It was love at first sight, Sylvain thinks.

What an incredulous thing, in retrospect. Sylvain doesn't do love. He doesn't settle down or stick to one person for more than several months at best. Relationships are complicated, messy things that usually aren't worth the trouble, especially at his age.

But the moment he saw those severe, amber eyes, he'd been gone— gone.

Felix isn't his type. Handsome enough if you like scrawny guys, which Sylvain doesn't. He wears a terrible combover to hide a mildly receding hairline, which makes Sylvain laugh. Decades of scowling have left deep-set lines around his eyes and mouth.

Sylvain loved the distinguished look of him immediately, and most importantly— the scowl.

The first night he saw him at the Lounge, he'd ordered a stiff drink and sent it over. The bartender pointed to Sylvain and Felix looked, catching his sheepish smile and wave. Felix then scowled, leaned over the counter and poured the drink right down the sink on the other side.

Oh, and Sylvain was smitten because he's a sucker for punishment and the hard-to-get types are exactly what fuels him. Games of cat-and-mouse are entertaining for a little bit before he inevitably moves on.

Sylvain decided that he wanted to turn that scowl into something else, and Goddess be damned, it wasn't an easy task.

The Lounge is a classy place with dim lights and soft jazz. The kind of place where you can truly lose yourself, not like those loud and wild bars. In his older age, Sylvain likes the quieter atmosphere, and the beautiful singers certainly don't harm it one bit.

It took five drinks before Felix finally accepted one. Five separate occasions of Sylvain pining from afar because he liked the game and Felix played it well. It wasn't an acceptance, though— Felix looked at Sylvain through narrowed eyes, knocked back the shot and then gave him the finger instead.

Sylvain nearly swooned.

Casual fucks are easier the older you get because once you reach a certain age, no one cares what you look like in the sack, or what is sagging where. Sylvain's good looking where it counts, and Felix is too, as he's come to learn.

The first night they shared a table, he couldn't stop staring at the soft lines around Felix's face. Sylvain never thought about anything next-level, but he certainly thought about waking up that face relaxed in his bed and pressing kisses to each and every crinkle that he could find.

Felix wasn't against the idea.

The problem came when Love at first sight turned into I want to be with him. Sylvain told himself it was casual but couldn't deny the way that Felix felt like he belonged underneath his touch. And then there was the way that Felix looked at him, watching him with a quiet severeness that left Sylvain breathless.

What a complicated web he'd woven.

One that he's still caught in.

The night is quiet in the Lounge. It's rather slow and empty. The entertainment is a wonderful pianist whose fingers curl over the keys with wistful notes. Sylvain likes it because it feels like they have the entire place to themselves.

"What are you thinking about?"

He looks at Felix, nestled into the booth next to him. He's dressed so well in a dark turtleneck and slim jeans. Sylvain's mouth opens and he licks at his lips, thinking about how to respond.

And Felix waits, which is weird because he isn't a patient man.

Except with Sylvain, always with Sylvain. Being an exception to the rule only fuels that desire for more.

"I'm just…" Sylvain stops and Felix cocks his head to the side, curious. "You know that I love you, right?"

It isn't the first time he's said it, but Felix hasn't returned the sentiment outright. Sylvain doesn't mind because he doesn't expect him too— but Goddess above, he hopes and prays for the first time in his pathetic life.

What a scary thing, thinking about settling down this late. Sylvain's pushing his mid-forties. He's wrinkled and crinkled, he's going gray, and his bones ache a little bit more with each waking morning.

But Felix makes his days better, so he'll take whatever he can get.

Felix doesn't say anything, he just watches him back. Sylvain takes his hand and tugs it to his face, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Imbecile," says Felix softly. Affectionately. Sylvain's heart beats a little faster at the soft smile that graces his face.

He'd wanted to turn that scowl into such a thing, but he never thought it'd be so beautiful, or directed at him. The smile is as much a confession as the words themselves, and Sylvain practically soars on cloud nine.

"No drinks tonight," says Felix, scooting close to him in the booth. Sylvain wraps an arm around his shoulder automatically. "I just want to listen to the music and enjoy you."

"Yeah," says Sylvain, kissing the side of his head.

It feels natural, holding hands as they watch the pianist. Sylvain never wants this feeling to end and he tells Felix that.

When Felix looks at him in response, he looks so soft. "It won't," he says, and that's that. Nothing more is needed.

Love at first sight, thought Sylvain earlier that night. He scoffs softly, chuckling. More like love at first scowl.

That being said, he much prefers this.

"Worth the wait," he says into Felix's ear, "And I don't mean the time I spent wooing you, I mean the lonely decades it took to get here."

Felix smooths out the collar of Sylvain's shirt, his fingers just barely sinking into it to brush his collarbone. "Yes," he says simply. Then he presses a crooked kiss to the corner of Sylvain's mouth. "Now stop worrying about it."

Sylvain laughs into his hair.

For once, he just might because it feels like this might just work.