#the byleths received dolls of their parents!

[remitoffee]

A very special gift 🥹💕

[nicolewrites]

i’ve never loved (like this)

@tsunnychan​ this is your fault. have some more sylvgrid.

Rating: T+ Genre: Romance,  Friendship Characters: [Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea], Byleth/My Unit, Dorothea Arnault Words: 5,661

"Sylvain is minding his own business in the kitchen, only half reading the paper he needs to have reviewed by tomorrow, when Dorothea decides to ruin his day completely. And by Dorothea, he means the outfit that Dorothea picked out for Ingrid to specifically to ruin his day." / modern au sylgrid

AO3 | FFN

Sylvain is minding his own business in the kitchen, only half reading the paper he needs to have reviewed by tomorrow, when Dorothea decides to ruin his day completely. And by Dorothea, he means the outfit that Dorothea picked out specifically to ruin his day because Ingrid is wearing an icy blue dress that’s all gauzy and flowy and had a deep v-neck that’s the cause of a few problems. It also shows off her legs marvellously that’s the cause of the rest of his problems.

Sylvain nearly drops his coffee when he sees Ingrid and he does let his tablet slip through his grip and clatter on the countertop. 

Ingrid stares at him quizzically as Dorothea emerges from her room behind her, already smirking at Sylvain. Sylvain coughs to himself and tries to refocus on the paper he had been reading, but now that Ingrid is here and she is dressed like that, his brain is completely fried. 

“Ready to go?” Ingrid asks him. 

Sylvain forces a grin that he hopes doesn’t look too lovesick and he turns off his tablet. He takes another sip of coffee before reaching over the counter to place the mug in the sink. He stands off the barstool and pats his pockets for his keys and his phone: both are present. 

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “You look nice,” he compliments. The compliment is definitely directed at Ingrid, but Dorothea gives him a sharp smile as she links one arm with Sylvain and the other with Ingrid, placing herself in between the two childhood friends. “Thank you for noticing,” she says breezily. 

Sylvain is tall enough that he can see over the top of Dorothea’s head to Ingrid, but Ingrid isn’t looking at him as she tugs Dorothea towards the apartment door. Dorothea releases Sylvain and walks with Ingrid as the two girls start to pick out shoes. 

Sylvain is already wearing shoes: pointed brown dress shoes that were way more money than they had any business being, but they look sharp, so he’s not going to complain. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and spins them around his finger as he watches Dorothea practically bully Ingrid into a pair of strappy white pumps before putting on her red heels herself. 

Dorothea darts out the door then, snagging her coat as she goes, leaving Ingrid and Sylvain alone for one moment. Ingrid sighs heavily, staring at the shoes and the four inches of height they give her. Sylvain smiles faintly. Just because she’s dolled up, doesn’t mean that she’s not the same old Ingrid he knows so well. 

“You don’t have to wear them,” he reminds her. 

Ingrid lifts her gaze to him and sweeps it over his outfit critically: tailored grey suit, pointed shoes, and a black dress shirt but no tie. She shakes her head. 

“It’s fine,” she disagrees. “I asked her to help me with this and they do match the dress.”

Sylvain shrugs. He’s about to say something potentially stupid and friendship ruining when Dorothea pokes her head back into the apartment. 

“Coming?”

Ingrid straightens her shoulders. “Yes,” she assures and then she’s disappearing out the door of the apartment, leaving Sylvain to turn the lights off and lock the door. 

The girls are waiting at the elevator for him and Sylvain swoops in to push the down button to call the elevator. Dorothea chats easily and Sylvain responds when she directs the conversation towards him, but he spends most of his time trying not to stare at his best friend. 

- ~ -

The Blaiddyd Manor is all lit up and bustling with life by the time that Sylvain turns into the long driveway. Dorothea coos at the vibrancy of the event while Ingrid answers her questions about the house and the guest list and the occasion. 

Sylvain has barely parked the car and gotten out when there are tiny arms wrapping around his waist and squeezing as a tiny woman squeals in delight. He has time to gently pat the firecracker that is Annette Dominic on the back twice before she’s darting away from him to hug Ingrid and Dorothea and to gush over how pretty they both look. 

Annette is wearing a sparkly gold dress that, combined with her fiery hair, makes her hard to miss, even if she is absolutely tiny. Sylvain watches the girls for a moment with a faint smile before he turns to the man following Annette. 

“Hey Fe,” he greets. 

Felix’s arms are crossed and eyes narrowed, but he is wearing a light grey dress shirt and tailored black suit pants. His hair is also braided back into an updo that was definitely done by his tiny firecracker girlfriend. 

“Sylvain,” he practically grunts. 

Sylvain laughs and pulls Felix into a hug. Felix resists, pulling at Sylvain’s arms for the entire time, but it’s been that way as long as they’ve known each other. Sylvain pats Felix one more time on the back before releasing him. 

Dorothea and Ingrid have managed to curb Annette’s enthusiasm and the three girls have walked around the car to join Sylvain and Felix. Ingrid hugs Felix too, and he does actually almost reciprocate her hug. Dorothea doesn’t try to hug Felix, just flashing him a wide smile that makes him narrow his eyes. Sylvain almost laughs. 

He looks up at the Blaiddyd Manor and grins widely. He slings an arm around Ingrid and one around Felix. “Going to be a weird party this year,” he says brightly. 

Felix makes a face. “I hate this party.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “It won’t be that weird, Sylvain,” she says. 

He shrugs and pulls them both forward. “I dunno. Last time we were all here, Felix was still living with us.”

Annette laughs and grabs her boyfriend’s hand, pulling him free of Sylvain so that the two of them were walking together. “Well, too bad for you,” she teases. 

Ingrid ducks out from under Sylvain’s arm once Felix is gone and he tries not to be too disappointed by it. She darts forward to walk next to Felix and Annette and the three start up a conversation. Dorothea links her arm through his once Ingrid is gone, smirking. 

“Stop that,” he grumbles, still watching Ingrid. 

“Oh absolutely not,” she replies cheerfully. 

“I hate you,” he mutters quietly. 

“No you don’t,” Dorothea sings back playfully. 

Sylvain shuts up and escorts his and Ingrid’s friend to the front of the manner. Ingrid presents all of their invitations to the man at the door and they are waved through into the grand foyer. 

The foyer is different from how it has been in years past. Instead of gaudy decorations dripping from every available surface, the decor is much sparser but just as eye-catching. It’s mostly silver this year, a contrast from the usual ostentatious gold. Sylvain likes it much better. 

“Do you think Dimitri fired his party planner from last year?” he asks his friends. 

Annette giggles. “I think this is probably Byleth’s touch.”

Ingrid nods. “Dimitri mentioned Byleth had been doing a lot to help him out this year.” “That’s his girlfriend right?” Dorothea asks curiously. 

“Yeah,” Felix replies dryly. “They’re disgustingly in love. It’s awful.”

Annette laughs at Felix’s repulsion. “Come on, let’s go say hello to your father. I think I saw him head into the sitting room.” Felix casts Ingrid and Sylvain a ‘save me’ look, but they both just allow Annette to drag her boyfriend away to go find his father. Sylvain is about to ask Dorothea how much she knows about the Blaiddyd Gala since she’s never been before when Dorothea perks up noticeably. 

“I just saw Ferdinand and Hubert arrive,” she says brightly. “I’ll catch up to you two later.”

Dorothea disappears into a crowd of people towards a flash of bright orange hair that’s probably her friend Ferdinand, and then Ingrid and Sylvain are alone. Coherent thoughts and social abilities all immediately vanish and Sylvain nearly chokes on his tongue as he tries to say something not completely stupid. 

“Should we go find Dimitri?” Ingrid suggests when Sylvain’s words fail him for a moment too long. 

He relaxes, smiling, and nods. “Excellent idea. Ballroom do you think?”

“That’s usually where he is,” Ingrid agreed. 

She grabs his hand and pulls him forward. Sylvain blinks stupidly and stays rooted to the spot, keeping them both from actually moving. He stares at their joined hands. Ingrid follows his gaze slowly before raising an eyebrow. 

“So we don’t lose each other?” she offers and Sylvain’s shock tightens into a practiced smile. 

“Right.”

He lets her lead this time and follows her closely as they dart between people to get into the ballroom. The ballroom is even more crowded than the foyer had been and Sylvain recognizes even fewer of the people. The Blaiddyd Gala had been an annual event that Dimitri’s parents had put on every year for as long as Sylvain could remember. After they had died, Dimitri’s uncle Rufus had hosted the event until Dimitri had turned 19. From then on, Dimitri had hired planners and event coordinators and had thrown himself into continuing his parents’ legacy ball, no matter how much he hated actually hosting the event. 

Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix had been going to the gala with their families since they were children, but now they were old enough to receive their own invites. While the party crowd is still mostly politicians and business folk, there has been an undeniable shift in attendance in recent years towards Dimitri’s colleagues and friends instead of his father’s old partners. It is refreshing to see. 

Ingrid spots Dimitri first, at the far side of the ballroom chatting with Holst Goneril, the son of a politician Lambert had known well. There is a rather large crowd around the host, all waiting to pass their regards on to the host and to make useless small talk for a little while. Ingrid’s energy deflates a bit when she sees that Dimitri is so busy, but Sylvain spots a woman nearby that makes him smile. 

He tugs Ingrid along, making sure not to trip her up on her high heels, and approaches Byleth Eisner. Byleth is wearing a silver dress and black heels and her shocking mint green hair is braided in a crown around her head. She’s sipping champagne from a flute and she immediately smiles when she sees Sylvain and Ingrid heading towards her. 

“Hello you two,” Byleth greets. 

Ingrid smiles. “Hello Byleth.” 

The two girls embrace and Sylvain just grins, happy to have at least partially lessened Ingrid’s disappointment. Byleth hugs him next. She’s strong and her hug is firm. She’s quite short too, but as small as Annette, but the heels help, bringing her so she, like Ingrid, is only around 7 inches shorter than him. 

“It’s lovely to see you both,” Byleth continues. 

Sylvain eyes the ballroom for a moment. “We’re happy to be here. I’m guessing some of this had to do with you, right?”

Byleth scoffs into her champagne glass. “With how the decorations turned out last year? There was no way I was letting that witch back on the premises. Hilda did a much nicer job.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “Hilda Goneril?”

Byleth shrugged. “She likes pretty things and she likes to delegate so when I offered her the position, there was no way she was turning me down.”

Ingrid laughs lightly. “Well, everything looks wonderful. It reminds me of Patricia’s last gala. She took suck pride in organizing these things herself.”

Byleth smiles a bit sadly. “Dimitri said as much himself. I’m sad I couldn’t have met them.” She shakes off the sadness and glances over her shoulder to where her partner is swamped in visitors. “You know, I’m sure he’d much rather entertain you guys than those old codgers.”

Ingrid brightens. “Maybe I’ll go rescue him then.” 

She slips into the crowd of people before Sylvain can stop her, and he’s left alone with Byleth. He snags a flute of champagne off a server’s tray as they walk by and Byleth taps her glass against his. 

“It is good to see you, Sylvain.”

“It’s always good to see you, Professor,” he teases in reply. 

Byleth rolls her eyes. She’s taken an assistant professor position at the university so many of their friends have taken to calling her professor jokingly. She nudges him with her elbow and glances at where Ingrid disappeared to. 

“How is she?”

Sylvain shrugs. “You know how it is this time of year. She and Felix get mopey and Annette and I try our best. How’s Dimitri?”

Byleth fiddles with a long silver chain around her neck. The pendant on it dips into her cleavage, hidden from sight and Sylvain valiantly keeps his eyes on her shoulders and up. “He’s struggling. He loves and hates this party. It reminds him so much of his parents, but it’s also a chance to gather all his friends together in one place.”

Sylvain nods. “Yeah, it’s the same for us. We like to come to see our friends, but then some of us spend the whole time avoiding our families.” Byleth shakes her head with a fond smile. “How are you two though? Still hopeless?”

Sylvain feels his neck get a bit hot, but it’s Byleth and Byleth can read anyone like a book, so he’s not too surprised. They’ve had this conversation every day for the last four years at the party. 

“Absolutely,” he agreed. 

He can just pick out Ingrid where she has finally reached Dimitri through the crowd of old men. Dimitri is wearing a suit, but a simple grey one, and his hair is tied back out of his face. He is smiling much more genuinely at Ingrid than he had at any of the other guests greeting him. 

“How’s are you and Dimitri?” he asks. 

Byleth’s lips curl into a stunning smile. She lifts up the silver chain around her neck until Sylvain can see the pendant she has been concealing. It’s a pretty silver ring with a green emerald set in the centre of it and Sylvain is floored. 

“Wised up, did he?”

Byleth laughs and drops the pendant. “I think he was tired of everyone assuming we were engaged honestly.” Sylvain throws an arm over her shoulder and squeezes her in a one-armed hug. “Congratulations, Byleth. I’m thrilled for you guys.”

Byleth looks over at where Ingrid and Dimitri are. “Do me a favour and tell the girl you love her, alright?”

Sylvain scowls and he’s about to argue when he notices that Dimitri and Ingrid are headed right towards them. Ingrid is beaming and Dimitri is smiling too. He reaches them first on his long legs and Sylvain lets himself be pulled into a hug by his longtime friend. Dimitri has about an inch on him now, but he hugs like a truck. 

Sylvain pulls away and grins. “What’s with the hugginess of everyone tonight?” Ingrid elbows him and he laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s great to see you too, Dimitri.”

Dimitri takes Byleth’s hand and smiles broadly. “Thank you for sending Ingrid to rescue me,” he says to her. He looks back at his friends. “And thank you guys for coming again. I know this isn’t the easiest place to be for any of us.” He looks around the ballroom for a second. “Is Felix here?”

“He and Annette went to say hi to Rodrigue,” Ingrid says. 

Dimitri looks surprised. “Really?”

“Annette’s idea,” Sylvain supplies. 

“Ah,” Dimitri says, smiling faintly. 

Byleth looks small next to him, but she’s beaming and he keeps stealing glances at her like she’s hung the sun in the sky and Sylvain knows that they love each other a lot. He’s struck by a sudden urge to give the newly engaged pair a bit of privacy. 

“We should finish making the rounds too, Ingrid,” he suggests. “We haven’t seen your brothers or your father and we should also probably find Dorothea too.”

Ingrid nods and bids Byleth and Dimitri goodbye before she lets Sylvain take her hand and lead her across the ballroom again. They get about ten paces away before she squeezes his fingers. 

“Since when are you in a big hurry to socialize with my brothers?”

Sylvain feels mildly ill suddenly. “Oh god, save me, I’m definitely not.”

Ingrid laughs. “Do you think they’re suddenly going to want to kick your ass because Felix moved out?”

He shrugs. “They always seem ready to kick my ass.” Ingrid rolls her eyes affectionately. “No more than I am,” she assures. 

They stop at the edge of the ballroom. The quartet on the far side has started playing and some people have started to dance. A server walks by them and Sylvain drops Ingrid’s hand to grab her a champagne flute. He offers it to her with a flourish and she takes it with a smile, taking a small sip. 

“Thanks, Sylvain,” she says. 

He taps his almost empty glass against hers. “Cheers.”

They stand in quiet companionship at the edge of the ballroom for a few minutes, just sipping at their drinks and taking in the atmosphere of the gala. Only about half the ballroom is being used for dancing. The other half is just people socializing, much like the rest of the manor during the gala. Even though the event had originally been a way to celebrate spring, it quickly morphed into one of the most influential parties in the city and a key networking point. 

Sylvain never liked to think of it as a networking event because that ruined the atmosphere of the party. He used to come to the party and dance with as many girls as he could until someone got mad and then he’d sneak his younger friends drinks until they could all sneak away to Dimitri’s room to just talk. They hadn’t done that since Dimitri’s parents died and he missed it. 

“Sylvain?” Ingrid asks and he jolts, realizing she has asked him something and he hadn’t heard her. 

“Sorry, Ing, what did you say?”

“Just asking if you were okay is all,” she murmurs. 

Her hand on his chest, resting on the side of his ribcage and Sylvain’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. They’re so close and he can count the individual eyelashes on her dolled up eyes. He can’t deny that Dorothea’s makeover has made her look absolutely stunning, but he also loves the Ingrid that wallows on their couch when she has a test coming up in sweatpants and her hair in a bun. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in reply. 

It’s increasingly hard to focus with her this close to him when every nerve in his body is singing for him to kiss her and to sweep her off her feet and to pin her against the wall of the ballroom and shower her in the love he’s been concealing for nearly eight years. It had been a horrifying realization when he first realized he was in love with her and it had been a struggle to conceal it from her for so long. 

“You know,” he says lowly, “I wasn’t talking to Dorothea back at the apartment.”

Ingrid’s chin lifts just the tiniest bit and there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes. “You weren’t?”

“You look stunning, Ing,” he says quietly. “The kind of pretty that could walk all over me and I’d probably thank you and ask you do to it again.” Ingrid looks a bit startled at his words and her hand drops back to her side. “Oh,” she says. Her voice is small and Sylvain instantly wants to backtrack. He’s said something wrong. 

He leans away from her to give them both breathing room and Ingrid relaxes once he’s out of her immediate space. The calmness on her face doesn’t stay long though as it drops into something that looks a bit like half-concealed dread a second later. 

Sylvain feels his brow knit. “Ing?” He starts to turn to follow her gaze, but her hand grabs his arm in a vice grip and doesn’t let him look. 

“Sylvain, just don’t,” she says hurriedly. 

He frowns. “What?”

She closes her eyes and inhales. “Your father is here,” she mutters. 

Sylvain feels dread coil in his stomach. “Oh,” he says faintly. He doesn’t look, but suddenly the romantic moment between him and Ingrid feels like it was a thousand years ago. 

“Let’s go,” Ingrid says firmly. 

She grips his hand and pulls him out of the ballroom into the eastern wing of the manner. She doesn’t look back and doesn’t let him hesitate either. Determinedly, she leads him through the kitchen and out the side door. One of the kitchen staff looks like she is about to scold them, but she recognizes them and lets them pass without hesitation. 

Ingrid doesn’t release him until they’re standing under the gazebo in the impressive garden. Sylvain still feels kind of numb, but he lets her push him down onto one of the benches. She sits next to him, forcing him to slide over and make room for him. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, sounding guilty. 

Sylvain shakes his head. “Ingrid, I see him here every year.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m okay, I promise.”

She purses her lips and levels him with a glare. “You are absolutely not, so do not lie to me, Sylvain.” She takes both of his hands in hers and squeezes them tightly. “Your father was awful to you. You’re allowed to never want to see him again.”

Sylvain shuts his eyes. “I’m the prodigal son, Ing, there’s only so long he’ll let me do my own thing.” His stomach is still all twisted in knots. 

Her hands drop his and cup his face. He opens his eyes and is surprised by the burning intensity in her gaze. 

“You’re in law school, Sylvain, that is absolutely nothing to scoff at. And if he thinks for a second that Felix and Dimitri and I will let him go back to his old ways with you, he’s mistaken.”

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “I don’t deserve you.”

Ingrid slides her arms around his neck and hugs him. She smells faintly of something floral she’s warm against him, even if her hands are cool to the touch. 

“You’re my friend, Sylvain. That’s not going to change any time soon.”

She releases him from the hug and leans back, studying him. Sylvain doesn’t try to force one of his plastic smiles because he knows she sees through them. She’s been doing it since they were young so there’s not really any reason to try to sneak one past her now. 

“It was easier when I could get under his skin by acting up,” Sylvain mumbles. 

Ingrid takes his hand again and he feels weak and stupid. They should be inside enjoying the fanciest party of the year and yet they’re sitting under a gazebo while he, a grown man, freaks out about seeing his father. 

“When Miklan wasn’t around and I was flirting like crazy, it was fine. He’d get annoyed but I was good at ignoring that. Once Mik went to prison,” Sylvain trails off, shaking his head. 

Ingrid knows this story. She’s lived this story with him. It started with his father shipping Miklan off to as many boarding schools as possible because he was always trouble. It ended with attempted fratricide, disowning, attempted suicide, and Sylvain cutting ties and seeking therapy to deal with his fucked up family life. 

Ingrid’s been through a lot too, with her mother dying when she was young and her father’s business struggling, causing her family to struggle to support her three older brothers and her. And then, of course, there had been Glenn. 

Glenn Fraldarius who had been Felix’s older brother and Sylvain and Dimitri’s friend and Ingrid’s boyfriend. Glenn Fraldarius who had gotten shot protecting Dimitri from the same people that killed Lambert and Patricia. Glenn Fraldarius that had died and made everything go to shit. 

“Sylvain,” Ingrid interjects gently, “you’re allowed to be angry with him. You’re allowed to be hurt.”

The words sounded terribly similar to the things that he had said through Ingrid’s locked door after Glenn had died. Back then, he had been ashamed of his attempts to comfort Felix and Ingrid because he could never get rid of the needling self-hatred in his stomach that some horrible part of him was glad that Glenn was gone because Ingrid would never, ever choose Sylvain over Glenn. 

He takes a deep breath and stands up. He holds out a hand to her. “Come on, Ingrid. We have a party to enjoy.” She takes his hand, but she hesitates. “Sylvain.”

“As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine. We’ll just avoid my parents and talk to your brothers and bother Felix. We haven’t seen Mercedes or Dedue or Ashe yet either, and we can’t leave without saying hello to them.”

Ingrid smiles a bit. “That’s a line,” she mutters, but she does let him tug her back towards the manor. 

“Nah,” he disagrees, smiling at her. She looks prettier when she smiles. “It’s the truth.”

They run into Ashe in the dining room off the kitchen and Sylvain is happy to shove unpleasant thoughts of his father and his brother away to watch Ingrid light up as she greets her old friend. Ashe’s optimism is the same as always as he chatters about the catering, which is from the restaurant that he started, Sylvain notes. 

Ingrid leaves the conversation with a plate of food and her pleasant mood restored and Sylvain’s stomach loosens as he looks at the beautiful smile on his friend’s face. 

- ~ -

Dimitri gives a speech later that thanks all of his friends for their support. Byleth stands next to him and holds his hand. She makes eye contact with Sylvain during the speech and noticeably flicks her eyes to Ingrid who is standing next to him, still holding his hand. Sylvain holds her gaze and Byleth narrows her eyes just the tiniest bit in a measure of displeasure. 

Sylvain ignores her and focusses on the warmth of Ingrid’s hand in his. Her fingers are long and slender, but her hand still feels dwarfed and delicate in his. He squeezes it once. Her eyes stay on Dimitri as he gives his speech, but her grip tightens around his a moment later. 

- ~ -

At one-thirty in the morning, Sylvain waits on the front steps of Blaiddyd Manor while Ingrid searches for Dorothea inside so that they can leave. After the brief hiccup, the party had been quite enjoyable. They had spoken with Ingrid’s brothers who only gave him a few suspicious looks and had bothered Felix and Annette and had spoken with countless other friends, all while successfully avoiding Sylvain’s parents. 

He has shed his jacket, draping it over one of his arms as he waits for Ingrid to reappear with their friend. He doesn’t wait long since she emerges from the manor, rubbing her arms and looking mildly annoyed. She waves her phone at him as she approaches. 

“Thea texted me,” she explains as she approaches. “She left with Petra half an hour ago.” Sylvain laughs. “Of course she did.” He can’t tell if Dorothea left because she was super into Petra or if she was trying to leave Sylvain and Ingrid together for even longer while Ingrid was all dolled up. Knowing Dorothea, it was probably a twisted mix of both. 

“Shall we go then?” Ingrid asks. 

She shivers as she said it and Sylvain pulls his jacket off his arm and drapes it over her shoulder. She looks like she’s about to protest, but Sylvain places his hands on her shoulders and smooths the coat over her dress. The wispy blue dress doesn’t really match the dark charcoal suit jacket, but it kind of dwarfs her figure anyways. 

“Sylvain?” a voice calls from the manor’s entrance before they can move a muscle. 

Sylvain’s stomach tightens and he lifts his head to stare at the tiny blonde woman in the doorway of the house. She has delicate, china-like figures and an extremely expensive red dress on. He hasn’t seen her in a year and he really wishes he had gotten away before she had spotted him. 

“Hello Mrs. Gautier,” Ingrid says politely. 

Sylvain feels like hiding behind Ingrid, but he takes a deep breath. “Hi Mom,” he replies. 

His mother looks like she is going to say something when a tall redheaded man appears next to her, his gaze sternly focusing on Sylvain and she says nothing. 

“Sylvain,” his father says, his voice as hard as he remembers it. 

Ingrid takes his hand and squeezes his fingers so hard that they hurt. “Hello Mr. Gautier,” she says, repeating the greeting for his other parent. 

Sylvain’s father’s gaze darts to their connected hands and Sylvain’s jacket draped over Ingrid’s shoulders. “Miss Galatea,” he says like he barely remembers her name. 

Ingrid keeps her head up and smiles plainly at his parents. She waits for him to take the lead, but she doesn’t let go of his hand. Sylvain squares his shoulders and nods to his father. 

“Goodnight,” he says abruptly before turning and pulling Ingrid after him, heading for his car. 

Thankfully, his parents don’t call after him or follow him so they make it to his car without issue. Ingrid gets in the passenger side and Sylvain climbs in the driver’s side. His hands curl around the wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

“Are you okay to drive?” she asks. 

“Only one glass,” he assures. “I’m fine.” “That’s not what I meant.”

He stays silent for a moment until the blood rushing in his ears settles and he feels like himself again. “I’m okay,” he promises. 

“Okay,” Ingrid agrees. 

She pulls his jacket off of her shoulders and drapes it over her lap so that she can fasten her seatbelt. Her palms smooth along the fabric of his jacket. Sylvain loosens his grip on the wheel and watches her for a moment. She doesn’t look at him again so he starts the car and starts driving them home. 

The roads are mostly empty through the city as he pulls into the parkade of their apartment building. He kills the engine and they sit there in silence for a moment. 

“You said you’d let me walk all over you and that you’d thank me and ask me to do it again,” Ingrid recalls as Sylvain reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt. 

He tenses and looks at her. Her cheeks are pink and she finally lifts her head to look him in the face. Under the fluorescent lights of the parkade that filter through the windows of the car, she almost glows. 

“What does that mean, Sylvain?” she asks. 

A lie sticks in his throat and he tries to tell her the truth instead, but that gets stuck too, so he’s just stuck looking at her dumbly. 

“Right,” she mutters. “I told her it was a long shot.”

Sylvain’s brow furrows and his hand shoots over to grab Ingrid’s wrist before she can let herself out of the car. “Long shot?”

She’s blushing fully now as she bites her lip. It hits him suddenly and totally and a bubble of happiness wells and bursts so quickly in his chest that he’s not entirely in control when he leans over the console and kisses her. 

Her hands fist into his hair immediately and she kisses him back fiercely. Sylvain’s hands slide to her back and he coaxes her towards him. It’s awkward and a bit bumpy as she maneuvers into his lap, pressed between him and the steering wheel. They kiss furiously for a long second before Ingrid jerks away, gasping for breath. 

Sylvain’s chest is heaving too, but Ingrid looks mussed. One of her pretty dress’s straps has slid down her shoulder and his jacket is abandoned on the floor of the passenger side. Her lipstick is smudged to nothing and her fancy hairdo is falling out. He brings a hand up to brush away wispy threads of blonde hair. 

His love for her is written all over his face, but for the first time in a long time, he’s not afraid of it. Ingrid looks a bit shy and uncertain even though she’s literally perched in his lap in the front seat of a car and Sylvain laughs lightly. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a light kiss to her neck. 

She sighs for a moment, but then hands pull his head back and she looks at him seriously. “It’s not a line, right?”

Sylvain slides his hands to her waist and squeezes, trying to let her feel the warmth of his palms through her dress. “Ain’t a line if it’s the truth, Ing,” he breathes. 

She kisses him again and neither of them breaks it for a long time. Sylvain is pretty sure that he could die happy kissing Ingrid, but she makes a small noise of discomfort and he pulls back, staring at her. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. She shifts closer to him so they’re pressed even closer than they were before. “Steering wheel,” she mutters. 

Sylvain laughs and presses his forehead against her shoulder as he tries to stop laughing like a child. She runs her fingers through his hair and he can feel her give a breathy laugh too. 

“I love you too,” she says. “But, please, for the love of god, we have an apartment upstairs.”

Sylvain smirks and presses a kiss to the junction of her shoulder and neck, opening his lips just enough to gently press his teeth against her skin for half a second. She practically shivers against him. 

“And no nosy Felix,” he agrees and he opens the car door.