I was still laughing softly from James's "break his nose" line when I heard a quiet step behind us.
I turned—and there he was.
Felix stood at the end of the hallway, a soft expression on his face. His hair was still tousled from earlier, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing the light bruise on his forearm.
He looked between us, eyes curious. "Should I be worried?"
James straightened like he'd just been caught stealing cookies as a kid.
I rolled my eyes. "Only if you ever think about hurting me."
Felix tilted his head with a dry smile. "Pretty sure I've already risked enough damage for that."
James muttered, "Doesn't make you special."
But the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, and I saw it—the tiniest shift. The space between suspicion and tolerance.
Felix walked toward us, slower this time, more careful.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," he said, voice gentler now.
"You didn't," I replied quietly. "We were just talking."
James crossed his arms again, his gaze sharper than his tone. "She trusts you now. Don't make her regret that."
Felix didn't flinch. "I won't."
There was a silence, heavy but not uncomfortable.
James gave a small nod—just once. Barely visible. But it said everything.
Then he turned and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, his shoulders finally relaxing.
Felix's eyes followed him for a second before settling on me again.
"You okay?" he asked.
I looked at him. "Yeah. I think James just needed to say it out loud. For both our sakes."
"And you?" His voice dipped a little, the question quieter.
I leaned back against the wall, meeting his eyes fully. "Still figuring things out. But I'm not running from how I feel anymore."
His expression softened. He stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine—not pulling, not pushing. Just… there.
"That's enough for me," he said.
We stood there for a moment, close enough to hear each other breathe, close enough for the tension to dissolve into something quieter.
It wasn't a dramatic moment. It wasn't even the kind that stories are built around.
It was just real.
And for the first time in days, that was enough.
We didn't move.
The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the warm glow from the lamp in the living room. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the hum of the fridge, the faint creak of wood settling. Everything felt paused—like the world had stopped for just a breath.
Felix's hand brushed mine again, this time more deliberate. His fingers lingered.
"I never thought," he said softly, "that you'd look at me like this."
"Like what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Like you don't hate me anymore."
I let out a small laugh, the sound raw and nervous. "I didn't hate you. I just didn't trust you. And maybe I still don't know how to… completely. But I see you now. Not the version you tried to hide behind silence."
He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "I was scared, Rosa. Of what I'd find. Of what I'd feel."
"And now?"
He stepped a little closer. We were inches apart now. Close enough to hear his breath change.
"Now I'm more scared of losing this. You."
His words sank into me like warmth I hadn't realized I needed.
I looked up at him, meeting his eyes fully, and for once, I didn't feel guarded. I didn't feel like I had to fight or flee or put up a wall to protect myself.
With Felix, right now, I just wanted to be.
"I don't know what this is yet," I said, my voice quiet. "But I know I don't want it to go away."
His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
Then, before I could think too much—before doubt could crawl back in—I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his.
We stayed like that. No kiss. No big declarations. Just stillness.
Breathing.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in days, I let myself believe it.
Let myself feel safe.
Let myself want.
When I finally pulled back, he smiled, something soft and real in it. No teasing. No shields.
Just Felix.
And me.
James had gone out for fresh air and a coffee run. The house was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that makes every step echo louder than it should.
I walked down the hall, distracted, holding two glasses of water—one for me and one for Felix. I thought I heard him say something earlier, maybe calling out.
I didn't knock.
I opened the door.
And froze.
Felix stood in the middle of the room, his back turned to me, shirtless. He had just pulled a clean shirt off the bed and was about to slip it on when he heard the door.
He turned, and our eyes met.
Time tripped.
The water glass nearly slipped from my hand. I fumbled and quickly looked away.
"Oh my God—I'm so sorry, I didn't—" I turned to leave, already halfway out the door, heat flooding my cheeks.
"Rosa, wait," he said, his voice calm, maybe even a little amused.
I paused but didn't look back. "I didn't mean to walk in on… that."
"It's okay," he said gently. "Not the worst thing to happen to me this week."
"Still! You could've locked the door!"
"I didn't think anyone would just walk in without knocking," he replied, and I could hear the grin in his voice.
"I thought you called me!"
"I sneezed."
I blinked. "That was a sneeze?"
He laughed softly. "I've been stabbed, Rosa. I sneeze like I'm dying."
Despite myself, I smiled.
"Okay, fine," I said, still staring at the floorboards. "Well, next time maybe warn me before being half-naked in the middle of your room."
"I'll get a sign," he said. "A glowing one."
I finally glanced over my shoulder.
He had the shirt on now, tugging it down over his stomach. His expression had shifted again—still amused, but quieter.
I stepped inside slowly, still flustered. "I brought you water. Since you were half-dead an hour ago."
"You know," he said, taking the glass from my hand, "you walking in like that… it's kind of unfair."
"Why?"
"Because now I'll never forget the look on your face," he said, his voice softer now. "You looked like you didn't know whether to scream or faint."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're enjoying this way too much."
He took a sip and smiled. "Maybe. A little."
I rolled my eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, sitting beside me, "you keep showing up."
I didn't answer right away. The room settled around us again. His shoulder brushed mine, and for a moment neither of us said anything.
Then, quietly, I whispered, "Maybe I want to."
He turned toward me slowly, as if not wanting to break the moment. "You do?"
I nodded. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."
And just like that, the laughter faded. Not into sadness, but into something softer. Realer.
He reached over and gently took my hand.
"I'm glad you walked in."
"I'm not," I teased. "I'm scarred forever."
He laughed again, this time low and warm. And even though the world was still complicated and messy, right here, with him—everything felt a little easier.
Felix had just finished pulling on his hoodie, the room still warm with shared laughter from our earlier banter. I was about to ask him something—honestly, anything, just to keep the moment from slipping away—when my hand bumped the edge of his desk.
Something slid.
I glanced down and spotted a small leather-bound photo album half-tucked under a stack of notebooks. It looked old and a little worn, curiosity practically radiating from it.
"What's this?" I asked, already reaching.
Felix's head shot up from where he was tying his laces. "Wait—Rosa—don't open that—!"
But I already had.
A photo slipped out.
I blinked. Then blinked again. "Oh my God."
It was a picture of Felix—maybe thirteen—posing in what looked like a sparkly unicorn onesie. His expression was dead serious, like he'd been forced into it at cartoon-point.
My jaw dropped. "Is this real?"
Felix groaned. "Please give me that. Please."
I held the picture just out of reach. "No way. This is gold."
"It was Halloween," he mumbled, cheeks turning pink. "Luca dared me. I lost a bet."
"Oh, this is better than the time you accidentally walked into the wrong changing room at the hospital."
"That was one time!" he cried, burying his face in his hands. "And there were no signs!"
I fell onto the bed, laughing so hard I almost dropped the photo. "You—serious face—in a unicorn onesie. This is the best day of my life."
He tackled the album from my hands and buried it under his pillow like it might escape. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
"Not in this lifetime."
Felix groaned again and flopped beside me, face-first into the blanket. "Why do I like you?"
"Because I laugh at your trauma and still bring you water?"
He lifted his head just enough to peek at me, hair falling into his eyes. "That's... sadly accurate."
I smiled and poked his arm. "Don't worry. It's endearing."
"Endearingly humiliating," he muttered.
There was a pause. The kind that wasn't awkward, just filled with something lighter than usual.
Then I said quietly, "I like seeing you like this."
He turned slightly, eyes softening. "Like what?"
"Unfiltered. Real. Not trying to carry the weight of the world."
He hesitated, then reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face. "You make it easier."
My heart did a weird little flip. "Yeah?"
He nodded once, his hand still lingering near my cheek. "Yeah."
We stared at each other—caught somewhere between ridiculous laughter and something that felt like gravity pulling us closer.
And then I smirked. "Still gonna frame that unicorn photo."
He dropped his hand and groaned again. "You are the worst."
"You adore me."
"Terrifyingly true."
We lay there, side by side, smiling like idiots.
It wasn't perfect. It was better. It was real.
And in that moment, nothing else really mattered.
We were sitting on the couch in the quiet living room, sunlight spilling through the half-drawn curtains. Felix had his legs stretched out across the rug, a pillow tucked under his arm. I was next to him, casually scrolling through my photo gallery, thumb flicking through old memories like they didn't mean anything.
But then—of course—it popped up.
A horribly timed, terribly lit photo of me mid-sneeze at a school trip two years ago, hair flying, face scrunched, eyes half shut. I groaned, already reaching to scroll past it, but it was too late.
"What was that?" Felix asked, leaning over.
"Nothing."
"Oh, come on. Let me see."
"It's really not—Felix!"
He moved faster than I expected, snatching my phone from my hands with a triumphant grin. "Payback time."
I lunged for it, but he was already holding it above his head, eyes squinting at the screen.
"Oh wow," he laughed, gasping for breath. "Is this your vampire llama impression? What even is your face doing?"
"Give it back!"
"This is art. This needs to be in a museum," he teased, flipping the phone to show me. "Rosa the Eternal Sneezebringer."
I tried to grab it again, but he twisted away, still laughing. "I swear, if you ever share that—"
"Oh I won't," he said innocently, "I'll just keep it as blackmail for when you try to roast me again."
He was smiling. I should've been too.
But something shifted.
Maybe it was the way he kept laughing. Maybe it was the fact that I'd always hated that picture—how it reminded me of how I always felt growing up. Awkward. Off. Like everyone else was effortlessly composed and I was just... not.
My breath hitched.
Felix must've noticed because his smile faded. "Rosa?"
I looked down, blinking fast. "It's stupid."
"What is?"
"I don't know," I whispered, voice cracking. "It's just a photo, right? It's supposed to be funny."
"Hey." He sat up straighter, setting the phone down. "Talk to me."
I shook my head, covering my face with my hands. "I hate it. I hate how I look in that picture. And I know you're joking, but—God, Felix—I already see myself like that most days. You laughing just… made it feel real."
Silence.
The kind that wraps around your throat and holds still.
Then I felt his hands gently close around my wrists, lowering them from my face.
His voice was soft. "Rosa. I wasn't laughing at you to be cruel. I swear. I was just—"
"I know," I said quickly. "It's not about you. It's me. It's everything. I'm just tired of always pretending it doesn't get to me."
He looked at me then—really looked at me—and there was no teasing left in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know it hurt you."
I sniffed, wiping at my cheek. "It's okay."
"No, it's not," he replied. "You've been strong through everything—way stronger than most people I know. But you don't always have to be."
I glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.
"You're allowed to cry," he said. "You're allowed to break down. And I'll still be here. Even then."
His hand was still on mine. Steady. Warm.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let someone see me completely—without the walls, the jokes, the defenses.
Just me.
And he didn't look away.