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No matter how many years pass, and how things change between them, it seems it is Felix’s fate to keep Dimitri in line.

“Your Majesty,” Felix says, “This is a waste of resources.”

He sits in the council room, at a table built for a small army. It is full of dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, knights and squires and, by the look of things, anyone who wandered in off the street and thought they might as well join in.

All eyes turn to Felix. He ignores them, folding his arms and staring solely at Dimitri.

Even with the autumn chill in the air, it’s hot in here. Felix is sweating beneath his layers, though he makes no move to remove any. He’s more interested in staring their fool of a king down.

“A celebration is good for public sentiment,” Dimitri says.

“Yes,” Felix agrees, waving a hand irritably. That’s not what he is getting at, as Dimitri well knows. “But it’s been two years since the war ended. We’re still making reparations, but morale is high. The people don’t need all of this.”

He gestures to the piece of parchment in front of Dimitri. The long, long piece of parchment, detailing a truly ludicrous amount of food and wine and entertainments that some lord or other thought would be a good idea.

“Two years is a significant milestone, Duke Fraldarius,” Dimitri says.

“Ten years is,” Felix argues. “We don’t need all this. I mean – horse-mounted acrobats?”

Felix can feel a glare on the back of his neck – probably from whichever idiot suggested them – but Dimitri’s expression is impassive. He pulls the list closer, his single blue eye scanning its contents.

“I will consider your words,” Dimitri says. “We will return to the subject at a later time. Thank you, Duke Fraldarius.”

Felix rolls his eyes but has no choice but to subside. He knows a dismissal when he hears one, and he won’t pick a fight in front of what feels like the entire kingdom. They have a lot of meeting to get through, and no sooner has Dimitri finished with him than three different lords are piping up about problems within their own territories.

Once Dimitri is occupied with ‘Your Majesty’ this and ‘Your Majesty’ that, Sylvain leans towards Felix, murmuring out of the corner of his mouth, “I, for one, want to see horse-mounted acrobats.”

Felix elbows him in the side.

By the time the meeting is over, Felix is hungry, irritable, and bored out of his brain. When Dimitri stands, Felix follows suit with the rest of them, rising and bowing as Dimitri steps out into the antechamber. Talk begins almost immediately, which never fails to amaze Felix. It’s been nothing but talk for the past three hours.

Sylvain takes him by the arm before Felix can make his escape, though. “Don’t harp on at him about the celebration, will you? He’s got enough on his plate.”

Felix shakes his arm off. Glares. “You just want an excuse to avoid work.”

Sylvain grins. “You need to lighten up.” That last part he says a lot, though Felix never takes him up on his advice. “But hey, do you think you could persuade His Majesty to add more lady dancers to the list? He might, if it’s you doing the asking.”

“I’m trying to get him to take things off the list,” Felix snaps. “Not that he’ll listen to me.”

“Worth a try,” Sylvain says, unrepentant. Grins, then flounces off to entertain himself with one of the ladies who’s been eyeing him throughout the meeting.

Felix heads out, dodging several attempts to talk to him. He bounds up the stairs, guards nodding and stepping aside once he reaches Dimitri’s office.

Dimitri is taking off his cloak. Looks up, unsurprised to see Felix.

“You’re being stupid about this,” Felix says, without any preamble. “The kingdom can’t afford such an extravagant celebration.”

“I’ve heard your opinion on the matter already, Felix. Multiple times,” Dimitri says.

“Yet you still haven’t changed things.”

“I have other considerations to take into account. You know already that I do not share your views on morale within the kingdom.”

They’ve argued about it many, many times. Dimitri cannot see that, despite the lingering unrest that is only natural after five years of war, the people love him. He has overhauled the kingdom’s approach to governance. Insists that every voice in the kingdom, no matter how small, is heard. He visits countless towns, not just making speeches about unity but making it happen. He makes himself available to every person on the entire continent who wishes to speak with him, weighs all their problems as equal.

Dimitri works so hard, too hard. Involves himself in things that really, truly, don’t need the king’s personal attention. This party being one of them.

“You know I value your judgment, Felix,” Dimitri is saying, “but I have other lords’ wishes to take into account.”

“Other lords are morons,” Felix says. “I can’t believe you even let them in your office, sometimes. The new Count Rowe can barely tie his shoelaces.”

Dimitri smiles at him. Comes around the side of his desk, towards Felix.

“You know I cannot be seen to be showing favour,” Dimitri says, then leans down for a kiss.

- - -

Felix does not remember how it started.

The end of the war is a blur in his memory, as is much of what came in the immediate aftermath. There was so much to do back then, and the thing he remembers most is the exhausted determination that propelled him through it.

It took many months to realise that it really was over. That the Empire was defeated, that they were not awaiting a battle around every corner. He became Duke Fraldarius, and with the title came a host of other responsibilities, but that was nothing compared to what the war had been. Felix was adrift.

That, with the benefit of hindsight, is probably what did it. Felix has always loathed being bored, so he went in search of someone who gave him a challenge. Persuaded Dimitri to spar with him, and though the relationship between them was still fraught and fragile, Dimitri consented.

How they ended up in bed together is anyone’s guess. It certainly wasn’t Felix’s intention, given how angry he still was with the boar. But it happened. Kept on happening.

And, well, why spit in the face of a good thing?

Even now, almost two years down the line, they have never really talked about it. This… thing, between them. Felix couldn’t stand to be around Dimitri for long in the early days. Couldn’t bear the things that came out of Dimitri’s mouth, until eventually Dimitri got the hint and stopped talking. They would go days without speaking, communicating solely through the press of their bodies and the whisper of sheets.

Things are easier now. He and Dimitri are friends again. They spar, they take meals together, they go on walks. Dimitri rules his kingdom, and Felix advises at his right hand. They talk. Not the same as when they were boys, but they talk. Felix restrains his anger, and Dimitri keeps silent about his ghosts. They are friends. But that is not all they are.

Felix has no name for it, this other part of their relationship. Shies away from it, even as he lies in Dimitri’s bed, listening to the sound of Dimitri’s breathing. Sometimes, the lack of a name is awkward, the rules unclear. Some highborn lady will be flirting with Dimitri and Felix knows his glare is unwarranted, because it is not like he has laid a claim to Dimitri. They are not courting. He has no right to whirl on his heel and stomp away, just as Dimitri should not break off conversation to come after him. Inevitably, both of those things happen.

The thing between them is just… a thing. An unexpected but pleasant-enough thing, and that is all it ever needs to be.

It’s been almost two years since that first time, and Felix is in no hurry to change it.

- - -

“Felix, have you seen my other boot?”

Felix looks up from his breakfast. Dimitri has his back to him, ferreting around beneath various bits of furniture with an increasingly harried air.

“No,” Felix says, then goes back to his food.

Dimitri is half-dressed. He has his leggings on, as well as an undershirt, but his tunic hangs over the back of a chair. Half of his hair is tied back and he is freshly shaven, the familiar smell of his cologne reaching Felix where he sits at the tiny table by the window.

The tunic is one of Dimitri’s best, the one with the silvery stitching and the deep blue fabric that brings out the colour of Dimitri’s remaining eye, which means Dimitri must have an important meeting today. One he wants to look regal for. One he doesn’t want to be late for.

Dimitri doesn’t look very regal right now. He’s made his way to the floor, and his torso has disappeared entirely under his bed. He reappears, dishevelled and visibly frustrated.

“Do you have any idea where I might have left it?”

“How should I know?”

Dimitri glares. “You could help, you know.”

Felix snorts. “What do I look like, your wife?”

That gives Dimitri pause. The glare vanishes, Dimitri’s eye shuttering before he turns away. Upset, though Felix isn’t sure why. He takes another bite of his breakfast. Maybe some of the lords have been trying to marry Dimitri off again.

Dimitri won’t look at him, and with an irritated huff Felix gets to his feet and joins the search for the missing boot. Not because he feels bad – Dimitri is nothing if not moody - but to get it over with quicker. He’s a duke of the kingdom, after all. Goddess forbid His Majesty run late.

“Don’t you have any other shoes?” Felix asks as he ducks his head into the adjoining washroom. No boot there.

“These ones are comfortable,” Dimitri says. Still slightly subdued.

Felix sets his hands on his hips. Turns to look at Dimitri. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” comes the immediate answer. Followed, after a pause, with, “Annette is getting married, you know.”

“I heard,” Felix says. Resuming his search, he pushes at the base of the floor-length curtains near the entrance to the balcony and – “Got it.”

He grabs the evasive boot. He’s tempted to toss it at Dimitri to test his reflexes, but at this angle he’s on Dimitri’s blind side. Even a year ago he would have thrown it anyway, but today he hands it to him instead. Dimitri is twitchy enough already.

Dimitri takes it and pulls it on, but doesn’t finish getting dressed. Hovers, as if waiting for something.

“What now?” Felix says.

“It is just… well, it makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Felix stares at Dimitri. At his scarred arms, the eye patch over his eye, his hulking physique. Dimitri’s never been the romantic sort, never a skirt-chaser like Sylvain or a sigher like more than half of their lady friends seem to be.

“No,” Felix says. “I’m sure you’ll be invited to the wedding if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re the king, after all.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

He pulls on his tunic. His gloves, his belt, his cloak. Makes to leave, without quite looking Felix in the eye. Felix doesn’t know what’s gotten into him this morning, but he knows what usually makes it stop.

“Wait,” he says, and when Dimitri obliges Felix leans up to kiss him. Dimitri kisses back immediately, so he can’t be too upset. “All right, now you can go.”

“Will I see you tonight?” Dimitri asks.

Felix shrugs. Sometimes he sleeps in Dimitri’s bed. Sometimes he sleeps in his own.

Dimitri nods, that subdued look back on his face. Kisses Felix once more, chaste, then leaves.

Once the door closes behind Dimitri, Felix returns to his breakfast. By the time he’s finished eating, he’s forgotten all about Dimitri’s odd mood.

- - -

There are horse-mounted acrobats at the two-year celebration of the unity of Fódlan.

Felix gives Dimitri a narrow-eyed look, but Dimitri is busy talking to some nobles and pretends not to notice. In the end Felix was able to negotiate Dimitri and the lords down to a more reasonable sum, but it appears that the acrobats stayed, despite his best efforts. As did the fire-breathers, the sword-swallowers, and the expensive vintage wine, it would seem. The whole continent is going to go bankrupt, but at least no one will be able to say that Felix didn’t try.

The crowd loves every second, of course. They cheer at the procession of entertainers weaving their way through the streets. They cheer as great barrels of wine are wheeled out to them. They cheer as Dimitri makes his way up to the podium and gives a grand speech about unity and transformation and forging a better future.

No other extravagances are necessary, whatever Dimitri might think. The people love their king. A speech from him would have been enough.

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Felix?” Dimitri asks once he steps down. Ignoring the assistant hovering nearby, waiting to move the king on to the next thing.

Felix shrugs, and Dimitri looks disappointed. Felix has been telling him from the start this is a bad idea, and he should know by now that Felix isn’t the party type.

Still.

“It’s all very impressive,” Felix says, which is as high a compliment as he can muster. “Though I don’t see why we bothered with acrobats. Your speech alone would have been enough.”

“Hearing me speak is hardly cause for celebration.”

“You don’t know the people that well, if that’s what you think. No matter what you do, they’ll think of you as their saviour.”

“I’m not a saviour.”

A familiar sentiment. Felix rolls his eyes. “Acknowledge your victories. You’ve achieved things no one else could have achieved.”

Felix’s does not even try to conceal his annoyance at Dimitri’s usual self-deprecation – to be humble is one thing, to doubt oneself another thing entirely - but Dimitri’s cheeks pink, the delicate flush at odds with his imposing stature and grand cloak.

“Quite a compliment coming from you, Felix.”

Felix scoffs. “Don’t get used to it.”

The assistant clears her throat. She has a list in hand and an anxious expression. Felix has never liked list people.

Dimitri glances at her over his shoulder and his lips tighten, though he gives no other outward signs of displeasure.

“Until later,” Dimitri says. He reaches out, clasps Felix’s arm. Lets his hand linger on Felix’s elbow, just for a moment, before he releases him.

“Maybe.”

Dimitri is swept away, and the dancing starts not long after – not the stuffy kind of dancing performed in ballrooms, but dancing in the great outdoors, nobles and common folk alike mingling in the streets. There are flowers everywhere, and confetti, and a band of musicians pumping out relentlessly upbeat music.

Felix prowls the sidelines. He has to put in an appearance, but he intends to leave as soon as possible.

Dimitri is busy. He dances with one lady, then another. Then, being Dimitri, he bows to a common woman and requests her hand as well, to much delight from the crowd. He barely has time to pause for breath as he is thrown from one partner to the next, but Dimitri is all smiles and gallantry, no hint of fatigue showing through.

Felix knows he is tired. Even if Dimitri had been sleeping well, which he hasn’t, such large crowds tire him almost as much as they tire Felix. Dimitri spent a lot of time in solitude before he became king.

There is nothing Felix can do for him, so he leaves Dimitri to his fate as the most desired dance partner of the evening.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, Dimitri drags himself back to his rooms. Spies Felix in his sitting room, and musters as much of a smile as he can before he collapses, exhausted, into his armchair.

Dimitri looks wrecked. His cheeks are pale, his whole face sagging. His hair is messy and damp with sweat. He leans against the side of his armchair as though hoping to be swallowed into it.

“I did not think you would be here,” Dimitri slurs. Not drunk, just tired.

Felix shrugs. “I wanted to finish my book. And it’s quieter up here.”

He had planned to sleep in his own chambers. He’s seen plenty of Dimitri this week. The noise from the crowd carried to his window, though, so Felix decided he might as well wait up. The pile of books Ashe has lent him grows larger by the month, and since he could not sleep, Felix decided he might as well get to work.

“When did you leave?” Dimitri asks. “I was hoping for a dance with you.”

“I hate dancing.”

Dimitri levers his head upright. It looks like it takes a lot of effort. “Surely I could persuade you. On a special occasion.”

“No. I’m not one to perform for crowds.”

“Why don’t we dance now, then? Here, when it is just the two of us?” He looks hopeful, despite his sagging limbs. Felix didn’t think Dimitri loved dancing so much.

“No chance,” Felix says. “Now come on, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Dimitri sighs, the usual grimace crossing his face at the thought of bed-time and his chronic insomnia, but he lets Felix haul him to his feet and into his bedroom.

- - -

Felix isn’t in Fhirdiad all the time. He spends time in his duchy as well, fulfilling his duty to the people there. Dimitri comes over all sullen every time Felix has to leave, which is ridiculous, because he of all people should understand duty. Dimitri’s difficult like that. Even when they were children, he got oddly possessive sometimes.

Felix doesn’t particularly like leaving either, though he doesn’t tell Dimitri that. Most of his friends are in Fhirdiad. As is his room within the palace, which Dimitri insisted upon two years ago and has remained his ever since. Smaller and plainer than his family home, with lace curtains handmade by Mercedes and chips in the floorboards where he wasn’t careful enough with his armour, with his desk in the corner where he keeps his letters and the training calendar he tracks his progress with, even now the war is over. It is nothing like the great house with its echoing, empty halls and ancient tapestries, filled with nothing but dust.

“Do you have to go now?” Dimitri asks him for what feels like the hundredth time.

Felix grits his teeth. Issues a silent prayer for patience. He has no problem telling Dimitri exactly what he thinks of him, but he prefers to part on good terms rather than an argument.

“Yes,” he says, keeping his voice calm only through a considerable amount of effort. “I do.”

Dimitri paces back and forth. His brow is furrowed, and he keeps shooting Felix glances through his loose hair.

“What calls you there?”

“As I said, general business.”

“So go next week.”

“I can’t.”

“Then what is it that’s so urgent? Why will you not tell me?”

“Because you’re the king, Dimitri. Aren’t you always telling me you can’t show favour? Get out of my business,” Felix snaps.

Dimitri recoils, and he has the nerve to look hurt before he composes himself. Felix sighs, shoving his hair back from his face. He hates stupid arguments like this. He’s never learned the knack for diffusing them.

“I’ll write to you when I get there, all right?” he says, the best compromise he can manage. “I don’t understand why you’re being so pig-headed about this. I can leave whenever I like.”

That only makes Dimitri look more upset. He tries to hide it, but Felix recognises the hunch to his shoulders. Prays, again, for patience.

“I know you can, Felix,” Dimitri says. “I am not trying to cage you. I am only concerned. You don’t normally depart so suddenly.” He looks so small which, for a man of Dimitri’s physique, is quite a feat.

“Stop worrying. I won’t be gone long. I’ll have Ingrid check in on you.”

Dimitri bristles. “I do not need looking after, Felix.”

That isn’t true, though, as evidenced by this conversation. Felix has been seeing the signs for a while that Dimitri is headed for another one of his episodes. His anxiety at Felix’s leaving is further proof. He’s worse than sullen – he’s distressed. Dimitri doesn’t usually fuss like an elderly woman when Felix rides out.

“Good,” Felix replies. He makes a mental note to speak to Mercedes as well. Mercedes is good at dealing with Dimitri when he’s irrational. Out of all of them, she’s the most patient with both Dimitri’s silences and his rants.

Felix steps forward and wraps his arms around Dimitri in a brisk embrace, clapping him on the shoulder. Dimitri, though, pulls Felix closer before he can move back. Felix is reminded of the differences in both their height and strength as Dimitri’s hold pulls him up to the tip of his toes.

Stupid boar, he thinks, and presses his nose to the skin of Dimitri’s neck, breathing in the familiar smell of him.

When Dimitri finally releases him, he has composed himself. Looks more like a king again. “Farewell, Felix. Travel safely.”

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away,” Felix tells him.

- - -

Dimitri does something stupid while Felix is away. He buys an expensive horse, though he owns a perfectly good one already, and he looks both bashful and pleading while Felix inspects it.

She is a fine creature. A black mare of singular form and beauty, whose intelligent eyes watch every movement Felix makes. She tosses her elegant head, shakes out her mane, and steps on Felix’s cloak when he bends down to inspect her hooves. Moves off when he shoos her, but with enough of a delay to let him know who is really in charge here.

She’s a handful, no doubt about that. Dimitri certainly knows how to choose them.

“Her father was a famed racehorse,” Dimitri says. As though that justifies such an extravagant and unnecessary purchase.

“What are you going to do with a racehorse?” Felix mutters.

The answer is hold on for dear life, because as soon as Dimitri mounts her she’s off, going from standstill to a gallop in the blink of an eye, turning at such sharp angles that Felix is certain he’s about to watch His Majesty go flying through the air. Felix is accustomed to the heavy gait of warhorses, so her lightning-quick reflexes are dizzying to behold.

When Dimitri returns, his hair is wild and windswept, his smile as bright as the sun itself. It lights his whole face, makes him look younger and carefree in a way he has never been, and Felix’s heart does something strange in his chest.

He folds his arms. Sighs, but doesn’t really mean it when he levels a frown at Dimitri and his fancy horse.

“What’s her name?”

“Duchess.” Of course it is.

And the thing is, much as Felix might argue with Dimitri the king about kingdom finances – he has a duchy that could use more support, thank you very much – Dimitri the man spends next to nothing on himself. It took a full year of persuasion even to get Dimitri to buy a new eye patch because he insisted that his old one still looked respectable, never mind that it was itchy.

Dimitri looks so happy, up on that horse. Happy in a way that Felix never associates with Dimitri, who’s been weighed down by responsibilities since the day he was born.

Felix’s heart does something strange again. “She’s all right, I guess.”

- - -

With Duchess in his life, Dimitri seems to ward off his oncoming episode, at least for a little while. He is filled with enthusiasm, and spends time with her as often as he can. Sometimes he does not have time to ride her, but he slips out into the paddock and delivers treats. She turns her snout up at oats, but enjoys carrots and red apples – only red, not green.

Felix knows all this because Dimitri will not stop talking about it.

“I might try her on some simple jumps, next,” Dimitri tells him. Seemingly oblivious to the reason Felix came to his chambers at this hour of night. “She’s got a strong hind, but I am not sure if she has been trained in jumping. It might help her burn off some energy, though. The stable hands tell me she is fighting with another mare within the herd.”

Despite the ever-present dark rings under his eyes, talking about Duchess makes Dimitri energetic. His enthusiasm is almost child-like, his eye bright and alert.

A memory flashes through Felix’s mind. Dimitri during the war, his eye empty, expression hollow. Too thin, snapping and snarling whenever anyone tried to get near. Coming alive only when there was blood on his hands.

Felix reaches out to touch Dimitri’s face, startling him out of his monologue on all things horse. Felix thumbs under the edge of Dimitri’s eye patch. Pulls it off to look at the scar underneath, the hollow indentation where Dimitri’s eye is missing. Reminding Felix that Dimitri will allow him close now. Will let Felix touch where Dimitri is most vulnerable.

Felix hated Dimitri during the war. Felt vindicated after all the years where he alone knew what Dimitri was, and finally others were forced to see the truth. Now… looking at Dimitri’s face by the light of the moon, Felix doesn’t know what he feels. Only that the idea of Dimitri going back to that state makes it hard for him to breathe.

“Felix?” Dimitri says. His brow is furrowed, his eye searching Felix’s face. “I am sorry, I must be boring you.”

Felix shakes his head. There is something… endearing about seeing the foolish, unguarded parts of Dimitri. The sides of him that have nothing to do with the serious and dutiful king.

He would never say as much. Leans forward instead, and presses a lingering kiss to Dimitri’s lips.

“Oh,” Dimitri says, his eye going dark.

After that, there is no more talking.

- - -

Felix’s birthday takes him by surprise.

He is busy. Since Dedue went off and got married, it has fallen to Felix to act as the final barrier between Dimitri and the rest of the world. To ward off, by whatever means necessary, the nonsense that people try and bring directly to the king.

“I don’t care if she slighted you,” he snaps at the son of some lord or other. His exact identity is far less significant than the self-important bluster and total lack of perspective. “The king has no interest in your love life.”

“This is a matter of national security,” the young man insists, though he visibly falters under Felix’s glare.

“If you’re so worried about security, stop letting strangers into your bed. And stop leaving important documents on your bedside table.”

The man does not like that. Flushes a deep scarlet, and stomps away.

Felix growls, rubbing at the throbbing in his temple. Missing Dedue, which is a surprise. Aside from Dedue, Felix is the only one who can say no to these people. Ingrid is too polite, Sylvain too easily distracted, and they are the only two of Felix’s friends remotely intimidating enough to act as a shield. Thus it falls to Felix to deter fools from pestering the king to death.

Just up the hall, a guard peels away from his post by the king’s door. Comes up to Felix, and bows.

“Duke Fraldarius, the king wishes to speak with you.”

Still swearing under his breath, Felix stomps the rest of the way to Dimitri’s office. Raps the door with his knuckles then shoves it open without awaiting permission to enter. The guards let him pass without comment, as they always do.

“Felix,” Dimitri greets. “I thought I heard your voice.”

“You need better help around here.” Felix pushes the door shut with his boot. “If I hadn’t been here, those guards would’ve let that moron through.”

“What did he want?” Dimitri’s brow furrows, and Felix recognises the look of dutiful concern.

“I’ve dealt with it.”

“Felix…”

“Did you have something you wanted to say, or did you call me in here to complain?”

Dimitri’s mouth does something complicated. If he breathes a word of criticism Felix will tear into him, because if Dimitri weren’t so stubborn about making himself available then Felix wouldn’t have to waste his time on some fool noble’s nonsense.

Dimitri must sense his mood. He exhales, pushing his papers to the side. “It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?”

That starts a laugh out of him. “Felix.”

“I don’t care for birthdays.”

“I know, but I thought it would be nice to celebrate. Something small,” Dimitri adds quickly, when sees the look on Felix’s face.

Felix folds his arms. Leans his back against the door. “Whatever.”

“Wonderful,” Dimitri says, and why he looks so enthusiastic about Felix’s response is anyone’s guess.

The day of Felix’s birthday goes quietly enough. His friends wish him well, accustomed to his usual disinterest in celebrating, and he is able to go about his business with minimal interruption. Come evening, however, Ingrid hunts him down and drags him to dinner.

There’s food, and wine, and no one makes too much of a fuss. Dimitri rushes in almost half an hour late, apologising profusely. His cheeks are flushed, his smile abashed in the way of a tardy schoolboy, but there is a strained look to his eyes that betrays exactly the kind of day he’s had.

He squeezes a hand on Felix’s shoulder as he makes his way to his own seat, the last one empty.

“We should make a toast!” Sylvain says as Dimitri sits down.

“Definitely not,” Felix says, but Sylvain is already standing up, pressing a hand to his chest and raising his goblet on high.

“To Felix,” Sylvain says. “For all his hard work and his sharp, sharp tongue.”

Felix folds his arms and glares, but Sylvain just winks at him. Looking far too pleased with himself, as usual.

“To Felix,” Mercedes chimes in. “And his never-ending determination.”

“Don’t all of you do it,” Felix snaps. Too late.

“To Felix and his clever mind, always showing me a new perspective,” Ingrid says, embarrassingly sincere, and Felix sinks in his chair.

“To Felix and his love of music,” Annette says with a laugh. Felix isn’t sure when she got back to Fhirdiad – he sincerely hopes she didn’t come just for this, because that would be mortifiying – but he glares at her regardless. Felix’s fondness for her odd little ditties is private.

“To Felix and his compassion,” Ashe says.

“What are you even talking about?” Felix mutters. He can feel his cheeks reddening, which is met with hoots of laughter around the table. Mainly from Sylvain, and Felix is going to make sure he pays for that.

Dimitri is last. All eyes fall to him, the table going quiet out of habit as they wait to hear the words of their king. Dimitri stares at the contents of his goblet, his expression considering. Giving far too much thought to such a silly, sentimental endeavour. He raises his gaze to meet Felix’s, and there is a question there that Felix neither understands nor has the answer to. Felix breaks eye contact.

Dimitri raises his goblet. “To Felix!”

A cheer around the table. Someone nudges Felix in the side and he grumbles at them, but no one is the least bit intimidated by him tonight. For such a small group of people, Felix has no idea how they manage to be so rowdy.

They eat, they drink, they laugh. They trade stories of the past, and catch up with the present. Despite himself, a smile tugs persistently at the corner of Felix’s lips as the night goes on.

An hour later, though, Dimitri slips out. Felix doesn’t think much of it initially, but when Dimitri fails to return he gets to his feet. He grimaces at Ingrid as he heads for the door. Her brow is furrowed with concern, though she should be familiar with Dimitri’s moods by now. She worries far too much.

It doesn’t take long to find Dimitri. He stands by a window down the corridor, the moon casting a great shadow behind him. His hands rest on the windowsill as he looks out. Though he must hear Felix coming, Dimitri only turns once Felix steps into place beside him.

“Not too much of a party for you, I hope?” Dimitri asks. His face is tired, his eyes strained, but he forces a smile onto his lips.

Felix hates that. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pretend. You don’t need to fake a smile for my sake. I know you too well.”

The smile vanishes. Dimitri sighs, his head bowing, his hair falling in front of his face. For a moment, he reminds Felix too strongly of the past. Of when he was mad, roving the cathedral in Garreg Mach like an angry ghost. Then Dimitri speaks, and the memory fades.

“I wanted your birthday to be special. I am sorry I am not…” Dimitri scrubs his face with both hands. Trying to wake himself up, perhaps.

“I don’t care for birthdays.”

“I know, I know, but I thought… well, it does not matter what I thought. I hoped to give you a pleasant evening. Yet I have little to offer.”

“Why are you so stubborn about inconsequential things? I’ve already told you, it’s fine.”

Dimitri is quiet a long moment. “I am trying, Felix.”

There is something fragile in his tone of voice. Something far bigger than a birthday celebration. Dimitri stares at his own hands – bare, no gloves. Turns them over, looking at his scars. Dimitri is guilty of many things. Failure to try is not one of them.

There are so many things Felix could say. Stop moping is on the tip of his tongue, but fades quickly. He cannot tell what Dimitri is thinking, or exactly what goes on in that mind of his. Senses, though, that now is a time for tact. Part of him wishes he had sent Ingrid after Dimitri instead.

“The lords giving you trouble again?” Felix asks.

“That is hardly party talk.”

Felix huffs. “What would you know about party talk? You’ve never had a moment’s fun in your life.” Sylvain would call him a hypocrite, but at least Felix has maintained a sense of perspective.

“That is not true. After all, I have fun with you.” Dimitri stops abruptly. His cheeks go red. “I – that is not – I do not mean in that sense, though I… suppose that also applies. I meant, rather -”

“I know what you meant,” Felix says, cutting him off before he develops a full head of steam. Sylvain finds Dimitri’s prudish stammer hilarious. Felix, on the other hand, has spent far too much time in Dimitri’s bed to find his perpetual embarrassment more than an annoyance.

Dimitri sighs. Says to himself, so quietly that Felix almost misses it, “I am not good at this.”

“Come back to the party,” Felix says. “Or go to bed if you’re tired, but there’s no use standing out here.”

“I fear I have little to say tonight,” Dimitri says.

“Then listen. Sylvain can hold both sides of a conversation if you can stand his prattle.”

Dimitri snorts a laugh. He looks so tired, but his expression is fond when he turns to face Felix. “You are wise as always.”

Felix scowls at the painful sincerity of it. Breaks eye contact. “Just come on.”

He feels Dimitri’s hand take him by the elbow, and Dimitri leans down. Places a whisper of a kiss on the corner of his mouth. When he straightens, his expression is composed again, or as close as he can make it.

“Lead the way, Felix.”

- - -

The excitement of having Duchess can only carry Dimitri through for so long. Inevitably, he declines.

He’s sleeping worse than usual. Felix is not sure if insomnia is the trigger or merely a symptom of Dimitri’s episodes, but it is familiar. Dimitri’s moods become more volatile, his melancholy deeper, his anger coming in quick bursts. He becomes distant, not just from Felix but all his friends. He is never the most tactile of men, but he becomes even more averse to being touched. Becomes uncharacteristically fickle, wanting Felix near him one moment then away the next.

More often than not, Felix wakes in Dimitri’s bed to find the space beside him empty. On some of these nights Dimitri paces the balcony, the moon shining ghostly on his fair hair. On worse nights, he wanders the palace and the grounds, and there is nothing anyone can do to dissuade him. No amount of yelling, or scolding, or needling will bring him back from that faraway place.

(Felix tried pleading once, just once, in as much as his pride would allow.

“Please,” he said. Forced the word out of his reluctant mouth. It did not work, and Felix has never deigned to try again.)

It is not like before, when Dimitri gave himself over entirely to the dark side of his nature. Dimitri has been far worse than he is now. Felix knows that. He knows. But when Dimitri gets like this, it is hard to remember.

“What is wrong with you?” Felix snaps when he can no longer take it. “You’re acting like a wild animal again.”

Dimitri turns his head in Felix’s direction – on the side where his eye is missing, so Felix is not sure why he bothers – but does not otherwise reply. He continues to pace his sitting room. He has already refused tea, and wine, and refuses to sit by Felix. Any moment now he will wander into his adjoining bedchamber and out onto the balcony, to pace and pace and pace.

Felix has had enough. And coddling has never been his strong suit.

“I can’t stand it when you get like this. I don’t know why I waste my time on you. You’ll never be capable of anything else.”

The words come out harsh, harsher even than he intends. A damning judgment, when it should not be a judgment at all. Felix has always known what Dimitri is – he does not expect anything else.

Dimitri whirls around. His one eye hones in on Felix, sharper than it has been in days. Actually seeing him.

“Leave me in peace,” Dimitri snarls, every bit the boar, and oh how Felix hates him sometimes.

“Why? So you can wallow in your own filth?”

“Why must you speak thus? Why must you torment me?” Dimitri’s lips are curled back in anger. “Will I never atone for my… no. No, I suppose I will not.”

Abruptly, Felix stands. His hands are practically vibrating with tension, and he is itching for a fight. They’ve barely exchanged a few words, and already he is on the edge. “Don’t start that again. I have no patience for your self-pity.”

“Self-pity?” Dimitri says, his face white with anger. “You of all people should know what I have done, the sins these hands have committed. You remind me of them often enough.”

“I do nothing of the sort.”

“Oh really?” Dimitri lets out a laugh, harsh and utterly humourless. “I see it in your eyes. You are ashamed of me. Did you think I would not notice how you avoid me, when we are in public? That I would not notice how you distance yourself, even in front of our friends? You are ashamed. Do not lie to me!”

Sharp words are on the tip of Felix’s tongue. Angry ones, punishing ones. It takes every bit of willpower he possesses to shove them down. Nothing he says will do any good.

Felix cannot stay here. Cannot bear to be in Dimitri’s presence a moment longer, face to face with Dimitri’s paranoia and self-hatred.

“I’m done here,” Felix says.

He pulls his cloak back over his shoulders. Dimitri stares at him through the veil of his hair, his mouth twisted.

“You are leaving me?” As if there is any question about it.

“I have other places to be tonight,” Felix retorts.

“Better places? A different bed than mine? Better than with me?”

Dimitri’s fury is back – fury and self-deprecation, Felix’s least favourite combination – but Felix does not follow Dimitri’s line of logic. Nor does Felix care.

“Right now, anywhere is better than with you.”

As it so often does when Dimitri is unwell, his mood swings right back the other way. His anger morphs into melancholy, swift and sudden as a click of the fingers. He drops down into an armchair, slumped and decidedly un-regal, his long hair still covering his face.

He looks like a broken man. All the fight gone out of him, a black cloud of hopelessness radiating from his very being. He doesn’t fool Felix. Dimitri has survived far worse than this.

“I cannot expect you to stay with me,” Dimitri says. And there it is, more self-loathing. “I am selfish to ask for more than you already give me. But you always leave me, Felix. You always leave me here alone.”

Felix stares down at the top of Dimitri’s head. Whatever is going on in Dimitri’s disturbed mind, Felix cannot fathom. Felix is with Dimitri all the time. In his chambers, in his bed, a few nights out of every week he is in the city.

He does not want to talk any more. Wants to leave the stupid boar to wallow in his black mood until it passes. Nothing Felix has ever done has changed it.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you in peace,” Felix bites out, a hark back to the beginning of their argument. Not a particularly impressive piece of debate, but it buys him enough time to get out the door before Dimitri can respond.

- - -

They do not speak, after that. Felix does not go to Dimitri’s chambers, and Dimitri does not seek him out. They both attend their duties as diligently as ever, but they avoid each other. When he is forced to interact, Felix lowers himself into a bow, greets Dimitri with, “Your Majesty.” He is not a schoolboy anymore. He is not mocking, but the perfect degree of polite.

(Politeness works much better as a revenge tactic. Dimitri hates it when Felix is polite. Hates being bowed and scraped to, especially by one of his oldest friends.)

Felix avoids his friends too. Every time he sees them it is ‘Dimitri this’ and ‘Dimitri that’. Ingrid’s furrowed brow and Sylvain’s endless (and fruitless) attempts to cheer Dimitri up. There is no cheering Dimitri up. His mood isn’t the result of something simple as a bad day, and his problems cannot be fixed by a friendly hug or a night out. His mind has gone again.

As usual, no one listens to Felix. They frown at him, and pry, and expect him to fix it. They look at him with disapproval when he won’t meet their expectations, as though Felix hasn’t tried everything they suggest a hundred times before. They tell him to be more patient, as if Felix should just roll over and let Dimitri rage and rant and indulge in his own misery.

“At least talk to him,” Ingrid says. “He thinks you’re angry with him.”

“I am angry with him.”

Felix hasn’t spoken about his and Dimitri’s fight, but clearly Dimitri has. And he’s probably blown it wildly out of proportion, too, which only makes Felix angrier. Everyone feels so sorry for Dimitri, but Felix isn’t sorry at all.

He steers clear of all of them. Spends his time working and training instead, and stalks away whenever anyone tries to talk to him.

They are at an impasse for nearly three weeks before Dedue returns to the city. He doesn’t approach Felix immediately, but when he finds him, he invites him to tea. Felix knows Dedue is going to ask about Dimitri, and he is about to say no when Dedue gives him a look. He must have learned it from the professor, because Felix finds his mouth saying ‘yes’.

Dedue pours the tea, his big hands sure and gentle around the delicate china teapot. The tea is chamomile, which is not Felix’s favourite, but he likes it well enough. He lifts his saucer and takes a sip. Dedue does the same, then sets it back down on the table. Quiet as ever.

The tension in Felix’s shoulders begins to relax. He and Dedue have developed an odd kinship over the last two years. With distance and periodic visits, as well as Dedue overhauling Felix’s entire perception of him in one fell swoop when he ran off to get married, they have developed a sort-of friendship. It started with Dedue grilling Felix for all the latest Dimitri-related developments. Now… well, Felix does not know what it is now.

“How are your flowers?” Felix asks him. Winces at how awkward it sounds, but he is trying.

“They grow beautifully,” Dedue says. “I have cultivated some seedlings from my homeland with greater success now that the greenhouse has been expanded.”

“The professor’s work, I take it?”

Dedue gives him a look, but Felix has always called her ‘the professor’. Why change now?

“She has little time to garden for herself, but she enjoys the fruits of my labour.”

Dedue sips his tea. His wedding band flashes around his finger, a surprisingly delicate thing on such a large man. It’s still so strange to Felix. He never thought anything could drive Dedue from Dimitri’s side, but Dedue disappeared one day, and Dimitri smiled when Felix asked about it.

“Dedue is walking his own path,” was all Dimitri would say, which was so incredibly unlike the loyal dog that Felix had a hard time believing it.

Then word got out that Dedue was marrying their old professor-turned-Archbishop, which made Felix’s head hurt in and of itself. He never saw that coming, not in a million years. But it happened. And when Dedue visited Fhirdiad, he did not seem so different, despite turning everything Felix knew of him on its head. Dedue was still quiet, still following Dimitri about like a faithful dog. Rarely smiled, barely talked. But when the visit came to its end, he up and left again, simple as that. Left Dimitri again. On purpose.

“How is His Majesty, in your opinion?” Dedue asks, after Felix takes another sip of his tea.

There it is, the expected question. Even with time to prepare… Felix shrugs.

Dedue frowns. Leans forward. “He is unwell?”

“Having one of his fits again,” Felix says. He sets down his cup a little too hard, and tea sloshes over the edge.

“Does he-”

“Go and ask him yourself,” Felix snaps. “I’ve had enough of him.”

Dedue goes quiet, which is no different from usual. What is different is how Felix finds himself having to avoid Dedue’s piercing gaze.

“I would not wish to be too forward,” Dedue says, “but I sense you have had an argument.”

Dedue is certainly confident these days, Felix thinks sourly. Never mind asking Felix for his company, now he’s asking him about his… personal attachments.

“Leaving disagreements to simmer does no good,” Dedue continues. “It does not matter who is in the wrong. The wound cannot heal until it is addressed.”

Felix folds his arms. “What do you know.”

“I am a married man,” Dedue tells him. Implying that he and the professor have disagreements of their own, which is a surprise. Given how little either of them talk, Felix is amazed they find the time in a conversation to disagree about anything.

“I’m sick of Dimitri,” Felix says. Then he has to look away from Dedue again, from the tightening of Dedue’s lips that, for him, is as loud as a shout.

Felix is expecting Dedue’s usual talk – Dimitri is wonderful, Dimitri is perfect, how dare you malign His Majesty, and so on and so forth. Instead, Dedue picks up his cup again. Does not drink, but stares into his tea.

“If you do not love him,” Dedue says, “perhaps it would be better to sever your ties.”

Felix is so surprised that he is silent for a good few seconds. Staring dumbly at Dedue, who swirls his tea in his cup.

“What did – what do – I mean –” Felix stammers. Then he gets a hold of himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I want only that which is best for Dimitri,” Dedue says. “You have always known that. It pains me to speak like this, for it would grieve him greatly if you no longer desired him. But perhaps a clean break would be for the best.”

Felix is on his feet before he realises what he’s doing. So angry that he cannot think how to reply. Words come to his lips before he considers them. “What do you know about it, dog?”

Dedue just looks at him. Takes another sip of tea.

Felix snarls, “His madness is not my fault, or my responsibility.”

“No,” Dedue says. Steady and implacable, and Felix could strangle him. “But you are angry with him often, and it grieves him. Dimitri thinks you do not love him.”

That pulls Felix up short. Of course Felix loves the stupid beast, he has always loved him, in spite of his better judgment. He has known Dimitri since they were children. Shared in all his greatest pains and successes. Felix cannot help but love him.

That has nothing to do with their other arrangement, not with the intimacies they share. That is a physical matter. Felix does not - Dimitri does not -

Dedue swills his cup again. Still eternally, infuriatingly calm. “I have not known you to be a cruel man, Felix. If he is correct, and your feelings are different to his, I would ask that you end this.”

Felix does not know what to say, what to think, what to do. Dedue says nothing further. Matter apparently over with, Dedue takes another sip of his tea.

“I have to go train,” Felix says. Dedue inclines his head, and Felix strides away.

He is not fleeing, he tells himself. Felix would never do that.

- - -

“Why are you here at this hour?” Felix says later that evening as he barges into Dimitri’s office.

Dimitri startles. Settles down again, though does not relax. It is… odd, to see him so tense in Felix’s presence.

“I could ask the same of you, Felix,” Dimitri says slowly.

Felix fixes him with a glare. “You shouldn’t try for jokes, they don’t suit you.”

He rounds Dimitri’s desk until he stands right in front of him, and Dimitri has to crane his neck to look up at Felix for a change. Dimitri looks terrible. Ill-slept, overworked, and has that dull look in his eyes that tells Felix he is still unwell despite the time that has passed since they last spoke.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening, Duke Fraldarius?” Dimitri says. Reverting, in typical fashion, straight to his courtly formality, despite Felix’s rudeness.

“Don’t start that with me,” Felix says.

Dimitri looks baffled. “I – what do you want me to –”

“Shut up,” Felix says. He moves closer, and Dimitri stiffens when Felix reaches out. Does not object, though, when Felix pushes his hair from his face, running his fingers down the side of Dimitri’s cheek. Touch soft where his words are harsh.

Dimitri relaxes. His one eye closes, and Felix strokes Dimitri’s cheekbone with his thumb. Slowly, cautiously, Dimitri’s own hands come up. He holds Felix by the hips, neither pulling him forward nor pushing him away.

“You drive me mad,” Felix tells him, then leans in to kiss him.

It is a simple kiss, chaste if anything, but the last of the tension leaves Dimitri’s broad frame. He tugs Felix closer, running his hands along the small of Felix’s back.

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” Dimitri says. His voice is low, husky, juxtaposed by the puppy-dog look in his eye.

Felix kisses him a second time, and when he draws back Dimitri does not release him.

Felix is resolutely not thinking about his conversation with Dedue. Absolutely refuses to read into any of this too deeply, either Dimitri’s behaviour or his own. What does Dedue know, anyway?

“Felix,” says Dimitri. Falters. “About our last conversation… I…”

“Shut up,” Felix says. Runs his fingers through the silky strands of Dimitri’s hair. “You need to sleep.”

Dimitri grimaces, and Felix can guess his thoughts. Has heard them voiced often enough, miserable and despairing.

“Come on,” Felix says.

Dimitri sighs, but comes willingly.

- - -

Felix continues not to think about his conversation with Dedue.

It is irrelevant. Dedue has no idea what he’s talking about. Felix and Dimitri are friends. Sometimes they spend the night together, but that is an arrangement, a mutual understanding. It has nothing to do with feeling. They do not buy each other flowers or moon about. They never even talk about it, it is just a casual thing. It’s miracle enough that Dedue has found himself a wife, but that hardly makes him an expert on relationships.

Dimitri is still in one of his bad phases, still sleepless, still angry and sad. He tries so hard not to let on, as though him being on his best behaviour is not clue enough. His attempts at normalcy are slightly tragic, and when Felix has enough and snaps at him, Dimitri hangs his head as though he has failed. Looks so sad and lonely on the nights that Felix leaves him that Felix has to quash the ache in his own chest.

Felix has his own bed to go to. There is nothing wrong with that, and he has no reason to feel guilty. It is just Dimitri being Dimitri, one of his moods. Even if Felix does stay, it is not as though Dimitri will do much more than toss and turn anyway, assuming he stays in bed at all.

Then Dedue leaves, heading back to Garreg Mach. He says nothing, but he gives Felix a look when he clasps his hand in farewell, and Felix knows what he is thinking.

Dedue is wrong. Dimitri does not love Felix – is not in love with Felix.

Except… sometimes, when Dimitri thinks Felix is asleep, he will press his face to Felix’s hair and just breathe him in. Sometimes, when Felix enters a room, he sees a light come to Dimitri’s eye. Sometimes, Dimitri will hesitate before he kisses Felix, something complicated flashing across his face before he gives in. These kisses are Felix’s least favourite, because there is something uncertain about them, though Dimitri has kissed him a hundred times before. As though Dimitri is expecting rejection.

Damn Dedue. Now Felix is overthinking things, reading into every tiny move Dimitri makes. It was never a problem before Dedue came and stuck his nose in Felix’s business. Now he cannot stop thinking about it, and what initially seemed laughable seems infinitely less so now.

It cannot be possible. Surely Dimitri does not care for him that way. Surely Dimitri would just tell him if he wanted more. But now Felix thinks of it, there is nothing Dimitri loves more than punishing himself for no reason, ignoring his actual flaws in order to self-flagellate about something stupid.

Damn Dedue.

The chaos of Felix’s mind makes him standoffish. Which, in turn, makes Dimitri try even harder. Makes him strain to smile, and joke, and act merry when Felix can see he is not. And at night, when they’re alone and the lights are out, Dimitri kisses him over and over. His hands hold Felix a little too tightly. His one eye roves Felix’s face, as though trying to burn it into his memory.

Dimitri acts like a desperate man, kissing Felix as though he expects every time to be the last time, and Felix does not like it.

“You need to calm down,” Felix tells him on one of these nights.

They are tangled together in Dimitri’s bed. They have not even been doing anything intimate – though in a manner of speaking, the fact they are curled together in their nightclothes is almost more intimate than any carnal activities – but Dimitri will not leave him alone. Hovers over him, twirling Felix’s loose hair between his broad fingers, his eye studying Felix’s face.

“What do you mean?” Dimitri has the gall to ask.

Felix glares at him. Stills Dimitri’s hand on his hair. “You know what I mean. Stop this.”

Dimitri’s opens his mouth. Closes it. His lips turn down, and he ducks his head.

“Forgive me,” Dimitri murmurs. He extracts himself from Felix, rising from the bed and throwing his cloak over his shoulders. Going to stand at the window to the balcony, and any moment he will start his pacing.

He is so tall. So broad. The moonlight casts a shadow behind him, and Felix cannot help the way his heart twists.

“Dedue thinks you’re in love with me.” He doesn’t mean to speak, but the words are out of his mouth before he can consider them.

Dimitri’s shoulders tense, but that is his only reaction. He is silent for a long moment. Then he opens the door and steps out onto the balcony, shutting it quietly behind him.

Felix’s head thumps back onto the pillow. He curses Dimitri, curses himself. And somewhere, in a distant corner of his mind, some part of him is shrieking even as he fights it down.

Dimitri did not answer. Did not deny it, barely even reacted. Which means… which means…

Felix is going to kill Dedue next time he sees him. He throws off the covers, all but hurls himself from Dimitri’s bed. He is halfway to the door on his way out when something in him makes him stop. Makes him reconsider.

He turns, and pads back the way he came. Opens the balcony door, and follows Dimitri out.

The night air is freezing at this time of year. Felix shivers, deeply regretting his lack of shoes and an additional layer. Now he is out here, though, he is not going back inside to get them.

Dimitri stands on the other side of the balcony. Stands, does not pace. His head is tilted back, gaze fixed on the moon. As Felix approaches Dimitri’s head tilts down. All the way down, as though in penitence. As though Dimitri is ashamed.

And Felix has to ask. It’s not a question he thought himself capable of asking, not one he thought he’d have need to, and he is almost cringing in pre-emptive embarrassment. But he has to ask. He has to.

“Do you… do you love me, Dimitri?”

Dimitri closes his eye. “Yes.”

It is hoarse, little more than a whisper. To Felix, it is deafening.

“Why didn’t you – why didn’t you say something?” He sounds angry, so angry, which isn’t his intent, but Dimitri doesn’t challenge it. Just hunches in on himself.

“I never meant to deceive you,” Dimitri says, sad and self-loathing and always so damn noble. “Please believe me, Felix, I did not. I never expected more of you than you were willing to give. I thought if I could have anything, anything at all, then it would be enough… Yet still I push you.”

“Shut up,” Felix tells him. His toes are going numb, and Dimitri is as maddening as he ever is, all-consumed by his own misery without any perspective of what other people might feel. Dimitri is simple, sometimes painfully so. He feels too much in his big, stupid heart.

Felix hates him sometimes. Doesn’t hate him at all. Looks at Dimitri in the throes of one of his episodes and feels sick to the stomach, helpless and angry because of it.

He smacks Dimitri in the arm, which Dimitri clearly isn’t expecting because he jerks around to fend off his assailant before he remembers who he is speaking to.

“Two years, Dimitri,” Felix says. “We’ve been doing this for two years.”

“And still you do not love me,” Dimitri says, and the words sting, somehow. “What would I gain by telling you how I feel for you?”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

“Then you tell me.” Dimitri’s voice sounds wrecked. Rises until he is shouting. “Do you love me, Felix? Do you?”

The words are snatched away by the cold wind. Felix shivers.

“I… I don’t know.”

Dimitri's hands grip the railing. His knuckles are white. “Will you leave me?”

Felix jerks in surprise. “What?”

“You were happy with things as they were.” The wind is howling. Felix doesn’t know how Dimitri seems unaffected, but he stands still as stone. “Will you leave me now they have changed?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix says roughly. Forces the words around a lump in his throat. “Dimitri…”

Felix steps forward, forcing his way through Dimitri’s defences and wrapping his arms around him. Pressing his body against Dimitri’s. Dimitri doesn’t move, but Felix doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t know what to do.

He breathes in the smell of Dimitri, feels the familiar, solid weight of him. Closes his eyes and holds on, even as he shivers.

“You’re cold,” Dimitri murmurs. That is the thing that spurs him into action. He tugs his cloak over both of them, wraps his arms around Felix at last.

“Come back to bed,” Felix says. “We’ll…”

And here it is. The last of his boundaries, about to crumble. The last bit of his understanding of what they have, that it is just a thing, so casual and inconsequential it needs no name.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” he finishes. A declaration, in and of itself. Something his mother would have said to his father, before she – and he – died.

Dimitri considers this. Sways with Felix in his arms, as if trying to warm him.

“All right.”

- - -

The thing is, they do talk. And it’s painful, excruciatingly so, because Dimitri seems to be taking the approach that now his secret is out there’s no point hiding anything anymore. Tells Felix at length how he feels for him, while Felix listens and tries not to squirm from sheer embarrassment.

It’s awkward. It’s intimate. But Dimitri talks, and Felix owes it to him to listen. Dimitri looks at him with that sad blue eye of his, holds Felix’s hand as though it’s precious, and really, what is Felix supposed to do with any of this? He’s caught in a perpetual state of embarrassment and fighting the impulse to run.

They talk. They negotiate. Things cannot stay as they were, not now Felix knows Dimitri loves him. And Felix… Felix doesn’t want to lose what they already have, hard as it is to admit it. Doesn’t know what he does want, either.

They come to an agreement. The thing between them becomes a thing of an official nature. A courtship, which seems a laughably innocent word given the amount of time Felix spends in Dimitri’s bed. He and Dimitri are courting. He and the boar. The madman, the saviour, the king.

This isn’t what Felix set out to do. To court Dimitri, of all people.

On Dimitri’s end, nothing really changes. As the weeks go by Dimitri comes out of his episode, but that has nothing to do with Felix. It’s one of the rhythms of Dimitri’s life, an entirely separate thing. Dimitri gets better, and smiles more, and spends more time with his friends.

His kisses are just the same. The fondness on his face when he tugs Felix towards him. He is still not tactile in a lingering way – which is good, because Felix isn’t either, and being held for long periods of time has always irked him - but when Dimitri does touch him it is sure and precise. A kiss here, a brush of his hand there. A brief embrace before Dimitri goes about his business. Affectionate, familiar, but not overbearing.

It’s Felix who changes. Felix who startles like a cat for no reason, and has to bite down the surge of guilt at the sad look on Dimitri’s face. Felix who watches Dimitri like a hawk for any sign of change, and is increasingly confronted by the realisation that this is Dimitri in love. The way he has been for years, the solid proof of the confession that Felix pried from him. Dimitri has loved him for a long time, while Felix has wandered in and out of his bed as it pleased him.

He has been such a fool. Of course Dimitri would not take such a relationship lightly. Of course he wouldn’t. He’s infuriating and boorish and insufferable, a sad sack of bones with an animal temper underneath, but he wouldn’t take Felix to bed if he didn’t mean it. Not Felix.

Felix doesn’t know what to do. Is hostile towards the entire world as a result, but it’s his turn to be on his best behaviour around Dimitri, because for once it really isn’t Dimitri’s fault.

Mercedes is the person who plucks up the courage to pull him aside. She waits until Felix is finished verbally savaging the fool who dared run into him as he rounded a corner, then takes him by the arm.

“What do you want?” Felix snarls. Quietens quickly at the new surge of guilt, because it’s Mercedes. He’s never heard a sharp word from her in his life.

“Why don’t we take a walk together, Felix?” she says. “It’s so long since we’ve had the opportunity to chat.”

All dressed up in her holy-woman clothes, with her sweet-natured face and blue eyes looking at him almost pleadingly, Felix can’t find it in himself to say no.

They walk the grounds, still cold but beautiful at this time of year. Mercedes holds his arm like an innocent thing, like Felix is leading her, but Felix knows better. He doesn’t want to deal with her subtle disapproval, but doesn’t have it in him to make small talk. So he says nothing.

She tells him of her work, far more humbly than he is sure is warranted. She has come into herself in these last few years, since the war ended. Always lovely, but lovelier now with a sense of purpose in her life. Helping the needy, helping the sick, with an indomitable focus that rivals even Dimitri’s pig-headedness.

“Cut to the point, Mercedes,” he says, when he thinks he’s calm enough to talk. “What do you want to speak to me about?”

“Ever the gentleman, aren’t you, Felix?” Mercedes says, with a teasing swat to his arm. “Is it wrong of me to want to spend time with an old friend?”

“You want something. Out with it.”

Mercedes gives him a look that is equal parts fond and despairing. She doesn’t mention his manners again, though. Instead she says, “Actually, I wondered if there was something you’d like to talk about.”

Felix stops. Stares at her. “What gave you that idea?”

“Well,” Mercedes says, “you don’t seem very happy at the moment, Felix.”

Not the direction he expected the conversation to take. Felix looks away again. Starts walking.

“I’m fine.”

“Felix…” Mercedes stops. Felix can practically feel her walking on eggshells, and it makes him tense up again. He hates it when people are delicate with him. “You’re not yourself at the moment. I care for you, and I’d like to talk about what’s bothering you, if you’re willing to share. I want to help.”

Familiar anger wells up in Felix’s chest, along with the impulse to snap at her and push her aside. He breathes. Rides it out. “I don’t need help.” Except, that isn’t true. “I don’t think you can help.”

“You might be surprised, Felix. Goodness knows what goes on in men’s heads, but sometimes it’s a lot less complicated than you think.”

The fond amusement in her voice is what does it. This is Mercedes, after all, and Felix is talking before he can stop himself.

“It’s just… Dimitri.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“He loves me,” Felix forces out. Like ripping a scab from an unhealed wound.

Mercedes is quiet for a moment, seemingly waiting for more. When none comes, “Is that a surprise to you?”

“He wasn’t supposed to love me,” Felix grinds out. “We were just… it was…”

He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling. How to voice the frustration, and confusion, and the sense of guilt that comes with being cruel when he didn’t mean to be, and his lingering anger at Dimitri for being so very Dimitri about it, when Felix thought they had a different understanding all together.

“Love is complicated,” Mercedes says. Patient, carefully so. “How do you feel about him?”

Felix shrugs, so violently he almost dislodges her arm. He can feel Mercedes picking her words carefully again. He hates it.

“You’ve been seeing each other a long time, Felix. Have you been with other people in that time?”

Felix shakes his head.

“Why not?”

The question pulls him up short again. A simple question, childishly simple. And yet he has no answer.

“You’re a handsome man, and you have plenty of other admirers,” Mercedes says. “But you stayed faithful to Dimitri.”

Felix isn’t sure what she’s building up to, but he knows it’s something. “I guess.”

“How would you feel if Dimitri were seeing other people in that time?”

Felix whirls on her. “Has he been?”

“I wouldn’t know, Felix. I doubt it, but you’d have to ask him.”

He subsides again, but the talk with Mercedes is making him feel worse, not better. Now he’s got that possibility to think about as well.

“Feeling jealous doesn’t necessarily mean that you love him, though,” Mercedes continues. “Perhaps another question for you to consider – how would you feel, if he decided he didn’t want to see you anymore?”

This time the answer comes quickly. Terrible. That’s how Felix would feel.

“Oh, Felix.” Mercedes says. She brings them to a halt, just so she can lean in and kiss Felix’s cheek. Felix grimaces at her, unsure what to think. “You know I’m terribly fond of you, but you’re really quite hopeless when it comes to your own feelings, you know that?”

That’s hardly a revelation. Not even for Felix.

- - -

Felix can’t stop thinking about him and Dimitri. He’s read about love in books, and abruptly put them down. He’s seen Sylvain’s skirt-chasing, the endless pursuit of drama and passion that inevitably crumbles apart. He’s seen Dedue marry their professor, two quiet souls who can barely piece together a sentence between them, and the idea of those two falling in love has never made sense.

Except… except for Dedue’s newfound confidence. For his forwardness, for the way he and Dimitri are when they are together, the line between their stations not insurmountable now Dedue has found another cause for devotion in his life. Rather than one purpose, Dedue has two. Rather than tear him apart, they have made him better. He calls Dimitri by his given name, his eyes smile whenever he mentions his wife. He is proud. He is happy.

There are worse fates than Dedue’s. In fact, though he’d never say it aloud, Felix wouldn’t mind such an end for himself. But Felix… Felix doesn’t know what he wants. Can’t see how he and Dimitri fit any of those moulds.

Dimitri is unwell, not always, but more often than anyone would like. And Felix isn’t soft with him - he’s always been told off for being too terse with people, Dimitri included. If he’d ever given the subject much thought, Felix would have imagined Dimitri would end up with someone gentler. Someone with a sweet smile and tender hands, who would lovingly patch his wounds and accept his moods with the docility of a lamb. An even-tempered lady who never raised her voice and followed him about with a quiet and all-consuming devotion.

Felix isn’t like that. His tongue is sharper even than he means it to be, and what little patience he possesses he rarely spends on Dimitri. He doesn’t much like people, and makes no effort to pretend he does. He doesn’t like to talk about feelings, his or anyone else’s, and he’s not good at resolving arguments. Starting them, but not resolving them.

Point is, Felix isn’t the sort of person he’d have expected Dimitri – King Dimitri – to end up with. That’s to say nothing of actually dealing with Dimitri, who isn’t as easy behind closed doors as he might seem from the outside, when the people see the noble face of their king. And Felix's flaws frustrate Dimitri in turn, though he is less likely to snap and more likely to ignore Felix until his irritation goes away.

The point is, things between them aren’t always easy. They know each other too well to keep up any pretences. Lash out at each other when they can’t afford to lash out at anyone else. But that’s not all they are.

Sometimes Felix makes Dimitri laugh so hard Dimitri snorts, which makes Felix howl with laughter in turn. Sometimes they sit together in Dimitri’s sitting room, each absorbed in his own thoughts, but the silence between them as warm and familiar as a blanket in wintertime. Sometimes Felix will burst into Dimitri’s office, triumphant as he masters a new technique, and Dimitri listens with a smile as Felix takes him through the minutiae with little regard for the work he is interrupting. Sometimes Felix needs Dimitri to advise him, to get his thoughts straightened out when a problem seems insurmountable or when Felix’s pride gets in his way. Sometimes he does the same for Dimitri, a sounding board and voice of reason as Dimitri confronts the challenges of running a kingdom.

When Felix is away, back in his own territory and running his own duchy, they exchange letters often. When they are reunited, Dimitri does not say I missed you, but as soon as they are behind closed doors Dimitri kisses Felix, holds him close and longer than he ever does, longer than Felix would usually allow. Felix does not say I missed you, but something eases inside him at the sight of that familiar face, and he finds himself staring at Dimitri at odd moments, chest oddly soft as he takes in the sight of Dimitri at work, at rest, training or relaxing in his chambers.

Sometimes, when he kisses Dimitri, Felix feels a deep sense of peace at the rightness of it. When he thinks of the future, he cannot imagine one without Dimitri in it.

- - -

Felix doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels permanently on the cusp of some realisation, and simultaneously like his life is out of his control. For once, it’s him having trouble sleeping. Him who can’t sit still. Him whose moods are beyond his own understanding.

Dimitri notices. Of course he does.

“Are you all right, Felix?” he says one evening. They are in his sitting room, as they often are at this time of evening, but Felix’s leg keeps bouncing.

“Yes,” he snaps. “Fine.”

Dimitri’s frown deepens. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Something flashes through his eye, and Felix can guess it is something self-deprecating by the way Dimitri’s shoulders slump.

“Is it… have I done something wrong?”

They are still working out the boundaries of their official thing. It is not the first time Dimitri has asked Felix that question.

“No, don’t be stupid.”

Dimitri gets up from his armchair. Comes to sit beside Felix on the couch, and Felix cannot help the way he shifts away.

“You shy away from me,” Dimitri points out. Has proven his point simply by changing chairs. It is very reasonable of him, though Felix has to force down the impulse to snarl something unpleasant just to make him leave him alone.

“I don’t want to talk,” Felix says through gritted teeth.

There is a pause. “As you wish. I will be here if you change your mind, though.”

With that, he returns to his armchair. Picks up his book again, and gives Felix his space.

The minutes go by. Felix settles, though he cannot say that he is calm. He keeps sneaking peeks at Dimitri’s face. At the strong line of his jaw and the way his hair falls across his eye patch and lends him an eternal air of mystery, though Felix knows him better than anyone. Grew up with Dimitri, grew apart, then somehow grew back together again.

Dimitri did not push an answer from him. To be fair, Dimitri never pushes him, not on things like this. He meets Felix head-on in a debate, but when Felix needs space, Dimitri gives it without question. Understands, where few others seem to, when to pry with Felix and when to leave him well enough alone.

Dimitri loves him. Is in love with him. It is a revelation every time the thought crosses Felix’s mind.

“Dimitri,” Felix says.

“Yes?”

Felix shifts in his seat. Curls his legs up onto the couch, and finds he cannot meet Dimitri’s eyes. Asked for his attention, but cannot find the words he wants to say.

“When did you… I mean…” Felix pauses, but Dimitri waits for him. “During the war, when you were… did you love me then?”

Felix cringes as soon as the question leaves his lips. Goddess, what is wrong with him, he’s turning into a right sap. He can feel his face burning, and stares resolutely at the rug.

“During the worst of my madness, do you mean?”

Felix nods. Slouches sideways into the cushions so he doesn’t have to look at Dimitri’s face.

He hears a gentle thud as Dimitri sets his book down on the side table. “I do not think I was capable of love back then.”

The words hit Felix like a blow, though he isn’t sure why. Doesn’t understand the sick feeling in his stomach, or the burn at the back of his throat.

Dimitri makes a noise. Moves forward but does not try to sit beside Felix. He kneels on the floor, setting his hands on the edge of the couch. Close, but not touching. Not before Felix is ready.

“Do not mistake me,” Dimitri says. Gentle, so unbearably gentle. “I loved you before, and I love you now, albeit in a slightly different fashion. The love was still there, even when I was at my worst, but it was… buried, I think. I was so consumed by dark thoughts that I was not capable of feeling it.”

Felix nods. His head rubs against the cushions, and his hair is starting to come out of its tie. He feels like a child. Still can’t manage to speak. He’s so stupid, why did he bring this up? And why does Dimitri find it so easy to say he loves him?

“Are you… are you still angry about how I was back then?”

Felix considers. Shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

Felix shrugs.

“Felix…” There is an edge of frustration to Dimitri’s voice, but he quells it quickly. “I can see you are distressed, but I do not know what you need of me. What would you have me do? Name anything, and I will do it.”

Typical Dimitri. Chivalrous and self-sacrificing as ever. Not… not laughing at him. Not about this.

“How do I know that you will still…” Felix says. Swallows. “I mean, when you are unwell. How can I know that…”

Dimitri is quiet a moment. “That I will still love you?”

Felix nods. His face is hot, his stomach turning. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him tonight, but questions keep spilling out of his mouth without his permission.

He feels Dimitri’s hand come to rest over his knee. Squeeze his leg gently, with hands that could crush Felix without a moment’s difficulty.

“I know I become distant,” Dimitri says. “And I know I am not always kind to you during my worse states. I wish it were not so, for you deserve better than that. But I still love you. I would have no other, even when I am trapped in my own head.”

“But what if…”

What if Dimitri goes mad again. Really, truly mad.

Dimitri is quiet again. Rubs a circle on Felix’s thigh. “I wish I had an answer I could give you,” he says. He sounds sad. “But any answer I gave would be a lie, both to you and myself. I can only hope you would be so kind as to put me out of my misery, if it ever happens again.”

Felix rears up, gripped by a sudden fury that Dimitri could think – that he would ask –

“What, you think I could put you down?” Felix snarls. His voice is embarrassingly hoarse. “You think I could -”

Felix had a dream about it once. Back when he never called Dimitri by name, knew him only as the boar and the beast. Woke up sobbing like a child into his pillow.

He catches Dimitri’s eye. A moment later he is in Dimitri’s arms, his head pressed into Dimitri’s shoulder, one of Dimitri’s hands cradling the back of his head while the other rubs circles into his back.

“Forgive me,” Dimitri murmurs. “Of course I would not ask that of you. Forgive me, Felix.”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix tells him, and tries to ignore the way his voice shakes.

Dimitri murmurs to him, sweet nonsense that Felix pretends not to hear. When they part, Felix scrubs a hand roughly over his eyes, glaring at the wall over Dimitri’s shoulder.

He can still see Dimitri’s face in his peripheral vision. See the twist to Dimitri’s lips, a mixture of concern and fondness. A knowing look in his eye, like he understands something Felix doesn’t.

“I should have told you sooner,” Dimitri murmurs. “That I love you, I mean.”

Felix clears his throat. Sniffs, and makes one last pass over his eyes. “Don’t come over all sentimental on me.”

“I thought you did not want me to, that it all. When I tried to talk with you, you became angry. When I tried to deepen our bond in other ways, you shied away. You warmed my bed a few nights a week, but I thought that was all you could give me.”

Something twists in Felix’s stomach. “You’re a king, Dimitri, I thought you’d speak up if you had something to say.”

“We have both been foolish,” Dimitri says. Reaches out to brush a lock of hair out of Felix’s eyes. Soft.

And Felix… his chest feels strange. It feels like that a lot around Dimitri.

“I’m tired,” Felix says abruptly.

He is out of the sitting room and into Dimitri’s bed in record time. He burrows under the covers, ignoring the soft sounds as Dimitri pads after him. Ignoring the fact that Felix has really, truly, lost control of his life.

The mattress dips as Dimitri climbs in. There is a moment of stillness, then Dimitri leans in close, pressing a kiss to the sliver of Felix’s head that pokes out above the blankets. Dimitri’s hand is tentative when it touches his side, a question.

A question Felix answers, not directly, but by not moving away.

A muscular arm drapes over Felix’s waist. Dimitri’s body presses against him, warm and solid and achingly familiar. This close, he can feel the movement of Dimitri’s chest every time he draws breath.

Felix feels too agitated for sleep, but the movement lulls him anyway. And when he wakes the next morning, he wakes to the rare sight of Dimitri’s sleeping face.

- - -

On Dedue’s next visit, Dedue gives Felix an approving nod. Felix glowers at him, but Dedue seems entirely unphased, turning his full attention back to Dimitri. They have a lot to catch up on, it seems, and Felix leaves them to it.

Part of Felix still wants to strangle him. Because while officially courting Dimitri has turned out to be… well, not terrible, Felix has never been the subject of so much conversation. People stare between him and Dimitri during meetings as though expecting them to leap on each other, and he sees far too many ladies giggling behind their hands when he walks by. They stop quickly when he glares at them, but the fact they giggle in the first place is irritating.

“I think it’s nice for people to see you in a softer light,” Mercedes tells him. “People find you quite intimidating, you know. You’re a good man, and it’s nice for people to see that.”

Nice for her, maybe. Felix prefers being intimidating.

He spends a lot of time with Ingrid while Dedue is visiting. Sylvain makes too many suggestive jokes, and Mercedes keeps telling him how lovely it is that they’re together now. Ashe is working a lot, but when he does see Felix, he gets a starry-eyed look on his face that Felix can’t stand. Romantics.

Ingrid isn’t a romantic, at least not in that sense. She’s too focused on her knightly principles. Which, admittedly, are romantic notions of what knighthood should be, but not the relationship kind of romantic, which is the key distinction. She spars with Felix, and goes out for meals, and doesn’t ask a single question or make any sly remarks about his relationship with Dimitri. The most he gets from her is a raised eyebrow when he takes the stairs to the royal chambers rather than towards his own room.

Felix spends most nights in Dimitri’s chambers, these days. Still keeps his own room, retreats there when he has need for privacy or when Dimitri is irritating him, but he rarely sleeps there any more. It’s yet another thing Felix doesn’t think too closely about.

“Goodnight, dear one,” Dimitri says one evening as they settle into bed.

Felix starts, and Dimitri watches him carefully. Slightly nervous, perhaps, waiting to see if Felix will allow it. Dimitri has never called Felix by pet names before. No one does, not if they value their lives.

Dear one… isn’t as bad as it could be. Not overly sentimental. Not too far from the way Dimitri addresses his letters.

“Good night,” Felix mutters. Pretends not to notice the smile spreading across Dimitri’s face, visible even in the dark.

The weeks pass. Felix takes tea with Dedue again, and neither of them talk about anything uncomfortable. They talk about gardening, the weather and, admittedly, Dimitri, though Dedue refrains from making any further remarks about Felix's relationship with him. Dimitri is as calm and content as he ever can be, his time divided between Felix and Dedue. Sylvain teases Felix about Dimitri being torn between the two of them, but knocks it off once Felix ignores him for long enough.

It is a good few weeks. Like all good things, though, it eventually comes to an end. And when it does, the timing is unfortunate. An urgent matter of business comes up in Fraldarius territory just as Dedue is due to leave, and Felix has no choice but to ride out too.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he tells Dimitri as he mounts his horse.

“I won’t,” Dimitri snaps, his scowl heavy as he sees Felix off. Particularly miserable this time around, because he loses both Felix and Dedue in one fell swoop, and with no indication of when either of them will return.

The war is over, but crime and banditry remain. Felix has his hands full dealing with an unexpectedly organised band marauding across his territory. Then, when that is over, he has the populace to calm, and supplies to replenish, and damaged homes and infrastructure to rebuild. He needs to whip his soldiers back into shape, because this latest scourge of crime has shown him they are not performing up to scratch. He promotes those with promise and puts out a recruitment notice for more. With jobs readily available, there should be no need for anyone else to resort to banditry.

All the while, he exchanges letters with Dimitri. Snatches time whenever and wherever he can, because he knows exactly the size of the sulk Dimitri will be in if he doesn't write.

Dimitri’s letters are frequent, at first.

My dear Felix, all is well here.

My dear Felix, nothing interesting to report.

My dear Felix, I trust this finds you well.

All similar. All fine. Then the letters slow. And Felix, occupied as he is by his work, doesn’t notice until a full week has passed without a single letter from Dimitri. Doesn’t notice that Dimitri’s letters grow shorter, the content less specific, until no letter comes.

It would be just like Dimitri to work himself into the ground while Felix is away. Felix writes him another letter, more pointed than the last, asking for an update. He also writes a letter to Sylvain because he, at least, will be honest in his reply.

My dear Felix,

My apologies for the delay. All is well here. I am occupied by matters of state, but such is always the case.

Dimitri writes on, but Felix skims his letter before sets it aside. Dimitri is talking in circles, vague where he should have no need to be.

Sylvain’s letter comes the next day, and Felix has his answer.

Dimitri’s not doing well.

- - -

It turns out Felix can’t trust Sylvain completely either. Because when he hurries back to Fhirdiad, ‘not doing well’ proves to be the understatement of the century.

“Duke Fraldarius, you’re back! Oh, thank the Goddess,” someone says as he strides his way into the palace.

As it turns out, the sentiment is a common one. He is followed by similar exclamations as he makes his way up to the king’s office. One of the knights practically sags with relief when Felix passes him, and only a swift elbow to the side by his companion stops the knight from saying something that Felix is certain would have been unkind towards his king.

What has Dimitri been doing?

The guards at Dimitri’s door have more composure, though they are noticeably more severe as they incline their heads and allow Felix to approach. He knocks on the door with firm raps.

Silence. But Felix knows Dimitri is inside, or the guards would have told him otherwise. He turns the handle.

Dimitri stands at the window, his back to the door. Felix can read the tension in the line of his shoulders, feel the black cloud of Dimitri’s mood hit him like a solid force as he steps over the threshold.

“I said I was not to be disturbed.”

It would have been better if Dimitri shouted. But his voice is a low rumble, infinitely more dangerous.

“You said all was well here,” Felix says, equally quiet. Equally dangerous.

Dimitri turns, and Felix can see he has startled him, but the motion is oddly slow. Out of sync, as though Dimitri is not entirely in control of his body.

“Felix,” Dimitri rumbles. Stops. As though words are beyond him.

A cold chill runs down Felix’s spine. He knows that look in Dimitri’s eye. Knows it all too well.

“You lied to me,” Felix says.

Dimitri looks at him, where he would normally be stammering explanations or excuses. Then Dimitri jolts, shakes his head. Rough, like an animal shaking off water.

Felix shuts the door behind him. Staring Dimitri down, as if it will do any good. He can see the boar written in every line of Dimitri’s face.

“Well? Explain yourself,” Felix says.

“All is well in the kingdom,” Dimitri answers at last. The pacing is slightly too slow, slightly off from his usual cadence.

“Look at the state of you. What happened? What have you done?” Felix is angry. That, at least, gets Dimitri’s attention. The vagueness in his eye sharpens.

“Did you come here to accuse me?” he spits. “You come in here, calling me a liar? If it’s a fight you want, Felix, it’s a fight you shall get.”

“Is this how you greet me?” Felix spits back. “You told me everything was fine, yet here I find you, snarling like a wild animal.”

“Just leave me alone.” Dimitri turns his back. Hunches over, and Felix can see him curling in on himself, wrapping his arms around his own torso.

“Don’t be pathetic. You’re in no fit state to rule. Get out of this office.” Felix steps forward, reaches out, and his fingertips brush Dimitri’s arm.

A few things seem to happen at once. Dimitri whirls around, his expression wild. His arm comes up, meaning to throw Felix off him but it comes far too fast, with too much force, without restraining his monstrous strength. Felix sees it a split second before it connects, throws himself back on pure instinct. Misjudges, missteps, and falls backwards. His head collides with the corner of Dimitri’s desk as he goes down, his skull exploding in pain.

He hits the floor. Swears loudly, clutching his head. Papers flutter around him – he must have knocked them as he fell. He presses a probing finger to where he struck the corner and hisses in pain. He can already tell there’s going to be a bump the size of an egg.

He looks up. Dimitri’s entire face has drained of blood. He’s staring at Felix as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Stares down at his own hands, holding them out in front of him. They are starting to shake.

Felix shoves himself to his feet, casting Dimitri an irritated look. “Mind how you use your strength, boar.”

With anyone else, it would have been nothing more than a swat. Felix is just pleased his reflexes kicked in, though he needs to work on his footwork. He shouldn’t have overbalanced when he leapt back.

Dimitri doesn’t say a word. Sinks slowly to the floor, as though he can’t support his own weight any longer.

“Get up,” Felix says. “It’s nearly dinner time.”

But Dimitri doesn’t get up. Doesn’t do anything but press his face into his hands, and…

He’s crying. Dimitri is crying.

Something in Felix’s chest twists. He steps forward, far more carefully this time. Reaches out and puts a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, and this time Dimitri doesn’t try to swat him away. Doesn’t do anything.

“I’m fine,” Felix says.

Dimitri lets out a guttural moan, and Felix feels cold again. For the hundredth time, he doesn’t know what to do. What to say, or how to help.

He kneels down. Reaches out and wraps Dimitri in an awkward embrace. It only makes Dimitri cry harder, unrestrained, building into something resembling a howl.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Felix says urgently. He strokes fingers through Dimitri’s hair, tries to muffle the noises by pressing Dimitri firmly against his chest. There are guards posted outside the door. No one else needs to know of this, to hear the broken noises coming from their king.

Felix has never heard these noises. This isn’t crying. This is… this is something else.

His anger with Dimitri flies out of his head. He can feel his own hands shaking as he tries desperately to soothe him, but Dimitri is beyond soothing. He howls and moans and cries like an injured beast. Beyond reason, or restraint, or anything.

He’s mad, Felix realises. Out of control, without possession of his own faculties or the animal noises leaving his mouth.

And there Felix crouches on the old rug, periodically spitting Dimitri’s hair out of his mouth, his head aching and the world around him so ordinary and mundane. His boots are dirty, his back still damp with sweat from the long ride here. Dimitri howls, and Felix is in a different world all together.

“I didn’t mean to - to -” Dimitri says, barely comprehensible, voice barely even recognisable. “Didn’t mean - hurt you.”

“It was just a stupid accident, Dimitri,” says Felix. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t know it was you,” Dimitri says between desperate, heaving cries. “Just wanted - the voices - to go away.”

Voices. The voices.

“I can’t stand it. Please, please - make them - stop.”

Felix shuts his eyes. Presses Dimitri’s fair head harder against his chest, rocking him, shushing him, doing anything he can think of that might calm Dimitri down. For the first time in his life, Felix regrets that he’s not a nurturing man, isn’t practiced in soothing and holding and hushing. His movements feel oddly disjointed, almost frantic.

“Please, make them stop - make them stop,” Dimitri repeats, over and over, his entire body shaking with the force of his cries.

Stories from Felix’s youth whirl through his head. Stories of people who heard voices, and saw things, and weren’t entirely there. Stories of people who didn’t feel quite real to Felix, their plight beyond his understanding, and he remembers laughing. Laughing, as though their plight was funny.

There is nothing funny about this. Felix is finding it hard to breathe, and he knows he’s holding Dimitri too tightly but he can’t loosen his arms. He remembers one story in particular, a woman in a village who talked to people who weren’t there. Who ranted and raved, wandering the streets without aim, and was mocked and pitied in turn by the villagers. The voices told her she should kill herself and one day, one day… she did.

Felix has known all along that Dimitri isn’t well. Has heard Dimitri rant about the demands of the dead, the things they have said to him, the things they have asked him to do. Yet somehow Felix never connected the dots, because the people in the stories weren’t real. They didn’t feel real, not to Felix.

They were. They are. Dimitri is.

Felix rocks him, pressing his face into Dimitri’s hair as Dimitri trembles. They are worlds apart, realities apart, and for the first time Felix understands what that truly means.

- - -

“No more of this,” he tells Dimitri the next day.

Dimitri lies in his bed, curled up and small, his hair covering most of his face. His expression is blank, but slowly, he nods. Unbelievably, once he drags himself out of bed he tries to go to work. Becomes angry when Felix refuses him, but is too scattered to come up with any decent arguments.

“Go back to bed,” Felix snaps. “I’ll take care of anything that needs doing.” Strictly speaking it’s not his place, but when has that ever stopped him?

He shoos Dimitri back under the covers. Runs a hand over Dimitri’s hair before he can stop himself, feels himself flushing when Dimitri looks at him. Dimitri doesn’t say anything. Just hunkers down and looks miserable and not all there. Like he was in Garreg Mach, but without the bloodstains.

With that memory fresh in his mind, Felix cannot stay here. He posts a guard outside Dimitri’s door, tells her to inform him the instant the king tries to leave. No one questions his authority to do so, and when Felix strides into Dimitri’s office and starts going through his notes for the day, no one questions him on that either. The lords who come looking for Dimitri, however, are less than pleased.

“My appointment was with the king.”

“The king is indisposed. Either speak with me, or come back another time,” Felix says. Over and over, and considerably less patiently, as the morning wears on.

Dimitri’s guard only comes to get Felix once. Felix glares Dimitri back into his chambers, and it’s a mark of how unwell Dimitri is today that he goes without too much of a fuss. He breaks a few things on his way back in, smashing the lunch tray that’s been set outside his door with a deliberate look back at Felix, but Felix doesn’t respond.

Even a week ago, he would have. But something strange has taken over Felix. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so calm as he watches Dimitri take off his boots and throw them at a bookshelf, without real intent, though his sheer strength carries them across the room. Felix hates Dimitri’s episodes, and he’s not exactly patient at the best of times.

Perhaps it’s the way Dimitri cried. Felix has never seen him cry like that, wild and inconsolable. He’s seen Dimitri be ruthlessly, horrifically violent, and he’s reconciled that as best he can. This is something new. A new threat, a new fear. He’s known for a long time that Dimitri might pose a threat to others. It never occurred to him that, lost in one of his fits of despair, Dimitri might pose a threat to himself.

Perhaps that’s what’s changed. Now the thought has occurred, it’s like something has been shaken loose inside of Felix. Something too awful to contemplate, though it sits at the edges of his mind.

“I’ll come and get you later,” Felix tells Dimitri.

Dimitri gives him one of those empty looks, then rolls over, hiding his face beneath his bed sheets.

Felix has no idea what he’s doing, but grilling his friends on what’s happened while he’s been away seems like the next step. The consensus, of course, is… nothing immediately evident.

“He was sad when you and Dedue left,” Sylvain says. “Sadder than usual, I mean. It was unlucky that you both went away at once, and he’s been working a lot, but nothing really happened. You know what I mean? He’s been in a foul temper these last few weeks, though. He’s been out of control, and he’s had that look in his eye – you know the one.”

Ingrid has slightly more information.

“He’s been over-working himself since you went away. Some of the lords have been hounding him, too. There’s a lot of tension, particularly within previously Imperial territories. The knights are doing what we can to keep the peace, but Dimitri’s been under a lot of pressure.”

And has apparently overworked himself into the worst episode Felix has seen since the war. Once Ingrid is gone, Felix gives himself a moment to press a hand over his eyes, breathing in slow and deep. Then he pulls parchment towards him and begins to write.

Dedue’s handled far more of Dimitri’s episodes than Felix has. Dedue was Dimitri’s constant companion when Felix couldn’t stomach him, and kept close all through the war. Dedue might know something Felix doesn’t. Truth be told, Dedue is better at taking care of people, far gentler in his way than Felix has ever been.

He includes the professor in his letter as well – it can’t hurt - and sends it off as soon as the ink dries. Then he goes back upstairs. Forces Dimitri to eat something, to drink. When night comes Felix makes no move to retire to his own chambers. Changes into his nightclothes and climbs into bed, ignoring the way Dimitri paces, then hovers, until finally, reluctantly, he climbs into bed beside Felix. Dimitri tosses and turns, and an hour later his eyes are still open, his frustration clearly mounting. Felix is awake only through force of will, his eyes drooping.

“Can you still hear the voices?” he asks.

Dimitri’s eye closes. Even in the dark, Felix can see the way his face crumples with shame. Two years, and Dimitri has never mentioned them, and this time his reticence is Felix’s fault. He remembers the conversation they had during the war, how he told Dimitri in no uncertain terms to stop living for the dead. He would not have listened if Dimitri tried to speak of them. Did not fully understand how for Dimitri, the voices of the dead were both very real and very literal.

“I… they’re loud tonight,” Dimitri murmurs.

“Let’s go for a walk, then.” Felix swings his legs out of bed.

“You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

Dimitri reaches out. Closes his hand over Felix’s. His eye is open, still distant, still in that faraway place. His thumb brushes Felix’s knuckles, and Felix’s heart jolts in his chest.

“Go to sleep, dear one,” he murmurs. Not all there, not himself. Not all gone, either.

Felix settles back against his pillow. Staring at Dimitri, even after Dimitri closes his eye and rolls away.

- - -

Dimitri is doing better a few days later. More vocal, more himself. More embarrassed, too, ducking his head and shying away from Felix, though he doesn’t ask him to leave. Felix directs Dimitri into his sitting room once they’re both fed and dressed. He hasn’t heard back from Dedue yet, but this part… this he can do. Needs to do.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Felix says.

Dimitri’s shoulders hunch, his head bowing. He takes a breath, as if steadying himself for a blow.

“I know, Felix. I understand if…”

“You don’t understand. I know you’re unwell, Dimitri. I hate it when you lie to me about it.”

That clearly wasn’t what Dimitri was expecting to hear. His head comes up again, his brows furrowed.

“What would you have me do, Felix? I’m a king. I’m supposed to lead my people, not… not…” Dimitri doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to.

The lying isn’t about hiding from Felix, not really. Dimitri can’t admit it to himself. Felix sighs, pressing his hand to his face. Wondering again how he is managing to stay so calm about this, because he really is angry with Dimitri. It just seems… less important, right now.

“You need to accept your limitations,” Felix says. “I can’t make you do that. Sometimes you’re sick, sometimes you’re well. It’s not going away.”

Dimitri’s face does something complicated. Felix can see the thoughts that flash through his mind, Dimitri’s ambitions at war with the reality of his situation. What he eventually says is, “What do you want me to do, Felix?”

If that’s the most Felix can get from him at the moment, fine. Felix will play this game. “No more lying. No more concealing. If I ask you how you are, you tell me. I’m not an idiot, Dimitri.”

“I know you’re not. I apologise if I have ever made you feel that way. I just… you deserve-”

“No more of that, either,” Felix cuts in. “I’ve had enough of it.”

Dimitri is quiet for a long moment. He studies his hands, picking at his nails. “I just… I want to make this work, Felix. I want to be what you want. But I…”

Felix’s heart twists. “I want this to work too,” he admits. Not just to Dimitri, but to himself. “I don’t… I’m not…” Felix takes a breath. Shifts in his seat, but he finds the words he needs to say, despite the discomfort. “I’m not good at this. At the… relationship… thing. I want this to work. I’m not angry at you because you’re unwell. I’m angry when you try to hide it from me.” But that isn’t all of it, not by any measure. “I hate that you won’t do anything about it.”

Dimitri considers this. Speaks, as though the words are being pulled from him, “You used to hate me for it.”

“I know. I was…” He makes a noise of frustration. “I didn’t understand it. Maybe I never will, but I’m trying.”

Dimitri nods. Is quiet for a moment, then says, “I don’t know what else to do with myself. There’s so much for me to do all the time, but I don’t know how…”

“We’ll find a way,” Felix says. Then, his face flushing, “Together.”

Dimitri looks at him. For the first time in days, Dimitri smiles.

- - -

Dedue’s reply is a long time coming.

It’s over a month later when Felix receives his letter, accompanied by a small package. He opens the letter first. It is full of careful, straightforward observations, meticulously written out. Felix can feel his eyebrows shoot up. No wonder Dedue has taken so long.

Dimitri is at his best when he is sleeping regularly, Dedue writes, which Felix already knows.

New to him, however, is the ratios in Dedue’s head, all of which have an effect on Dimitri’s well-being. The amount of time Dimitri spends indoors versus outdoors. The amount of exercise he takes, both daily and throughout the week. The amount of hours he socialises, and the amount of hours he works. It is not a precise science, but Felix stares at the flood of information, carefully catalogued in Dedue’s mind. Revealed only when specifically asked, but in such a quantity that Felix has no idea how Dedue has managed to keep it to himself until now.

Dimitri is soothed by music, but does not seek it out.

Dimitri withdraws when he is unhappy, but social contact does assist him through these times.

Dimitri will overwork himself unless regularly reminded to take breaks.

It makes sense, in an odd way. Dedue used to track Dimitri’s movements at all times. Still, Felix could not give such a detailed account of his own movements, let alone someone else’s. Through long years of study, Dedue seems to know how to balance Dimitri best, no matter what state he is in.

It makes Felix feel… well, a little discomfited, but it cannot be helped. He frowns, taking in the final part of Dedue’s message.

I have had some success in cultivating a flower from Duscur. It is an old remedy, traditionally used to treat imbalances. It works best when made into a tea. If it proves useful, I will cultivate more.

“Huh,” Felix says.

He brews some that afternoon and takes it to Dimitri’s office. Shows Dimitri that part of Dedue’s letter (the unsettlingly intimate knowledge of Dimitri’s every breath he keeps folded over), and though he sees Dimitri’s frown, Dimitri agrees to try it.

It smells pungent, even from where Felix is standing. This is one of the rare times Dimitri’s lack of taste is useful, because he shrugs and downs it in one go. Continues to drink a glass every day without complaint.

It doesn’t take effect immediately. But one morning a few weeks later he rolls over in bed, his blue eye wide. Surprise and a flicker of hope.

“Everything is… quieter this morning,” he says.

“The voices?” Felix asks.

Dimitri’s mouth tightens, as it often does when Felix brings them up so directly, but he nods. Felix writes to Dedue, asking for more.

That is not the only change, either. Dimitri and Felix sit down, king to duke, and have a raging argument about the assignation of the king’s duties. About the hours the king should work, if and when he should take days off, and how many of those useless reports need his direct attention in the first place.

“You’re the king, you don’t need to be doing grunt work.”

“I do not wish to be like my forebears. If we are to move forward, I must pay attention, even to things that seem small.”

It’s Mercedes who comes up with a solution that pleases them both. They’re at dinner, both still prickly after their latest match but trying not to act like it on one of the rare occasions Mercedes is with them. In typical Mercedes fashion she sees through it immediately, and when the problem is put to her, she tips her head to the side.

“Why not hire more assistance? I agree that Dimitri works too hard, but things do need to be done. And you can’t spend all day fending people off him, Felix.”

Dimitri wants one assistant, Felix wants three, so they settle on two. Dimitri picks a clever young man, reminiscent of Ashe in both his earnestness and his dedication to his work. Felix goes the other way and picks the surliest person he can find, a spectacularly sharp-tongued woman of middle age whose glare alone sends even the toughest of soldiers in the other direction. Between the two of them, Dimitri’s workload is cut near in half.

“I told you,” Felix tells him, feeling particularly smug as Dimitri comes in the door a full three hours earlier than he normally would, looking very surprised to find himself there. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“You were right, you were right,” Dimitri concedes. He’s still not sleeping much, but he’s noticeably brighter now he’s under less pressure.

When she next catches him alone, Mercedes tells Felix, “You two make a great team, you know.”

And the thing is… she’s right. Dimitri is still unwell, but he’s improving. It’s the worst episode he’s had in a long time, but he’s listening. Making changes. Accepting, in small and incremental ways, that he has to actually do something about his illness. He’s finally starting to admit what Felix has known for a long time - that it can’t be ignored, and isn’t going to go away.

Felix might have gotten him started, but he’s seen Dimitri working. Dimitri still doesn’t like to talk about it, flinches when Felix asks him about the voices in his head, but he’s researching. He spends time in the library, flipping through books on medicine. Sends letters off to doctors and healers of all kinds, and though Felix doesn’t read them he can guess their contents. Dimitri finds it hard to put his own needs first – will probably always find it hard - but with his new assistants in place Dimitri gives himself more time. Spends more time riding Duchess, more time with his friends, more time reading and training and taking in fresh air. Still working hard, but giving himself time to recover too.

Things between them are good. Even though Dimitri is still unwell, he doesn’t try so hard to conceal it. Rests more, takes time alone when he needs to, removes himself without the need for excuses when he has one of his angry fits. So when they are together, things are easier. And even though Dimitri is less affectionate, as he always is when he is unwell, Felix… Felix knows Dimitri loves him. Doesn’t know why he ever needed to ask. That is the one thing between them that is stable, even when Dimitri is not. He can rant and rave and cry and glower, but underneath it all, Felix knows Dimitri loves him.

Felix may never understand how Dimitri’s mind works, not really, but he can live with it. Because Dimitri is committed to taking better care of himself now. Because Felix doesn’t want to lose him, and the thought of it happening shook him in ways hard to describe. Because Dimitri is unwell and nothing Felix ever does is going to fix it, and after all is said and done he still might lose Dimitri, but he wants to be with him anyway. Because Felix can handle him, even at his worst.

Because Felix… because Felix loves him. He loves him.

Felix hides for a few days after that realisation. Keeps to his own room, trying to put his head back together. He loves the boar king. How did his life come to this? Why did he have to pick Dimitri of all people? How is this even going to work in the long-term, because Dimitri is the king? This isn’t what he set out to do when he and Dimitri fell into bed together, but if he’d known, would he have done things differently?

Dimitri doesn’t let him hide long. Knocks on the door, and Felix opens it to find Dimitri’s folded arms and tense jaw.

“Felix, what’s going on with you?” Dimitri asks.

“Nothing,” is Felix’s immediate reply, but Dimitri gives him a long look. Pushes past Felix into his room, and sits down on his bed.

“I’m trying my best to be honest with you, Felix,” Dimitri says. “I do not think it unfair to ask that you also be honest with me.”

Felix regrets setting that rule. Deeply. He can hardly make a hypocrite of himself now.

He sighs, slumping down onto his bed beside Dimitri. It’s small, only a single. He bumps his leg into Dimitri’s. Much as Dimitri acts like he’s disappointed in him, Felix knows how he worries. Worries, all the time, that Felix is leaving him. It’s not entirely paranoid, Felix supposes. Felix has kept Dimitri at a distance for a long time.

“I just… needed some time to think,” Felix says. He doesn’t want to say more. Presses up against Dimitri’s side and drops his head to his shoulder, reassuring him without having to say the words.

Dimitri hums. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Felix shakes his head.

“Felix,” comes the usual frustrated sigh. Which is fair, Felix supposes, because Felix makes Dimitri talk about things he doesn’t want to talk about often enough.

He looks around his little chamber. His calendar, his desk, his little bed. He’s barely even in here anymore.

“I guess I’ve been… well, I’ve been wondering. If I should just give this room up.” Felix can feel Dimitri’s gaze on him, and fights down the impulse to tell him to knock it off. “I spend more time in yours, anyway. It makes sense.”

“It does,” Dimitri says slowly. “And… it would make me happy, Felix, do not doubt that. But I would not ask you to give up your private space if you do not wish to.”

Dimitri, always doubting himself. Always so worried that he is pushing something onto Felix that Felix doesn’t want, even when Felix is the one to suggest it.

“I think it’s time,” Felix says, suddenly decisive in the face of Dimitri’s doubt, and gets to his feet to pack. He’s yanking things out of his desk when Dimitri’s hand stops him. Turns him around, so Dimitri can kiss him.

Felix leans into it, wrapping his arms around Dimitri’s waist. Feeling the juts of Dimitri’s lower spine. Leaning into his warmth and the familiar smell of him, the gentle press of Dimitri’s lips on his. Always more careful with his strength in moments like this than Felix needs him to be – at least, that is what Felix used to think. Now it occurs to him that Dimitri kisses so softly, not because he worries over his strength, but because that is simply how Dimitri likes to be kissed.

Dimitri is taller than him, broader than him. Dimitri is, generally speaking, a lot to deal with. But Felix thinks he can handle it now.

“Let me help you with your things,” Dimitri says when they part, and Felix nods.

- - -

“So, when’s the wedding?” Sylvain teases the next time Felix sees him.

Felix stops dead, turns on his heel and stalks off in the other direction. Sylvain follows him, of course he does, laughing and apologising in equal measure.

“You’re always sticking your nose into other peoples’ business,” Felix says when it becomes clear Sylvain is going to follow him around until Felix speaks to him.

“All right, all right. No need to be so touchy,” Sylvain says. His hands are raised in a gesture of surrender. Annoyingly, despite Felix’s brisk pace, Sylvain’s long legs easily match him. “Hey, do you want to come train with me?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Felix.”

Felix allows himself to be persuaded, but only reluctantly. Once Sylvain shuts his mouth he’s good company, and though he never dedicates as much time to his training as he should, he still manages to pull something new out of his hat every now and again.

“The war’s long over, there’s no need to work so hard,” Sylvain says when Felix tells him just that. Sylvain is breathing much harder than Felix.

“You never know what’s going to happen. I’m going to keep honing my skills and challenging myself. I suggest you do the same,” Felix tells him.

Sylvain snorts. “I’d think Dimitri is enough challenge for you. Then again, all your hard work keeps you in very good shape. Bet he loves that.” He finishes that sentence with a saucy wink.

Once Felix has thoroughly beaten Sylvain into the dirt, he stalks off with his head held high, forcibly pushing away the lingering tendrils of embarrassment. Sylvain is still laughing, the reprobate.

Later, though, Felix can’t help but think that Sylvain is right. Not about the childish innuendos, but about the challenge. Felix has always liked to be challenged. It makes sense, in a way, that he’d seek that in a romantic relationship too.

Felix has had enough revelations about his life to last him for the next year or so. He shoves the thought aside and goes about his work for the day. Returns to his and Dimitri’s chambers in the evening to find Dimitri already there, head bent over a sketchbook.

It’s a new hobby of Dimitri’s. He won’t show Felix any of his attempts yet, but he keeps at it nonetheless. Holds his pencil with great care and concentration lest he break it, his hand steady as he draws lines over the paper. One of the healers Dimitri is in correspondence with told him meditative hobbies might be of use in keeping him steady, and Dimitri has thrown himself into it.

Dimitri looks up after Felix has taken off his boots and cloak. “Did you see Sylvain this morning?”

“Yes,” Felix grunts. “Why?”

Dimitri’s lip quirks. “He kept laughing about something. I thought it might be to do with you.”

“I’ll kill him.” Not a particularly convincing threat – Felix has said it many times over the years.

“He does enjoy teasing you.” Dimitri’s lip curls up even more, threatening to turn into a full-blown smile.

“Don’t you start.” Felix doesn’t even know what the joke is about – surely Sylvain can’t still be laughing at his weak attempt as innuendo – but Felix doesn’t like it.

“He’s just happy for us,” Dimitri says. It takes some of the wind out of Felix’s sails.

“I wish he’d be less childish about it.”

“Don’t we all,” Dimitri says, then tugs Felix in close when Felix next passes him by.

- - -

Felix can’t put off his business in his own duchy forever. Though he was able to delegate his tasks temporarily while Dimitri was in crisis and the threat to his territory was quashed, there are still some things that require Duke Fraldarius’ personal attention.

This time, though, he is better prepared. He doesn’t tell Dimitri this, but he writes to Dedue to coordinate his next visit, so that Dimitri isn’t left to his own devices for too long. Dimitri is much better, but he is not exactly well yet. The Duscur tea has quietened the voices, but it has not stopped them, and Dimitri still struggles to sleep. He is taking responsibility for his sickness, but when he gets truly unwell, there is only so much he can do without assistance.

So, Dedue. Dedue arrives a week after Felix leaves, and will stay in Fhirdiad until Felix’s return. Dedue also brings more of the tea, and some additional Duscur plants he has cultivated in the meantime whose medicinal properties may be of assistance to Dimitri.

Felix doesn’t trust Dimitri alone yet. He doesn’t like to think of himself as the worrying type, but the stories he heard in his youth linger in his mind, as does the way Dimitri cried. It is not a fanciful extrapolation to imagine the harm Dimitri might do himself in a fit of despair, not with the severity of his latest episode fresh in Felix’s mind. He’ll be… well, more comfortable knowing that Dedue is with Dimitri, because Dedue knows Dimitri better even than Felix does.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away,” Felix says, as he always does.

Dimitri quirks a smile at him. He’s wearing green today, which isn’t one of his usual colours, but Felix thinks it suits him. His tunic shows off the breadth of his shoulders, and brings out the goldenness of his hair.

Felix doesn’t know what is says that he’s started noticing these details, but there it is.

“I would be loathe to disappoint you, Felix.”

“I’m expecting to hear from you often.”

“I know.”

“And be honest with me.”

“I know, Felix, you need not worry so.”

“I’m not worrying,” Felix snaps, though when he kisses Dimitri goodbye he lingers longer than normal.

The Fraldarius house is as huge and empty as ever. Felix makes his way down the familiar halls to his office. Most of the house is shut up, the furniture covered by huge white sheets, the staff reduced to only the most basic necessities. These days, it’s Dimitri’s rooms in Fhirdiad that feel the most like home.

Business is slow, and boring. Felix glares some local upstarts into submission, arbitrates some disagreements, handles the various complaints of the local nobility with as much patience as he can muster (which admittedly is not very much). He inspects the Fraldarius soldiers, issues order to update their equipment, because while the soldiers themselves are in better shape now their equipment is degrading. He collapses into bed at night with a head full of figures and numbers, then gets up to do it all again the next day.

Dimitri’s letter are regular. In accordance with their agreement, they are also more honest. Dimitri tells Felix that he misses him, is a little melancholy by consequence, but Dedue’s arrival has bolstered his spirits. Felix writes in turn that he is looking forward to his return. Cringes a little, but writes that he misses Dimitri too, then seals the letter before he can second guess it.

Everyone knows they’re courting these days, even within his own duchy. Felix isn’t sure when the news got out, or who started it (if it was Sylvain, Felix will really kill him), but it seems to be accepted public knowledge. Now people have stopped giggling, Felix finds himself the target of those who would try to influence the king through him. That is a challenge he can meet with great relish, and many a noble storms out of his office whenever they’re stupid enough to try it.

Felix still receives meaningful looks from his staff whenever a letter comes from the king, but as long as nobody is giggling, Felix can live with that.

His business keeps him in the duchy for longer than he intends, and so when the time comes to ride back he rides hard, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face and the wind on his skin.

Dimitri greets him with a smile and a kiss. The black rings under his eyes are pronounced, and he still has that weight about his shoulders from his last episode that he has yet to shake. Felix’s chest warms at the sight of him all the same.

- - -

Before Dedue heads back to Garreg Mach, the weather is so fine that Dimitri suggests a picnic.

“Do you remember our old romps?” Dimitri says to Felix as they get ready for their outing. “You, me, Ingrid and Sylvain. Those were happy days.”

And Glenn. Dimitri doesn’t say it. Neither does Felix.

“Remember the time you and Sylvain dared each other to see who could climb the highest tree?” Felix says. “And you -”

“-and I fell out and bruised my tailbone and had a limp for three weeks. I cannot believe you are still laughing at me about that,” Dimitri says.

“If only your people could have seen it, Your Majesty. Or heard you shriek as you fell. Like a cat thrown into water.”

“I did not – oh stop laughing, Felix.”

They all ride out together, picnic baskets slung from their saddles. Dimitri insists on riding Duchess, and Mercedes insists that the glassware go in someone else’s basket. Felix thinks she fusses too much, but he can see the practicality in it. He’d also prefer for Dimitri not to lose his other eye solely because he likes feisty horses.

It is so rare these days for all of them to be together like this. Felix, Dimitri, Dedue, Ingrid, Sylvain, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes, all in one place. It is even rarer that Dimitri is the one to suggest a gathering, the one to reach out to his friends. Felix is not sure how Annette got here so quickly, nor how Ingrid was able to set aside her duties for a full day. Felix knows every one of their friends has dropped their own lives to attend, simply because Dimitri asked.

It used to infuriate Felix, how much they all love him. He can hardly blame them now, with his own soft spot for Dimitri being a mile wide.

“Over here!” Sylvain calls. “This looks like a good spot.”

They lay everything out in a clearing at the top of a hill. It is basked in sunlight, and affords a beautiful view of the farmland surrounding Fhirdiad. Felix lays out blankets while Dimitri, Dedue and Ingrid handle the horses. Mercedes and Annette lay out the food, Annette singing an excited little song about eating all the while. Ashe hovers over them, helping only in the sense that he is standing up rather than lounging in the grass like Sylvain.

Felix kicks Sylvain on his way past, just because he can.

He sits beside Dimitri when they settle down to eat. Sylvain makes a teasing remark about them being a ‘pair of lovebirds’ and Dimitri prevents Felix from shoving a fork into Sylvain’s thigh, but on the whole it is a peaceable occasion. They talk, and laugh, and eat until their bellies are full to bursting. Dedue’s eyes meet Felix’s across the blanket, and an unexpected moment of understanding passes between them.

Felix watches Dimitri. The way the sun plays off his hair, the strength of his profile and the sharpness of his jaw. He remembers Dimitri as a boy, so much softer, so much simpler. Remembers Dimitri when he was a wild animal, savage and stinking of death, beyond reason or salvation. Takes in Dimitri as he is now, transformed again. Not entirely whole, never entirely hale, but forging a way forward both for his kingdom and for himself. Living on, though the damage within him will never heal, the sickness in his mind never truly go away.

They take a walk once they have eaten. Felix lingers behind the group, and Dimitri falls back, waiting for him. He looks surprised when Felix reaches for his hand, because this is not something they usually do. Felix holds it in his own as he walks, warm and familiar, pushing his embarrassment aside. Sylvain can tease all he likes – probably will, if he catches sight of them – but Felix wants this. Is allowed to want this.

“Felix-”

“Shut up,” Felix says. Dimitri doesn’t take it personally. Smiles as though he understands some sort of secret, and walks on.

When the sun starts to go down they head back for the castle, tired but happy. For once, Dimitri falls asleep before Felix, his breathing slow and steady, face soft in sleep. And Felix loves him. Cannot imagine lying beside anyone else like this, so close, so easy.

His mind flashes back to Sylvain’s teasing about a wedding. Maybe, maybe, it wouldn’t be the stupidest idea after all.

- - -

On Dimitri’s next tour of the kingdom, Felix goes with him.

Felix isn’t thrilled about the timing. Dimitri wants to do a tour of the entire continent, and Felix wants him to stay home and keep working on his health. Dimitri is excited by his progress, but Felix is ever a realist. Disturbance of routine is one of the things Dedue noted as a risk to Dimitri’s wellbeing, and Dimitri’s own contacts seem to back that up.

“I’m sleeping much better now,” Dimitri says. “Truly, you worry too much. I feel perfectly well.”

He’s looking better too, his eye bright and alert, though Felix doesn’t say as much. “You say that now. You weren’t a week ago. I know you – given half an opportunity you’ll work yourself into a state again.”

Dimitri’s smile dampens, but Felix refuses to feel guilty. “I must attend my duties too. It has been too long since I met with the people. Fódlan is still recovering, and I -”

“You’re doing enough.”

“Felix.”

Felix feels himself on the edge of an argument. Dimitri is so stubborn – but then, Felix isn’t much better. He breathes a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re not doing the whole continent. And I’m coming with you.”

Dimitri’s face does something interesting, caught between the desire to keep arguing and joy that Felix is going too. He’s far too obvious with his affections. Felix breaks eye contact and stares over at the wall, ignoring the way his face feels oddly warm all of a sudden.

“All right,” Dimitri concedes.

They travel through towns and villages, greeting the populace, attending meetings and social functions and town halls. Felix falls back with the rest of the procession whenever they ride through a town. Leaves Dimitri out in front, golden and strong, waving as the people throw flowers at his horse’s feet.

Felix knows Dimitri misses Duchess. She is too flighty for journeys like this, too likely to startle when the children flock around Dimitri’s feet, reaching out their tiny hands to touch his cloak as he rides by. It never fails to surprise Dimitri. He, in turn, never fails to delight the crowds as he pulls sweets from his pockets, pressing them into small fingers.

They visit one town, then the next, then the next, all blurring together in an endless stream of speeches and cheering. Tonight, though, they have some reprieve. They are camping tonight. Sitting by the fire, the stars bright and clear overhead.

“You should ride alongside me,” Dimitri tells Felix.

 “I do.” Felix spends all day riding beside Dimitri. He only pulls back when they are before the crowds.

“You know what I mean.”

Felix doesn’t like crowds, and he likes being the centre of attention even less. Dimitri is giving him a look, though, and he so rarely asks Felix for anything. “Fine.”

It’s not completely terrible. In the next town the children flock them both, though they are warier of Felix. He does not smile and bend over the saddle to speak with them as Dimitri does. One little girl gawks at Felix – him, specifically, even while the other children cluster around Dimitri - until he snatches a flower mid-air and gives it to her, since he has no sweets. She cradles it to her chest and Dimitri looks fond and amused in equal measure. Felix scowls at him and urges his horse faster.

It never gets comfortable, but Felix relaxes when he realises that even when riding at the front, most people focus on Dimitri anyway. They are drawn to him like moths to flame. Felix’s proximity serves to deter those who would push too far, and he gives more than one cold look to intrusive mayors and enterprising young ladies hoping for the king’s attention, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.

Dimitri likes having Felix there, which is something. Particularly when his good mood flags, as Felix knew it would, and Dimitri stops sleeping again. He knows better than to try and hide it from Felix now, but he is standoffish, both frustrated and ashamed as he realises Felix was right.

Felix doesn’t rub it in his face. He knows he has a reputation for pointed remarks, but that’s only when people refuse to see the truth about themselves. Since Dimitri already knows, any comment on Felix’s part would be counterproductive. The most he gives Dimitri is a meaningful look as he bends over their itinerary and starts making changes.

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri says, not quite looking him in the eye. He has a defeated look about him, which isn’t a good sign.

Felix claps Dimitri on the shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

Dimitri snorts in his usual self-deprecating way. “If only that were true. I am sorry, truly, that you must do this. It is not fair for you to take responsibility for my well-being. You should not have to play at being my nurse maid.”

“Stop that. You know I’m sick of you talking like that,” Felix says, pointed.

Dimitri presses his face into his hands. More shame, more regret. “I know. Forgive me.”

Felix huffs out a breath. Sets down his quill, and fixes Dimitri with a glare. “Whatever you’re thinking, cut it out. It was a mistake to come so soon, but we’re here, so learn from it. Besides, since when have you been able to make me do something I didn’t want to? I’m not here out of pity, Dimitri.”

Quiet. Then, “I just wish I could do for you what you do for me. That is all.”

There are so many things Felix could say. None of them feel like the right ones. “This isn’t an exchange. You don’t owe me anything.”

“If only that were true, Felix.”

Felix takes in a sharp breath, ready to argue. Looks at Dimitri, at his exhaustion and the familiar weight of melancholy settling over him. The despair always lurking at the back of Dimitri’s mind, ready to swallow him whole.

“Promise me something,” Felix says, the words bursting out of him.

“Anything.”

Felix closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dimitri.”

He hears Dimitri shift in place. “Tell me what you wish, then.”

For the hundredth time, Felix wishes he were better at this. He clears his throat, but words don’t come. He taps his feet, leans against the table. He can hear his heart hammering in his ears.

“Promise me…” Felix says, then trails off again. Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll look after yourself, even when I’m not there. Promise me you won’t be like that mad woman from the stories, and you won’t listen even if the voices tell you to die.

“Felix,” Dimitri says, low and quiet. “I like to think I can read you well enough, but I cannot always read your mind. Please, tell me. You can tell me anything.”

“Just… promise me. You won’t do anything to…” Felix wishes Dimitri would fill in the gaps. Wishes he didn’t have to say these words, and never had to think them in the first place. “Promise me you won’t… hurt yourself.”

When he dares a look at Dimitri’s face, he sees shock written across it. Shock, sadness, and a tinge of shame. No confusion. Felix’s stomach clenches. Dimitri knows what he means.

Dimitri opens his mouth. Pauses. “I promise I will try.”

It is the most Felix can expect. He asked for no empty promises, and he knows this is the best Dimitri can offer him. Knows, logically, that not even Dimitri can predict what he will do when he is in the throes of madness. Knows, logically, that Dimitri cannot promise.

Felix nods his head, stiff. “All right, then.” Turns to leave.

Dimitri catches him. Pulls him to his chest, and Felix resists only for a moment before he lets Dimitri close his arms around him. Lets Dimitri press his cheek to the side of Felix’s head and sway back and forth, as though they are dancing.

“Felix,” Dimitri murmurs. Nothing else. There is nothing more that needs to be said.

- - -

Under Felix’s modified schedule, they return to Fhirdiad within two weeks.

Dimitri doesn’t improve immediately, which is to be expected. This time, though, he seems to be taking recovery seriously. He is as moody and distant as ever, but he manages his time more carefully. Sees his friends, even when he doesn’t feel like it. Goes out riding with Duchess, even when he hates the sight of the sun. Lets himself rest when he needs to, rather than adding extra items to his work list in stubborn denial of his limitations. More often than not Dimitri finishes work before Felix does, and can be found reading in his armchair or sketching something, quiet and focused. He takes the Duscur tea faithfully. Continues trying an endless rotation of other medicines, even when they make him sick or sleepy, and slowly adds the effective ones to his daily routine.

Because Dimitri is Dimitri, he starts working too hard the instant he feels better again, but he pulls it back when Felix reminds him.

“I wish you would not chide me so,” Dimitri complains, but at least he listens. Reschedules some of his meetings for the next day so that he can go to bed at a reasonable hour.

Felix cannot escape the feeling of being a nagging wife. It is not as horrifying as it once would have been. Dimitri needs periodic reminders to take care of himself, but he is doing most of the work these days. And Dimitri spends half his time reminding Felix of events, birthdays and upcoming celebrations to which Felix has paid no mind and is not otherwise prepared for, so in that sense they balance each other out.

“Thank you for the scarf, Felix!” Mercedes says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s so thoughtful of you. I haven’t been able to find Dimitri to thank him too. Could you pass it along?”

Felix nods, even though he has no idea what she’s talking about - he’s pretty sure it’s not her birthday – but he’s getting used to these kinds of interactions. Dimitri has taken to writing Felix’s name alongside his on cards.

They make a good team, Mercedes said to him once. Sylvain hasn’t made any jokes about wedding bells lately, but the thought’s stuck in Felix’s head all the same. Felix is well aware of Dimitri’s flaws, but he’s still here. And he’d never admit it aloud, but making their courtship official has ended up much better than he anticipated. They fight less. They compromise more. Dimitri is taking responsibility for his illness, and Felix isn’t so angry all the time. So what if they made it… even more official?

Dimitri loves him. Surely, if Felix asked, Dimitri would say yes.

Goddess, when did Felix become such a sap? Even though no one could possibly know what he’s thinking, he levels a glare at the universe in general and stomps off to the training yards.

- - -

The thought keeps prodding at Felix at inopportune moments. Dimitri doesn’t even have to be doing anything interesting - he can be scratching his nose or covering a yawn with his hand and the question pops into Felix’s mind.

Felix has never thought much about marriage. Then again, Felix never thought much about love either, and look where that’s gotten him.

If Dimitri notices Felix acting strangely, he doesn’t say anything. He goes about the rhythm of his life, decidedly better at the moment, though Felix isn’t expecting it to last indefinitely. Dimitri could have another episode at any time. Still, it’s good to see Dimitri take such pleasure in life. He keeps dragging Felix onto the balcony at sundown just to watch the sunset, as if he hasn’t seen it happen a thousand times before.

He rides Duchess a lot. The weather is warm and sunny, and it seems to be doing him good. His skin is far more tanned than usual, and every day he comes back with more tales of Duchess’ antics. She’s a singularly spirited and ill-tempered horse, so there are plenty of stories to tell.

On one particularly pleasant day, Felix goes out to meet Dimitri as he returns from his ride. Strictly speaking he’s come here to give the king a piece of his mind about a new policy no one told him about, but upon seeing him, the anger fades away. Felix leans against a tree and watches Dimitri’s approach.

Duchess prances, her coat a gleaming black, as proud and unpredictable as ever. Dimitri sits atop her, blond hair radiant in the sun and hands steady on her reins, ready to react to whatever she throws at him next. He looks so happy. Calm and content, in a way that is so rare to see.

“Felix!” Dimitri calls when he is within range. His smile is so bright it makes Felix’s heart thud in his chest.

Dimitri dismounts when he reaches him so that they can walk back to the stable together. He starts rambling about Duchess’ latest trick, how she threw him off in a fit of temper then came sidling back, haughty but penitent. Dimitri looks positively delighted, and he doesn’t appear injured, so Felix just lets him talk.

Felix loves him.

“Are you all right?” Dimitri asks. He is slightly breathless, his cheeks pink with colour after his ride, and Felix can’t quite look at him.

“Fine,” Felix says.

“Oh, look,” Dimitri says. He points upwards, to the flower buds blooming over their heads.

It occurs to Felix with a sudden, striking clarity that now would be the perfect moment to propose. Here in this laneway with the flowers overhead, on a beautiful sunny day while Dimitri is well and Felix is ready.

Except he isn’t ready. He hasn’t planned anything to say. Doesn’t have a ring, but does have company in the form of Duchess, who is swishing her tail impatiently and liable to make a break for it at any moment if her history is anything to go by. Tomorrow, Felix rides back to his duchy, and only this morning Dimitri was sullen and snippy with him because he has to go. Felix hasn’t even told Dimitri he loves him yet. Just thinks it, in the privacy of his mind.

Felix’s heart is beating faster and faster. His palms are sweating, and the words are on the tip of his tongue. He can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t say it. Has to, because if he doesn’t say it now he’ll burst out of his skin. If he waits, there won’t be another moment for months to come. Now is the perfect time, and Felix has always prided himself on not being the kind of man who hesitates, but his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Felix?” Dimitri says.

Felix looks at him, and he can see the way Dimitri’s eyebrows shoot up, even with Dimitri’s eye patch half in the way. Seeing Dimitri’s face, even if it is drawn up in concern, lets Felix breathe again. No matter what happens, yes or no, Dimitri would never laugh at him for this.

This is Dimitri. Just Dimitri.

Felix takes a slow, steadying breath. And asks.

- - -

Sylvain is entirely too self-congratulatory about the whole thing.

“I knew it! You just needed a push in the right direction, is all,” he says, then yelps when Felix gets him in the forehead with a well-timed toss of a boiled potato.

“Don’t crow too loudly. You had nothing to do with it,” Felix snaps. It’s not entirely true, but he refuses to let Sylvain think his teasing had any effect.

“You’d better name me in your speech at the wedding,” Sylvain says, unperturbed as he wipes bits of potato off his face.

“You’re not invited.”

Dimitri rumbles a laugh beside Felix. Turns his head so he can smile at him, his eye crinkling. His thigh is warm and solid beside Felix’s. Even in the din of the hall – and really, Felix wasn’t expecting so many people to celebrate their engagement with such rowdy enthusiasm – Felix can hear Dimitri’s exhalation of breath. Tired, Felix thinks. So is he.

When they stand, it’s to cheers and whistles. Felix ignores them all, striding out of the hall. Dimitri falls into step beside him as they make their way up to their chambers.

Felix is going to need to keep an eye on Dimitri. Dimitri’s already planning things for the wedding, and Felix doesn’t want him to overwork himself. Why Dimitri is letting people talk at him about flower arrangements is anyone’s guess, because Dimitri doesn’t know any more about them than Felix does. He seems oddly fixated on being involved in the planning, though, where Felix is quite happy to hand the matter over to someone else and simply show up at the appointed time.

It seems it’s Felix’s fate to keep Dimitri in line. He thinks, though, as he lies awake that night and watches the familiar lines of Dimitri’s sleeping face, feels his warmth radiating through the sheets and the familiar smell of Dimitri all around him, that there are far worse fates than his.