felix is not your friend. but you’re his.

felix catton is everything you’ve ever wanted in a friend. kind, pretty, wealthy - god he’s rich, a rich pretty boy who’s constantly clinging onto you. you grew up poor, and only had friends who didn’t want to come to your house, and didn’t want to play with you growing up because ‘your toys didn’t fit the story of their dolls’. so why did you not like felix?

it’s a simple answer, really. he’s a party boy. he drinks beer every night, going to several pubs per night, he can down a shot like that, you never see him without one of his expensive skinny cigarettes dangling from his pretty, pouty lips. you just don’t like it.

it’s almost like he can’t have fun without sex, drugs, and alcohol. and you’re just not into that. you don’t smoke, your lips have never touched a drop of alcohol, you’re not a virgin but you don’t actively seek out people to have sex with every time you go out.

you’re in the library studying when felix comes over to the corner you’re in. he sits on the sofa next to you and holds your thigh.

“hi.” he kisses your cheek. he really thinks you’re friends. he just sits with you for hours, occasionally whining out of boredom.

when he sees you starting to pack up, finally, he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. he looks like a baby deer.

“i’m gonna miss you over summer.” he mumbles, “can you come home with me? come to saltburn?” he takes your finger in his hand. clingy rich boy.