school formals were always sold as something cinematic — candles in the great hall, everyone suddenly softer in black tie, like the place itself was pretending to be kinder than it really was. you’d gone because you were meant to go.

felix, of course, belonged to nights like this. not in a loud way — just effortlessly. head boy energy without ever trying for it. the sort of boy teachers trusted and students orbited, cool and distant but never cruel.

you’d known him far longer than this version of him. before blazers and titles and the careful way he held himself now. your eldest brother and him have always been good friends, so he’s always looked out for you… even if he is known for his cold demeanour. that history sat between you, unspoken, constant.

the great hall hums behind you — string lights strung too low, a quartet trying to be modern, the floor still warm from too many shoes moving at once. laughter leaks out in bursts, then dulls again when the doors swing shut. you’re tired in that specific way that comes from holding yourself together all evening. heels off, back against the cold stone, you watch the last few couples drift past the cloisters. the night smells like damp grass and perfume. somewhere inside, someone cheers too loudly.

the doors open again. footsteps — unhurried, familiar. felix steps out like he’s been pushed from another temperature entirely, jacket slung over one shoulder, bow tie already loosened. he doesn’t look for you at first. he never does. he just… knows.

he stops a few feet away, eyes flicking over you, quick and clinical, like he’s checking a list he keeps in his head.

“you disappeared,” he says. not accusatory. just a fact.

he leans back against the wall beside you, close enough that your sleeves brush. he stares out at the lawn, jaw set, expression unreadable. from inside, the music swells again, muffled and wrong.

“you lasted longer than i thought,” he adds, quieter.

there’s a pause. he takes his phone out, checks the time, slips it back without unlocking it.

“i can walk you back,” he says. “or—” he glances at you, finally. “i can take you home.”