkwardly in his lap.
"You need to cool down properly after your sessions," says Sylvain. "You're working yourself too hard. Nothing but knots and bone back here."
"Sunscreen," says Felix suddenly.
"What?"
"The sunscreen. Your hands are dry."
Right. The sunscreen. Sylvain isn't supposed to be giving Felix a massage, he's supposed to be oiling him up and readying him for the sun. He slicks his hands up again, murmurs an apology, and finds the lower part of Felix's back this time.
"Sorry. Can't have you burning to a crisp out there."
Felix sighs at the touch, leaning into it slightly and Sylvain nearly dies on the spot. So, maybe he's just now noticed how handsome Felix is, but it's not exactly the first time Sylvain's thought about him like this. Usually, when he does, he tucks it away deep- not because it's embarrassing, or Sylvain has reservations about men, but because Felix would slaughter him if he knew.
Sylvain lets out a long breath as he rubs the sunscreen into Felix's skin, making sure not to miss any spots.
"What's Ingrid doing?" asks Felix, nodding to where she stands fifty paces away in the sun.
Sylvain looks up, squinting at her. Ingrid flashes him a grin before pressing her thumb and forefinger together on one hand, and then taking her pointer finger with the other and-
"Is she-"
Ingrid makes the crudest gesture known to man, and then, wiggling her eyebrows, points directly to Felix, then Sylvain right after.
Sylvain's going to kill her. Absolutely murder her in her sleep. He's got a spare key to her place and he knows where she keeps the sharp knives. Glenn might forgive Sylvain for it if they properly explain. Even though Glenn's nearly thirty, he still thinks it's his job to protect Felix.
Especially from Ingrid's never-ending teasing.
"She's dead," says Sylvain. "Next time I'm within a few feet of her."
"Not if I kill her first," says Felix.
Sylvain leans over Felix, shooting Ingrid the finger with both hands. She, naturally, shoots him one right back. "So fucking rude," says Sylvain, leaning back again and slathering his hands with sunscreen once more. "And the things that she implies. Don't listen to her."
Strangely, Felix is quiet. Twiddles his thumbs in his lap. Sylvain watches him for a moment before resuming his requested task, catching the spots of his back that he's missed.
"Would it be so bad?" asks Felix.
Sylvain's hands pause. "What?"
"The idea of being with me. Is it such a terrible idea?"
Sylvain laughs because that's what he does when faced with awkward questions. "Felix, we're too old for gay jokes and Ingrid knows that. She's just picking on us because it's how she asserts dominance."
Felix doesn't even scoff which is a red flag, so Sylvain grasps him by the shoulders and looks at him from the side. "Hey, wait, are you worried about dating? I thought it wasn't something you're interested in?"
They've known each other since they were practically in diapers, so of course, they've talked about this: girls and dating. Well, more so Sylvain who always talked at Felix. Felix is relatively tight-lipped about it, even now, into their college years. Always says that he's just not interested.
Never bothered Sylvain one bit.
"I mean, I know some cute girls-"
"Sylvain, I don't want to date women."
Oh. Oh. Sylvain's mouth shuts tight as he absorbs this information. This puts a lot of things into perspective; Felix's disinterest in women and how he'd roll his eyes whenever Sylvain would talk about them. His lack of celebrity crushes and such. Felix has just never said it so bluntly.
"Felix, it's totally cool if you're gay. I know some cute guys-"
Felix lets out a frustrated groan, rubbing at his face. "Sylvain, I'm not- that's not- That's not it."
"Felix, you have to throw me a bone here, what on earth are you talking about-"
"I like you, you absolute imbecile," says Felix very suddenly. And loudly. Entirely red-faced with embarrassment as he digs a hand into the sand beside him. "And Ingrid's known for years because Glenn fucking told her, and that's why she's being so incredibly insufferable this entire time-"
Sylvain bursts into laughter, which in retrospect, probably wasn't the best reaction. "Wait, no, no, that's not why I'm laughing," he says when Felix starts to pull away. Felix pauses, looking at him with barely contained aggravation.
"This isn't funny, Sylvain," he says quietly.
"Ingrid's making fun of both of us, so yeah, it kind of is."
Felix blinks very slowly, his face contorting into supreme confusion.
Sylvain sighs, rubbing at his chin awkwardly. "So look, here's the thing. The shitty dating's always been to fill a void because I've always been afraid to like, date someone properly. No commitment is so much easier than actual commitment and-"
"Sylvain, what on earth are you blabbering about?" cuts in Felix impatiently.
"I like you too?" Sylvain doesn't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, so he clears his throat and tries again. "What I mean to say is, I've always liked you, I guess, but I've never really noticed you and-"
When Felix laughs, it's always a bitter-sounding thing which is why Sylvain never wants to hear it. Means he's about to lose his shit. This time though, he's chuckling softly, rubbing at his face tiredly. "Let me guess," he says quietly, "Ingrid knows."
Sylvain swallows thickly, sitting there awkwardly with sunscreen-covered hands. "She, uh, might."
"So, I didn't have to resort to this, then."
Sylvain shoots him a confused look. "Resort to what?"
Felix sighs, pink-cheeked with embarrassment again. "Parading around without a shirt on. The whole sunscreen thing. Ingrid's blasted idea, of course, and now I see why. Glenn agreed, saying you're the type to be visually stimulated but because I didn't think that you liked me-"
"Wait, wait, back up," says Sylvain, trying to process everything that Felix is trying to say. "What do you mean Ingrid's idea?"
Felix finally looks at Sylvain's face, annoyed with the entire situation. "She was tired of me not saying anything and told me to do something about it. I said it wouldn't matter, that you didn't like me but-" He pauses and waves vaguely between them.
"She's known that I've liked you for years," finishes Sylvain quietly. "Oh, Goddess, I'm going to kill her."
"Please don't," says Felix. "Because then Glenn would kill you and that would mean I've made an utter fool of myself for nothing."
Sylvain looks at the sunscreen again. "Felix, I hope you realize, rubbing you down in this nearly ended me. Like, I won't be able to move from this towel for at least ten minutes."
At that, Felix smirks slightly, his mouth tipped up at one corner. "Well, I'm sure there are spots that you've missed."
Sylvain groans at the idea.
"I'm joking," says Felix quietly, reaching out to touch Sylvain's shoulder, thumbing over it with uncertainty. "So what-"
"I mean, the answer's yes, obviously." Felix looks at him, his face carefully schooled into something bland. Obviously trying not to get his hopes up, so Sylvain continues. "I mean, I didn't collapse onto Ingrid's bathroom floor one night, wasted to only say no-"
"You what?"
"Okay, so forget about that-"
"So you were truly serious about liking me?" asks Felix, his voice cracking slightly.
Sylvain's expression softens. "I mean, it's never been so clear until today but-"
"Why today, of all days?"
Sylvain's done a fantastic job of looking at only Felix's face so far so he finally looks down, eyes sweeping over his chest. Sylvain swallows thickly. "I mean, look at you, you're-"
"Save it for the women who warm your bed," says Felix acerbically. He moves to get up properly and Sylvain reaches out to grab his wrist.
"Felix, wait, don't do that." Felix does. Waits for him to say his piece. "I've always liked you, but it never really clicked that you're- uh- look, there's no delicate way to say it, so I just will. You're gorgeous. Handsome. I can't stop looking at you because you make me feel things, and that's something that's just... Ingrid told me to take a fucking picture, Felix."
Felix snorts at that, hiding a smile behind his hand. Then he plops back down to the sand.
"You realize that I expect to be more than a bed warmer," says Felix finally, arms crossed over his chest.
"I'd never ask that of you," says Sylvain, seriously. "Unless you wanted to, because trust me, I'm certainly not opposed-"
Felix reaches forward with lightning-fast speed, pulls open Sylvain's swim trunks, and dumps a handful of sand directly into them. Sylvain looks down dumbly. Dreads the inevitable itchiness that comes with getting sand in the bits where you don't want it.
"Okay, yeah, I deserved that."
Felix hesitates and then says, "Insufferable."
"Yeah," says Sylvain in agreement.
"It's part of your charm."
Sylvain grins at him. "Oh, my charm? Does that mean that I won you over with my bewitching demeanor?"
Felix's expression sours the slightest bit. "Don't push it."
It falls quiet between them, as they sit on the towel underneath Sylvain's umbrella, but it's a comfortable silence. Sylvain rubs the leftover sunscreen into his own shoulders as Felix tries not to stare in return.
"So," says Sylvain finally. "Dinner on the pier maybe? Without Ingrid and Glenn, I mean."
"Yes, nothing says fantastic first date like shoveling buttered crawfish into your mouth like a slob." But Felix's face is soft and fond when he looks at Sylvain, and Sylvain knows that it's a date sealed for later that night.
Things are going to be weird, supposes Sylvain, but there are worse things. At least they'll be figuring it out together.
"Who gets first dibs on dunking ice-cold seawater all over Ingrid?" asks Sylvain.
"I think that I can get Glenn to distract her long enough for you to fill the pail. Or, we can tag team her- grab her and throw her in the ocean itself."
That's a better idea and Sylvain says as such, much to Felix's entertainment. "Maybe we shouldn't," continues Sylvain. "We do owe her some credit."
Felix snorts. "Are you going to give her the satisfaction of it?"
They both look at each other, then Sylvain says, "Absolutely not." He pauses, reaching out to Felix, wanting to grab his hand and hold it. But he hesitates.
Felix sees and watches silently. "We're dumb," he finally says. "It's taken us so long. We're nearly done with college."
"Yeah, well, late-bloomers and all that."
"Sylvain, you're the opposite of a late-bloomer."
"Not where it counts."
Felix sighs softly and reaches out, taking Sylvain's hand, linking their fingers together. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. He and Sylvain have always been like that; silent in most of their communication because they just read each other so well.
Except for when it comes to their wants, apparently.
Still, better late than never supposes Sylvain when he squeezes Felix's hand back.