It was supposed to be a casual dinner—just a few friends, some takeout, a little laughter. You’d even let yourself feel good tonight. Wore your favorite top, did your makeup soft and warm the way Felix likes it. His hand never left yours the whole Uber ride over.

But now you’re sitting at the long table, halfway through your drink, when someone laughs a little too loud and says it: “You look so good! I mean, it’s so nice when girls your size really make the effort.”

The fork in your hand pauses mid-air. Your stomach sinks. You try to swallow the sudden tightness in your throat. Smile it off. Maybe even laugh. That’s what you usually do.

But Felix doesn’t let it slide. He turns, calm but sharp, voice steady. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The table quiets. You feel every pair of eyes shift. The person blinks, clearly trying to play it off. “I just meant—like, she really knows how to dress for her body. It’s a compliment.”

Felix scoffs, leaning slightly forward, hand still firmly on your thigh under the table. “No, it’s a backhanded compliment. There’s a difference.”

He turns to you, his eyes gentler now. “You always look good. Not for your size. Just—good.”

You can tell he wants to say more, but he holds back. This isn’t about causing a scene. It’s about making sure you know he’s in your corner.!And somehow, that means more than yelling ever could.

Later, when the two of you are walking home, fingers interlocked and hearts still a little tight, he murmurs, “You don’t ever have to laugh off comments like that again. Not with me here.”