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“Come on,” Sylvain cooed, “I know you can do it. Just one, teeny compliment? I never knew you to be a sore loser, Felix.”
That, of course, was a blatant lie. Felix was one of the worst losers Sylvain knew—it was why he let Felix win whenever he could get away with it. Well that, and there was something addicting about the gleam of victory in his eyes.
He was digressing. What had started as an easy game of chess had turned into a half-day, winner takes all marathon competition, all because Sylvain accidentally let slip that he’d let Felix take his rook. (It wasn’t like he’d needed it anyway. He’d had a checkmate knight to C7 in three moves. Not that he’d even been planning on following through with that).
Instead he was put through the paces of a ‘best nine out of ten’ rock-paper-scissors, another game of chess that went even quicker than the last, concentration sixty-four which he hadn’t played since middle school, and scattegories—the only other game they could find stuffed between pillows in the Fraldarius summer cottage’s linen closet.
Now, in a living room that smelled of mothballs and low tide, Felix was sitting stock still. Arms crossed, eyes squeezed shut, lips pursed—the whole gamut of Felix suppressed rage as he attempted to accept the fact that he’d just been beaten. Soundly. And since Sylvain was a glutton for punishment and punishing, his side of the bet was sure to induce maximum damage.
If he’d lost, he would’ve had to tell Felix his deepest, darkest secret. A steep gamble—except Sylvain’s confidence was sky high, and the counter-offer was too good to pass up: Felix, being nice for the rest of the day. No barbed words. No slights. No insults disguised as compliments.
“I’m waiting.”
Felix’s eyes slowly cracked open and man, if looks could kill, Sylvain would be halfway to hell by now. Not even moving his lips, teeth clenched so hard they could break:
“This. Was fun.”
“Aw, now that doesn’t sound very sincere, does it Fe? Why don’t you try again? With passion this time.”
Felix uncrossed his arms to slam a fist on the table.
“I swear to Sothis I’m gunna—”
“Ah, ah, ah, Felix. Watch your tone.”
There was something impressive about how fast Felix’s face turned from pink to cherry tomato. (Felix didn’t seem to appreciate it when Sylvain pointed it out.)
“Forget it. I’m leaving.”
“Wait, no, Fe—!”
Sylvain darted up, catching Felix’s wrist before he was out of reach. Not mentioning the fact that this was Felix’s house, and there was nowhere to go except a long, unpaved road and one hundred miles of unlit highway. They’d also taken Sylvain’s car.
“You’re such a spoilsport. Fine—what if I held up my side of the deal, too? That way we’re even.”
Felix yanked his arm from Sylvain’s grasp but didn’t leave, eyeing him warily. “This a trick?”
Sylvain rolled his eyes, plopping down on the ancient loveseat and releasing a small cloud of dust. “No, it’s not a trick. Scouts honor or whatever. Come on.”
Eyes still squinted in suspicion, Felix skulked over, perching on the edge of the neighboring cushion. Silence. Sylvain sighed, long and low.
“Okay. Remember the summer of ‘02 when I couldn’t hang for like, a month, because of that really bad infection I caught?”
Felix blinked, anger melting to surprise. “What, the brain eating thing that put you in the hospital?”
“Hah. Yeah, that.” Sylvain picked at his shorts. “It uh, wasn’t an infection, actually. I mean I did get sick for a little but it wasn’t like.” He gestured to the ceiling fan, unevenly spinning above. “You know.”
“Okay,” Felix said slowly, brow furrowing. “Then what—?”
“It’s a Miklan thing,” Sylvain said—lightly enough, but it brought Felix’s anger back. Sylvain didn't mind it all that much when it wasn’t directed at him.
“What’d the fucker do?”
Sylvain winced at the insult. Even when they came out of his mouth, it hurt.
“Nothing too bad. Just kinda, shoved me down the backyard well.”
Felix jumped to his feet, jaw working, eyes apoplectic. “He. Did. What?”
“I’m fine! I’m fine, see?” He poked at his side for proof. “It was so long ago. I’m over it. Got sick from the cold and cracked a rib, but, you know, I’ve been through worse.”
The ending wink was not well received.
Felix was shaking his head, licking his lips. Muttering. Then abruptly turned back to Sylvain with a look Sylvain hadn’t seen in years—not since Mik had been kicked from the house and Sylvain had showed up at Felix’s parents house at one in the morning, wearing just a t-shirt and shivering from running the five miles there.
He’d been close to hypothermic, he thought. Pushed under the stream of a hot shower, then yanked into Glenn’s old college sweatshirt and pajamas pants that barely reached his ankles. Felix had allowed Sylvain to cling to him under the sheets, talking about whatever came to mind until they’d both passed out, right as dawn was breaking over the horizon.
Things had changed for Sylvain, then, in so many ways. But the most important change was that he realized what it meant to love someone. For real. For keeps.
“I didn’t know,” Felix said bluntly, and Sylvain let out a soft chuckle.
“Yeah, I know. Kinda the point of a deep, dark secret, you know.”
“Well I thought—” he dropped back onto the couch. “I guess I thought I knew everything. In regards to… that.”
“Well, you know everything else,” Sylvain supplied guiltily. “Look, I’m sorry I didn't tell you. I’m not sure why I kept it a secret, I guess I just—it happened, and then it was over, and dad wanted to keep it under wraps and I just did. Thought it was easier that way.”
Felix huffed, a dent forming in his brow.
“You always were good at that. Thinking you deserved less than you did. Like you shouldn’t have any of us there for you. Gods, sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with a total idiot.”
“Wow, Fe. We should get you a gig as an inspirational speaker, really think you’d motivate the masses.”
He glared, and Sylvain put his hands up, rolling his eyes. “Sorry. More insults for me?”
Slumping back against the faded cotton, Felix stared out the picture windows to the hazy horizon beyond. “I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” Sylvian blinked. That’s a new one. “What for?”
“This,” he waved a hand vaguely. “Sucking at losing. Making you share. Not knowing. For Miklan and his everything.” He looked back up at Sylvain, and his eyes had softened. “For being a dick all the time. You’re good, Sylvain. Really… good. My best friend. Can’t imagine this without you. I don’t want to imagine it without you.”
Now Sylvain was the one turning red. “This?”
“Yeah, this. You know—life.”
When Sylvain smiled, it was without its teasing lilt. Genuine, and broad. “Yeah. Me too, Felix.”
They stared for a few seconds longer, Sylvain enjoying the view without worrying about being caught, feeling a tug in his chest knowing that Felix wanted them together, always. And in whichever way he meant it, Sylvain would take it. Finally, predictably, Felix broke the moment, eyes dropping to the threadbare rug.
That was Sylvain’s cue. Leaning forward, he jostled the chessboard still sitting on the coffee table.
“What do you think, Fe? Best two outta three?”
Felix made a face. “Only if you play fair.”
Sylvain raised his eyebrows innocently, already planning on letting Felix win. “Who me? Always.”