Chapter Text
A week later, Sylvain is torn. He is half expecting a text, half considering sending one himself.
At first, Sylvain convinced himself that Byleth would get over their little disagreement. Because it was just a bump in the road, a temporary setback that would blow over in no time. Byleth is always so calm, so unreadable, like nothing ever fazed him, so, naturally, Sylvain assumed they’d both pretend it never happened, that they’d go back to their casual hookups, no strings attached, no feelings involved.
Because if Byleth was still upset, if he was giving Sylvain the cold shoulder, it would mean he cares, right? And Byleth’s vibes are all about not caring. His permanent poker face screamed indifference, like he was above all the messy emotions that tangled up everyone else. So, it didn’t make sense for Byleth to be giving Sylvain the silent treatment, to leave him hanging like this.
Yet, here Sylvain is, dealing with radio silence, and it’s driving him up the wall. He keeps telling himself that if Byleth does text, he’ll just play dumb, pretend nothing happened, and slip back into their old dynamic. He’s ready to fall back into the rhythm of late-night booty calls and easy conversations, where the lines between them are clear, defined by mutual desire and nothing more.
But if Byleth doesn’t text, ever… then what? Sylvain isn’t one for lowering his head and begging, so that’s entirely out of the question. He is not going to send the professor a text and ask where they stand because he doesn’t do that. Sylvain is not supposed to seek people out; he is used to them coming to him, to them being the ones who play dumb and smile and pretend they don't mind seeing Sylvain again even if he won’t… give them what they want.
Shit.
Sylvain doesn’t tell Dorothea. She is too smart and she will only tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.
Instead, he turns to the countless girls that want a piece of him and humors them as often as he is able to. This, he knows like the back of his hand. He picks them up to take them to hotels or comes over to their place, or meets new people at parties and clubs. It’s almost a relief how easily they fall. He was getting worried he’d lost his game.
Byleth doesn’t come anywhere near him on campus, and no text comes even two weeks later. The silence stretches on, and Sylvain’s frustration grows. The more he tries to ignore it, the more it gnaws at him.
It goes without saying, but that’s Byeth’s answer. What a douchebag, not bothering to break things up cleanly, leaving it all up in the air for Sylvain to try to catch and put together somehow.
So this is what it feels like.
Sylvain seeks distraction on other people's bodies and it works, for the most part. Felix looks like he is suspicious, but honestly, Sylvain couldn’t care less. Felix is a good guy, loyal to a fault, and Sylvain knows he doesn’t deserve him. But he also knows that if he lets himself dwell on that too much, he’ll start thinking about shit he’d rather stay away from, and that’s a rabbit hole he’s not ready to fall down.
He is not saying anything until Felix does, so he has his fun, just like he always has.
The only rule he has with himself is to keep away from alcohol. He says yes to other, arguably more dangerous things, but he stays clear of any kind of drink. Because he knows that if he does get drunk he is going to call Byleth. Either that or his eyes are going to burn holes into his phone all night, waiting for that text, for that call, ready to forgive and say, Yeah, I’m free , Yeah, I’ll pick you up .
That rule doesn’t last long, needless to say.
Whenever Sylvain gets drunk, he’s lucky enough not to make a complete fool of himself and manages not to call Byleth —yay for small victories— but he does get dumber ideas in his head. Ideas like getting so wasted to the point of passing out and or puking his soul out, or driving past the speed limit near Byleth’s place with the music cranked up so loud it drowns out the voice in his head telling him this is beyond pathetic, or simply pulling up to that damn street again for the third time this week while downing yet another beer. His reasoning during these moments is a mess of contradictions. He tells himself he’s doing it to prove a point, to show Byleth that he’s having a blast, living it up without a care in the world, even if he’s barely holding it together and looking for an excuse to crash into someone’s garden. Vodka has the taste of Byleth’s lips, so he chugs that shit up.
He sees on Byleth’s insta a vague story that basically shows that someone brought him flowers (or maybe that’s not it at all, it’s hard to tell), which makes Sylvain want to get a gun and start taking names. How is that remotely okay , platonic enough for Byleth to allow it, but Sylvain asking him to stop fucking other people isn’t?
Sylvain is grumpy that day, thinking about the photo of that stupid, yellow-ass bouquet. Byleth is seeing other people, yet he’s lowered his standards even further, settling for cheap presents and shit. How is that better than anything Sylvain could give him? If it were him, if Byleth let him, Sylvain would fill his entire room with flowers— no, his whole house. Violet would need to move out because of it and Sylvain would pay for her apartment, too.
…But Byleth wouldn’t like that, would he? He’d prefer something less over the top, something more discreet. Okay then, Sylvain would give him a bouquet if that is what he wanted, a bigger, better one than the crappy one he got.
Whatever.
A month later, Sylvain finds himself staring at his phone for what feels like the hundredth time today, his thumb hovering over Byleth’s name in his contacts. The screen blurs slightly as his vision swims with the effects of the night before—too many drinks, too little sleep. His head throbs with a dull ache, but it’s nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness in his chest.
He tosses the phone onto the couch beside him, running a hand over his face as if that could erase the memories from that night. He’s been out every night since Byleth dumped him—bars, clubs, parties—anything to drown out the voice in his head that keeps replaying that scene over and over. The alcohol helps, numbing the sharp edges of his thoughts, making it easier to pretend that he doesn’t care, that he’s still the same carefree guy who can walk away from anything unscathed.
Nothing better than booze and meaningless hookups to soothe a hurt soul, everybody knows that.
He faintly remembers how he laughed and joked with the strangers he met last night, flashing that easy smile he’s perfected over the years. It felt like empty space, like he wasn’t even there to begin with, in his own body. No matter how many drinks he downed, how many laughs he forced out, nothing could shake the image of Byleth’s back as he walked away.
It could be worse, he tells himself. He could be crying himself to sleep and getting wasted to break up songs. He’s not down that bad. He isn’t.
Sylvain stands up abruptly, needing to move, to do something—anything—to break the spiral of thoughts dragging him down. He grabs his jacket, shrugging it on as he heads for the door. Maybe another night out will do the trick and will finally help him forget, if only for a little while.
As he reaches for the doorknob though, his phone buzzes on the couch, forgotten, and his heart leaps into his throat.
He spins around, hope and dread warring inside him as he snatches it up. But when he glances at the screen, the notification isn’t from Byleth—it’s just Felix, asking if they’re going out tonight.
For a moment, he just stares at the message, feeling that familiar emptiness settle back in. He could go out with Felix this time, he supposes, lose himself in the noise and the crowds, in the fleeting comfort of his barely there touch.
Sylvain sighs, letting the phone drop back onto the couch.
Later, Felix tells him he wants to go out for dinner, and while Sylvain can feel his stomach churn at the mere thought of food, probably courtesy of his hangover, he humors his boyfriend. The memory of that word leaving Byleth’s lips still manages to make Sylvain grip the steering wheel until his knuckles get white. It sounded like he spit it out, as if he couldn’t contain his disdain for it. What’s so bad about dating Sylvain? He’s great! He’s got a lot going on for him, a lot more than Byleth does, that’s for sure. Sylvain is rich, devastatingly handsome, has a fun sense of humor and is great in bed. Amazing, even, if the amount of girls who line up for the chance to fuck him a second time is anything to go by.
Byleth is— none of those things. Actually, Sylvain is completely out of his league, if one thinks about it. Byleth is broke, living on the salary of a lame-ass teacher, he’s an alcoholic, selfish, self-centered, ungrateful… Well, he is handsome, Sylvain will admit that, very attractive, kinda funny in that monotone teasing tone of his, and… he sort of is great in bed, too. Amazing, even.
Whatever. Whatever .
Felix gets in his car, which is the perfect excuse to stop thinking altogether. He tells Felix the first thing that comes to mind, which is that he is going to take him to his favorite restaurant, and watches as Felix gives him a pleased look.
See? He is a perfectly good boyfriend. He is boyfriend material at its finest.
Felix is blabbing about a dream he had, unusually talkative, and Sylvain half pays attention while driving out of the neighborhood. The plot of the dream involves the most convoluted storyline Sylvain has ever heard, probably loosely linked to Felix bingeing the X-Files before turning in last night.
“Was I in your dream?” he asks, just to tease.
Felix nods.
“Only for a bit. You were abducted by aliens after we found the cure to the zombie apocalypse.”
“Jesus. How many times did you save the world in that dream?”
“I didn’t, it was all a simulation! Did you listen to anything I said?”
Sylvain laughs, because Felix is a dork even if he doesn’t want to admit it himself.
“Didn’t you at least try to rescue me? That’s how little you care about me?”
Felix scoffs, amused despite himself.
“It’s not like that. I had lost my leg by…” then trails off. “By that point.”
Sylvain stops at a red light, just in time to look over to Felix, who has his eyes on his shoes. Sylvain is about to ask what’s up, when Felix leans over his legs and reaches for something in the dark. He sits up, holding a metallic ring between his fingers. It glints faintly in the light filtering through the car’s windows. Sylvain makes a face, but once recognition dawns on him, he feels a cold swirling in the pit of his belly. That’s one of Byleth’s rings, the ones he wore that night they ran into each other at Hilda’s party. It must have fallen out of his pocket at some point, rolling around unnoticed until now. Felix’s fingers close around it, and Sylvain forces himself to smile, trying to play it off.
“Huh,” he says, voice breezy. “Didn’t know that thing was rolling around on the floor.”
He extends a hand to take it back, but Felix doesn’t move. His red eyes don’t leave the ring until after the traffic light has turned green. It takes half a second for Sylvain to react, but he manages to do it and step on the gas before anyone starts honking behind them.
Felix doesn’t miss a beat.
“Who is this person?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm.
“Hey, don’t jump to conclusions. Come on. We were talking about us, babe.”
Felix isn’t having it. His voice is cold, unyielding.
“Stop the fucking car.”
Sylvain’s smile drops, frustration bubbling up inside him. He lets out a sigh, annoyed at the situation but also at himself for not being more careful.
“Don’t be crazy about this.”
He risks a glance at Felix, and what he finds is that the other boy looks positively furious. Sylvain knows better than to poke the bear, a decade of friendship with Felix has taught him that if he wants to murder you in a moving car, he will murder you in a moving car, so he just obeys and pulls over.
The silence weighs on his shoulders, rings in his ears.
“Are you going to explain yourself?” Felix’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and demanding.
Sylvain finds that he doesn’t want to. Would it make any difference if he did? He doubts it. He doesn’t want to lie, but he knows the truth will only make things worse. Felix is naive and inexperienced, but not stupid. And Sylvain knows he’s pushed things too far with him for a while.
“Sylvain.”
The way Felix says his name, so full of disappointment, makes Sylvain’s chest tighten.
“It’s a friend’s, okay? They must have left it here by accident,” he finally says, the lie rolling easily off his tongue.
“ Who .”
“It’s Dorothea’s! God, relax your tits, Felix.”
Felix remains quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving Sylvain. Sylvain hates the condemning accusation in his red eyes. He doesn’t believe him—of course he doesn’t. Why would he?
“What do you want me to say? It’s not what you think.” Sylvain snaps, irritated. “Only God knows what weird ideas Ingrid is getting into your head.”
But Felix doesn’t budge. He just shakes his head, disappointment written all over his face. Sylvain hates that look, hates that he’s the reason for it. But what is Felix so surprised about? Surely everyone told him this would happen, that Sylvain would eventually screw things up.
The next words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, an automatic response that he’s used too many times before.
“Felix, calm down. You are ruining everything.”
He sees Felix bristling like a cat, glaring daggers at him, holding the ring like damning evidence.
“You’re unbelievable! You’re lucky I haven't knocked your teeth out of your mouth.”
Which is true. If they were outside, Sylvain would have probably lost brain cells from a punch to the face already. He kind of wants that to happen, though. Who knows? Maybe it will quite literally knock some sense into him.
But as it is, they’re stuck in this tense, suffocating silence, both of them too stubborn to make the first move. Sylvain doesn’t feel like lying again, but he knows the truth from his mouth will hurt Felix’s pride more than it already has. He doesn’t want to make Felix cry. He’d be ashamed for turning a deaf ear to everyone who tried to warn him about Sylvain. He deserves none of this. Sylvain wants to say sorry, but the words do not come to his calling. So he just sits there until Felix makes the decision for him.
With a look of utter contempt, Felix throws the ring at Sylvain, the metal clinking against the wheel before falling to the floor.
“Fuck you, Sylvain.”
He gets out of the car, livid, all but slamming the door behind him.
Sylvain doesn’t go after him. He stays in the car, eyes fixed on the flickering lights of the street poles disturbing the night. Sylvain’s hands grip the steering wheel as the reality of what he’s done settles in. With the wreckage of his choices laid bare before him, he can’t shake the feeling that he deserves this.
Sylvain has never really had a hard time at school. Despite being prone to getting distracted, more often than not by his female classmates, he has always been able to return his attention to the numbers and facts on his books and regurgitate them back up during test season. Ingrid would look at him with misplaced envy, telling him it was unfair he was naturally smart instead of having to study hard like she did. Sylvain doesn’t think he’s book smart, he never has, seeing his father acted all the time like it was the least he could do to keep him content. Sylvain used to think, rather, that he is street smart.
That too has been proven false as of late, but still.
His classes don't interest him much these days, even less so than usual. His mind keeps getting lost on other things, and by the time the lecture is over he is left feeling like not a single word stuck to him. It’s not a problem at the moment, but he knows the more he procrastinates doing something about it, the more he’ll suffer the consequences once the exams come around.
He hates to even think about it, but he’s considering asking Hanneman for some help during his office hours.
Sitting by the fountain near the main building next to Dorothea, with a crappy frappuccino slowly melting in the sun, Sylvain ponders how advisable it would be to let himself fall down into the water. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw anyone replacing it, though…
Dorothea plays with her phone, blessedly alien to Sylvain’s predicament. Partially alien. She knows what’s up with the whole Byleth situation.
After that failed date night with Felix, his head was so all over the place that the only thing he could think of was calling her and getting some catharsis from complaining about his poor life decisions.
She listened patiently, let him vent and go on and on about it all. When he was seemingly done, she asked, half patiently and half pitying:
“So we can all agree that you brought this upon yourself, right?”
He knew that already, no surprise there. She sighed, her voice going softer.
“Sorry this happened to you, but everyone catches feelings eventually— it only takes the intimacy of it all getting to you. Or the right person.”
Sylvain groaned. He had been an expert on dodging that intimacy thing (ugh) for the longest time, precisely because he didn’t want stupid feelings. He didn’t sign up for those. Although… In hindsight, those kind of have been there for a hot minute. It’s all Byleth’s fault.
“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you of all people,” she went on, as gently as she could. “But just because someone acts like they like you… it doesn’t mean they like you for real. Sometimes people are just jerks. And sometimes we build castles in the air, too. Both happen at the same time often.”
Which, yeah, it wasn’t what Sylvain wanted to hear, but she quickly let it be and moved to more important questions.
“So, what are you gonna do?”
What is there to do? Sylvain didn’t know then and doesn’t know now. Byleth doesn’t seem to want anything to do with him, and honestly, that attitude of his is starting to piss Sylvain off, so he’d rather pretend the professor doesn’t exist either. Even if he keeps checking his phone by force of habit.
A smudge of blond hair at the corner of his vision catches Sylvain’s attention. Dimitri’s blue gaze finds him easily, and as the other boy beams at him with a wave, Sylvain can’t fathom what in the world he is so happy about. Not only does Sylvain feel like shit, but the day is so hot he can hear his own brain getting fried inside his skull like an egg on the asphalt.
He attempts to put a smile on his face, but it's not a genuine one. He distractedly wonders if Dimitri already knows about Felix. Ingrid was not happy.
Dorothea gives Sylvain a look that says he gets to decide how she feels about Dimitri, but he just shrugs, and so she perks up, clearly happy to leave her phone alone and interact with another human being. Sylvain doesn’t count because he is ‘sulking’.
“Dimitri, hey!” She chirps, and he greets her just as enthusiastically. Then his eyes come to Sylvain, and it’s as if he is actually looking at him for the first time.
Seemingly concerned, Dimitri asks, “Sylvain, are you alright?”
Sylvain lets out a scuff of a laugh, running a hand through his hair. He tries to straighten a bit, though.
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine."
“You seem…” Dimitri trails off, surely searching for a word that doesn’t ring as rude but close enough to the truth. In the end, he settles for, “Out of it. Girl problems?”
Dorothea giggles. Sylvain is just unimpressed at this point.
"Just because I'm not chatting the ears off some poor girl doesn't mean I'm out of sorts, you know."
Sylvain gives Dimitri a small smirk, yet it lacks its usual playfulness and charm. He turns his head, looking out at the other people in the grounds, preferably students that are less happy than Dimitri.
"I've just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry about."
Dimitri hums, pensive and clearly still a bit worried.
“You know we are friends, right? Anything I can do…”
Sylvain hates that. Just like Felix and Ingrid, Dimitri was there during most of Sylvain’s childhood, thus they can read each other pretty well. Even if they kind of drifted apart at some point during highschool, all those years spent together don’t just dissolve into nothing on their own. Sylvain has always been a bit jealous of Dimitri for having a nice dad, but that is beside the point.
"Sure thing,” he says either way. “What's got you all excited anyways?"
Dimitri allows the change of topic, but his cheeks get a bit rosy. He laughs a little, bashful.
“Well, I was thinking about asking the professor out. Professor Eisner, that is.”
Sylvain’s eyes go slightly wide at Dimitri’s words, his stomach doing a small flip. He notices Dorothea going very still. Sylvain’s quiet for a moment, just watching the other man, the smile fading from his face. He attempts to plaster it back on, but it feels a lot more forced now, like a mask that’s too tight.
“You don’t say.”
“That’s great,” says Thea, almost genuine. She and Sylvain exchange a quick glance.
Dimitri, ever the sincere one, nods with a small, hopeful smile.
“Let’s just say we started with the wrong foot. I want to make it up to him.”
He means that thing that happened between them at the party during the last week of last semester, whatever the hell it was. Sylvain gives Dimitri a little nod, though it’s more like a slight jerk of his head.
“Haven’t you done this already?” he hears himself ask. “More than once?”
Dorothea gives him an alarmed look, but Dimitri laughs, not taking the words to heart.
“I stopped a while back, for your information. But I think I’ll try once more. For real, this time. What I do or don’t do will depend on his answer.”
Sylvain can feel his chest twist uncomfortably as his thoughts race through his head. He wants to tell Dimitri that Byleth doesn’t do relationships, that he shouldn’t bother. But he doesn’t, obviously.
“Yeah? How do you plan on asking him out?” He tries to sound normal. He shifts in his seat, trying for a smile again. “It’s a date, right? Might as well make it a good one.”
“I haven’t really thought about it. Any advice for me?”
The irony isn’t lost on Sylvain, and he nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Advice? How is he supposed to give advice about the very thing that’s been tearing him apart for weeks?
Thea must say something, but Sylvain isn’t paying attention. If Dimitri were to really ask Byleth for a second chance, would Byleth say yes? As far as Sylvain knows, every one of Dimitri’s other attempts were promptly shut down, at least until the party last semester. Byleth told Sylvain he didn’t want a relationship but didn’t explain himself, which is nothing more than one of the countless excuses Sylvain himself has used in the past. Maybe it is like Dorothea said; Byleth simply doesn’t like Sylvain, as easy as that, so he’ll accept someone else he fancies. Then he should have said, ‘I don’t want a relationship with you ,’ dammit. Would any of this be easier if he did, though? Probably not.
Sylvain’s dumb brain tells him to stop Dimitri, to do everything in his power to throw a wrench in the other man’s plan, but his mouth moves before his mind can come up with anything.
“For one, the professor’s not going to enjoy a fancy, expensive place. I’d try to think of somewhere quiet, relaxed… with a nice atmosphere.”
Dimitri and Dorothea turn their attention to him. Sylvain speaks thoughtfully now, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral. His mind wanders as he tries to piece together a perfect date location. Anything to keep from letting his true thoughts leak out.
“It should be somewhere you can talk and enjoy some drinks. Oh, and I’d make sure it’s somewhere private. He wouldn’t appreciate prying eyes, I bet.”
“I was thinking about coffee, but on second thought, he might like drinks better.” Dimitri admits, a bit embarrassed. “Going on so many dates has helped you become so knowledgeable.”
Sylvain laughs. Byleth doesn’t even like coffee.
“Practice makes perfect!” he says, the void in his chest growing cold as he continues to speak. “It’s all about reading the other person. The professor is quiet, but I bet if you get him in the right situation, he’ll loosen up. If you want the date to be good for him, you’ve got to take what he likes into consideration.”
Dimitri ponders this for a moment, then he chuckles.
“It’s so funny, right? That we are here planning stuff when I haven’t mustered the courage to ask him out yet.”
Dorothea chimes in.
“I’m sure once you do get the courage you’ll knock the professor straight off his feet. You're like a real life prince. Who could say no to a date with you?”
Dimitri flushes at the compliments, genuinely taken aback.
“That’s really nice of you, but the professor has rejected me many times already.”
This is pissing Sylvain off. Dimitri and his stupid modesty, that is. He smiles.
“You’re rich, handsome and friendly. You’re just about perfect.”
He hates how fake his words sound, the accusation in them, and how distant he feels from the situation, even though it’s hitting him right where it hurts. Dimitri was once one of his best friends, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. But the thought of Byleth with him, the thought that Byleth might actually say yes to him, makes Sylvain’s blood run cold.
Dorothea is quick to intervene.
“Yeah! He’d be crazy to say no.”
“Thank you, but that is not enough, is it? I think the professor is not the kind of person to be easily swayed by things like that. “
He is not. Sylvain would know. He gives Dimitri a pat on the arm and lets his hand back onto his lap.
“Everyone loves a few luxuries here and there…” Sylvain’s voice floats between them, a knot forming in his chest. Dorothea is giving him a silent warning, so he tries to behave. “Regardless, I doubt the professor would pass up the chance of a date with a catch like you.”
Dimitri looks genuinely touched. The bastard.
“You know, Sylvain? If you were a bit less of a flirt, I’m sure real love would come your way. You are a very caring person.”
“If only, right?” Sylvain laughs, perhaps a tad too openly. Dorothea doesn’t even smile when he turns to her. “I'm sure at some point the right person will come, and I'll finally be tied down and tamed. But until then, I'm enjoying my freedom.”
Dimitri looks a bit panicked.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! Sorry. More like… just let other people see you for who you really are. Like you are doing here with me, helping a friend out.”
Dorothea looks away, her glossy lips pressed into a thin line. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, feeling nausea and tasting bile at the back of his throat.
“Hey, enough about me and my love life, we were talking about yours, yeah? When are you going to ask the professor on your date?”
“Maybe tomorrow? I don’t know. Once I’ve had enough time to prepare mentally.“
“A little embarrassment never killed anyone,” says Thea, offering a reassuring yet tiny smile. “You’ve just gotta go for it, Dimitri. Worst comes to worst, and he says no, you’ve at least put yourself out there and given it a shot.”
Sylvain shoots her a half hearted glare. Whose side are you on? She pretends she doesn’t see it. Dimitri is deep in his own thoughts to notice the tension in the air.
“How do you handle rejection?” he asks. “Have you ever been rejected by someone you really, really liked?”
Dorothea brings a manicured finger to her mouth. Unlike Sylvain, she had actually good experiences with past relationships.
“Ah, you know, I don’t remember ever being rejected. Guess I’ve always been lucky like that.”
“Same,” Sylvain says, perhaps a bit too quickly. His tone is lighthearted, but there’s something hidden beneath it. A tone of resentment that he can’t seem to keep from seeping through. “But hypothetically, if I was… I’d be fine. I think. Hey, didn’t he tell you no before? Because you were his student or something.”
“ Sylvain ,” chides Dorothea.
He is just being a realist here. Byleth was borderline paranoid about people finding out they were banging precisely because of their relationship at school. How is Dimitri any different in that regard? He isn’t.
Byleth likes to pretend he is an outstanding teacher, but he isn’t above playing dumb. He’s done it before and could do it again. Not that Dimitri needs to know about that last part.
Sylvain keeps his eyes fixed on Dimitri, watching his facial expressions and the way he holds himself. His heart squeezes in his chest again as he considers the very real possibility of Dimitri going out with Byleth and getting what he couldn’t.
“It definitely makes the whole thing more complicated,” Sylvain continues. “Are you sure you should even be considering asking him out?”
For the first time, Dimitri looks hesitant.
“You think… I could get him in trouble?”
“Potentially. I mean, I’m not sure what Garreg Mach’s exact policy is on that kind of thing, but I’m sure no one would be thrilled to learn that a student is dating a member of the staff.”
Dorothea waves her hand, as if inviting Dimitri to disregard Sylvain entirely.
“T-that is certainly something to take into account, but…”
Dimitri hums. There is a contemplative silence, one where Dimitri likely weighs his options and Sylvain tries very hard not to pull at his hair.
“I just think the professor deserves someone who’s serious about him, you know?” Dimitri muses. “Someone who can be there for him, no matter what. And I know I can be that for him.”
Hearing that makes Sylvain taste bile. Being serious— that’s what Dimitri has that Sylvain doesn’t. Where Sylvain is reckless, Dimitri is composed. Where Sylvain hides behind a mask of charm and deflection, Dimitri is earnest, sincere. It’s infuriating, the way Dimitri’s virtues highlight all of Sylvain’s flaws. And the worst part? He knows Dimitri isn’t even trying to rub it in. He’s just being himself—kind, genuine, and everything Byleth might actually want in a partner.
Sylvain is sick of this. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before he stands up. He runs a hand through his hair, his usual smirk finally returning to his face. Both Dimitri and Dorothea are looking at him.
“Look,” he says, jovial as ever. “You’re going to do what you want. Just don’t get too far ahead of yourself, yeah? It’s not like you’ve got an actual chance with him anyway. Just be prepared for when you’re shot down, ‘kay?”
Dimitri blinks, startled by Sylvain’s sudden change in attitude. Sylvain decides he doesn’t care.
“The professor is in high demand. People flock to him on the regular; you’ve seen it, haven’t you? How can you compete with all his fans?” Sylvain gives Dimitri another pat, though this one comes across a bit more like a smack. “So you better get a move on, huh? You’ve gotta act up before someone else swoops in and steals him from you.”
Dimitri looks dumbfounded. That one is on him, though. It’s not Sylvain’s job to protect his feelings from the truth. Very slowly, Dimitri swallows, as if searching for the words. When he speaks, he sounds cautious, yet that oblivious look to him is gone.
"You have a problem with me, Sylvain?"
Sylvain shakes his head, heart beating its way out of his chest.
“Not at all. I’m just trying to bring to your attention some things. You’re not going to go all territorial over the professor, are you?”
Dimitri frowns a little, and it’s so funny to see him like this. Midway through confused and upset. Dimitri is not a violent person, has grown to be a bit less impulsive than how he was when they were younger, but he isn’t a punching bag, either.
“I think it should be me asking you that.”
Sylvain huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest. He gives Dimitri a slightly puzzled look, his tone is still light when he speaks again. Carefully light. He leans in slightly, getting a bit closer to Dimitri.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dorothea rises to her feet, placing a hand on Sylvain’s arm, trying to calm him down.
“Sylvain, don’t do this. Let’s just go.”
Dimitri doesn’t cower. He is taller than Sylvain, bulkier, too. His blue eyes look burdened. He even has the gall to be condescending like this, as if he is the one hurting. He’s always been like this. With a heart of gold and shit.
“I think you are a lot more transparent than you think,” Dimitri says, voice low.
That’s because I didn’t bother hiding my feelings , Sylvain wants to say for himself. You have always been stupid and oblivious to everything and everyone around you. I hate your guts .
Sylvain tilts his head to the side slightly, watching Dimitri’s face. They stare each other down for a moment, in which the air feels thick and mushy, and then Dimitri sighs.
“I’ll see you later,” he says.
Sylvain doesn’t register his own motions, but he blinks once and then finds he is grabbing Dimitri’s wrist.
“Whoa hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Dimitri’s blond eyebrows arch.
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t say you could go.”
Dorothea’s polished nails dig into Sylvain’s arm in warning, but Sylvain ignores her.
“What do you want from me?” asks Dimitri.
Sylvain’s expression becomes serious, his fingers tightening even more around Dimitri’s wrist.
I want you to keep your damn hands to yourself.
“I want you to actually listen when I’m talking to you. I thought that was fairly obvious.”
Dimitri doesn't seem very impressed about Sylvain's tight grip.
Like eyes boring holes on the back of his head, Sylvain notes the glances being sent their way.
“Sylvain, enough,” Dorothea says firmly, her hand still on his arm, trying and failing to ground him. “This isn’t going to help.”
Sylvain’s eyes are fixed on Dimitri, though, who is not intimidated in the slightest. Maybe Sylvain can get a good punch in before Dimitri inevitably fucks him up.
Probably knowing the kind of thoughts that are going through his mind, Dorothea squeezes herself in between them.
“Hey. Let’s go.”
Sylvain whips his head towards her, ready to snap, but her big green eyes look admonishing. It’s not a look he often sees in her, so it manages to snap him out of his swirling head. He swallows, looking down.
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”
He reluctantly lets go of Dimitri’s wrist, taking a step back. He looks away, to anywhere else, so he doesn’t have to meet Dimitri’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see his stupid face ever again.
Dorothea apologizes to Dimitri in a small voice as she takes a hold of Sylvain's bicep and pulls him along. Sylvain is so pissed at Dimitri, at himself, at everyone , really, that he doesn’t look back at all, his eyes fixed on the pavement beneath his shoes all the way to Dorothea’s car.
Once they’re both seated—him in the passenger seat and her behind the wheel—silence seeps into the car with the closing of the door and settles heavily between them.
After a while, Sylvain can still feel Dorothea's accusing gaze drilling into the left side of his face. Crossing his arms and feeling like a child about to be scolded but not afraid of the possibility of punishment, Sylvain raises his eyes to his friend.
“What’re you staring at me like that for?”
Dorothea’s eyelashes emphasize how wide she opens her eyes.
“What the fuck was that back there?” she asks, incredulous. “Were you really going to hit Dimitri?”
Yes. Not really. Maybe.
Sylvain shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I can’t believe that if I hadn’t been there…” she trails off, but it’s clear what she’s trying to say. And who knows, maybe she’s right.
Sylvain’s scowling expression falters as he looks at Thea. He searches for the words to explain himself, but comes back empty handed. In the end, he just shrugs.
“It wasn’t serious, you know. I wouldn’t actually hit him… probably. Okay, don’t give me that look!”
“He didn’t do anything to you!”
He looks away with a huff, trying to avoid meeting her patronizing gaze. The entire point of their friendship is that it’s based on a strict no-judging policy. Now, though, she looks beyond displeased with him.
“I was just messing around. No biggie. I wasn’t actually going to do anything.” Sylvain tries to keep his voice light, though a slight hint of defensiveness creeps in. “He’s just oversensitive, that’s all. He can’t take a joke.”
Dorothea shakes her head.
“Well, I didn’t see the joke, either. Maybe it wasn’t very funny?”
He rolls his eyes, trying to feign nonchalance. Also, Dimitri will forgive him, he is nice like that.
“I got annoyed, so I started acting a little rough. That’s it.”
“What are you going to do if he tells the Professor? Any professor, for that matter.”
That… wouldn’t be ideal. Sylvain already has enough problems with Byleth without Dimitri snitching on him. He holds back from telling Dorothea that in such a case, he would actually hit Dimitri.
Next to him, she leans back on her seat.
“First Felix, and now Dimitri.” She sighs, defeated. She makes a pause before going on. “Look, I don’t even think this is about Dimitri. It seems to me that you’re pushing your friends away because you don’t know what to do with yourself. But then what? Am I next or something?”
Sylvain closes his eyes, feeling the sting of those words precisely because they make way too much sense. Taking a deep breath, Sylvain gives Thea a tiny, sincere smile, yet it feels heavy with regret .
“You know that’s not true,” he says softly. “You’re my best friend.”
She starts the car without looking at him, but Sylvain sees her lift her chin a bit.
“Well, don’t make me regret it. Apologize to both of them and go to therapy.”
Sylvain grimaces.
“Yeah, best I can do is get wasted and try not to think about any of this.”
Dorothea snorts, but it sounds slightly affectionate.
“Why don’t you try talking to the Professor instead? At the end of the day, this all happened because you were jealous of someone he’s rejected countless times.”
In hindsight, it does sound a bit silly when she puts it that way. Sylvain turns his gaze to outside the window, not really seeing. To be honest, talking to Byleth hasn’t been on the table for him so far. Not really. Although maybe Thea is right; perhaps hearing from Byleth's own mouth that he doesn’t want anything to do with Sylvain and to leave him alone is what he needs to move on with his life. A month ago, you couldn’t have paid Sylvain to do that, not even with a gun to his head, but now, feeling small and sick of himself, a direct rejection from Byleth sounds like a way to free himself from whatever this damn feeling is.
Though, considering Byleth’s attitude so far, Sylvain doesn’t even know if the professor would be willing to have a conversation with him. He can almost see his cold eyes silently telling him to get lost, the firm line of his mouth betraying his desire to be anywhere else but there.
Sylvain lets out a humorless chuckle.
“And say what? That we should get back together just because?”
Dorothea shrugs, parking in front of the dormitory.
“If that’s what you want, then yes.”
Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what he wants. Byleth told him that night that he couldn’t give him whatever that was. More than this , he said. Dates, then? Real conversations? Because if more casual sex was really all that Sylvain wanted, he would have said so already. So what Sylvain wants from Byleth is… harder to ask for.
“He’s going to say no,” he muses, both to himself and to his friend.
“Well, let him tell you that.”
“He already did.”
Dorothea gives him a light tap on the shoulder, like a pat that is encouraging yet condescending at the same time.
“But you’ve got to actually spell it out, all of it. Even if he rejects you, sometimes that’s what we need to move on.”
Sylvain doesn’t like the sound of that. So she basically wants him to confess to the professor. Just thinking about it makes him feel weird. And his heart beats faster, too.
Dorothea watches him with a smile as he gets out of the car, and when Sylvain closes the door, she waves goodbye.
Sylvain feels very tired. Maybe he should go to the gym and give a good beating to one of the punching bags there.