[he absolutely could break free; he absolutely should break free, and yet—mmph. it would be a far easier decision, perhaps, if sylvain didn't close his eyes? because suddenly sylvain isn't just comfortable; sylvain looks comfortable, as well, and here's the thing: felix can't remember the last time he saw sylvain at ease. oh, sure, he saw sylvain fake it during the war, but they were all on edge. even lounging by the fire in the middle of nowhere, tired after a long day's march—that wasn't relaxation so much as it was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

now, however, sylvain seems... content? more or less? and for the life of him, felix can't understand why he feels the same. it's the welcome weight of those hands on his lower back; it's the rise and fall of the chest beneath him; it's the fact that this is, stupidly, the most comfortable felix has been in quite some time.]

That's not—

[—the issue, he almost says, but. pfft. a beat? followed by a quiet huff as he shifts about once more, just to press the (cold) stone of this anemo vision against its owner's cheek.]

Not everyone enjoys wasting time. I have things to see to. [which is a weak argument at the best of times, he knows, so let him just reach for something else:] And you're obviously going to fall asleep.