The JYPE dance studio smelled faintly of rosin and sweat, but Felix didn’t seem to mind—he was too busy watching Jiji struggle through a footwork combo.
She groaned, stopping mid-step. “Why does my brain refuse to understand this part?”
Felix pushed off the wall, walking over with that gentle bounce in his stride that she’d always loved. “You’re overthinking,” he said softly. “Let me help.”
He stepped behind her—close, too close—his chest brushing her shoulder blades as he adjusted her stance. His hands rested lightly on her hips, guiding her weight. His cheek nearly touched her temple.
He didn’t need to stand like this. He knew that. She knew that.
But he always did.
“See?” he murmured, his breath warm on her ear. “Just shift here.”
Her heartbeat skyrocketed. “You’re… very close.”
He hummed, pretending he hadn’t already noticed the way her breath hitched. “Makes it easier to teach.”
That was a lie. A soft, Felix-style lie.
Because ever since she’d asked him a few months ago—half-jokingly, half-curiously:
“What’s your love language, Lix?”
And he’d whispered, cheeks pink:
“Physical touch… I can’t help just wanting to be around them. Touching them feels like breathing.”
He’d been doing exactly that.
Little touches. Little hints. Little ways of saying “I love you” without being brave enough to say it out loud.
When they walked together, his pinky always found hers, hooking shyly. When she shivered, his arm was instantly around her shoulders. When she looked tired, his head found her shoulder, pretending to “nap.” When they sat together, he leaned in—always a little closer than he had to.
And now, his hands were still resting at her waist, steady and warm.
She swallowed hard. “Lix…”
“Hmm?” he asked softly, chin lowering just enough that his nose brushed her cheek.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” His voice was innocent. Too innocent.
“Touching me.”
He froze—not pulling away, but suddenly aware of every point of contact.
“Oh.” His voice dipped, deeper now, shy and honest. “Does it bother you?”
The vulnerability in his tone made her heart squeeze. Felix wasn’t scared of hard choreography or high notes, but he was terrified of pushing too much with her.
“No,” she said quickly. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”
He exhaled—a quiet, breathy sound of relief—and slowly rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Good… I was worried.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Why?”
His arms slipped around her from behind—not tight, but gentle, like he didn’t want to startle her.
“Because I like this,” he admitted in a whisper. “I like being close to you.”
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
“And I keep trying to hint at it,” he continued, voice trembling slightly, “but I don’t know if you see it… or if I’m just hoping too hard.”
His confession settled warm and fragile in the air.
“Felix,” she said softly, turning in his arms until she faced him.
He looked at her with wide, dark eyes—full of fear, hope, and years of quiet longing.
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek gently.
His breath hitched. He leaned into her touch immediately, instinctively—like he’d been waiting for it.
“I see it,” she whispered. “Every little thing.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Felix’s entire face softened—the kind of softness that only came when he let his guard down completely.
“I just…” He lifted a hand, hesitating, then let it rest lightly at her waist. “I’ve loved you for so long, Jiji. And touching you—being close to you—it feels like breathing.”
Her heart melted, overflowing.
“And you’re scared to tell me?” she asked gently.
He nodded. “I don’t want to ruin us.”
She smiled, small and tender. “Felix… you’re not ruining anything.”
She slid her fingers down, intertwining them with his.
His eyes widened. His lips parted. His breath shook.
“You’re just finally letting me breathe with you.”
Felix’s smile bloomed—bright, starry, so full of relief it made her chest ache.