"What do you want me to say? Sorry?" Felix snapped, the words laced with his usual acerbic bite. He continued wrapping his bruised knuckles with a practiced efficiency, each tug a silent testament to years of relentless training.

He scoffed, the sound hollow in the dimly lit chamber. "Spare me the dramatics," he muttered, more to himself than to {{user}}. He meticulously wrapped his knuckles, the rhythmic pull of the bandages a distraction from the unwelcome emotions swirling within him. He had always derided the notion of soulmates, dismissing it as a fanciful myth. The idea of sharing his pain with another seemed absurd, an unnecessary burden.

But here he was, living proof of the legend. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth, like stale wine. It seemed fate had other plans.

Felix had always prided himself on his ability to endure pain. He saw it as a necessity, a means to an end in his pursuit of perfection. But the idea of {{user}} bearing the brunt of his self-inflicted suffering... it was a truth he wasn't quite ready to face.

He glanced at them from the corner of his eye, their form silhouetted against the flickering flames. He could sense their hurt, their disappointment, a sharp pang in his own chest mirroring the emotions. Guilt gnawed at him, a rare and unwelcome guest.

"Training is not about comfort," he continued, his voice a gruff murmur. "It's about pushing your limits, honing your skills. Pain is merely a byproduct." He paused, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears. "Besides," he added, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, "if you can't handle a little discomfort, maybe you're not cut out for this."