[There’s no answer on the subject of his alleged “husband”; with the faintest upper curl of his lip—likely recognizable to Sylvain as a smirk—Felix chooses to let the hypothetical mystery lie. Did he stab the poor man and abandon him in some closet? A Fraldarius never tells.
That mild suggestion of a smirk fades as the redhead teases Felix and then moves closer. Muscles tensing, the swordsman studies Sylvain intently in an attempt to glean intentions. Despite the other young man’s height and size, Felix is well aware of how quickly Sylvain can move when inclined to; it would be stupid to underestimate him now. Except, as underhanded as the Gautier heir may be in matters of “love,” Sylvain does not usually stoop to such lows on the battlefield. Maybe that’s why Felix permits the approach. Or maybe he’s just a heartbroken fool still mourning old friends.
Sylvain’s arm finds a home across his shoulders. Felix stiffens, body utterly still, and considers the lancer from his periphery. The invitation is ignored, as per usual.]
…Sylvain. [His voice is quiet, the calm before a storm.] What do you remember last, back in Fódlan?
no subject
That mild suggestion of a smirk fades as the redhead teases Felix and then moves closer. Muscles tensing, the swordsman studies Sylvain intently in an attempt to glean intentions. Despite the other young man’s height and size, Felix is well aware of how quickly Sylvain can move when inclined to; it would be stupid to underestimate him now. Except, as underhanded as the Gautier heir may be in matters of “love,” Sylvain does not usually stoop to such lows on the battlefield. Maybe that’s why Felix permits the approach. Or maybe he’s just a heartbroken fool still mourning old friends.
Sylvain’s arm finds a home across his shoulders. Felix stiffens, body utterly still, and considers the lancer from his periphery. The invitation is ignored, as per usual.]
…Sylvain. [His voice is quiet, the calm before a storm.] What do you remember last, back in Fódlan?