— So, do you concede yet?

          Dripping in sweat, Felix tucks a dark strand of hair behind his ear and points his sword at Sylvain. Sylvain sits cross-legged and gazes on Felix with a mischievous smile.

— You know you wear really well the whole "sweat-drenched shirt sticking to your skin" style?

          Felix squints his eyes, dizzy. Lately, Sylvain keeps on making sensual innuendo at him. These new jokes stir up in him a new kind of nice feelings.

          Since their childhood, their lives have crossed and melded in a thousand precious moments. However, after Felix's brother died one year before, Sylvain made himself scarce, out of respect for the Fraldarius and their grief.

           Despite his sorrow, Felix is impatient to meet his friend again. Until then, he appreciated the quiet that came with Sylvain's absence, since he could be a lot sometimes. But this time, a terrible void is haunting him. After Glenn's tragic passing, Sylvain saw and cared for the deep sadness Felix was hiding behind an unfazed facade. Only he understands him. Felix needs him.

           Not being able to take it anymore, he writes to Sylvain to request his presence. His friend is more than willing to abide by his demands and joins him within the week. But is it really a friend that Felix welcomes that day at the mansion's front door? His red hair seems more fiery, his smile brighter, his skin more... Desirable? When they collide in their usual brotherly hug, sparks fly in his belly.

— Get ready, I won't let you catch your breath!

          Sylvain's taunt brings Felix back to reality.

— In your dreams! He smirks back.

          Sylvain bows his head, lost in thought, and offers an alternative:

— Let's try to fight close-up then, it's your weak spot.

— Excuse me, but it's more like the other way around! Felix laughs.

           He is actually an avid wrestler, whereas Sylvain avoids it out of fear it might scratch his beautiful face. Felix gloats.

— Would you rather fight with or without your fists?

— With.

— You'll regret this.

— We'll see, the ginger remarks with an arrogant wink.

          With a confident motion, Felix picks two rolls of fabric from his bag and throws them at Sylvain. He then takes off his shirt and protects his own fingers and wrists with two other rolls. Ready to brawl, he turns to his opponent. But Sylvain stares with such desire that Felix forgets to breathe. He stretches perfectly-chiseled forearms to him.

— I never know how to wrap those on me. Care to help?

          Felix gulps and steps forward, weak in the knees. He takes his friend's hand in his palm. Sylvain gives him one of the protective bands. His gaze doesn't grow any less intense. Usually, Felix would avert his eyes and shoot back with a scathing remark to dispel the awkwardness, but right now his whole body follows Sylvain's lead.

— There's a strand of hair in your eyes, Sylvain notices. May I...?

          With a lump in his throat, Felix nods and revels in the caress, eyes half-closed. Their faces are close, very close. He can feel Sylvain's breath tickling his lips when he brings him closer and whispers:

— You're pretty tactile today.

— I...

— Do you fancy me as much as I fancy you?

          Usually, Felix hates to talk about his feelings, but now is not a time to hold back. As he fumbles for his words, he weaves slowly his fingers into Sylvain's.

— That's possible.

          This half-confession makes Sylvain break into a short laugh. He lays a hand on Felix's waist and looks at him with intent. No more hesitation. With a kiss, Felix closes the distance between their lips and lets in a delicious whirlwind of sparks.