Chapter Text
Felix had forgotten what it felt like to touch the earth. His wings, once gleaming with divine light, were now nothing more than tattered remnants of a past life—burned and broken, as if the world itself had tried to purge him.
The winds howled around him as he fell, his body plummeting through the sky, his vision blurred by the dark clouds and the weight of his exile. Every part of him felt fractured—not just his wings, but his very soul.
He hit the ground with a thud, his body sinking into the damp soil.
The storm raged above him, but it could not drown the suffocating weight of his exile.
He had fallen for what felt like an eternity, his mind lost in a haze of regret and disorientation. The world blurred around him, spinning as he plummeted through the sky, crashing into the dirt like a forgotten star, his body half-conscious, face-down in the mud. Every part of him felt broken, shattered.
The storm above him screamed its fury, but it was nothing compared to the silence in his heart.
And then, there was nothing.
Time passed, but how much? Hours? Days? The rain poured relentlessly, but Felix lay still, a broken thing, his eyes closed and his thoughts distant.
Felix’s breath hitched in the stillness, a raw, guttural scream clawing its way up from his chest. The sound of his own agony was swallowed by the storm, as if the earth itself sought to silence him. His body twitched, instinctively trying to rise, but the weight of his fall and his broken wings kept him grounded.
His hands trembled, reaching out to the dirt, the wet earth, the only thing still real in his existence. His fingers dug into the soil, as if trying to pull himself back together, but with every motion, the pain of his exile flooded him anew.
Above him, the wind howled louder, like some cruel mocking voice in the dark. Felix squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the violent world around him. But it was no use. The storm’s fury was nothing compared to the rage of his own heart.
Suddenly, as if in response to his scream, a few black feathers drifted down like fallen stars—tainted remnants of what he had been. They hovered around him, delicate yet heavy, their dark, oily sheen reflecting the faintest glow of lightning.
He let out a strangled breath, staring at the spot where his wings had once been, the place where the skin had been seared black, the scar still pulsing with the remnants of a fire he could never escape.
The darkness of his own soul matched the scar now marking his back—nothing but burnt ruin, an unforgivable stain on a body that no longer knew its place. He tried to scream again, but the sound was nothing more than a rasp, swallowed by the earth itself.
In that hollow silence, he realized what he had already known: there would be no redemption, no return.
Chris walked through the rain, head low, as if he were trying to outrun something that had long caught up with him. The storm made the world around him feel unreal—everything muffled, everything swallowed by the relentless downpour. His coat was soaked through, the cold seeping into his bones as he trudged along the muddy path, unsure of why he was out here, why he felt compelled to keep walking.
There was nothing special about this path—just a shortcut through the forest back to his apartment. But tonight, something about the dark seemed heavier, more oppressive, as if it had taken on a life of its own. The only light came from the dim moon, obscured by thick clouds, making the world around him feel suffocating and distant.
It was then, through the trees, that he saw it.
A figure. Or what he first thought was a figure.
At first, it seemed like a shadow, a trick of the light. But as he drew closer, the shape became clearer, crouched and hunched in the dirt like a strange creature in the rain.
His heart skipped a beat. It was a person—or what looked to be a person. The figure was stark white, as if painted by the moonlight itself. Its skin was unnaturally pale, its limbs twisted in a way that made Chris pause for a moment, fear rising in his chest. It was curled into a ball, like something trying to hide from the world—or from itself.
Chris took a step forward, his voice trembling in the wet air. "Hey… are you—?"
The figure’s head jerked up sharply, and Chris froze, meeting eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness, eyes that felt like they had seen things no human should ever witness. The person raised its head slightly, blinking as if confused.
With each movement, there was something otherworldly about the way it moved, something not quite right. The thing —Felix—drew in a shaky breath, his face twisted in a grimace, as if fighting to understand where he was.
“Are you… okay?” Chris asked again, more quietly now, unsure if he should reach out or run.
The figure remained still for a moment, then slowly, shakily, Felix uncurled, dragging himself toward Chris like a wounded animal desperate for shelter.
The rain continued to pour, the water mixing with the dirt beneath the figure's body as if the earth itself was trying to wash away whatever remained of him. Chris took another tentative step forward, his boots squelching in the mud. There was something deeply wrong here, but the pull to help was stronger than the growing unease.
The figure’s skin was unnaturally pale, almost glowing in the dim light, the stark contrast making it seem as though he didn’t belong in this world at all. The remnants of what had once been white clothing clung to his hip, tattered and shredded by the fall. As he shifted slightly, his body contorted in a way that made Chris's stomach tighten. The thin fabric barely covered his form, and as it shifted, two deep, jagged scars became visible—running down the back of his shoulder blades in angry black as if something had torn through the flesh and left a permanent wound.
Chris’s breath hitched. The scars looked wrong—too clean, too deliberate, as though they’d been carved into his flesh, or worse burned in.
The pale figure’s eyes flickered up to him again, meeting Chris's gaze, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fall silent. The rain, the wind, the distant rumble of thunder—it all vanished as that piercing stare held him captive. There was a strange, empty emptiness behind those eyes, like a universe of untold stories, of pain, of something ancient and dark that could never return to the light.
Felix’s lips parted as if trying to speak, but no words came. Only a ragged, broken breath.
“Can you… can you hear me?” Chris found his voice again, softer this time, though the fear that had been lurking beneath the surface of his calm began to rise.
Slowly, Felix moved again, dragging his body across the wet ground. The movement was jerky, unnatural, as though every inch of him was in agony. He raised one trembling hand toward Chris, and Chris instinctively knelt down, careful not to get too close but unsure how to help.
The hand that reached out was cold, lifeless almost, and as Chris carefully took it in his own, a strange sensation flooded his chest—something like warmth, like the flicker of a flame just about to die. The connection made his heart race, his breath shallow.
“What happened to you?” Chris whispered, his voice nearly lost in the roar of the rain. "Who are you?"
Felix's eyes flickered again, a sense of recognition—or was it a plea?—before he collapsed against Chris, his breath ragged. “Felix…” he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the storm.
Felix. The name felt like a forgotten memory.
Felix’s body trembled as he forced himself to move again, dragging his limbs through the mud like they were weighed down by invisible chains. His breathing was shallow, almost gasping, as if the mere act of survival was too much for him. The scars down his back seemed to pulse, faint lines of shadow tracing their jagged paths.
Chris watched him, hesitant, unsure if he should reach out, but then Felix’s gaze found his once more, distant yet desperate. Without another word, Felix lurched forward, his body pitching toward Chris, and in that split second, Chris instinctively caught him.
Felix’s weight was almost too much to bear. He felt impossibly fragile in Chris’s arms—like he could shatter at the slightest wrong move. His head pressed against Chris’s chest, the coldness of his skin seeping through the fabric of Chris’s soaked jacket. The pale figure’s breathing was ragged, barely audible over the storm.
"Hey, hey… it’s okay,” Chris muttered, his own heart pounding in his chest as he carefully adjusted his hold, cradling Felix against him. The feeling of having this strange, broken person in his arms felt… surreal. Felix’s entire form seemed to sag with exhaustion, and Chris could feel the weight of something far heavier than the rain or the storm that raged around them.
Felix’s eyelids fluttered, and his breath shuddered as if trying to speak, but his throat refused the words. He could barely stay conscious, his body fighting against the overwhelming weariness, but the contact seemed to ground him—just enough to hold on.
Chris didn’t know why he was doing this. He should’ve been afraid. He should’ve run. But there was something about Felix—something so utterly broken and lost—that made his chest tighten with an instinctive need to protect. Maybe it was the helplessness in Felix’s eyes, the pain that radiated from him as if it was written into every line of his face. Whatever it was, Chris couldn’t let him go.
“its okay... I've got you ..it's okay...,” Chris whispered, his voice barely rising above the storm. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position for Felix, but it felt like nothing was right. Felix’s limbs hung loosely, almost lifeless, but his grip on Chris tightened for a brief, fleeting moment, as if trying to anchor himself to something—anything.
Felix’s voice came in a barely audible rasp, as if speaking was a laborious task. "I'm... not supposed to be here."
Chris froze, his breath catching in his throat. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy for the storm to carry away. He didn’t know what that meant, but the way Felix said it—like it was a truth too painful to speak—sent a shiver down his spine.
"Where are you from?” Chris asked, the question escaping before he could stop it. His grip on Felix tightened, as though he could somehow keep him tethered to this world, to this moment.
Felix’s head lifted slightly, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet Chris’s. His pupils were wide, unblinking, the whites of his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. "Not… from here," he whispered, his voice weak, almost lost to the wind.
And then, with a final, ragged breath, his body seemed to give way, collapsing further into Chris’s arms, as if the strength to hold on had finally drained from him. His hand went slack in Chris’s grip, and the world around them seemed to press in, heavy and endless.
Chris could feel the pulse of Felix’s life, faint but steady, his warmth a fragile thing that threatened to flicker out at any moment.
"Hey, stay with me," Chris urged, panic creeping into his voice as he gently shook him, his own heart thundering in his chest.
But Felix didn’t respond. He simply lay against him, breathing slow, shallow, as if he were trapped in some dark, foreign place, and the only anchor left was Chris’s arms.
Felix’s breath was labored, each exhale shallow, like it took every ounce of energy to remain conscious. Chris could see the hesitation in his eyes as they flickered open—wide, uncertain, and edged with a deep, unspoken fear. The raw vulnerability in those eyes made it hard for Chris to pull away, but something told him that pushing too far could shatter whatever fragile trust had started to form between them.
Chris’s heart raced as he carefully lifted Felix in his arms, feeling the fragile weight of him. Felix was barely conscious, his head lolling against Chris’s shoulder, his breathing shallow. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the world still felt heavy—like it had become too much for both of them to carry. With one hand clutching Felix’s broken form, Chris stumbled through the mud, his thoughts swirling in a haze of confusion and concern.
By instinct, he found his way back to his small apartment, every step feeling surreal. The dim lights of the hallway flickered as he fumbled with the keys, his fingers numb, but the urgency pushing him forward.
Once inside, Chris moved quickly, laying Felix gently on the bed. The sudden contrast between the cold, wet outdoors and the warmth of the room seemed to shake something loose in Felix, but he didn’t stir. His body was still so cold, like the chill of death itself had clung to him.
Chris yanked the wet sheets off the bed and quickly replaced them with fresh ones, carefully placing Felix onto the soft fabric. He draped a blanket over him, but it did little to erase the unsettling feeling that something beyond the physical was wrong—something far darker.
Felix's breath was slow and even, and for a moment, Chris thought he might be sleeping. But the empty, distant look in his eyes when they’d locked earlier haunted him.
He couldn’t leave him like this, not when he knew so little about who Felix was or where he came from. But there was no way he could just ask. No simple, casual question could uncover the truth behind those strange scars, the hollow ache in Felix’s gaze, or the name—Felix—that had slipped from his lips like
a warning.
“I was… Felix whispered again, his voice barely audible. It was as if the words themselves were a burden—he spoke them more out of necessity than any desire to share. “But I betrayed everything...”
Chris’s heart tightened, but he held his tongue. He wanted to ask more—about the betrayal, about what he meant by "everything." But there was something in Felix’s expression, something so guarded and wary, that made him pause. It wasn’t just fear; it was the weight of a thousand untold truths, a lifetime of secrets buried deep.
Felix’s gaze dropped, as if ashamed, as if every word he spoke was another wound he was reopening. He shifted beneath the covers, curling inward, almost as if he were trying to make himself smaller, to disappear into the bed, to escape whatever thoughts had started to surface.
Chris shifted closer, but not enough to crowd him. He spoke softly, trying not to press too hard. "You don’t have to tell me everything, Felix. I just need to know you're...okay."
Felix’s eyes flickered briefly to Chris, the intensity of his stare almost making Chris flinch, but Felix quickly looked away, swallowing hard. His body was trembling slightly, and for a moment, it wasn’t clear if it was from the cold or from the emotional weight he carried.
"I… I’m not what you think,” Felix finally said, voice trembling as though the very act of confessing something felt like an admission of defeat. “I’m not.... I don’t belong here. I never did.”
Chris froze. The words struck him in a way that made his pulse quicken, but he didn’t push for more. There was something about the way Felix spoke them—so carefully, so filled with hesitation—that made it clear there was much more he wasn’t saying.
Felix’s lips parted as if to speak again, but he stopped himself, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His hands were shaking now, fingers trembling at the edges of the fabric, betraying the calm front he was trying to maintain.
“Where are you from?” Chris asked gently, hoping to coax more, but sensing the limits of Felix’s comfort.
Felix closed his eyes, and for a moment, the storm in the room seemed to calm. He was thinking—Chris could feel it. But there was a fear in Felix’s pause, like a wall rising around his mind. When he spoke again, it was softer, more guarded.
"I can’t… tell you that,” Felix whispered, his voice nearly breaking. “Not yet. It’s too much. It’s not safe.”
Chris frowned, concern knitting between his brows. “What do you mean?”
Felix’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time, there was something almost frantic in his gaze. “I can’t tell you that,” he repeated, more firmly this time, though the tremble in his voice betrayed him. “If you knew… if you knew who I really was, what I really am, you would never...”
He faltered, his eyes flitting away from Chris, focusing instead on some distant place only he could see. It was a quiet, empty place—like the past was a wound that could never heal.
Chris didn’t know what to say. He wanted to reach out, but he could sense how much Felix was holding back, how much pain was tied to every answer. He didn’t want to push too hard, but he couldn’t ignore the urgency in Felix’s words.
"You’re safe here,” Chris said quietly, his voice steady but full of an unspoken plea. “I won’t hurt you. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Felix’s eyes shifted to him again, locking onto Chris’s gaze as if searching for something—something solid, something real. For a brief moment, Chris thought Felix might finally let go, might tell him everything. But then the moment slipped away, and Felix’s gaze hardened.
"You don’t know what you’re saying,” Felix muttered, almost to himself. “You don’t know who I am, what I’ve done. You don’t know what I’ve seen.”
Chris could feel a knot forming in his stomach. It was as if he were on the edge of something dark, something vast and terrifying, but he couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t leave Felix alone like this, not when the pain was written all over his face.
Felix’s chest rose and fell in a slow, ragged breath, and for a moment, it looked like he might finally crack, like he might give in and reveal the truth that had been festering inside him for so long. But instead, he pulled the blanket closer around himself, his voice barely audible.
“I’m not like you, Chris."
His words hung in the air between them, heavy and thick, like a secret too dark to be spoken aloud.
Chris sat there, the silence stretching between them, not sure what to say next. The tension felt suffocating, but in Felix’s fragile state, pushing for answers wasn’t the way forward.
It was clear now that Felix was more than just a lost soul; he was a broken thing, carrying the weight of something vast, and something that could never truly belong here. Whatever Felix was, he had been marked by it—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Chris didn’t know if he could fix what was broken, but he knew he couldn’t just walk away.
Felix shifted beneath the covers, his body trembling as though the effort alone was enough to push him to the edge. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of determination, or perhaps desperation—that made him reach out and plant his feet on the floor. His movements were slow, stiff, and unsteady, but there was an undeniable pull to him, a force that made Chris pause.
Felix stood, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim light, as though the very air around him couldn’t touch him. His form seemed more ethereal now, like a ghost caught between worlds. The way his figure cut through the room felt unnatural, as if he belonged to a different realm entirely. His bare feet made no sound on the floor, and the shadows around him seemed to bend in an unsettling way. The pale light from the window made his skin appear almost iridescent, like an unearthly glow radiated just beneath the surface.
Chris couldn’t help but watch, captivated by the sight of Felix standing there—a beautiful, broken thing in a dark and messy world.
But it wasn’t just his skin that was striking. His eyes—those jet-black eyes—sucked in the light like endless voids, deep and consuming. The blackness seemed to stretch across his irises, swallowing everything, even the reflection of the room around them. There was no warmth, no trace left in them—only cold, empty space.
Then, as Felix’s bare back turned to Chris, the true horror of what he had become became apparent.
The scars burned down his spine, two jagged lines, blackened and raw. The flesh around them was taut, as if something had torn through it—something violent, burning and ripping through his flesh. The scars looked less like wounds and more like an imprint, as if the world had branded him with something dark. They were deep, etched in a way that looked both painful and permanent.
Felix didn’t look at them, didn’t seem to acknowledge the marks that defined him now. But the way his back arched slightly, as though the weight of them was an old, unshakable burden, made Chris’s chest tighten.
Felix’s hand trembled as he reached out, pressing it against the wall, like he needed support to keep himself upright. His breathing quickened, and his body seemed to strain with the effort of standing. He wasn’t ready for this, for any of it—but something inside him pushed him to stand, to not let the weakness define him.
"Felix..." Chris said, stepping forward cautiously, unsure of what was happening.
Felix’s head turned just enough for their gazes to meet, and for the briefest moment, there was a flicker of something—vulnerability, perhaps? Or maybe it was resignation. His eyes dropped to the floor before he spoke again, his voice rough and unsteady.
"I’m not meant to be here. I don’t belong But…” He hesitated, his lips trembling. “I don’t know how to leave"
Chris took a slow step closer, his own breath caught in his throat, a feeling of helplessness gnawing at him. He had seen pain, seen darkness in people before, but nothing like this. Nothing like Felix.
Chris simply looked at him, eyes arm and soft before Felix just sighed
“I can’t stay.” Felix’s voice was quieter now, the words barely above a whisper. “I’m… not like you. I can never be like you.”
Chris didn’t know what that meant, but it sent an icy shiver down his spine.
Felix’s knees buckled, his legs giving out beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He didn’t scream, didn’t cry out. Instead, he just crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, landing in a heap on the ground. His body shook violently now, his chest heaving as though he was struggling to breathe in a world that was too suffocating for him.
“Felix!” Chris rushed forward, kneeling beside him, feeling the chill radiating off his skin. He tried to help him back up, but Felix recoiled, pulling himself away weakly.
“Don’t,” Felix rasped, his voice cracking. “Don’t touch me.”
Chris froze, his hands hovering in the air, unsure of how to help without making things worse. Felix’s eyes were wide again, but this time, they were filled with something else—something darker, deeper. Pain? Fear? Or was it shame?
“Please…” Felix whispered, his voice barely a breath. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t pity me.”
“I’m not pitying you,” Chris said quietly, his tone firm despite the tremble in his chest. “I’m just trying to help.”
Felix’s eyes flicked to him, the intensity in them both haunting and pleading. For a moment, Chris saw a flicker of something in him—a trace of who Felix once was, Before everything had shattered.
But then the moment passed, and Felix's gaze turned cold once more. He dragged himself away from Chris, curling back into a ball on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. The ethereal presence he carried seemed to fade, replaced by the broken, fragile figure he had become.
Chris watched as Felix shivered, his fragile form still curled on the floor, the weight of his past clinging to him like a shadow. The air in the room felt thick with unspoken things, and Chris couldn’t help but feel that they were teetering on the edge of something both profound and terrifying.
The silence stretched long, until Chris finally broke it, his voice steady but careful. “You need to eat. You haven’t had anything since I found you.”
Felix flinched at the words, his eyes flickering toward Chris, then immediately darting away. The suggestion seemed foreign to him, as if the concept of food, of consuming something, didn’t quite fit into the world he had come from.
Chris rose slowly, moving toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the room. He opened the cupboard, pulling out a simple can of soup—nothing fancy, just something he had grabbed from the store a few days ago. As he heated it up, he kept his gaze on Felix, who remained hunched on the floor, his eyes still vacant, like he was lost in the void of his own mind.
Chris set a bowl down on the counter, stirring the soup absentmindedly as he watched Felix. “I know you might not feel hungry, but you need strength,” Chris said softly, placing a spoon next to the bowl. “You don’t have to eat it all, just a little.”
Felix’s gaze shifted again, lingering on the bowl, the steam rising from it like a cloud of warmth in the otherwise cold room. He watched the movement, the soft swirl of the liquid, and for a moment, there was something almost curious in his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by the same distant emptiness.
He stood, his legs shaky, though still more graceful than Chris would’ve expected from someone in such a fragile state. He approached the counter with slow, hesitant steps, his eyes darting between the bowl and Chris’s face, unsure, as though unsure of what he was supposed to do.
Chris noticed the hesitation—the wariness—like Felix was weighing the very idea of food as if it were some foreign, untrustworthy thing.
Felix’s eyes finally met Chris’s, but there was something unreadable in them. "I… don’t need it." His voice was quiet, almost imperceptible, as though speaking the words felt like an admission of vulnerability. "I never needed to eat before."
Chris paused, the spoon still in his hand, caught off guard by the simple truth in Felix’s words. “You’ve never… eaten?”
Felix’s lips parted, but he seemed lost for a moment, searching for an answer that felt real. His gaze shifted down to the bowl again, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to understand the concept.
“No,” Felix said slowly, as if the very thought of consuming something—of needing to eat—was alien to him. “I was… made differently. I never had to eat, never had the desire to consume. It wasn’t part of who I was.”
Chris stood there, the weight of what Felix was saying sinking in. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t anything like Chris had imagined-something entirely outside the scope of human understanding. The very act of eating, of survival, was beyond him.
“So, you don’t feel hunger?” Chris asked, his voice gentle but laced with a quiet curiosity. It was a simple question, one he hadn’t thought to ask, but now it seemed important—important to understanding how far Felix’s reality diverged from his own.
Felix looked at him, his dark eyes softening just the slightest bit. “No. Hunger wasn’t something I was ever meant to experience.” His voice wavered slightly, a trace of something sorrowful in the way he spoke. “I existed… in a way that didn’t require such things.”
Chris could see that Felix was struggling with the very idea. It wasn’t just food he was unfamiliar with—it was everything that came with it: the need to nourish, to consume, to keep oneself alive through something so simple.
But the reality of his situation was pressing in on Felix now—his weakness, the hollow sensation in his chest that came with being trapped in this human form, this exile. Even if food wasn’t something he had ever needed, Chris knew that now, in this broken, forsaken state, it might be the only thing to ground him.
“Even if you don’t feel hungry,” Chris said, setting the bowl in front of Felix, his voice steady, “you need to take care of yourself. You can’t just ignore your body.”
Felix stood there, staring at the bowl in front of him, his expression still unreadable. His fingers twitched, hovering over the edge of the bowl, as if he were unsure how to interact with it. The spoon lay beside the soup, inviting but foreign. His gaze flickered back to Chris’s face, and for a brief moment, Chris saw something—something more than just the weariness. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, like he had never encountered this simplicity, this basic act of survival before.
“I don’t know how to…” Felix trailed off, his voice hesitant. “How do I… need this? How do I… consume it?”
Chris took a slow, deliberate step forward, watching Felix with a soft, almost amused smile, though it was mixed with the sadness of seeing Felix so lost.
“You don’t have to know how. You just have to try.” He gestured to the spoon. “Just pick it up, and see. If you can’t… then we’ll figure it out.”
Felix’s eyes flicked from the bowl to the spoon, still unsure. But the curiosity was there, undeniable now. He reached out, his fingers brushing the handle of the spoon as if it were something delicate, something fragile. He hesitated for a moment longer before finally lifting it, the motion slow and uncertain, but it was a start.
Chris watched him carefully, giving him space, not rushing. The weight of Felix’s unfamiliarity with something so ordinary made the act of eating seem strangely profound.
Felix brought the spoon to his lips, and for a moment, he stared at the soup as if trying to understand what he was supposed to do. It wasn’t natural for him, and Chris could see the internal conflict in the way Felix held the spoon, his hand trembling slightly.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Felix took a small sip, the soup barely touching his lips before he pulled back, his expression unreadable. He stared at the spoon for a moment, then back at Chris, the faintest flicker of confusion in his eyes.
“I... don’t know if this is right,” Felix whispered, almost in disbelief. “But… it doesn’t hurt.”
Chris smiled softly, not quite sure if he was reassuring Felix or himself, but the moment was enough. It was a small victory in a world full of unknowns.
Felix lowered the spoon slowly, the strange warmth of the soup still clinging to his lips.
Felix sat in the small chair by the table, the bowl of soup in front of him, untouched for a few moments. His fingers were still trembling around the spoon, as though the simple act of lifting it to his lips was a monumental task. He was trying—focusing so hard—but it wasn’t natural. It was strange to him, something he had never needed or even considered. The soup was warm, comforting in a way that made the coldness inside him ache more.
Chris sat across from him, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze soft but intense, watching Felix with quiet curiosity. There was a tension in the air, thick with unspoken things.
The silence stretched on for several minutes as Felix tried, and failed, to eat more than a few spoonfuls. Each time he paused, his eyes wandered down to the food, like it was something foreign, something he couldn’t quite comprehend. His movements were slow, deliberate, but still awkward—like a creature learning how to navigate a world that didn’t quite make sense.
Finally, Chris couldn’t take it anymore. The curiosity, the questions swirling in his mind, built up to a point where he had to say something. He leaned forward, his voice gentle but edged with the weight of his unspoken thoughts.
“Felix…” Chris began, his words hesitant, though the question had been nagging at him for a while. “What exactly are you? I mean… you’re not like anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Felix froze mid-sip, the spoon hovering just inches from his lips, his expression going unreadable. For a long, painful moment, he didn’t move, his jet-black eyes narrowing as if he had heard something he wasn’t ready to process. His gaze flickered briefly to Chris, then back down to the soup in front of him.
Chris leaned back slightly, watching Felix closely, waiting for a response. But Felix didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sighed—a deep, weighted exhale, like he had expected the question but still wasn’t prepared to face it. The tension in the room grew heavier, the air thick with something neither of them had yet named.
“I told you,” Felix said finally, his voice softer than before but laced with something that almost sounded like frustration. “I can’t tell you all that.” He lowered the spoon to the table, his hands still gripping it tightly, as if the act of holding it grounded him. “It’s... it’s not for you to know.”
Chris’s brow furrowed. “Not for me to know?” he repeated, his voice calm but edged with confusion. “What does that mean? I’m just trying to understand.”
Felix’s eyes flicked back to Chris then, the blackness of them seeming to swirl deeper, a void of untold stories, things better left unspoken. There was a sharpness in his gaze now, something raw and guarded, like the question had touched on a wound that Felix had buried deep.
“Some things are better left... unknown,” Felix said, his words almost a warning. “You don’t need to know what I am. It’s... dangerous for you. For both of us.”
Chris’s stomach tightened. There was more to this—so much more—and Felix wasn’t just avoiding it. He was protecting him, or at least that’s what it seemed like. But the protective distance Felix was trying to maintain only made Chris want to understand him more. He wasn’t about to let Felix shut him out again, not when he knew how much pain the other was carrying.
“You’re afraid,” Chris murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Afraid that I’ll reject you, or that I won’t understand?”
Felix’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes closing for just a moment, as if his entire existence had been punctuated by too many people not understanding, not accepting him. When he opened his eyes again, the dark void inside them had softened, just slightly, but the walls were still there.
“I’m not afraid,” Felix said quietly, but the vulnerability in his voice betrayed him. “I don’t fear rejection. What I fear is that you’ll see me and you’ll realize I’m not—” He stopped himself abruptly, catching the words in his throat. “You’ll wish you never asked, Chris.”
Chris stayed silent for a beat, processing what Felix had said, the weight of it settling heavily on his chest. He had always known that Felix wasn’t human—he could sense that in every movement, every glance—but hearing the pain in his voice, hearing the hesitance, made him feel something deep, something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy.
“Felix,” Chris said gently, leaning forward again, his eyes fixed on the pale, trembling figure before him. “Whatever you are, it doesn’t matter to me. I just... I just want you to be safe.”
Felix’s eyes flashed with something—surprise, maybe?—before they flicked away again, like the words were too much, too real, too close. He stood abruptly, his movements still unsteady but now filled with a sense of urgency, a need to escape the conversation, to escape Chris’s gaze.
“I need to go,” Felix muttered, his voice tight. “I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t have come here. I…”
Before he could finish, Chris was already standing, moving toward him with the same calm but firm resolve.
“No,” Chris said firmly, grabbing Felix’s arm gently but holding him in place.
“You don’t understand,” he hissed, stepping back, his breath coming quicker. “You can’t understand. I broke the laws. I destroyed everything. And now I’m here, stranded in a world that doesn’t even make sense to me. I don’t belong with people like you.”
Chris’s heart dropped, the harshness in Felix’s words striking him like a physical blow. But he didn’t retreat. He didn’t back down.
“Maybe you don’t think you belong ” Chris said, his voice quieter now, yet still unwavering, “but you belong here, Felix. You’ve safe here. And I’m not letting you go.”
Felix’s eyes flickered between Chris’s face and the ground, his shoulders tensing. The weight of his past seemed to be pressing down on him harder now. He wanted to resist, to pull away, but something in Chris’s steady gaze anchored him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Felix let out a long, exhausted sigh, the fight draining from his body. He slumped, his posture collapsing slightly, and though his expression was still guarded, there was a trace of something softer beneath it all—a fragile understanding, a crack in the walls he had so carefully built around himself.
“Fine,” Felix murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay. For now. But I can’t tell you everything. Not yet.”