Page 81 of Felix

There’s a bit of a pause before his response comes through.

Henry: Thanks, Emil.

The tension in my chest uncorks.

Me: Of course.

They must have talked, then. I hope, for Henry’s sake, my parents do a better job of showing him they care.

I cut a glance out through the window. The blinds in Christian’s bedroom are open, but he’s not there. He mentioned going to visit his grandma today, so he’s probably still at the nursing home.

Usually, I have no problem studying all hours of the day or night by myself, the room around me quiet. But today, I can’t help but wish Christian were here, lying beside me, tapping away on his phone and occasionally chuckling in that soft way he does. It’s alarming how fast I got used to his presence, and how, now, everything that was once optimal studying conditions feels sterile and cold.

With a huff, I close my textbook and head into the living room. Arthur is hiding at the moment, as if he, too, decided to thwart me in my attempt to find company. With the new crab firmly underground and me left with nothing but my own thoughts, I sit down and open Christian’s Instagram.

He’s been posting photos every few days as Vixen, most of them suggestive in nature yet somehow still classy. He doesn’t show enough skin to need censorship, but the pictures have heat rushing through me regardless. I’m not surprised to see the massive following he’s grown in only a few short weeks.

Curious, I click on the most recent picture. Comments are all over the place. People telling him he’s hot. Others saying lewd things. A few asking if he’s available. There are a couple replies mentioning me. Or, well, Felix.

I heard from Alex that our fanbase went a little wild after the teensy tiny screw-up in our live. Frankly, I’m glad they suspect we’re dating. We are, as outrageous as that seems to me. Christian is so incredibly beautiful, and the fact that he somehow wants me? I still don’t get it, but if I could, I’d lay the rumors to rest so everyone knows, once and for all, that the man is taken.

And fuck. I’m what—jealous now? Am I? No, not jealous. Territorial. That’s what I’m feeling.

I’ve never wanted to stake my claim on someone before, but with Christian, all of what I thought I wanted is being thrown out the damn window. That’s as scary as it is exhilarating. Like, for maybe the first time, I jumped without double and triple-checking my parachutes, and now I’m soaring through the air, not a single thought in my head apart from what it feels like to fly.

“Someone needs to remind me I’m not a bird,” I say to my hidden hermit crabs.

Neither answers, not that I expected them to.

The knock at my door is a welcome interruption. There’s only one person it’s likely to be. Only one person who drops by unannounced but always welcome.

There’s a grin on my face when I pull the door open. It quickly falters. “Christian?”

“Hey, Specs,” he says gently.

“What are you…”

Christian holds out the takeout bag in his hand. I grab it, and he sweeps into the apartment. After kicking off his shoes, he beelines for my bedroom, and I follow, at a loss.

Christian sets a small vase of white flowers on my desk, turning it until he’s satisfied, and then he starts carefully and deliberately dotting my room in tealights.

I finally find my voice. “W-what are you doing?”

He gives me a soft smile, his hair falling in front of his eyes before he swipes it away. “Date night in.”

“What—”

“You have an exam tomorrow,” he says, setting the last of the tea lights on my desk. “Which means you need to study. And since I’m apparently clingy, something I did not realize about myself, I’m giving you an excuse to keep me around.”

I don’t even have time to explain I wanted him around—that I always want him around—before he goes on.

“The candles are cinnamon scented because it’s supposed to help with focus and memory retention,” he says. “But if you don’t like cinnamon, we don’t have to light them. And I brought food because you need to eat.”

“And the flowers?” I ask, voice hoarse.

Christian looks nervous almost, his hand ruffling through the hair at the back of his neck. “Um, the flowers are because it sounded nice. I…I’ve never bought someone flowers before.”

Time of death: precisely now.

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