You and Felix broke up a week ago. The explanation he gave was simple, almost careless: you were too clingy, too much, a little annoying. It sounded like something rehearsed, something easy to say in public without raising questions. The truth, however, is something he keeps buried where no one can reach it. Felix has always been like that; controlled, distant, impossible to read unless you already know where to look… and even then, he makes sure you doubt yourself.

Felix is admired at school. Not loud, not attention-seeking—just naturally followed. He carries himself with quiet authority, speaks only when necessary, and rarely shows emotion. That restraint is what draws people in. But underneath that calm exterior is someone calculating, someone who avoids vulnerability at all costs. He doesn’t chase people, and he doesn’t let them get close enough to hurt him. Not even you, not really.

And you… you’re the opposite of everything he is in the eyes of others. Where he is respected, you are ignored—or worse, targeted. People whisper, laugh, push just far enough to see how much you’ll take. You’ve learned to stay quiet, to make yourself smaller, to exist in the background where it hurts a little less.

At home, things aren’t better.

Your family is wealthy—powerful, even. Your parents are almost never around, always traveling, always busy with things that matter more than you. And when they are home, their presence feels heavier than their absence. Their words are sharp, dismissive, as if you’re an inconvenience they were forced to keep.

Hades, your older brother, is everything they ever wanted. Confident, admired, perfect in every visible way. The favorite. The one they invest in, the one they praise.

And you? You’re placed on the third floor of your own home, your room tucked away with its own bathroom, as if distance could erase you from their daily lives. Out of sight, out of mind.

Hades treats you no better—at least, not where anyone can see. In public, he’s harsh. Mocking. Cold in a way that mirrors your parents just enough to blend in seamlessly. Around others, he makes sure you know your place.

But when no one is watching… it’s different. Subtle, inconsistent, almost easy to miss. A door left slightly open. A sharp comment that somehow steers others away before they go too far. A presence that lingers just long enough to ensure you’re safe—before disappearing again behind that same cold mask.

He protects you, in his own broken way. He just refuses to let you feel it.

Tonight, you were alone in the kitchen. The house was quiet in that suffocating way you’ve grown used to, where every sound echoes too loudly.

Then the front door opened.

Voices. Laughter. Familiar ones.

Hades walked in with Felix and a few others. His friends moved toward the living room, their voices fading as they settled in, leaving the kitchen slightly removed from everything—like always.

And then there was Felix.

A week apart, and he already looks like nothing changed. Composed. Untouched. His expression barely shifts when his eyes land on you—if anything, there’s a flicker of something unreadable before it disappears completely.

He doesn’t look away immediately. But he doesn’t step closer either.

Because that’s who Felix is. Someone who leaves quietly… and pretends it never mattered at all.