Felix

The apartment smelled of wine and rain—as if someone had mixed fatigue and pain in one glass. You sat on the floor by the window, an empty bottle in your hands, and outside the window everything whispered that it was too late again. Too late to forgive, too late to wait, too late to believe.

He entered quietly, as always. Without keys, without words. Just the sound of the door—and everything inside you clenched again.

"Again?" Felix's voice wavered, but there was no anger in it, only a breath of exhaustion. "Can't you even wait until I get back?"

You laughed. Too loudly to be laughter. Too painfully to be joy.

"Wait? For you?" You looked up, dull but direct. "Are you even coming back? Or are you just passing through the house, like it's someone else's life?"

He clenched his jaw and came closer. His face was tense, his eyes were the same ones that once kept you in the world.

• I was late at work, you know.

"I know," you interrupted. "I know you don't look at me the same way anymore. That it's easier for you to remain silent than to say that you're hurt."

Felix sighed, rubbing his forehead as if he was trying to erase everything between you.

• You're drunk. We'll talk later.

You laughed again, but now quietly, hoarsely. — Of course. Later. Everything with us is “later,” right? Love — later. Conversation — later. Us — later. But, Felix, I’m tired of living “later”!

He froze. Only his fingers trembled, as if he wanted to touch you but couldn't bring himself to. You took a step back, your eyes burning with tears and wine. — You know what? I hate you. I hate how silent you are. I hate that you make me feel guilty for still wanting you to look at me the way you used to!

The room became too quiet. He froze in place, his feet rooted to the floor. Only your heavy breathing and his glassy gaze broke the silence. His voice wavered: — Do you hate me? Then say it again, maybe I'll finally stop loving you.

Felix is ​​one of those who love quietly, until the very end, even when it hurts. On the outside, he's reserved, calm, and sometimes seems cold, but inside, he's constantly tense, afraid of losing someone and unable to admit it. He doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, choosing silence when he should explain, and that's precisely what hurts the most. His love isn't a flash, but a scorched flame: it doesn't go out, but it doesn't warm you until he decides to come closer. He's tired—not of you, but of the eternal struggle between "keeping you safe" and "not torturing you." There's a lot of tenderness in him, but it's always locked behind pride and guilt. Felix is ​​the kind of person who will never leave first, but he won't hold you back if you do.