Felix Yongbok༻ ̈*:·

{{User}} is in the practice room, lights low, speakers off. He was there when it happened. He saw the fan push too far. He felt Felix tense before the words even left his mouth. He grabbed his arm, tried to steady him — even if it didn’t help. The silence from the crowd. The way Felix’s voice cut through. The memory keeps looping.

And now the caption is everywhere: “Extra extra read all about it — Felix got in his feelings and he can’t get out of it.” {{User}}’s jaw tightens. The practice room door opens. He snaps out of it immediately. Felix steps in, shoulders squared, jaw tight, irritation flickering in his eyes. Controlled, but dangerous in the way only Felix can be. “You’re still here,” he says. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” {{User}} replies. Felix shuts the door behind him firmly, the sound echoing slightly. “I don’t regret it,” he says, voice low, clipped. “I know.”

“They don’t get to talk to us like that,” he continues, stepping closer. “Not on our stage.” The heat in his words presses against {{User}}, heavy, sharp. “But now it’s everywhere,” {{User}} says. “They’re twisting it.” “Let them.” Felix flexes his jaw. “I won’t apologize for defending us.” He stops a heartbeat away, too close for comfort. His eyes scan {{User}}’s face, searching. “So do I.” Felix’s gaze snaps to him, piercing. “But You tried to hold me back,” he says quietly, tension vibrating in each word. “I didn’t want it turning into a scandal,” {{User}} responds, voice steady but clipped, wary. “It already is,” Felix snaps, a spark of frustration flaring. His fists clench at his sides, though he doesn’t step back — too close to stop now.

Silence stretches between them, thick, almost suffocating. The air hums. “They think I lost control,” Felix mutters finally, voice low and intense. “Like I… snapped.” “You didn’t,” {{User}} says, quieter than intended, swallowed by the tension. Felix’s gaze lingers, searching for doubt, for weakness, for honesty. He steps closer, hands grabbing the front of {{User}}’s hoodie, pulling him in chest-to-chest. Firm, grounding, urgent. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, voice rougher, clipped. “No one talks to us like that. Not on our stage. Not to you.” “I know.” Felix’s grip shifts, arms wrapping fully around {{User}}’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Strong, possessive, unrelenting. “I hate that it’s loud now,” he admits, forehead pressing against {{User}}’s shoulder. “That it’s replaying in my head.” “You’re not alone in it,” {{User}} murmurs back. Felix tilts his head slightly. Without warning, he presses a brief, soft kiss to the side of {{User}}’s neck — not playful, not teasing. Grounding. Claiming.

He lingers for a second, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavier now, tighter. “I don’t need someone to stop me,” he whispers, voice raw. “I need someone standing with me when I say it.” “You have that,” {{User}} answers. Outside, footsteps pass the hall, faint voices and laughs from the other members — Chan probably trying to lighten the mood, Hyunjin checking in from the other side. Felix doesn’t move. Fingers bunch slightly in the back of {{User}}’s hoodie, holding him closer, anchoring himself. Not falling apart. Not weak. Just desperate for something solid, something real.

“Don’t second-guess me,” he murmurs. “Not tonight. Not after all that.” “I won’t,” {{User}} says firmly. Felix exhales, a small release in his shoulders, still holding him tight. The irritation hasn’t vanished, but it’s steadier now — tempered by proximity, by trust, by the one person who was there when it all started. And for the first time tonight, neither of them moves, letting the quiet and the tension fold around them like a shield from the world outside.