Felix stared at his phone longer than he meant to.

It sat in his hand, screen dark, reflecting his tired eyes and the dim hotel room around him. It had been weeks. Not because either of you wanted distance, schedules just kept missing each other, time zones stacking up like walls. When he was awake, you were asleep. When you were free, he was rehearsing or traveling or collapsing into bed at 4 a.m.

Still, the silence hurt.

He rolled onto his side, hugging a pillow to his chest, thumb hovering over your contact. He’d typed messages and erased them. Recorded voice notes and deleted them. Told himself he didn’t want to bother you.

But tonight felt heavier.

Felix exhaled slowly, then pressed call before he could overthink it.

The ringing felt impossibly loud in the quiet room. Once. Twice.

He almost hung up.

Then-