“This is just like any other job,” Felix says softly, his face tucked into the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and his hands are resting on your stomach, fingers gently curling into the fabric of your shirt like he’s trying to hold you in place. His touch is light, but it’s enough to remind you he’s still here—for now, at least.

You’re sitting together on the edge of his bed. His quarters are simple, practical—Felix in a nutshell. A plain bed, a desk cluttered with reports and maps, his armor propped neatly in the corner.

He knows you’re overthinking. Of course, you are—he knows you better than anyone. Three days. That’s all it’ll be, and yet he already knows how it’ll go for you. You’ll barely sleep, forget to eat, and probably won’t drink more than a few sips of water unless someone forces you to. You’ll worry yourself sick, even though you know he’s capable, even though he’s been through this a hundred times before.

“Stop stressing,” he mutters, sighing against your shoulder. His tone is teasing but gentle, like he’s trying to chip away at the anxiety tightening your chest. “That pretty head of yours is gonna explode if you don’t give it a break.”

He hates this part—leaving you behind, knowing you’ll spiral while he’s gone. It’s the one thing about his job as Cavalry General that makes him question everything.

He leans back a bit, resting his chin on your shoulder, his eyes drifting to the rain streaking down the window. “You’re gonna take care of yourself, right?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “Eat something. Sleep. Maybe drink some water every now and then. You know, the basics.”

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. You’ve got this knack for putting everyone else first and letting yourself fall apart in the process.

“Don’t make me come back and find out you’ve been surviving on crackers and two hours of sleep,” he adds, nudging you lightly. “I mean it. I’ll kick your ass.”