[ Dimitri has gotten on Felix's nerves before. Trying to wear that perfect princely mask of his like everything was fine, like the ruthless slaughter he witnessed with his own eyes now seven years ago was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It hadn't been a nightmare - a part of him wanted it to be, but no matter how hard he pinched his cheeks, how wide he opened his eyes, Dimitri still stood before him, gore coating his body and a truly evil expression on his face.
Felix almost missed that mask. His charisma, his smile, drew others in and lulled them into a false sense of security. (it even worked on him once, which he hated himself for later.) But it meant people were around him, people who cared - people who could make sure he'd take care of himself so Felix could step away when the sight of him was too much.
But the past is the past. Dimitri's mask shattered alongside the Flame Emperor's, and now they're at war. And while, years later, Dimitri's finally seeming to return to his senses (at the price of more fraldarius blood spilled in his name, felix thinks bitterly), he's still keeping his distance at times. Something's still off. In the sense that he's moving about like he's about to collapse and also generally, something doesn't seem right.
Felix catches Dimitri alone in the knight's hall, back toward the entrance. He's not sure where the rest of their comrades are - eating, getting the medical attention they need, or sleeping after their skirmish with bandits, if he'd have to guess - but it seems the responsibility of knocking sense into their still fragile king is in his hands.
How annoying. His lack of regard for himself and his own well-being is just as aggravating as it's always been. ] You. If you're hurt, go and get yourself taken care of. Your form's been off all day. [ He doesn't think an injury's the issue - he didn't notice Dimitri take any hard hits, and Dedue certainly wouldn't have left his side to get his own wounds tended to if there was even a scratch on Dimitri. But he genuinely doesn't know what's amiss here. ]
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Felix almost missed that mask. His charisma, his smile, drew others in and lulled them into a false sense of security. (it even worked on him once, which he hated himself for later.) But it meant people were around him, people who cared - people who could make sure he'd take care of himself so Felix could step away when the sight of him was too much.
But the past is the past. Dimitri's mask shattered alongside the Flame Emperor's, and now they're at war. And while, years later, Dimitri's finally seeming to return to his senses (at the price of more fraldarius blood spilled in his name, felix thinks bitterly), he's still keeping his distance at times. Something's still off. In the sense that he's moving about like he's about to collapse and also generally, something doesn't seem right.
Felix catches Dimitri alone in the knight's hall, back toward the entrance. He's not sure where the rest of their comrades are - eating, getting the medical attention they need, or sleeping after their skirmish with bandits, if he'd have to guess - but it seems the responsibility of knocking sense into their still fragile king is in his hands.
How annoying. His lack of regard for himself and his own well-being is just as aggravating as it's always been. ] You. If you're hurt, go and get yourself taken care of. Your form's been off all day. [ He doesn't think an injury's the issue - he didn't notice Dimitri take any hard hits, and Dedue certainly wouldn't have left his side to get his own wounds tended to if there was even a scratch on Dimitri. But he genuinely doesn't know what's amiss here. ]