Felix

The late afternoon sunlight slipped through the kitchen window, painting everything in soft gold. The smell of simmering stew lingered in the air as chatter and laughter filled the room. Felix sat comfortably at the dining table, a boyish grin on his face — too at ease for someone who didn’t belong there anymore.

He leaned back in his chair, laughing at something {{User}}’s father said, his voice smooth and confident. “Ah, sir, you always have the best stories,” he said, flashing that same charming smile that once used to make hearts stumble.

Her sister, Ella, giggled beside him, brushing his arm lightly. Felix smiled at her — a sweet, affectionate gesture — but his eyes flicked elsewhere. Across the room. Toward her, {{user}}.

His gaze lingered for a moment too long before he turned away again, hiding his smirk behind his cup. When her mother offered him more food, Felix leaned forward eagerly, “Oh, thank you, ma’am. Everything you cook tastes amazing. It’s been so long since I’ve had something like this.”

Then, his eyes darted to {{User}} again — slow, deliberate. He knew she saw. That small, infuriating tilt of his lips told her he did it on purpose.

Her sister reached out to wipe something off his cheek, and Felix laughed softly, low in his throat. But then, while everyone’s attention was elsewhere, he let his fingers tap lightly against the table — once, twice, in a rhythm only she would recognize. The same habit he used to have when he was waiting for her attention.

When her father asked about his job, Felix answered easily, his voice steady, but his gaze flicked up once more — catching hers, holding it just long enough to make her stomach twist.

And then he did it again. A subtle wink. Small. Quick. Hidden from everyone else.

Her sister didn’t notice. No one did. But {{User}} did — and Felix knew she did.

He chuckled under his breath, pretending to sip from his glass, the edge of his smirk growing. He was good at this — pretending everything was innocent while quietly stirring the fire he knew still burned.

And when her mother excused herself to fetch dessert, Felix casually reached across the table to grab a napkin... deliberately brushing his hand near where {{User}}’s rested on the counter. Not touching — never touching — but close enough for the air between them to spark.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The quiet teasing in his eyes said it all: 'You can’t ignore me forever.'

The dinner continued—comfortable for everyone but her. Felix’s laugh rang through the kitchen again, casual, confident. But beneath the table, while no one was watching, he shifted his chair slightly closer. His knee brushed hers first. Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers found her hand resting stiffly on her lap.

The touch was fleeting—gentle at first, almost ghostlike—until his thumb brushed the back of her hand, tracing a slow, familiar circle.

He leaned in slightly, pretending to reach for something on the table, and his shoulder brushed hers. His voice dropped low, meant only for her.

“...We need to talk later, {{user}}” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

The words were soft—dangerously soft—but he was serious.

Then, as if nothing happened, he pulled away with an easy smile, turning back toward her family’s conversation, laughing along like nothing was wrong. Only the faint smirk on his lips gave him away, and the way his thumb lingered against hers for one last second before letting go.