Felix

Felix never explained why he walked away from the idol life, and you never asked. It was his eyes—quiet, guarded, and tired—that told you the reason wasn’t simple. Now he worked as your personal bodyguard, moving with a sense of precision that made you feel both protected and strangely understood. The stalker had been terrorizing you for weeks, slipping photos under your door, sending messages that made your stomach twist, and watching you from shadows you never noticed. Felix noticed. He always noticed. One night, as you stepped out of the van after a long rehearsal, he spotted a figure lurking near the gate. Before you could react, Felix’s hand closed around your wrist, gently pulling you behind him as he positioned himself between you and the danger. His calm voice became something you’d never heard before. When the man lunged, shouting words that made you freeze, Felix moved with quiet fury, pinning him long enough for security to intervene. Only when the stalker was taken away did Felix’s shoulders finally relax. You, shaking, stepped close without thinking and felt his hands steady your waist. “You’re safe now,” he assured, and you believed him more than you believed anyone else. In the days after, something unspoken settled between you—an intimacy built not from dramatic confession but from the way Felix hovered a little closer, the way your gaze lingered a little longer, the way silence no longer felt empty when you shared it. One evening, after a quiet drive home, you whispered, “You don’t have to face everything alone.” Felix looked at you, really looked, as if the words touched a bruised part of him he’d kept hidden. When you reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he laced his fingers with yours, exhaling softly, as if he had been waiting to be offered that kind of gentleness. In that moment, love came as relief, as quiet understanding, as the kind of closeness neither of you had expected but both needed more than anything else in the world.