Page 82 of Felix

I set the bag of food down before approaching Christian. It only takes a couple steps to reach him. Without a word, I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him tight.

I’ve never been particularly good at physical affection. Ironic, really, considering my day job. But piece by piece, Christian has been making it easier for me to take that leap. To seek comfort. To give it. To trust that it will be returned and not a transient thing.

Unsurprisingly, Christian’s arms wrap around me immediately, his gentle wintergreen scent familiar and calming and right.

“So, uh,” he says quietly, giving me a squeeze. “The cinnamon is okay?”

I huff a laugh and lean back. “It’s perfect.”

He looks relieved. “Okay, good. Hungry?”

I give a nod and let my considerate-as-fuck boyfriend go. While he spreads a spare sheet out on the bed, I grab a lighter for the candles. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the room as Christian unboxes our food. Korean, he tells me, with pork bulgogi because he knows I like it. I do.

With the ambiance set for a far more romantic study session than I’ve ever had, Christian and I settle beside one another on the bed and eat our food.

“Christian?” I ask some time later, my pork mostly gone.

“Mm?”

I don’t really know a way to ask this other than to just do it. “Do you have any dreams? Things you want to do in life or, I don’t know, a dream job? I know you kind of fell into porn, and I realize I’ve never asked what you’d do given the choice.”

He hums, nodding as he finishes chewing his food. “I don’t know. For a long time, I just wanted to get out, you know? I wanted my own life.”

He doesn’t say “away from my mom,” but after hearing about her the other day, I’m guessing that’s what he means.

“It took me a while to realize I was…in stasis,” he says, setting his chin in his palm. “I was getting by. Going through the motions. I think if I could choose, I’d do something with sewing. I’ve always enjoyed it. I like expressing myself through clothes. I like the process of creating something new. I like shopping for fabric and seeing the potential in the cloth…making it come alive. So, yeah, I think that’s what I’d do.”

“Why don’t you?” I ask, hoping I’m not overstepping.

Christian offers me a wry smile. “Bills, I guess? I can’t just throw myself into something that has the potential to earn me nothing without a backup. Maybe, if I can get enough saved, I could try. But… It’s complicated. If I sold clothes online, there’s so many regulations and laws I’d have to follow. I don’t even know the half of it.”

“But it sounds like you know some,” I point out. “That’s a start. I could help you figure out the rest. Or at least try.”

He cocks his head slightly, the tiniest movement. “Why would you do that?”

Why?

“Because you’re my boyfriend, and I want you to be happy? And even if you weren’t…mine, I’d still want to help.” I try to figure out how to explain it to him. “Christian, you’ve…you’ve been there for me from the start. Maybe it was a weird sort of support when you were across the alley, texting me while I jerked off—”

He huffs a laugh.

“—but you were there. And even now, helping me find a friend for Arthur, and bringing me fucking candles and bulgogi to help me study? I…” I shake my head, somewhat in disbelief. “Honestly, Christian, I don’t even know how you’re real. But if you are—and not just a figment of my sleep-deprived, study-addled brain—then you deserve someone who’s there for you, too. I want to be that person, okay? I know you have your grandma, but… Well, you have me now, too.”

His lips hitch up at the corner. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” I say firmly. “You do.”

Christian’s smile is so vulnerable, softening the already youthful lines of his face. It makes me feel unbearably fond, and I clear my throat lest I throw myself at him.

“On that note,” I say slowly, “if you ever wanted to, like, post a picture of me? I’d be okay with that. I told you I’m not active on social media anymore because I don’t really trust myself not to get caught up in the thrill of an audience and post stuff I really shouldn’t. But, uh… If you wanted to, I’d be good with that.”

Christian is silent for long enough that I start to worry. But then he says, voice soft, “You want me to share a picture of you, Specs?”

“I mean…” I shrug a little. “Only if you want to. But if you do want to, then you know… You have my permission.”

His smile is slow. “Emil.”

“What?”

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