“ you’ve gotten so used to being hurt that happiness scares you. ”
There was a time in his life where Sylvain would’ve deflected such a statement. Brushed it off with an easy smile and a laugh, maybe add a joke and be on his merry way. After all, he was happy, right? He had friends, a roof over his head, food in his belly, and plenty of attractive individuals to fill his days (and nights) with beautiful distractions. Happiness…yes, that must be it.
Then the war happened.
He lost friends and former classmates alike, those who bore crests and those who did not. He watched entire towns and villages be destroyed, countless soldiers lose their lives…and his best wasn’t good enough. His lance could only protect so many and the loss he felt was immeasurable.
Sylvain liked to think he could still smile easily, joke around like he used to five years prior. He could murmur soft words and sweet nothings and perhaps everything would go back to the way it used to be. Back when it was easier to pretend like his pain wasn’t there. Yet, he’d approached Mercedes himself, asked her to talk, and thus could not be surprised when she offered her stern, yet kind, advice.
Her words are the truth; the carry with them a weight he had carried on his shoulders practically since birth. you’ve gotten so used to being hurt that happiness scares you.
Gently though they are said, they bring tears to Sylvain’s eyes immediately.
It is neither the first time he’s cried in front of Mercedes, nor would it be the last. He’d never realized just how important it could be for someone to reassure him that crying was okay. It wasn’t a sign of weakness or failure. In truth, it was incredibly strong to show emotion, of that she had assured him.
“Way to call me out like that,” although he jests, Sylvain’s brows are furrowed and voice laden with sadness. sniffling, he wipes his eyes and pushes an errant lock of fiery hair from his face. “I… You’re right. But,” a but I don’t know how to fix myself goes unspoken.
Sylvain sighs, shakes his head, and forces a smile on his face. It must look bizarre coupled with puffy eyes and tension in his brow.
“You make me happy, Mercedes. And I’m not scared of that.
…What? It’s true, I swear – !”
