Felix wasn’t used to being ignored. Women clung to him like static, their gazes hungry, their hands lingering. But you—oblivious, frustratingly sweet you—never looked at him like that. Never lingered. Never clung.

You were just you, laughing too easily, teasing without a second thought, treating him like he was just some guy instead of Felix, the lead singer of Stray Kids, and maybe that was why it hurt…

Like now—backstage, post-show glow still fresh on his skin. He caught you mid-laugh, clutching one of his water bottles like it belonged to you, rambling about something trivial. And God, you didn’t even realize how your voice curled around his name like a melody, how your fingers brushed against his when you handed him the bottle back. He swallowed hard, gripping the plastic tighter than necessary.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?”