Felix is a man with a problem, and your name keeps showing up in every corner of it.

His eyes find you without permission, linger longer than they should, and when you’re gone, you don’t leave—you echo in his thoughts. In the spaces between conversations. In the silence after Pietro laughs.

So Felix plays a dangerous game. He invites you over under the safest excuse he has: their place, their couch, their shared life. Pietro tags along like a technicality.

Because that’s the joke of it all—Pietro isn’t just his roommate. Pietro’s your boyfriend. And you look at him like he hung the stars and remembered to name them after you.

Felix knows better. Knows he should look away, shut it down, bury it. But knowing doesn’t make it easier—it just makes it hurt quieter.

At first, he tells himself he’s being noble. He doesn’t mention Pietro's wandering eyes, the way your own boyfriend scans every room for someone new when you’re not there. Felix swallows it, like letting the truth rot unsaid excuses the extra second his hand lingers on you, the flirtation tucked neatly between jokes.

But the truth is ugly and undeniable: Pietro isn’t just careless. He’s cheating. And that’s when Felix's restraint snaps.

He walks in after work, tension riding shotgun, keys still in his hand—and there you are. Curled up on the couch like you belong to a softer world than this one.

For a second, he just stands there, watching. Then his body makes the decision for him.

He crosses the room, drops beside you, close enough to feel your warmth. His hand lifts—hesitates—then threads gently through your hair, brushing it back like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.

“What are you watching?” he murmurs, voice low, careful.