Andante

The apartment is quiet when you step inside.

Not empty— it’s never empty when Felix is home—but quiet in that soft, lived-in way, like the smell of coffee and the soft breeze of an open window on a spring weekend afternoon, pages turning somewhere in the living room.

You close the door gently behind you, slipping off your shoes like you don’t want to disturb anything.

Felix is exactly where you expect him to be.

Curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, a blanket draped loosely over his lap. A book rests in his hands, his brows slightly knit in concentration, lips parted just enough that you know he’s completely absorbed.

For a second, you just stand there. Watching him. Taking him in. Contemplating whether this is reality or just something you made up in your mind.

Because this—this is what your brain never learned how to expect. Softness waiting for you at the end of the day. Not earned. Not conditional. Just… there.

He senses you before he sees you.

His eyes flick up from the page, and the moment he realizes it’s you, his whole face changes. It always does. Like someone turned on a light behind his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, already setting the book aside.

You walk toward him slowly, shrugging off your coat, placing your bag down carelessly.

“Hi.”

There’s a small pause.

Then, quietly—almost like you’re asking for something you’re not sure you’re allowed to have—

“…Can I snuggle?”

Felix’s expression melts instantly.

“Always,” he says, opening his arms without hesitation.

That’s all the permission you need.

You climb onto the couch, settling into him like you’ve done this a hundred times and also like you’re still a little surprised he lets you. Your head tucks into the space between his shoulder and neck, your arm sliding across his torso, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie.

He wraps himself around you immediately.

Not loosely. Not distractedly. Fully.

One arm around your back, hand splayed warm and steady. The other comes up to cradle your head, fingers slipping into your hair with an ease that makes your chest ache.

“Bad day?” he murmurs.

You shake your head against him.

“No. Not at all. Just a regular day.”

It’s the truth.

Nothing particularly went wrong. Nothing you can point to and say this is why I need this.

You just… need him. You always do.

“I just wanted to be here,” you add softly, “next to you”.

Felix hums, pressing a small kiss into your hair.

“Okay.”

No questions. No need for explanation.

Just acceptance.

You didn’t grow up like this.

Love, for you, was always something that came after. After good grades. After quiet behavior. After being easy, being helpful, being independent.

You learned early that the best way to be loved was to not need too much of it.

So you became reliable. Self-sufficient. The one people could lean on. The one who never made things harder. It followed you everywhere.

Friendships where you listened more than you spoke. Relationships where you gave and gave and never quite knew how to ask for anything back.

Even with Felix, at first. When you had first met he was this bundle of joy, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Something that was unimaginable for you, even though you really wanted to. For his sake, but even more for yours.

You remember the way he used to look at you—curious, a little confused.

“I can’t tell if you like me,” he had admitted once, half-laughing, half-serious.

You’d panicked. Because of course you liked him. You liked him so much it scared you. But liking someone, for you, had never come with… showing it.

Felix had just smiled softly back then.

“I think you do,” he said. “You just don’t know how to show it yet.”

He’d been right.

Now, his fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your arm, grounding you.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.

You hum in response, shifting slightly closer—if that’s even possible—pressing yourself more firmly into his warmth.

He adjusts immediately. Of course he does.

Pulling you in tighter, tucking the blanket around both of you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

Felix has never been subtle with his affection. He gives it freely. Constantly. Without measuring.

At first, it overwhelmed you. Now, it feels like oxygen.

“I like this,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

You nod against him.

“Being… held. Like this. Just being close to you. Touching you.”

His arms tighten just a fraction.

“Then we’ll do it more.” It’s said so simply.

Like it’s not something you have to earn.

Your hand shifts slightly, fingertips brushing along his side, then resting flat against his chest.

You can feel his heartbeat.

Steady. Warm. Real.

You don’t realize how much you crave this until you’re here—until you can feel someone choosing you, not because you did something right, but because you exist and they love you.

“I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you admit quietly.

“At what?” he asks.

“This,” you say. “Being… affectionate. Saying things. Showing things.”

Felix tilts his head slightly so he can look down at you.

“You are,” he says gently. “You’re doing it right now.”

You shake your head. “Only with you.”

He smiles softly.

“Then I’m honored.”

Your chest tightens.

“You make it easy,” you add after a moment. “You give so much that I don’t feel… like I’m taking something I’m not supposed to.”

Felix’s expression shifts—softens even more, if that’s possible.

“You’re not taking,” he says quietly. “You’re receiving. That’s different.”

You’ve never thought about it like that.

Receiving. You hum.

It feels… unfamiliar.

But not wrong.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek, slow and gentle, like he’s reminding you that you’re here.

“With you,” he continues softly, “I don’t feel like I have to guess. You might not say everything, but you show up. You stay. You trust me enough to let me see you like this.”

You swallow.

“That’s a lot, you know.”

You nod slightly.

It is a lot.

For you, it’s everything.

You tilt your head up just enough to look at him.

His hair is a little messy, eyes soft, lips curved in that quiet way that always makes your chest feel too full.

You reach up hesitantly, fingertips brushing his cheek.

Still not entirely natural.

Still a little careful.

But real.

“I love you. A lot.” you say softly.

Felix smiles.

“I know.”

You huff a small laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he repeats, even softer this time. “I never doubted that. And I love you. And I will make sure you know it every day of our lives”

Your hand lingers on his face, thumb brushing lightly under his eye.

“You’re the only one I can do this with,” you admit.

He leans into your touch without hesitation.

“Then I’ll keep being here.”

You settle back into him after that, quieter now but lighter.

His hand returns to your hair, combing through it gently, rhythm slow and soothing. Your breathing syncs with his without you even trying.

This is what you never learned growing up.

That love can be still.

That it doesn’t always need to be proven.

That sometimes it just exists in the space between two people, in shared warmth, in quiet touch, in the simple act of being held.

You press closer, eyes slipping shut.

Felix tightens his arms around you instinctively.

And for once, you don’t feel like you’re asking for too much.