Constant Conversations

2017

“What do you mean you’re moving?”

He’s quiet, doesn’t even look at you.

Your voice is breaking and rising with every question— you can feel the disgusting way your stomach churns every second he stays silent. It’s dark out, the wind is blowing harder as the hours go by and the trees are swaying in the wind, but you can’t feel it, not under his hoodie that smells like him and fits you just right. Suddenly, the feeling of the coarse roof shingles rubbing against your bare feet intensifies by a million percent, and you feel like your entire body will shut down.

“Felix?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your throat closing as tears brim in your soft eyelashes. He’s clearing his throat, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a guilty look on his face, the way he licks his lips over and over again in an attempt to find the right words to say— he runs a hand through his hair, running right over his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you when it happened a few weeks ago— I got scouted. I need to leave for Korea in two days.” He's quiet, eyes closed and elbows resting on his knees.

You’re looking at him with disbelief written all over your face— betrayal. He’d been keeping this a secret for weeks, having every opportunity to tell you before it would become too much. Tears are falling from your eyes, you don’t say anything, you can’t. Because if you do, it’ll just be incoherent words and sniffling. The wind carries an uncomfortable silence along with the cold chill. It doesn’t normally get cold in December, not here in Sydney— but it reminded you when he’d take you out to the beach, swimming against the waves until you both got tired and wanted ice cream.

But now it’s too cold for the beach, at this time anyway. The sun's setting a soft pink and you’re both sitting on his rooftop. This was meant to be a place where you both could just sit in silence and watch the sunset before going home. He’d lend you his hoodie like normal, letting you keep it for a few days before you’d return it— smelling like the laundry detergent your mom used and a slight hint of your vanilla perfume.

You met Felix on a hot day, your family had just moved in across the street from New Zealand and you were sitting on the porch watching kids your age play with half-deflated soccer balls and busted up wiffle balls. He had come up to you, soft hand extended out to you, and his dark hair plastered to his sweat-covered forehead.

“Wanna come play?”

You cheerfully accepted, taking his tiny hand in your even smaller one and running off to join in the game. He stuck by your side— until now. He’s only a year older, seventeen, and you’ve known him since seven. It’s safe to say he’s been your whole life like how you’ve been his, you talked about everything, the little crushes you had on each other's friends, crying over difficult homework— and even telling each other the biggest secrets you couldn’t tell anyone else. So why had he hidden this from you? For what reason?

The anger doesn’t die down, doesn’t turn into acceptance— you stand up as best as you can on the slanted roof, heart pounding when you look down at him.

“How could you not have told me sooner? Did you just think one day you’d leave and everything would be okay? Christ, Felix, nothing's going to be the same, you're going to be too busy—“ you’re cut off before you can finish.

“I’m not going to be too busy, not for you, not for my family. I’ll make time.” He’s looking directly into your eyes, his hair catching in the wind.

You scoff, hand raking through your hair, “Sure, because becoming an idol doesn’t mean giving up every second of your life.”

He doesn’t respond to that, just turning away from you and looking back into the sunset. There’s a pink glow emanating from the setting sun, and it’s cascading a warm glow into his face— highlighting every feature on his face. You don’t bother with him anymore, too mad at the situation to think— you’re climbing back into his room, throwing his hoodie off of your figure, and opening his door. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t look back, just lets you leave.

You’ve been crying in bed all night, eyes red and puffy in the morning when you wake up. There’s no text, no missed calls. Nothing from him. You feel like giving up, like the past ten years of your friendship have amounted to nothing. The ache you feel in your chest is heavier than anything you’ve felt in your life— but it’s the silence that hurts you the most. He’s always been the one to reach out after fights, even when you fought over the stupidest things as kids like who’d get to go on the swings first during recess. You both swore to never hate each other, always accept the other's apology, and act like it never happened after. But now, you guess he had only followed one of those rules— pretending like it never happened.

The phone stays off on your nightstand, the screen cold from being untouched. There's a day left, one more day of him staying here with you before he’s moving his entire life away from this place in hopes of becoming what he’s wanted to do his whole life. You couldn’t blame him for that— how could you? He’d always talk about one day becoming someone who’d be well known around the world, performing for people he’d never met and loving the recognition. You supported him the entire time, but never once did he mention to you about getting scouted. And you couldn’t understand it either, if he had told you, you would’ve told him to reach for the stars— take any and every chance possible. But now? It just felt like he was trying to leave everything behind, forget about it. Forget about you. Sure, maybe you’re being dramatic, a classic teenager. But it hurts when it’s coming from the one person you’ve cared for your entire life, loved with everything inside of you.

So when hours go by with no text, you begin to lose hope. He’s right across the street, you could put on your slippers and walk not even fifty feet to his front door and see him— but you don’t. You lie on your back instead, the creaking of your ceiling fan filling the empty silence. Each tick on your little clock seems to grow louder and louder every passing minute, dragging you closer to the inevitable moment where he leaves. You glance out of your window, and the thought of him packing his life into four tiny bags, zipping them up, and pasting the airport stickers on them in preparation for tomorrow fills your head. He’s probably doing it by himself— too nervous to let his mom help him, but you think he’d let you help. Maybe.

The longer you lie there, the harder it feels to breathe. You keep glancing at his semi-open window, his navy curtains are closed, but you can see the light from his ceiling fan seeping through the fabric. A part of you thinks he’ll come running out of his front door, padding across the empty street barefoot, and come knocking on your front door like he used to at ten. But the curtains stay closed and the door never opens. Silent.

You’re clutching your phone in your hand, the soft plastic of your phone case creaking underneath the pressure. It’s fifty feet. Just fifty feet and you’d be standing in front of him, forcing him to look at you and remind him that you support his dreams, forcing him to listen to you when you’d talk about how you felt, how much you loved him. But your legs don’t move, weighed down by hurt, pride— fear.

So you let time move on.

The night drags on unbearably slow, you never even turned on the lights when you woke up so now you’re just lying in the dark, curled underneath your blankets and letting the quiet eat away at your body.

And then there’s a short buzz.

Your heart drops but your hand picks up your phone faster than you realize, the bright light illuminating the dark room when it turns on. It’s him.

Lix

I’m leaving tomorrow morning at 6 for the airport

I hope you’ll be there

12:37am

That’s it, no apology, no reason as to why he chose to tell you so late. Nothing. You stare at it, throat tight and hurting. Your fingers tremble over the keyboard, debating whether or not you should even give him a response. Maybe a thumbs up would just be enough— petty. So that’s what you do.

The drive is a blur, you don’t even remember getting up in the morning and getting dressed. You’re moving through the terminal, the sky outside still dark, the sun still making its way up. There are families with small kids passing you by, sleepy couples, and the occasional businessman making his way through the crowd with a cup of hot coffee. You're looking at every departure gate that’s heading for Seoul, South Korea— hoping to see his dark brown hair and freckles.

Then you see him, he’s sitting by the window looking out at the planes, he has the same hoodie you were wearing two nights ago, and a backpack lying at his feet. He somehow looks different, tired, stressed even. For a second you don’t move, just staring until he looks up from his phone. His eyes are wide, almost like he’s surprised you came. You’re awkwardly walking towards him when he gets up, making his way to you so you meet halfway. He doesn’t hug you like usual, or give you his signature smile you’ve come to expect.

“You came..” he breathes out.

You nod, looking at everything but him. The ten years of unconditional friendship, the late-night talks and promises you’d make to each other, the memories— it’s all built up to this moment. Your face grows hot and you fight the loud urge to cry. You want so badly to be angry, to scold him for making you feel this way so soon because sometimes you think you won’t know how to survive without him by your side 24/7.

But when he steps closer to you, you realize that you don’t want the last time you see him to be a bad memory. He exhales, his hands sitting comfortably in his pockets,

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I almost didn’t,” you hate how fragile you sound, “ I didn’t know if it’d make a difference.”

He looks confused for a second, his eyebrows knit together and his lips part, but the expression is replaced with something else, regret. “I’m sorry” he’s quiet, “I’m so sorry, for everything.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard “You’ve always wanted this. I’m proud of you. I just didn’t think it’d be today, not now.”

His jaw tightens, “I know.” He’s opening his mouth to say more, but he closes his mouth before anything comes out, before he opens his mouth and practically begs you to “Please tell me not to go.”

“Will you—“you clear your throat, you can’t ask him to stay, “You’ll text me when you land, right?”

He smiles softly, finally reaching his hand out for yours, his cold hands meeting your warm ones. “I always will.”

The boarding call blares through the room, he’s giving you one last look— one last smile before he drops your hand and pulls you into him. He smiles like his cologne, soft and something sweet. You’ve always liked it. He’s pulling away, muttering a small “goodbye, I’ll text you.” Before picking up his bag and moving in line with everyone else.

You stand there even when you watch him disappear behind the doors, and you stay there even when you watch his plane take off. Your heart still aches from the goodbye, it doesn’t feel real— like a dream you’ll wake up from at any moment. But that time never comes because this is real, he’s gone and he won’t be coming back for god knows how long.

The drive back feels long and grueling, and this time you feel every moment of it. You remember the slow songs playing in the background, the way the AC was making your hands cramp up on the steering wheel, everything. When you’re finally back in your room, everything feels the same. Because it is, the clock is still ticking with time, and your bedsheets are still unmade from this morning. You sit on the edge of the mattress, head pounding as you stare at the screen of your phone. The flight there is at least ten hours, so you know better than to wait up all day for his text.

Eventually, exhaustion takes you, sending you into a deep sleep. And when morning comes, there’s sunlight peeking through your open curtains, your eyes are burning from the abundance of sleep and your bones ache. You roll over, turning in your phone and looking at the empty Lock Screen. There’s nothing there.

Nothing. It’s been more than ten hours.

You let the phone drop from your grasp and back onto the sheets. Staring at the ceiling until that all too familiar feeling overtakes your mind. Hot tears are filling your eyes and for the first time, it hits you. He’s gone and he won’t be coming back.

2025

It's raining outside, something that some people hate but it's something you've grown to really like. The sound of the droplets thumping on the glass of the windows, its soft rhythm practically singing you to sleep sometimes. You barely sleep anymore, there's no time— you're moving from one city to another, some days you have to be in different provinces at different times for important clients. The curse of being the most loved stylist is biting you in the ass.

You're sipping on your watered down iced mocha latte, the sweet liquid coating your throat. You're sitting in the biggest lounge you think you've ever seen, you were recently sent to work a job— getting some idols ready for their comeback photoshoot. It seemed easy enough: do their makeup, make some small talk here and there and then never see them ever again. Easy as cake. The only problem? They're late. Ten minutes to be exact, and you're not sure why. You're pursing your lips, an attempt at hiding your annoyance even though no one was in the room with you. This was supposed to be a one-and-done thing, put on their stupid makeup and send them on their way. That's how you survived this career— by not attaching, not lingering. Just moving from one to the other.

Suddenly the door opens and there's a man who looks your age walking in looking stressed out of his mind. You don't even guess that he's stressed, it's written all over his face. He's soaked in water and panting like he ran a marathon,

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. We got stuck in traffic— it was this whole thing.”

You smile, nodding like you weren't the slightest second away from crashing out before he ran into the room. “It's okay, we have an hour or so before your shoot.”

He runs a hand through his dripping wet hair and lets out the biggest sigh you've heard all day, “I'm sorry, they should be here any minute— I kinda ran ahead to make sure you knew.”

You nod again, offering a polite smile before you stand up and head over to the studio table where all of your makeup sits, you grab a hand towel, offering it in his direction, “Right, well, you should try to dry off.”

He laughs awkwardly, taking the small towel and peeling off his damp zip up, “Thank you. I'm Chan, by the way.”

You chuckle a little, “it's nice to meet you, Chan.”

He's rubbing his bare face with the towel you gave him, muttering things under his breath in Korean that you don't really hear— then he glances back at you, a sheepish look on his face, “Sorry for running in like that, so much for first impressions, am I right?”

You shrug, giving him a small smile before turning back to your makeup kit and taking out products you'd need for the day, “You're fine, I've seen worse.”

Before he could respond, the two of you are startled when the door opens. This time it isn't just one person, it's seven more. The room fills with heavy footsteps and deep laughter overlapping, the rain brings out the scent of their cologne mixing into the air, they smell expensive. You glance up, your practiced smile already plastered onto your face as you get ready to greet a group you'll probably never see again after this session.

But then you see him.

He's taller now, hair bleached and long, shoulders broader and arms muscular. He steps inside into the room behind the last guy, he's pushing back his hood and shaking the water out of his hair— letting it fall messily onto his face. He looks every bit the idol he's always dreamed of being. The air in your lungs feels like it's been sucked out entirely.

Your fingers go slack on the table, your perfected smile faltering.

Eight years vanish in a second, and for the first time since the airport— you're looking back at the boy who promised he'd never forget you. He's brushing back his hair with his fingers, and the way he freezes when he finally looks at you tells you that he remembers too.

The room feels entirely too much, too loud— Chans saying something about splitting up, half of them getting their hair done and the other half with you. You're ripping your eyes from him and back down to the desk, taking in a small breath to calm your nerves. But you can feel the way your heart slams in your chest. You can still feel his haunting gaze on you, but you don't bother to acknowledge it, not now.

You're not sure what you expected after eight years, maybe he'd walk past you without a hint of recognition, maybe he'd pretend like everything was fine and dandy— but instead, he's looking at you like you're a ghost, like he's not sure if you're actually standing there right now.

“Good morning,” you say, voice steady and warm, “you all ready?”

The group shuffles further into the lounge, couch cushions sinking under their weight and the sound of friendly banter bounces off the walls. Even as you move to finish unpacking your things, your skin prickles under his heavy gaze. Even after eight years, none of you make the first move to reach out.

You move on autopilot for the first fifteen minutes, greeting the other members one by one, shaking their hands and nodding when they tell you their names. Their smiles are polite but tired, something you’ve seen on countless of the idols you’ve worked with. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you through the mirrors, awkwardly trying to play it off like he wasn’t just staring into your soul.

There’s a shuffle as a few of the boys head over to the hairstylists while the others linger by your station. You offer the first one a seat, Han— slipping easily into the rhythm you’ve come to know so well. Small talk, questions about what they think about their makeup, the smell of the loose setting powder against their skin. You’re professional, hands steady with experience, but on the inside you’re going crazy.

And then the chair next to you scrapes, you don’t even need to look to know that he’s the one sitting in the makeup chair.

“Hi” he says, low and careful.

Your hands twitch the slightest bit when you mix some foundation, forcing yourself to keep working, detached, professional. That’s the rule.

You glance up, finally meeting his eyes once again. He’s giving you that all familiar look, soft and warm— but this time there’s a hint of regret hidden somewhere behind that. You swallow, managing to give him the faintest smile you can manage, not the kind you usually give to your clients.

“Hi..” you murmur back, steadying the foundation brush in your hand when you start to swipe the mixture onto his skin.

He doesn’t look away, he never did. Even back when you both still lived across from each other, you’d always find his eyes on you somehow. He made himself obvious.

“How’ve you been?” He’s quiet when he speaks, and his voice is deeper than you remember. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and scoff, but you don’t.

“Busy,” you reply after a beat, switching from brush to pad blush high onto his cheekbones. You speak with too sharp of a tone, but you soften it with a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes.

He huffs a small laugh through his nose, “yeah, me too.”

It’s quiet after that, you don’t respond and you don’t try to continue this pathetic excuse of small talk. You’re just doing your job, blending, painting, careful and precise. And when you finally reach for the powder to set his face before you continue, he’s opening his mouth again.

“I never thought you’d be here, doing this.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you continue your movements like what he just said didn’t make your hand freeze. You dust the powder onto his face, “Neither did I.” You mutter, eyes fixed on covering every inch of his face.

There’s a beat of laughter moving around the room, low incoherent chatter and the gain hum of hairdryers on the other side of the room. It should make things less heavy, break the tension— but with him this close? It feels like he’s suffocating you.

He’s looking at himself in the mirror when you step back to let him take a look, tilting his head slightly, “ you’re good at this.” He says it casually, but it feels like he wants to say more.

You purse your lips together, “That’s why they pay me.” You say flatly, stepping back in front of him and picking up eyeshadow with your flat eyeshadow brush.

He doesn’t let you shut him down, “that’s not what I meant."

Your hand tightens around the small brush, gliding over his crease with a warm peach. You can smell his cologne, something sweet— floral. Similar to the one he used to wear, it sends memories into your head that you don’t want to think about right now.

“You know—“ he starts, but you don’t let him finish, “Not the time.” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear you.

He doesn’t look at you anymore, just looking straight forward and giving you the slightest nod.

The rest of the process goes by in a blur, you flit between members, brushing, blending, touch ups— all while keeping an eye on him. He’s walking around the room and loudly joking around with the others. It’s maddening, the way your chest tightens every time you see him smiling, the same way he used to as kids. Hours pass, and people move out of the room when they’re called. There’s managers calling out instructions and assistants running around to make sure everything is running smoothly. You don’t bother to watch, just focused on cleaning your brushes with antibacterial wash and drying them with a clean rag. It’s quiet for a moment, but there’s a shuffling near the door that catches your attention, it’s him— Felix.

He looks nervous, hands in his pockets and slowly walking over to you, “Hey, could I get your number?” He pauses, “Before I leave.”

You pause, turning to look into the mirror at him, “You don’t have it?” There’s confusion written all over your face.

He’s sucking in a breath, hand rubbing his arm up and down like he’s trying to soothe himself, “Uh, no. Not anymore. I got a new phone awhile back which meant a new number.”

You don’t even bother to ask why he never asked anyone for it when he did get a new number, you just fish your phone out of your pocket and open it to the messages app, “here,”

He leans closer, taking your phone into his hands and punching in his number, sending a message to himself before handing it back to you. He’s stepping back, careful to not invade your space anymore than he has to, “Thanks, uhm— I’ll text you?”

You glance down at the brushes in your hands, and all too familiar rising in your stomach, “Sure.”

He smiles, but it’s one of guilt— before he’s walking back out of the room where everyone else is. And now it’s just you and the empty room once again.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Your phone buzzes to life less with unknown numbers but with familiar pings— texts from him, Felix. They’re awkward at first, but then they drift into the familiar rhythm you used to go through everyday as teenagers. Sometimes you’ll catch yourself smiling at the simple texts he’ll send at random everyday,

“Have you eaten?” “How was your day?” “Text me when you’re home”

Such simple words made your heart flutter, but not because of the context— but because it was him. You think about how easy it feels to talk to him even after all of these years, and yet, beneath the lightness of conversation— there’s always a hint of heaviness looming overhead. Something unsaid, a tension that lingers. You haven’t said anything to him, and he hasn’t brought it up either. The eight years separated, the eight years he left you behind. Sometimes you think this is his way of apologizing, fluffing you up so much to the point you forget there was ever a time where he wasn’t there by your side. When he didn’t completely erase you from his life.

Your phones buzzing to life as you’re washing the dishes,

Felix

Hey! Are you heading back home for the holidays?

was wondering if you’d wanna go down together since they still live across from each other

12:37pm

You take your hands out of the hot water, shaking them dry before replying:

Yeah

I still need to buy my ticket and everything but I’m planning on leaving the 20th

Felix

Don’t bother buying a ticket im leaving the same day

Just come w me on my jet it’ll be faster and cheaper

What time is good for you?

12:40pm

Anytime

Felix

Okok

I’ll book us a flight for 10am

I’ll text you details

See ya :))

Your heart is racing when you stare back at his messages, you don’t respond, just putting a little thumbs up reaction onto his last message and leaving the app. You chuckle thinking about how he dropped “his jet” so casually into the conversation—yea, he’s rich but he dropped it on you like it wasn’t the most insane offer of the year.

Still, there’s no denying the way your stomach flips at the though— going home with him. Hours trapped inside a little metal tube flying around in the sky with him in the same vicinity, thousands of feet in the air. No excuses to walk away. Just him and you, just everything you’ve been dancing around these past few months. You haven’t met up with each other since the day he walked through those doors, so just thinking about being in a plane with him felt extreme— going from zero to one million all in a few days.

But for the first time in forever, the holidays are actually going to mean more than they usually do to you.

The days that follow are restless, you’re driving around the city, running every errand you can think of before packing for your flight the next day. The nerves are just eating away at you, ten hours and six days with him would sound fun if you were sixteen again and on summer holiday. But you aren’t, you’re twenty-four and on holiday leave.

Your phone buzzes for the millionth time that day, but this time it’s Felix again:

Felix

Bring your swimsuits I wanna go swimming down at the beach when we’re there

I’m gonna bring some snacks for the plane.

also do you still hate sitting by the window??

6:32pm

That last question makes you pause for a second, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, he still somehow remembers the littlest things— the way you hated sitting my the window because watching the ground get smaller and smaller would always make you shirk. You don’t reply right away, setting the phone down and leaning back onto your couch, taking in a breath. A part of you wants to think he’s doing this on purpose— bringing up the small things, weaving the memories back into your brain, and you smile when you think of all the times you had. But you know better. You’re slowly typing out a response:

Still hate it. Aisles mine

6:35pm

He sees it instantly, typing out a response in seconds,

Felix

All yours

It’s such a simple thing, but it makes you smile.

The morning of the twentieth arrives in the matter of hours, you’re tossing and turning in bed the night before— reading old messages until you’re pulled into a deep sleep. And by the time your alarm is startling you awake, your eyes are dry from tiredness and you’re rubbing them awake.

He texts you as you finish putting all of your bags by the front door, slipping your shoes on:

Felix

Here. No rush

8:00am

When you step out of your apartment, the cold wind is biting at your nose. There’s a light sprinkle of rain falling from the sky and into you when you drag your bags out of the front door and onto the sidewalk. He’s leaning on a sleek black car, hands in his coat pockets, when he notices you he’s walking in your direction— arms extended out and already taking your bags from you before you can tell him otherwise.

“Good morning.” He’s cheery, sending you a sweet smile before opening the back of the car and luging your heavy bags into the back.

“Morning.” You echo, adjusting the loose hairs on your forehead.

The drive to the airport is oddly normal, sure, there was some small talk in the first few minutes but as soon as the driver put his window up you two started talking like usual— like the past. He talks about how excited he is for the hot weather— how he wants to go swimming until he feels like he’s going to pass out from exhaustion. And he talks about how this is his second time going back home in a while. He makes you laugh here and there, and of course you’re responding when needed, nodding when he talks about something.

And then all of a sudden you’re there, being led through empty hallways that are removed from all of the holiday travel and before you know it, you’re standing on the tarmac and staring up at the sleek white Jet staring back at you. You swallow hard, nerves making your stomach churn.

Felix glances at you, noticing the nervousness written all over your face. He’s giving you a small, reassuring smile, “Ready?”

You’re nodding, “Yea.” But when you say this you’re not sure if you mean being on the plane itself or being with him.

The inside of the jet is nothing like you expected, it’s cleaner than the word clean, the walls are a nice wood marble and the seats are cream colored, the hum of the engine is oddly calming and it's vibrating the floor you’re walking on. You set your bag down at the foot of the nearest seat, fingers grabbing at your necklace out of nervousness— a habit you’ve had as a kid.

Felix throws his hoodie into the empty seat across from him, sitting next to the seat you’ve claimed for yourself. The flight attendant is walking over, giving her practiced safety speech before disappearing somewhere into the jet. It doesn’t take long for the plane to start moving, but the feeling of it slowly moving has your heart falling to your ass and your hand slightly gripping the armrest— you’re fucking terrified of flying.

He notices—because of course he does, “still hate takeoff?” He smiles

You exhale out a small laugh, but it's more nervous than out of amusement. “Hate isn’t a strong enough word.”

He’s laughing at your words, reaching into his carry on bag and fishing out a red and yellow bag. It’s cola gummies, your favorite.

“Well it’s a good thing I have these, it’ll keep you busy.”

You take them without a word, dropping the gummies in your lap and staring at the packaging. The jet lifts up and you keep your eyes locked on the empty seat in front of you, fighting the unease in your stomach. Only when the plane levels out is when you relax and open the bag of gummies.

Thirty minutes into the flight and you’re already wishing you brought sleeping pills because there’s no way you’re surviving ten hours— you barely survived on the plane ride there when you first moved. You both have fallen into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable but also isn’t comfortable. Neutral. He’s scrolling on his phone every so often, liking his friends posts and watching tik tok but every so often you feel his gaze on you like he’s checking to see if you’re okay.

Finally he stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

You turn to him, brow arched, “what does?”

“Us” he’s pointing between the both of you, doesn’t look away from you and doesn’t cushion it with a small laugh or smile. Just saying it how it is.

You just blink at him, “that’s vague.”

His mouth curves into a smirk, he’s leaning forward to get more comfortable and rubbing his hands together like he’s thinking of what to say next, “I mean,” he pauses, “sitting in that car and talking to you again, it feels like time hasn’t passed at all. It feels the same but different at the same time, y’know?”

Your stomach twists, you knew this would come up at some point.

“I didn’t mean for things to..” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling like it’ll give him the words he’s looking for, “I didn’t mean for us to end the way we did.”

He’s letting out a shaky breath as he continues, “ I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear— or maybe ever, I don’t know. But I thought that if I kept texting you, then maybe it’d feel normal again. And—I don’t know”

Then there’s a beat of silence before he’s tilting his head to look at you— to actually look. “I was stupid for cutting you off. I thought I was doing the right thing then,” he exhales sharply, “ I didn’t realize how much it’d hurt to do that.”

Your throat tightens with every word he says, your hands are gripping onto the fabric of your sweats.

“Felix.” you finally say, voice empty.

He doesn’t respond to that, just shuts his mouth and he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for permission to speak again— a worried look in his eyes.

“That’s it? You disappear for eight years, act like I never existed and all you give me is that?” You’re fighting back tears at this point— fighting so hard for your voice to stay strong.

His eyes widen, “that’s—“

You cut him off, “You don’t just get to waltz back into my life and start texting me and think that’s going to make everything better. You didn’t leave me for a week, or a month, but eight years. Do you realize what that was like for me?”

Your voice is cracking and he flinches, running a hand through his hair and tugging the ends— a habit he does when he’s frustrated. “Of course I do, you don’t think I hate myself for doing it?”

“Then why?” You demand, voice rising.

After a moment, he finally exhales— low and shaky, “Because I thought I was protecting you.”

You want to laugh, “Protect me? From what? You?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyebrows are knitted together and he’s taking in a breath before speaking up again, “From everything, the cameras, the fans, the training, the contracts. It was so suffocating— it is suffocating and I didn’t want to put you in any position. I didn’t want you waiting for me, waiting years on someone who wouldn’t be able to come back the same. So I told myself cutting you off would be the best option.”

“You can’t decide that for me.”

His throat bobs when he swallows. And when he speaks up, his voice is rough like he’s also trying not to cry, “ I know. I know and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. I lost you the second I made that decision.”

Your pulse is racing, throat raw from fighting back tears. “You don’t get to say that like it means something. Because the only reason we’re here talking to each other right now— the only reason I’m sitting next to you is because we just happened to run into each other by chance. If I hadn’t been assigned to that job that day I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t have reached out. You wouldn’t have even looked for me.”

His expression falters, color draining from his face, “ No, I..That’s not—“

“Not what? Not true?” You cut in, anger lacing your tone, “you didn’t try, Felix. Not once in eight years did you ever try. You didn’t text, didn’t call, god— you could’ve sent a letter to me by pigeon carrier for all I cared. You never picked up the phone to ask how I was, and now you’re here telling me how much you regretted it. But you know what? The truth is, if life hadn’t shoved us into the same room that day then you’d still be out there living your perfect life without me in it.”

He opened his mouth but nothing comes out, nothing but the sound of the low hum of the jet engine filling the awkward space.

You laugh bitterly, looking away from him and out at the window across the way, wiping your eyes before they spill out with tears.

“You think it was fine for me? You think I was happy cutting you out from my life?” His voice is cracking, breaking through his usually calm demeanor, “ I wasn’t fine— god, I missed you everyday of my life, and yeah, I didn’t have to do it but I thought I was doing the right thing—for you and me.” His voice is quivering, “and if we hadn’t met again the day at the studio I would still be trying to convince myself that it was all for the best. But I’m not fine. I haven’t been for years, not without you.”

“Then why didn’t you come back sooner?”

You look at him this time, meeting his eyes and he’s looking at you with something raw, hurt, guilt, longing all tangled up into one, “Because I didn’t think you’d want me back.”

The words hang heavy in the air, fragile and impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t.” You don’t hesitate in saying it. “I didn’t want you back, Felix. Not after everything. I forced myself to stop checking my phone for you after a year. You know how pathetic that is? I held out for you for a year.”

Your throat tightens but you keep going, “so, you were right about that. I didn’t want you back.”

He’s dragging a shaky hand over his face, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back against the head rest, “But you’re here now.”

“We live across from each other. We’re traveling for the holidays on the same day. That’s the only reason.”

He’s looking at you again, “You’re right.” His voice is low, “I didn’t come back for you. I didn’t even allow myself to think about coming back because I knew that if I did then I wouldn’t be able to do what I had to do.”

You scoff, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he’s shaking his head, “but I need you to know it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you, it was because I cared too much.” He’s wiping his eyes dry before speaking up again, “I knew that if I gave in and reached out then I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from running back to you. And maybe that’s selfish, but it was the only way.”

His fingers are brushing loose locks back behind his ears, “but now? Now that you’re here again, I don’t want to let that go. Not again. Even if all you’ll let me have is awkward texts and small talk then that’s what I’ll take if it means it's with you. But please,”

His eyes are softening, and he’s reaching for your hand that rests in your lap, “ I know I can’t take back eight years, I know I can’t change what I did. But I can try to make it better now, I can get to be there, really be there. Only if you let me, and please, let me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” He continues, his pretty brown eyes steady on yours, “ I’m asking for a chance, a chance to show you I’m not that seventeen year old boy who left you. I’m not the same person who left you standing there in that airport. I never stopped thinking about you, never once. And I don’t want to waste another second thinking that it doesn’t matter.”

His warm hand is over yours, and your hand is clenching in your lap. The hum of the engine once again fills the silence before you speak.

“I don’t know.” you mutter. He gives you the slightest smile, shaking his head and squeezing your already tense hand, “I don’t expect you to allow it right now, I just want a start.”

And for the first time in years, you consider it. Not forgiving him, not forgetting, but letting him in. Just this once.

By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. The hum of the engine has disappeared and is replaced by the sound of seatbelts coming off and flight attendants cleaning up around the jet. You’re stepping off of the aircraft and being met with the warm air of Australia— a feeling you’ve been dying to fee for a while. There's workers beside you unpacking your luggage from the underside of the jet, placing it gently onto the tarmac for you to grab. You’re squinting at the bright lights reflecting off of the ground, Felix is next to you and grabbing your luggage for you with a smile on his face.

“Got everything?”

You nod, adjusting the strap of your backpack and grabbing the handles of your suitcases in hand as you follow him closer to the airport.

He turns back to you, “You sure you don’t want me to carry your bag for you?”

You smile, “No, it’s fine. I’ve carried around this much every time I travel.”

He shrugs but there’s a soft chuckle in his voice, “Whatever you say.”

He’s slowing to fall in step with you, the moonlight is reflecting off of his light colored hair— perfectly complimenting his features.

“You missed this, huh?” He asks, nodding towards the surroundings.

You nod, “yea.”

He’s quiet the rest of the time you’re in the airport— busy on getting everything checked out and calling for an uber. The moment the car arrives, he’s mirroring the same thing he did when he picked you up— packing your luggage in the back with his and then sitting next to you in the car. You’re glancing out of the car window and taking in the familiar streets of your hometown. The moonlights bouncing off of the buildings and there’s store banners flying in the wind. It feels the same way you left it.

Felix keeps a hand close to your on the center seat, but not close enough to touch. Suddenly, he’s speaking softly, “It’s kind of funny we were going to travel on the same day.”

You shrug, still looking out the window, “Yea, life’s crazy like that sometimes.”

Felix lets out a soft laugh, barely above a whisper and he’s looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world, “You’re always up in space whenever you’re in a car— always looking out the window.”

You glance at him with a smirk, “I just like being in my mind. It’s relaxing” you murmur, “sometimes it’s fun to not think and just watch.”

He’s leaning back in the seat, streetlights catching in his face at a weird angle but his eyes still don’t leave yours, “Yea, I get it.” He says, his smile growing sly, “but it’s also fun to pay attention to the people around you.”

You raise an eyebrow at his teasing, “So you’re saying I should pay attention to you?”

He’s chuckling softly, the sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter, “Yeah, I like when you pay attention to me.”

You look away from him after that, pretending to really be focused on what color the car was driving next to you,“ You’re annoying.”

“Am I?” You don’t respond, exhaling through your nose and shaking your head with a smile.

And for the rest of the twenty minute ride, your conversation lulls into small smiles and stolen glances. Watching the streets of your hometown pass as you get closer to the suburbs. It feels surreal, the warm air, the smell of the city— it brings you back.

“It feels weird having it be summer.” He says, looking out of his window.

You nod, shoulders relaxing when you watch the driver pull into your street, “Yeah, it does.”

The driver pulls up to your house, rolling up near the curb and parking. He’s gently picking up your luggage and handing it to Felix as you’re getting out of the car, you’re taking them from him every time he hands you bag after bag. You wait for him, watching him close the trunk of the car and handing the Uber some cash he had taken out. You step into the familiar driveway, and Felix is one step behind you the whole way.

You turn to him, standing in front of your front door, “You’re not going to your house?”

He smiles, a small laugh falling from his lips, “I have to say hi to your parents too, don’t I?“

Your heart warms at that, and you’re tilting your head before you start digging through your backpack for your house keys, “You don’t have to. They probably don’t even know you’re coming.” There’s no edge in your voice, it’s just a soft murmur.

“Nah, I want to. I’ll make it a surprise.” He’s shaking his head, rocking back on his feet and watching you.

You finally fish your keys out of your bag, sliding the right one into the lock and opening the creaky door. The house feels the same, The smell and looks never changing in the five years you've been gone. You're stepping inside, hauling your bags to the wall nearest to the door and Felix is lingering at the door before he steps inside after you— leaving his luggage outside. His eyes are scanning the familiar hallways of your childhood home, the way the picture frames sit perfectly on the wall— untouched.

He gives out a small exhale when his eyes land on a picture of you and him on your first day of grade six, “still looks the same.”

You're slipping off of your shoes and throwing them by the mat near the door— they make a thudding noise when they land on the floor. “Nothing really changes here.”

And for the slightest second you feel like you’re sixteen again with Felix trailing behind you after a long day of school.

Your moms voice rings out from the living room, “Honey, is that you?”

You sigh out, slowly walking towards the living room and revealing yourself, “it’s me, ma”

She’s already flying off of the couch and over to you, arms wide open and with the biggest smile on her face. But the second she spots Felix behind you, she’s stopping in her tracks and her mouth is falling wide open like she’s just seen a ghost.

“Felix? Oh my goodness!”

Your mom doesn’t hesitate in doing a complete 180 and pulling him into a hug, squeezing him tight as if he were her own child. He practically was anyway. You’re frozen, watching the two of them, the way he’s towering over her even when he hugs her, the way he’s leaning into her touch.

When she finally lets him go and looks up, her eyes are a little glassy and half open, “look at you, all grown up.”

Felix glances at you with a smile on his face, a look of “she’s never not going to be like this” all over his face.

Your dads voice calls out from the kitchen, “who is it?” And when he appears from around the corner his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the two of you here.

There’s laughter and hugs being shared between the three, an easy familiarity. You’re just standing off to the side, still clutching your keys in hand and faintly smiling at the warmness of the interaction. Your mom fusses, asking the both of you if you've eaten at all the entire day, and she's shaking her head when you tell her no because of the early morning flight. She lingers anyway, interrogating Felix with questions, asking about if he's gotten a girlfriend, or how his friends are doing back in Korea. Your dad throws in a few jokes here and there, and Felix rebuttals them with ease and a gentle laugh.

But eventually, your mom yawns and waves her hands around. “Alright, alright. It's too late for me to keep up with you. I'm happy you guys came home, I love you, and I'm heading to bed.”

Your dad gives Felix a firm pat on the back, giving him a smile and muttering something about “Happy to see you again, son.”

The house is quiet now, the kitchen light dimmed and the tv off now. Its just you and Felix standing in the middle of the living room, your bags by the front door and in front of the stairs leading upstairs. He's stuffing his hands into his pockets and clearing his throat, “Wanna go say hi to my parents?”

His voice is low and soft, almost like he's nervous. “If I go over there myself , my moms gonna corner me with questions and talk my ear off until midnight, and my dads gonna make me unpack until I can't breathe.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling “So you're taking me over there to be your distraction?”

He's nodding his head and chuckling, “Exactly.”

He's walking out of the front door and rolling his suit cases down your driveway. He tilts his head towards his house across the street, the porch light is glowing warmly and you can already imagine his mom peeking out of the curtains, realizing her babies are home.

You follow him outside, the warm air surrounding you. The air is carrying that familiar coastal scent you've grown to miss, and the streets are quiet except for the occasional honk from a car across the neighborhood. By the time you reach his front door, the lights inside are already clicking on. He doesn't knock, not just yet. He's just staring at the door like it'll magically open for him— and somehow it does. The door is swinging open and his mom stands there, hand already on her mouth to cover her surprise and her glassy eyes.

“Lixie?”

“Hi, mom” his voice is warm like honey, smiling big without thinking about it. He sets his bags down and lets her pull him into the biggest hug— her arms wrapping around him so tight it almost looks like she'd never let go.

You step back, smiling without meaning to, just watching the reunion. His dad appears in the doorway behind his mom, a grin already on his face, “Look who finally decided to come home.” he says, pulling Felix away from his mom and into his arms.

It's only after her initial hug when her gaze flicks over to you, her eyes somehow widen even more in surprise and she's squealing.

“Oh my goodness, is that you my love? Come here honey.” she's pulling you into a hug similar to the one she gave Felix, wrapping you up in her warm arms like you never left in the first place. Like you're still the little girl who would spend all of her time in their backyard.

When she lets go, Felix’s dad is chuckling and patting your head, “Our kids are finally home— just like old times.”

You glance at Felix, his gaze already on you and he's giving you a soft smile, “Yea, like old times.” he mutters.

His mom is ushering the both of you inside in no time, Felix’s dad is hauling his son's luggage inside before anyone else can offer to do it. The house still smells the same, soft laundry powder and a hint of vanilla honey candles— the kind she would always have burning. The familiarity hits you in an instance and you step inside behind Felix. You follow him towards the living room where his mom is waving you over to the couches.

“Sit, both of you. I'll make you tea,” she pauses, looking at you and giving you a smile, “Oh, honey. I still have that mango nectar you used to drink. Would you want that instead?”

You can't help but smile back, “It's okay, tea's good with me.”

As his mom hustles into the kitchen, Felix is sinking down onto the couch, his shoulder relaxing. You take a seat next to him, a comfortable space between the two of you.

You're glancing around the living room, watching his dad disappear down the haul after he put his luggage upstairs. Felix is leaning towards you, “Feels weird”

“Yea, it kinda does.”

Felix studies the way your face looks in the warm light, the slope of your nose and the way your cheek curves— the way your eyes are glued to the family portraits above the TV. His knee is bouncing nervously, and then he murmurs “At least something’s come back with me.”

The faucet is running somewhere is the background, and you can hear the clinking of mugs in the kitchen. You turn to look at him,

“What do you mean “somethings”?”

His lips quirk, but his eyes are everywhere but yours like he's trying to grow the confidence to speak again, “You.”

Your chest tightens at his words, and now you're unsure if its because you want to run away or into his arms. But before you can decide that, his mom is walking back into the living room with four mugs all filled to the brim.

“Here we are,” she says cheerfully, setting the tray down onto the table, “chamomile for me, green for your dad, and peppermint for the both of you.” She's smiling and clapping her hands. “I remembered you like peppermint tea,” she adds, looking at you.

You take the cup from the plastic tray, whispering a thank you, the steam wafting in your face. Felix takes his as well, mirroring you. His dad comes back with a bag of biscuits, setting them down on the coffee table before sinking down into his armchair with a sigh.

“So, how long are you two staying? Just for the holidays?” he asks, looking between the two of you.

You and Felix nod, but he's the first to speak up when he notices you're taking a small sip of your still hot tea, “Yea, just until after Christmas.”

You lean back against the couch, the mug warm in your hands and you're letting the familiar rhythm of his parents’ talking settle you. It feels the same to you, like you're a teenager again, spending the nights after school. Except, this time, everything— everyone is older and quieter.

His dad is chuckling, throwing a biscuit into his mouth, “Back then, I could barely get you guys away from each other. Always running around the street, always jumping into the pool on hot days. Never leaving each other's houses.” he glances at you, eyes twinkling, “sometimes I couldn't tell if you lived here or not.”

Felix smiles faintly at that, sipping on his tea, “Yeah, feels like a lifetime ago.”

The living room settles into a comfortable hum— his parents making small conversation and there's the ticking of the old clock on the wall. You sip at your tea, the steam warming your eyelids for a moment before you put the cup down. Felix’s knee brushes the side of your thigh, it's subtle– but it makes you pause. He doesn't move away, just stays there like it's the most normal thing on earth.

After a while, his mom stands up and gathers the empty ceramic mugs onto the plastic tray, “You two must be tired, we’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest.” She smiles, knowingly. Her eyes are flicking between you and Felix in a way that makes your heart squeeze.

Felix stands, stretching before nudging your shoulder with his hand, “Ready?”

You nod, standing up next to Felix. His dad is humming, “Good to have you back.”

It’s quiet between the two of you when you make your way towards his front door. You go to open the door, but he stops you— his hand on your shoulder. You turn to him, he has some kind of look on his face that you can’t quite gauge. He he opens mouth and says something so soft you barely catch it,

“Roof?”

You blink at him, caught off guard but he opens his mouth again to continue, “ I thought— I thought maybe we could.. y’know? Talk..?”

You glance towards the front door, your hand on the doorknob. You let go, facing him again, “Alright.”

The two of you make your way up, hearing the creak of the floorboards going up the stairs— it brings a pang of nostalgia to your heart. By the time you walk into his childhood room, it feels like you’re walking into a misspeak with the way everything was preserved the way he left it. You try not to pay any mind to it, not looking at the Polaroid pictures of you and him plastered on his wall above his desk. He’s opening the hatch of his window, the night sky is dark and littered with bright stars. There’s a breeze of warm air that hits you in the face when he opens it the full way, his curtains drifting slightly. He steps out first, crouching his way to the spot you two would sit in. you follow, sitting next to him but not close enough to reach out and touch him.

You’re looking out at the view, you can see the city lights and the ocean peaking out from behind. It’s beautiful, more than you remember. He’s leaning back on his hands, taking peeks at you. He wants to speak, to talk. But he’s afraid.

So you do, “I don’t even remember the reason why we started coming up here” Your voice is quiet, soft.

He laughs, his fingers brushing back his hair. “I think we were eleven, or at least I was— but, we had just come back from the beach.” He’s looking at you now, a smile on his face, “ you had your cotton candy ice cream and I got coconut. We ended up coming out here because you kept bothering me about seeing shooting stars so I finally gave in and we came out here. We just talked for hours until my mom found us and got mad.”

You chuckle, still looking out to the city, “Of course you remember.”

Felix smiles wider, eyes flicking to the ocean and then back to you, “always.”

You don’t speak again, just admiring the way the waves crash ever so softly on the shore. He’s shifting closer to you, shoulders almost touching— and for a moment it’s quiet between you both. It’s just the sound of passing traffic and the faint sound of the waves.

“Do you remember what we’d talk about up here?” He asks, voice low.

Now you’re looking at him, crossing your hands in front of your legs and hugging yourself. “What?”

He’s taking in a breath, looking up at the sky again. “We’d make promises up here, talk about what we’d do when we’re older,”

Now you remember.

“We said that if we were single by twenty-five we’d get married.” He finishes, looking back at you again.

You look at him, caught between disbelief and amusement. “We said that?” You’re exhaling a laugh.

He’s shrugging, and you can see a flush moving up his neck ever so slightly. “I mean, yeah. We were maybe thirteen when we made that promise. But I’ve never forgotten it.” His eyes lock into yours, he’s serious.

You shift slightly, “I can’t believe you remember all of that.” Brushing a hair out of your face— heart thudding.

“I remember a lot about you.” He admits, voice just above a whisper. “More than I probably should.”

For a moment, it’s quiet again. The city, the ocean, the traffic— it just fades away into background noise. Just the two of you. He’s leaning a little closer, his shoulder fully next to yours now. “Do you remember Sienna?”

You freeze, your hands tensing up and your shoulders rising. Your breath catches, and you’re glancing back at him, eyes narrowing, “Sienna?” You repeat.

He’s nodding, “We made that promise at fifteen.”

He’s giving you time to respond, but you don’t— so he continues to speak, “I think I brought it up, I don’t remember who did but one of us said that we should have a daughter after we get married. You came up with the name Sienna.”

You hum, “yeah, I remember.” Sucking in a breath before continuing, “I thought she’d look just like you.”

He’s laughing, “yea but she’d have a temper just like yours, be sensitive, like you.”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, “Sure” you look at him, “but she’d probably be childish like her dad.”

He’s nudging your shoulder lightly with his, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes, “She'll make me do everything with her, just like her mom did when we were kids.” He adds, a teasing look in his eye.

You chuckle, “She would’ve been cute.”

He's letting out a quiet sigh, looking back to the water. “Yeah.. she would’ve.” He murmurs.

You feel like your chest could explode at any second with the way your heart is thumping. You’re shifting, shoulder knocking with his and you’re leaning back— mirroring him. “It’s kinda weird.. imagining what our life would be like even at that age. We were barely even living at that point.”

He glances at you, “Yeah.”

Neither of you speak, letting the noisy sounds of life below you fill the air once more.

“Do you think it’ll happen?” He finally asks.

You pause, thinking to yourself before laying on your back to look up at the stars, “Getting married?”

“Yeah, I mean—everything. Us, Sienna.” He’s quiet.

You’re turning your head to look up at him, he’s still looking up at the stars, the moonlight lighting up his hair in the most prettiest way imaginable. “I don’t know, Lixie.” You’re sighing, “With the way our life is going, I don’t think it’ll work out.”

His jaw tightens, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly like he wants to argue but he just doesn’t know how to. He finally drops his head from the sky, looking down at his hands, “I figured you’d say that.”

You shift against the coarse tiles, “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t impossible, y’know?” You add, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them.

That makes him look at you. His eyes linger on your face— searching, yearning, aching. “Yeah?” He whispers out.

And you smile, “Yeah.”

For a moment neither of you look away, you’re pushing yourself up slightly to lean on your elbows, the night feels warmer somehow, and there’s something in the air that makes it feel like there’s something left unsaid— something that’s been waiting to be said for years now. His lips part, but he isn’t trying to speak. He’s just looking at you, every part of your face— and you catch the way his eyes linger just the slightest bit longer on your lips before coming back to your eyes.

He’s shifting closer to you, leaning down just slightly. He’s so close you can feel him breathing on your neck, it’s sending sparks up your spine. Your breath stutters, he’s so close— unbelievably close. His knee is brushing against your thigh, the world feels entirely too loud, the wind too warm and it feels like everything’s closing in on you.

“We— we should go to bed.” you blurt out, sitting up a little too fast.

Felix blinks in confusion, but for a second you see a flicker of hurt across his face but it’s gone as quickly as it happened. He forces a smile, looking down at his hands and rubbing his hands. “Yea, okay.”

The silence is awkward now.

He’s pushing off of the roof now, slowly climbing off of the roof and back into his room. Neither of you speaks, you’re following behind him and stepping into the cold room that smells faintly of clean laundry. He’s following you when you walk down the stairs— the familiar creaking echoing down the empty hallway.

You mumble out a small “Goodnight” when you open his front door, not daring to turn back and look at him in case you see the hurt in his eyes looking back at you. The door clicks shut and you’re left outside by yourself, heart racing a million miles per second and head spinning.

He wasn’t going to kiss you, right? Maybe you’re overthinking— it was probably going to be a hug. And even if he was, it’s too soon.

Crossing the street feels like crossing the ocean, heavy and strenuous. By the time you’re inside your house, the quiet feels like a weighted blanket over you. It’s suffocating, too empty, too loud. You’re on autopilot the rest of the time you get ready, pajamas on, teeth brushed, face washed. You’re crawling into your bed, pulling the covers up to cover your chin. You just can’t seem to calm down. Everytime you close your eyes, you remember the way he was looking at you— so soft and full of adoration. Aching. The warmth of his shoulder against yours, the way his breath felt on your neck.

You toss and turn, but sleep doesn’t come. All you can think about is him. His hair, his freckles, his eyes, his cologne, and god— his voice. How easy it would’ve been to just give in and lean in closer to him. But you couldn’t have— not on the first day back, not on the first day of letting him back in. You’re like a lovestruck fool, running back into the arms of the boy you used to love— the one who hurt you so bad. It’s so stupid.

Day 1

Your phone buzzes before your alarm.

Felix

Hey I'm outside

Wanna walk down to the beach and swim?

11:05

Your stomach flips, he's outside? Waiting for you— even after last night?

You shuffle over to your window and peeking through the blinds. Sure enough, he's standing outside and leaning on his dads sleek red car. He's mindlessly tapping on his phone, a white tee on and his signature blue swim trunks on. He looks normal, unborthered— like what happened last night didn't affect him at all. Like he wasn’t just sitting next to you with that yearning look in his eyes.

You change quickly, putting on your swimsuit and tugging on shorts and a big tee over to cover it. By the time you step outside, Felix drops his attention from his phone and onto you, his posture straightening. He’s smiling—like usual, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Morning.” He says, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You hug your arms around your chest, fingers fiddling with the straps of your tote bag. “Morning.”

He’s clearing his throat after a second, pushing off of his dads car and tilting his head down the street, “Beach?”

You nod quickly, turning to start walking. “Yep.”

The two of you fall into step, shoes scuffing against the pavement. Normally the walk would be filled with some stupid commentary— he’d point out weirdly shaped clouds or you’d tease him about being so pale for someone who grew up near the beach. But right now? It’s just the sound of cars passing and seagulls chirping that fill the empty space.

You’re biting the inside of your cheek, wishing you could say something— literally anything to break the awkward silence. But everything you think of sounds too small, too stupid.

But he tries first, “Did you bring snacks?”

You nod, gesturing to your tote bag, “Yeah, water, chips, fruit, cookies— those cinnamon ones you like.”

His lips are curling into a smile, “You remembered.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are counting the scattered grains of sand on the floor in hopes he doesn’t notice the way your cheeks flush.

When you finally reach the boardwalk, the salty air is hitting you in the face— your hair whipping in the air. He’s laughing at you when you struggle to push your hair back into place. But his laughter is short lived, he doesn’t nudge you in the shoulder, doesn’t try and help get loose strands that stick to your lipgloss. He just stays walking next to you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

The beach is filled with scattered umbrellas and vacant beach chairs. It’s pretty empty for a weekday. You’re claiming a random spot near the water, watching the waves crash against the shore while you’re taking out the sunscreen.

He’s tugging his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the chair without a care in the world. The sunlight catches the muscles of his back, and he’s stretching like he’s been waiting to do this all week. You don’t mean to stare— and god, you really don’t. But your eyes are trailing all over his body especially when he turns around, the sun casting shadows on the dips of his abs and his biceps. You have to force yourself to look away before it becomes obvious to him that you’re ogling.

But when you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with a slight smirk on his face. It’s almost like he knew you had been looking, but he’s clearing his throat.

“Can you?” He gestures to the sun lotion in your hands.

Your stomach flips, “sure.”

He’s turning around and waiting. Finally, you press your hands to his shoulders, feeling his hot skin under your cool, sunscreen covered hands. You’re spreading it around his back carefully, dragging it across his muscles and the curve of his spine. He’s turning around, so you’re handing him the bottle for him to finish off. He’s taking it without a problems, squeezing some into his hand and finishing the job.

You wipe your hands into your shorts, trying to take off that electric feeling still clinging to your fingers.

“Your turn.”

Your eyes widen, “what?”

He’s grinning, snapping open the bottle and squeezing more into his hands, “You’ll burn worse than me. You always manage to.”

“I can do it myself” you respond a little too fast, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt.

But he’s shaking his head, “Not your back, you'll miss a spot.”

The thought of his hands against your skin makes your heart jump, but you’re rolling your eyes and sighing out, “Fine.”

You pull your shirt over your body, bunching up your hair into a bun and turning around. The air hits your bare back, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything happening around you. His hands are on you, gentle and cool. He’s spreading the sunscreen around your shoulder so slowly you feel like your legs could give out. His thumbs are brushing along your shoulder blades, and the curve of your back.

“Why are you so tense?” He asks, and you mentally facepalm.

You huff, “Uh, I don’t know, maybe it’s cuz your hands are cold.” you’re hoping he believes you.

His hands still on your back for a second before giving you a pat on your shoulder, “Kay, all done.”

You finally turn around, face hotter than the sun. He’s watching you, freckles more prominent in the sun and he’s giving you a knowing smile. He doesn’t say anything, just turning around and walking towards the water. He’s laughing when a wave crashes into his legs, and his laugh is faintly carried back to you. You can’t help but smile.

Taking a breath, you pull off your shorts, folding them and place them back onto your tote bag. You’re brushing sand off of your legs before you make your way towards the water. The cool breeze kisses your skin and you shiver slightly, hesitating when you finally reach the water.

Felix glances back at you, hair already damp from splashing around in the water. “Are you afraid?” He’s calling out, a mischievous smile plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking a step forward and letting a wave crash into your ankles. The water is a lot colder than you expected, and it causes you to hunch over.

He’s laughing when you cry out a “Holy crap!” backing up to get closer to you, “it’s not that bad.” he says.

And before you can roll your eyes and give him a sassy remark, he’s scooping up a handful of water and flicking it towards you.

You’re yelping when the cold water hits your waist, “Felix!” Covering your face and moving to turn away from him.

He’s laughing smugly, and it sparks up a competitiveness in you. Without thinking, you kick water at him— the sound of water hitting his chest is sharp and satisfying.

The game ends up escalating, he’s surging forward and splashing you back with even greater power. You squeal when he lunges at you, arms out like he’s going to grab you. You try to run but the waves are pushing you back, making it almost impossible to move in the water. He’s grabbing you by your wrist, pulling you back into him. Both of you are restless with laughter, and this time he actually manages to scoop you up into his arms by your waist. You're laughing and kicking, begging him to put you down but all he does is laugh. He doesn't listen, spinning you around, water flying everywhere as he twirls you around like you weigh nothing. Your hands are clutching at his shoulders instinctively, nails pressing into his damp back.

After what feels like forever, he stops. He's still holding you in his arms, looking down at you. The splashing stops and suddenly you're just there— face to face once again. His wet hair is dripping onto his face, droplets sliding down his slim face. You're still catching your breath, hair plastered to your face and water dripping off of your arms and legs. For a moment, it's just the two of you at this moment. Felix’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his lips curling into a smirk. The grip he has in your waist loosens ever so slightly, and he's drawing shapes into your skin with his thumb. He isn't putting you down, just tilting his head as he looks at you, watching the water from your hair drip down your nose.

“Was that fun?” he asks.

You smile, “You're insane.”

He doesn't say anything else, just leans in closer, the warmth of his chest against the side of your body. The sound of his breath mixes with yours, your hands are tightening on his shoulders, and you can feel his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

Suddenly, he's letting you go. Your stomach drops when you feel yourself falling and gasping when you meet the cold water. The water engulfs you fully, and you instantly come back up to the surface. He's keeled over into the water, arm around his stomach as he laughs.

You sputter out a cough, wiping the water from your face. Your heart is still facing from the initial closeness and the sudden drop. “Dude!”you shout between laughs, splashing him in the face.

He's still doubled over in the water, laughing so hard that people could probably hear him from the other side of the beach. “You should've seen your face!” he cries, shaking his head and wiping water out of his eyes.

“You're going to regret that” You call out, splashing more water at him.

He's finally standing back up, waving his hands around his face, “Truce!”

You narrow your eyes at him, wafting through the water towards him. “Truce?”

He raises his hands, palms facing out towards you in surrender, though the smirk on his face shows he's more than enjoying this. “Yea, truce.” he says, voice light and airy.

You let out a mock sigh, your shoulders relaxing though your heart still races. “Fine..” you mutter out, flicking some water at him just to tease him.

Felix comes closer to you, sinking down into the water so just the upper part of his torso sticks out. You mirror him, sinking down into the now warm water and swimming around. The waves aren't as rough around this time. There's a silence surrounding you, it's comfortable. And every once in a while you'll catch him watching you pick up shells from the sand below.

He's the first to break the silence, “Wanna get ice cream?” he's pushing back his wet hair.

Yours looking at him, eyes wide in surprise— but you're smiling. “From our place on the boardwalk?”

He grins, the look in his eye mischievous. “Yeah, I've been thinking about it for the past week or so.” he admits.

You laugh, shaking your memory, “All week? You've been thinking about ice cream this whole time?”

He shrugs, still smiling and floating in the water, “That and something else.” he says, voice teasing.

You're raising an eyebrow at this, water dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, “Yeah? What else?”

He just leans back into the water, looking up at the clouds, “Nothing” he jokes.

You roll your eyes, splashing a little water at him, “Nothing? Sure, okay.”

He laughs, ducking under the water to pop back up with a grin, “Fine, maybe it’s not nothing. But I’m not telling yet.”

You shake your head, faux annoyance lacing your voice. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, tilting his head toward you, “but you like it.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the sun and the water mixing with the flutter in your chest. “Sure,” you tease. He smirks, eyes glinting in the sun, “C’mon, I wanna see what flavors they have today” he says, getting out of the water and walking towards the spot you both had claimed earlier.

You follow him, hair dripping wet and you feel sand sticking to your wet feet. Felix’s grabbing a towel from your chair, handing it to you before grabbing another and throwing it over his head. You take the towel, drying yourself off and groaning when sand sticks to your legs. He's shaking his towel out with a grin on his face, tossing his damp towel around his shoulders and taking his discarded shirt into his hands. “Need help?”

You laugh, shaking your head when you notice his sly smirk “No, I’m ready to go if you are though.” you say, slipping your shirt over your damp swimsuit.

You grab your tote bag, tugging it over your shoulder as he falls in step with you. The boardwalk creaks under your feet, sand crunching under the weight of your shoes. The two of you are walking closer and closer to your ice cream shop, the light up signs bright under the shaded roof. It looks the same way it did when you were here last. The bell above the door jingles as you both step inside, the cool air of the shop washing over you. The familiar scent of waffle cones and hot fudge fills your nose, and you can’t help but smile at how small and perfect everything feels. Felix follows close behind, shoulders brushing yours occasionally, but neither of you says anything. He's passing you to peek at the flavours, but one catches your eye: cotton candy.

“I know what I want.” You're smiling, pointing to the little title sign. He's glancing over, huffing out a laugh through his nose, “Of course.”

You can't help but laugh softly, “what about you?” you ask, looking at him.

He's shrugging, combing his hair with his fingers and then pointing to a sign in the corner, “Maybe the banana creme pie”

The employee is scooping up colorful servings of your flavor, placing it into a small bowl before finishing it off with a spoon. Felix grabs yours first, handing it over to you before grabbing his own. He pays for it like usual, giving them a four-dollar tip and turning to follow you outside.

You step back out onto the boardwalk, the sun warming your skin and the seasalt still lingering in your hair. The spoonful of cotton candy ice cream melts instantly on your tongue, sweetness mixing with the faint tang of salt from the beach. Felix walks beside you, careful not to bump into your shoulders.

He tilts his bowl slightly toward you, teasing, “So, still your favorite flavor after all these years?”

You laugh, spinning your spoon around, “Not my favorite but I can't pass it up if it's there.”

He smirks, taking a bite of his ice cream, "Sure, sure.” he says, eyes flicking toward you.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, walking side by side along the boardwalk, the occasional brush of your arms against his sending a small jolt through you. Seagulls circle overhead, the ocean humming just beyond the railings. Everything feels the same and completely different all at once.

Felix leans slightly closer, lowering his voice, “I missed this.. doing something this simple with you.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised, “Simple?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes softening. “You. Ice cream. The beach. No cameras, no schedules. Just us.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, just let the words sink in, tasting sweeter than the ice cream in your hand. You finish your ice cream slowly, savoring both the flavor and the quiet comfort of being with him. Once the bowls are empty, you toss them and rise from the bench. Felix falls into step beside you as you start to walk along the railing, the sounds of the wooden planks beneath your feet, the distant laughter of kids, the soft crash of waves.

“Y’know” he begins, “I remember the first time we came here together. We got an arcade ticket for dirt cheap, and I spent an hour trying to win that stuffed bear you begged me for.”

You're laughing at that, covering your mouth and looking at him, “Oh god, yea. You refused to give up even after I told you to stop.”

“Yea, but I got it.” he smiles, “it sat on your bed for months.”

“You always remember the weirdest things.” you say, and he's shaking his head, looking at you. “I remember the important things.”

You both continue walking along the walkway, your hand gliding against the cool metal railing and you look out at the horizon. He's clearing his throat after a moment, hands in his pocket— somewhere where they seemed to live at this point.

“So, why makeup? Why Seoul?” he starts, nudging your shoulder.

You pause, licking your lips, “Uhm, not sure. I wanted to go to school for something creative but I wasn't good at painting. So I took up cosmetology and I liked it enough for it to become my job. I started getting job offers to work with models in Korea so I would travel over until I decided to just live there and base my clients there.”

He nods, studying you as you speak, “So, all of the people you've worked with were famous?”

You stiffen slightly, unsure if he's curious or teasing you. “Sure, you could say that. But its not like I'm hanging out with them or anything.”

“Cmon, spill. There has to be at least one guy.” he's smirking, pulling your arm with his fingers.

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping your lips. “There's no one. You're so nosy sometimes.”

“Maybe. But I'm curious about you.” he's tilting his head at you.

You glance out at the ocean, watching the waves crash against some rocks nestled into the corner of the pier. “Ive worked with some idols, some you'd know if I told you the names.”

He’s leaning towards you, clearly satisfied you're giving him answers even if they're vague, “Oooh, mysterious.”

“Mysterious? Please. I'm just trying not to brag.”

The air between you shifts slightly, warmer, more intimate, as the pier stretches out ahead and the waves lap softly below.

By the time you’d walked to the end of the pier and back, the sun had dipped low in the sky, painting the clouds in shades of orange and pink. Your ice cream was long gone, leaving only sticky fingers and a faint sweetness lingering on your lips. Felix let out a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“I forget it gets dark quickly over here. We should walk back.” he says, looking around at the half-empty board walk.

You nod, stretching your arms, “I'll follow you.”

He grins, pushing against your shoulder with his hand and moving towards the exit. The walk back was quiet at first, just the soft crunch of sand under your shoes, but the small touches and glances between you added to the rising pressure in your chest. You reach your street in no time, the sun has dipped further down, casting a golden glow across the sky. Felix’s slowing down next to you, looking at you and smiling. “Your mom’s making dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yea, 6:30.” you respond.

He doesn't say anything to that, just giving you a small nod and heading in the direction of his front door. You watched him until he disappeared behind the door, moving only when it clicked closed.

Day 2

Sometimes you thought cooking was the bane of your existence. It was time consuming, it burned your eyes, it made the entire house hot— it just wasn't your forte. Your mom, however, could've been a chef in her past life, just throwing together a dish in thirty seconds like it meant nothing— and it still comes out tasting better than anything you've eaten at a restaurant. She was always the one people would ask recipes from, beg her to make her most famous dishes for them to serve at their dinner parties. She was that lady.

So you're just sitting at the kitchen island, watching your mom work her magic without a care in the world. Felix and his parents were supposed to come over tonight, a tradition you guys have had since forever. Eat dinner at your house in celebration of Christmas Eve, then buy each other gifts the next day to exchange on Christmas Eve itself.

The smell of garlic and oregano fills the air, you've got your chin propped up against your hand watching as your mom hums along to the random Christmas song playing on the TV. You're taking glances at the clock,“ you think they'll be on time this year?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

She's chuckling, taking out a plate of roasted potatoes from the oven and placing it on top of the stove, “They're all ways late, but I think that's because she's so busy bringing us all of those desserts.”

You smile, rolling your eyes in faux annoyance. You smooth out your dress, something simple for the dinner.

The doorbell rings, and your mom is calling for you to go answer it. You slide off the stool, pushing your hair back from your shoulders and padding towards the door. When you pull it open, Felix is standing behind it, a covered dish in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, giving you his signature smile that never seems to falter.

Your eyes flick down to the dish he holds tightly in his arms, “Let me guess, your moms apple crumble?”

He laughs, stepping inside of the house when you move aside to let him through. “Yeah, she even made a second batch so you wouldn't eat it all like you did that one year.”

You gasp, shutting the door when his parents finish making their way inside, “I didn't! I just took the last serving.”

He's waiting for you, shaking his head and tutting, “After like, one or two trips to the kitchen.”

You're groaning, playfully punching at his shoulder when his mom calls for him, “Felix, put the food down in the kitchen!”

He flashes you a grin before heading in, holding the dish out like it’s treasure.

Your mom beams the moment she sees Felix turning the corner, “There he is! My favorite guest.”

“What? How?” you're groaning, coming up next to him and nudging his hip with yours.

He's winking at you, putting the dish onto the countertop and giving your mom a hug, “It's natural.”

Soon, the table is crowded with food— roasted potatoes, garlic chicken, vegetables, his moms famous apple crumble, and of course, every other one of his mom's desserts. Everyone takes their seats, the conversation flowing easily between the parents. They’re swapping stories, laughing about the last time your mom accidentally burned the turkey, already planning the next family outing.

You pick at your chicken, listening with a smile, but Felix leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Told you,” he murmurs, nodding toward his mom who’s already insisting to leave her extra desserts at your house for you to enjoy on Christmas. “She made too much again.”

You stifle a laugh. “Better than not enough.”

Under the table, his knee nudges against yours lightly, and when you glance at him, he’s trying very hard to look like he’s paying attention to your parents' conversations.

Meanwhile, his mom is looking across the table at you, a giant smile on her face. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. Honestly, sometimes I think of you as our daughter.”

You flush, covering your face with your hand and giving them a sweet, “Thank you.”

You’re quietly piling food on your plate when you feel a light nudge against your knee under the table. Felix is sitting beside you, pretending to listen to his dad but clearly trying not to laugh at your flustered expression. You narrow your eyes, whispering, “Really?” under your breath.

He just smirks, picking at a piece of potato like nothing happened.

“So,” his dad says suddenly, leaning across to look at you, “How’s work been keeping you these days? Still making people look pretty?”

Your fork freezes for a second, but you smile politely. “Busy, but it's been really fun working with my clients.”

“Busy sounds good,” his mom continued warmly. “Your mom brags about you all the time.”

“Oh, don’t encourage her,” you groan playfully, making everyone laugh.

The conversation moves on easily after that, his dad talking about travel plans, your mom refilling wine glasses, the two families going back and forth between teasing and holiday warmth. Through it all, Felix keeps sneaking little glances at you, leaning closer when no one’s looking, muttering something sarcastic that nearly makes you choke on your drink, or brushing his hand against yours as if by accident.

The table is full of laughter, forks scraping against plates, glasses clinking every so often. You’re half listening to your mom tell Felix’s dad about the new couple who had just moved in down the street when his mom suddenly cuts in with a fond little laugh.

“You know,” she says, her eyes crinkling as she looks at the two of you sitting side by side, “sometimes I can’t believe how grown up you both are. When you were kids I always thought you’d end up married.”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing lightly. Heat spreads across your cheeks, and you glance at Felix out of the corner of your eye. He’s mid-bite, frozen, then slowly lowers his fork.

“Mom,” he groans, dragging out the word like he’s twelve again. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Your mom chuckles, “Oh, we all thought the same. You two were inseparable— always running off together, whispering your little secrets.”

“Exactly!” Felix’s mom cheers, leaning forward like she’s defending her point. “I told my husband, ‘Just watch, they’ll end up together one day.’”

You bury your face in your hands, laughing nervously. “Okay, well, clearly that didn’t happen.”

Felix doesn't respond, fighting a smile. He's just looking down at his plate, pushing around the uneaten food.

“See?” his dad pipes up, gesturing toward Felix’s smirk. “That’s the look of a boy caught red-handed.”

The whole table bursts into laughter, and you press your lips together to hide your smile, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. The rest of dinner blurs into warm chatter, stories from both sets of parents that you’ve heard a hundred times before. Felix keeps throwing you amused glances across the table every time one of them brings up childhood memories— the messy baking days, the time you pushed him off the swing, the one summer you two made friends with a fish.

By the time dessert is finished, everyone’s moving over to the couches in the living room, voices a little softer now. Felix’s dad and your mom are deep into a debate about Christmas movies, while his mom’s helping clear the last of the plates and move them into the sink where your dad stands.

Felix leans closer, lowering his voice just enough that it’s for you alone. “Wanna go outside for a bit?”

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at him, nodding. “Yeah, before they start telling the story about our elementary play again.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him, and the two of you slip away unnoticed, quietly opening the front door before stepping out into the night air. The sky is clear, stars scattered across the dark sky.

Felix shoves his hands into his pockets, walking beside you down the driveway. “It’s quieter out here.”

You smile, hugging your arms around yourself. “A lot quieter.”

For a few moments you both just stand there, listening to your soft breaths. Then Felix tilts his head toward you, his voice softer than it’s been all evening. “Did it embarrass you? What they said about us?”

You blink, surprised by the question. “I mean,” you pause, laughing a little nervously, “maybe a little. But they were just joking.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but there’s something thoughtful in his tone. He nudges your shoulder gently. “Still. Kinda funny how we thought about it too”

Your heart skips, the words hanging between you. You try to play it off with a laugh, but the look in his eyes makes it clear he isn’t joking.

Inside, the muffled sound of your families’ laughter spills through the walls, but out here, it’s just the two of you and the summer sky.

“Yea.” you whisper, looking out at the stars.

He swallows, taking a small step towards you. “I mean, if I hadn't left.. Maybe it could've worked out that way.” His voice is soft, almost like he's too shy to say what he really wants to. He's looking at you, watching the way your eyes never move from the stars above. “I don't think me being an idol would've been a problem for us.”

Your chest tightens, and you close your eyes with a sigh. You want to laugh, tell him that he was crazy for even thinking that a childhood promise could blossom into reality.. But there's a part of you that really wants to believe it too. You nod slowly, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “Maybe.”

There's silence now. The kind that says everything without either of you needing to open your mouth and spill your emotions out. Felix’s hand twitches at his side, and then almost instinctively, he's slowly reaching out. You're flinching when his hand brushes your hair out of your face, allowing him to get a better look at your face. It's brief, delicate, but it's way more than enough to make your heart start pounding.

You flinch, stepping back on accident. But he doesn't move, doesn't pull away, he just lets his hand lower near yours. He's clearing his throat after a moment, taking a step back from you and forcing a small smile onto his lips. “So, we need to figure out gifts for tomorrow."

You nod awkwardly, matching his smile. “Yea, I- uh. For everybody, right?”

He's leaning back slightly, arms crossing. “Yea, I mean. More for me and you but the family too. Just small things.”

He's shifting where he stands, glancing at you briefly before setting his eyes into the pavement of the driveway. “I was thinking we could make an outing of it? Maybe go tomorrow morning.. If you want.” he mutters.

There's a softness in his voice that makes your stomach weak. You're tilting your head, fingers finding their way to your hair and combing through the strands. “Thatd be nice.” you smile.

He catches your smile and grins, exhaling in relief. “Good. Then it’s a date. Well— not a date-date. Just, y’know— gift-date.”

You laugh quietly, the tension between you easing slightly. “Gift-date.”

He leans back a little, his eyes following yours as you laugh,and for a moment the awkward air dies down, relaxing into something warm/

“So, what should we start with?” he asks finally, continuing but keeping his voice soft, like he’s testing the waters.

You shrug, biting your lower lip as you think . “Whatever’s easiest. Maybe something for the parents first? Then we can figure out each other.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, and nods. “Yeah- figure out each other. I like that.”

You glance at him, heart catching slightly at the way his grin lingers. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Can't help it.”

Day 3

It's the day before Christmas eve, the mall is packed with people running around with bags full of merchandise. It's mostly children's toys, the rainbow colored plastic obviously against the white shopping bags. It's stuffy inside, but the mall smells faintly of cinnamon and it's covered from floor to ceiling with obnoxious Christmas decor. 

You and Felix are weaving your way through the crowded mall. Theres a soft hum of christmas music paying somewhere in the back of the mall, and Felix is humming along while he carries three bags in the crease of his elbow. You wipe a strand of hair from your face and glance at him, noticing the small crease between his brows as he picks up a glittery ornament sitting at the front of a store.  “Are we seriously doing this for everyone?” you mutter, tugging your worn out purse a little tighter over your shoulder.

He shrugs, a half-smile tugging at his lips, “Well, I think it's kind of fun” His tone has that soft teasing edge that makes you glance at him, unsure if he’s joking or being serious.

You snort, shaking your head, “Fun is standing in line for forty-five minutes to buy a necklace your mom probably already has?”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the mall’s chaos. “Yeah, but at least it's a Swarovski necklace.”

You roll your eyes again, smiling despite yourself. “Do you always give the most expensive gifts?”

He grins, bumping your shoulder lightly as you both head towards the exit of the store. “Of course, the people I love deserve the best.”

Youre humming at that, watching as he puts down the ornament and walks into a designer shop nextdoor. Hes glancing over at expensive sunglasses perched on shelfs, handbags with intricate designs that are colorcoded along the walls. He picks one up, inspecting the outside of the hand bag before opening it up to see all of the pockets it has. Its pretty big, you think to yourself, and its a pretty color– your favorite. 

“Thats nice.” you mutter, coming over to his side and touching the soft leather of the bag. 

He hums, “It is, Im gonna get it.” he says, moving the bag away from you before heading over to the front counter where he places it infront of the cashier. Your mouth falls open, taking a glance at the price before padding your way over to him in seconds. 

“How are you so nonchalant about spending seven-hundred dollars just like that? You didnt even bat an eye.” hes smiling at that, not even sparing a glance at the cashier when he hands her his card. 

“A man knows what he likes.” he admits, plain and simple. You cant even say anything to that because hes picking up the paperbag like it weighs nothing, adding it to his collection of bags around his arm and moving to leave the store. You follow suit, not even sparing a glance at anything else in the store because you think you can feel the bankruptcy nearing. 

You have yet to buy something for Felix, and he hasnt bought you anything. You both are aimlessly walking around the mall for twenty minutes before he stops you, a hand on your shoulder. “You think we should split up? Make the gift giving a bit more secretive?” he asks. 

You pause, looking around at the shops nearby and just giving him a curt nod. “Sure.”

You two split up after that, each heading in separate directions through the crowded mall. Felix is giving you a sly glance before hes heading into a boutique. You pretend to not notice, heading over to some random shop across the mall. Its a quiet thrill, sneaking around the mall with a purpose of finding something just for him. And every once is a while, you’ll pass eachother, both smirking like little kids in a game of hide and seek. 

Youre wandering for a few minutes before you spot a little shop in the corner of the mall, its a perfume shop. The inside of the shop smells like a mixture of scents– some woody, some sharp, some sweet. Your fingers brush over certain glasses of cologne, picking up the cold bottle and put it down after smelling the scent. Every time you pick up a new bottle, you're asking yourself the same question, “would he actually like this? I dont even know what to get him.” Meanwhile, Felix is doing the same. He’s walking through shop after shop, sometimes picking up certain things and laughing softly just thinking about your reaction to it. 

By the time you both meet up with eachother, you notice two more bags added to his collection. Hes smirking, teasingly hiding the behind his back as if you were going to lunge forward and rip them from his hands Hes smirking when you huff out a small laugh, shaking your head at him. “Promise you wont peek?” hes swinging the bags around like a child. 

You grin, copying his teasing tone and hiding the bags behind your back like he did. “Only if you don’t.”

Hes laughing at that, moving forward to walk next to you and youre slinging your purge over your shoulder when you begin your way out of the shops. The hum of the crowded mall fades behind you with each step, and theres a teasing energy between the two of you– the kind that only exists because there something unsaid. 

Hes nudging your arm his his bags, turing to face you with a cheery smile. “So,” he begins, “you think I got you something expensive or ridiculous?’ 

You shrug, “ Trick question, I think it’s both in one gift.” 

Hes laughing, shoulders bouncing with each breath– the sounds makes your chest warm. “Hey! You're judging already? I havent even wrapped it for you.” 

Youre raising an eyebrow, fishing out your car keys with one hand as he waits, leaning on yur car. “Honestly? I think you got me something over the top– something that’ll make me excited and worried to open tomorrow.” 

“Maybe,” he sighs, “But you'll like it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unlocking the car with the click of the button. “Gee, you're confident.” 

Felix grins, opening the back passenger side door and shoving his bags all onto one seat. “You could say that.”

That makes your stomach flip, and youre fighting a smile from tugging at your lips. Youre opening the back door, putting your bags onto the other seat and quickly closing the door behind you. You slip into the drivers seat, and hes sliding into the passenger seat, legs spread and head leaning against the headrest. You start the car, dashboard lighting up with life, its just the two of you inside the cold car, bags rustling inthe back– and theres something oddly comforting coming from it. 

As soon as the car starts moving, Felix turns on the radio to a random station– singing along to the Christmas song with an obnoxious tone, hand hanging out of the open window. Youre glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “ You know,” you say lowly, “I might just outdo you with my gift.” 

Hes looking at you with an amused expression, the wind from the open window sending his hair flying into his face. “With that confidence,” he says, eyes flickering from the backseat and back to you, “I’m excited to see what you thought of.”

You smirk, drumming your fingers against the leather steering wheel. “Don't get too excited though, its nothing designer.”

“Well then I hope its good enough to make me cry.” he laughs, the sound vibrating throughout the small space. 

You bite down on your lower lip, fighting the laugh that desperately wants to come out form your mouth. “God,” you smile, “I dont think I’ve seen you cry since high school. I’d love to see that again.”

He groans dramatically, shaking his head. “Well now when I open your gift I’m just going to have a straight face. I don’t want you to get the satisfaction of me crying.” 

Hes leaning his head back against the headrest once again, voice quieter when he continues. “I think I'll like whatever you get me just because its from you.” 

That has your breath hitching, and now your eyes are stuck to the car infront of you– hyper aware of its every action. Youre gripping the steering wheel harder, praying that he cant hear how hard your heart was pounding just from that one admission.  You clear your throat, “Smooth talker” you mutter. 

Hes shifting in his seat, turning just enough to look at you. “Not smooth, just honest.” 

You glance at him quickly, catching the sincerity in his eyes before you’re forced to look away and focus back on the traffic ahead. The moment is heavier than you intended for, so youre laughing nervously and changing the subject. “So.. do I get a hint about my gift?” you ask. 

HIs lips curl into a mischievous smile, tutting. “Nope, not even one.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “Coward.” 

“Strategist,” he corrects, resting his chin on his hand like he hasnt a acre in the world. “If I tell you right now, you’ll probably find a way to try and one up me at the last second.” He glances at you, “I know you.” 

You laugh, dressing on the gas when the light turns green. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Millionaire.” 

The conversation drifts, playful comments about his friends, the chaos at the mall, the terrible Christmas songs you both cant manage to escape from. The longer you drive, the more the tension lifts, becomes lighter. And by the time you turn into your neighborhood, Felix is closing the window, his voice light with amusement. “My mom’s gonna lose it when she sees the necklace I got her.” he giggles. 

You smile at that, parking next to the curb in front of your house and turning off the car. “She loves any gift you get her, she might even cry with happiness.” 

He looks back at you, eyes crinkling from his smile. “Probably.”

Christmas Eve

The next morning is warm, sunlight peeking out from behind your closed curtains before you even want to wake up. The wind causes trees to rub against your window, and you can faintly smell your neighbors barbeque. When you were a kid, you wished your christmas looked like the one from the movies– streets covered in snow, crackling fireplaces, hot cocoa. But there was something nostalgic about this kind of christmas, less bundling up in winter clothes, the AC running, and tanning in the hot sun.

You're stretched out on your couch, lazily fanning yourself with the TV remote as you watch a generic Christmas movie. There's a slow knocking at your door and you don't even need to guess at who it may be, you know.

When you open it, Felix’s mom is standing behind it with a giant bag full of gifts in her hand. He literally looks like Santa Claus herself. You're laughing at her, moving to let her in. She's giving you a short peck on the cheek, moving further inside the house to find your mom. His dad comes in next, four small boxes hidden under his arm and hes patting you on the head and moving into the living room. The last one to come in is Felix, He has two nicely wrapped gift boxes in his hand. He's grinning at you, playfully pushing your shoulder as he passes you.

You cant help but roll your eyes as you shut the door behind him. The living room is already filled with conversation, your dad had found his way over to Felix’s dad, and your moms were gossiping about who knows what in the kitchen, the bag of his moms gifts lying at her feet. You're following Felix into the living room, watching as he carefully sets down the gifts under the tree. He crouches down, re-arranging them like he wants you to notice.

“You wrapped them yourself?” you tease, leaning down next to him.

He looks up at you with a smug smile, “They look good, don’t they?”

“They look like you watched a Youtube tutorial. Look at the corners, they’re all messed up.”

He groans, pushing you playfully in the side as he stands up “I tried my best.”

You're about to say something else, but before you can his mom is calling for him from the kitchen, asking him to set the table for dinner. He sighs dramatically but gives you a wink before he saunters off in the direction of the table.

You catch yourself smiling at his back, shaking your head as you flop back onto the couch next to your dad. The house is full of chatter now, the TV playing on mute, glasses clinking in the kitchen, your dad’s loud laughter that could literally shake the house.

The tables set after a few minutes of chatter between parents, dishes being placed all over the table and plates scattered around. You find Felix sneaking around his mom after giving her a stack of plates, hes dropping onto the couch with a groan and stretching his arms over his head before letting them fall lazily across the back of the couch. His arms are so close to you that you could feel the brush of his fingers against the back of your head.

“I feel like an employee here,” he mutters.

You tilt your head, looking over at him with a teasing grin. “Poor baby.”

He chuckles, leaning in just slightly. “You could atleast pretend to care.”

“Not when you're complaining about setting the table.”

That earns you a playful nudge to the shoulder, his grin widening. You dont even notice when your parents stop talking and focus their attention to the two of you. His eyes are analysing your face, your pretty eyes, your flushed cheeks, your soft lips. You notice, and it steals the breath from out of your lungs.

Before either of you can say anything, his dad calls out from the table, “Quit flirting and come sit down!”

Your cheeks heat up even more, and Felix is muttering something under his breath. You shove him lightly, standing up to follow him into the dinning room. The dining table is crowded with dishes, platters of grilled meat, roasted vegetables, bowls of cold salad. Everyone's talking over each other, the clinks of glasses and the pouring of wine louder than the music seeping in from an outside party.

You're passing the salad bowl down the table when Felix’s mom suddenly sighs happily, looking between you and her son. “This feels just like when you guys were kids. I'm so happy you're both here with us. I never thought id see it ever again.”

Felix is mid sip of his soda, looking over at you with an unreadable expression. You're looking at her, an awkward smile on your face because you don't remember ever telling the family about what happened all those years ago– for all you knew they probably thought you guys had been talking the entire time.

She's waving her fork around, “You two sitting together like you always used to– so cute.”

Your mom joins in with a laugh, “Oh, don't start, they'll get embarrassed.”

You're ducking your head, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as you reach for your wine glass, trying to focus on anything but the way Felix is still looking at you. He's leaning back in his chair, smirking just a little bit– clearly enjoying the teasing without making a move to stop them. You're glaring at him from the corner of your eye, your heart doing that all too familiar skip when you see his warm eyes on yours.

His mom continues, “Remember that Christmas when the two of you made that fort in his room? I swore all of the couch pillows magically disappeared before I went to go check.” she’s laughing, “You two are just made for eachother, I swear.”

Your dad is making another comment, stealing her attention from the both of you, leaving you and Felix to exchange little smiles, his of amusement and yours of discomfort.

After a few hours, the clatter of cutlery begins to die down as deserts are passed around the table. Your mom places a small homemade cheesecake in the center of the table and Felix’s mom begins to grab presents from her massive bag, passing them around to the respective person. The energy shifts to excitement, everyones grabbing their present out from under the tree and coming back to sit at the table with everyone else.

One by one, each family member is passing around their gifts. Laughter and short gasps fill the room when presents are unwrapped– Felix’s dad dry heaving when hes gifted an expensive watch hes been dying for, Felix’s mom loosing her crap when she sees the necklace Felix got for her, Your mom almost crying when she smells the perfume your dad bought her, and your dad chuckling when hes gifted a new golfing club. The two of you watching all of their reactions with a wide smile, a warmth spreading throughout your chest when they start talking about how much they all love their gifts.

Finally, it's you and Felix’s turn. He's pushing a wide box towards you, his eyes wide with anticipation. You unwrap it carefully, revealing a ‘Louis Vuitton' logo. You're gasping, covering your mouth with your hand when you open up the box to reveal the handbag Felix had bought the day before. He's smiling at your expression, and you can hear the gasps of both of your moms. “You said you liked it, so I bought it.” he admits, combing through his hair with his long fingers.

You're left speechless, just looking at him with a wide smile and showing your mom the pretty handbag. You whisper an ‘I love it’ to him when you pass your gift over to him, its in a bag– not nicely wrapped like what he had done for you. He's taking out the tissue paper and pulling out three different bottles of cologne. He's smiling when he sees them, popping of the caps and smelling them.

You're grinning, “I have something else for you later,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. He nods, putting them back into the gift bag and saying a thank you outloud.

Once everyone has finished unwrapping their gifts, your mom starts to clear the table– clearing empty plates and Felix’s mom is laughing when telling her about her day. You and Felix stay at the table for a little longer, exchanging playful glances and quiet whispers before he's standing up and picking up the gift bag.

“Follow me.” he whispers, taking your free hand in his and leading you to the front door. You don't forget to pick up his extra gift on the way out, the plush packaging crackling in your hand.

You don't fight it, letting him pull you through the now open front door and to the front porch of his house. He's unlocking it with his house keys, opening the creaky door and ushering you inside. One would be weirded out by this, asking questions as to why on earth he'd be leading you into a dark, empty house— but you trusted him.. Somehow.

He's practically bouncing up the stairs and you're quietly giggling as you follow close behind. You know where this is headed— you push into his cold room, skipping over to the window and opening the hatch. You don't notice when he opens his nightstand, taking out a small box from out of it and shoving it into his pocket.

He's following you outside and over to the designated spot, grunting when he finally sits down on the roof. The quiet hum of the neighborhood mixed with the quiet sounds of laughter makes the world feel smaller than usual. Felix shifts, his knee knocking with yours, and you laugh when he turns to you with a smile on his face.

You watch as he pulls the small box out from his pocket, holding it out to you carefully. “Merry early Christmas,” he whispers.

You take it without hesitation, fingers wrapping around its small frame and pulling it open. Nestled inside is a small ring, it's simple— but beautiful. There's a diamond in the middle in the shape of a heart, and it's catching the sunlight in the prettiest way. Your breath catches.

“It’s a promise ring,” he explains softly, “It's for everything. Everything we promised each other as kids, this is me saying I won't ever break them. Only if you let me— I know you aren't mine, but I'll always be yours.”

You're staring at him, words failing to appear in your brain. There's a quiet intensity, he's taking the box from you, pulling out the ring and gently lifting up your hand. He slides the ring onto your finger, his hand trembling ever so slightly— and it fits perfectly.

He doesn't let go of your hand, just holding it in his and giving it a few squeezes. He's looking into your eyes to watch your reaction.

Your chest tightens with emotions you can't fully pinpoint— but it's a kind of warmth that makes you think it's love that you feel in this moment. “It's beautiful, Lixie.”

You chuckle, covering your face with a hand. “God, now my gift seems so stupid.”

Felix laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m sure it's good.” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “if you're gifting it to me then it means something.”

You uncover your face, reaching next to you for the plush wrapping. You're holding it out to him, and he's grabbing the bag, inspecting it before ripping it open.

Felix curls an eyebrow when he pulls out a teddy bear, it's a little old, its fur a soft baby blue instead of a vivid sky blue. You speak up before he can say anything,

“It's the teddy you won me the day we first went down to the beach. I kept it, and I had won the same one a few days before you left for Korea. I was going to give it to you, but I didn't. I was mad,” you explain, voice soft.

His expression falls from a playful smirk to something more tender. He's lifting the teddy into his hands, thumb gliding over its soft fur.

“You kept it all this time?” he mutters, eyes meeting yours— a flicker of emotion hidden inside his eyes, “after what happened?”

You shrug— trying to hide the ache in your chest, “I never thought about getting rid of it, it was the last thing I had of you.”

He's setting the plushie into his lap as if holding it too tightly would cause it to break. His gaze lingers on you, eyes flicking from the ring in your finger and back to your eyes.

“You look pretty with a ring on.” he admits, voice soft and a red flush creeping onto his neck.

That catches you off guard, your mouth falls open slightly in shock— your brain still trying to catch up to what he just said. “Felix..” you breathe out.

“Sorry, that was kind of cheesy.” he says with a shy laugh, fingers tugging nervously at the loose strands of hair on his neck.

You shake your head quickly, heat growing in your chest. “No— I just, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” Your finger instinctively brushes over the cool band of the ring again, as if to remind yourself it’s real.

“Uhm” he starts, his voice quivering. His gaze drops to your lips for the briefest second before flicking back up to your eyes. “There’s something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Your breath hitches, the world narrowing down to just the two of you and unspoken words. The faint sound of laughter from the party below drifts up, but it feels far away.

You lean in just slightly, your ring catching in the light. “What is it?” you whisper.

He lets out a shaky breath, thumb brushing over his hair. “I can't say it,” he admits, voice breaking at the edges. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing yours before curling back into his lap. “Do you remember when we were kids and I made you that paper ring?”

Your brows lift, and you nod. “Of course I do.”

Felix’s lips curve, though his eyes are on the setting sun on the horizon. “You lost one of those cheap rings you loved to wear, and you cried for an hour. I panicked because I didn’t know how to fix it— So I folded notebook paper into a ring and told you it was better than the stupid plastic one from the bookfair.”

You laugh softly, the sound catching in your throat. “I wore it for weeks, even after it got all dirty and ugly.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “You didn’t care what it looked like. You cared that I made it for you.” His voice falters, the words dragging slowly, heavy.

Felix’s gaze drops briefly to your hand again, the ring he just gave you gleaming orange in the glow— before meeting your eyes.

“Since then, I wanted to give you the real thing,” he admits. “It was supposed to be a wedding ring, but I don't think it's the right time for that.”

You pause, eyes widening, “Really?”

His hand twitches, hovering close to yours again. His lips part, and for a second you think he’s going to say something— the words you’ve both been dancing around for years. But instead he swallows, shaking his head as though forcing the moment back into himself.

“I can't say it now, but I think you know what it is,” he whispers, his voice just barely carrying over the wind.

Your heart stutters in your chest. He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, like the words are pressing at the back of his throat but he’s afraid if he lets them loose, everything will change.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, remember all of the times you've ever wanted to say those three words to him— when he'd shield you from a group of older kids at the park when you were eight, making you food when you'd forget to eat while studying, staying up with you after nightmares even when he was just as tired. He’s always been like this. Loving you, taking care of you before himself.

“I think I do,” you murmur, your voice trembling, fingers brushing against the diamond. The air between you feels heavier, intimate.

Felix leans closer, his shoulder pressing to yours, his voice low enough you almost miss it. “Then I don’t have to say it. Not yet.”

The way his eyes linger on you, warm, aching, desperate. It tells you everything he can't put into words.

A voice is cutting through the air before either of you can speak again. “Where are you two?”

You both jolt, turning toward the sound of your dad calling from below. Felix exhales a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“We should probably head back ” he says, voice laced with reluctance. He squeezes your hand once before standing, offering his hand to help you up.

You glance at him, your heart still racing. The words he didn’t say linger in the back of your mind, louder than if he’d spoken them aloud. But you take his hand, your shaky fingers wrapped around his warm palm and you're following him out.

And by the time you walk back through your front door, you can hear the loud chatter from inside the living room. You force a smile into your lips, hoping that it's enough to hide the way your mind is racing.

“There you two are!” your mom says, relief and suspicion mixing in her voice as she sets down a tray of ice waters on the coffee table. “We thought you disappeared.”

Felix scratches the back of his neck, flashing her one of his smiles. “Just needed some air,” he answers smoothly, though his ears are still tinted pink.

You nod quickly, taking the cup she hands you before she can press further. The coldness of the drink in your hands feels grounding.

Felix settles on the couch beside you, his knee brushing against yours. On the surface, everything looks perfectly normal, the family laughing, your dad telling another one of his stories, Felix’s mom fussing over whether everyone has had enough dessert.

But beneath it all, your thoughts are racing a million miles an hour. You keep catching Felix’s glances, quick, shy. When your eyes meet, he looks away, fiddling with his fingers.

Christmas day

Christmas morning feels different this year. Maybe it’s because it’s the first one back in Australia after so many years in Korea, or maybe it’s because of the constant weight of the ring on your finger— a reminder of Felix’s unspoken words simmering just beneath the surface. The living room is warm, sunlight spilling through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the floor littered with colored wrapping paper. The faint scent of breakfast hangs in the air.

Felix sits beside you, cross-legged, a cup of mango nectar nestled in his hands. His hair is messy from sleep, a few strands sticking to his forehead, and every time you sneak a glance at him, it feels like he’s already caught you. You bite the inside of your cheek, heart fluttering.

Your mom’s cheerful voice cuts through the quiet tension. “Alright, last gifts,” she announces, handing both of you small boxes. She smiles knowingly. “Thought I’d save these for the end.”

The two of you rip at the paper, hearts pounding a little faster with anticipation. Inside each soft box sits a neckalce— yours shaped like a small moon, little crystals catching the light, his shaped like the sun. Around the room follows coos and soft laughter, but you and Felix are quiet, the world narrowing to these two tiny, symbolic charms.

You tuck the moon charm into your hand, unclipping it with slow fingers, brushing lightly against your neck to clip it on. You glance up, cheeks heating, a shy smile breaking across your lips. “I love it,” you murmur softly, your voice almost lost in the excitement.

He mirrors your movements, necklace clicking gently as it settles against his chest. “It’s beautiful,” he says, but there’s more in his eyes, a quiet awe, a warmness that makes your heart ache and flutter at the same time.

Later, when the room is distracted by newly unwrapped gifts and conversation, he leans closer. His voice a soft murmur. “Roof. Tonight.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, and you nod, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Night falls, cool and gentle, stars spilling across the sky. You climb through his window, the soft clink of your sun charm against its chain echoing. Felix is already there, sitting with his hands hugging his knees, a nervous smile tugging at his lips when he notices you.

“Hey,” he whispers as you settle beside him, the shingles creaking faintly beneath your weight. Silence stretches, thick and tense, until he exhales and runs a hand through his hair.

“I was a coward the other night.”

Your breath hitches, chest tightening. His eyes are soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache.

“I’ve been a coward for eight years,” he continues, voice cracking. “I made a decision for you that I thought was best— but in reality, it was the one decision I should never have made.”

You swallow hard, your fingers brushing the ring he gave you, memories of him flooding your mind— “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “Since the first day I met you, since the day I made you that ugly paper ring, and I meant every promise. Getting married, Sienna— all of it, because if it’s with you, I want it. I want it all. You were the only good thing in my life, and I ruined it. But I’m here now, I’m trying- I want to try. Please, let me try.”

The words hit your chest with the weight of years lost. Time slows, the breeze brushing your face fading into nothing. His hands are trembling slightly as they rest near yours, the sincerity in his eyes burning bright.

“And I don’t want to waste any more time,” he continues, voice breaking, “those eight years should’ve never happened. It’s always been you. I should’ve said it years ago when I realized, but I’m saying it now. I love you.”

Your throat burns so much it feels like you can’t breathe. Everything he’s saying, every small act, every moment he was there for you, all makes sense now. You lift your hand slowly, letting him hold it. Fingers intertwined, his warmth pressing against your palm, the ring catching the faint starlight.

“I—” Your voice cracks before you even realize it. “It’s always been you too. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve always—” You trail off, voice catching, heart hammering wildly. “I’ve always felt the same.”

A shaky, relieved smile spreads across his face. “You do?” he whispers, leaning ever so slightly closer.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. “Always. I just— I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

He exhales, a laugh breaking through the tension, soft and relieved. The world seems to exhale with you both, stars blinking overhead, wind whispering through the leaves, and at last, the eight years of silence feel like they’ve been washed away.

And in this moment, all you want to do is pull him closer to you, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and do the one thing you've wanted to do since you were fifteen. You wanted to kiss him until he couldn't even remember his own name. But you're a scaredy cat, you may think of things to do but you've never been one to act out on them unless someone else did it for you. He's leaning over, his hand brushing against the small of your back and resting into the slope of your waist. He's looking down at you, his eyes half lidded and gaze expectant. They’re pleading, hoping that you feel the same ache he does.

Felix leans closer, so close that you can see his freckles in the moonlight, so close that you can feel his soft breath against your lips. Your heart hammers, begging– aching to close the distance between the two of you.

He's pausing at a hair's length, “Can I kiss you?” he whispers, fingers tracing circles into the side of your waist.

The question steals the air from out of your lungs, he's finally asking you the one question you've been waiting for for what seems like a million years. And yet, it still feels unreal, like you're in some sort of dream. Your lips are parting but no words are coming out. All you can do is be nervous, enough for him to notice.

“Yes.”

The relief in his eyes is immediate, he's pulling you in by the waist– your chest pressed up against his and your lips are meeting his. It’s sweet, his lips are soft against your own. He tastes like the cinnamon from his mom’s desserts, warm and familiar.

He’s deepening the kiss, slowly tilting his head to fit against your mouth at just the right angle, the way he lessens the pressure of his lips against yours before applying it once again. You’re exhaling into the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

It’s so sweet— intoxicating, like three full cups of red wine on an empty stomach. He’s pulling away before you can thread your fingers into his hair, and he’s looking down at you with big, dilated eyes that just give away how much he’s wanted this. His lips are a soft pink, and perfectly plump. You think you could kiss him forever.

Your heart is practically in your throat, beating so hard you can feel your own heartbeat pulsing throughout your entire body in intense waves. Your fingers span against the soft fabric of his shirt, and you’re looking up at him, lips tingling slightly and a little dazed from the initial kiss.

“I love you.” He whispers, and a hand comes up, lightly grazing the heel of his hand against your cheekbone when he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear to get a better look.

His lips crash back onto yours before you can fully recover, harder— hungrier. The kind of hunger that makes your legs feel like jello and leaves your head spinning. He’s kissing you like he’s been starved of it, like he’s been waiting for the right chance to pounce— like holding off for a second longer would kill him right then and there. His lone hand at your waist is tightening against your soft skin, pulling you into his lap and flushing against him while the other angles your head, lips fitting against yours perfectly.

You’re gasping into his hands, finding purchase in his soft hair, and he’s taking this small opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip before he’s prodding inside— the warm muscle of his tongue against yours. Every exhale is sharp, every inhale cut off when one of you pulls back in. And by the time he’s pulling away, he’s panting like he just ran a mile without stopping, forehead pressed against yours.

“Can’t—“ he breathes, “can’t do it out here. We should go inside. Please?” He’s begging, eyes wide and looking up at you when he’s rubbing your waist.

༊*·˚

You’re whispering out a “yes” before you can even process anything in your brain. And he’s quickly getting up from the roof, your hand in his and he’s leading you through the open windowsill. You step into the dark but familiar room, smelling the scent of his cologne wafting in the air. He’s closing the window shut behind him, closing the curtains just enough to stay hidden but open to let moonlight seep through. You don’t notice when he walks up behind you, but you’re flinching when his warm, inviting arms are pulling around your waist, hands resting high on your stomach. He’s pulling you closer to him, your back hitting his lean chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You can feel his soft breaths fanning the expanse of your neck, shaky and uneven. Your stomach is twisting with anticipation, his arms are tightening on you and you can feel his heartbeat in your back. It’s quick, similar to yours.

He’s leaning closer, his warm mouth lingers just shy of the side of your neck, lips parted like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Please, tell me I can keep going.” He’s whispering, breath ticking your neck. “I need to know if you’re okay with this or not.”

You don’t just hear the sincerity— but you can feel it. You can feel it in the air, in his arms, his voice. Your hands are coming up to rest of his, squeezing his wrist just slightly like you’re trying to ground yourself in this moment.

Your throat feels dry, swallowing to quell the nervousness in your body. You tilt your head enough to rest it slightly against his, and you whisper out the words he’s been dying to hear.

“Yes, please.”

He’s letting out a shaky breath, a hand moving further up your chest to rest on your collarbone. He’s pushing you back, your shoulders pressed against him and his lips find the curve of your neck— he’s soft at first, planting small, open kisses to your soft skin like he’s trying to memorize how your body reacts under him. How you’re twitching when he kisses right under your ear, or the way your throat catches when he’s kissing down the side of your throat and ending right where your neck meets your shoulder.

You’re shivering beneath his warm mouth, fingers tightening around his small wrist before sliding up his arm. His lips trail further, higher. He’s brushing against the lobe of your ear, voice low.

“You have no idea what you do to me— what you’ve been doing to me.”

He turns you in his arms, once again face to face with you. You catch his eyes, impossibly soft in the moonlight— dark eyes blown wide with what you think is need, want. He’s leaning down again, lips finding yours.

He's messier than the first, considerably messier but you’re leaning into him, letting his hands tilt your head ever so gently, feeling the pads of his fingers gliding up and down your neck. Your hands find the expanse of his chest, moving up and down to feel the lean muscle of his abs, all the way to his sharp shoulders. You love it, the want, the need, just knowing this is something he wants, something you both want. It’s enough to make your head even fuzzier.

You don’t fight it when he’s walking you backwards, your calves hitting against the wooden frame of his bed. He’s gently laying you down, climbing on top of you with such ease you don’t even remember him even moving. His large, slender hands are moving around your sleep shirt, fingers finding their way under and onto your stomach. You’re flinching when his cold fingers meet your warm skin, but you instantly lean into his touch when he moves further up your shirt.

You’re gasping into his mouth when he finds the dip between your breasts, fingers tracing the metal lining of your bra. He breaks the kiss just long enough to watch your reaction, eyes half lidded and blown out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, pressing messy kisses along your collarbone, and lower. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” His lips press against your skin like it’s the air he needs to breathe, and he moans softly before his gaze reaches yours, large hands sliding up to the small of your back.

He tugs gently at the strap of your bra, and you were confident he could have just ripped it off of you at any given moment.

“Can I take this off?”

You nod before you even think to speak, and he’s instantly moving.

He’s pulling off your shirt with a desperate fervor, and all you can think is good riddance when you feel the cool air of his fan on your skin. You’re looking back at him, the sight of hovering over you— eyes dark, lips swollen, hands trembling slightly when they come back to rest on your ribs.

He’s not saying anything, doesn’t have to. His eyes are studying the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the moonlight casts shadows on every dip and curve. He thinks he’s dreaming when your nimble fingers catch the hem of his shirt, pulling it up ever so slightly to reveal his lower stomach. He’s letting you pull up his shirt all the way, revealing how toned he is. Your greedy hands roam over his slim figure And down to where his abdomen dips to his v-line, and the soft curves of his muscles harden under your touch.

He shudders under your touch, a low whine falling from his lips and he’s placing hands over yours, guiding one of your hands into his chest— letting you feel his heartbeat.

“God,” he whispers, strained—chest rising and falling with every breath, “the way you touch me…”

He’s letting you go when you move to take his shirt off in one fluid motion. The fabric joins yours in the floor, forgotten— leaving the two of you half naked and aching for more. He’s leaning down, a hand coming up to cup the side of your face— his thumb grazes your bottom lip, feeling the soft, plush skin under his finger.

Your eyes never leave his, even when he tilts your head to the side, allowing for your neck to be on display. You feel the heat of his gaze tracing your neck, his lips are so close, just one inch and you’ll feel him on you. The tip of his nose brushes against your skin, his breath fanning over you, sending shivers down your spine.

His hand moves from your face to the nape of your neck and he’s pulling you closer, lips finally pressing down on you. He’s leaving open mouth kisses on the side of your neck, feeling the warmth of his tongue with every sloppy kiss he leaves. You’re whining softly when he starts to suck, gently biting down when you flinch, only to soothe you with the lick of his tongue.

Your hands finally find his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his plush skin, aching for more— but he’s not giving that to you. Not yet. He’s so slow, incredibly slow. So slow you think you might just start crying from how badly you want him.

His lips trail lower, sloppy, wet kisses along the curve of your collarbone, each one leaving a dark mark onto your skin. You arch instinctively when he kisses the sensitive skin between your clothed breasts, tongue slowly licking a trail down, teasing the sensitive skin above your bra.

He pauses for a moment, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure. His heated gaze sweeps over you before he’s lowering back down. His tongue flicks at your skin, teasing you, tasting you, leaving small marks in its path.

Every press, every touch makes your stomach tighten, your breaths faster and leaves your body aching with want. You’re groaning with approval when his fingers finally rests on the clasp of your bra, but he’s not moving. Instead, he’s pulling off of you slowly, eyes meeting yours and his lips are curved into a smirk.

You’re confused, a hand falling to rest next to your head— but he speaks before you get a chance to ask.

“How badly do you want it?” He murmurs, voice low and drawn out. His eyes stay on you, watching the way you begin to squirm under him. You whine softly, fingernails running down his shoulder and into his back, hips lifting slightly, trying to pull him closer and close the distance. “so bad” You whisper, voice trembling.

He’s tilting his head, eyes sweeping over your face, chest, hips. He’s leaning down, lips brushing against the lobe of your ear and he’s leaving a light kiss right under your ear.

“Beg for it.” He says, low and teasing.

You arch into him, knees squeezing the sides of his waist. Your breath is uneven, and you can feel your heart hammering inside of your chest. “Please— Felix, please. I need it off.. I can’t— please?” You whine, voice breaking with want, desperation.

He hovers over you for a second longer, drinking up your pleas and grinning even wider.

“Good.” He whispers, lips leaving a small kiss along your jaw before his fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra. Your stomach flips with anticipation, a shiver of excitement running down your body. You’re watching him, how slowly he’s moving, like he’s savoring every second of this.

He’s finally undoing the clasp, the fabric loosening and he’s sliding the straps off of your shoulders. You’re letting out a small gasp when his cold hands delicately touch your bare skin. He’s only looking at you, eyes soft when you finally meet his gaze again. He’s whispering out a soft “beautiful” before he’s capturing your lips into a kiss, tongue grazing your lips for access. You open your mouth when you gasp, his fingers brushing against a nipple. He’s pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue messy against yours, hungry. Each lick leaves your legs feeling weak, sending shivers down your spine.

You whine into his mouth, fingers moving to grasp his soft locks, gently tugging on them when he’d deepen the kiss. His tongue chases yours, every sloppy kiss, every desperate and soft touch leaving you needing more.

He’s pulling back, eyes on yours before flitting down to your bare chest. He’s sliding down just barely, face right above where you need him the most. You inhale sharply when he blows cool air onto your nipple just before he’s leaning down the full way, lips capturing the sensitive bud and circling it with his tongue.

A soft moan leaves your mouth, muffled by the palm of your hand. Your fingers dig into his hair, tugging as an overwhelming heat pools between your legs, knees pulling him into you.

He’s looking up at you every time he’s leaving new kisses and licks onto your breasts, eyes drinking in your reactions. Every press of his lips, every swirl of his tongue, the sloppy licks— it’s all leaving you trembling beneath him. Your hips move subtly, seeking is the friction of his touch, but he’s holding you just enough to tease you. He’s holding down your hips, anchoring you to the bed while his mouth does the work. Your breath comes out fast and airy, mingling with soft gasps here and there.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows when you feel his lips leave your breasts and start making his way down. Each kiss is warm, gentle, and messy. He’s leaving a wet trail down from your ribs and to the soft skin of your stomach, sending shivers up your body when he stops right before your sweatpants.

His hands slide to the waistband, fingers curling around the fabric and waiting for a beat— like he’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead. You’re nodding before it can get past five seconds, desperate for his next move.

He’s smirking at your eager nod before slowly tugging down at your waistband. His fingers are brushing the soft skin of your thighs as he makes his way down. You’re clenching your thighs together when he’s finally pulling off the soft fabric from your legs, leaving you clad in your underwear.

But he’s not letting you do that. He’s throwing your sweatpants somewhere into his room and prying your legs open with his hands. His grip is firm, thumbs pressing into your skin as he spreads you apart, moving between them like he’s the only one who belongs there. You think of all the times you’ve had sex— you might as well be a pro at it anyway. But now that you’re here, laying under him completely vulnerable— you think this is the wettest you’ve ever been. And he notices. He’s smirking as he eyes the wet splotch on your underwear, eyes dark with lust and desire. He’s leaning in closer, long fingers fluently grazing the fabric of your panties, just applying the right amount of pressure to elicit a groan from you, but not enough to give you what you want.

He’s watching your every reaction, savoring it like it’s his very last meal, and you can feel the way his shoulders jump with a low chuckle. He's pressing down a little harder this time, teasing your clit through the cloth with his thumb. You moan softly when he starts to move in circular motions, thumb applying just the right amount of pleasure to form a warmth in your body. He’s moving up to face you, and he’s not wasting any time. He’s connecting his lips with yours, and you’re kissing him with just as much fervor. With one hand bracing himself up against the mattress, you feel his thumb lift. You’re groaning in his mouth, hips pushing off the bed in hopes of chasing the feeling.

But, you’re jolting when his free hand slowly slips underneath the soft fabric, his careful fingers caressing you before finding what they were looking for. His middle and ring finger find your clit, carefully pressing down before making slow, intoxicating circles.

Instinctively, your back arches against the bed, and you feel so out of breath. Maybe it was because of the kissing, or maybe it because of the way his fingers are making you unbelievably dizzy. You’ve fingered yourself plenty, god, you’re twenty-four of course you have. But the way he’s touching you, he’s barely scratching the surface and you’re already feeling like a clean slate.

You’re pulling away from the kiss before you feel like passing out, hard, fast breaths leaving your swollen pink lips. Your mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out except for airy whines. His lips chase yours the moment you pull away, leaving small kisses on the side of your mouth before gradually moving down. He’s leaving kisses on the bare column of your throat before he’s gathering up your slick with his fingers and dragging it back over your sensitive clit. He’s leaving your thighs trembling. He hasn’t even gone inside and you feel a knot already tightening in your stomach.

“Felix” you choke out, voice strained, “ please, want more..”

The sound of his name falling from your lips has him pausing for a second, pulling away from your neck and looking down at you. Then, he’s smirking, fingers moving again, a little faster, harder just to see your thighs tense.

“More?” He repeats, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

He doesn’t wait for a response, fingers stilling before moving down, his slick fingers teasing your entrance. Slender fingers prodding inside before retreating. He’s chuckling when your body responds before you do, shoulders tensing and you whining out in frustration, hands back into his shoulders and pulling him down like it’ll magically make his fingers slip inside.

You’re gasping when he finally slips two fingers inside— clenching around him instantly because of the mere length of his fingers.

God, if his fingers are this long you can’t wait for him to drop his pants.

His pace is slow at first, but he’s gradually picking up the pace when your hand slips between both of your bodies, finding your clit and applying a soft pressure. He’s curling his fingers just right, watching as your face contorts in pleasure, back arching just slightly before falling back onto the mattress with an airy moan.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “just look at you. So wet.”

Your hips without thought, basically riding his fingers— chasing the overwhelming heat pooling inside of your body. Your brain is mush, eyes foggy, you're a mess. Every moan that leaves you is only pushing him further, fingers rubbing your g-spot everytime he’s fucking you.

The knot feels like it’ll break any second, all you can feel is the way your thighs are shaking intently, and you’re grabbing at his hair, eyes half lidded and mouth open.

“Felix—”

“I know, hun, so close. Let go,” he’s whispering, eyes soft when locked on you.

The sound of his voice is coaxing you over the edge, the tight knot in your stomach finally snapping. You’re falling apart under him, thighs squeezing his side, hand tugging at his hair, and your back is arching. Everything goes black for a moment, but you’re coming down right after, feeling the beat of your racing heart and finally letting out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

He’s retracting his hand slowly, his fingers applying a light pressure to your clit— soothing it, before he’s finally taking his hand out of your now ruined panties. His hand literally looks like he’s dipped it in a bucket of water, fingers glistening in the moonlight, and there’s a creamy ring around his knuckles. He’s bringing his hand up slowly, gaze never leaving yours when he slips his fingers into his mouth. He’s humming when he’s licking your slick off.

“You have no idea how good you taste,” he says, voice dark and husky.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he’s pulling at your panties, the small article easily taken off of you in a matter of seconds. he tosses them aside with a care in the world, eyes dragging down your body like he’s trying to memorize the way you look, like he won’t ever see you like this again.

“So pretty,” he whispers.

You smile bashfully, twitching when you feel his hands roaming your thighs and up to your hips. You don’t push him off, but you’re sitting up slightly, just enough to grab at the waistband of his sweatpants. His breath hitches at the contact, and his hands squeeze you like he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t a dream.

Your fingers tremble at first, undoing the tie and letting the strings fall. You’re pulling at his waistband, and he’s helping you, pushing down both his pants and boxers off at the same time. The fabric falls from his hip, pooling at his knees. He’s standing up, letting the loose fabric fall completely off of him, stepping out of it and coming back to hover between your legs.

The sight of his bare leaves you breathless— he’s heavy and flush, and probably longer than anyone else you’ve been with. He’s chucking when he notices you staring, his hand coming up to cup your face and make you look at him.

“If you want to stop, just tell me. Okay?” He whispers.

You shake your head, head leaning into his touch.

“I won’t.” You respond, “I won’t want to stop.”

His eyes fall to your lips, and he’s pulling you closer, “Good, because I won’t either.”

He’s kissing you again, somehow with even more desire and hunger than before. Your back meets the cool mattress beneath you. He’s on top of you, chest literally in yours. Your hands find purchase on his back, finger nails caressing the waves of his muscle when his hands move between your bodies.

You can feel when he wraps a hand around himself, his knuckles grazing your inner thigh when he pumps himself a little, lips leaving yours and he kisses your temple. He’s guiding himself to your entrance, his head gliding between your folds. The breath he lets out is soft and shaky, and he’s whining slightly with it. You’re fighting back the urge to just tell him to put it inside, but what’s stopping you is how big he is. It’s just the head, not even inside and you can already feel the ache you’ll have in the morning.

He’s pushing in, kissing your shoulder when his head falls to the side. It’s enough to make your mouth fall open, gasping and digging your fingernails into his skin when he sinks deeper into you— inch by inch. His jaw tightens against your neck, a groan escaping him.

It feels like forever when he’s finally pushed all the way inside, you’re so full of him you feel like if he’d push anymore you’d probably explode— and not in a good way.

He stays buried, breath fanning across your collarbones, shaky, uneven. It’s like he’s fighting for control, a hand squeezing the life out of your thigh and the other holding him up against the mattress. At the same time, you’re happy he’s not moving just yet, allowing for you to actually adjust to his size, memorize him.

He’s slowly lifting his head after a minute, he’s placing a kiss to your lips, “so tight..” he mutters.

His hips shift experimentally, the movement stealing all of the air from your lungs, your nails digging the slightest bit more into his shoulder blades.

He’s groaning at your reaction, head falling right back to its place on your shoulder. “ ‘m gonna move, okay?”

You let out an airy whine, fingers relaxing. There’s an anticipation growing in your stomach, and you’re nodding like he can see it. “Okay,” you whisper.

He’s pulling back, his head stretching you when it moves. He pauses before sinking back inside, slowly, gently. The first thrust as you hold your breath, a shaky exhale leaving your mouth. But he’s finding a rhythm now, analysing the way your body reacts to him. His hands stay firm on you, his hand clenching the fabric of his comforter, the other pushing your knee back slightly just to hit that angle a little deeper.

It’s slow and steady at first, he’s letting you feel every. single. Inch. Each thrust sends a burning ache to your stomach, the fullness, the stretch, the sound of skin slapping skin. It’s making you dizzy again. He’s hitting your g-spot so good, you’re letting out uneven moans, careful to not let them be heard by anyone other than him.

“So good” he groans, voice ravaged against you.

He thinks he might be going crazy, the feeling of your pillowy walls squeezing around him, your breathy moans. And god, just the sight of your pretty face moaning his name has him wanting to fuck you until the sun rises. This was even better than he could ever imagine, better than fucking himself in the shower to the thought of you in that skimpy little bathing suit. You weren’t the girl he once grew up with, you were a woman now, you're your own person. He loved it, you were so beautiful, you are. He could get lost in you, and he wouldn’t want to find a way out.

Your moans are blending together, and you convert your mouth everytime his tip nudges against that spot which makes you feel like your body could just give up on you at any moment.

He has the prettiest moans, all airy and whiny. Sometimes he’ll let out a groan, something low that sends shivers up your body. But he couldn’t help himself, the way your fingers are scratching his back, leaving red angry marks on his back. Marks that say he’s all yours. You’re sucking him in so nice, squeezing him just right. It’s like you were made for him, he’s fucking you impossibly deep.

You can feel tears prickling at your eyes when he repeatedly pounds into your sweet spot, so good. There’s muffled moans moving past your mouth, the lewd squelching of your wet cunt bouncing off of the walls.

He was so determined, so needy. And now he has you exactly where he wants you. Completely cracked wide open for him.

“Just wanna stay here forever- ohmygod.” He’s mumbling under his breath, just enough for you to hear.

All you can respond with are small moans, tears slipping from your pretty eyes. You’re not crying because it hurts, in fact, you’re crying because it feels way too good. You feel like you’re in cloud nine, like a virgin again. You wouldn’t be able to describe this to your best friend back at home, it literally feels like you’re in a dream with the way he’s fucking you so good. Your legs are basically jello, rocking back and forth with his every thrust.

He’s leaving kisses along your shoulder, neck, and collarbone. And you just know for sure there will be dark little bruises forming in the upcoming days.

You feel that all too familiar feeling coming back, the knot tightening with his every move. God, you didn’t want this to end, but you know that if he pushes you for a third orgasm you might just end up dead.

You can tell he’s close, his thrusts are becoming sloppy by the second, desperate. His shoulders shudder against you, the grip he has on the fabric has his knuckles turning white and he's trying his hardest not to leave a bruise on the underside of your thigh. He starts whispering your name, the sound of it rolling off his tongue like a forbidden prayer.

“Fuck, so close.” He’s muttering, “where?”

You don’t even need to ask what he means, you’re uncovering your mouth, soft whines now obvious. You’re so close, maybe a few more seconds until you experience an orgasm of a lifetime. Your fingernails are still dug into his back, “ my stomach.” You choke out— tears of pleasure falling down your face.

He’s lifting his head, watching the way your face is twisting in ecstasy, your eyebrows knitting and your lips parting open into an “o”.

“F-Felix—!”

The knot snaps, and there’s waves of pleasure being sent all throughout your body. You’re clamping down again, thighs trembling uncontrollably. He doesn't stop, thrusts still strong, he’s pushing you through your orgasm. Your cries mix with his groans, and when your body finally relaxes is when he’s pulling out of you, he's sitting up on his calves— his hand finding his length and fisting himself through his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck fuuck.”

You can see his stomach clenching, his muscles tightening. And then there's white ropes being shot onto your stomach, hot and wet. His chest is moving with every breath, pumping himself until every last drop was daubed out of him.

The rooms are quiet, only being filled by your tired breaths. You can’t even move, your legs feel like a joke at this point, still twitching from everything. Your arms are tired, stomach full. So you’re left to stare at the way his ceiling fan moves, blowing cool air in your hot, sweaty body. You don’t even notice when he gets up, walking into his attached bathroom and coming out with a warm, wet rag.

He’s climbing next to you, a hand pushing away the strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead while his other gently cleans the mess off of your stomach.

“You okay?” He says softly, looking down at you just to see your pretty face.

There’s dried tears on your face, and there’s red marks decorating your entire body. You can’t even respond for a second, your brain is still trying to process everything.

“I’m great,” you grin, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

He’s chuckling at that, and you can see a mixture of relief and pride in his eyes. He’s chucking the rag into his clothing bin when he cleans you up, running a thumb along your cheeks to clear away the dried tears. His other hand stays by your side, tracing the marks he left on you like he was appreciating art work. He’s looking at you in a quiet, soft way, a faint smile on his lips.

You’re shifting, but instantly wincing when you feel the soreness in your lower body. He’s stifling a laugh, and leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sorry,” he says, though there’s a teasing tone to his voice.

You groan with faux annoyance, pulling the duvet over your now cold body. He’s sliding in next to you, his chest up against your back. He’s not saying anything, doesn’t need to. And you don’t either, just enjoying the way his fingers comb through your hair, and the way he’s holding you close by your waist tells you he doesn’t regret this. Not one bit.

✧.*

Both of your suitcases sit in the back of your car, packed to the brim. It’s warm again, Felix is sitting in the passenger seat with the door hanging wide open. And you’re smiling because his mom just had to insist he take a lunch she packed for him to eat at the airport or whenever he felt like it. He looks grumpy on the outside, but really, he’s silently hoping it’s his favorite food.

She’s coming out of her door wearing some mismatched flip flops, her messy bun falling every time her feet hit the ground.

You’re poking at him from the driver's seat, "At least she made you lunch.” You whisper, nodding over at the bright blue lunchbox she’s carrying in her hand, “She probably wants a picture of you eating it.”

She’s standing in front of the open door, taking big breaths like the run from her front door to your car was the longest distance she’s ever ran. “Eat this before you get onto the jet— and don’t make me call you!”

You’re silently laughing at him, watching as he closes the car door and peeking his head out of the open window to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Yes ma’am.” He’s muttering.

You’re pursing your lips, pretending like fixing the AC was the most important thing in the world when she’s stepping back, arms crossed and standing with her ‘mom stance’.

“And you,” she’s pointing directly at you, “make sure he eats.”

You laugh, “I’ll make sure.”

With that, the car is rolling forward and Felix is slumping against his seat. He’s peeking inside of the box, lightly smiling before he’s packing it away and placing it onto the floor of the car.

“Your favorite?” You ask him, hands grasping the wheel.

He’s exhaling a laugh, looking out the window when he responds, “She did this the last time I left home. It’s always the same thing. It’s not annoying or anything— she’s my mom. She’s silly like that, I love her.”

You’re smiling, remembering the way your parents had cried inside of your old room as you packed back up to go back home. It had taken a lot longer to pack just because of this, your moms suggestions on how to pack properly, your dad offering to give you some more things to put into your suitcase to take home.

“I think it’s sweet” you say, turning a corner, “they care a lot, and it meant a lot to them for us to come.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know it does, I mean— my dad kept trying to pretend he wasn’t about to cry and my mom getting mad about me leaving. She’s just sad, but I love them.” He looks at you, softer. “Your parents were the same. You should’ve seen their faces when you walked into that house again.”

You smile, eyes flicking from him and back to the road. The memory is still fresh—the way your mom had clung to you like you were going to vanish again. “They made it hard to leave all over again.”

“Of course they did.” Felix leans back, stretching his legs out as far as the cramped passenger seat allows. “It's unconditional love.” He's pausing, words stuck in his throat before he speaks again, “Some people don't realize they have it. Or that they even deserve it in the first place.”

You don’t say anything right away, your chest tightening at his words. Instead, you just let the silence settle, comfortable and warm.

The drive to the airport in Australia is shorter than the one in Korea, and you park your rental car in the public parking garage— lugging your big suitcases out of the back and heading over to the terminal. You're once again being led through white, empty hallways— away from the public. And the same jet is waiting for the both of you on the tarmac, its sleek white exterior shining in the summer sun.

Fekix’s hand brushes against yours as you walk, and he's grabbing your pinky into his. It's a soft gesture, he knows how you probably feel right now— nervous, just like him. But it’s grounding you, reassuring you that he too feels the same, still does.

Everything is the same inside the plane, the sleek wooden walls, the carpeting on the floor, and the leather seats you both sat in a week before. It's all the same, all same for you and Felix. The jet is humming with life as it makes its way around the tarmac, the flight attendant had already offered a drink, something light for the flight— but you barely even touched it.

You're curled in the chair, relaxing against the plush cushion. Felix sits next to you, legs crossed and he's scrolling in his phone— probably to post something in his insta. But his gaze keeps drifting over to you.

“Are you tired?” he asks suddenly.

That causes you to smile to yourself before you're turning and answering him, “I am tired, my entire body is sore.”

He wasn't expecting that, his expression turning from concerned to outright shock. His eyes are wide before he's covering his face into his hands, a muffled laugh falling from his lips.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Duh.”

There's a wide grin on his face, shaking his head. He's putting his phone down on the table sitting on his knees. And he's mirroring you, curling as much as he can into his seat and facing you— a soft look in his eyes when you lock eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, a hand coming up to rest on on your arm, “I wanted to take you out on a date.”

You're pausing in your seat, unconsciously holding your breath, “like, a real date. Dinner, maybe some wine, definitely dessert.” you chuckle at the wink he slides you.

“But, I really want to take you out. I've been meaning to ask you, but I was just too nervous to try.”

There’s a small smile forming on your lips, “Okay.” You reply, voice just above a whisper.

“Good, because I already know the place.”

The grin he has on his face could light up a room within seconds, leaning back into his seat with his head resting against the soft cushion of the headrest. “You planned that far ahead?” your brow arching.

“Since the day I got your number,” he admits.

You're laughing, face scrunched in surprise, “You're kidding.”

He's tilting his head, an eyebrow shooting up as he looks at you. There's a small smile trying to force its way onto his face, but you can tell he's trying hard not to let it through. “Do I look like I'm kidding?”

To be honest, you can't even tell.

Felix speaks up again, continuing before you're able to respond. “I mean— why wait longer when you have the right person? I've had the right person for a while, it just took a long time to actually ask you.”

He's reaching for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours. “When I said I meant every promise, I wasn't lying. And I mean this one too.”

Your lips press together into a tight line to hide the smile trying to force its way into your face. You're shy, face red and eyes wandering everywhere but his. He's smiling at you, not in a teasing way, but in adoration. He's melting into you when you rest your head on his shoulder, cheekbone against the soft fabric of his hoodie. It's quiet, but the kind of quiet that only forms when two people are perfectly content, comfortable. There was no need to say anything else, just enjoy each other for the rest of the flight.

And now? You're glad you risked the ten hours coming here, because now, you're spending another ten flying back with someone who makes you hopeful again.

You weren't nervous anymore, eyes transfixed on the diamond sitting on your finger. You knew your life had changed. And it had changed for the better.

masterlist

"Felix, if you eat all the BBQ Shapes before we even get to dance class, you're going to throw up during the warm-ups," you warned, tossing a throw pillow across your bedroom.

The pillow hit Felix square in the face, but he didn't even flinch. He was currently sprawled out on his stomach across the carpet of your bedroom floor, his long legs kicked up behind him in the air. He was wearing an oversized grey jumper and a comfortable pair of thick black trackies. Without missing a beat, he reached his hand blindly into the red cardboard box beside him, pulled out another savory biscuit, and popped it into his mouth.

"I'm a growing boy," he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs, offering you a cheeky grin that made his constellation of freckles scrunch up. "I need fuel for the dancing."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hair up into a tight ponytail. "Miss Clara is going to make you do fifty pushups when you inevitably cramp up, and I am not going to help you."

It had been four months since the day Felix first knocked on your door to invite you to the beach. In those four months, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted so drastically that it was almost impossible to remember a time when he wasn't a permanent fixture in your life.

The painfully shy boy who hid behind his father's leg on moving day was entirely gone, at least when he was around you. In the safety of your bedroom, or hanging out in his living room playing Mario Kart with Olivia, Felix was loud. He was funny, relentlessly teasing, and prone to sudden bursts of laughter that made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons.

He still struggled slightly at school. When Mrs. Gable called on him to read aloud, or when he had to stand in front of the class for a presentation, his voice would still tremble, and his shoulders would instinctively hunch up to his ears. But he wasn't completely isolated anymore. He had you. You were an inseparable front. Where you went, Felix went, and vice versa.

"Kids! Grab your bags! We're leaving in two minutes!" your mom's voice echoed down the hallway, cutting through the sound of the rain against the windowpane.

"Coming!" you yelled back. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from your desk chair, throwing a water bottle inside. "Come on, biscuit boy, let's go."

Felix scrambled off the floor, dusting the savory cracker crumbs off his trackies. He grabbed his own black duffel bag and followed you down the hallway.

The carpool routine had become a well-oiled machine over the last few months. Every Wednesday afternoon, either your mom or Mrs. Lee would pile the two of you into the back seat and ferry you to the Rhythm & Move Dance Academy.

Today, it was your mom's turn.

You and Felix bolted out the front door, pulling the hoods of your jumpers over your heads to shield yourselves from the icy winter drizzle, and dove into the back seat of the silver sedan. The car's heater was already blasting, filling the small space with an artificial warmth.

"Seatbelts on," your mom instructed, putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out of the driveway into the wet street.

The drive to the studio took exactly ten minutes. It was ten minutes of pure chaos.

As soon as your mom flicked the indicator to turn onto the main road, the opening beat of Carly Rae Jepsen’s "Call Me Maybe" blasted through the car's speakers from the local pop radio station.

Felix's eyes immediately widened. He turned to look at you, a look of absolute seriousness settling over his face. You mirrored his expression, nodding solemnly.

"I threw a wish in the well," Felix started, his slightly raspy voice perfectly in tune, but dramatically exaggerated. He grabbed an imaginary microphone in his hand and held it up to his mouth.

"Don't ask me, I'll never tell!" you shouted the next line, leaning toward him.

"I looked to you as it fell, and now you're in my way!" you both sang the next line in unison, completely abandoning any sense of pitch or dignity.

Your mom let out a loud groan from the driver's seat, though she was clearly smiling as she adjusted the rearview mirror to look at the two of you. "Please, not this song again. It plays every fifteen minutes. I'm begging you."

"You can't stop art, Mum!" you yelled over the chorus.

Felix was fully committing to the bit now. He was bouncing in his seat, using his water bottle as a prop microphone, and pointing dramatically out the rain-streaked window at passing cars. "Hey, I just met you! And this is crazy! But here's my number! So call me, maybe!"

You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, struggling to keep up with the lyrics while Felix serenaded the back of your mom's headrest. It was moments like these, trapped in the back of a warm car while the Sydney winter raged outside, that made you realize just how lucky you were. You couldn't imagine doing this with Harper. Harper would have complained about the heater ruining her hair, or rolled her eyes at the song. But Felix just threw himself into the fun, completely uninhibited and fiercely joyful.

By the time your mom pulled the sedan into the damp parking lot of the dance studio, the radio had transitioned into a One Direction song, and you were both completely out of breath from screaming the lyrics.

"Alright, you two maniacs, out you get," your mom laughed, putting the car into park. "I'll be back at five-thirty. Don't slip in the puddles."

"Thanks, Mum! Bye!"

You and Felix grabbed your bags and jogged through the freezing rain, pushing open the heavy double doors of the warehouse. The familiar wall of sensory overload hit you instantly. The smell of floor wax, the thumping bass vibrating through the walls, and the loud chatter of kids warming up.

"G'day, Barb!" you and Felix chorused in perfect unison as you passed the front desk.

Barb looked up from her clunky desktop computer, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. "G'day, you two troublemakers! Miss Clara is waiting for you in Studio Two! Get a move on!"

You pushed open the door to the mirror-lined studio. The humidity in the room was already high, the edges of the mirrors fogging up slightly despite the winter chill outside.

"There are my star pupils!" Miss Clara cheered, clapping her hands as you and Felix dropped your bags against the back wall. "Let's go, Year Sixes! We're finishing the eight-count for the Flo Rida routine today, and I want it sharp!"

Over the last few months, your dancing had improved dramatically, but Felix... Felix was a genuine revelation.

The moment the heavy beat of "Wild Ones" dropped through the studio speakers, the goofy boy from the car vanished. Felix transformed. When he danced, his face smoothed out into a look of intense focus. His small frame moved with a power and a precision that was completely mesmerizing. He hit every pop, every lock, and every slide with an instinctive understanding of rhythm that you could only dream of possessing.

You stood right next to him in the center of the formation, feeding off his incredible energy.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Miss Clara counted loudly over the music.

You and Felix moved in perfect sync. You dropped low, swept your leg out, and popped back up, mirroring his sharp movements. He wasn't just good at the choreography; he actively made you better. When you struggled with a complicated transition, he would patiently break it down for you during the water breaks, his hands physically guiding your shoulders to show you where your weight needed to be.

"Yes! That's it, Felix, beautiful isolation on the chest pop!" Miss Clara yelled approvingly over the blaring music. "Keep that energy up, everyone! Let's take it from the top!"

The hour-long class was grueling. By the time the final chords of the song faded out, you were both dripping with sweat, your lungs burning and your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Felix collapsed onto the scuffed wooden floorboards beside you, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his flushed face. He reached out, his hand weakly finding yours on the floor, and gave you a sloppy high-five.

"Told you," you panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "The BBQ Shapes. They slowed you down."

"Liar," Felix wheezed, laughing breathlessly. "I was flawless. I am a machine."

"You are a sweaty mess," you corrected fondly, sitting up and grabbing your water bottle.

As you looked at him, lying on the floor of the dance studio, utterly exhausted but happier than you had ever seen him, a warm feeling bloomed in your chest. The winter rain was still hammering against the corrugated iron roof of the warehouse, but sitting here, surrounded by the thumping music and the laughter of your best friend, the world felt incredibly bright.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, the chaotic energy of the afternoon had completely settled into a domestic calm.

Felix was sleeping over. It had become a regular occurrence over the last two months, falling into a comfortable weekend routine. Your parents absolutely adored him, and his parents were more than happy to have a quiet night in their own house without him and Olivia bickering over the television remote.

You and Felix had both showered immediately after getting home from dance class, washing away the sweat and the smell of the studio floor wax. Now, you were both dressed in your pajamas. The winter rain was still falling steadily outside, a soothing drumbeat against your bedroom window.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, a thick fleece blanket draped over your shoulders. Felix was sitting on the floor leaning back against the side of your mattress, lazily flipping through a stack of your older comic books. The only light in the room came from the small yellow lamp on your bedside table, casting soft shadows against the walls.

It was quiet. The comfortable kind of silence that you only ever experienced with him.

You were staring blankly at the corkboard hanging above your desk. Pinned to the center of it was a calendar. The month of June was almost over, giving way to the rapidly approaching page for July.

Specifically, July 14th.

You let out an unintentional sigh, pulling the fleece blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

Felix immediately stopped flipping the pages of his comic book. His head tilted back, resting against your mattress, and he looked up at you upside down. His dark eyes, usually bright and bubbling with mischief, were deeply observant.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice was quiet, respectful of the hushed atmosphere of the rainy bedroom.

"Nothing," you lied quickly, looking away from the calendar. "Just tired."

Felix raised an eyebrow. He slowly closed the comic book, setting it down on the carpet, and spun around so he was sitting on his knees, resting his arms on the edge of your bed to look you directly in the eye. He didn't say anything. He just gave you the look. It was a specific unwavering stare that he had perfected over the last few months, one that silently communicated that he knew you were lying and he was perfectly willing to wait until you told him the truth.

You crumbled under the pressure of his gaze almost instantly. You let out another heavier sigh, resting your chin on your knees.

"It's stupid," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your flannel pajama pants. "It's just... my birthday is coming up. In a few weeks. July 14th."

Felix's face instantly lit up. "Your birthday? That's awesome! Why is that a bad thing? You're turning twelve, that's practically a teenager."

"I know," you said, feeling a frustrating prickle of heat behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing the sudden wave of emotion down. "It's just... Harper always came to my birthdays. Every single year since we were in Year 3. We always did everything together. And now she's not going to be there. She hasn't spoken a single word to me in four months, Felix. She walks right past me in the hallway like I'm invisible."

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. You hadn't really talked about Harper since that first week of school. You had successfully pushed the loss of her friendship to the back of your mind, burying it beneath the excitement of dance classes, sleepovers, and passing notes with Felix. But birthdays were milestones. They were markers of time, and realizing that your childhood best friend wouldn't be there to celebrate with you felt like a sudden punch to the gut.

Felix's expression softened entirely. The bright excitement faded, replaced by an empathetic sadness. He knew exactly why Harper wasn't talking to you. He knew that the silent treatment, the dirty looks across the classroom, and the sudden social exile were all because you had chosen to sit next to him under the wattle tree.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his hands gripping the edge of your duvet cover. He looked down at his knuckles, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I know she was your best friend. And I know you gave that up for me. If... if you want to invite her, you can. I won't be mad. I can stay home."

"No!" you practically shouted, the force of your own reaction startling you. You reached out, grabbing his wrist firmly. "Absolutely not. I don't want to invite her, and I definitely don't want you to stay home. She made her choice. She decided she cared more about looking cool than being my friend. You're my best friend now, Felix. I just... I guess I just feel a bit sad about the memories, you know?"

Felix looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. When he saw the sincerity in your expression, the heavy guilt slowly lifted from his shoulders. He gave you a small smile, his freckles shifting in the warm lamplight.

"I know," he said quietly, slipping his hand out of your grip just to place it comfortingly over yours. "It's okay to be sad. But I promise, I'm going to make sure it's the best birthday ever. What do you normally do? Do you have a big party? Do we need to hire a jumping castle?"

You let out a wet laugh, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. The melancholic feeling in your chest began to evaporate under the warmth of his easy acceptance.

"No jumping castles," you smiled, shaking your head. "I don't really do big parties. Usually, my parents let me pick one friend, and we take the train into the city. We go to the Sydney Aquarium in Darling Harbour for the afternoon, and then we go to this fancy Italian restaurant right on the water for dinner."

"The aquarium?" Felix's eyes went wide with genuine wonder. "The one with the glass tunnels where the sharks swim right over your head?"

"Exactly," you nodded, your excitement starting to build as you thought about it. "It's heaps good. They have massive stingrays, and you can see the penguins getting fed. But the best part is the dugongs. The sea cows. They just float around looking completely confused by everything. I love them so much."

"Sea cows," Felix repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "That sounds amazing. And then what? Fancy Italian food?"

"Yeah, my dad always orders this massive garlic pizza just for the table, and I get the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese they have," you explained, the familiar comfort of the tradition washing over you. "But the absolute best part of the whole day happens after dinner."

Felix leaned in closer, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the edge of your bed, completely invested in the story. "What happens?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "We buy a large box of hot chips from the takeaway stand near the pier. And then... we go feed the seagulls."

Felix physically recoiled. He scrambled backward, his eyes widening in pure horror. He stared at you as if you had just suggested you both jump into a volcano.

"The seagulls?" he squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you insane? They are flying demons! They tried to eat my face off at the beach!"

You threw your head back and let out a loud laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. The memory of him flailing in the sand, trapped while the white birds swarmed his bright green bucket hat, was still the funniest thing you had ever seen in your life.

"They won't eat your face!" you giggled, clutching your stomach. "We throw the chips at them! It's hilarious, they fight each other in mid-air to catch them. It's an essential part of the birthday tradition, Felix. You have to face your enemies."

Felix shook his head vigorously, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective stance, though he was trying very hard to fight back a smile.

"I refuse," he declared stubbornly. "I will go to the aquarium. I will look at the confusing sea cows. I will even eat the fancy spaghetti. But I am not going near the bin chickens of the sea. I value my life too much."

"Coward," you teased, throwing the fleece blanket over his head so it draped over him like a ghost.

Felix squawked, wrestling with the thick fabric, before pulling it down and glaring at you playfully. "I'm not a coward, I'm just incredibly smart. They hold grudges, you know. They'll recognize me."

"You're not wearing the green hat anymore, they won't know it's you," you reasoned, still giggling. "Please, Felix? For my birthday?"

Felix let out a long dramatic sigh, letting his head thunk against the mattress. He looked up at you with a long-suffering expression, his dark eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

"Fine," he grumbled, though his gap-toothed smile betrayed him. "I will sacrifice myself to the sky demons. But only because you're turning twelve. Next year, we're feeding pigeons instead."

"Deal," you grinned, feeling a massive wave of warmth settle over you.

The sadness over Harper was completely gone. Looking at Felix, sitting on the floor of your bedroom in his oversized pajamas, willing to face his absolute worst fear just to keep your silly birthday tradition alive, you realized that you hadn't lost a best friend at all. You had just upgraded to a much, much better one.

The conversation about your impending birthday naturally led to the far more terrifying topic that was currently looming over every Year 6 student in the state.

High School.

The transition from primary school to high school in Australia was a terrifying leap. You were going from being the absolute seniors of the playground, kings and queens of the school, to being the tiny terrified Year 7s at the absolute bottom of a meaner food chain.

"We only have, like, five months left of primary school," you murmured, pulling your knees up to your chest. The rain continued to beat a steady rhythm against the glass windowpane. "Are you scared? About Year 7?"

Felix, who had gone back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked at a loose piece of fluff on the carpet. The playful energy from the seagull conversation faded slightly, replaced by a quiet seriousness.

"A little bit," he admitted, his eyes looking up at you. "The high school is massive. My sister Rachel goes there, and she says there are, like, a thousand kids. And you have to switch classrooms for every single subject. You don't just stay with Mrs. Gable all day."

"I know," you groaned, burying your face in your knees. "And they give you mountains of homework. Plus, we're going to be the youngest kids there. The Year 12s are basically adults. Some of them have beards."

Felix shuddered at the thought. "And we have to wear blazers. Even when it's hot."

You peeked over your knees, looking down at him. A sharp spike of anxiety hit your chest, entirely separate from the fear of homework or older kids. It was a fear of separation.

"Felix..." you started hesitantly, your voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "You are going to the local high school, right? Your parents aren't sending you to a private school or something?"

The local public high school was just a few suburbs over. It was where almost everyone from your primary school went, but occasionally, parents would ship their kids off to strict private schools on the other side of the city. The thought of navigating the terrifying halls of Year 7 without Felix by your side, without your designated seatmate and dance partner, made your stomach churn.

Felix looked up, immediately catching the panic in your voice. His face softened instantly.

"Yeah, of course," he reassured you quickly, offering a warm smile. "My parents already filled out the enrollment forms last month. It's the same one Rachel goes to. So we're going to the same school."

You let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping back against your pillows. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to survive it alone. We have to make sure we're in the same roll call class."

"We will be," Felix promised confidently, leaning his arms on the edge of your bed again. "My mom requested that we be put together. She said it's important for me to have a familiar face. We're going to stick together. I promise."

"Best friends?" you asked, holding out your pinky finger over the edge of the bed.

Felix looked at your extended finger, his gap-toothed smile returning in full force. He reached up, wrapping his own pinky finger securely around yours. His skin was warm. "Best friends," he echoed solemnly. "Even when we're terrified Year 7s running away from the bearded seniors."

"Kids! Dinner is ready!"

The sound of your dad's voice echoing down the hallway shattered the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. You and Felix both jumped slightly, pulling your hands apart, before bursting into simultaneous giggles.

"Come on," you said, throwing the fleece blanket off your shoulders and sliding off the bed. "I'm starving. I hope Mom made spaghetti."

You and Felix padded down the hallway in your thick socks, drawn by the incredible smell wafting from the kitchen. The house was warm, a stark contrast to the miserable winter night outside.

Your parents were already sitting at the dining table. Your mom had outdone herself, preparing a steaming dish of shepherd's pie, the ultimate Australian winter comfort food. The mashed potato crust was baked to a perfect crispy golden brown, and the rich smell of gravy and minced meat filled the room.

"Take a seat, you two," your dad boomed cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite him. "Dig in before it gets cold."

Felix politely waited for you to sit down first before sliding into the chair next to yours. He was always incredibly polite around your parents, remembering his 'pleases' and 'thank yous', which was exactly why your mother adored him so much.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs yln," Felix said softly as your mom scooped a steaming portion of the pie onto his plate.

"You're very welcome, Felix," she smiled warmly. "Eat up. You need your strength after dancing so hard today."

The dinner table conversation was loud and easy. Your dad dominated the discussion, talking about his week at work and asking Felix about his older sister's upcoming exams. Felix answered politely, his initial shyness around your dad having melted away months ago. Now, he happily engaged in the banter, occasionally shooting you an amused look across the table.

"Speaking of your family, Felix," your dad started, taking a bite of his pie. "I ran into your dad at the hardware store this morning. Jiho, right?"

Felix nodded quickly, his mouth full of mashed potato. He swallowed before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Jiho and I were talking, and we decided that since the rain is supposed to clear up by next weekend, we're going to fire up the barbie," your dad announced proudly, pointing his fork toward the window.

You stared at him, completely deadpan. "Dad, it's the middle of June. It's literally ten degrees outside. You can't have a barbecue in winter."

"Nonsense!" your dad scoffed, waving away your logic. "It's an Australian tradition. Put on a thick jumper, grab a pair of tongs, and stand around the grill. Jiho is bringing over some of those amazing marinated beef ribs your mom makes, Felix. And I'm doing the snags."

"My dad loves barbecues," Felix supplied helpfully, looking over at you with a teasing glint in his eye. "He bought a new pair of tongs just for this."

"See? Jiho understands," your dad grinned triumphantly. "So, next Saturday, it's a joint family barbie. In our backyard. Tell your sisters they're invited too."

"If we're having a barbie," you interjected, pointing your fork threateningly at your father, "then you have to restock the freezer. We are completely out of Zooper Doopers, and it is a known scientific fact that you cannot host a barbecue without them. Even if it is freezing outside."

"I will add fairy floss Zooper Doopers to the grocery list," your mom promised, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Though I suspect Felix will end up eating half the box."

Felix's ears turned bright pink, but he didn't deny the accusation. The frozen treats had remained his absolute favorite snack since that first day under the wattle tree.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of warm food and comfortable laughter. It struck you, as you watched your dad crack a terrible joke that made Felix snort gravy into his napkin, just how deeply intertwined your two families had become. The Lees weren't just the neighbors next door anymore. They were an extension of your own family.

Once dinner was cleared away and the plates were stacked in the dishwasher, you and Felix retreated back to your bedroom for the night.

Your mom followed closely behind, carrying a large mattress pad and a stack of thick winter blankets.

"Alright, boys and girls, time to set up camp," she announced, dropping the pile onto your bedroom floor.

The sleepover setup was a well-practiced routine. You and Felix quickly cleared a space on the carpet, pushing your desk chair into the corner. You helped your mom unroll the thick mattress pad, throwing a fitted sheet over it, while Felix grabbed the fluffiest doona from the pile and tossed it over the makeshift bed.

"There we go," your mom smiled, tossing two plump pillows onto the end of the mattress. "Nice and cozy. Now, I want lights out by ten-thirty, alright? You both need your sleep after that dance class."

"Yes, Mum," you chorused together.

"Goodnight, Felix," she said gently, turning off the main overhead light and leaving only the warm glow of the bedside lamp. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight!"

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into a quiet intimacy.

Felix immediately flopped down onto his floor mattress, burying himself completely under the thick doona until only the top of his messy hair was visible. You climbed into your own bed, pulling your duvet up to your chin. The rain was still drumming against the windowpane, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the dark room.

"Hey," Felix's muffled voice came from beneath the pile of blankets on the floor.

"Yeah?" you whispered back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Slowly, Felix pulled the doona down just enough to expose his face. He was looking up at you, his eyes heavy with sleep, but his expression was incredibly soft and sincere.

"I'm really glad we're going to the same high school," he whispered quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't think I could do it without you."

A rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely chasing away the lingering winter chill in the room. You rolled over onto your side, looking down at him.

"Me too," you whispered back truthfully. "We'll survive it together. We're a team."

Felix gave a sleepy nod, a tiny smile resting on his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. "A team. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Felix."

As you lay there, listening to the soft sound of his breathing slowly evening out into sleep, you felt a profound sense of peace. Year 7 was going to be terrifying, and you were definitely going to get dive-bombed by seagulls on your birthday, but as long as the boy next door was with you, you knew everything was going to be perfectly fine.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

You threw the heavy covers off your legs, ignoring the sudden rush of cold air against your flannel pajamas, and bounded out of bed. Your bare feet slapped loudly against the hardwood floor as you sprinted down the hallway.

The house was already alive with activity. The heater in the living room was blasting, creating a warm sanctuary against the winter chill. The kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering smell of sizzling bacon, butter, and freshly brewed coffee.

"There's the birthday girl!" your dad boomed the second you rounded the corner into the kitchen. He abandoned the frying pan he was manning and scooped you up into a massive bear hug, spinning you around once before setting you back down. "Happy birthday, kiddo! Twelve years old. Unbelievable. You're practically an adult. Should I start charging you rent?"

"Dad, I don't even have a job," you laughed, swatting at his arm.

"Happy birthday, my beautiful girl," your mom smiled, walking over to press a warm kiss to the top of your head. She was holding a large wrapped box. She set it down on the kitchen island right in front of your usual barstool. "Open this one first before the chaos arrives."

You didn't need to be told twice. You tore into the wrapping paper with the fierce enthusiasm of a newly minted twelve-year-old. Inside was a brand new navy blue winter coat. It had a faux-fur lined hood and deep pockets.

"It's beautiful!" you gasped, instantly pulling it out of the box and shrugging it over your pajamas. It was incredibly heavy and instantly warm. "Thank you! I'm going to wear it today!"

"I figured you'd need it down at the harbour," your mom smiled, turning back to the kitchen counter where an absolute mountain of sliced white bread was waiting. "The wind coming off the water is going to be brutal today. Now, grab a plate, your dad made pancakes. The Lees will be over any minute."

As if on cue, the front doorbell rang.

It didn't just ring once. It rang three times in rapid succession, followed by the muffled sound of Olivia's high-pitched voice through the heavy wood.

You scrambled to the front door, the oversized navy coat swishing around your knees, and pulled it open.

The entire Lee family was standing on your front porch, bundled up against the icy morning air. Mr. and Mrs. Lee were holding covered plates of food. Rachel was leaning against the brick wall of the house, holding a steaming travel mug of coffee, looking like she had been physically dragged out of bed against her will. Olivia was practically vibrating with excitement.

And standing right in the front, holding a somewhat crumpled handmade card, was Felix.

He was wearing his puffy black jacket and his thick grey scarf. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were already glowing a vibrant pink. When the door opened, his dark eyes instantly locked onto yours, and the most brilliant smile broke across his freckled face.

"Happy birthday!" Felix cheered, his boyish voice ringing loud and clear in the crisp morning air. He thrust the handmade card toward you. "I made this. My mom helped with the spelling, but I drew the dugong on the front."

You took the card, looking down at it. True to his word, there was a surprisingly good drawing of a plump sea cow floating on the front cover, wearing a tiny party hat.

"I love it," you beamed, stepping back to let them in. "Come in! It's freezing out there!"

"I claim the heater!" Olivia shrieked, bolting past you and making a beeline for the glowing orange radiators in the living room.

"Don't run in the house, Liv!" Mrs. Lee scolded gently, though she was smiling as she stepped inside. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. We brought some extra bacon and some Korean egg rolls for breakfast."

"You guys are the best," your dad called out from the kitchen. "Jiho, get in here and grab a plate!"

The next hour was a chaotic whirlwind of joint family breakfast. There were simply too many people to fit around your dining table, so it turned into a buffet-style feast. People were sitting on the couch, leaning against the kitchen island, and hovering near the heater.

Rachel had slumped into your dad's favourite armchair, nursing her coffee and glaring at a half-eaten pancake. "Why am I awake at eight in the morning on a Saturday during the school holidays?" she complained to no one in particular, her teenage angst on full display. "This is a violation of my human rights."

"Because it's a birthday, Rachel," Mr. Lee said cheerfully, walking past her and ruffling her dark hair, much to her absolute horror. "And you love the aquarium."

"I loved it when I was seven," she mumbled, aggressively fixing her hair. 

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes resting on your lap. Felix was sitting right beside you, mimicking your exact posture. He had forgone the pancakes entirely and was currently inhaling a massive plate of bacon and egg rolls.

"So," Felix mumbled around a mouthful of food, turning his head to look at you. "What's the plan? Do we go straight to the sharks?"

"We have to get the train first," you explained, feeling a thrilling flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "We drive to the station, park the cars, and then catch the train right into the city. We get off at Town Hall and walk down to Darling Harbour. It's awesome, you get to see all the massive buildings."

Felix's eyes widened. Living in the suburbs and previously in the Blue Mountains, trips into the towering concrete jungle of the Sydney CBD weren't an everyday occurrence for him. "Are we going to get lost?"

"My dad knows the way," you assured him confidently. "He used to work in the city. We just have to follow him."

Back in the kitchen, the assembly line had begun.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee were operating like a well-oiled machine. While feeding an entire group of people at a fancy restaurant for dinner was the plan, buying lunch for seven people at the notoriously overpriced aquarium café was out of the question. Instead, the mothers were preparing a mountain of sandwiches to pack into the esky.

"Right, how many Vegemite and cheese?" your mom asked, wielding a butter knife.

"Three," Mrs. Lee answered, meticulously wrapping finished sandwiches in cling wrap. "Yongbok won't eat the ham ones. He says the mustard is too spicy."

You giggled quietly from the rug, nudging Felix with your elbow. "Mustard is too spicy for you? Are you a baby?"

Felix's ears instantly turned a vibrant shade of pink, clashing violently with his dark hair. He swallowed his bite of egg roll defensively. "It tingles! It feels like bees in my mouth. I don't like it."

"You literally eat spicy Korean noodles without flinching," you pointed out, highly amused by his logic.

"That's a different kind of spicy," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mustard is evil. Vegemite is safe."

"Whatever you say, mustard-boy," you teased.

By nine-thirty, the breakfast plates were cleared away, the massive blue esky was packed to the brim with sandwiches, popper juices, and fruit, and the logistical nightmare of transporting seven people was underway.

"Alright, listen up!" your dad announced, clapping his hands together. "We're taking two cars to the station. Jiho, you take Min and the older girls in the station wagon. The birthday girl, Felix, and Olivia are with me and the esky in the sedan. Everyone make sure you've gone to the toilet, because I am not pulling over on the highway!"

There was a mad scramble for the bathrooms, the rustling of heavy winter coats being pulled on, and a chorus of excited chatter.

You shoved your arms back into your new navy coat, buttoning it up to your chin. Felix was beside you in the hallway, wrestling with his thick scarf. He looked over at you, his eyes sparkling with an infectious, buzzing excitement.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice barely containing his enthusiasm.

"So ready," you beamed.

You piled into the back of your dad's car. Because of the massive esky taking up one of the seats, you and Felix were squished tightly together in the middle, with Olivia taking up the window seat. She was already pressing her face against the cold glass, leaving foggy breath marks.

The heater in the car was on full blast, countering the freezing temperatures outside. The radio was playing a low stream of classic rock, a stark contrast to the usual pop music your mom played.

As your dad pulled out of the driveway and joined the stream of traffic heading toward the train station, Felix bumped his knee against yours.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," he whispered, leaning closer so his voice wouldn't carry over the radio or Olivia's endless chatter about fairy penguins. "I've never been to the city before. Not properly."

"You're going to love it," you promised, a fierce sense of pride swelling in your chest. You were getting to show him your favourite place in the entire world. "The aquarium is huge. It takes hours to walk through the whole thing."

"Are the sharks really big?" he asked, a tinyl note of apprehension creeping into his boyish voice.

"Massive," you nodded solemnly. "Bigger than my dad's car."

Felix's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he swallowed hard. But before the panic could fully set in, he looked at you, saw the mischievous glint in your eye, and playfully shoved your shoulder.

"You're lying," he accused, a massive smile breaking through the apprehension.

"Maybe a little bit," you laughed. "But they are still heaps big. Just stick close to me. I'll protect you."

Felix rolled his eyes, adjusting his scarf, but he didn't pull away. As the car sped down the highway toward the train station, bringing you closer to the towering skyline of the city, the warmth radiating between the two of you in the cramped backseat made the bitter Sydney winter feel entirely irrelevant.

Darling Harbour in the middle of July was a sensory assault.

The moment you stepped out of Town Hall station and began the long, downward walk toward the water, the icy wind whipping off the harbor hit you like a physical wall. It smelled sharply of salt, expensive coffee from the nearby cafes, and the unmistakable murky scent of the ocean.

The harbor was bustling despite the cold. Ferries were chugging across the dark blue water, leaving white wakes behind them. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the pedestrian walkways.

Your two families moved as a large pack. The adults walked in the back, chatting amiably while your dad dragged the heavy blue esky by its handle. Rachel was walking a few paces ahead, her headphones firmly over her ears, pretending she didn't know any of you. Olivia was practically skipping, holding her mother's hand to keep from sprinting straight into the water.

And you and Felix were walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, his head tilted all the way back as he stared up at the glass-fronted office buildings reflecting the grey sky. "They're so tall. It makes my neck hurt just looking at them."

"Wait until you see the aquarium building," you grinned, pointing toward a curved structure sitting right on the edge of the water. "That's it. Right there."

The SEA LIFE Sydney Aquarium was iconic. As your group shuffled through the front doors, escaping the biting wind, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air inside was warm, thick with humidity, and heavily tinted with a calming, artificial blue light that reflected off the massive tanks. The ambient sound of bubbling water and the echoing hum of the filtration systems filled the space.

"Alright, team," your dad announced after securing the tickets. "Stay together. It's crowded today. If anyone gets lost, meet back at the café. Let's go!"

The journey through the aquarium started relatively tame. You wandered through the freshwater exhibits, watching the platypus swim in rapid circles. Olivia spent a solid ten minutes tapping gently on the glass of the fairy penguin enclosure, entirely captivated by the tiny birds waddling across the fake ice.

Felix was fascinated by everything. He read every single informational plaque, his lips moving silently as he absorbed the facts about the Australian river systems and the Great Barrier Reef. He stuck close to your side, occasionally pointing out a brightly colored fish or a strange-looking crab hiding in the rocks.

But as the pathway slowly began to descend, spiraling deeper into the building, the lighting grew darker. The blue hue became deeper, more intense, and the air felt a little heavier.

You were entering Shark Valley.

This was the main attraction. The path transitioned from a standard carpeted floor onto a slow-moving, mechanical walkway that carried you directly through a massive, acrylic tunnel. Above you, beside you, and beneath you was millions of liters of water.

As you stepped onto the moving walkway, Felix immediately tensed.

He didn't scream, and he didn't run, but his entire posture went rigid. He grabbed the fabric of your thick navy coat with one hand, his knuckles turning white as he pulled himself a fraction closer to you. He was staring up at the curved ceiling of the tunnel, his dark eyes wide with genuine fear.

"Felix?" you asked softly, leaning closer to him so you wouldn't be overheard by the crowds around you. "Are you okay?"

"It's... it's a lot of water," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. He didn't look at you; his eyes were frantically tracking the movement above.

Right on cue, a massive Grey Nurse Shark slowly glided directly over the top of the tunnel. Its jagged teeth were fully visible, its pale underbelly sliding silently across the acrylic just inches from where you were standing. A huge stingray, easily the size of a dining table, followed closely behind it, casting a shadow over the two of you.

Felix let out a breathless gasp. His grip on your coat tightened desperately.

"Is this glass?" he asked, his voice barely more than a squeak. He pointed a trembling finger at the wall. "What if it breaks? The water is too heavy. It's going to crack."

"It won't break, I promise," you assured him gently. You didn't tease him this time. You could see the genuine panic setting into his features. You reached over and placed your hand firmly over his, where he was clutching your coat. His fingers were ice cold despite the warm room. "It's not actually glass. It's super thick acrylic. It's practically bomb-proof. Look at my dad."

You pointed ahead on the walkway. Your dad was standing casually, leaning against the side of the tunnel, pointing out a passing shark to Olivia, entirely unbothered by the millions of liters of water pressing down on them.

"They wouldn't let us in here if it wasn't safe," you continued softly, stepping slightly in front of him to block his view of a particularly aggressive-looking shark. "Just look straight ahead. Don't look up. Look at the end of the tunnel."

Felix swallowed hard. He dragged his gaze away from the ceiling and focused entirely on the back of your head and the illuminated exit sign at the end of the long walkway. He took a few shaky breaths.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Okay. I'm looking at the exit."

You stood right beside him, keeping your hand resting comfortingly over his, forming a physical barrier between him and the massive predators swimming on the other side of the acrylic. It took about five agonizing minutes for the slow-moving walkway to deposit you back onto carpeted ground.

The moment you stepped out of the tunnel, the tension immediately drained out of Felix's body. He let go of your coat, taking a shuddering breath of air, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I survived," he whispered, looking back at the dark mouth of the tunnel with a look of pure relief.

"You did amazing," you smiled warmly, bumping your shoulder against his. "And you didn't even use me as a human shield. I'm proud of you."

Felix's ears flushed pink, a sheepish, gap-toothed smile breaking through his anxiety. "I thought about it. But my mum would have been mad if I got you eaten by a shark on your birthday."

"Very considerate of you," you laughed. "Come on. The best part is next. I promise there are no terrifying teeth in this one."

You led the way, pulling him through the crowds toward a two-story viewing window that looked into the Great Barrier Reef exhibit. This tank was flooded with artificial sunlight, filled with vibrant coral and thousands of tropical fish darting around in schools.

But you weren't looking at the fish. You were looking at the ancient-looking creatures slowly paddling through the water.

Sea turtles.

You hurried right up to the thick acrylic window, pressing your hands flat against the cool surface. A massive loggerhead turtle, its shell easily the size of a car tire, was slowly swimming right past the glass. It looked incredibly old, wise, and entirely unbothered by the hundreds of humans staring at it.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, stepping up to the glass right beside you. The fear from the shark tunnel was completely gone, replaced by pure wonder. "They're huge."

"I love them," you said softly, your breath fogging up the glass slightly. "They just cruise around all day. They don't care about anything. They just exist."

You turned your head, looking at Felix. The artificial sunlight from the tank was illuminating his face, making his constellation of freckles stand out starkly against his skin. A mischievous, teasing thought popped into your head.

"You know," you started, adopting a highly serious tone of voice. "I can see the family resemblance."

Felix blinked, tearing his gaze away from the tank to look at you in confusion. "What?"

"The turtles," you pointed a finger at the massive loggerhead, then pointed back at him. "Your distant cousins. Especially when you were buried up to your neck in the sand at the beach with that green bucket hat on. It's uncanny. Honestly, I think that one over there is waving at you."

It took Felix exactly three seconds to process the joke. When he did, his mouth fell open in mock outrage.

"I do not look like a turtle!" he protested loudly, shoving you playfully away from the glass.

"You did that day on the beach!" you shrieked with laughter, stumbling backward. "You were a screaming turtle! The seagulls thought so too!"

"I'm going to throw you in the shark tank," Felix threatened, though he was laughing so hard his eyes were scrunched into little crescents. He grabbed the sleeve of your navy coat, pulling you back toward the glass. "Apologize to my cousins."

You spent the next ten minutes standing by the massive window, watching the turtles and the brightly coloured fish, throwing affectionate insults at each other. The easy banter flowed between you effortlessly.

As you watched a diver in a black wetsuit slowly descend into the tank, carrying a bucket of chopped fish to feed the rays, a sudden wave of determination hit you.

"I'm going to work here," you announced, your voice ringing with absolute certainty.

Felix stopped laughing. He looked at you, surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. "At the aquarium?"

"Yeah," you nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the diver as a massive stingray swam right over his head to take a piece of fish from his hand. "I want to do that. I want to be an aquarist. Or a marine biologist. I want to put on a wetsuit and get in the water and take care of them. I don't want to work in an office like my dad. I want to be right here."

You turned to look at Felix, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You hadn't really said it out loud to anyone before. At twelve years old, declarations about the future were usually met with patronizing smiles from adults who assumed you would change your mind a dozen times before high school.

But Felix didn't smile patronizingly.

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide and incredibly serious. The blue light from the tank reflected in his pupils. He looked at you as if you had just stated an undeniable fact, like the sky was blue or the grass was green. He believed you completely.

"You'll be amazing at it," Felix said softly, his voice full of quiet conviction. "You're going to be the best aquarist they've ever had. You're brave enough to fight off Harper, so feeding a shark will be easy for you."

A warm feeling bloomed right in the center of your chest. It was a sense of being seen and supported. You smiled, a genuine smile, and bumped your shoulder against his again.

"Thanks, Felix."

"Kids! Lunchtime!"

Your dad's booming voice echoed from the seating area a few meters away, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. He had claimed two circular tables near the café and was currently dragging the massive blue esky out from under a bench.

You and Felix walked over, rejoining the chaotic noise of your families.

Lunch was a messy affair. The esky was opened, and a mountain of squished sandwiches was distributed. Felix specifically requested the Vegemite and cheese, vehemently avoiding the 'spicy' mustard sandwiches, which earned him a fresh round of teasing from you and his older sister.

Sitting there, eating a slightly soggy sandwich while surrounded by the low hum of the aquarium filters and the loud laughter of the Lee family, you realized this was easily the best birthday you had ever had. And the day wasn't even over yet.

By the time your group finally emerged from the dark depths of the aquarium and stepped back out onto the concrete walkways of Darling Harbour, the sun had almost entirely set.

The winter evening had cast an inky indigo over the sky. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD were now lit up like massive Christmas trees, their lights reflecting beautifully against the dark water of the harbor. The biting wind had picked up, cutting straight through the thick layers of your coats.

"Right, let's get moving before we all freeze to the pavement," your dad announced, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Dinner reservation is at six. It's just a short walk down Cockle Bay Wharf."

The restaurant was an upscale, warmly lit Italian place right on the edge of the water. Outside, massive gas heaters shaped like pyramids glowed with orange flames, trying to combat the winter chill for the brave souls dining al fresco.

Thankfully, your dad had booked a table inside.

The moment you pushed through the heavy glass doors, the smell of roasted garlic, rich tomato sauce, and melting cheese enveloped you like a warm hug. The restaurant was bustling, filled with the loud chatter of Saturday night diners and the clinking of wine glasses.

Your group of seven was ushered to a large booth tucked into the back corner, offering a perfect view of the glittering harbor lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You slid into the plush leather booth first, claiming the spot right next to the window. Felix immediately slid in right beside you, pressing his arm warmly against yours as the rest of the families piled in. Olivia was banished to the other side of the table, safely wedged between her parents to prevent her from causing chaos with the silverware.

"Alright," your dad smiled, opening the menu. "Order whatever you want, kids. It's a celebration."

You didn't even need to open your menu. The birthday tradition was sacred, and you knew exactly what you wanted.

When the waiter, a tall man with a genuine Italian accent, arrived at the table with his notepad, your dad ordered a massive garlic pizza to share for the table, along with a few bottles of sparkling water and some wine for the adults.

"And for the birthday girl?" the waiter asked, offering you a charming smile.

"I'll have the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese you have, please," you answered confidently, handing him your unopened menu. "With extra parmesan cheese."

"An excellent choice," the waiter nodded, scribbling it down. He turned his attention to the boy sitting next to you. "And for you, young man?"

Felix froze. He looked down at the massive menu in his hands, his eyes darting frantically over the Italian words he clearly couldn't pronounce. Fettuccine Alfredo, Gnocchi al Pesto, Pappardelle al Ragù. The panic that had been absent since the shark tunnel suddenly flared back to life. He hated not knowing what things were. He hated drawing attention to himself in public.

He looked up at the waiter, his ears turning a violent shade of pink, and then looked frantically over at you for help.

You gave him an encouraging, microscopic nod under the table.

Felix swallowed hard, closing his menu with a soft snap. He looked back at the waiter, his voice quiet but steady. "I'll just... I'll have what she's having. Please. The spaghetti."

"Two spaghetti bolognese. Perfect," the waiter smiled, completely unfazed, before moving on to take Rachel's order.

Felix let out a quiet exhale, slumping slightly against the back of the leather booth. He nudged his knee against yours under the table. "Thanks," he whispered.

"No worries," you grinned back. "You're going to love it anyway. It's the best spaghetti in the city."

Dinner was an incredibly warm, loud, and joyful affair. The massive garlic pizza arrived, and a minor war broke out over the last slice between your dad and Mr. Lee, ending only when Mrs. Lee threatened to ban her husband from the barbecue next weekend. The adults were drinking wine, their cheeks flushed, sharing stories about their own childhoods.

When the main courses arrived, Felix's eyes went wide. The bowls of spaghetti were massive steaming mountains of pasta covered in a dark red meat sauce and buried under a small avalanche of freshly grated parmesan cheese.

You both dug in with the ravenous hunger of two pre-teens who had spent the entire day walking. You ate until you were absolutely stuffed, the heavy food warming you from the inside out.

As the waiter came around to clear the empty plates, the conversation among the adults shifted to local politics and housing prices, the cue that they were going to be occupied for a while.

Felix shifted in the booth beside you. The comfortable and relaxed energy he had carried all through dinner suddenly vanished. He sat up very straight, his hands disappearing into the deep pockets of his puffy black jacket. He bit his lower lip, a nervous habit he hadn't displayed since his first week at school.

"Hey," he mumbled, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper so his family wouldn't hear.

You turned away from the window, leaning closer to him. "What's up? Are you full? Do you need a stomach pump?"

"No," he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, keeping them clenched in tight fists resting on his lap. He looked down at them, his eyelashes casting long shadows over his freckled cheeks. "I... I have something for you. For your birthday."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Felix, you didn't have to get me anything! The card was amazing, and you guys coming today was the present."

"I wanted to," he insisted softly, his Australian accent thickening slightly with his nerves. "I didn't buy it. I made it. I hope it's not stupid."

Slowly, he opened his fists.

Sitting in the palm of his hand were two handmade braided friendship bracelets. They were made of thick embroidery thread. One of them was a vibrant ocean blue, which you knew was his favourite colour. The other was a bright sunny yellow, your absolute favourite colour.

"I made them last week," Felix explained, his voice rushing slightly as he explained himself. He picked up the blue one. "I used to make them all the time at my old school. It's... it's a matching set. You take the blue one, and I wear the yellow one. So that... so that when we go to high school next year, even if we aren't in the same classes all the time, we'll still have them."

He looked up at you through his thick eyelashes, his expression incredibly vulnerable. He was terrified you were going to reject it, terrified you would think it was childish or silly.

Your heart did a flip in your chest. It wasn't just a gift; it was a physical promise. It was his way of securing your friendship, of making sure the bond you had built over the last six months wouldn't disappear when the scary reality of Year 7 hit them.

"Felix," you breathed, entirely overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture. "They're beautiful. I love them."

The anxiety vanished from his face, replaced by a relieved smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really," you nodded vehemently. You held out your left wrist, pushing the sleeve of your thick navy jumper up to expose your skin. "Put it on me. Please."

Felix's fingers were trembling slightly as he carefully wrapped the deep blue braided thread around your wrist. He pulled the two ends tight, tying them into a secure double knot. His skin brushed against yours, warm and gentle.

When he finished, he sat back, admiring his handiwork.

"Now yours," you demanded playfully, reaching out.

Felix held out his own wrist. You took the bright yellow bracelet from his hand, carefully wrapping it around his wrist and tying the knot as tightly as you could.

You both looked down at your hands resting on the table. The blue and yellow bracelets sat starkly against your skin, a colorful testament to the boy who lived next door. You didn't say anything else, you didn't need to. The quiet moment spoke volumes louder than any words could.

"Alright, who's ready for dessert?" your dad's loud voice shattered the bubble, completely oblivious to the tender moment happening right next to him.

You and Felix quickly pulled your hands apart, both of your ears burning pink.

"Actually, Dad," you spoke up, a mischievous glint returning to your eye. You looked at Felix, who suddenly realized exactly what you were about to say. His eyes widened in absolute horror. "We need to go. We have a tradition to uphold."

"Oh, right!" your dad laughed loudly, slapping his hand against the table. "The grand finale! Jiho, Min, you're going to love this."

Ten minutes later, the bill was paid, and the entire group was bundled back up in their heavy winter coats, stepping out of the warm restaurant and back into the windy night of Darling Harbour.

Your dad made a quick detour to a small takeaway kiosk near the pier, returning with a greasy cardboard box filled to the brim with steaming hot chips.

"Alright," your dad announced, holding the box out toward you. "Do your worst."

You took the box, the heat radiating through the cardboard and warming your freezing hands. You looked at Felix.

He was standing several feet away, his thick grey scarf pulled all the way up to the bridge of his nose. He looked terrified. He was scanning the dark sky above the harbor, looking for the enemy.

"Come on, Yongbok," you teased, walking toward the wooden railing at the very edge of the pier. "Face your fears. They're just birds."

"They are feathered rats with a taste for human flesh," Felix argued, though he reluctantly shuffled a few steps closer to you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

You pulled a chip from the box and held it up high in the air.

It didn't take long. Within ten seconds, a loud squawk echoed through the night air.

"They found us," Felix whimpered, taking a step backward.

Suddenly, a white blur descended from the sky. A massive seagull swooped down, snatching the chip perfectly from your fingers before banking hard and flying away.

"Yes!" you cheered, laughing loudly at the sheer thrill of it. You grabbed a handful of chips and threw them high into the air over the water.

It was like ringing a dinner bell. Within a minute, a flock of seagulls had descended upon the pier. There were dozens of them, squawking loudly, fighting each other in mid-air, and hovering just inches above your head.

"Oh my god," Felix screamed, his boyish voice cracking as a particularly large bird swooped incredibly close to his dark hair. He ducked, throwing his arms over his head in a defensive crouch. "They remember me! They know who I am!"

"Throw one!" you yelled over the noise of the birds, shoving a hot chip into his hand. "Just throw it!"

Felix squeezed his eyes shut, let out a loud, terrifying battle cry, and blindly lobbed the chip into the air. A seagull caught it before it even reached its apex.

When Felix opened his eyes and realized he hadn't been attacked, a laugh bubbled up in his chest. "I did it."

"Do it again!"

For the next ten minutes, the wooden pier was an absolute warzone of squawking birds, flying chips, and hysterical laughter that came from the both of you. Even Rachel had joined in, aggressively throwing chips at the birds like she was pitching a baseball. Olivia was screaming with joy, safely tucked behind her father's legs.

Felix had completely abandoned his fear. He was laughing so hard he was gasping for air, throwing chips into the chaos and ducking when the birds got too close, his bright smile on full display.

As you stood there in the freezing Sydney night, watching the boy next door bravely fight off his greatest fear just to make you happy, you reached down and lightly touched the blue braided bracelet resting securely around your wrist.

Twelve was going to be a very, very good year.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

"Felix, if you eat all the BBQ Shapes before we even get to dance class, you're going to throw up during the warm-ups," you warned, tossing a throw pillow across your bedroom.

The pillow hit Felix square in the face, but he didn't even flinch. He was currently sprawled out on his stomach across the carpet of your bedroom floor, his long legs kicked up behind him in the air. He was wearing an oversized grey jumper and a comfortable pair of thick black trackies. Without missing a beat, he reached his hand blindly into the red cardboard box beside him, pulled out another savory biscuit, and popped it into his mouth.

"I'm a growing boy," he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs, offering you a cheeky grin that made his constellation of freckles scrunch up. "I need fuel for the dancing."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hair up into a tight ponytail. "Miss Clara is going to make you do fifty pushups when you inevitably cramp up, and I am not going to help you."

It had been four months since the day Felix first knocked on your door to invite you to the beach. In those four months, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted so drastically that it was almost impossible to remember a time when he wasn't a permanent fixture in your life.

The painfully shy boy who hid behind his father's leg on moving day was entirely gone, at least when he was around you. In the safety of your bedroom, or hanging out in his living room playing Mario Kart with Olivia, Felix was loud. He was funny, relentlessly teasing, and prone to sudden bursts of laughter that made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons.

He still struggled slightly at school. When Mrs. Gable called on him to read aloud, or when he had to stand in front of the class for a presentation, his voice would still tremble, and his shoulders would instinctively hunch up to his ears. But he wasn't completely isolated anymore. He had you. You were an inseparable front. Where you went, Felix went, and vice versa.

"Kids! Grab your bags! We're leaving in two minutes!" your mom's voice echoed down the hallway, cutting through the sound of the rain against the windowpane.

"Coming!" you yelled back. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from your desk chair, throwing a water bottle inside. "Come on, biscuit boy, let's go."

Felix scrambled off the floor, dusting the savory cracker crumbs off his trackies. He grabbed his own black duffel bag and followed you down the hallway.

The carpool routine had become a well-oiled machine over the last few months. Every Wednesday afternoon, either your mom or Mrs. Lee would pile the two of you into the back seat and ferry you to the Rhythm & Move Dance Academy.

Today, it was your mom's turn.

You and Felix bolted out the front door, pulling the hoods of your jumpers over your heads to shield yourselves from the icy winter drizzle, and dove into the back seat of the silver sedan. The car's heater was already blasting, filling the small space with an artificial warmth.

"Seatbelts on," your mom instructed, putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out of the driveway into the wet street.

The drive to the studio took exactly ten minutes. It was ten minutes of pure chaos.

As soon as your mom flicked the indicator to turn onto the main road, the opening beat of Carly Rae Jepsen’s "Call Me Maybe" blasted through the car's speakers from the local pop radio station.

Felix's eyes immediately widened. He turned to look at you, a look of absolute seriousness settling over his face. You mirrored his expression, nodding solemnly.

"I threw a wish in the well," Felix started, his slightly raspy voice perfectly in tune, but dramatically exaggerated. He grabbed an imaginary microphone in his hand and held it up to his mouth.

"Don't ask me, I'll never tell!" you shouted the next line, leaning toward him.

"I looked to you as it fell, and now you're in my way!" you both sang the next line in unison, completely abandoning any sense of pitch or dignity.

Your mom let out a loud groan from the driver's seat, though she was clearly smiling as she adjusted the rearview mirror to look at the two of you. "Please, not this song again. It plays every fifteen minutes. I'm begging you."

"You can't stop art, Mum!" you yelled over the chorus.

Felix was fully committing to the bit now. He was bouncing in his seat, using his water bottle as a prop microphone, and pointing dramatically out the rain-streaked window at passing cars. "Hey, I just met you! And this is crazy! But here's my number! So call me, maybe!"

You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, struggling to keep up with the lyrics while Felix serenaded the back of your mom's headrest. It was moments like these, trapped in the back of a warm car while the Sydney winter raged outside, that made you realize just how lucky you were. You couldn't imagine doing this with Harper. Harper would have complained about the heater ruining her hair, or rolled her eyes at the song. But Felix just threw himself into the fun, completely uninhibited and fiercely joyful.

By the time your mom pulled the sedan into the damp parking lot of the dance studio, the radio had transitioned into a One Direction song, and you were both completely out of breath from screaming the lyrics.

"Alright, you two maniacs, out you get," your mom laughed, putting the car into park. "I'll be back at five-thirty. Don't slip in the puddles."

"Thanks, Mum! Bye!"

You and Felix grabbed your bags and jogged through the freezing rain, pushing open the heavy double doors of the warehouse. The familiar wall of sensory overload hit you instantly. The smell of floor wax, the thumping bass vibrating through the walls, and the loud chatter of kids warming up.

"G'day, Barb!" you and Felix chorused in perfect unison as you passed the front desk.

Barb looked up from her clunky desktop computer, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. "G'day, you two troublemakers! Miss Clara is waiting for you in Studio Two! Get a move on!"

You pushed open the door to the mirror-lined studio. The humidity in the room was already high, the edges of the mirrors fogging up slightly despite the winter chill outside.

"There are my star pupils!" Miss Clara cheered, clapping her hands as you and Felix dropped your bags against the back wall. "Let's go, Year Sixes! We're finishing the eight-count for the Flo Rida routine today, and I want it sharp!"

Over the last few months, your dancing had improved dramatically, but Felix... Felix was a genuine revelation.

The moment the heavy beat of "Wild Ones" dropped through the studio speakers, the goofy boy from the car vanished. Felix transformed. When he danced, his face smoothed out into a look of intense focus. His small frame moved with a power and a precision that was completely mesmerizing. He hit every pop, every lock, and every slide with an instinctive understanding of rhythm that you could only dream of possessing.

You stood right next to him in the center of the formation, feeding off his incredible energy.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Miss Clara counted loudly over the music.

You and Felix moved in perfect sync. You dropped low, swept your leg out, and popped back up, mirroring his sharp movements. He wasn't just good at the choreography; he actively made you better. When you struggled with a complicated transition, he would patiently break it down for you during the water breaks, his hands physically guiding your shoulders to show you where your weight needed to be.

"Yes! That's it, Felix, beautiful isolation on the chest pop!" Miss Clara yelled approvingly over the blaring music. "Keep that energy up, everyone! Let's take it from the top!"

The hour-long class was grueling. By the time the final chords of the song faded out, you were both dripping with sweat, your lungs burning and your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Felix collapsed onto the scuffed wooden floorboards beside you, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his flushed face. He reached out, his hand weakly finding yours on the floor, and gave you a sloppy high-five.

"Told you," you panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "The BBQ Shapes. They slowed you down."

"Liar," Felix wheezed, laughing breathlessly. "I was flawless. I am a machine."

"You are a sweaty mess," you corrected fondly, sitting up and grabbing your water bottle.

As you looked at him, lying on the floor of the dance studio, utterly exhausted but happier than you had ever seen him, a warm feeling bloomed in your chest. The winter rain was still hammering against the corrugated iron roof of the warehouse, but sitting here, surrounded by the thumping music and the laughter of your best friend, the world felt incredibly bright.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, the chaotic energy of the afternoon had completely settled into a domestic calm.

Felix was sleeping over. It had become a regular occurrence over the last two months, falling into a comfortable weekend routine. Your parents absolutely adored him, and his parents were more than happy to have a quiet night in their own house without him and Olivia bickering over the television remote.

You and Felix had both showered immediately after getting home from dance class, washing away the sweat and the smell of the studio floor wax. Now, you were both dressed in your pajamas. The winter rain was still falling steadily outside, a soothing drumbeat against your bedroom window.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, a thick fleece blanket draped over your shoulders. Felix was sitting on the floor leaning back against the side of your mattress, lazily flipping through a stack of your older comic books. The only light in the room came from the small yellow lamp on your bedside table, casting soft shadows against the walls.

It was quiet. The comfortable kind of silence that you only ever experienced with him.

You were staring blankly at the corkboard hanging above your desk. Pinned to the center of it was a calendar. The month of June was almost over, giving way to the rapidly approaching page for July.

Specifically, July 14th.

You let out an unintentional sigh, pulling the fleece blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

Felix immediately stopped flipping the pages of his comic book. His head tilted back, resting against your mattress, and he looked up at you upside down. His dark eyes, usually bright and bubbling with mischief, were deeply observant.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice was quiet, respectful of the hushed atmosphere of the rainy bedroom.

"Nothing," you lied quickly, looking away from the calendar. "Just tired."

Felix raised an eyebrow. He slowly closed the comic book, setting it down on the carpet, and spun around so he was sitting on his knees, resting his arms on the edge of your bed to look you directly in the eye. He didn't say anything. He just gave you the look. It was a specific unwavering stare that he had perfected over the last few months, one that silently communicated that he knew you were lying and he was perfectly willing to wait until you told him the truth.

You crumbled under the pressure of his gaze almost instantly. You let out another heavier sigh, resting your chin on your knees.

"It's stupid," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your flannel pajama pants. "It's just... my birthday is coming up. In a few weeks. July 14th."

Felix's face instantly lit up. "Your birthday? That's awesome! Why is that a bad thing? You're turning twelve, that's practically a teenager."

"I know," you said, feeling a frustrating prickle of heat behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing the sudden wave of emotion down. "It's just... Harper always came to my birthdays. Every single year since we were in Year 3. We always did everything together. And now she's not going to be there. She hasn't spoken a single word to me in four months, Felix. She walks right past me in the hallway like I'm invisible."

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. You hadn't really talked about Harper since that first week of school. You had successfully pushed the loss of her friendship to the back of your mind, burying it beneath the excitement of dance classes, sleepovers, and passing notes with Felix. But birthdays were milestones. They were markers of time, and realizing that your childhood best friend wouldn't be there to celebrate with you felt like a sudden punch to the gut.

Felix's expression softened entirely. The bright excitement faded, replaced by an empathetic sadness. He knew exactly why Harper wasn't talking to you. He knew that the silent treatment, the dirty looks across the classroom, and the sudden social exile were all because you had chosen to sit next to him under the wattle tree.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his hands gripping the edge of your duvet cover. He looked down at his knuckles, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I know she was your best friend. And I know you gave that up for me. If... if you want to invite her, you can. I won't be mad. I can stay home."

"No!" you practically shouted, the force of your own reaction startling you. You reached out, grabbing his wrist firmly. "Absolutely not. I don't want to invite her, and I definitely don't want you to stay home. She made her choice. She decided she cared more about looking cool than being my friend. You're my best friend now, Felix. I just... I guess I just feel a bit sad about the memories, you know?"

Felix looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. When he saw the sincerity in your expression, the heavy guilt slowly lifted from his shoulders. He gave you a small smile, his freckles shifting in the warm lamplight.

"I know," he said quietly, slipping his hand out of your grip just to place it comfortingly over yours. "It's okay to be sad. But I promise, I'm going to make sure it's the best birthday ever. What do you normally do? Do you have a big party? Do we need to hire a jumping castle?"

You let out a wet laugh, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. The melancholic feeling in your chest began to evaporate under the warmth of his easy acceptance.

"No jumping castles," you smiled, shaking your head. "I don't really do big parties. Usually, my parents let me pick one friend, and we take the train into the city. We go to the Sydney Aquarium in Darling Harbour for the afternoon, and then we go to this fancy Italian restaurant right on the water for dinner."

"The aquarium?" Felix's eyes went wide with genuine wonder. "The one with the glass tunnels where the sharks swim right over your head?"

"Exactly," you nodded, your excitement starting to build as you thought about it. "It's heaps good. They have massive stingrays, and you can see the penguins getting fed. But the best part is the dugongs. The sea cows. They just float around looking completely confused by everything. I love them so much."

"Sea cows," Felix repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "That sounds amazing. And then what? Fancy Italian food?"

"Yeah, my dad always orders this massive garlic pizza just for the table, and I get the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese they have," you explained, the familiar comfort of the tradition washing over you. "But the absolute best part of the whole day happens after dinner."

Felix leaned in closer, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the edge of your bed, completely invested in the story. "What happens?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "We buy a large box of hot chips from the takeaway stand near the pier. And then... we go feed the seagulls."

Felix physically recoiled. He scrambled backward, his eyes widening in pure horror. He stared at you as if you had just suggested you both jump into a volcano.

"The seagulls?" he squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you insane? They are flying demons! They tried to eat my face off at the beach!"

You threw your head back and let out a loud laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. The memory of him flailing in the sand, trapped while the white birds swarmed his bright green bucket hat, was still the funniest thing you had ever seen in your life.

"They won't eat your face!" you giggled, clutching your stomach. "We throw the chips at them! It's hilarious, they fight each other in mid-air to catch them. It's an essential part of the birthday tradition, Felix. You have to face your enemies."

Felix shook his head vigorously, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective stance, though he was trying very hard to fight back a smile.

"I refuse," he declared stubbornly. "I will go to the aquarium. I will look at the confusing sea cows. I will even eat the fancy spaghetti. But I am not going near the bin chickens of the sea. I value my life too much."

"Coward," you teased, throwing the fleece blanket over his head so it draped over him like a ghost.

Felix squawked, wrestling with the thick fabric, before pulling it down and glaring at you playfully. "I'm not a coward, I'm just incredibly smart. They hold grudges, you know. They'll recognize me."

"You're not wearing the green hat anymore, they won't know it's you," you reasoned, still giggling. "Please, Felix? For my birthday?"

Felix let out a long dramatic sigh, letting his head thunk against the mattress. He looked up at you with a long-suffering expression, his dark eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

"Fine," he grumbled, though his gap-toothed smile betrayed him. "I will sacrifice myself to the sky demons. But only because you're turning twelve. Next year, we're feeding pigeons instead."

"Deal," you grinned, feeling a massive wave of warmth settle over you.

The sadness over Harper was completely gone. Looking at Felix, sitting on the floor of your bedroom in his oversized pajamas, willing to face his absolute worst fear just to keep your silly birthday tradition alive, you realized that you hadn't lost a best friend at all. You had just upgraded to a much, much better one.

The conversation about your impending birthday naturally led to the far more terrifying topic that was currently looming over every Year 6 student in the state.

High School.

The transition from primary school to high school in Australia was a terrifying leap. You were going from being the absolute seniors of the playground, kings and queens of the school, to being the tiny terrified Year 7s at the absolute bottom of a meaner food chain.

"We only have, like, five months left of primary school," you murmured, pulling your knees up to your chest. The rain continued to beat a steady rhythm against the glass windowpane. "Are you scared? About Year 7?"

Felix, who had gone back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked at a loose piece of fluff on the carpet. The playful energy from the seagull conversation faded slightly, replaced by a quiet seriousness.

"A little bit," he admitted, his eyes looking up at you. "The high school is massive. My sister Rachel goes there, and she says there are, like, a thousand kids. And you have to switch classrooms for every single subject. You don't just stay with Mrs. Gable all day."

"I know," you groaned, burying your face in your knees. "And they give you mountains of homework. Plus, we're going to be the youngest kids there. The Year 12s are basically adults. Some of them have beards."

Felix shuddered at the thought. "And we have to wear blazers. Even when it's hot."

You peeked over your knees, looking down at him. A sharp spike of anxiety hit your chest, entirely separate from the fear of homework or older kids. It was a fear of separation.

"Felix..." you started hesitantly, your voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "You are going to the local high school, right? Your parents aren't sending you to a private school or something?"

The local public high school was just a few suburbs over. It was where almost everyone from your primary school went, but occasionally, parents would ship their kids off to strict private schools on the other side of the city. The thought of navigating the terrifying halls of Year 7 without Felix by your side, without your designated seatmate and dance partner, made your stomach churn.

Felix looked up, immediately catching the panic in your voice. His face softened instantly.

"Yeah, of course," he reassured you quickly, offering a warm smile. "My parents already filled out the enrollment forms last month. It's the same one Rachel goes to. So we're going to the same school."

You let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping back against your pillows. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to survive it alone. We have to make sure we're in the same roll call class."

"We will be," Felix promised confidently, leaning his arms on the edge of your bed again. "My mom requested that we be put together. She said it's important for me to have a familiar face. We're going to stick together. I promise."

"Best friends?" you asked, holding out your pinky finger over the edge of the bed.

Felix looked at your extended finger, his gap-toothed smile returning in full force. He reached up, wrapping his own pinky finger securely around yours. His skin was warm. "Best friends," he echoed solemnly. "Even when we're terrified Year 7s running away from the bearded seniors."

"Kids! Dinner is ready!"

The sound of your dad's voice echoing down the hallway shattered the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. You and Felix both jumped slightly, pulling your hands apart, before bursting into simultaneous giggles.

"Come on," you said, throwing the fleece blanket off your shoulders and sliding off the bed. "I'm starving. I hope Mom made spaghetti."

You and Felix padded down the hallway in your thick socks, drawn by the incredible smell wafting from the kitchen. The house was warm, a stark contrast to the miserable winter night outside.

Your parents were already sitting at the dining table. Your mom had outdone herself, preparing a steaming dish of shepherd's pie, the ultimate Australian winter comfort food. The mashed potato crust was baked to a perfect crispy golden brown, and the rich smell of gravy and minced meat filled the room.

"Take a seat, you two," your dad boomed cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite him. "Dig in before it gets cold."

Felix politely waited for you to sit down first before sliding into the chair next to yours. He was always incredibly polite around your parents, remembering his 'pleases' and 'thank yous', which was exactly why your mother adored him so much.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs yln," Felix said softly as your mom scooped a steaming portion of the pie onto his plate.

"You're very welcome, Felix," she smiled warmly. "Eat up. You need your strength after dancing so hard today."

The dinner table conversation was loud and easy. Your dad dominated the discussion, talking about his week at work and asking Felix about his older sister's upcoming exams. Felix answered politely, his initial shyness around your dad having melted away months ago. Now, he happily engaged in the banter, occasionally shooting you an amused look across the table.

"Speaking of your family, Felix," your dad started, taking a bite of his pie. "I ran into your dad at the hardware store this morning. Jiho, right?"

Felix nodded quickly, his mouth full of mashed potato. He swallowed before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Jiho and I were talking, and we decided that since the rain is supposed to clear up by next weekend, we're going to fire up the barbie," your dad announced proudly, pointing his fork toward the window.

You stared at him, completely deadpan. "Dad, it's the middle of June. It's literally ten degrees outside. You can't have a barbecue in winter."

"Nonsense!" your dad scoffed, waving away your logic. "It's an Australian tradition. Put on a thick jumper, grab a pair of tongs, and stand around the grill. Jiho is bringing over some of those amazing marinated beef ribs your mom makes, Felix. And I'm doing the snags."

"My dad loves barbecues," Felix supplied helpfully, looking over at you with a teasing glint in his eye. "He bought a new pair of tongs just for this."

"See? Jiho understands," your dad grinned triumphantly. "So, next Saturday, it's a joint family barbie. In our backyard. Tell your sisters they're invited too."

"If we're having a barbie," you interjected, pointing your fork threateningly at your father, "then you have to restock the freezer. We are completely out of Zooper Doopers, and it is a known scientific fact that you cannot host a barbecue without them. Even if it is freezing outside."

"I will add fairy floss Zooper Doopers to the grocery list," your mom promised, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Though I suspect Felix will end up eating half the box."

Felix's ears turned bright pink, but he didn't deny the accusation. The frozen treats had remained his absolute favorite snack since that first day under the wattle tree.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of warm food and comfortable laughter. It struck you, as you watched your dad crack a terrible joke that made Felix snort gravy into his napkin, just how deeply intertwined your two families had become. The Lees weren't just the neighbors next door anymore. They were an extension of your own family.

Once dinner was cleared away and the plates were stacked in the dishwasher, you and Felix retreated back to your bedroom for the night.

Your mom followed closely behind, carrying a large mattress pad and a stack of thick winter blankets.

"Alright, boys and girls, time to set up camp," she announced, dropping the pile onto your bedroom floor.

The sleepover setup was a well-practiced routine. You and Felix quickly cleared a space on the carpet, pushing your desk chair into the corner. You helped your mom unroll the thick mattress pad, throwing a fitted sheet over it, while Felix grabbed the fluffiest doona from the pile and tossed it over the makeshift bed.

"There we go," your mom smiled, tossing two plump pillows onto the end of the mattress. "Nice and cozy. Now, I want lights out by ten-thirty, alright? You both need your sleep after that dance class."

"Yes, Mum," you chorused together.

"Goodnight, Felix," she said gently, turning off the main overhead light and leaving only the warm glow of the bedside lamp. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight!"

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into a quiet intimacy.

Felix immediately flopped down onto his floor mattress, burying himself completely under the thick doona until only the top of his messy hair was visible. You climbed into your own bed, pulling your duvet up to your chin. The rain was still drumming against the windowpane, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the dark room.

"Hey," Felix's muffled voice came from beneath the pile of blankets on the floor.

"Yeah?" you whispered back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Slowly, Felix pulled the doona down just enough to expose his face. He was looking up at you, his eyes heavy with sleep, but his expression was incredibly soft and sincere.

"I'm really glad we're going to the same high school," he whispered quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't think I could do it without you."

A rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely chasing away the lingering winter chill in the room. You rolled over onto your side, looking down at him.

"Me too," you whispered back truthfully. "We'll survive it together. We're a team."

Felix gave a sleepy nod, a tiny smile resting on his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. "A team. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Felix."

As you lay there, listening to the soft sound of his breathing slowly evening out into sleep, you felt a profound sense of peace. Year 7 was going to be terrifying, and you were definitely going to get dive-bombed by seagulls on your birthday, but as long as the boy next door was with you, you knew everything was going to be perfectly fine.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

"Felix, if you eat all the BBQ Shapes before we even get to dance class, you're going to throw up during the warm-ups," you warned, tossing a throw pillow across your bedroom.

The pillow hit Felix square in the face, but he didn't even flinch. He was currently sprawled out on his stomach across the carpet of your bedroom floor, his long legs kicked up behind him in the air. He was wearing an oversized grey jumper and a comfortable pair of thick black trackies. Without missing a beat, he reached his hand blindly into the red cardboard box beside him, pulled out another savory biscuit, and popped it into his mouth.

"I'm a growing boy," he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs, offering you a cheeky grin that made his constellation of freckles scrunch up. "I need fuel for the dancing."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hair up into a tight ponytail. "Miss Clara is going to make you do fifty pushups when you inevitably cramp up, and I am not going to help you."

It had been four months since the day Felix first knocked on your door to invite you to the beach. In those four months, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted so drastically that it was almost impossible to remember a time when he wasn't a permanent fixture in your life.

The painfully shy boy who hid behind his father's leg on moving day was entirely gone, at least when he was around you. In the safety of your bedroom, or hanging out in his living room playing Mario Kart with Olivia, Felix was loud. He was funny, relentlessly teasing, and prone to sudden bursts of laughter that made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons.

He still struggled slightly at school. When Mrs. Gable called on him to read aloud, or when he had to stand in front of the class for a presentation, his voice would still tremble, and his shoulders would instinctively hunch up to his ears. But he wasn't completely isolated anymore. He had you. You were an inseparable front. Where you went, Felix went, and vice versa.

"Kids! Grab your bags! We're leaving in two minutes!" your mom's voice echoed down the hallway, cutting through the sound of the rain against the windowpane.

"Coming!" you yelled back. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from your desk chair, throwing a water bottle inside. "Come on, biscuit boy, let's go."

Felix scrambled off the floor, dusting the savory cracker crumbs off his trackies. He grabbed his own black duffel bag and followed you down the hallway.

The carpool routine had become a well-oiled machine over the last few months. Every Wednesday afternoon, either your mom or Mrs. Lee would pile the two of you into the back seat and ferry you to the Rhythm & Move Dance Academy.

Today, it was your mom's turn.

You and Felix bolted out the front door, pulling the hoods of your jumpers over your heads to shield yourselves from the icy winter drizzle, and dove into the back seat of the silver sedan. The car's heater was already blasting, filling the small space with an artificial warmth.

"Seatbelts on," your mom instructed, putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out of the driveway into the wet street.

The drive to the studio took exactly ten minutes. It was ten minutes of pure chaos.

As soon as your mom flicked the indicator to turn onto the main road, the opening beat of Carly Rae Jepsen’s "Call Me Maybe" blasted through the car's speakers from the local pop radio station.

Felix's eyes immediately widened. He turned to look at you, a look of absolute seriousness settling over his face. You mirrored his expression, nodding solemnly.

"I threw a wish in the well," Felix started, his slightly raspy voice perfectly in tune, but dramatically exaggerated. He grabbed an imaginary microphone in his hand and held it up to his mouth.

"Don't ask me, I'll never tell!" you shouted the next line, leaning toward him.

"I looked to you as it fell, and now you're in my way!" you both sang the next line in unison, completely abandoning any sense of pitch or dignity.

Your mom let out a loud groan from the driver's seat, though she was clearly smiling as she adjusted the rearview mirror to look at the two of you. "Please, not this song again. It plays every fifteen minutes. I'm begging you."

"You can't stop art, Mum!" you yelled over the chorus.

Felix was fully committing to the bit now. He was bouncing in his seat, using his water bottle as a prop microphone, and pointing dramatically out the rain-streaked window at passing cars. "Hey, I just met you! And this is crazy! But here's my number! So call me, maybe!"

You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, struggling to keep up with the lyrics while Felix serenaded the back of your mom's headrest. It was moments like these, trapped in the back of a warm car while the Sydney winter raged outside, that made you realize just how lucky you were. You couldn't imagine doing this with Harper. Harper would have complained about the heater ruining her hair, or rolled her eyes at the song. But Felix just threw himself into the fun, completely uninhibited and fiercely joyful.

By the time your mom pulled the sedan into the damp parking lot of the dance studio, the radio had transitioned into a One Direction song, and you were both completely out of breath from screaming the lyrics.

"Alright, you two maniacs, out you get," your mom laughed, putting the car into park. "I'll be back at five-thirty. Don't slip in the puddles."

"Thanks, Mum! Bye!"

You and Felix grabbed your bags and jogged through the freezing rain, pushing open the heavy double doors of the warehouse. The familiar wall of sensory overload hit you instantly. The smell of floor wax, the thumping bass vibrating through the walls, and the loud chatter of kids warming up.

"G'day, Barb!" you and Felix chorused in perfect unison as you passed the front desk.

Barb looked up from her clunky desktop computer, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. "G'day, you two troublemakers! Miss Clara is waiting for you in Studio Two! Get a move on!"

You pushed open the door to the mirror-lined studio. The humidity in the room was already high, the edges of the mirrors fogging up slightly despite the winter chill outside.

"There are my star pupils!" Miss Clara cheered, clapping her hands as you and Felix dropped your bags against the back wall. "Let's go, Year Sixes! We're finishing the eight-count for the Flo Rida routine today, and I want it sharp!"

Over the last few months, your dancing had improved dramatically, but Felix... Felix was a genuine revelation.

The moment the heavy beat of "Wild Ones" dropped through the studio speakers, the goofy boy from the car vanished. Felix transformed. When he danced, his face smoothed out into a look of intense focus. His small frame moved with a power and a precision that was completely mesmerizing. He hit every pop, every lock, and every slide with an instinctive understanding of rhythm that you could only dream of possessing.

You stood right next to him in the center of the formation, feeding off his incredible energy.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Miss Clara counted loudly over the music.

You and Felix moved in perfect sync. You dropped low, swept your leg out, and popped back up, mirroring his sharp movements. He wasn't just good at the choreography; he actively made you better. When you struggled with a complicated transition, he would patiently break it down for you during the water breaks, his hands physically guiding your shoulders to show you where your weight needed to be.

"Yes! That's it, Felix, beautiful isolation on the chest pop!" Miss Clara yelled approvingly over the blaring music. "Keep that energy up, everyone! Let's take it from the top!"

The hour-long class was grueling. By the time the final chords of the song faded out, you were both dripping with sweat, your lungs burning and your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Felix collapsed onto the scuffed wooden floorboards beside you, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his flushed face. He reached out, his hand weakly finding yours on the floor, and gave you a sloppy high-five.

"Told you," you panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "The BBQ Shapes. They slowed you down."

"Liar," Felix wheezed, laughing breathlessly. "I was flawless. I am a machine."

"You are a sweaty mess," you corrected fondly, sitting up and grabbing your water bottle.

As you looked at him, lying on the floor of the dance studio, utterly exhausted but happier than you had ever seen him, a warm feeling bloomed in your chest. The winter rain was still hammering against the corrugated iron roof of the warehouse, but sitting here, surrounded by the thumping music and the laughter of your best friend, the world felt incredibly bright.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, the chaotic energy of the afternoon had completely settled into a domestic calm.

Felix was sleeping over. It had become a regular occurrence over the last two months, falling into a comfortable weekend routine. Your parents absolutely adored him, and his parents were more than happy to have a quiet night in their own house without him and Olivia bickering over the television remote.

You and Felix had both showered immediately after getting home from dance class, washing away the sweat and the smell of the studio floor wax. Now, you were both dressed in your pajamas. The winter rain was still falling steadily outside, a soothing drumbeat against your bedroom window.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, a thick fleece blanket draped over your shoulders. Felix was sitting on the floor leaning back against the side of your mattress, lazily flipping through a stack of your older comic books. The only light in the room came from the small yellow lamp on your bedside table, casting soft shadows against the walls.

It was quiet. The comfortable kind of silence that you only ever experienced with him.

You were staring blankly at the corkboard hanging above your desk. Pinned to the center of it was a calendar. The month of June was almost over, giving way to the rapidly approaching page for July.

Specifically, July 14th.

You let out an unintentional sigh, pulling the fleece blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

Felix immediately stopped flipping the pages of his comic book. His head tilted back, resting against your mattress, and he looked up at you upside down. His dark eyes, usually bright and bubbling with mischief, were deeply observant.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice was quiet, respectful of the hushed atmosphere of the rainy bedroom.

"Nothing," you lied quickly, looking away from the calendar. "Just tired."

Felix raised an eyebrow. He slowly closed the comic book, setting it down on the carpet, and spun around so he was sitting on his knees, resting his arms on the edge of your bed to look you directly in the eye. He didn't say anything. He just gave you the look. It was a specific unwavering stare that he had perfected over the last few months, one that silently communicated that he knew you were lying and he was perfectly willing to wait until you told him the truth.

You crumbled under the pressure of his gaze almost instantly. You let out another heavier sigh, resting your chin on your knees.

"It's stupid," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your flannel pajama pants. "It's just... my birthday is coming up. In a few weeks. July 14th."

Felix's face instantly lit up. "Your birthday? That's awesome! Why is that a bad thing? You're turning twelve, that's practically a teenager."

"I know," you said, feeling a frustrating prickle of heat behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing the sudden wave of emotion down. "It's just... Harper always came to my birthdays. Every single year since we were in Year 3. We always did everything together. And now she's not going to be there. She hasn't spoken a single word to me in four months, Felix. She walks right past me in the hallway like I'm invisible."

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. You hadn't really talked about Harper since that first week of school. You had successfully pushed the loss of her friendship to the back of your mind, burying it beneath the excitement of dance classes, sleepovers, and passing notes with Felix. But birthdays were milestones. They were markers of time, and realizing that your childhood best friend wouldn't be there to celebrate with you felt like a sudden punch to the gut.

Felix's expression softened entirely. The bright excitement faded, replaced by an empathetic sadness. He knew exactly why Harper wasn't talking to you. He knew that the silent treatment, the dirty looks across the classroom, and the sudden social exile were all because you had chosen to sit next to him under the wattle tree.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his hands gripping the edge of your duvet cover. He looked down at his knuckles, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I know she was your best friend. And I know you gave that up for me. If... if you want to invite her, you can. I won't be mad. I can stay home."

"No!" you practically shouted, the force of your own reaction startling you. You reached out, grabbing his wrist firmly. "Absolutely not. I don't want to invite her, and I definitely don't want you to stay home. She made her choice. She decided she cared more about looking cool than being my friend. You're my best friend now, Felix. I just... I guess I just feel a bit sad about the memories, you know?"

Felix looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. When he saw the sincerity in your expression, the heavy guilt slowly lifted from his shoulders. He gave you a small smile, his freckles shifting in the warm lamplight.

"I know," he said quietly, slipping his hand out of your grip just to place it comfortingly over yours. "It's okay to be sad. But I promise, I'm going to make sure it's the best birthday ever. What do you normally do? Do you have a big party? Do we need to hire a jumping castle?"

You let out a wet laugh, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. The melancholic feeling in your chest began to evaporate under the warmth of his easy acceptance.

"No jumping castles," you smiled, shaking your head. "I don't really do big parties. Usually, my parents let me pick one friend, and we take the train into the city. We go to the Sydney Aquarium in Darling Harbour for the afternoon, and then we go to this fancy Italian restaurant right on the water for dinner."

"The aquarium?" Felix's eyes went wide with genuine wonder. "The one with the glass tunnels where the sharks swim right over your head?"

"Exactly," you nodded, your excitement starting to build as you thought about it. "It's heaps good. They have massive stingrays, and you can see the penguins getting fed. But the best part is the dugongs. The sea cows. They just float around looking completely confused by everything. I love them so much."

"Sea cows," Felix repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "That sounds amazing. And then what? Fancy Italian food?"

"Yeah, my dad always orders this massive garlic pizza just for the table, and I get the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese they have," you explained, the familiar comfort of the tradition washing over you. "But the absolute best part of the whole day happens after dinner."

Felix leaned in closer, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the edge of your bed, completely invested in the story. "What happens?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "We buy a large box of hot chips from the takeaway stand near the pier. And then... we go feed the seagulls."

Felix physically recoiled. He scrambled backward, his eyes widening in pure horror. He stared at you as if you had just suggested you both jump into a volcano.

"The seagulls?" he squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you insane? They are flying demons! They tried to eat my face off at the beach!"

You threw your head back and let out a loud laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. The memory of him flailing in the sand, trapped while the white birds swarmed his bright green bucket hat, was still the funniest thing you had ever seen in your life.

"They won't eat your face!" you giggled, clutching your stomach. "We throw the chips at them! It's hilarious, they fight each other in mid-air to catch them. It's an essential part of the birthday tradition, Felix. You have to face your enemies."

Felix shook his head vigorously, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective stance, though he was trying very hard to fight back a smile.

"I refuse," he declared stubbornly. "I will go to the aquarium. I will look at the confusing sea cows. I will even eat the fancy spaghetti. But I am not going near the bin chickens of the sea. I value my life too much."

"Coward," you teased, throwing the fleece blanket over his head so it draped over him like a ghost.

Felix squawked, wrestling with the thick fabric, before pulling it down and glaring at you playfully. "I'm not a coward, I'm just incredibly smart. They hold grudges, you know. They'll recognize me."

"You're not wearing the green hat anymore, they won't know it's you," you reasoned, still giggling. "Please, Felix? For my birthday?"

Felix let out a long dramatic sigh, letting his head thunk against the mattress. He looked up at you with a long-suffering expression, his dark eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

"Fine," he grumbled, though his gap-toothed smile betrayed him. "I will sacrifice myself to the sky demons. But only because you're turning twelve. Next year, we're feeding pigeons instead."

"Deal," you grinned, feeling a massive wave of warmth settle over you.

The sadness over Harper was completely gone. Looking at Felix, sitting on the floor of your bedroom in his oversized pajamas, willing to face his absolute worst fear just to keep your silly birthday tradition alive, you realized that you hadn't lost a best friend at all. You had just upgraded to a much, much better one.

The conversation about your impending birthday naturally led to the far more terrifying topic that was currently looming over every Year 6 student in the state.

High School.

The transition from primary school to high school in Australia was a terrifying leap. You were going from being the absolute seniors of the playground, kings and queens of the school, to being the tiny terrified Year 7s at the absolute bottom of a meaner food chain.

"We only have, like, five months left of primary school," you murmured, pulling your knees up to your chest. The rain continued to beat a steady rhythm against the glass windowpane. "Are you scared? About Year 7?"

Felix, who had gone back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked at a loose piece of fluff on the carpet. The playful energy from the seagull conversation faded slightly, replaced by a quiet seriousness.

"A little bit," he admitted, his eyes looking up at you. "The high school is massive. My sister Rachel goes there, and she says there are, like, a thousand kids. And you have to switch classrooms for every single subject. You don't just stay with Mrs. Gable all day."

"I know," you groaned, burying your face in your knees. "And they give you mountains of homework. Plus, we're going to be the youngest kids there. The Year 12s are basically adults. Some of them have beards."

Felix shuddered at the thought. "And we have to wear blazers. Even when it's hot."

You peeked over your knees, looking down at him. A sharp spike of anxiety hit your chest, entirely separate from the fear of homework or older kids. It was a fear of separation.

"Felix..." you started hesitantly, your voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "You are going to the local high school, right? Your parents aren't sending you to a private school or something?"

The local public high school was just a few suburbs over. It was where almost everyone from your primary school went, but occasionally, parents would ship their kids off to strict private schools on the other side of the city. The thought of navigating the terrifying halls of Year 7 without Felix by your side, without your designated seatmate and dance partner, made your stomach churn.

Felix looked up, immediately catching the panic in your voice. His face softened instantly.

"Yeah, of course," he reassured you quickly, offering a warm smile. "My parents already filled out the enrollment forms last month. It's the same one Rachel goes to. So we're going to the same school."

You let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping back against your pillows. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to survive it alone. We have to make sure we're in the same roll call class."

"We will be," Felix promised confidently, leaning his arms on the edge of your bed again. "My mom requested that we be put together. She said it's important for me to have a familiar face. We're going to stick together. I promise."

"Best friends?" you asked, holding out your pinky finger over the edge of the bed.

Felix looked at your extended finger, his gap-toothed smile returning in full force. He reached up, wrapping his own pinky finger securely around yours. His skin was warm. "Best friends," he echoed solemnly. "Even when we're terrified Year 7s running away from the bearded seniors."

"Kids! Dinner is ready!"

The sound of your dad's voice echoing down the hallway shattered the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. You and Felix both jumped slightly, pulling your hands apart, before bursting into simultaneous giggles.

"Come on," you said, throwing the fleece blanket off your shoulders and sliding off the bed. "I'm starving. I hope Mom made spaghetti."

You and Felix padded down the hallway in your thick socks, drawn by the incredible smell wafting from the kitchen. The house was warm, a stark contrast to the miserable winter night outside.

Your parents were already sitting at the dining table. Your mom had outdone herself, preparing a steaming dish of shepherd's pie, the ultimate Australian winter comfort food. The mashed potato crust was baked to a perfect crispy golden brown, and the rich smell of gravy and minced meat filled the room.

"Take a seat, you two," your dad boomed cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite him. "Dig in before it gets cold."

Felix politely waited for you to sit down first before sliding into the chair next to yours. He was always incredibly polite around your parents, remembering his 'pleases' and 'thank yous', which was exactly why your mother adored him so much.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs yln," Felix said softly as your mom scooped a steaming portion of the pie onto his plate.

"You're very welcome, Felix," she smiled warmly. "Eat up. You need your strength after dancing so hard today."

The dinner table conversation was loud and easy. Your dad dominated the discussion, talking about his week at work and asking Felix about his older sister's upcoming exams. Felix answered politely, his initial shyness around your dad having melted away months ago. Now, he happily engaged in the banter, occasionally shooting you an amused look across the table.

"Speaking of your family, Felix," your dad started, taking a bite of his pie. "I ran into your dad at the hardware store this morning. Jiho, right?"

Felix nodded quickly, his mouth full of mashed potato. He swallowed before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Jiho and I were talking, and we decided that since the rain is supposed to clear up by next weekend, we're going to fire up the barbie," your dad announced proudly, pointing his fork toward the window.

You stared at him, completely deadpan. "Dad, it's the middle of June. It's literally ten degrees outside. You can't have a barbecue in winter."

"Nonsense!" your dad scoffed, waving away your logic. "It's an Australian tradition. Put on a thick jumper, grab a pair of tongs, and stand around the grill. Jiho is bringing over some of those amazing marinated beef ribs your mom makes, Felix. And I'm doing the snags."

"My dad loves barbecues," Felix supplied helpfully, looking over at you with a teasing glint in his eye. "He bought a new pair of tongs just for this."

"See? Jiho understands," your dad grinned triumphantly. "So, next Saturday, it's a joint family barbie. In our backyard. Tell your sisters they're invited too."

"If we're having a barbie," you interjected, pointing your fork threateningly at your father, "then you have to restock the freezer. We are completely out of Zooper Doopers, and it is a known scientific fact that you cannot host a barbecue without them. Even if it is freezing outside."

"I will add fairy floss Zooper Doopers to the grocery list," your mom promised, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Though I suspect Felix will end up eating half the box."

Felix's ears turned bright pink, but he didn't deny the accusation. The frozen treats had remained his absolute favorite snack since that first day under the wattle tree.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of warm food and comfortable laughter. It struck you, as you watched your dad crack a terrible joke that made Felix snort gravy into his napkin, just how deeply intertwined your two families had become. The Lees weren't just the neighbors next door anymore. They were an extension of your own family.

Once dinner was cleared away and the plates were stacked in the dishwasher, you and Felix retreated back to your bedroom for the night.

Your mom followed closely behind, carrying a large mattress pad and a stack of thick winter blankets.

"Alright, boys and girls, time to set up camp," she announced, dropping the pile onto your bedroom floor.

The sleepover setup was a well-practiced routine. You and Felix quickly cleared a space on the carpet, pushing your desk chair into the corner. You helped your mom unroll the thick mattress pad, throwing a fitted sheet over it, while Felix grabbed the fluffiest doona from the pile and tossed it over the makeshift bed.

"There we go," your mom smiled, tossing two plump pillows onto the end of the mattress. "Nice and cozy. Now, I want lights out by ten-thirty, alright? You both need your sleep after that dance class."

"Yes, Mum," you chorused together.

"Goodnight, Felix," she said gently, turning off the main overhead light and leaving only the warm glow of the bedside lamp. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight!"

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into a quiet intimacy.

Felix immediately flopped down onto his floor mattress, burying himself completely under the thick doona until only the top of his messy hair was visible. You climbed into your own bed, pulling your duvet up to your chin. The rain was still drumming against the windowpane, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the dark room.

"Hey," Felix's muffled voice came from beneath the pile of blankets on the floor.

"Yeah?" you whispered back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Slowly, Felix pulled the doona down just enough to expose his face. He was looking up at you, his eyes heavy with sleep, but his expression was incredibly soft and sincere.

"I'm really glad we're going to the same high school," he whispered quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't think I could do it without you."

A rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely chasing away the lingering winter chill in the room. You rolled over onto your side, looking down at him.

"Me too," you whispered back truthfully. "We'll survive it together. We're a team."

Felix gave a sleepy nod, a tiny smile resting on his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. "A team. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Felix."

As you lay there, listening to the soft sound of his breathing slowly evening out into sleep, you felt a profound sense of peace. Year 7 was going to be terrifying, and you were definitely going to get dive-bombed by seagulls on your birthday, but as long as the boy next door was with you, you knew everything was going to be perfectly fine.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

You threw the heavy covers off your legs, ignoring the sudden rush of cold air against your flannel pajamas, and bounded out of bed. Your bare feet slapped loudly against the hardwood floor as you sprinted down the hallway.

The house was already alive with activity. The heater in the living room was blasting, creating a warm sanctuary against the winter chill. The kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering smell of sizzling bacon, butter, and freshly brewed coffee.

"There's the birthday girl!" your dad boomed the second you rounded the corner into the kitchen. He abandoned the frying pan he was manning and scooped you up into a massive bear hug, spinning you around once before setting you back down. "Happy birthday, kiddo! Twelve years old. Unbelievable. You're practically an adult. Should I start charging you rent?"

"Dad, I don't even have a job," you laughed, swatting at his arm.

"Happy birthday, my beautiful girl," your mom smiled, walking over to press a warm kiss to the top of your head. She was holding a large wrapped box. She set it down on the kitchen island right in front of your usual barstool. "Open this one first before the chaos arrives."

You didn't need to be told twice. You tore into the wrapping paper with the fierce enthusiasm of a newly minted twelve-year-old. Inside was a brand new navy blue winter coat. It had a faux-fur lined hood and deep pockets.

"It's beautiful!" you gasped, instantly pulling it out of the box and shrugging it over your pajamas. It was incredibly heavy and instantly warm. "Thank you! I'm going to wear it today!"

"I figured you'd need it down at the harbour," your mom smiled, turning back to the kitchen counter where an absolute mountain of sliced white bread was waiting. "The wind coming off the water is going to be brutal today. Now, grab a plate, your dad made pancakes. The Lees will be over any minute."

As if on cue, the front doorbell rang.

It didn't just ring once. It rang three times in rapid succession, followed by the muffled sound of Olivia's high-pitched voice through the heavy wood.

You scrambled to the front door, the oversized navy coat swishing around your knees, and pulled it open.

The entire Lee family was standing on your front porch, bundled up against the icy morning air. Mr. and Mrs. Lee were holding covered plates of food. Rachel was leaning against the brick wall of the house, holding a steaming travel mug of coffee, looking like she had been physically dragged out of bed against her will. Olivia was practically vibrating with excitement.

And standing right in the front, holding a somewhat crumpled handmade card, was Felix.

He was wearing his puffy black jacket and his thick grey scarf. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were already glowing a vibrant pink. When the door opened, his dark eyes instantly locked onto yours, and the most brilliant smile broke across his freckled face.

"Happy birthday!" Felix cheered, his boyish voice ringing loud and clear in the crisp morning air. He thrust the handmade card toward you. "I made this. My mom helped with the spelling, but I drew the dugong on the front."

You took the card, looking down at it. True to his word, there was a surprisingly good drawing of a plump sea cow floating on the front cover, wearing a tiny party hat.

"I love it," you beamed, stepping back to let them in. "Come in! It's freezing out there!"

"I claim the heater!" Olivia shrieked, bolting past you and making a beeline for the glowing orange radiators in the living room.

"Don't run in the house, Liv!" Mrs. Lee scolded gently, though she was smiling as she stepped inside. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. We brought some extra bacon and some Korean egg rolls for breakfast."

"You guys are the best," your dad called out from the kitchen. "Jiho, get in here and grab a plate!"

The next hour was a chaotic whirlwind of joint family breakfast. There were simply too many people to fit around your dining table, so it turned into a buffet-style feast. People were sitting on the couch, leaning against the kitchen island, and hovering near the heater.

Rachel had slumped into your dad's favourite armchair, nursing her coffee and glaring at a half-eaten pancake. "Why am I awake at eight in the morning on a Saturday during the school holidays?" she complained to no one in particular, her teenage angst on full display. "This is a violation of my human rights."

"Because it's a birthday, Rachel," Mr. Lee said cheerfully, walking past her and ruffling her dark hair, much to her absolute horror. "And you love the aquarium."

"I loved it when I was seven," she mumbled, aggressively fixing her hair. 

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes resting on your lap. Felix was sitting right beside you, mimicking your exact posture. He had forgone the pancakes entirely and was currently inhaling a massive plate of bacon and egg rolls.

"So," Felix mumbled around a mouthful of food, turning his head to look at you. "What's the plan? Do we go straight to the sharks?"

"We have to get the train first," you explained, feeling a thrilling flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "We drive to the station, park the cars, and then catch the train right into the city. We get off at Town Hall and walk down to Darling Harbour. It's awesome, you get to see all the massive buildings."

Felix's eyes widened. Living in the suburbs and previously in the Blue Mountains, trips into the towering concrete jungle of the Sydney CBD weren't an everyday occurrence for him. "Are we going to get lost?"

"My dad knows the way," you assured him confidently. "He used to work in the city. We just have to follow him."

Back in the kitchen, the assembly line had begun.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee were operating like a well-oiled machine. While feeding an entire group of people at a fancy restaurant for dinner was the plan, buying lunch for seven people at the notoriously overpriced aquarium café was out of the question. Instead, the mothers were preparing a mountain of sandwiches to pack into the esky.

"Right, how many Vegemite and cheese?" your mom asked, wielding a butter knife.

"Three," Mrs. Lee answered, meticulously wrapping finished sandwiches in cling wrap. "Yongbok won't eat the ham ones. He says the mustard is too spicy."

You giggled quietly from the rug, nudging Felix with your elbow. "Mustard is too spicy for you? Are you a baby?"

Felix's ears instantly turned a vibrant shade of pink, clashing violently with his dark hair. He swallowed his bite of egg roll defensively. "It tingles! It feels like bees in my mouth. I don't like it."

"You literally eat spicy Korean noodles without flinching," you pointed out, highly amused by his logic.

"That's a different kind of spicy," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mustard is evil. Vegemite is safe."

"Whatever you say, mustard-boy," you teased.

By nine-thirty, the breakfast plates were cleared away, the massive blue esky was packed to the brim with sandwiches, popper juices, and fruit, and the logistical nightmare of transporting seven people was underway.

"Alright, listen up!" your dad announced, clapping his hands together. "We're taking two cars to the station. Jiho, you take Min and the older girls in the station wagon. The birthday girl, Felix, and Olivia are with me and the esky in the sedan. Everyone make sure you've gone to the toilet, because I am not pulling over on the highway!"

There was a mad scramble for the bathrooms, the rustling of heavy winter coats being pulled on, and a chorus of excited chatter.

You shoved your arms back into your new navy coat, buttoning it up to your chin. Felix was beside you in the hallway, wrestling with his thick scarf. He looked over at you, his eyes sparkling with an infectious, buzzing excitement.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice barely containing his enthusiasm.

"So ready," you beamed.

You piled into the back of your dad's car. Because of the massive esky taking up one of the seats, you and Felix were squished tightly together in the middle, with Olivia taking up the window seat. She was already pressing her face against the cold glass, leaving foggy breath marks.

The heater in the car was on full blast, countering the freezing temperatures outside. The radio was playing a low stream of classic rock, a stark contrast to the usual pop music your mom played.

As your dad pulled out of the driveway and joined the stream of traffic heading toward the train station, Felix bumped his knee against yours.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," he whispered, leaning closer so his voice wouldn't carry over the radio or Olivia's endless chatter about fairy penguins. "I've never been to the city before. Not properly."

"You're going to love it," you promised, a fierce sense of pride swelling in your chest. You were getting to show him your favourite place in the entire world. "The aquarium is huge. It takes hours to walk through the whole thing."

"Are the sharks really big?" he asked, a tinyl note of apprehension creeping into his boyish voice.

"Massive," you nodded solemnly. "Bigger than my dad's car."

Felix's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he swallowed hard. But before the panic could fully set in, he looked at you, saw the mischievous glint in your eye, and playfully shoved your shoulder.

"You're lying," he accused, a massive smile breaking through the apprehension.

"Maybe a little bit," you laughed. "But they are still heaps big. Just stick close to me. I'll protect you."

Felix rolled his eyes, adjusting his scarf, but he didn't pull away. As the car sped down the highway toward the train station, bringing you closer to the towering skyline of the city, the warmth radiating between the two of you in the cramped backseat made the bitter Sydney winter feel entirely irrelevant.

Darling Harbour in the middle of July was a sensory assault.

The moment you stepped out of Town Hall station and began the long, downward walk toward the water, the icy wind whipping off the harbor hit you like a physical wall. It smelled sharply of salt, expensive coffee from the nearby cafes, and the unmistakable murky scent of the ocean.

The harbor was bustling despite the cold. Ferries were chugging across the dark blue water, leaving white wakes behind them. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the pedestrian walkways.

Your two families moved as a large pack. The adults walked in the back, chatting amiably while your dad dragged the heavy blue esky by its handle. Rachel was walking a few paces ahead, her headphones firmly over her ears, pretending she didn't know any of you. Olivia was practically skipping, holding her mother's hand to keep from sprinting straight into the water.

And you and Felix were walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, his head tilted all the way back as he stared up at the glass-fronted office buildings reflecting the grey sky. "They're so tall. It makes my neck hurt just looking at them."

"Wait until you see the aquarium building," you grinned, pointing toward a curved structure sitting right on the edge of the water. "That's it. Right there."

The SEA LIFE Sydney Aquarium was iconic. As your group shuffled through the front doors, escaping the biting wind, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air inside was warm, thick with humidity, and heavily tinted with a calming, artificial blue light that reflected off the massive tanks. The ambient sound of bubbling water and the echoing hum of the filtration systems filled the space.

"Alright, team," your dad announced after securing the tickets. "Stay together. It's crowded today. If anyone gets lost, meet back at the café. Let's go!"

The journey through the aquarium started relatively tame. You wandered through the freshwater exhibits, watching the platypus swim in rapid circles. Olivia spent a solid ten minutes tapping gently on the glass of the fairy penguin enclosure, entirely captivated by the tiny birds waddling across the fake ice.

Felix was fascinated by everything. He read every single informational plaque, his lips moving silently as he absorbed the facts about the Australian river systems and the Great Barrier Reef. He stuck close to your side, occasionally pointing out a brightly colored fish or a strange-looking crab hiding in the rocks.

But as the pathway slowly began to descend, spiraling deeper into the building, the lighting grew darker. The blue hue became deeper, more intense, and the air felt a little heavier.

You were entering Shark Valley.

This was the main attraction. The path transitioned from a standard carpeted floor onto a slow-moving, mechanical walkway that carried you directly through a massive, acrylic tunnel. Above you, beside you, and beneath you was millions of liters of water.

As you stepped onto the moving walkway, Felix immediately tensed.

He didn't scream, and he didn't run, but his entire posture went rigid. He grabbed the fabric of your thick navy coat with one hand, his knuckles turning white as he pulled himself a fraction closer to you. He was staring up at the curved ceiling of the tunnel, his dark eyes wide with genuine fear.

"Felix?" you asked softly, leaning closer to him so you wouldn't be overheard by the crowds around you. "Are you okay?"

"It's... it's a lot of water," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. He didn't look at you; his eyes were frantically tracking the movement above.

Right on cue, a massive Grey Nurse Shark slowly glided directly over the top of the tunnel. Its jagged teeth were fully visible, its pale underbelly sliding silently across the acrylic just inches from where you were standing. A huge stingray, easily the size of a dining table, followed closely behind it, casting a shadow over the two of you.

Felix let out a breathless gasp. His grip on your coat tightened desperately.

"Is this glass?" he asked, his voice barely more than a squeak. He pointed a trembling finger at the wall. "What if it breaks? The water is too heavy. It's going to crack."

"It won't break, I promise," you assured him gently. You didn't tease him this time. You could see the genuine panic setting into his features. You reached over and placed your hand firmly over his, where he was clutching your coat. His fingers were ice cold despite the warm room. "It's not actually glass. It's super thick acrylic. It's practically bomb-proof. Look at my dad."

You pointed ahead on the walkway. Your dad was standing casually, leaning against the side of the tunnel, pointing out a passing shark to Olivia, entirely unbothered by the millions of liters of water pressing down on them.

"They wouldn't let us in here if it wasn't safe," you continued softly, stepping slightly in front of him to block his view of a particularly aggressive-looking shark. "Just look straight ahead. Don't look up. Look at the end of the tunnel."

Felix swallowed hard. He dragged his gaze away from the ceiling and focused entirely on the back of your head and the illuminated exit sign at the end of the long walkway. He took a few shaky breaths.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Okay. I'm looking at the exit."

You stood right beside him, keeping your hand resting comfortingly over his, forming a physical barrier between him and the massive predators swimming on the other side of the acrylic. It took about five agonizing minutes for the slow-moving walkway to deposit you back onto carpeted ground.

The moment you stepped out of the tunnel, the tension immediately drained out of Felix's body. He let go of your coat, taking a shuddering breath of air, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I survived," he whispered, looking back at the dark mouth of the tunnel with a look of pure relief.

"You did amazing," you smiled warmly, bumping your shoulder against his. "And you didn't even use me as a human shield. I'm proud of you."

Felix's ears flushed pink, a sheepish, gap-toothed smile breaking through his anxiety. "I thought about it. But my mum would have been mad if I got you eaten by a shark on your birthday."

"Very considerate of you," you laughed. "Come on. The best part is next. I promise there are no terrifying teeth in this one."

You led the way, pulling him through the crowds toward a two-story viewing window that looked into the Great Barrier Reef exhibit. This tank was flooded with artificial sunlight, filled with vibrant coral and thousands of tropical fish darting around in schools.

But you weren't looking at the fish. You were looking at the ancient-looking creatures slowly paddling through the water.

Sea turtles.

You hurried right up to the thick acrylic window, pressing your hands flat against the cool surface. A massive loggerhead turtle, its shell easily the size of a car tire, was slowly swimming right past the glass. It looked incredibly old, wise, and entirely unbothered by the hundreds of humans staring at it.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, stepping up to the glass right beside you. The fear from the shark tunnel was completely gone, replaced by pure wonder. "They're huge."

"I love them," you said softly, your breath fogging up the glass slightly. "They just cruise around all day. They don't care about anything. They just exist."

You turned your head, looking at Felix. The artificial sunlight from the tank was illuminating his face, making his constellation of freckles stand out starkly against his skin. A mischievous, teasing thought popped into your head.

"You know," you started, adopting a highly serious tone of voice. "I can see the family resemblance."

Felix blinked, tearing his gaze away from the tank to look at you in confusion. "What?"

"The turtles," you pointed a finger at the massive loggerhead, then pointed back at him. "Your distant cousins. Especially when you were buried up to your neck in the sand at the beach with that green bucket hat on. It's uncanny. Honestly, I think that one over there is waving at you."

It took Felix exactly three seconds to process the joke. When he did, his mouth fell open in mock outrage.

"I do not look like a turtle!" he protested loudly, shoving you playfully away from the glass.

"You did that day on the beach!" you shrieked with laughter, stumbling backward. "You were a screaming turtle! The seagulls thought so too!"

"I'm going to throw you in the shark tank," Felix threatened, though he was laughing so hard his eyes were scrunched into little crescents. He grabbed the sleeve of your navy coat, pulling you back toward the glass. "Apologize to my cousins."

You spent the next ten minutes standing by the massive window, watching the turtles and the brightly coloured fish, throwing affectionate insults at each other. The easy banter flowed between you effortlessly.

As you watched a diver in a black wetsuit slowly descend into the tank, carrying a bucket of chopped fish to feed the rays, a sudden wave of determination hit you.

"I'm going to work here," you announced, your voice ringing with absolute certainty.

Felix stopped laughing. He looked at you, surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. "At the aquarium?"

"Yeah," you nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the diver as a massive stingray swam right over his head to take a piece of fish from his hand. "I want to do that. I want to be an aquarist. Or a marine biologist. I want to put on a wetsuit and get in the water and take care of them. I don't want to work in an office like my dad. I want to be right here."

You turned to look at Felix, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You hadn't really said it out loud to anyone before. At twelve years old, declarations about the future were usually met with patronizing smiles from adults who assumed you would change your mind a dozen times before high school.

But Felix didn't smile patronizingly.

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide and incredibly serious. The blue light from the tank reflected in his pupils. He looked at you as if you had just stated an undeniable fact, like the sky was blue or the grass was green. He believed you completely.

"You'll be amazing at it," Felix said softly, his voice full of quiet conviction. "You're going to be the best aquarist they've ever had. You're brave enough to fight off Harper, so feeding a shark will be easy for you."

A warm feeling bloomed right in the center of your chest. It was a sense of being seen and supported. You smiled, a genuine smile, and bumped your shoulder against his again.

"Thanks, Felix."

"Kids! Lunchtime!"

Your dad's booming voice echoed from the seating area a few meters away, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. He had claimed two circular tables near the café and was currently dragging the massive blue esky out from under a bench.

You and Felix walked over, rejoining the chaotic noise of your families.

Lunch was a messy affair. The esky was opened, and a mountain of squished sandwiches was distributed. Felix specifically requested the Vegemite and cheese, vehemently avoiding the 'spicy' mustard sandwiches, which earned him a fresh round of teasing from you and his older sister.

Sitting there, eating a slightly soggy sandwich while surrounded by the low hum of the aquarium filters and the loud laughter of the Lee family, you realized this was easily the best birthday you had ever had. And the day wasn't even over yet.

By the time your group finally emerged from the dark depths of the aquarium and stepped back out onto the concrete walkways of Darling Harbour, the sun had almost entirely set.

The winter evening had cast an inky indigo over the sky. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD were now lit up like massive Christmas trees, their lights reflecting beautifully against the dark water of the harbor. The biting wind had picked up, cutting straight through the thick layers of your coats.

"Right, let's get moving before we all freeze to the pavement," your dad announced, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Dinner reservation is at six. It's just a short walk down Cockle Bay Wharf."

The restaurant was an upscale, warmly lit Italian place right on the edge of the water. Outside, massive gas heaters shaped like pyramids glowed with orange flames, trying to combat the winter chill for the brave souls dining al fresco.

Thankfully, your dad had booked a table inside.

The moment you pushed through the heavy glass doors, the smell of roasted garlic, rich tomato sauce, and melting cheese enveloped you like a warm hug. The restaurant was bustling, filled with the loud chatter of Saturday night diners and the clinking of wine glasses.

Your group of seven was ushered to a large booth tucked into the back corner, offering a perfect view of the glittering harbor lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You slid into the plush leather booth first, claiming the spot right next to the window. Felix immediately slid in right beside you, pressing his arm warmly against yours as the rest of the families piled in. Olivia was banished to the other side of the table, safely wedged between her parents to prevent her from causing chaos with the silverware.

"Alright," your dad smiled, opening the menu. "Order whatever you want, kids. It's a celebration."

You didn't even need to open your menu. The birthday tradition was sacred, and you knew exactly what you wanted.

When the waiter, a tall man with a genuine Italian accent, arrived at the table with his notepad, your dad ordered a massive garlic pizza to share for the table, along with a few bottles of sparkling water and some wine for the adults.

"And for the birthday girl?" the waiter asked, offering you a charming smile.

"I'll have the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese you have, please," you answered confidently, handing him your unopened menu. "With extra parmesan cheese."

"An excellent choice," the waiter nodded, scribbling it down. He turned his attention to the boy sitting next to you. "And for you, young man?"

Felix froze. He looked down at the massive menu in his hands, his eyes darting frantically over the Italian words he clearly couldn't pronounce. Fettuccine Alfredo, Gnocchi al Pesto, Pappardelle al Ragù. The panic that had been absent since the shark tunnel suddenly flared back to life. He hated not knowing what things were. He hated drawing attention to himself in public.

He looked up at the waiter, his ears turning a violent shade of pink, and then looked frantically over at you for help.

You gave him an encouraging, microscopic nod under the table.

Felix swallowed hard, closing his menu with a soft snap. He looked back at the waiter, his voice quiet but steady. "I'll just... I'll have what she's having. Please. The spaghetti."

"Two spaghetti bolognese. Perfect," the waiter smiled, completely unfazed, before moving on to take Rachel's order.

Felix let out a quiet exhale, slumping slightly against the back of the leather booth. He nudged his knee against yours under the table. "Thanks," he whispered.

"No worries," you grinned back. "You're going to love it anyway. It's the best spaghetti in the city."

Dinner was an incredibly warm, loud, and joyful affair. The massive garlic pizza arrived, and a minor war broke out over the last slice between your dad and Mr. Lee, ending only when Mrs. Lee threatened to ban her husband from the barbecue next weekend. The adults were drinking wine, their cheeks flushed, sharing stories about their own childhoods.

When the main courses arrived, Felix's eyes went wide. The bowls of spaghetti were massive steaming mountains of pasta covered in a dark red meat sauce and buried under a small avalanche of freshly grated parmesan cheese.

You both dug in with the ravenous hunger of two pre-teens who had spent the entire day walking. You ate until you were absolutely stuffed, the heavy food warming you from the inside out.

As the waiter came around to clear the empty plates, the conversation among the adults shifted to local politics and housing prices, the cue that they were going to be occupied for a while.

Felix shifted in the booth beside you. The comfortable and relaxed energy he had carried all through dinner suddenly vanished. He sat up very straight, his hands disappearing into the deep pockets of his puffy black jacket. He bit his lower lip, a nervous habit he hadn't displayed since his first week at school.

"Hey," he mumbled, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper so his family wouldn't hear.

You turned away from the window, leaning closer to him. "What's up? Are you full? Do you need a stomach pump?"

"No," he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, keeping them clenched in tight fists resting on his lap. He looked down at them, his eyelashes casting long shadows over his freckled cheeks. "I... I have something for you. For your birthday."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Felix, you didn't have to get me anything! The card was amazing, and you guys coming today was the present."

"I wanted to," he insisted softly, his Australian accent thickening slightly with his nerves. "I didn't buy it. I made it. I hope it's not stupid."

Slowly, he opened his fists.

Sitting in the palm of his hand were two handmade braided friendship bracelets. They were made of thick embroidery thread. One of them was a vibrant ocean blue, which you knew was his favourite colour. The other was a bright sunny yellow, your absolute favourite colour.

"I made them last week," Felix explained, his voice rushing slightly as he explained himself. He picked up the blue one. "I used to make them all the time at my old school. It's... it's a matching set. You take the blue one, and I wear the yellow one. So that... so that when we go to high school next year, even if we aren't in the same classes all the time, we'll still have them."

He looked up at you through his thick eyelashes, his expression incredibly vulnerable. He was terrified you were going to reject it, terrified you would think it was childish or silly.

Your heart did a flip in your chest. It wasn't just a gift; it was a physical promise. It was his way of securing your friendship, of making sure the bond you had built over the last six months wouldn't disappear when the scary reality of Year 7 hit them.

"Felix," you breathed, entirely overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture. "They're beautiful. I love them."

The anxiety vanished from his face, replaced by a relieved smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really," you nodded vehemently. You held out your left wrist, pushing the sleeve of your thick navy jumper up to expose your skin. "Put it on me. Please."

Felix's fingers were trembling slightly as he carefully wrapped the deep blue braided thread around your wrist. He pulled the two ends tight, tying them into a secure double knot. His skin brushed against yours, warm and gentle.

When he finished, he sat back, admiring his handiwork.

"Now yours," you demanded playfully, reaching out.

Felix held out his own wrist. You took the bright yellow bracelet from his hand, carefully wrapping it around his wrist and tying the knot as tightly as you could.

You both looked down at your hands resting on the table. The blue and yellow bracelets sat starkly against your skin, a colorful testament to the boy who lived next door. You didn't say anything else, you didn't need to. The quiet moment spoke volumes louder than any words could.

"Alright, who's ready for dessert?" your dad's loud voice shattered the bubble, completely oblivious to the tender moment happening right next to him.

You and Felix quickly pulled your hands apart, both of your ears burning pink.

"Actually, Dad," you spoke up, a mischievous glint returning to your eye. You looked at Felix, who suddenly realized exactly what you were about to say. His eyes widened in absolute horror. "We need to go. We have a tradition to uphold."

"Oh, right!" your dad laughed loudly, slapping his hand against the table. "The grand finale! Jiho, Min, you're going to love this."

Ten minutes later, the bill was paid, and the entire group was bundled back up in their heavy winter coats, stepping out of the warm restaurant and back into the windy night of Darling Harbour.

Your dad made a quick detour to a small takeaway kiosk near the pier, returning with a greasy cardboard box filled to the brim with steaming hot chips.

"Alright," your dad announced, holding the box out toward you. "Do your worst."

You took the box, the heat radiating through the cardboard and warming your freezing hands. You looked at Felix.

He was standing several feet away, his thick grey scarf pulled all the way up to the bridge of his nose. He looked terrified. He was scanning the dark sky above the harbor, looking for the enemy.

"Come on, Yongbok," you teased, walking toward the wooden railing at the very edge of the pier. "Face your fears. They're just birds."

"They are feathered rats with a taste for human flesh," Felix argued, though he reluctantly shuffled a few steps closer to you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

You pulled a chip from the box and held it up high in the air.

It didn't take long. Within ten seconds, a loud squawk echoed through the night air.

"They found us," Felix whimpered, taking a step backward.

Suddenly, a white blur descended from the sky. A massive seagull swooped down, snatching the chip perfectly from your fingers before banking hard and flying away.

"Yes!" you cheered, laughing loudly at the sheer thrill of it. You grabbed a handful of chips and threw them high into the air over the water.

It was like ringing a dinner bell. Within a minute, a flock of seagulls had descended upon the pier. There were dozens of them, squawking loudly, fighting each other in mid-air, and hovering just inches above your head.

"Oh my god," Felix screamed, his boyish voice cracking as a particularly large bird swooped incredibly close to his dark hair. He ducked, throwing his arms over his head in a defensive crouch. "They remember me! They know who I am!"

"Throw one!" you yelled over the noise of the birds, shoving a hot chip into his hand. "Just throw it!"

Felix squeezed his eyes shut, let out a loud, terrifying battle cry, and blindly lobbed the chip into the air. A seagull caught it before it even reached its apex.

When Felix opened his eyes and realized he hadn't been attacked, a laugh bubbled up in his chest. "I did it."

"Do it again!"

For the next ten minutes, the wooden pier was an absolute warzone of squawking birds, flying chips, and hysterical laughter that came from the both of you. Even Rachel had joined in, aggressively throwing chips at the birds like she was pitching a baseball. Olivia was screaming with joy, safely tucked behind her father's legs.

Felix had completely abandoned his fear. He was laughing so hard he was gasping for air, throwing chips into the chaos and ducking when the birds got too close, his bright smile on full display.

As you stood there in the freezing Sydney night, watching the boy next door bravely fight off his greatest fear just to make you happy, you reached down and lightly touched the blue braided bracelet resting securely around your wrist.

Twelve was going to be a very, very good year.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

"Felix, if you eat all the BBQ Shapes before we even get to dance class, you're going to throw up during the warm-ups," you warned, tossing a throw pillow across your bedroom.

The pillow hit Felix square in the face, but he didn't even flinch. He was currently sprawled out on his stomach across the carpet of your bedroom floor, his long legs kicked up behind him in the air. He was wearing an oversized grey jumper and a comfortable pair of thick black trackies. Without missing a beat, he reached his hand blindly into the red cardboard box beside him, pulled out another savory biscuit, and popped it into his mouth.

"I'm a growing boy," he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs, offering you a cheeky grin that made his constellation of freckles scrunch up. "I need fuel for the dancing."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hair up into a tight ponytail. "Miss Clara is going to make you do fifty pushups when you inevitably cramp up, and I am not going to help you."

It had been four months since the day Felix first knocked on your door to invite you to the beach. In those four months, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted so drastically that it was almost impossible to remember a time when he wasn't a permanent fixture in your life.

The painfully shy boy who hid behind his father's leg on moving day was entirely gone, at least when he was around you. In the safety of your bedroom, or hanging out in his living room playing Mario Kart with Olivia, Felix was loud. He was funny, relentlessly teasing, and prone to sudden bursts of laughter that made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons.

He still struggled slightly at school. When Mrs. Gable called on him to read aloud, or when he had to stand in front of the class for a presentation, his voice would still tremble, and his shoulders would instinctively hunch up to his ears. But he wasn't completely isolated anymore. He had you. You were an inseparable front. Where you went, Felix went, and vice versa.

"Kids! Grab your bags! We're leaving in two minutes!" your mom's voice echoed down the hallway, cutting through the sound of the rain against the windowpane.

"Coming!" you yelled back. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from your desk chair, throwing a water bottle inside. "Come on, biscuit boy, let's go."

Felix scrambled off the floor, dusting the savory cracker crumbs off his trackies. He grabbed his own black duffel bag and followed you down the hallway.

The carpool routine had become a well-oiled machine over the last few months. Every Wednesday afternoon, either your mom or Mrs. Lee would pile the two of you into the back seat and ferry you to the Rhythm & Move Dance Academy.

Today, it was your mom's turn.

You and Felix bolted out the front door, pulling the hoods of your jumpers over your heads to shield yourselves from the icy winter drizzle, and dove into the back seat of the silver sedan. The car's heater was already blasting, filling the small space with an artificial warmth.

"Seatbelts on," your mom instructed, putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out of the driveway into the wet street.

The drive to the studio took exactly ten minutes. It was ten minutes of pure chaos.

As soon as your mom flicked the indicator to turn onto the main road, the opening beat of Carly Rae Jepsen’s "Call Me Maybe" blasted through the car's speakers from the local pop radio station.

Felix's eyes immediately widened. He turned to look at you, a look of absolute seriousness settling over his face. You mirrored his expression, nodding solemnly.

"I threw a wish in the well," Felix started, his slightly raspy voice perfectly in tune, but dramatically exaggerated. He grabbed an imaginary microphone in his hand and held it up to his mouth.

"Don't ask me, I'll never tell!" you shouted the next line, leaning toward him.

"I looked to you as it fell, and now you're in my way!" you both sang the next line in unison, completely abandoning any sense of pitch or dignity.

Your mom let out a loud groan from the driver's seat, though she was clearly smiling as she adjusted the rearview mirror to look at the two of you. "Please, not this song again. It plays every fifteen minutes. I'm begging you."

"You can't stop art, Mum!" you yelled over the chorus.

Felix was fully committing to the bit now. He was bouncing in his seat, using his water bottle as a prop microphone, and pointing dramatically out the rain-streaked window at passing cars. "Hey, I just met you! And this is crazy! But here's my number! So call me, maybe!"

You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, struggling to keep up with the lyrics while Felix serenaded the back of your mom's headrest. It was moments like these, trapped in the back of a warm car while the Sydney winter raged outside, that made you realize just how lucky you were. You couldn't imagine doing this with Harper. Harper would have complained about the heater ruining her hair, or rolled her eyes at the song. But Felix just threw himself into the fun, completely uninhibited and fiercely joyful.

By the time your mom pulled the sedan into the damp parking lot of the dance studio, the radio had transitioned into a One Direction song, and you were both completely out of breath from screaming the lyrics.

"Alright, you two maniacs, out you get," your mom laughed, putting the car into park. "I'll be back at five-thirty. Don't slip in the puddles."

"Thanks, Mum! Bye!"

You and Felix grabbed your bags and jogged through the freezing rain, pushing open the heavy double doors of the warehouse. The familiar wall of sensory overload hit you instantly. The smell of floor wax, the thumping bass vibrating through the walls, and the loud chatter of kids warming up.

"G'day, Barb!" you and Felix chorused in perfect unison as you passed the front desk.

Barb looked up from her clunky desktop computer, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. "G'day, you two troublemakers! Miss Clara is waiting for you in Studio Two! Get a move on!"

You pushed open the door to the mirror-lined studio. The humidity in the room was already high, the edges of the mirrors fogging up slightly despite the winter chill outside.

"There are my star pupils!" Miss Clara cheered, clapping her hands as you and Felix dropped your bags against the back wall. "Let's go, Year Sixes! We're finishing the eight-count for the Flo Rida routine today, and I want it sharp!"

Over the last few months, your dancing had improved dramatically, but Felix... Felix was a genuine revelation.

The moment the heavy beat of "Wild Ones" dropped through the studio speakers, the goofy boy from the car vanished. Felix transformed. When he danced, his face smoothed out into a look of intense focus. His small frame moved with a power and a precision that was completely mesmerizing. He hit every pop, every lock, and every slide with an instinctive understanding of rhythm that you could only dream of possessing.

You stood right next to him in the center of the formation, feeding off his incredible energy.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Miss Clara counted loudly over the music.

You and Felix moved in perfect sync. You dropped low, swept your leg out, and popped back up, mirroring his sharp movements. He wasn't just good at the choreography; he actively made you better. When you struggled with a complicated transition, he would patiently break it down for you during the water breaks, his hands physically guiding your shoulders to show you where your weight needed to be.

"Yes! That's it, Felix, beautiful isolation on the chest pop!" Miss Clara yelled approvingly over the blaring music. "Keep that energy up, everyone! Let's take it from the top!"

The hour-long class was grueling. By the time the final chords of the song faded out, you were both dripping with sweat, your lungs burning and your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Felix collapsed onto the scuffed wooden floorboards beside you, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his flushed face. He reached out, his hand weakly finding yours on the floor, and gave you a sloppy high-five.

"Told you," you panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "The BBQ Shapes. They slowed you down."

"Liar," Felix wheezed, laughing breathlessly. "I was flawless. I am a machine."

"You are a sweaty mess," you corrected fondly, sitting up and grabbing your water bottle.

As you looked at him, lying on the floor of the dance studio, utterly exhausted but happier than you had ever seen him, a warm feeling bloomed in your chest. The winter rain was still hammering against the corrugated iron roof of the warehouse, but sitting here, surrounded by the thumping music and the laughter of your best friend, the world felt incredibly bright.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, the chaotic energy of the afternoon had completely settled into a domestic calm.

Felix was sleeping over. It had become a regular occurrence over the last two months, falling into a comfortable weekend routine. Your parents absolutely adored him, and his parents were more than happy to have a quiet night in their own house without him and Olivia bickering over the television remote.

You and Felix had both showered immediately after getting home from dance class, washing away the sweat and the smell of the studio floor wax. Now, you were both dressed in your pajamas. The winter rain was still falling steadily outside, a soothing drumbeat against your bedroom window.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, a thick fleece blanket draped over your shoulders. Felix was sitting on the floor leaning back against the side of your mattress, lazily flipping through a stack of your older comic books. The only light in the room came from the small yellow lamp on your bedside table, casting soft shadows against the walls.

It was quiet. The comfortable kind of silence that you only ever experienced with him.

You were staring blankly at the corkboard hanging above your desk. Pinned to the center of it was a calendar. The month of June was almost over, giving way to the rapidly approaching page for July.

Specifically, July 14th.

You let out an unintentional sigh, pulling the fleece blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

Felix immediately stopped flipping the pages of his comic book. His head tilted back, resting against your mattress, and he looked up at you upside down. His dark eyes, usually bright and bubbling with mischief, were deeply observant.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice was quiet, respectful of the hushed atmosphere of the rainy bedroom.

"Nothing," you lied quickly, looking away from the calendar. "Just tired."

Felix raised an eyebrow. He slowly closed the comic book, setting it down on the carpet, and spun around so he was sitting on his knees, resting his arms on the edge of your bed to look you directly in the eye. He didn't say anything. He just gave you the look. It was a specific unwavering stare that he had perfected over the last few months, one that silently communicated that he knew you were lying and he was perfectly willing to wait until you told him the truth.

You crumbled under the pressure of his gaze almost instantly. You let out another heavier sigh, resting your chin on your knees.

"It's stupid," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your flannel pajama pants. "It's just... my birthday is coming up. In a few weeks. July 14th."

Felix's face instantly lit up. "Your birthday? That's awesome! Why is that a bad thing? You're turning twelve, that's practically a teenager."

"I know," you said, feeling a frustrating prickle of heat behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing the sudden wave of emotion down. "It's just... Harper always came to my birthdays. Every single year since we were in Year 3. We always did everything together. And now she's not going to be there. She hasn't spoken a single word to me in four months, Felix. She walks right past me in the hallway like I'm invisible."

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. You hadn't really talked about Harper since that first week of school. You had successfully pushed the loss of her friendship to the back of your mind, burying it beneath the excitement of dance classes, sleepovers, and passing notes with Felix. But birthdays were milestones. They were markers of time, and realizing that your childhood best friend wouldn't be there to celebrate with you felt like a sudden punch to the gut.

Felix's expression softened entirely. The bright excitement faded, replaced by an empathetic sadness. He knew exactly why Harper wasn't talking to you. He knew that the silent treatment, the dirty looks across the classroom, and the sudden social exile were all because you had chosen to sit next to him under the wattle tree.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his hands gripping the edge of your duvet cover. He looked down at his knuckles, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I know she was your best friend. And I know you gave that up for me. If... if you want to invite her, you can. I won't be mad. I can stay home."

"No!" you practically shouted, the force of your own reaction startling you. You reached out, grabbing his wrist firmly. "Absolutely not. I don't want to invite her, and I definitely don't want you to stay home. She made her choice. She decided she cared more about looking cool than being my friend. You're my best friend now, Felix. I just... I guess I just feel a bit sad about the memories, you know?"

Felix looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. When he saw the sincerity in your expression, the heavy guilt slowly lifted from his shoulders. He gave you a small smile, his freckles shifting in the warm lamplight.

"I know," he said quietly, slipping his hand out of your grip just to place it comfortingly over yours. "It's okay to be sad. But I promise, I'm going to make sure it's the best birthday ever. What do you normally do? Do you have a big party? Do we need to hire a jumping castle?"

You let out a wet laugh, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. The melancholic feeling in your chest began to evaporate under the warmth of his easy acceptance.

"No jumping castles," you smiled, shaking your head. "I don't really do big parties. Usually, my parents let me pick one friend, and we take the train into the city. We go to the Sydney Aquarium in Darling Harbour for the afternoon, and then we go to this fancy Italian restaurant right on the water for dinner."

"The aquarium?" Felix's eyes went wide with genuine wonder. "The one with the glass tunnels where the sharks swim right over your head?"

"Exactly," you nodded, your excitement starting to build as you thought about it. "It's heaps good. They have massive stingrays, and you can see the penguins getting fed. But the best part is the dugongs. The sea cows. They just float around looking completely confused by everything. I love them so much."

"Sea cows," Felix repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "That sounds amazing. And then what? Fancy Italian food?"

"Yeah, my dad always orders this massive garlic pizza just for the table, and I get the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese they have," you explained, the familiar comfort of the tradition washing over you. "But the absolute best part of the whole day happens after dinner."

Felix leaned in closer, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the edge of your bed, completely invested in the story. "What happens?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "We buy a large box of hot chips from the takeaway stand near the pier. And then... we go feed the seagulls."

Felix physically recoiled. He scrambled backward, his eyes widening in pure horror. He stared at you as if you had just suggested you both jump into a volcano.

"The seagulls?" he squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you insane? They are flying demons! They tried to eat my face off at the beach!"

You threw your head back and let out a loud laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. The memory of him flailing in the sand, trapped while the white birds swarmed his bright green bucket hat, was still the funniest thing you had ever seen in your life.

"They won't eat your face!" you giggled, clutching your stomach. "We throw the chips at them! It's hilarious, they fight each other in mid-air to catch them. It's an essential part of the birthday tradition, Felix. You have to face your enemies."

Felix shook his head vigorously, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective stance, though he was trying very hard to fight back a smile.

"I refuse," he declared stubbornly. "I will go to the aquarium. I will look at the confusing sea cows. I will even eat the fancy spaghetti. But I am not going near the bin chickens of the sea. I value my life too much."

"Coward," you teased, throwing the fleece blanket over his head so it draped over him like a ghost.

Felix squawked, wrestling with the thick fabric, before pulling it down and glaring at you playfully. "I'm not a coward, I'm just incredibly smart. They hold grudges, you know. They'll recognize me."

"You're not wearing the green hat anymore, they won't know it's you," you reasoned, still giggling. "Please, Felix? For my birthday?"

Felix let out a long dramatic sigh, letting his head thunk against the mattress. He looked up at you with a long-suffering expression, his dark eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

"Fine," he grumbled, though his gap-toothed smile betrayed him. "I will sacrifice myself to the sky demons. But only because you're turning twelve. Next year, we're feeding pigeons instead."

"Deal," you grinned, feeling a massive wave of warmth settle over you.

The sadness over Harper was completely gone. Looking at Felix, sitting on the floor of your bedroom in his oversized pajamas, willing to face his absolute worst fear just to keep your silly birthday tradition alive, you realized that you hadn't lost a best friend at all. You had just upgraded to a much, much better one.

The conversation about your impending birthday naturally led to the far more terrifying topic that was currently looming over every Year 6 student in the state.

High School.

The transition from primary school to high school in Australia was a terrifying leap. You were going from being the absolute seniors of the playground, kings and queens of the school, to being the tiny terrified Year 7s at the absolute bottom of a meaner food chain.

"We only have, like, five months left of primary school," you murmured, pulling your knees up to your chest. The rain continued to beat a steady rhythm against the glass windowpane. "Are you scared? About Year 7?"

Felix, who had gone back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked at a loose piece of fluff on the carpet. The playful energy from the seagull conversation faded slightly, replaced by a quiet seriousness.

"A little bit," he admitted, his eyes looking up at you. "The high school is massive. My sister Rachel goes there, and she says there are, like, a thousand kids. And you have to switch classrooms for every single subject. You don't just stay with Mrs. Gable all day."

"I know," you groaned, burying your face in your knees. "And they give you mountains of homework. Plus, we're going to be the youngest kids there. The Year 12s are basically adults. Some of them have beards."

Felix shuddered at the thought. "And we have to wear blazers. Even when it's hot."

You peeked over your knees, looking down at him. A sharp spike of anxiety hit your chest, entirely separate from the fear of homework or older kids. It was a fear of separation.

"Felix..." you started hesitantly, your voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "You are going to the local high school, right? Your parents aren't sending you to a private school or something?"

The local public high school was just a few suburbs over. It was where almost everyone from your primary school went, but occasionally, parents would ship their kids off to strict private schools on the other side of the city. The thought of navigating the terrifying halls of Year 7 without Felix by your side, without your designated seatmate and dance partner, made your stomach churn.

Felix looked up, immediately catching the panic in your voice. His face softened instantly.

"Yeah, of course," he reassured you quickly, offering a warm smile. "My parents already filled out the enrollment forms last month. It's the same one Rachel goes to. So we're going to the same school."

You let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping back against your pillows. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to survive it alone. We have to make sure we're in the same roll call class."

"We will be," Felix promised confidently, leaning his arms on the edge of your bed again. "My mom requested that we be put together. She said it's important for me to have a familiar face. We're going to stick together. I promise."

"Best friends?" you asked, holding out your pinky finger over the edge of the bed.

Felix looked at your extended finger, his gap-toothed smile returning in full force. He reached up, wrapping his own pinky finger securely around yours. His skin was warm. "Best friends," he echoed solemnly. "Even when we're terrified Year 7s running away from the bearded seniors."

"Kids! Dinner is ready!"

The sound of your dad's voice echoing down the hallway shattered the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. You and Felix both jumped slightly, pulling your hands apart, before bursting into simultaneous giggles.

"Come on," you said, throwing the fleece blanket off your shoulders and sliding off the bed. "I'm starving. I hope Mom made spaghetti."

You and Felix padded down the hallway in your thick socks, drawn by the incredible smell wafting from the kitchen. The house was warm, a stark contrast to the miserable winter night outside.

Your parents were already sitting at the dining table. Your mom had outdone herself, preparing a steaming dish of shepherd's pie, the ultimate Australian winter comfort food. The mashed potato crust was baked to a perfect crispy golden brown, and the rich smell of gravy and minced meat filled the room.

"Take a seat, you two," your dad boomed cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite him. "Dig in before it gets cold."

Felix politely waited for you to sit down first before sliding into the chair next to yours. He was always incredibly polite around your parents, remembering his 'pleases' and 'thank yous', which was exactly why your mother adored him so much.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs yln," Felix said softly as your mom scooped a steaming portion of the pie onto his plate.

"You're very welcome, Felix," she smiled warmly. "Eat up. You need your strength after dancing so hard today."

The dinner table conversation was loud and easy. Your dad dominated the discussion, talking about his week at work and asking Felix about his older sister's upcoming exams. Felix answered politely, his initial shyness around your dad having melted away months ago. Now, he happily engaged in the banter, occasionally shooting you an amused look across the table.

"Speaking of your family, Felix," your dad started, taking a bite of his pie. "I ran into your dad at the hardware store this morning. Jiho, right?"

Felix nodded quickly, his mouth full of mashed potato. He swallowed before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Jiho and I were talking, and we decided that since the rain is supposed to clear up by next weekend, we're going to fire up the barbie," your dad announced proudly, pointing his fork toward the window.

You stared at him, completely deadpan. "Dad, it's the middle of June. It's literally ten degrees outside. You can't have a barbecue in winter."

"Nonsense!" your dad scoffed, waving away your logic. "It's an Australian tradition. Put on a thick jumper, grab a pair of tongs, and stand around the grill. Jiho is bringing over some of those amazing marinated beef ribs your mom makes, Felix. And I'm doing the snags."

"My dad loves barbecues," Felix supplied helpfully, looking over at you with a teasing glint in his eye. "He bought a new pair of tongs just for this."

"See? Jiho understands," your dad grinned triumphantly. "So, next Saturday, it's a joint family barbie. In our backyard. Tell your sisters they're invited too."

"If we're having a barbie," you interjected, pointing your fork threateningly at your father, "then you have to restock the freezer. We are completely out of Zooper Doopers, and it is a known scientific fact that you cannot host a barbecue without them. Even if it is freezing outside."

"I will add fairy floss Zooper Doopers to the grocery list," your mom promised, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Though I suspect Felix will end up eating half the box."

Felix's ears turned bright pink, but he didn't deny the accusation. The frozen treats had remained his absolute favorite snack since that first day under the wattle tree.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of warm food and comfortable laughter. It struck you, as you watched your dad crack a terrible joke that made Felix snort gravy into his napkin, just how deeply intertwined your two families had become. The Lees weren't just the neighbors next door anymore. They were an extension of your own family.

Once dinner was cleared away and the plates were stacked in the dishwasher, you and Felix retreated back to your bedroom for the night.

Your mom followed closely behind, carrying a large mattress pad and a stack of thick winter blankets.

"Alright, boys and girls, time to set up camp," she announced, dropping the pile onto your bedroom floor.

The sleepover setup was a well-practiced routine. You and Felix quickly cleared a space on the carpet, pushing your desk chair into the corner. You helped your mom unroll the thick mattress pad, throwing a fitted sheet over it, while Felix grabbed the fluffiest doona from the pile and tossed it over the makeshift bed.

"There we go," your mom smiled, tossing two plump pillows onto the end of the mattress. "Nice and cozy. Now, I want lights out by ten-thirty, alright? You both need your sleep after that dance class."

"Yes, Mum," you chorused together.

"Goodnight, Felix," she said gently, turning off the main overhead light and leaving only the warm glow of the bedside lamp. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight!"

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into a quiet intimacy.

Felix immediately flopped down onto his floor mattress, burying himself completely under the thick doona until only the top of his messy hair was visible. You climbed into your own bed, pulling your duvet up to your chin. The rain was still drumming against the windowpane, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the dark room.

"Hey," Felix's muffled voice came from beneath the pile of blankets on the floor.

"Yeah?" you whispered back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Slowly, Felix pulled the doona down just enough to expose his face. He was looking up at you, his eyes heavy with sleep, but his expression was incredibly soft and sincere.

"I'm really glad we're going to the same high school," he whispered quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't think I could do it without you."

A rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely chasing away the lingering winter chill in the room. You rolled over onto your side, looking down at him.

"Me too," you whispered back truthfully. "We'll survive it together. We're a team."

Felix gave a sleepy nod, a tiny smile resting on his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. "A team. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Felix."

As you lay there, listening to the soft sound of his breathing slowly evening out into sleep, you felt a profound sense of peace. Year 7 was going to be terrifying, and you were definitely going to get dive-bombed by seagulls on your birthday, but as long as the boy next door was with you, you knew everything was going to be perfectly fine.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

You threw the heavy covers off your legs, ignoring the sudden rush of cold air against your flannel pajamas, and bounded out of bed. Your bare feet slapped loudly against the hardwood floor as you sprinted down the hallway.

The house was already alive with activity. The heater in the living room was blasting, creating a warm sanctuary against the winter chill. The kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering smell of sizzling bacon, butter, and freshly brewed coffee.

"There's the birthday girl!" your dad boomed the second you rounded the corner into the kitchen. He abandoned the frying pan he was manning and scooped you up into a massive bear hug, spinning you around once before setting you back down. "Happy birthday, kiddo! Twelve years old. Unbelievable. You're practically an adult. Should I start charging you rent?"

"Dad, I don't even have a job," you laughed, swatting at his arm.

"Happy birthday, my beautiful girl," your mom smiled, walking over to press a warm kiss to the top of your head. She was holding a large wrapped box. She set it down on the kitchen island right in front of your usual barstool. "Open this one first before the chaos arrives."

You didn't need to be told twice. You tore into the wrapping paper with the fierce enthusiasm of a newly minted twelve-year-old. Inside was a brand new navy blue winter coat. It had a faux-fur lined hood and deep pockets.

"It's beautiful!" you gasped, instantly pulling it out of the box and shrugging it over your pajamas. It was incredibly heavy and instantly warm. "Thank you! I'm going to wear it today!"

"I figured you'd need it down at the harbour," your mom smiled, turning back to the kitchen counter where an absolute mountain of sliced white bread was waiting. "The wind coming off the water is going to be brutal today. Now, grab a plate, your dad made pancakes. The Lees will be over any minute."

As if on cue, the front doorbell rang.

It didn't just ring once. It rang three times in rapid succession, followed by the muffled sound of Olivia's high-pitched voice through the heavy wood.

You scrambled to the front door, the oversized navy coat swishing around your knees, and pulled it open.

The entire Lee family was standing on your front porch, bundled up against the icy morning air. Mr. and Mrs. Lee were holding covered plates of food. Rachel was leaning against the brick wall of the house, holding a steaming travel mug of coffee, looking like she had been physically dragged out of bed against her will. Olivia was practically vibrating with excitement.

And standing right in the front, holding a somewhat crumpled handmade card, was Felix.

He was wearing his puffy black jacket and his thick grey scarf. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were already glowing a vibrant pink. When the door opened, his dark eyes instantly locked onto yours, and the most brilliant smile broke across his freckled face.

"Happy birthday!" Felix cheered, his boyish voice ringing loud and clear in the crisp morning air. He thrust the handmade card toward you. "I made this. My mom helped with the spelling, but I drew the dugong on the front."

You took the card, looking down at it. True to his word, there was a surprisingly good drawing of a plump sea cow floating on the front cover, wearing a tiny party hat.

"I love it," you beamed, stepping back to let them in. "Come in! It's freezing out there!"

"I claim the heater!" Olivia shrieked, bolting past you and making a beeline for the glowing orange radiators in the living room.

"Don't run in the house, Liv!" Mrs. Lee scolded gently, though she was smiling as she stepped inside. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. We brought some extra bacon and some Korean egg rolls for breakfast."

"You guys are the best," your dad called out from the kitchen. "Jiho, get in here and grab a plate!"

The next hour was a chaotic whirlwind of joint family breakfast. There were simply too many people to fit around your dining table, so it turned into a buffet-style feast. People were sitting on the couch, leaning against the kitchen island, and hovering near the heater.

Rachel had slumped into your dad's favourite armchair, nursing her coffee and glaring at a half-eaten pancake. "Why am I awake at eight in the morning on a Saturday during the school holidays?" she complained to no one in particular, her teenage angst on full display. "This is a violation of my human rights."

"Because it's a birthday, Rachel," Mr. Lee said cheerfully, walking past her and ruffling her dark hair, much to her absolute horror. "And you love the aquarium."

"I loved it when I was seven," she mumbled, aggressively fixing her hair. 

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes resting on your lap. Felix was sitting right beside you, mimicking your exact posture. He had forgone the pancakes entirely and was currently inhaling a massive plate of bacon and egg rolls.

"So," Felix mumbled around a mouthful of food, turning his head to look at you. "What's the plan? Do we go straight to the sharks?"

"We have to get the train first," you explained, feeling a thrilling flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "We drive to the station, park the cars, and then catch the train right into the city. We get off at Town Hall and walk down to Darling Harbour. It's awesome, you get to see all the massive buildings."

Felix's eyes widened. Living in the suburbs and previously in the Blue Mountains, trips into the towering concrete jungle of the Sydney CBD weren't an everyday occurrence for him. "Are we going to get lost?"

"My dad knows the way," you assured him confidently. "He used to work in the city. We just have to follow him."

Back in the kitchen, the assembly line had begun.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee were operating like a well-oiled machine. While feeding an entire group of people at a fancy restaurant for dinner was the plan, buying lunch for seven people at the notoriously overpriced aquarium café was out of the question. Instead, the mothers were preparing a mountain of sandwiches to pack into the esky.

"Right, how many Vegemite and cheese?" your mom asked, wielding a butter knife.

"Three," Mrs. Lee answered, meticulously wrapping finished sandwiches in cling wrap. "Yongbok won't eat the ham ones. He says the mustard is too spicy."

You giggled quietly from the rug, nudging Felix with your elbow. "Mustard is too spicy for you? Are you a baby?"

Felix's ears instantly turned a vibrant shade of pink, clashing violently with his dark hair. He swallowed his bite of egg roll defensively. "It tingles! It feels like bees in my mouth. I don't like it."

"You literally eat spicy Korean noodles without flinching," you pointed out, highly amused by his logic.

"That's a different kind of spicy," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mustard is evil. Vegemite is safe."

"Whatever you say, mustard-boy," you teased.

By nine-thirty, the breakfast plates were cleared away, the massive blue esky was packed to the brim with sandwiches, popper juices, and fruit, and the logistical nightmare of transporting seven people was underway.

"Alright, listen up!" your dad announced, clapping his hands together. "We're taking two cars to the station. Jiho, you take Min and the older girls in the station wagon. The birthday girl, Felix, and Olivia are with me and the esky in the sedan. Everyone make sure you've gone to the toilet, because I am not pulling over on the highway!"

There was a mad scramble for the bathrooms, the rustling of heavy winter coats being pulled on, and a chorus of excited chatter.

You shoved your arms back into your new navy coat, buttoning it up to your chin. Felix was beside you in the hallway, wrestling with his thick scarf. He looked over at you, his eyes sparkling with an infectious, buzzing excitement.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice barely containing his enthusiasm.

"So ready," you beamed.

You piled into the back of your dad's car. Because of the massive esky taking up one of the seats, you and Felix were squished tightly together in the middle, with Olivia taking up the window seat. She was already pressing her face against the cold glass, leaving foggy breath marks.

The heater in the car was on full blast, countering the freezing temperatures outside. The radio was playing a low stream of classic rock, a stark contrast to the usual pop music your mom played.

As your dad pulled out of the driveway and joined the stream of traffic heading toward the train station, Felix bumped his knee against yours.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," he whispered, leaning closer so his voice wouldn't carry over the radio or Olivia's endless chatter about fairy penguins. "I've never been to the city before. Not properly."

"You're going to love it," you promised, a fierce sense of pride swelling in your chest. You were getting to show him your favourite place in the entire world. "The aquarium is huge. It takes hours to walk through the whole thing."

"Are the sharks really big?" he asked, a tinyl note of apprehension creeping into his boyish voice.

"Massive," you nodded solemnly. "Bigger than my dad's car."

Felix's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he swallowed hard. But before the panic could fully set in, he looked at you, saw the mischievous glint in your eye, and playfully shoved your shoulder.

"You're lying," he accused, a massive smile breaking through the apprehension.

"Maybe a little bit," you laughed. "But they are still heaps big. Just stick close to me. I'll protect you."

Felix rolled his eyes, adjusting his scarf, but he didn't pull away. As the car sped down the highway toward the train station, bringing you closer to the towering skyline of the city, the warmth radiating between the two of you in the cramped backseat made the bitter Sydney winter feel entirely irrelevant.

Darling Harbour in the middle of July was a sensory assault.

The moment you stepped out of Town Hall station and began the long, downward walk toward the water, the icy wind whipping off the harbor hit you like a physical wall. It smelled sharply of salt, expensive coffee from the nearby cafes, and the unmistakable murky scent of the ocean.

The harbor was bustling despite the cold. Ferries were chugging across the dark blue water, leaving white wakes behind them. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the pedestrian walkways.

Your two families moved as a large pack. The adults walked in the back, chatting amiably while your dad dragged the heavy blue esky by its handle. Rachel was walking a few paces ahead, her headphones firmly over her ears, pretending she didn't know any of you. Olivia was practically skipping, holding her mother's hand to keep from sprinting straight into the water.

And you and Felix were walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, his head tilted all the way back as he stared up at the glass-fronted office buildings reflecting the grey sky. "They're so tall. It makes my neck hurt just looking at them."

"Wait until you see the aquarium building," you grinned, pointing toward a curved structure sitting right on the edge of the water. "That's it. Right there."

The SEA LIFE Sydney Aquarium was iconic. As your group shuffled through the front doors, escaping the biting wind, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air inside was warm, thick with humidity, and heavily tinted with a calming, artificial blue light that reflected off the massive tanks. The ambient sound of bubbling water and the echoing hum of the filtration systems filled the space.

"Alright, team," your dad announced after securing the tickets. "Stay together. It's crowded today. If anyone gets lost, meet back at the café. Let's go!"

The journey through the aquarium started relatively tame. You wandered through the freshwater exhibits, watching the platypus swim in rapid circles. Olivia spent a solid ten minutes tapping gently on the glass of the fairy penguin enclosure, entirely captivated by the tiny birds waddling across the fake ice.

Felix was fascinated by everything. He read every single informational plaque, his lips moving silently as he absorbed the facts about the Australian river systems and the Great Barrier Reef. He stuck close to your side, occasionally pointing out a brightly colored fish or a strange-looking crab hiding in the rocks.

But as the pathway slowly began to descend, spiraling deeper into the building, the lighting grew darker. The blue hue became deeper, more intense, and the air felt a little heavier.

You were entering Shark Valley.

This was the main attraction. The path transitioned from a standard carpeted floor onto a slow-moving, mechanical walkway that carried you directly through a massive, acrylic tunnel. Above you, beside you, and beneath you was millions of liters of water.

As you stepped onto the moving walkway, Felix immediately tensed.

He didn't scream, and he didn't run, but his entire posture went rigid. He grabbed the fabric of your thick navy coat with one hand, his knuckles turning white as he pulled himself a fraction closer to you. He was staring up at the curved ceiling of the tunnel, his dark eyes wide with genuine fear.

"Felix?" you asked softly, leaning closer to him so you wouldn't be overheard by the crowds around you. "Are you okay?"

"It's... it's a lot of water," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. He didn't look at you; his eyes were frantically tracking the movement above.

Right on cue, a massive Grey Nurse Shark slowly glided directly over the top of the tunnel. Its jagged teeth were fully visible, its pale underbelly sliding silently across the acrylic just inches from where you were standing. A huge stingray, easily the size of a dining table, followed closely behind it, casting a shadow over the two of you.

Felix let out a breathless gasp. His grip on your coat tightened desperately.

"Is this glass?" he asked, his voice barely more than a squeak. He pointed a trembling finger at the wall. "What if it breaks? The water is too heavy. It's going to crack."

"It won't break, I promise," you assured him gently. You didn't tease him this time. You could see the genuine panic setting into his features. You reached over and placed your hand firmly over his, where he was clutching your coat. His fingers were ice cold despite the warm room. "It's not actually glass. It's super thick acrylic. It's practically bomb-proof. Look at my dad."

You pointed ahead on the walkway. Your dad was standing casually, leaning against the side of the tunnel, pointing out a passing shark to Olivia, entirely unbothered by the millions of liters of water pressing down on them.

"They wouldn't let us in here if it wasn't safe," you continued softly, stepping slightly in front of him to block his view of a particularly aggressive-looking shark. "Just look straight ahead. Don't look up. Look at the end of the tunnel."

Felix swallowed hard. He dragged his gaze away from the ceiling and focused entirely on the back of your head and the illuminated exit sign at the end of the long walkway. He took a few shaky breaths.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Okay. I'm looking at the exit."

You stood right beside him, keeping your hand resting comfortingly over his, forming a physical barrier between him and the massive predators swimming on the other side of the acrylic. It took about five agonizing minutes for the slow-moving walkway to deposit you back onto carpeted ground.

The moment you stepped out of the tunnel, the tension immediately drained out of Felix's body. He let go of your coat, taking a shuddering breath of air, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I survived," he whispered, looking back at the dark mouth of the tunnel with a look of pure relief.

"You did amazing," you smiled warmly, bumping your shoulder against his. "And you didn't even use me as a human shield. I'm proud of you."

Felix's ears flushed pink, a sheepish, gap-toothed smile breaking through his anxiety. "I thought about it. But my mum would have been mad if I got you eaten by a shark on your birthday."

"Very considerate of you," you laughed. "Come on. The best part is next. I promise there are no terrifying teeth in this one."

You led the way, pulling him through the crowds toward a two-story viewing window that looked into the Great Barrier Reef exhibit. This tank was flooded with artificial sunlight, filled with vibrant coral and thousands of tropical fish darting around in schools.

But you weren't looking at the fish. You were looking at the ancient-looking creatures slowly paddling through the water.

Sea turtles.

You hurried right up to the thick acrylic window, pressing your hands flat against the cool surface. A massive loggerhead turtle, its shell easily the size of a car tire, was slowly swimming right past the glass. It looked incredibly old, wise, and entirely unbothered by the hundreds of humans staring at it.

"Whoa," Felix breathed, stepping up to the glass right beside you. The fear from the shark tunnel was completely gone, replaced by pure wonder. "They're huge."

"I love them," you said softly, your breath fogging up the glass slightly. "They just cruise around all day. They don't care about anything. They just exist."

You turned your head, looking at Felix. The artificial sunlight from the tank was illuminating his face, making his constellation of freckles stand out starkly against his skin. A mischievous, teasing thought popped into your head.

"You know," you started, adopting a highly serious tone of voice. "I can see the family resemblance."

Felix blinked, tearing his gaze away from the tank to look at you in confusion. "What?"

"The turtles," you pointed a finger at the massive loggerhead, then pointed back at him. "Your distant cousins. Especially when you were buried up to your neck in the sand at the beach with that green bucket hat on. It's uncanny. Honestly, I think that one over there is waving at you."

It took Felix exactly three seconds to process the joke. When he did, his mouth fell open in mock outrage.

"I do not look like a turtle!" he protested loudly, shoving you playfully away from the glass.

"You did that day on the beach!" you shrieked with laughter, stumbling backward. "You were a screaming turtle! The seagulls thought so too!"

"I'm going to throw you in the shark tank," Felix threatened, though he was laughing so hard his eyes were scrunched into little crescents. He grabbed the sleeve of your navy coat, pulling you back toward the glass. "Apologize to my cousins."

You spent the next ten minutes standing by the massive window, watching the turtles and the brightly coloured fish, throwing affectionate insults at each other. The easy banter flowed between you effortlessly.

As you watched a diver in a black wetsuit slowly descend into the tank, carrying a bucket of chopped fish to feed the rays, a sudden wave of determination hit you.

"I'm going to work here," you announced, your voice ringing with absolute certainty.

Felix stopped laughing. He looked at you, surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. "At the aquarium?"

"Yeah," you nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the diver as a massive stingray swam right over his head to take a piece of fish from his hand. "I want to do that. I want to be an aquarist. Or a marine biologist. I want to put on a wetsuit and get in the water and take care of them. I don't want to work in an office like my dad. I want to be right here."

You turned to look at Felix, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You hadn't really said it out loud to anyone before. At twelve years old, declarations about the future were usually met with patronizing smiles from adults who assumed you would change your mind a dozen times before high school.

But Felix didn't smile patronizingly.

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide and incredibly serious. The blue light from the tank reflected in his pupils. He looked at you as if you had just stated an undeniable fact, like the sky was blue or the grass was green. He believed you completely.

"You'll be amazing at it," Felix said softly, his voice full of quiet conviction. "You're going to be the best aquarist they've ever had. You're brave enough to fight off Harper, so feeding a shark will be easy for you."

A warm feeling bloomed right in the center of your chest. It was a sense of being seen and supported. You smiled, a genuine smile, and bumped your shoulder against his again.

"Thanks, Felix."

"Kids! Lunchtime!"

Your dad's booming voice echoed from the seating area a few meters away, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. He had claimed two circular tables near the café and was currently dragging the massive blue esky out from under a bench.

You and Felix walked over, rejoining the chaotic noise of your families.

Lunch was a messy affair. The esky was opened, and a mountain of squished sandwiches was distributed. Felix specifically requested the Vegemite and cheese, vehemently avoiding the 'spicy' mustard sandwiches, which earned him a fresh round of teasing from you and his older sister.

Sitting there, eating a slightly soggy sandwich while surrounded by the low hum of the aquarium filters and the loud laughter of the Lee family, you realized this was easily the best birthday you had ever had. And the day wasn't even over yet.

By the time your group finally emerged from the dark depths of the aquarium and stepped back out onto the concrete walkways of Darling Harbour, the sun had almost entirely set.

The winter evening had cast an inky indigo over the sky. The towering skyscrapers of the CBD were now lit up like massive Christmas trees, their lights reflecting beautifully against the dark water of the harbor. The biting wind had picked up, cutting straight through the thick layers of your coats.

"Right, let's get moving before we all freeze to the pavement," your dad announced, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Dinner reservation is at six. It's just a short walk down Cockle Bay Wharf."

The restaurant was an upscale, warmly lit Italian place right on the edge of the water. Outside, massive gas heaters shaped like pyramids glowed with orange flames, trying to combat the winter chill for the brave souls dining al fresco.

Thankfully, your dad had booked a table inside.

The moment you pushed through the heavy glass doors, the smell of roasted garlic, rich tomato sauce, and melting cheese enveloped you like a warm hug. The restaurant was bustling, filled with the loud chatter of Saturday night diners and the clinking of wine glasses.

Your group of seven was ushered to a large booth tucked into the back corner, offering a perfect view of the glittering harbor lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You slid into the plush leather booth first, claiming the spot right next to the window. Felix immediately slid in right beside you, pressing his arm warmly against yours as the rest of the families piled in. Olivia was banished to the other side of the table, safely wedged between her parents to prevent her from causing chaos with the silverware.

"Alright," your dad smiled, opening the menu. "Order whatever you want, kids. It's a celebration."

You didn't even need to open your menu. The birthday tradition was sacred, and you knew exactly what you wanted.

When the waiter, a tall man with a genuine Italian accent, arrived at the table with his notepad, your dad ordered a massive garlic pizza to share for the table, along with a few bottles of sparkling water and some wine for the adults.

"And for the birthday girl?" the waiter asked, offering you a charming smile.

"I'll have the biggest bowl of spaghetti bolognese you have, please," you answered confidently, handing him your unopened menu. "With extra parmesan cheese."

"An excellent choice," the waiter nodded, scribbling it down. He turned his attention to the boy sitting next to you. "And for you, young man?"

Felix froze. He looked down at the massive menu in his hands, his eyes darting frantically over the Italian words he clearly couldn't pronounce. Fettuccine Alfredo, Gnocchi al Pesto, Pappardelle al Ragù. The panic that had been absent since the shark tunnel suddenly flared back to life. He hated not knowing what things were. He hated drawing attention to himself in public.

He looked up at the waiter, his ears turning a violent shade of pink, and then looked frantically over at you for help.

You gave him an encouraging, microscopic nod under the table.

Felix swallowed hard, closing his menu with a soft snap. He looked back at the waiter, his voice quiet but steady. "I'll just... I'll have what she's having. Please. The spaghetti."

"Two spaghetti bolognese. Perfect," the waiter smiled, completely unfazed, before moving on to take Rachel's order.

Felix let out a quiet exhale, slumping slightly against the back of the leather booth. He nudged his knee against yours under the table. "Thanks," he whispered.

"No worries," you grinned back. "You're going to love it anyway. It's the best spaghetti in the city."

Dinner was an incredibly warm, loud, and joyful affair. The massive garlic pizza arrived, and a minor war broke out over the last slice between your dad and Mr. Lee, ending only when Mrs. Lee threatened to ban her husband from the barbecue next weekend. The adults were drinking wine, their cheeks flushed, sharing stories about their own childhoods.

When the main courses arrived, Felix's eyes went wide. The bowls of spaghetti were massive steaming mountains of pasta covered in a dark red meat sauce and buried under a small avalanche of freshly grated parmesan cheese.

You both dug in with the ravenous hunger of two pre-teens who had spent the entire day walking. You ate until you were absolutely stuffed, the heavy food warming you from the inside out.

As the waiter came around to clear the empty plates, the conversation among the adults shifted to local politics and housing prices, the cue that they were going to be occupied for a while.

Felix shifted in the booth beside you. The comfortable and relaxed energy he had carried all through dinner suddenly vanished. He sat up very straight, his hands disappearing into the deep pockets of his puffy black jacket. He bit his lower lip, a nervous habit he hadn't displayed since his first week at school.

"Hey," he mumbled, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper so his family wouldn't hear.

You turned away from the window, leaning closer to him. "What's up? Are you full? Do you need a stomach pump?"

"No," he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, keeping them clenched in tight fists resting on his lap. He looked down at them, his eyelashes casting long shadows over his freckled cheeks. "I... I have something for you. For your birthday."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Felix, you didn't have to get me anything! The card was amazing, and you guys coming today was the present."

"I wanted to," he insisted softly, his Australian accent thickening slightly with his nerves. "I didn't buy it. I made it. I hope it's not stupid."

Slowly, he opened his fists.

Sitting in the palm of his hand were two handmade braided friendship bracelets. They were made of thick embroidery thread. One of them was a vibrant ocean blue, which you knew was his favourite colour. The other was a bright sunny yellow, your absolute favourite colour.

"I made them last week," Felix explained, his voice rushing slightly as he explained himself. He picked up the blue one. "I used to make them all the time at my old school. It's... it's a matching set. You take the blue one, and I wear the yellow one. So that... so that when we go to high school next year, even if we aren't in the same classes all the time, we'll still have them."

He looked up at you through his thick eyelashes, his expression incredibly vulnerable. He was terrified you were going to reject it, terrified you would think it was childish or silly.

Your heart did a flip in your chest. It wasn't just a gift; it was a physical promise. It was his way of securing your friendship, of making sure the bond you had built over the last six months wouldn't disappear when the scary reality of Year 7 hit them.

"Felix," you breathed, entirely overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture. "They're beautiful. I love them."

The anxiety vanished from his face, replaced by a relieved smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really," you nodded vehemently. You held out your left wrist, pushing the sleeve of your thick navy jumper up to expose your skin. "Put it on me. Please."

Felix's fingers were trembling slightly as he carefully wrapped the deep blue braided thread around your wrist. He pulled the two ends tight, tying them into a secure double knot. His skin brushed against yours, warm and gentle.

When he finished, he sat back, admiring his handiwork.

"Now yours," you demanded playfully, reaching out.

Felix held out his own wrist. You took the bright yellow bracelet from his hand, carefully wrapping it around his wrist and tying the knot as tightly as you could.

You both looked down at your hands resting on the table. The blue and yellow bracelets sat starkly against your skin, a colorful testament to the boy who lived next door. You didn't say anything else, you didn't need to. The quiet moment spoke volumes louder than any words could.

"Alright, who's ready for dessert?" your dad's loud voice shattered the bubble, completely oblivious to the tender moment happening right next to him.

You and Felix quickly pulled your hands apart, both of your ears burning pink.

"Actually, Dad," you spoke up, a mischievous glint returning to your eye. You looked at Felix, who suddenly realized exactly what you were about to say. His eyes widened in absolute horror. "We need to go. We have a tradition to uphold."

"Oh, right!" your dad laughed loudly, slapping his hand against the table. "The grand finale! Jiho, Min, you're going to love this."

Ten minutes later, the bill was paid, and the entire group was bundled back up in their heavy winter coats, stepping out of the warm restaurant and back into the windy night of Darling Harbour.

Your dad made a quick detour to a small takeaway kiosk near the pier, returning with a greasy cardboard box filled to the brim with steaming hot chips.

"Alright," your dad announced, holding the box out toward you. "Do your worst."

You took the box, the heat radiating through the cardboard and warming your freezing hands. You looked at Felix.

He was standing several feet away, his thick grey scarf pulled all the way up to the bridge of his nose. He looked terrified. He was scanning the dark sky above the harbor, looking for the enemy.

"Come on, Yongbok," you teased, walking toward the wooden railing at the very edge of the pier. "Face your fears. They're just birds."

"They are feathered rats with a taste for human flesh," Felix argued, though he reluctantly shuffled a few steps closer to you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

You pulled a chip from the box and held it up high in the air.

It didn't take long. Within ten seconds, a loud squawk echoed through the night air.

"They found us," Felix whimpered, taking a step backward.

Suddenly, a white blur descended from the sky. A massive seagull swooped down, snatching the chip perfectly from your fingers before banking hard and flying away.

"Yes!" you cheered, laughing loudly at the sheer thrill of it. You grabbed a handful of chips and threw them high into the air over the water.

It was like ringing a dinner bell. Within a minute, a flock of seagulls had descended upon the pier. There were dozens of them, squawking loudly, fighting each other in mid-air, and hovering just inches above your head.

"Oh my god," Felix screamed, his boyish voice cracking as a particularly large bird swooped incredibly close to his dark hair. He ducked, throwing his arms over his head in a defensive crouch. "They remember me! They know who I am!"

"Throw one!" you yelled over the noise of the birds, shoving a hot chip into his hand. "Just throw it!"

Felix squeezed his eyes shut, let out a loud, terrifying battle cry, and blindly lobbed the chip into the air. A seagull caught it before it even reached its apex.

When Felix opened his eyes and realized he hadn't been attacked, a laugh bubbled up in his chest. "I did it."

"Do it again!"

For the next ten minutes, the wooden pier was an absolute warzone of squawking birds, flying chips, and hysterical laughter that came from the both of you. Even Rachel had joined in, aggressively throwing chips at the birds like she was pitching a baseball. Olivia was screaming with joy, safely tucked behind her father's legs.

Felix had completely abandoned his fear. He was laughing so hard he was gasping for air, throwing chips into the chaos and ducking when the birds got too close, his bright smile on full display.

As you stood there in the freezing Sydney night, watching the boy next door bravely fight off his greatest fear just to make you happy, you reached down and lightly touched the blue braided bracelet resting securely around your wrist.

Twelve was going to be a very, very good year.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo @lostinmymind-daydreaming

You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.

Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.

"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."

"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.

Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."

Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"

"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"

"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"

"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."

You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.

"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."

Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."

"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."

"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."

"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"

"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"

"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."

"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"

Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.

"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"

"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"

"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."

Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."

"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.

"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"

"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.

You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.

You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.

"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.

"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.

"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.

"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"

You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.

You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.

You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.

But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.

Felix was waiting for you.

He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.

Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.

Today, he looked like a completely different person.

He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.

The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.

It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.

"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.

"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.

He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.

"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.

Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.

"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."

"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."

"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."

You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.

You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.

Almost.

As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.

Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.

The corner was completely empty.

There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.

Harper wasn't there.

You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.

Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.

"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.

"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.

You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."

You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.

In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.

You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.

Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.

"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."

Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."

"No, Felix, it's not—"

"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."

He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.

Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?

"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.

Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.

"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."

Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.

Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."

As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.

The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.

Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.

You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.

When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.

The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.

Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.

Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.

The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.

For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.

"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.

You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.

"Come on," you whispered to Felix.

Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.

Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.

Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."

"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."

Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."

When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.

Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.

You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.

Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.

You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.

The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.

Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?

You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.

You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.

I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.

You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.

He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.

Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.

You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.

When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.

You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.

It was your spot now.

You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.

"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.

You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.

"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.

"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.

"Watch and learn," you teased.

You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.

Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."

"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."

Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."

"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.

"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"

"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"

"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."

"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"

"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."

"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.

"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."

"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."

Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"

"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."

The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.

When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.

"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."

"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.

The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.

When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.

As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.

"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.

You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.

The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.

Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.

You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.

"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."

"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."

Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."

As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.

When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.

"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."

Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."

"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"

"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."

"I will. See ya, Felix!"

"See ya!"

You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.

"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.

"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.

You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.

"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."

"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."

Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"

"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."

Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"

"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."

"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."

"Right! I need my bag!"

You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.

By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.

The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.

The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.

"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"

"I will! Bye!"

You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.

The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.

You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.

Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.

"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.

Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"

"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."

"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."

You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.

"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"

Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"

"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."

"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."

"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"

You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.

"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.

The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.

"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"

You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.

The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.

Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.

You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.

As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.

You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.

By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.

"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"

You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.

You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.

You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.

The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.

Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.

You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.

"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.

"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."

"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"

You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."

"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."

The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.

When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.

You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"

You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.

Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.

You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.

You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.

"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.

A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.

"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"

"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.

Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."

"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."

"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"

You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?

Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.

Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.

When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.

"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.

"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."

Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.

He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.

"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.

Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."

"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.

Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.

"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."

Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."

"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.

You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.

"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"

Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.

"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.

"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."

"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."

You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."

He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."

"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.

"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.

You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.

Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo

You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.

Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.

"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."

"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.

Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."

Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"

"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"

"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"

"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."

You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.

"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."

Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."

"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."

"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."

"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"

"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"

"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."

"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"

Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.

"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"

"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"

"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."

Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."

"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.

"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"

"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.

You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.

You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.

"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.

"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.

"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.

"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"

You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.

You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.

You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.

But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.

Felix was waiting for you.

He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.

Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.

Today, he looked like a completely different person.

He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.

The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.

It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.

"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.

"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.

He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.

"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.

Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.

"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."

"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."

"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."

You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.

You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.

Almost.

As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.

Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.

The corner was completely empty.

There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.

Harper wasn't there.

You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.

Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.

"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.

"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.

You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."

You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.

In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.

You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.

Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.

"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."

Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."

"No, Felix, it's not—"

"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."

He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.

Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?

"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.

Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.

"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."

Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.

Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."

As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.

The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.

Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.

You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.

When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.

The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.

Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.

Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.

The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.

For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.

"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.

You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.

"Come on," you whispered to Felix.

Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.

Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.

Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."

"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."

Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."

When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.

Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.

You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.

Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.

You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.

The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.

Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?

You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.

You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.

I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.

You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.

He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.

Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.

You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.

When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.

You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.

It was your spot now.

You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.

"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.

You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.

"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.

"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.

"Watch and learn," you teased.

You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.

Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."

"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."

Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."

"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.

"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"

"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"

"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."

"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"

"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."

"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.

"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."

"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."

Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"

"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."

The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.

When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.

"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."

"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.

The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.

When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.

As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.

"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.

You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.

The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.

Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.

You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.

"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."

"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."

Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."

As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.

When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.

"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."

Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."

"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"

"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."

"I will. See ya, Felix!"

"See ya!"

You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.

"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.

"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.

You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.

"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."

"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."

Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"

"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."

Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"

"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."

"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."

"Right! I need my bag!"

You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.

By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.

The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.

The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.

"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"

"I will! Bye!"

You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.

The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.

You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.

Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.

"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.

Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"

"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."

"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."

You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.

"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"

Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"

"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."

"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."

"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"

You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.

"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.

The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.

"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"

You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.

The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.

Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.

You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.

As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.

You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.

By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.

"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"

You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.

You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.

You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.

The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.

Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.

You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.

"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.

"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."

"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"

You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."

"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."

The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.

When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.

You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"

You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.

Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.

You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.

You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.

"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.

A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.

"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"

"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.

Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."

"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."

"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"

You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?

Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.

Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.

When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.

"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.

"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."

Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.

He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.

"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.

Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."

"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.

Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.

"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."

Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."

"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.

You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.

"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"

Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.

"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.

"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."

"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."

You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."

He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."

"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.

"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.

You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.

Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

permanent taglist: @thesirenqueen @clairementsolo

You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.

Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.

"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."

"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.

Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."

Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"

"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"

"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"

"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."

You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.

"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."

Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."

"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."

"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."

"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"

"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"

"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."

"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"

Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.

"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"

"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"

"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."

Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."

"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.

"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"

"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.

You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.

You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.

"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.

"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.

"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.

"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"

You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.

You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.

You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.

But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.

Felix was waiting for you.

He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.

Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.

Today, he looked like a completely different person.

He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.

The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.

It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.

"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.

"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.

He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.