A small gust whistled past his ear as Felix swung his sword. He tsked. Too much force, mismatched balance, and the tilt in his posture was at the wrong angle. He gripped the hilt and thrust again.

Sloppy.

A third swing. His heel twisted. He felt a small tremor run up from his wrist.

Weak.

He grit his teeth and swung again and again, no longer counting the motions.

Swords were simple.

Winning and losing were simple.

This should be simple.

So why did everything feel so complex now?

Felix knew why. It was because he was angry. It felt better to deny it, but that was like comparing being dismembered by a Demonic Beast instead of getting devoured by one. Both were miserable outcomes, and neither felt 'better' than the other.

Lyrics he cherished weeks before persistently flitted through his memory, taunting him. They were eager to muddle his desire for simplicity with more insidious and distracting desires. The only thing that drowned them out was the sound of his sword. Not long ago he was desperate to hold onto those melodies, but now he wanted nothing more than to forget.

The carefree lilt in her voice, her little spin with the jar of honey in hand, the way the warmth of the kitchen seemed to magnify her very aura and set her whole presence aglow—

But why that song?!

He knew his anger was stupid. At least that much was simple.

The more he struggled to unpack his resentment, the more upset it made him, and the messier his training became. He had no claim or ownership over Annette. She was free to sing and do whatever she wished. Hell, he enjoyed knowing other people were appreciating her talents. It gave him a little sense of pride, in a strange, roundabout way. As though their friends were newly discovering something remarkable he was long-familiar with.

But that song…

That was their song.

It was bad enough her battalion overheard that song during their reclamation of the kingdom. At least that wasn't intentional, and Annette was reluctant to share it with them during their celebratory feast. Yet somehow she had no reservations about giving Dedue and Ashe a private performance—

Felix bit down on his lip, hoping the spark of discomfort would focus his thoughts. Maybe the pain would give him something to channel his concentration towards, but all it succeeded in doing was drawing blood. He was still angry, his swings were still off-balance, and now he had a bloody lip to contend with. He licked away the taste and grimaced.

Footsteps accompanied by the sounds of laughter approached. He turned in the direction of the sounds and adjusted his stance with haste. There was nothing shameful about practicing, especially not so close to their attack on the empire, but everything about this session was unfit for observation and not up to his standards.

"Felix!" Sylvain strolled through the doorway. Mercedes stood at his side, her eyes still twinkling in mid-smile. Both were holding boxes of supplies. "We were just talking about you! Fancy meeting you here."

Felix grunted. "If you're not training the day before a decisive battle, you're doing it wrong."

"Huh," Sylvain shrugged. Glances were exchanged between him and Mercedes. "Training still? Haven't you had enough?"

"Better than sitting idle like you. Or flirting," he added, darting a look at Mercedes. Sure, they both looked like they had just returned from an errand to the market, but as far as Felix was concerned, Sylvain's involvement was practically one step removed from 'idle' anyhow.

Mercedes graciously smiled. "I ought to get back anyways, Sylvain. Thank you for helping me."

"Not a problem at all. I think Felix has the right idea; maybe I'll get in a few rounds before mealtime. Guess you were right all along when we were guessing where he was at," Sylvain said. He gave Mercedes a playful wink. She continued to smile. They turned their attention back to Felix, and he suddenly felt like he was being judged. Whatever they had been talking about earlier involved him, yet it felt safer to remain ignorant.

"If you had to guess where I was, you don't know me well at all," Felix said. "Whatever. Do as you please. I don't care. Just don't get in my way."

"I'm sorry, Felix. I didn't mean to interrupt," Mercedes said. "Please be careful. We all want to be in our best shape for tomorrow."

Sylvain set his box at the door and formed a lazy thumbs-up. "Of course we'll be careful! I wouldn't dream of letting you down, Mercedes. You can count on me. How about you leave your box here with mine, and I'll take them both to the pantry once I finish?"

"Are you sure that's not too much trouble?"

"Not one bit. If I can't manage some extra boxes, how am I gonna handle all the empire's baddies?"

Felix rolled his eyes. If it were possible to weaponize flirtation, Sylvain would be an unmatched threat of mass destruction. He pretended not to hear the remainder of their conversation and resumed his next set of mid-air strikes and slashes.

"Of course," Mercedes giggled. "Thank you so much again, Sylvain."

Sylvain waved goodbye, then hoisted up a training axe from the nearby rack. He slowly turned it over in his hands as if it were his first time wielding. "You know," he said, "you're just going to burn out again if you keep overdoing it. Wasn't that fever of yours enough of a warning?"

Of course he had to bring that up.

Felix made a feint jab and imagined stabbing the ghost of a memory he was all-too eager to forget instead. "That was months ago. What's your point?"

"Months, days, years, it doesn't matter. If anything, you should be twice as cautious with tomorrow being the big day."

"I thought I told you not to get in my way. If you have nothing useful to say, then stop wasting my time."

Sylvain notched the handle of his axe against his shoulder as he shifted into a familiar stance, this one without any of his earlier amateurish handling. He turned an empty palm upwards and curled his fingers forward in a beckoning gesture. "You win, Felix. We can do this your way, that's fine by me."

That's more like it.

Felix nodded, then dashed forward. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Or perhaps it was a grimace from biting it earlier.

Steel met steel, and Sylvain's axe struck the edge of Felix's sword with a surprising amount of force.

"How long have you been at it? All afternoon?" Sylvain asked.

Felix sprang back, drawing himself into a more defensive position. "It doesn't matter. At least I'm not wasting my time."

"Any time spent in the company of a lovely lady is far from wasted," Sylvain quipped. He sprinted and took another swing at Felix. It was easily dodged, but he didn't seem deterred and continued his banter. "And Mercedes is quite the conversationalist, so it was time well-spent," he added.

"Talk is cheap."

"Good thing we're keeping our purse strings tight during wartime then, eh?"

"Tch," Felix crouched and made another jab. Sylvain parried again with ease.

"Aren't you even the tiniest bit curious to know what we were talking about?"

"Why should I be? I don't care for your gossip."

Sylvain raised a slender red eyebrow. "There's no harm in a little chit-chat every now and then."

Finally an opening. Felix shunted at an angle, twisting his wrist to deflect Sylvain's oncoming swing. The dodge was sloppy, and he sensed the blade of the Training Axe barely grazing the fur trim of his cloak.

Sylvain jumped back, swinging his axe around like the pendulum of the grandfather clock in Garreg Mach's library. "Actually, I was looking for advice. And Mercedes has plenty to spare," Sylvain said. There was a grin plastered across his face, and something told Felix it had nothing to do with the close shave moments before and everything to do with their gossip.

"If it's not battle advice, I don't care."

"Not even a little?"

"I don't care."

Sylvain quickly caught his axe mid-air and dashed ahead again. Felix made no effort to dodge and instead struck his sword against the blade of the Training Axe, matching Sylvain's force equally. His friend chuckled, then leaned in close, his face peering through the space created between their weapons. "Then you probably don't care to hear about my plan to ask Annette out, do you?"

Something sick lurched in his stomach.

Sylvain was quick to react and shoved his shoulder against the handle of his axe. The edge of the axe embedded itself into the wall, just a hair's breadth away from Felix's ear. The force pinned Felix against the wall with a jolt. He coughed as the hard surface slammed against his back, biting his lip again and drawing blood for the second time. A tinge of salt filled his mouth. He spat off to the side before locking eyes with Sylvain. "I don't give a damn what you do. Why should I care?"

It felt like a miserable lie, and the taste of blood in his mouth seemed to sour the instant the words left his lips. He tried to ignore the sensation of being pinned in place. The circumstances were far too similar to another sparring exercise with another redhead, one he enjoyed circulating in his memory on repeat more than he'd like to admit.

Sylvain stared back, mirth and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, you are my best friend. Caring about who I decide to seriously court should run pretty high on your list."

"You court anything with two legs."

"Hey, I have standards!"

"I'm aware. Women. Men. Even chickens, according to Flayn."

"C-chickens!? Gah..." Sylvain faltered, then tugged his axe free from the wall, releasing Felix from his locked position. He tapped the handle of his axe against his shoulder and sighed. "I'm gonna have to talk with her again about that one…"

"Are we done?" Felix snapped.

"Done? You spend all afternoon in here, yet we barely even get a chance to spar before you call it quits?"

"I have more important things to do than entertain you."

Sylvain studied him for a moment. It was the same look from earlier when he entered with Mercedes. "You know, we could die tomorrow."

"About time you took this seriously."

"I'm just saying. I'd rather face our final battle with no regrets, you know? So maybe after dinner I'll find Annette and… well, like I said, Mercedes had great advice."

"I told you, I don't care what you do."

"Then maybe you can at least cheer me on?"

"I don't care."

"Then again," Sylvain spun his Training Axe around one last time before stowing it away, "maybe it's better to wait until we've sealed our victory. What better way to celebrate than sharing my affections with a lovely lady?"

"What's the point if you wind up dying?"

"I suppose getting a confession from a corpse isn't all that romantic," Sylvain said. "Heh, does that mean you care about my endeavors after all?"

"No."

"Sheesh, all right! I get it," Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, then crouched to retrieve the boxes. "You know, Felix... do you remember the promise we made when we were kids? About sticking together until we die?"

"I remember."

"Well, I'm really not trying to get myself killed before you. You know that, right? So don't you go getting killed tomorrow either… How else am I going to tell Annette if you kick the bucket?"

"Tch. I don't plan on breaking that promise."

"Neither do I," Sylvain smiled. "Catch you at dinner?"

"Whatever."

"I know, I know. You don't care. I heard you the first fifty times," Sylvain hoisted up the boxes with a grin before sauntering away.

That sick sensation bubbled up inside again. Felix felt his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, even as it remained sheathed.

I do care.