#feelix

The change is not loud.

It doesn’t crash into the room or demand attention, it just settles there quietly, like warmth seeping into spaces that used to feel a little colder, and before you can even name it, it starts showing up in small things.

Constant things. Things you don’t know how to prepare for.

It starts in the morning.

You’re barely awake, still tangled in your blanket, when the door opens softly and someone slips inside without knocking, the mattress dipping slightly as a familiar presence settles beside you. You don’t open your eyes yet, but you feel it immediately, calm, steady, warm.

“Still sleeping?” Chan murmurs, his voice low and gentle. You hum something incoherent.

He chuckles softly, brushing your hair away from your face with slow fingers, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary before he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Good morning.”

It’s quiet and simple but it sinks deep. You turn slightly toward him without thinking, instinctively leaning into the warmth, and he lets you, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek before he finally stands.

“I’ll make you something,” he adds. You nod, already smiling.

Later, you’re in the kitchen, still waking up properly, when arms wrap around you from behind without warning.

No sound. No build-up. Just warmth. It’s solid.

You barely get a breath in before you’re pulled back against a firm chest, your body going still for half a second before relaxing immediately. Minho.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds you. His chin rests lightly near your shoulder, his grip steady, grounding in a way that makes your chest soften.

“…hi,” you murmur. A quiet hum answers.

His hand shifts slightly at your waist, thumb brushing once, absentminded, before his lips press softly to the top of your head. Quick but it lingers. You actually melt. He exhales quietly, like he noticed. Of course he did.

“…we’ll talk properly when you’re back from New York,” he says, low, calm, like it’s already decided. Your fingers curl against the counter.

“…okay.”

His arms loosen, not completely. Just enough.

Changbin is the opposite of subtle.

You’re walking through the living room, minding your business, when suddenly-

“Come here-”

You don’t even get to react before you’re lifted clean off the ground. “CHANGBIN!”

He laughs, loud and proud, one arm under your legs, the other around your back as he spins you once just because he can. “You’re too light,” he complains.

“I WAS WALKING-”

“And now you’re not.”

You smack his shoulder, laughing despite yourself as he carries you across the dorm like this is completely normal. “Put me DOWN-”

“In a minute.”

“You said that five minutes ago…”

“I lied.” Of course he did.

Hyunjin is quieter. But no less intense.

You’re sitting on the couch when he joins you, close enough that your knees brush, his presence soft but deliberate. Your eyes are focused on an indivisible spot on the wall, thoughts running through your mind, scenario after scenario.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmurs.

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

His hand lifts, gently tilting your chin toward him, his touch careful, almost reverent as he studies your face for a second.

Then he leans in. Slow. Unrushed.

His lips brush yours in a soft, lingering kiss that feels more like a promise than anything else, his hand steady against your jaw as you lean into it without thinking.

“Breathe,” he whispers. And you do.

Han has completely abandoned the concept of personal space. Like, at all.

You sit down for maybe three seconds before he’s already next to you, then leaning on you, then fully draped over you like a human blanket. “I missed you,” he mumbles.

“You saw me ten minutes ago.”

“That was ten minutes too long.” You snort. He grins. Then, without warning, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek. „You’re cute.”

“…you’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not moving and you don‘t want him to.

Seungmin pretends he’s above all of it. He is not.

You’re reaching for something on the shelf when he steps in beside you and grabs it first, handing it to you like it’s nothing.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

You turn. He doesn’t move. You walk straight into him. “…move.”

“In a second.”

You narrow your eyes. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans down slightly, close enough that you can feel it before it happens, and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. Then another.

Then your lips. Deliberate.

You freeze. “…did you just-”

“Maybe,” he says calmly, finally stepping back.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk forming, “you said you love me.”

You choke. “I-”

“Interesting,” he hums, already walking away.

“You’re insufferable-”

“Still loved.”

You stare after him. Annoyed. Flustered. Very aware he did that on purpose. And very aware of the wetness gathering between your legs.

Felix is soft. Always.

You’re sitting together later, your head resting against his shoulder as his fingers trace slow patterns along your arm, absentminded, soothing.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You nod. He doesn’t push. He never does.

Instead, he presses a gentle kiss into your hair, lingering there for a second. You turn your head and his thumb brushes over your jaw and cheek.

“I’m here.” You believe him.

Jeongin is dangerous in a quiet way. You almost miss it.

Almost.

You’re passing him in the hallway when his hand brushes yours, your fingers catching slightly before slipping apart again. You stop and turn.

He’s already looking at you. That small, knowing look.

“…did you just do that on purpose?” you ask.

His brows lift slightly. “Do what?”

You stare at him as he steps closer, not much, just enough. “Careful,” he murmurs, voice low, calm, “you’re starting to notice things.”

Your breath stutters. “You’re annoying,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

A faint smile touches his lips. “But you like it,” he reminds you quietly. And then he walks past you. Just like that. Leaving you standing there.

Thinking about it.

And somehow through all of it, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels like home.

Messy. Warm. A little too much.

But yours.

Dinner is loud again. Of course it is. It always comes back to loud.

You’re halfway through your food when the thought slips out before you can overthink it. “…Someone should come with me.”

Everyone looks up.

“What?” Chan asks.

“To New York,” you add, a little more careful now. “I mean… if someone wants to and if your schedule allows it.” Silence.

Then-

“I’ll go!”

“No, I should go-”

“You’ll get lost…”

“I will NOT get lost!”

“You almost got lost in our own building.”

“Yah! That was ONE time!”

“Okay, okay-” Chan tries. Fails.

Changbin leans forward. “Okay but how do we decide which one of us..?”

“We could fight to the death,” Minho says casually between two bites which makes you giggle and he smirks your way.

“MINHO NO!”

He shrugs.

“…Rock, paper, scissors?” someone suggests. Everyone looks at each other.

“…Bet.”

And just like that… it’s chaos again.

The decision is made in the most ridiculous way possible, and honestly, you should have expected it. You really should have, because the second someone suggests rock-paper-scissors, the entire room shifts into chaos before anyone can even pretend to argue against it properly.

“There is no way we’re deciding this like that,” Seungmin says, already sounding exhausted, arms crossed like he wants to remove himself from the situation entirely.

“We absolutely are,” Changbin shoots back immediately, cracking his knuckles like this is a professional match instead of a group of grown men losing their minds. “It’s fair.”

“It’s not fair, it’s stupid.”

“It’s democratic,” Chan cuts in, already halfway to giving up as he rubs his face, fully aware this is happening whether he likes it or not.

Han is practically vibrating with excitement, already bouncing on his feet. “Okay, best out of three? Or tournament style??”

“Tournament,” Changbin says without hesitation.

“Of course you’d say that,” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

Felix claps softly, smiling like this is the best idea anyone has ever had, Hyunjin stepping closer despite himself, and Jeongin- Jeongin just leans back slightly in his chair, watching everything unfold with that same calm, observant look he always has.

You watch them for a second longer, taking in the noise, the overlapping voices, the way this is about to spiral into something completely unnecessary, and then you shake your head softly.

“…okay, you guys have fun,” you say, already stepping back toward the door, grabbing your bag without waiting for an answer. No need to be present if this turns apocalyptic.

“I’ll be in the studio. See you later.”

Someone protests, someone else shouts something about unfairness, Changbin is already calling for the first round, and you slip out before the chaos can pull you back in, the noise fading behind you as the hallway quiets again.

By the time you reach the smaller studio, everything feels different. Quieter. Focused.

The room is smaller than the one you usually use, the walls lined entirely with mirrors that reflect you from every angle, leaving nowhere to hide, no distractions to soften mistakes, just clean lines, posture, movement. It feels more like a ballet studio than a practice room, and that’s exactly why you like it, because it forces you to be precise, forces you to pay attention to everything.

The music plays low as you start moving, your body slipping into rhythm instinctively, every step measured, every shift of weight deliberate, your gaze flicking to your reflection as you correct, adjust, refine, repeating the sequence again and again until your breathing deepens and your thoughts begin to quiet.

You don’t notice how much time passes.

Until the door opens.

You don’t turn immediately because you already feel it, the shift in the air, the presence filling the space behind you, familiar in a way that makes your body register it before your mind does.

“…You’re off count,” his voice says lightly.

You stop, just for a second, before turning, catching his reflection in the mirror first before you face him fully. Jeongin leans against the doorframe like he’s been there longer than he has, relaxed, composed, like he belongs in this space, his gaze steady as it moves over you.

“I’m not,” you say, a little breathless but firm.

His lips twitch slightly. “You are.”

He pushes himself off the wall and steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him as he approaches without hesitation, stopping just close enough to make your breath catch, your reflection now holding both of you side by side.

“You’re rushing here,” he murmurs, his hand lifting before settling lightly at your waist, adjusting your stance with careful precision that feels far too natural. Your breath stutters.

“There,” he says quietly.

You glance at the mirror, and of course he’s right, your shoulders relaxing slightly as you exhale. “…You’re annoying.”

“I know.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty, it stretches, warm and slow, something shifting underneath it as you turn your attention back to him instead of your reflection, studying him now.

“You came here just to correct me?”

“No,” he says. A small pause follows before he adds, “I came to tell you I won.”

It takes a second for that to register, your expression softening when it does.

“You’re coming to New York with me?”

“Yeah.”

Relief flickers across your face before you can stop it, your shoulders dropping slightly as you nod. “Good.” You were hoping to spend some alone time with him. His gaze catches that immediately, like he always does, like he stores every reaction without needing to ask for it.

“They used to make us practice here,” he says after a moment, his tone shifting slightly, quieter now, more reflective. “Back when we were trainees.”

You glance around again, taking in the small space, the mirrors, the closeness of it all. “It’s… small.”

“For eight people?” he huffs softly. “Yeah.” A faint smile touches his lips. “But it made us closer.”

Your gaze returns to him. “How?”

He shrugs. “Had to endure each other. Han and Hyunjin used to fight all the time,” he says, almost amused. “Over everything and nothing.”

You snort softly. “I can see that.”

“Chan was so different back then. Strict,” he continues. “Really strict. No mistakes, no excuses. I sometimes barley recognise him- he‘s so… warm now.“ A smile spreads on both of your faces. That tracks.

“And you?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. There’s a pause, brief but noticeable.

“I didn’t talk much,” he says. “I was shy. Just… watched. Tried to learn as much as possible in a short time, to impress them.”

You study him for a moment longer before stepping a little closer, something softer, more curious slipping into your voice.

“Well,” you murmur lightly, “that changed.”

His head tilts slightly. “Did it?”

You nod, your gaze steady on his. “You’re still quiet.” Another step closer. “But you’re not shy anymore.”

That lands differently. Something in his expression shifts, subtle but real, not louder, not more expressive, just… grounded, certain in a way that wasn’t there before.

“You think so?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. I do.”

The space between you feels smaller now, heavier, something building underneath it as your confidence pushes forward just enough to test him.

“You think you have me figured out,” you add, your voice dropping slightly, your lips curving just enough. “Don’t you?”

He watches you longer this time, his gaze steady, unreadable in a way that makes your pulse pick up. Then he also steps closer.

Not rushed. Not hesitant either.

“I don’t think,” he murmurs. Your breath falters. “I know.”

You feel it. The shift.

“…prove it,” you whisper.

Something in his expression shifts, subtle but decisive, like a line has been crossed and there’s no point pretending otherwise anymore, his hand tightening at your waist just slightly before he moves, quick and effortless, lifting you like you weigh nothing at all.

A soft gasp escapes you, surprised, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as your balance disappears for a second, your body reacting before your mind can catch up, your breath catching as his brows lift just slightly, that quiet, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

He doesn’t put you down but keeps you there. Held. Close. So close your noses almost brush.

“Prove it?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost amused, his breath warm against your lips as his grip steadies you effortlessly. “Baby… I have nothing to prove.”

Your pulse spikes. His gaze drops to your mouth for a second before lifting again, slower this time, heavier. “But I have a lot to give you.” Your breath falters. And then he closes the distance.

The kiss isn’t hesitant, not testing, not unsure, it lands warm and certain, his mouth moving against yours with a confidence that makes your thoughts scatter immediately, your fingers tightening against him as your body leans in without thinking, drawn closer by something that feels inevitable.

He’s still holding you. Still standing.

The angle shifts slightly as you adjust, your breath slipping between the kiss, your heart racing as it deepens, not rushed, not rough, just… fuller, like he’s taking his time on purpose, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what it’s doing to you.

And then-

it changes.

Not abruptly but unmistakably. His grip firms, one hand steady at your waist as he turns, carrying you with him without breaking the kiss, every step controlled, deliberate, until the back of his legs meet the sofa and he lowers himself down, guiding you with him in one smooth motion.

You land on his lap, straddling him. Your hands still on his shoulders, your breath uneven, your body reacting before your mind can even try to catch up with what just happened.

He doesn’t pull away, not immediately.

The kiss lingers, softer now but no less intense, his thumb brushing lightly against your side in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch again before he finally leans back just enough to look at you.

Really look at you.

Close enough that there’s no space left for anything but him.

“You talk a lot when you’re confident,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now but still steady, his hands resting at your waist like he has no intention of letting you go. Your heart pounds.

“And you,” he adds softly, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, his thumb tracing that same slow line against your side, “you stop thinking.”

Your breath catches. Because he’s right. Again.

His gaze lingers, waiting, not asking, just giving you that split second of control. You don’t take it.

And that’s all he needs.

He leans in again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he’s fully aware of every reaction he’s pulling from you now, the kiss deepening with intention, with control, his hand tightening just slightly at your waist to keep you exactly where you are.

On him. With him. And completely caught in him.

You feel his hand wandering up your back, toward your neck before firmly grabbing it, holding you in position. When he pulls back, his lips are mere inches from yours and you feel his breath as he whispers:

“Strip for me, princess.”

Your eyes open wide and you still for a second, your fingers clawing into his shirt at his shoulders. You quickly look around at all the mirrors surrounding you and then back to his face-

a small smirk forms on his lips.

“Don’t be shy. Do it.” His tongue darts out to lick his lip and your eyes follow the movement. “Now.”

You awkwardly climb down from his lap and get into position in front of him before you slowly start to shimmy out of your clothes, one by one.

First is your shirt. You pull it slowly over your head and drop it to the floor. Before embarrassment can settle in, you continue, already reaching behind to unclasp your bra. The white lace fabric glides over your arms and falls to the floor next to your shirt, leaving you bare-chested in front of him.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and look up to meet his eyes. They’re focused on yours- not your boobs, but your face; the pinkish tint on your cheeks and your slightly parted lips. Jeongin’s head tilts a bit to the side while he adjusts his sitting posture; he’s fully manspreading in front of you, hands resting casually on his thighs, a glint in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

But also encourages you.

Your fingers hook inside your yoga pants and you slowly drag them down your legs, stepping out of them until you’re only in your lace panties with the small pink bow at the front. His eyes dart down and linger for a second on the dainty accessory, and you could swear you see him swallow in response.

He reaches out one hand toward you. “Come here.” You do.

He guides you back onto his lap and you feel his already hard member against your barely clothed sex. A small gasp escapes you, which makes him hum before pulling you flush against his lips once again-devouring your mouth until it’s a tangled mess of tongue, teeth, and spit.

“Jeongin-” you gasp as his hips buck against you, and he hums.

“I know. Patience,” he mumbles against the corner of your mouth, placing small kisses there and down your neck.

“I don’t want patience…” you whine, your fingers finding his hair, gently tugging on the soft strands, making him chuckle darkly.

“I know that, too. You’re so impatient, princess.”

“Haven’t you teased me enough already? You’ve been doing it for weeks.” A small pout dances around your lips.

“Hm,” he hums and grabs your chin so you look him straight in the eyes. “And what exactly is it that you want; My fingers? Mouth? My cock?”

You gasp at his sudden straightforwardness and blink, and he chuckles.

“Cute.”

His arm wraps around your waist, lifts you up from his lap, and turns you around so you’re suddenly straddling him backwards.

“What-” you ask, but his hands are already glued to your waist, a strong grip that does not hurt, though.

His lips are beside your ear when he whispers, “How about you take what I give you, lamb, if you can take it.” One hand turns your head toward the mirror in front of you, and suddenly it’s all so clear what the bigger picture is:

This is going to be different than with anyone else, because he is different. Just like Jeongin is always watching, now you’re watching as well. Everything.

“Eyes on yourself. If you look away, I’ll stop.” His voice is firm now, a dark underlying tone that demands dominance without screaming it.

You just nod, and then-

you feel it.

His hand between your legs, pushing the damp fabric of your panties to the side. His long fingers run through your glistening folds and you stare at your own reflection while his head rests on your shoulder.

Calm. Collected. In control.

Jeongin’s fingers circle around your entrance, teasing the small opening without actually entering. He wanders toward your clit, exploring all your sensitive areas, and you let out a gasp when he finally circles the small nub, rubbing it in slow but firm circles. You get lost for a second and close your eyes, and the sensation immediately stops-

you notice your mistake, quickly opening them again and finding yourself in the mirror.

“Ts, ts, ts…”

He tuts, a small smirk dancing around his lips. “S-sorry…” you mumble back, and his fingers give a slight flick to your clit, which earns him a sharp inhale from you.

Jeongin watches your flushed face in the mirror; the way your eyes want to flutter shut, to give in, but you try to fight against it. The way your chest rises and falls with each flick of his fingers, the way your nipples perk up because of the cool air inside the studio. You look absolutely divine, and it drives him crazy.

Your eyes watch as his fingers move through your folds, gathering enough slick until they press against your tight entrance, asking for entry. Your legs move by themselves, opening wider for him, which earns you a hum of approval from him.

“Good girl. Let’s see if you can continue to use that smart brain of yours…”

And with that, he pushes two of his long digits inside you, curling them right up against your sweet spot while his other hand remains on your waist, pushing you further down. Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out; you literally choke on nothing as he starts to quicken the pace, scissoring his fingers against your walls, opening you up for him.

“Hm? No smart remark or comeback? I just had to fuck you with my fingers to shut up the brat in you?” he hums beside your ear, his voice low and steady as if he’s not knuckle-deep inside you right now. You nod absentmindedly, not even fully comprehending what he said.

Your eyes are still fixed on your own reflection, and the sight alone makes you clench in return. Your first orgasm builds quickly, and just as you’re about to come, he withdraws his fingers fully, making you whine loudly in protest.

“Jeongin!” you huff, finding his eyes in the mirror, an amused expression on his face, but there is something else as well. He’s not as unbothered as he pretends to be- his lips are parted, pupils fully blown, and he is rock hard beneath you.

So you decide to tease back, just a little roll of your hips against his still-clothed dick, and you can see his composure slipping.

Both of his hands grab your waist and hold you still when you roll against him again. Your eyes meet in the mirror and you smirk.

“Feeling confident, huh?” he asks, and you shrug. “A little.” But your confidence starts to slip when his hand disappears beneath his waistband, pushing his joggers down just enough to free his length. Shit.

“Oh? What is it, lamb?” he asks softly while slowly stroking his intimidating cock. “Is your confidence slipping?”

You huff. “As if…” But it doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Let’s see how long the brat in you lasts…” he mumbles against your ear, and you swallow. You don’t even know what position you should take him in best, but he’s already reading your mind like an open book, chuckling lowly in return. “Exactly like this.”

And then he pushes inside.

You’ve never had your eyes roll back before- you always thought it was exaggerated in porn, but right now? Yeah. You’re literally speechless as you’re impaled on his cock.

He sets a fast pace, one hand holding you down so he can drive himself even deeper inside you, his other hand resting against your lower abdomen before pressing down slightly, making you release a small cry.

“Holy shit-” he mumbles, eyes glued to the two bodies in the mirror as he watches every reaction your face gives away. His hand finds your hair, loosely gathering it into a ponytail and pulling your head back so your neck is fully exposed to him. His teeth sink into the soft skin, biting, licking, and kissing the flesh before he starts sucking hard.

He only stops when he’s satisfied with the dark purple mark forming on your neck, all while fucking into you relentlessly.

“Jeongin, I’m c-close…” you manage to stutter, and he hums.

“Look at you-” he mumbles in your ear. You already are, unable to look away from your reflection. “My dumb little baby. Always so smart and witty, and now fucked dumb on my cock-”

His dirty talk hits different. You never thought you’d hear him talk like that, but it turns you on so much, your high approaching dangerously fast. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing the small nub as your walls begin to clench down on him. Jeongin curses as your cunt grips him tightly, pulling him deeper in, ready to milk him dry.

Your legs shake uncontrollably as your orgasm rips through you, a loud moan echoing through the studio as your fingers dig into his thighs. “Oh my god, oh my god-”

You try to pry his hand away from your overstimulated cunt, but he chuckles and grabs both of your hands, holding them behind your back.

“Too much! I c-can’t-” you whine, still trembling on top of him, but he keeps going, brushing your cervix with the tip of his length over and over.

“I know there’s one more in you…” he coos in your ear, holding your arms firmly behind your back as he rubs your clit again, making you let out a strangled scream, almost choking from the overstimulation.

But he’s right. You feel it. Under the sharp, stinging sensation, there’s heat again. And it builds.

“Come on, princess, gimme one more…”

And with that, it breaks-

You hear it before you realize what’s happening, the faint splashing sound making you look at the mirror, staring in shock as you squirt all over his fingers, his cock, his joggers, the sofa.

Your vision turns white as another orgasm tears through you, overwhelming every nerve before you finally collapse on top of him.

Jeongin’s eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, and it pushes him over the edge too; one sharp thrust before he stills, buried deep inside you as he releases, spurt after spurt of cum, filling you to the brim.

It’s quiet now. Only your heavy breathing fills the room. He carefully releases your arms and pulls you flush against his chest, his face buried against your back.

“I love you.”

It’s faint. A whisper. Barely audible. But it’s deafening between the two of you.

You smile to yourself before reaching weakly behind you, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I know.”

And you do. Because even though Jeongin may be quiet and observant-

his love isn’t.

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I was distracted and in traffic. I didn’t feel it when the earthquake happened.

Felix was on his way back to the dorm when the ground started to shake underneath the company car. Apparently it was significant enough to cause all the traffic on the road to slow down to a slow pause, all the tail lights lighting up in an angry red at the sudden disruption. Felix wasn’t really paying attention, music blaring in his headphones while his mind was lost in thought. He found himself doing that a lot lately; getting so lost in thought that the world disappeared around him and he blocked out reality.

It wasn’t until one of his bandmates hit his shoulder did he snap back to the waking world. He pulled out his earbuds and looked back at Lee Know whose eyebrows were furrowed up. “What?”

“Did you not feel that?” The oldest member in the car asked, seeing the confusion on his face. When the Australian shakes his head, he continues, “There was a massive earthquake that happened just now.”

“When we get back to the dorm,” Their manager starts, driving the car and starting to pull ahead. “If there’s any aftershock, meet in the lounge.”

The man nods, then slowly puts his headphones back in and hears the notification sound rip through his music.

y/n: did you feel that?

It’s been a year now. Think I’ve figured out how, how to let you go and let communication die out.

Felix wasn’t exactly expecting you to message him just then. It had been quite a while, close to four months since he last heard from you. You two had dated for quite a while and things were going well for you two. But a year ago, the relationship ended and you two went your separate ways. It wasn’t a bad break up, per se, but it still hurt for you both nonetheless.

You were friends beforehand and you somewhat stayed friends afterwards, though things weren’t the same as they were before. They never are. When the relationship ended, you two continued to talk for a while, still depending on each other for things and support even though it hurt him to see you. So he started to filter himself out of your life. Trying to get him to heal from the sudden absence of you, he started to distance himself. He would take longer to respond to you, he would lie and tell you he’s busy, he would avoid the places he knows you frequent even if he’s the one who introduced you to those places first.

Now that it had been a year since the breakup, he found things are simultaneously easier and harder. It was easier to stop himself from messaging you but he couldn’t bring himself to delete any of your messages. It was easier to fall asleep when he didn’t think about you, but on the nights he craved your existence it felt like burning agony. Felix could find other things to smile about, yet he would always want to share those things with you.

I know you know we know you weren’t down for forever and it’s fine. I know you know we know we weren’t made for each other and it's fine.

From Felix’s perspective, he didn’t know how long you two would last but he had hoped it’d be a long time. You had been together for longer than any of his other relationships which gave him that hope. Then when things started to come to a head for the both of you in your lives, something changed. He didn’t know when you had gotten so serious about future plans, so he was taken aback when you had told him you felt it’d be better to go separate ways then and there.

It was a civil and intense conversation. Neither of you raised your voices, presented pros and cons of the relationship, and talked through future plans. The one thing that hurt him the most in the conversation, though, was how you had insinuated that he couldn’t guarantee what his life would be like with you the more famous he got. To him, it felt like you didn’t trust him to love you, to take care of you, to protect you. That wasn’t how you intended that statement, but it’s what he felt.

So you two broke up.

He didn’t know you were waging a war against yourself every day because of what you thought was the right choice, he didn’t know how much you wanted to be enough for him but never could be in your own eyes, he didn’t know that you blame yourself so much it had affected your whole future.

Felix: surprisingly no, but everyone else did. you okay?

It didn’t take Felix long to see another response from you, and his heart twisted roughly in his chest.

y/n: not really…can I come over?

But if the world was ending you’d come over, right?

His heart rate quickened at your question, knowing what his gut and what his head said are two very different things. He didn’t know if you were just waiting for a reason to message him or had forgotten about him until now. He decided to swallow down his resolve and message you back.

Felix: yeah, I’ll be back to the dorm in about ten

I tried to imagine your reaction. It didn’t scare me when the earthquake happened.

When you saw the message from Felix, you decided to wipe your mascara tear stained eyes and get yourself around. You hadn’t been scared from the earthquake that you felt. You had already been drinking for about two hours and were emotionally drained and wrecked. If anything, the earthquake shook you back into reality. You were jolted out of your spiraling thoughts by the sudden shaking of your apartment. Some of your photo frames fell from the walls. One of your ceramic figures fell from your shelf and is now sitting in 3 pieces on the hardwood floor. The cup of last night’s tea you had left on the corner of the coffee table is now spilled on the floor. Your apartment was an accurate representation of how you felt. Discombobulated. Broken. Disastrous.

You didn’t expect Felix to answer you at all. You weren’t stupid, you knew he had distanced himself from you. You knew he was building a wall between you two. So you could only imagine his reaction to the intense shaking. But his reaction told you more than he actually did. So you pick yourself up and stumble around to grab your things.

But it really got me thinking, the night we went drinking, stumbled in the house and didn’t make it past the kitchen.

When you were with Felix, things were great. You had anything you could ever want: a loving, kind, generous, well mannered man who would do anything to make sure you had everything and more, even if you didn’t ask for it. In your eyes, he was perfect. He would listen to you on your bad days and offer you advice or just someone to complain to. He would treat you to the pastries he bought on his way to your place to surprise you. He would tell you every day, sun up and sun down, that he loved you.

When you would go to secret bars and drink, disguising his identity to ensure your privacy, the best conversations would happen. How do bees smell when they don’t have noses? What hair color should he try next? Would an octopus wear eight shoes, eight gloves, or four shoes and four gloves? Those conversations always left you two laughing unapologetically.

And when you returned to your place, you would barely make it to your living room before he would tackle you and pepper your lips in kisses. Behind closed doors, Felix was the most affectionate man you had ever met. He couldn’t get enough of you. He had to be touching you, holding you, kissing you. So he would fall back on the couch with you, holding you securely in his arms as he praised you and worshiped you. Everything felt perfect.

It’s been a year now, think I’ve figured out how, how to think about you without it ripping my heart out.

You knew it was your fault. You knew it was your own insecurity that led to you breaking up with him. But he was a champ when you explained your reasoning. You had told him about how you were supposed to be moving up in your work, up to essentially the director position of your branch. You would need to move when that happened, away from him. You told him with the success of his recent tour, he would only get bigger and bigger and it would be harder to hide your relationship from the public eye. You said you both deserved more than to deny each other’s existence, especially when distance will separate you even further than you already were. And that was true.

What you didn’t tell him was that you were afraid. You were afraid to lose him. You were terrified that with not being there anymore, he would find someone much better than you and leave you. You wouldn’t blame him, there are many other people out there who had a lot to offer him that you couldn’t. So you let it eat away at you, him never knowing your true feelings about that.

You hated yourself and your insecurities for drowning out your sense of logic. Logically, you knew Felix would love you no matter what. But deep down you felt like you didn’t deserve it. You would think of who would be better for him and that list only grew as time went on. Your little shred of hope was still there when you kept in touch with him, hoping he would tell you how much he missed you and wanted to get back together. Pitiful thinking, you knew, so you stopped thinking. You didn’t think about him. You didn’t think about yourself. You drowned out every thought you could with work and alcohol at times. It was the only thing that prevented your heart from tearing itself apart.

I know you know we know you weren’t down for forever and it’s fine. I know you know we know we weren’t made for each other and it's fine.

You were simultaneously shocked but also expectant of how Felix reacted. He was surprised at your sudden proclamation of wanting to break up, told you the reasons he didn’t want to, but eventually conceded to what you wanted. He agreed with you that the future was uncertain, that he didn’t know what the future had in store for you two. He didn’t know how hard it would be to keep your relationship blossoming.

What hurt you, which logically shouldn’t have, was how little he fought to keep you two together. You knew Felix, he would do whatever you wanted. So if you wanted to break up, he wouldn’t trap you in the relationship forever. But he wasn’t overly emotional about the breakup. He told you that it was okay, that he understood, and wanted what’s best for you. He didn’t push on you that he was the best thing for you and vice versa, he didn’t plead to make a schedule of regular times you can meet or facetime to make sure the spark was kept alive, he didn’t tell you not to worry about the future and focus on the now.

So you broke up.

You didn’t know he cried himself to sleep for two weeks straight after the breakup, you didn’t know how much he beat himself up for not being selfish and telling you he wanted you forever, you didn’t know he regretted everything he might have said to make you believe you didn’t have a future together.

But if the world was ending you’d come over, right?

You had called an Uber to take you to the corner store, still very intoxicated and in no condition to drive. The air was chilly and you had on the only thing Felix didn’t ask back from you: the sweatshirt you wore when you came home from work until it stopped smelling like him. You stumbled from the store down the block to the dorm. You still remembered the combination to get into the building, burned in your memory from all the times you had come over.

You went into the elevator and your vision blurred, from the tears or the alcohol you couldn’t tell. So when it gently stopped on his floor, you wiped your eyes and walked out to find his front door. Being face to face with the dark oak was overwhelming but there was no way you could sprint out of there in the condition you were in. So you knocked.

It didn’t take more than two seconds for him to open it and be face to face with you. He still looked as gorgeous as ever, bare face and precious freckles adorning his cheeks. His face fell when he saw the state you were in and that is what ruined you. You never wanted to see him so concerned for you. His arms quickly pulled you into his chest and he held you tight as you started sobbing into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck while he clutched you around your waist. You couldn’t control your sobbing as he picked you up and took you to his room and closed the door behind him. As he sat on the bed, he could hear you mumble one thing,

“My whole world is ending and falling apart.”

Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant.

Felix gave you the time to cry it out before he said anything. He waited until your sobs were down to sniffles, when your body swayed slightly instead of shaking. He listened to you as you told him everything that happened. You told him how your future was fucked. You lost the one man you loved with all your heart. Your promotion was ripped from you because of your poor performance in those final months. You had to beg your landlord to let you stay in the apartment that was already being leased to someone else. You knew exactly where you fucked up and it was all because you broke up with him. You told him your insecurities you felt and still feel. You told him how you were wrong, so very fucking wrong.

You sit there, wiping your eyes for the millionth time, looking at his chest. “I never stopped lovin’ you, ‘nd I don’ expect you to take me back, I wouldn’ take me back bein’ like this either.”

Felix rests one of his hands against your cheek, feeling how warm it is. He notices just how much you pent up, evident in your tears still falling after an hour of you being here plus however long you were crying for before you came over. His heart breaks seeing you like this, how you both made dumb decisions and are paying the price.

“I wanna go back to that day ‘nd tell myself how stupid I am for lettin’ you go.” You mumble, eyes closing as you press yourself further into his palm.

“Hey,” He gently scolds you while his own tears well up in his eyes. “You’re not stupid, alright? I’m sorry that I made you feel insecure. It was my job as your boyfriend to make sure you were loved and cared for and knew how amazing you are. And I didn’t do my job.”

“Felix…” Your hand rests on his wrist, seeing the water flow down his cheeks.

“I’m not afraid to admit I was wrong, too. I should’ve fought harder.”

No, there wouldn’t be a reason why we would even have to say goodbye.

You smile at him lightly. Your arms wrap around his this time, giving him comfort at how both of you fucked up. His breath is hot against your neck, burning his face into you. This is the most comfort both of you have felt in that year of turbulence, navigating life without each other. You don’t have to think about the future right now. You can focus on each other, being together, sharing what’s been troubling you for the past year.

That night was the most refreshing night you’ve had in a while. You didn’t let each other go as you sobered up and listened to him, as he rubbed your back while you talked. There was no problem solving for you two; you both knew you couldn’t do that tonight. Whatever you two had to work through had to be saved for a later date when you had the mental fortitude to have that kind of conversation. But one thing Felix said returned that spark of hope you had,

“I don’t want to say goodbye.”

I know you know we know you weren’t down for forever and it’s fine. I know you know we know we weren’t made for each other and it's fine.

No, you and Felix weren’t meant for each other. You knew that from the start. You could see the flaws in him and he could see the flaws in you. You both had topics you would disagree on. Even at the peak of your relationship, you two argued. It was what you learned and what happened afterwards is what built you to be for each other.

You both learned that every opinion, thought, idea, and stance was multifaceted. You didn’t only have to see one side. Not everyone reacts the same way to situations. There was much more to love than finding someone attractive and enjoying their company. It was the intrigue of the multifaceted, the balance of stability and spontaneity, the reassurance and acts of being appreciated, the way you were around that person and how they made you feel, the growing separate but together, the growing together in the relationship. Being apart for that year made the both of you realize what exactly your love was lacking and that it’s not the end. There’s still room to improve.

You weren’t made for each other, but you could make yourself better for each other.