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Mistakes were made, but he isn’t sure if it was the second or third cup of cheap rum. Or maybe it was the company of the ladies he met at the inn. The only thing thicker than their cheap makeup was their cheaper perfume. He catches a whiff of himself while he trudges up the stairs to the dorms and wonders if it would be worth it to slink to the baths first. Sylvain reaches the top of the stairs, then turns to look back down the steps. Long, long steps. The sudden spinning in his head is all the convincing he needs to forget the bath for now.
Down the hall he goes, spurred on by the desire to not get caught in the hallway by his classmates at this hour. Again. It’s dark, save for the scant moonlight and, predictably, quiet. Sylvain makes sure to watch his steps, avoiding the spots in the floorboard he knows creak the most.
He’s all the way past Felix’s door before he starts congratulating himself. He is almost to his own room before a loud sound forces him to stop dead in his tracks.
“Shit,” he squeaks in surprise, then clamps a hand over his mouth. He whips his head toward the sound and sees nothing, but feels the beginning pricks of dread all the same. The sound could only have come from one place.
Either something isn’t right or he’s about to puke, but if Lady Seiros is really as merciful as they say, it will be neither. Sylvain stands up straight, and takes careful steps so he can press his ear against Dimitri’s door. He strains to make out any noise, but hears nothing.
Rather, there is a peculiar smell.
Earthy and oddly familiar, even comforting. For some reason, it reminds him of winter in Faerghus.
He feels refreshed. Or maybe he's sobering up. Either way, the worry from moments ago begins to dissipate. An undeniable longing taking its place.
Without any thought as to why, he reaches for the doorknob, and is pleased to find it unlocked. Sylvain cracks open Dimitri’s door, and invites himself inside.
The lighting is dim, but it’s enough for Sylvain to discover the source of the loud crash from earlier. On the floor there are shards, glinting and sharp. A mirror, he thinks. But more interesting than that is the curled up form of a person on the floor, huddled beneath the window.
“Your Highness? Are you alright?” He closes the door behind him, and walks toward Dimitri, careful not to step on the shards strewn around the floor. “You made a mess,” he jokes, or tries to. Dimitri doesn’t budge. Makes no indication that he hears Sylvain at all.
Sylvain comes to a stop before the lump on the floor. With more clarity than he should have, for how much he drank, he finds himself trying to work out the best way to get his prince to speak.
For now, he couches down and rests his chin in his palm. "Your Highness, a broken mirror is no big deal."
Well, he supposes it might be, but it's not as if their luck could be any worse. Dimitri has never been superstitious though, so he lets it go.
"You shouldn't have come in here."
Sylvain snorts and sits fully, bracing his hands behind him. "I was getting ready for bed and heard a crash," he says, ignoring the comment. He doesn't mention the smell.
It's much stronger now.
"It was nothing," Dimitri mumbles into his arms. He has his face hidden in his knees. It hurts the little place in Sylvain's heart that is still foolish enough to feel.
"Why are you on the floor then?" Sylvain nudges Dimitri with the toe of his boot, hoping to coax the royal groundhog from his hole.
Silence passes between them. Dimitri refuses to budge and Sylvain breathes in deep a few times. That smell is still lingering, and something about it makes him a little melancholy.
“Your Highness, how about we drop out of school and join the opera?”
“Sylvain–”
“Oh, that’s what you’re going to respond to?” Sylvain swallows down a bark of laughter. “I’ll ask Dorothea for lessons.”
But Dimitri doesn’t laugh with him. Well, he doesn’t usually laugh at Sylvain’s antics, but even a scolding would have been better than the lethargic ball in front of him.
He furrows his brows and leans closer, placing a gentle hand on Dimitri’s knee. “Your Highness?”
“There’s something wrong with me.”
He isn’t sure he has the capacity to unpack that, but he can relate. Sylvain frowns, opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Something I can fix with a rudimentary understanding of faith magic?”
“I’m a monster,” Dimitri says, despondent. “You’ll hate me.”
So, no.
Regardless, Sylvain could try for a thousand years and never hate Dimitri, but he doesn’t say this. Instead, he crawls to Dimitri’s side and slings an arm over his shoulders. “Your Highness, we have enough theatrical kids around here. What could be so bad?”
“Blood.”
Even though Dimitri is talking now, Sylvain is no closer to any type of explanation that makes sense. He props his chin on Dimitri’s shoulder, and he gets a whiff of that fresh snow-scent again. Is it coming from Dimitri? If so, he smells incredible. Which is a startling new sort of revelation that he will have to figure out on his own time.
"What do you mean by 'blood'?"
"I need blood to feed," Dimitri explains, finally lifting his head. Though he doesn't meet Sylvain's gaze.
There's a pounding in his chest, and he realizes it's his heart attempting a grand escape. What in the Goddess' name is that supposed to mean?
He moves away from Dimitri, only a little, and pats his chest in an attempt to calm himself down. Although, he isn't sure why he's nervous in the first place. "Can you say that again?"
"Just go, please ?" pleads Dimitri.
He really should listen, just this once.
His limbs feel so heavy. And Dimitri sounds so sad. How could he go?
"What do you mean by 'feed'?"
Again, Dimitri offers only silence. Sylvain takes a deep breath. The scent of home slowly fills his lungs. He reaches for Dimitri, taking his chin in his hand. There's no protest.
Slowly, he turns Dimitri to face him. Their gazes meet, and Sylvain's lips part in shock. Deep and blue, glimmering more than any precious stone he has ever seen. Dimitri's eyes are mesmerizing. Have they always been?
"What did you mean by 'feed'?" he tries again.
"I–ever since the tragedy," Dimitri starts. He looks away, gently taking Sylvain's hand in his own. It's cold. "Food tastes like ash, I hear… Voices. I know it sounds insane."
Sylvain silently agrees, but he can't help but believe it. Dimitri isn't creative enough to make up something like this. What would be the point?
"I need blood," Dimitri continues, "because I've been cursed."
A chill runs down his spine. "How have you been… feeding all this time?"
"Hunting, but lately it's… the voices don't stop."
Sylvain starts to feel dizzy, he takes a steadying breath. He's grateful for Dimitri's scent. It's comforting.
There's a thousand things he wants to ask, but only one question comes out and he doesn't really recall thinking it. "Will you let me help?"
Dimitri looks at him again, eyes still sparkling. "Help?" he asks, confused.
Sylvain wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Feed from me," he says.
Dimitri pulls away, as if burned. “What?”
“Use me, I can help,” he says, sitting back and giving Dimitri space.
“I could never,” sputters Dimitri. “I… I’ll hurt you.”
“No you won’t,” smiles Sylvain, his expression contrasting his nerves. Dimitri smells good, and his eyes are so so pretty. It’s starting to make his head hurt, but he doesn’t want to leave.
“You don’t know that.”
That’s true. Sylvain has no idea what he’s even offering. Isn’t sure of what it is he’s even looking at. What he does know is that Dimitri used to cry big, fat tears when he saw Sylvain’s poorly explained injuries. Dimitri, so small and full of life, promised he would keep Sylvain safe from unknown dangers.
He knows that kid is long gone, but that doesn’t mean Sylvain should leave the man in front of him.
“I do know.” He takes Dimitri's hand in his, pleased when he doesn't pull away immediately.
“Why would you?” Dimitri pins him with a piercing stare. Those bright eyes stare straight through him.
“I have no idea,” Sylvain replies, honestly, “but I want to help.”
It’s the truth, he just can’t explain it. It’s not as if he is a stranger to letting other people use his body. At least, this way, he might help someone who needs it. He tries to move in close again. Dimitri doesn’t rebuff him when he rests a hand on his shoulder. “So let me.”
Sylvain settles with his back against the wall, shoulders digging uncomfortably into the wood. His shirt has been unbuttoned and untucked, the collar open for Dimitri. They settled on his chest. Reasoning it would be the easiest spot to hide any wounds, and less likely to impede Sylvain.
Still, it's awkward as Dimitri moves between Sylvain’s knees. They haven't been so close since they were children and things like intimacy had no real meaning. Again, Sylvain breathes in deep the soothing scent that brought him here. He wonders if Dimitri is even aware of it.
“Should I start?” asks Dimitri, his hands politely braced against the wall. It is a silly gesture, so very like the awkward prince Sylvain knows so well.
“Yeah.” Sylvain swallows, and tilts his chin up. He feels tense. Dimitri’s nose bumps against his collarbone, making a gasp slip from Sylvain’s mouth.
Then he feels it, a feather light touch just below his collarbone. Lips he never imagined would brush his skin.
Instinctively, Sylvain reaches for Dimitri’s waist, squeezing it between his hands. It seems to be the consent Dimitri wants. Before Sylvain can even take another breath, he bites down.
It hurts, he didn’t think it was going to. Maybe it was too optimistic to think someone burying fangs in his skin would be a quick and painless affair. Sylvain can do nothing, but cry out and clamp a hand over his own mouth. His spine goes rigid, taut like a bowstring. Pain blooms from his chest all while his mind screams at him to get away. Except his body won't obey. Sylvain is frozen, too fixated on the pain in his chest.
His vision goes watery, but before a single tear can fall, Dimitri is licking at the bite.
And just like that, it's wonderful.
The tension in his body alleviates, leaving Sylvain as nothing more than a pile of fluff. He brings a hand up to pet Dimitri's hair, noting how silky soft it feels.
Euphoria, that's what this is. More than any random encounter with insignificant people have given him.
Sylvain wakes with a start, light flooding his vision and making what is already a blooming headache worse. He groans, and turns quickly, bringing his pillow over his head as a shield.
The darkness does little to fix his aching. It doesn't stop the flood of images from last night entering his mind either. Dread broils in his stomach, remembering the odd things he did with Dimitri. He swore to himself so long ago that he would never engage with his friends in that way and yet here he is. At least, he still has the decency to feel ashamed of himself.
But, if he were really in Dimitri's room last night, how did he wake up in his own room? He doesn't remember unlocking his door and crawling into bed. If that's the case, then last night was probably just an odd dream.
The revelation is so comforting, Sylvain emerges from the safety of the underside of his pillow with a sigh of relief on his lips. Of course it was a dream! He's not that depraved, he would never take advantage of Dimitri's confession. Besides, that it was so fantastical how could it have been real?
Feeling suddenly refreshed, Sylvain springs up from bed and makes his way to his dresser to prepare for the day. There, he pours fresh water from a pitcher into a bowl to wash his face.
He takes a peek at himself in the mirror as he pats himself dry.
What he sees makes his blood run cold.
There on his chest is a bruise, small but undeniably there .
Mistakes were made.