Fan Chilena 🇨🇱 de la serie Shadowhunters + cast/crew pero Emeraude Toubia y Matthew Daddario son mis favoritos, fan de Loki, fan de Thomas Willian Hiddleston y sus demás personajes. En este momento estoy muy obsesionada con la música de Ruelle, Neoni y The Score. fantasía y ciencia ficción son mis géneros favoritos en lo que sea (series, pelis, libros, etc.), proculsexual🏳️🌈
“You think I wanted this?” he whispered, voice cracked and wild. “To crave you like air? To wake up with your name already on my tongue? You think I meant to love you like this? I didn’t choose this, Y/N. I just looked at you and—” “You got stuck in my fucking bloodstream.”
Warnings: (WC: 8k +/-), MDNI!!!, college au!, classmates2lovers, angst, fluff, obsession, mutual pining, toxic ex shows up, mentions of emotional abuse, insecurities, the couple is fighting, first date, they're literally so in love its gross, lana being the bestest bestie, kissing, explicit sexual content: multiple s*x scenes, unprotected and protected s*x, or*l (f! recieving), f*ce sitting, felix being a munch, marking, car s*x, they're literally so horny and all over eachother, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: my lovesss. thank you for all the sweet comments and messages, they mean the world to me. we're almost to the climax and the ending, and boyyy idk if you or I are ready for it .
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Finale
It’s late.
Y/N’s out—study group or Lana or both—and her dorm is dark, untouched. Except it’s not.
Felix has a copy of her key.
She gave it to him once, laughing, tossing it into his hoodie pocket with a careless “Just in case.”
He kept it. Of course he did.
And he used it tonight.
Not to snoop. Not to steal.
Just to be close.
He climbs into her bed fully clothed, slides under the blankets like it’s his, and exhales.
It still smells like her.
Her shampoo. Her vanilla body lotion. The faintest trace of perfume on the pillow. He closes his eyes and imagines her in the doorway.
Staring. Smiling. Crawling in beside him.
His hand curls into her pillow and inhales the scent, drifting off to the never-ending thoughts of you.
She comes home an hour later.
She pushes open the door, drops her bag andfreezes.
Felix?
He lies there, sleeping like an angel. His tuzzled hair and parted lips letting out soft snores.
Y/N stands there, heart in her throat.
She could be angry.
Could yell and demand an explanation to why he just came into her dorm unannounced.
But instead…
She just walks closer.
Watches him.
Sleeps curls around his lashes. His chest rises and falls steady. His mouth is parted slightly.
He looks peaceful.
Like this is the only place he feels safe.
And what shocks her the most?
She doesn’t tell him to leave.
She should wake him up. Tell him to leave. Ask him what the hell he’s doing in her bed. Say something.
But instead—she moves closer.
Her body acts before her brain can catch up.
Because he’s here. Warm. Solid. Safe in a way that terrifies her.
She slides beneath the blanket beside him, careful, slow, but not enough to be subtle.
His arm twitches in sleep.
Then settles across her waist like it belongs there.
And her heart cracks.
Because this shouldn’t feel right.
But it does.
She lies there for a few minutes, watching him breathe, trying to memorize the curve of his jaw in the dim lighting from the window, the way his lashes brush his cheeks.
Then—his voice, groggy and low,
“Am I pretty, baby?”
She jolts slightly. “You were awake?”
Felix turns his head, lips curled at the edge. His voice is thick with sleep and something deeper.
“You think I could sleep knowing I’m this close to you?”
Her throat goes dry.
“You should’ve told me you were here.”
“You would’ve said no.”
She pauses. “Maybe.”
He leans in.
“You didn’t say it now.”
Then?
His lips brush her shoulder.
Just once. Barely there. A spark.
“You gonna tell me to leave?”
Her silence answers for her.
And that’s all it takes.
His hands move gently, one slipping under her shirt, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. The other cups her cheek, guiding her lips to his.
The kiss is slow at first. Careful. Testing.
Then—not.
She climbs over him, straddles his hips, and the moment he groans into her mouth, something snaps between them.
She’s pulling at his shirt. He’s gripping her thighs like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. Kissing like they’ve got something to prove.
Her hips grind against him, and he breathes her name like it’s the only word he remembers.
“God, baby—just like that.”
“You’re such a mess,” she whispers against his throat.
“Only for you.”
Their clothes stay on. Barely. Hands slip under fabric, seeking heat, memorizing skin.
He lifts her hoodie, kisses her stomach like she’s sacred.
She tugs his hair when his teeth graze the top of her chest.
It’s desperate. Passionate. A little broken.
And neither of them wants it to end.
When she collapses beside him, flushed and panting, he pulls her in close.
Whispers against her shoulder;
“I’d kill for this. You know that?”
Her breath catches.
She doesn’t answer.
--
The light creeps in slow.
Warm.
Safe.
Y/N blinks awake, tucked under Felix’s arm, chest pressed to his, her leg tangled over his.
He’s already awake.
Not staring at the ceiling.
Not scrolling through his phone.
Not sketching.
Just watching her.
“Morning,” he says, voice still low, lips against her hair.
She hums out a greeting and slides out of bed, tugging down her hoodie and brushing her fingers through her hair.
Felix props himself up on one elbow, shirtless, hair messy, eyes still dark.
“You leaving?”
She pauses and looks back.
“Just for coffee.”
He smiles. Soft. Whipped.
“Bring me one?”
She nods once, and just before she slips out the door—he calls after her.
“You look good in my shirt, baby.”
She walks faster to hide her blush.
She doesn’t make it two steps into the dorm kitchen before Lana appears like a sleep-deprived, glitter-dusted devil.
Messy bun. Hoodie. Bunny slippers. And a whole lot of judgment.
“Okay. So. What the hell happened last night.”
Y/N blinks. “What do you mean?”
Lana crosses her arms. Points.
“Bite mark there. Fucking huge by the way, and in the shape of a Felix Lee fever dream.”
Y/N pulls her hood tighter. “It’s nothing—”
“BITCH.”
Y/N winces.
Lana grabs the coffee out of her hand, takes a sip, and stares.
“You slept with him.”
“No.”
“You almost slept with him.”
Y/N’s silence is loud.
Lana leans in, suddenly serious. Softer.
“Are you okay?”
And that question hits harder than anything else.
Because Y/N doesn’t know.
She wants him. Craves him. Thinks about his mouth and his hands and the way he says baby like it’s a promise—
But she also remembers how he looked asleep in her bed. Peaceful. Like he belonged there. Like he expected to belong.
And that scares her.
Because this is becoming something else. Something more and shes not sure if she is ready yet.
---
Back in her room, she’s alone now. Felix went home to change and meet up with Changmin to study. It gives her just enough time to get lost in her thoughts.
She touches the mark on her neck lightly, runs her thumb over the raised skin.
It stings, but in a way that makes her stomach flutter.
She catches her reflection in the mirror.
Her lips. Her hair. The shirt still smelling like him.
She looks… completely undone.
And she’s not sure if that’s bad or good.
She picks up her phone. Thumb hovering.
She wants to text him.
Wants to say come back.
Wants his mouth on her again. Wants the fire. The possession. The need.
But instead, she types,
What are we doing?
Deletes it.
This isn’t normal.
Deletes that too.
And just writes,
I’m scared of how much I want you.
Her thumb hovers again. She meant to delete it, but before she could stop it, her finger slipped.
Send.
''Well shit'', she curses and throws her arms over her face.
---
He’s sitting on the floor of his room, his study session long over at this point, back against the bed frame, shirtless, sketchbook open on his knees—half-finished drawings of her lips, her collarbone, the way she tugs her sleeves over her hands.
He’s never drawn someone this much.
He’s never drawn someone this obsessively.
The second his phone buzzes, he already knows it’s her.
He opens it.
Baby <3
I’m scared of how much I want you.
His breath leaves him in one hard exhale.
He stares at the message like it’s art.
She wants him.
She finally admitted it.
And she’s scared—just like he is.
But the difference is?
He’s not scared anymore.
He types back.
Then don’t fight it... Let me have you.
He doesn’t send another word.
He grabs his jacket.
He needs to see her. Now.
---
Y/N’s curled on her bed, phone in hand, heart beating loudly like a drum.
She reads his reply again and again.
Let me have you.
Then—
A knock.
Not on the door.
On her window. The one that is facing the outside alleyway.
She pushes the curtain aside—he’s standing there.
In the cold. In the dark.
Lit by the glow of the alley lights.
“Felix? What are you doing here?''
Couldn't he have just used the door?
She lets him in without thinking.
He steps into her room and immediately—the air shifts.
His eyes are on her mouth. Her neck. Her hands. Every part of her.
She tries to speak. “I—”
He kisses her.
Fast. Hard. Desperate.
Like her text shattered something inside him and he’s grabbing the pieces.
Clothes don’t come off this time.
Not fully.
But hands roam. Lips bruise.
His thigh pushes between hers, her back hits against her bedroom door, and she gasps into his mouth.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
“Say you want me.”
“I want you.”
“Louder.”
“I want you, Felix.”
He kisses her jaw. Her throat. His fingers tangle in her hair.
“Then you’re mine. All of you. You hear me?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He moans softly, presses his forehead to hers.
“I swear to God, baby… I’ll never let you go.”
And she believes it.
Because right now, she wants that too.
--
The next day, Felix is leaving her room—shirt rumpled, hair still wet from her shower.
Lana’s waiting.
Arms crossed. Face hard.
“We need to talk.”
Felix tilts his head. “Good morning to you too.”
She steps closer. No smile.
“I know what this is.”
Felix raises a brow. “What is it?”
“You better not be playing with her, pretty boy. You don’t even know who she really is.”
He meets her eyes. Unblinking.
“I know how she smells when she's just out of the shower. How she bites her cheek when she’s holding back tears. I know her playlist. Her midnight cravings. I know what her laugh sounds like when it’s real.”
Lana swallows.
“I know her better than she believes,” he says.
“And if you think I’m going anywhere— Then you don’t know me.”
She stares at him.
“You better mean that.”
He doesn’t smile.
“I breathe her.”
He walks away.
And Lana?
She starts to worry this isn’t just a situationship.
This is going to break something.
---
It’s a Sunday.
Late morning. No classes. No deadlines.
Just sunlight through her curtains and the faint rustle of blankets.
Y/N stirs first.
She doesn’t open her eyes right away. Just lets herself feel it.
The warmth. The weight of his arm around her waist. The soft, steady rhythm of his breathing against her back.
And then his fingers start tracing. Lazy circles on her hip, up the hem of her hoodie, down her thigh. Barely there. Barely touching.
“You’re awake,” she whispers.
“Didn’t want to wake you,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “You looked like a dream.”
Her heart stutters.
“You say things like that all the time,” she says, turning to face him, nose almost brushing his.
“That’s because I mean them.”
He looks different like this.
Less composed. Less perfect.
His hair is a mess. His cheeks still warm from sleep. His shirt is riding up just enough to expose a sliver of stomach.
And his eyes? They’re not full of fire.
They’re full of something soft. Something fragile.
They stay there like that for a while. Just looking. Not kissing. Not needing to.
Y/N lifts a hand and brushes his bangs from his face.
His lashes flutter.
“You always look at me like I’m about to disappear,” she says quietly.
“Because I don’t want to miss a second of you.”
That makes her freeze.
Not because it’s intense.
But because it’s honest.
He sits up eventually, tugging the blanket with him, exposing both of their legs. His bare thigh presses against hers as he leans back against the headboard, looking around her room like he’s memorizing the art on her walls.
“What’s your favorite memory?” he asks suddenly.
She blinks. “Of you?”
“No. In life.”
She hums and thinks. “The summer I spent in Italy with my aunt. The sky was always warm. The gelato was amazing and cheap. And I wasn’t scared of anything.”
Felix smiles.
“You’re scared now?”
“Sometimes.”
“Of me?”
She looks at him.
“Of how much I want you.”
He reaches for her hand and laces their fingers.
“I used to think love was supposed to be quiet,” he says. “Something soft and simple.”
“But then I met you.”
Her breath catches.
“And now I think love might look like you screaming at me in the pool, then crawling into my lap two hours later just to fall asleep.”
She laughs, hand squeezing his.
“I’m not in love with you,” she says, teasing.
“I didn’t say you were,” he smiles. “But… if you ever are… I’ll already be there waiting.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You love it.”
She does.
And it terrifies her.
They spend the rest of the day together.
Not touching every second. Not kissing endlessly.
Just being.
Felix cooks her eggs and burns them. She pretends to hate them. He steals her socks and wears them mismatched. They fall asleep tangled together on the floor through a movie.
And when she looks at him—really looks—
She realizes he’s not just the boy who kissed her first.
He’s the one who makes her laugh.
Who memorizes her favorite fruit.
Who would set the world on fire if she asked.
And she’s not in love.
Not yet.
But something inside her is reaching for him with outstretched arms.
---
They don’t call it a date.
Not really.
Felix just shows up at her door at 6:14 PM in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, holding a bag of takeout and a shy little grin that melts something in her ribcage.
“You said you liked Thai.”
“I did.”
“Thought I’d make it up to you for almost suffocating you with my love.”
She laughs, grabs her coat, and they walk through campus like they aren’t slowly falling into something neither of them knows how to define.
They sit on a picnic blanket under the fairy lights strung across the rooftop Felix once shown her. The weather is chilly, but the moment is warm. Familiar.
Y/N picks at her noodles while Felix starts talking about the mural he saw going up downtown.
“She’s using real crushed glass in the paint,” he says, eyes wide. “Can you imagine the light it’ll catch when the sun hits it?”
“You’re such an art nerd,” she says softly.
“And you still hang out with me. Whose fault is that?”
He leans back, arms stretched behind him, eyes to the stars.
“Can I ask you something kind of serious?”
She sets her fork down. “Always.”
“Do I scare you?”
She hesitates.
“Sometimes,” she says honestly. “But not in the way you think.”
“Then how?”
“It’s not what you do that scares me. It’s how I react to it. You make me feel things I’ve never really let myself feel before.”
Felix is quiet for a long moment.
Then he whispers,
“You’re not the only one.”
They end up back at his place later.
No rush. No pressure. Just… together.
Y/N’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed, sipping hot tea from a chipped mug that probably came from a thrift store. She watches him pace slightly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
He stops. Looks at her.
And then with a heavy breath—
“My dad left when I was thirteen.”
The air shifts.
Y/N’s eyes widen but she doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“He wasn’t a bad guy. Just… distant. I think he loved me. But he didn’t stay. And part of me always wondered if that was my fault.”
She sets the mug down.
Felix keeps going.
“That’s probably why I get so… intense. When I care about someone. I hold on way too tight. I know that. I just…”
“I never want to be someone who’s easy to leave.”
He sits beside her, eyes on the floor.
“I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m too much. And you’ll just… go.”
Y/N places her hand over his.
“Felix.”
He looks up.
“You’re not too much,” she says. “You just feel more than most people allow themselves to. That’s not a weakness.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
And then?
She kisses his temple.
And he closes his eyes, lets himself lean into it.
He then realizes this isn’t lust. This isn’t adrenaline.
This is care.
This is what love might look like before either of them is ready to say the word.
---
It happens fast.
Just one buzz.
She’s getting ready for class—hair half-done, music playing softly through her speaker, Felix’s hoodie still loose on her frame—when her phone lights up.
And just like that—
Her breath leaves her body.
[ No Contact – 263 days ]
“Didn’t think you’d still have my number.”
She doesn’t read it again.
Doesn’t have to.
The name alone turns her stomach.
Her hands shake. Her heart pounds.
And the quiet inside her head?
It’s louder than anything she’s ever heard.
She silences the phone. Tucks it face-down under her pillow like it’s dangerous.
But it doesn’t help.
Because the words are still carved into the back of her eyes.
His voice—that voice—is already creeping back in.
You’re too much.
You’re lucky I put up with you.
No one else would.
And she thought she was past this.
She thought she was healing.
But suddenly?
She’s thirteen steps back.
Felix notices it immediately.
Later, they’re on the campus lawn—his sketchbook in his lap, her untouched coffee in hers—and she’s too quiet. Too still.
And she keeps checking her phone.
Not to text.
Not to scroll.
Just to look. Like she’s bracing for something worse.
Felix doesn’t say anything right away.
But his pencil stalls.
He watches her over the edge of the page—how she fiddles with her sleeve, bites the inside of her cheek. How her eyes flick to her phone like it holds her hostage.
“You okay?”
She looks up fast. Too fast.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
He doesn’t believe her.
But he nods.
She won’t tell him.
Not yet.
Because she’s not ready to say that one text from him undid weeks of safety. That it shattered the fragile thing she was starting to build with Felix.
She’s afraid he’ll get angry. Afraid he’ll pity her.
So she keeps it locked up.
And Felix?
He knows there’s a storm happening inside her.
But he doesn’t press.
He just reaches across the blanket, brushes his pinky against hers.
And when she lets him hold it—He grips tighter than it should be.
That night, when they’re lying in bed, her phone stays off.
But her eyes don’t close.
And Felix holds her tighter than usual.
Like he knows—without knowing anything at all.
---
The library is packed.
Midterm week is always loud, anxious, overcaffeinated—but Y/N feels like she’s underwater.
Everyone else is studying.
She’s surviving.
She and Felix are tucked into their usual booth. Their presentation is due in less than 24 hours. The slides are done. The paper is outlined. But her notes keep blurring, her hands won’t stop fidgeting, and her phone?
Still off.
Still not safe.
Felix says nothing at first. He just lets her sit beside him in silence, occasionally passing her his highlighter or refilling her water bottle like he’s trying to give her anchors.
But when she drops her pen for the third time and stares at the table with glassy eyes—he finally moves.
He pulls his hoodie over his head and drapes it around her shoulders.
Then, softly,
“You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to carry it alone either.”
She nods once.
Doesn’t look at him.
But she tugs the hoodie tighter, like maybe it’s holding her together.
Later that day, Y/N returns to the dorm to change.
Lana’s waiting. Arms crossed. No sparkle today—just serious eyes and soft energy.
“You okay?”
Y/N stiffens. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve been ‘fine’ for three days and you haven’t touched your playlist or ranted about Felix once. That’s not fine. That’s apocalypse-coded.”
Y/N tries to walk past.
Lana blocks her.
“Talk to me.”
Silence.
Y/N’s lips tremble.
“He texted me again,” she whispers.
Lana freezes.
“That piece of shit?”
Y/N nods. Her voice cracks. “I didn’t open it. I just… seeing his name—I felt like I was back in that room again.”
Lana pulls her into a hug. Tight. Fierce.
“You are not that girl anymore. And he does not get to pull you back.”
Y/N buries her face in Lana’s hoodie and lets the tears fall and Lana holds her like someone who knows what it's like to rebuild from ash.
--
It comes in the middle of the night.
She’s reviewing citations for the project, trying to stay focused, trying to breathe—
And her phone lights up.
[ No Contact – 265 days ]
I miss you when you’re quiet.
Her lungs stop working.
Because that’s what he used to say when she’d cry. When she’d shut down. When she’d stop begging him to be kind.
I miss you when you’re quiet.
Translation: You're only lovable when you're silent.
Y/N closes her laptop. Stands. Walks straight to Felix’s dorm. She doesn’t knock and he opens the door like he sensed she was coming.
And when she looks up at him with tears clinging to her lashes, lips parted like she wants to scream but can’t—
He pulls her in.
No questions. No pressure.
Just arms wrapped tight around her, holding her like he knows exactly how it feels to break in the dark.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
“You don’t have to say it. I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t mean to say anything.
Not really.
But after she breaks down in his arms—after the tears stop, after the shaking fades—they’re just lying there, curled into each other on his bed.
She’s quiet. He’s quieter.
And then..
“He hated the sound of my voice when I cried.”
Felix doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“Said I was too much. Too emotional. Too sensitive. He said it like it was a flaw I was supposed to apologize for.”
Felix’s arms tighten around her, but still—he stays quiet.
“I started apologizing for everything. For feeling. For being tired. For needing anything at all.”
She exhales.
“He made me think love was about shrinking. About disappearing into someone else.”
Finally—Felix speaks. Softly. Carefully.
“Then he never loved you. Because love should make you more. Not less.”
She presses her forehead to his collarbone.
And for the first time in a long time—
She lets someone hold her without flinching.
The next day, they submit their midterm.
No fanfare. No nerves.
Just quiet pride, the kind that says we did something together.
Afterwards, Felix tugs her hand and leads her up the back stairwell of the art building. The one that leads to the rooftop with the fairy lights and forgotten paint cans.
They sit side by side, legs dangling over the ledge, watching the sky shift from gray to gold.
“You okay?” he asks.
She nods. “Better.”
He leans back on his hands. “You ever think about starting over?”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… just waking up one day and deciding everything before today doesn’t define you anymore.”
She hums.
“I think I’m trying.”
He looks at her then. Really looks.
“You’re doing better than trying.”
She smiles—soft, tired, real.
And for once, the silence between them feels like peace. Not tension.
--
Later that night, Lana catches Felix in the hallway.
She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t smirk.
Just stops him with a hand on his arm and a look he can’t dodge.
“She’s not okay, is she?”
Felix swallows.
“No. And I don’t think she wants me to know how bad it is.”
Lana nods. Waits.
Then he whispers,
“I don’t think I’d survive it if she left.”
She stares at him for a long beat.
Then?
“Then don’t give her a reason to.”
--
It’s a normal morning.
Y/N’s in the shower, humming off-key through the steam while Felix lounges on her bed, flipping through her annotated poetry book like it’s sacred scripture.
The phone buzzes beside him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Normally, he’d never.
But something inside him tugs—look.
And when he sees the name on the lock screen?
It’s like his pulse forgets how to beat.
[ No Contact – 267 days ]
3 Messages
I’ve been thinking.
You always hated being alone.
You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, right?
Felix stares at the screen.
He doesn’t breathe.
His jaw tightens so hard it aches. His grip on the phone stiffens. For a second—he actually thinks about smashing it.
She walks out just then.
Hair damp. Wrapped in a towel. Radiant.
She stops when she sees his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He holds out the phone.
“Why is he texting you?”
Y/N freezes.
Like someone cracked open her chest and poured cold water inside.
“You read it?”
“I didn’t open it.”
She exhales. “I didn’t mean to hide it—”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just… I didn’t want it to feel real again.”
He looks at her. And for the first time in weeks, he feels far away.
“I would never let someone hurt you,” he says, voice low.
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like you don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust,” she whispers. “It’s about history.”
“And what am I?” Felix asks, voice cracking. “Just a distraction from it?”
Y/N’s eyes widen. “No—Felix—”
But he’s already standing.
“Because you’re not a distraction to me. You’re the fucking reason I breathe different now.”
He doesn’t yell.
He just leaves.
Quiet. Cold.
And Y/N?
She’s never felt more alone.
---
Felix doesn’t go home.
He walks for hours.
No music. No calls. Just the sound of his boots on pavement and the roar of his heartbeat in his ears.
He doesn’t know what he’s more angry at—
The fact that her ex still thinks he has space in her life… Or the fear that maybe… he does.
He ends up on the rooftop. Their rooftop.
The one she had filled with warmth.
And he feels nothing but cold.
He opens his sketchbook.
Flips to a blank page.
Stares.
He can’t draw her.
Not right now.
Because tonight, she feels like a ghost of someone he’s trying not to lose.
---
The texts start around 9:03 PM.
Baby <3: Felix. Please talk to me.
I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I just needed time to tell you everything.
You’re not a distraction. You’ve never been a distraction.
Read.
Read.
Read.
No reply.
She calls.
Once.
Twice.
Goes straight to voicemail the third time.
By midnight, she’s sitting on her floor. Felix’s hoodie in her lap. Staring at the phone like it owes her a heartbeat.
---
It’s the next afternoon when Lana corners Felix outside the studio building.
He’s hunched on a bench, hood up, pencil chewing on autopilot.
She rips the pencil from his hand and glares.
“You’re going to listen, or I’m going to scream.”
Felix doesn’t look up.
“I don’t think she trusts me.”
“She does, you idiot. She just doesn’t know how to trust anyone without wondering if it’s going to cost her.”
He finally looks at her.
“She let that asshole tear down everything inside her and now she’s trying to rebuild it—and you think that’s going to be linear?”
Silence.
“You think she doesn’t want you?” Lana’s voice cracks. “I’ve seen how she looks at you.”
Felix swallows hard. “It felt like she picked him.”
“No. She froze. Because trauma doesn’t just… stop echoing.”
“You don’t throw away what you have with her because she flinched.”
Lana steps back, eyes gleaming.
“If you wanted her to stay, you should’ve fought.”
Felix grips the bench.
And for the first time?
He realizes he let her walk away… just to protect his own fear.
---
Y/N didn’t mean to be in the music building that long.
She told herself she’d just drop off a library book.
Maybe grab a coffee.
Maybe pretend to be okay.
But now she’s in the back hallway—quiet, dim, lined with bulletin boards and old concert posters—and she can’t breathe.
Her phone is buzzing again.
Not Felix.
Him.
[ No Contact – 268 days ]
I know you’re seeing someone. Just wanted to say I’m happy for you.
He won’t love you like I did.
The words hit harder than they should.
Not because they’re true—because they’re familiar.
And familiarity is a cruel, sharp thing.
She presses herself into the corner of the wall and sinks to the floor, phone in her lap, hands in her hair, chest hollow.
The tears come fast.
Ugly. Silent. Wrecking.
She presses her fist to her mouth to muffle the sob, but it slips out anyway.
And someone hears it.
“Y/N?”
She freezes.
Looks up.
Seungmin.
He's standing a few feet away, hoodie on, headphones around his neck, a sketchpad under one arm.
She looks at him.
And she can’t hide it.
The tears. The red eyes. The trembling.
“Shit,” he mutters, crossing the space and crouching beside her. “Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
She covers her face.
“I’m so stupid,” she chokes out.
“No, you’re just tired of carrying something alone.”
She looks at him, blinking through the flood.
He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t push.
Just sits beside her in silence. Offers her his sleeve to wipe her face.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she lies.
He gives her a look. Quiet. Kind. Sharp.
“Yeah, you do. And it’s okay that you’re not ready to say it.”
She rests her head on his shoulder like it’s the only stable thing in the world.
---
She doesn’t text Felix.
Not that night.
Not the next.
He doesn’t text either.
The air between them becomes static.
Thick. Pressed full of everything unsaid.
They pass each other once outside class.
Y/N’s walking with Lana.
Felix is alone, hoodie up, backpack slung low.
Their eyes meet.
Just for a second.
Long enough to ache.
Short enough to pretend it didn’t happen.
And they keep walking.
Two people still in love, too scared to admit they’re already halfway back to each other.
But fate? Doesn’t wait.
And neither does jealousy.
---
Campus is buzzing—midterms are over, spring’s in the air, and the quad is loud with music, open blankets, flirting.
Y/N’s with Lana on the steps, iced coffee in hand, oversized shades hiding tired eyes.
She’s trying to pretend she’s okay.
Trying to laugh.
Trying not to look for him.
Then—
“Hey, I know you.”
A voice.
Too close. Too confident.
A guy from class—barely familiar. Too tall. Too smug. Definitely not reading her body language right.
“You always look so serious during lectures. Thought I’d come remind you to smile.”
She forces a chuckle. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Just saying. You’ve got that face. That ‘I need to be kissed until I forget my name’ vibe.”
Lana straightens. “She said she’s good.”
“Just making conversation.”
And that’s when it happens.
Felix.
Across the quad.
Black shirt, chain hanging low, jaw clenched, and eyes on fire.
He sees Y/N flinch. Sees the guy smirk.
Sees Lana move between them.
And that’s it.
He snaps.
He cuts across the grass like a storm—quiet, fast, lethal.
“Step back.”
The guy turns. “Who the hell are—”
“The person you should walk away from before I rearrange your jaw.”
The guy laughs. Doesn’t take the warning.
So Felix gets closer.
Not yelling. Just radiating fury.
“You think you can talk to her like that?”
“Touch her?”
“Make her uncomfortable and laugh it off?”
The guy stammers.
Felix doesn’t hit him.
He doesn’t have to.
Because the moment he steps between them, hand low on Y/N’s back, chest in front of hers, everything about him says,
She’s mine.
The guy leaves.
Lana disappears.
Felix and Y/N?
Left standing in the silence of what they still are.
Her voice cracks.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not my—”
“Don’t say I’m not yours.”
His voice isn’t angry now.
It’s raw.
“Don’t say it when you know I’d burn for you.”
Her eyes sting.
“Felix…”
He steps closer.
“He’s still texting you.”
“I blocked him.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“You left.”
“Because I was scared of being an option. And because I knew—if I stayed—I was going to break if you didn’t choose me.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
Then—before either of them can say another word—
A voice.
“Y/N?”
They both freeze.
Jae. Her ex. How is he here?
Standing just a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Face all pretend guilt and practiced sympathy.
Y/N’s whole body stiffens.
Felix’s posture shifts immediately—shoulders tensed, hand still on her lower back, eyes narrow.
“I just wanted to talk,” he says, stepping forward.
“Don’t,” Y/N whispers.
“Just five minutes. I think we owe each other that.”
Felix steps in front of her.
“You don’t owe her shit.”
“You must be the new one,” he says, condescending. “She ever tell you what she’s like when she cries? It’s a lot.”
“You ever want to keep your teeth?” Felix replies coldly.
Y/N flinches. “Felix, don’t—”
But he’s already turned to her.
And his voice is soft now.
“You want me to back off? Say it. And I will. But if you don’t— I swear, I won’t let him hurt you again.”
She meets his eyes.
And for the first time in forever—she doesn’t feel small in front of the past.
She feels chosen.
She feels safe.
She feels loved.
“I’ve got it,” she whispers, steady now. She places a gentle hand on Felix’s chest, a silent thank you for standing in front of her—and then steps past him.
She faces Jae.
And her voice doesn’t shake.
“I don’t want five minutes. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Y/N—”
“No,” she cuts in. “You don’t get to show up and pretend to be sorry just because you’re not the one being tolerated anymore.”
“I just thought—”
“You thought I’d still be the same girl you made feel like a burden. The one who flinched when her phone lit up. The one who spent nights convincing herself you didn’t mean it.”
She breathes in deep. Then, firmer,
“I’m not that girl anymore.”
Behind her, Felix’s jaw clenches—but he doesn’t interrupt.
“So leave me alone,” she finishes, voice low, but lethal. “For good this time.”
And this time? He does.
For now.
---
Later that night, Seungmin finds Felix pacing the dorm again.
Same hoodie. Same sketchbook. Same silence.
“You’re spiraling again,” Seungmin says.
Felix doesn’t stop pacing.
“She’s in my bloodstream.”
“Then act like it.”
Felix glares. “What does that even mean?”
Seungmin sighs.
“It means you love her. It means you don’t get to hover around her like a ghost and expect her to chase you. You want her? Fight for her. Before someone else figures out she’s worth bleeding for.”
Felix swallows.
And for the first time?
He stops pacing.
Because Seungmin is right.
He’s been drawing her for weeks.
But now?
He needs to run to her. Make her his. And only his.
---
It happens in the hallway.
Not at a party. Not on a rooftop.
Just a quiet hallway, long past midnight, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights and the sound of two hearts trying to beat in time.
Felix doesn’t knock this time.
He knows she’s awake.
Y/N opens the door before he even touches it—barefoot, hair a little messy, wearing the sweatshirt he thought he lost three weeks ago.
For a second, they just stare.
Not angry.
Not apologizing.
Just breathing.
She steps aside. He walks in.
The silence is thick—but not uncomfortable.
She leans against the dresser. He leans against the wall.
And then she says it.
Soft. Cracked open. Like it costs her.
“I think I started falling for you before I even liked you.”
Felix looks up, eyes wide.
She swallows.
“You were so loud in my life. All sunshine and teeth and some weird obsession. And I hated it because I wanted it.”
She laughs, just a little.
“I wanted someone to want me that badly. I just… didn’t think I deserved it.”
Felix doesn’t move.
He doesn’t speak.
He’s too busy memorizing the way her voice trembles. Y/N keeps going.
“I was scared. Of you. Of me. Of what I’d become if I let myself feel everything...But I already do.”
Her voice drops.
“I feel it. All of it. And it’s terrifying. And it’s beautiful. And I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes.”
She lifts her eyes to his.
“So if you’re gonna kiss me again…Don’t do it like it’s a maybe.”
Felix pushes off the wall and crosses the room.
He stops inches from her. Lifts a hand to her face. His fingers brush her cheek—gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid to break her open too fast.
“You want to know the moment I knew?” he whispers.
She nods.
“The rooftop. That first night. You smiled at the stars like you weren’t afraid of anything. And I thought, ‘I could live on that smile and die a happy man.’”
She blinks. Breathless.
“You think I’m the one who chased you. But you’ve been haunting me since day one.”
He steps closer. Their bodies almost touch.
“I’ve drawn you so many times, I started forgetting what my own face looked like and you want me to kiss you like it’s not a maybe?”
He leans in, breath on her lips.
“Baby, you’ve always been the only yes.”
And when he finally kisses her— the kiss is devastating.
Not soft. Not careful. It’s the kind of kiss that tears through silence, rips open skin, says I want you like oxygen.
She gasps when his hand finds her waist and he groans when her fingers tangle in his hair.
It’s lips on lips, teeth on breath, heart on heart.
Her back hits the dresser, and he presses into her, mouth trailing down to her jaw, her throat, her shoulder.
She tugs at his shirt. He lifts her up without thinking. Her legs wrap around his waist like they were made for it.
He kisses her like he’s starved.
She kisses him like she finally stopped being afraid of feeling everything.
But this time? They don’t stop.
Felix carries her to the bed with a desperation that feels so holy.
They fall into the sheets in a tangle of limbs and breath, laughter caught between gasps and moans as hands roam like they’ve been waiting to map every inch of skin.
Her shirt comes off. Then his. He sucks in a breath when he sees her—flushed, glowing, trembling beneath him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reverent. “ I knew it the second I saw you.”
Y/N pulls him down, whispers against his mouth,
“Then show me.”
Clothes scatter. He kisses down her stomach, slow, worshipful, until she’s arching up to meet him.
His touch is careful at first, asking. Waiting. Letting her guide him.
But the moment she moans his name?
He shatters.
He grips her thighs, spreads her open, and presses his mouth to the softest part of her like it’s his favorite prayer.
Y/N cries out—hand fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his hair as her hips move with his tongue, his pace, his need.
She unravels for him. Completely. Body shaking, mouth parted, legs wrapped around his shoulders.
And he kisses his way back up her body like she’s everything.
“I need you,” she whispers.
“You have me,” he says. “Every fucking part.”
When he finally sinks into her, it’s not fast. It’s not rushed.
It’s deliberate.
Their bodies meet in rhythm—soft at first, then aching.
Her gasps turn to cries. His name spills from her lips like it’s the only thing that fits in her mouth anymore.
He buries his face in her neck, groaning when her nails dig into his back.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes.
“Never.”
They move like they’re learning each other.
Touching with purpose. Loving with abandon.
Letting every look and sound and thrust say what their mouths can’t.
I’m here.
I’m yours.
I’m not afraid anymore.
When they come undone—together—it’s loud, shaking, sacred.
They collapse into each other, sweaty, breathless, whole.
And for the first time… it doesn’t feel like they’ve crossed a line.
It feels like they’ve come home.
Later, when he’s holding her close and her breath has slowed against his chest, she whispers,
“I think I love you.”
And Felix?
He doesn’t say it back immediately.
He kisses her hair.
Holds her tighter.
And whispers,
“Then I’ll wait right here until you know.”
---
The first thing Y/N feels is his breath on her shoulder.
Warm. Lazy.
Safe.
The second thing she feels?
His fingertips drifting slowly—intimately—over the curve of her hip, tracing invisible patterns into her skin like he’s still memorizing her from last night.
She hums, barely awake.
“You’re staring,” she mumbles into the pillow.
“Can you blame me?”
His voice is thick with sleep.
And something else.
Admiration.
She rolls onto her back to find him already propped on his elbow, curls a mess, his lips kiss-swollen and eyes still glazed from their long night.
“You’re not real,” he says softly. “There’s no way.”
She smiles, flushed. “Shut up.”
He grins and dips to kiss her neck. Then her shoulder. Then lower. Slow. Gentle.
“Let me wake you up the right way,” he murmurs.
And she knows what that means.
She watches him slide down the bed, his hands parting her thighs with a reverence that borders on prayer.
“Just relax,” he says, voice feather-light. “I’ll take care of everything.”
And then?
His mouth meets her—slow, soft, eager.
Her back arches on instinct. One hand fists the sheet. The other tangles in his curls as he buries himself between her thighs, tasting her like she’s the answer to every question he’s ever asked.
He moans into her like it’s bliss.
And then he says it—raspy, low, deep , and ruined,
“Sit up, baby.”
“What—”
“On my face. Please.”
Her breath stutters.
But when he tugs her forward gently, guiding her to straddle his face, she follows.
And it wrecks her.
His hands grip her thighs as his mouth meets her again—hot, open, hungry.
He groans when she grabs the headboard for balance, and finds the perfect rhythm to grind against his face.
“Felix—fuck—”
He doesn’t stop.
He just pulls her down tighter.
Licks deeper. Sucks harder.
Until she’s shaking—hips jerking, thighs clenching, voice cracking as she falls apart all over his mouth.
“Felix—oh my God—”
And he takes it. Loves it.
Smiling, satisfied, wrecked in the best way as he guides her back down beside him.
They’re both breathless.
He kisses her swollen lips, her damp forehead, her collarbone.
“If that’s what mornings with you feel like…I never want to sleep again.”
---
Three hours later, she stumbles into the living room, hair up, hoodie on, Felix’s mark faint on her neck.
And Lana?
Already sitting on the couch like she’s been waiting.
The moment she looks up—
Her eyes narrow. Her brow lifts.
“You had sex.”
Y/N chokes. “LANA—”
“DON’T lie to me. I can see it. The glow. The limp. The fact you’re wearing the same hoodie you swore smelled like him.”
Y/N buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”
“I want details. Did he cry? Did you cry? Was it hot? Was it slow? Did he—wait, is he a face-sitter? HE TOTALLY IS, ISN’T HE?!”
Y/N throws a pillow at her face.
“I hate you.”
“You love me,” Lana grins.
Y/N bites her lip.
Smiles.
“Yeah. But not as much as I love him.”
Lana goes silent.
Then whispers,
“Oh, shit. You’re in love love.”
And Y/N?
She doesn't even deny it.
---
It starts with a real date.
No games.
No pretense.
Just Felix at her door, shirt freshly pressed, curls messy and perfect, holding a single pink daisy he probably panicked over before choosing. “I didn’t want it to be roses,” he says. “That felt too easy. This felt like… you.”
Y/N takes it with a soft smile, the kind that pulls at something deep in his chest.
They walk through the city just past dusk—hands laced, knuckles brushing, laughter spilling like it’s been waiting all day to be free.
Dinner is tacos and mango soda at a tiny corner booth in a neon-lit place that plays early 2000s R&B on shuffle.
They don’t talk about school. Or the past. Or what could go wrong.
They just are. And it’s perfect.
Afterward, they walk along the waterfront. The city sparkles behind them. The sky is dark velvet above them. And Felix stops walking.
“I have something to say,” he murmurs.
Y/N turns.
His eyes are wide, nervous, bare.
“I love you.”
No fanfare. No dramatic pause.
Just truth.
Soft and real.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since you called me out in class for doodling. And I didn’t say it before because I thought maybe you’d run.”
She stares at him.
Then steps forward.
“I was running,” she whispers.
“But not anymore.”
She reaches for him—hands on his face, thumbs against his jaw, breath trembling.
“I love you too.”
“God,” he exhales, pulling her into him. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” she says against his lips.
“One more time.”
“Felix, I’m in love with you.”
And the way he kisses her?
It’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos. It’s home.
They make it to his car, barely.
The moment the doors close, Felix pulls her across the console into his lap, mouth hot on hers, hands already sliding under the hem of her dress.
“You drive me insane,” he breathes.
“Then take it out on me,” she whispers.
He growls—actually growls.
The windows fog in seconds.
Her dress hikes up to her hips.
His fingers tease over her thighs.
She tugs his belt loose with shaky hands.
“Condom?” she gasps.
He fumbles in the glovebox—grinning when he finds one.
“You’re always prepared?” she teases.
“Only for you.”
He leans her back across the seat, climbs over her. The leather creaks and the air is hot and heavy.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says as he slides inside her.
Her moan catches in her throat.
“You feel so good,” he groans.
“Harder,” she begs.
He does. Thrusting deeper, hitting just right.
Their bodies move like they were made to do this—sweat slick, moans echoing in the small space, hands gripping, lips devouring.
“I love you,” she cries as she comes.
“I love you,” he groans against her neck as he follows.
They collapse in the backseat, panting, glowing, undone.
“You think I wanted this?” he whispered, voice cracked and wild. “To crave you like air? To wake up with your name already on my tongue? You think I meant to love you like this? I didn’t choose this, Y/N. I just looked at you and—”
“You got stuck in my fucking bloodstream.”
Warnings: (WC: 10k +/-), MDNI!!!, classmates2lovers, soft yandere! au, obsessed!felix, felix is so gone for y/n its not funny, artist! felix, college au, y/n is emotionally constipated, stalkerish actions? , mutual pining, the he fell first and fell harder trope, talks of rumors, comedic relief roommste- lana, swearing, jealously, lots of kissing- and i mean lotssss of it, possessive lix, suggestive actions, eventual sexual content, will add more as we get to the other parts, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: hey lovelies, instead of a oneshot- im going to make this a 3 part series, because Tumblr said it was too long. So far I was the first 2 parts finished ( the second part needs editing so it'll be scheduled for next week) , and i'm already 3/4 way done with the finale, so keep a look out for this!
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Finale
There are two empty seats in Lecture Hall 3A.
Felix Lee already has one of them.
He’s lounging halfway into it, legs stretched long under the desk, head tilted back as he grins up at something Changbin’s saying. The sleeves of his hoodie are bunched at the elbows, revealing faded ink on his forearm—something abstract, sharp-edged, soft like a memory.
People watch him like he’s the main character in a movie they all paid to see.
And he gives them a show—eyes crinkling, laugh low and warm, every movement loose and easy like he’s never once felt out of place.
He belongs here.
Until she walks in.
Y/N slips through the door quietly—barely a sound, barely a presence. But somehow it still echoes.
Felix doesn’t notice her at first.
It’s not until she pauses—just for a second, scanning for a seat—and pushes her hair back in a motion so fluid it could’ve been choreographed…
That his head snaps up.
Time doesn’t stop. It slows.
Like the universe is turning down the volume just for him to hear his heartbeat.
“Who the hell…”
She’s not glowing. She’s not dramatic. She’s not even dressed to stand out—oversized jacket, headphones still tangled in her pocket, a messenger bag bumping her hip.
But something in her quiet sets him on fire.
She doesn’t look like she’s trying to be seen.
Which is exactly why he can’t look away.
There’s only one seat left beside him.
And when she takes it—without looking at him, without knowing—he forgets how to breathe.
She doesn’t know who he is.
She doesn’t look at him like he’s someone.
And that’s the most exciting thing he’s ever felt.
The professor starts speaking. Slides click into place. Pens begin to scratch.
Felix doesn’t move.
He just looks—sideways glances at first, then longer ones. Her lashes are thick. Her notes are tiny and organized. She frowns when she concentrates, bottom lip tucked under her teeth like a habit she never broke.
She smells like jasmine and ink and something warmer. Something real.
And when she finally glances his way—maybe by accident, maybe not—he smiles.
Slow. Soft.
The kind of smile that makes girls fall in love.
She blinks.
And turns away.
He’s never been ignored like that in his life.
By the time class ends, he knows three things:
Her name is Y/N.
She smells better than anything he’s ever inhaled.
He’s going to ruin himself trying to make her his.
---
Y/N pushes open the dorm room door with her shoulder, keys jingling in one hand, phone buzzing in the other. She’s halfway through a sigh when—
“Tell me everything.”
Lana is already sprawled across her bed, legs kicked up against the wall, holding a bag of Hot Cheetos and an iced matcha like a goddess of academic survival. There’s a face mask on her nose and glitter stars in her hair. She looks like chaos in a crop top.
Y/N drops her bag. “About?”
Lana sits up fast. “Don’t play dumb with me. You had Art History today. With the hot professor. And him.”
“Who’s ‘him’?”
“Felix Lee. Campus sweetheart. Looks like an angel, probably sins like a demon. Blonde, dimples, voice like melted caramel?”
Y/N blinks. “Oh. Yeah. He was in my class.”
Lana stares at her like she just said the sky was optional.
“And?? What happened? Did he speak to you? Did he offer you his soul? Did he kiss the air and make flowers grow?”
Y/N snorts. “He smiled at me.”
Lana gasps, clutching the bag of Cheetos to her chest like pearls.
“Bitch,” she whispers dramatically. “He smiled at you?”
Y/N kicks off her shoes and shrugs, trying way too hard to act like her pulse didn’t jump when it happened.
“It was just a smile.”
“Oh my God, you’re delusional,” Lana says, already grabbing her phone. “That boy does not just smile. He looked at you like you were a croissant in a Paris bakery window, i saw it! i was there!”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “I barely looked at him.”
Lana pauses, then narrows her eyes.
“But you knew he looked at you.”
Silence.
Caught.
Y/N shoves a pillow at her, and Lana squeals, dodging.
“I knew it! You’re blushing! That Felix Lee smile got you in 4K, baby!”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You’re so blushing. I’m hosting your future wedding party.”
Y/N flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling.
She had noticed. Of course she had. He was practically glowing. His presence felt like sunlight through glass—warm, bright, but too much if you stayed too long.
And when he looked at her… it was like being seen. Fully. Silently. Like a hunger she couldn’t name yet.
And it scared the hell out of her.
Across campus, a sketchbook lies open in Felix’s lap.
He’s redrawing the curve of a girl’s jaw.
He doesn’t know her middle name.
But he already knows how she looks when she concentrates.
How she turns pages with her left hand.
How she won’t meet his eyes.
He’ll learn the rest.
He has time.
He does always gets what he wants.
---
Felix didn’t notice her at first.
That’s what he tells himself.
Because he should’ve been listening to Dr. Min. Or teasing Changbin about his caffeine addiction. Or even half-paying attention to the slides clicking by at the front of the room.
But all of it blurred the moment she walked in. Late, as always.
Not like a scene in a movie.
Not with wind blowing through her hair or some dramatic soundtrack.
Just... softly.
Quiet, like a secret no one told him he’d been waiting to hear.
She sat beside him. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t smile.
Didn’t try.
That’s what did it.
Now, Felix’s pen taps against his notebook without rhythm. He’s back in his dorm, propped against his headboard, textbook open in his lap and headphones buzzing low in his ears.
He’s replaying it. Over and over.
The way she tucked her sleeve over her hand when she reached for her pen. The little frown line between her brows when she was concentrating. The scribble of her notes, all slanted and small.
She didn’t notice him.
And maybe that’s the part that’s driving him insane.
Everyone notices him.
He’s used to it—teachers, classmates, strangers. Even the janitor calls him “Sunshine.”
But she?
She acted like he was just… someone.
Not someone special.
And he’s not sure which of those things he wants to be yet.
“Dude,” Changbin’s voice comes through the shared bathroom door. “You coming to dance rehearsal or not?”
Felix glances at the clock. He’s already fifteen minutes late.
“Be there in five!” he calls back, slipping his pencil between the pages of his book like a bookmark—even though he hasn’t read a word of it.
Later, after dance practice, after he showers and changes and throws on a hoodie too big to be his, he finds himself halfway across campus.
He swears he didn’t plan it.
He just… remembered she had her next class around this time.
And the courtyard near the library has a good view of the walkway.
That’s all.
Totally normal.
He sits on the low brick wall, pops in a single earbud, and scrolls through his phone.
Just in case she walks by.
Just… to see.
And when she does—shoulders hunched against the breeze, headphones in, fingers wrapped tight around a coffee cup—he doesn’t say anything.
He just watches.
She’s so quiet in the way she moves, like she doesn’t want to disturb the world.
He wonders what would happen if someone made her want to.
Made her laugh too loud.
Or kiss too long.
Or feel too much.
He wonders what it would take.
--
There’s glitter all over the floor.
And on the mirror.
And in Lana’s hair. Again.
“I swear to God,” Y/N says, dabbing concealer under her eyes, “you shed like a fairy stripper.”
Lana beams. “That’s the goal, babe.”
She’s in a black corset top and low-rise jeans that should be illegal. Her makeup is dramatic, dewy, and completely perfect. She’s halfway through applying star-shaped rhinestones to her cheekbone when she leans over Y/N’s shoulder.
“You’re wearing that?”
Y/N blinks at her reflection. “What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s giving ‘I might be a witch,’ not ‘I’m here to break hearts and summon chaos.’ We’re fixing that.”
Twenty minutes later, Y/N is standing in front of the same mirror—but this time she barely recognizes the girl staring back.
Fitted crop top. Small black skirt. Layered silver chains. Soft smokey eyes. Glossed lips. Her hair is wild in a good way. Intentional. Like she knows she’s a problem and doesn't care.
Lana whistles.
“Now that’s the girl who’s gonna ruin someone tonight.”
The party is at one of the upperclassmen dorms—loud music, low lights, bodies pressed into couches and corners and kitchen counters. It smells like cheap beer and sugar, like something is about to happen.
Y/N follows Lana through the crowd like a ghost, feeling half-there, until—
“Felix is here,” Lana says suddenly.
Y/N freezes. “What?”
“He’s here. Over there. Dance floor.”
Y/N’s eyes flicker across the room—and she sees him.
Golden curls tucked under a beanie. White tee sticking to his collarbone. He’s laughing with a girl from their class—Aria, Y/N remembers vaguely—but he’s not looking at her.
No.
He’s looking at Y/N.
Like he forgot how to smile.
Like she just knocked the wind out of him.
Lana smirks. “He’s been looking for you since the minute we walked in. You see that, right?”
“Lana—”
“I’m just saying,” she sings, sipping her drink, “if he murders you, I’ll avenge you. But also? You look hot. So live a little.”
Y/N rolls her eyes.
But her heart is thudding.
Because now he’s walking toward her.
Felix’s voice is soft over the bass. “Hey.”
He’s closer than he needs to be. Just enough to smell like something sharp and sweet—maybe citrus, maybe something darker.
Y/N swallows. “Hey.”
His eyes flick down and up once—fast, but not subtle.
“You clean up nice,” he says, smiling. But his tone is lower. Rougher.
She raises a brow. “You say that to all your classmates?”
“No,” he says without hesitation. “Just the ones I want to get to know.”
The air? Thick.
Music’s pounding, bodies are moving around them, but it’s like they’re in their own gravity.
She’s not moving away.
And he’s not moving at all.
“Wanna dance?” he asks.
And it doesn’t sound like a question.
It sounds like a challenge.
Just as she opens her mouth, Lana swoops in—looping an arm through Y/N’s and fake-smiling at Felix.
“Sorry, she promised me the first dance,” she says sweetly, dragging Y/N away before Y/N can decide if she wanted to say yes.
Y/N looks back.
Felix is still watching.
But now his smile has teeth.
Y/N leans into Lana’s ear. “Did you just save me or ruin me?”
Lana grins. “Why not both?”
---
The music shifts into something bass-heavy and lazy, like it’s daring people to get closer.
Lana’s glitter is already catching the light when she gasps and grabs Y/N’s wrist like it’s life or death. “Group game time. You’re coming.”
Y/N raises an eyebrow. “I just got comfortable.”
“You’ll be more comfortable once you’ve emotionally humiliated yourself in a circle of strangers. Come on.”
The living room is half-lit by string lights and bad decisions. Someone pushes the coffee table back. People sink into couches, curl up on the carpet, fill Solo cups with things too strong to taste.
Y/N finds herself tugged down beside Lana on the floor. She pulls her knees in. Tries not to look too out of place. She's scanning the room when she sees him.
Felix.
Lounged out on the couch like he lives there.
His arm’s draped over the back like it belongs around someone. There’s a beer bottle in his fingers, but he hasn’t even sipped it. His legs are spread like he doesn’t realize how distracting it is.
And he’s already looking at her.
Not staring. Just—watching.
Like he’s measuring something.
Like he’s waiting.
"Okay," Aria announces from across the circle, flipping her long hair back like she owns the moment, “We’re playing Most Likely To but with a twist.”
Changbin groans dramatically, “If this turns into truth or dare, I’m leaving.”
“It won’t,” she smirks. “Unless someone’s too scared to be honest.”
Felix chuckles under his breath. “Scared of what?”
“Most likely to sleep through finals” gets pointed unanimously at Jaehyun, who accepts the title with pride.
“Most likely to start a cult” goes to Lana, who bows with both hands like a K-pop idol and whispers, “Drink the glitter.”
Then Aria tosses a grenade.
“Most likely to break someone’s heart without even trying.”
A beat. A murmur.
And then—like it’s obvious—four people point at Y/N.
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
Lana cackles. “It’s the mystery, babe. You’ve got main character heartbreak aura.”
“I literally only said two words to any of you.”
Felix, voice quiet but sure,
“Exactly.”
She looks up—sharp. “That’s a bold statement for someone who’s only known of me for less than twenty-four hours.”
He smiles, slow and amused. “It’s a feeling.”
“Maybe you should get that checked.”
He laughs. “Maybe you should stop pretending you don’t like being watched.”
Lana coughs violently into her drink. Aria looks like she’s about to throw her cup at the wall.
Y/N just blinks. Then tilts her head.
“Do you flirt like this with everyone or just girls who ignore you?”
“Only the ones who make it interesting.”
The room is buzzing again.
Even Seungmin looks mildly entertained.
A few questions later,
“Most likely to fall in love first.”
It lands like a thunderclap.
Everyone looks around, unsure—until Changbin points directly at Felix.
“You. You’re a simp and we all know it.”
Felix lifts his drink, not denying it.
“Only if it’s the right person,” he says, smiling slightly, eyes already on her.
When the game starts to fizzle and people break off into groups—dancing, making out, disappearing into hallways—Lana leans close, voice low.
“He was so undressing you with his eyes.”
Y/N sips her drink. “Was he?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I wasn’t looking.”
“You blinked less than five times.”
Y/N shrugs. “He’s fine.”
Lana gasps. “FINE?”
“He’s… symmetrical.”
“Bitch. If he looked at me like that, I’d have to unalive myself immediately from sheer embarrassment.”
Y/N tries to act unaffected. “He’s too much. Too charming. Too confident.”
“Okay, and? That’s the whole fantasy package!”
“It feels fake.”
“Or maybe you just don’t like being the one who’s wanted.”
Y/N looks away.
That’s when he appears.
Felix. Again.
Two drinks in hand.
He offers her one, voice softer now—lower, almost sincere.
“You looked like you needed water.”
She stares at him, arms crossed. “You watching me again?”
He smiles, like it’s a joke—but his eyes don’t laugh.
“Maybe.”
Lana opens her mouth. Y/N jabs her in the ribs before she can speak.
“Thanks,” Y/N says, taking the cup.
His fingers brush hers—just enough to make it feel like maybe it was on purpose.
“You’re full of surprises,” she mutters, sipping.
“You have no idea,” he says back, voice velvet.
Then, just like that—he walks away.
Lana is already vibrating. “WHAT. THE. FUCK.”
Y/N exhales. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You just got main-character seduced and then abandoned.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Uh-huh. Say that again while not staring at his ass.”
---
Y/N slips into class early the next day for the first time since she's started classes.
She’s hoping to beat the crowd. To get a seat by the wall. To pull her hoodie over her face and pretend last night never happened.
Unfortunately, fate—and the universe—hate her.
Because the moment she steps into the lecture hall, someone’s already in her usual seat.
And Felix is in his.
Smack in the middle. Empty seat next to him.
Looking like sin in a fitted hoodie and silver chain, a pencil tucked behind one ear.
And when he sees her?
His smile is unfair.
“You’re early,” he says, soft like it’s a secret between them.
She blinks. “So are you.”
He taps the notebook on his desk. “Had some inspiration to write out.”
“Inspiration, huh?”
His eyes flicker to her lips.
“You’d be surprised what sticks in your head after a party.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t sit either.
Just stands there, debating—back row, empty seat behind a pillar, anywhere but next to him.
He pats the desk beside him.
“You’re not really gonna avoid me after I gave you water, are you?”
Y/N raises an eyebrow. “That was water?”
“Mostly.”
He’s grinning. She hates that she doesn’t walk away.
She sighs. Sits beside him. One desk, too close.
The room starts to fill. Changbin appears and gives them both a look that screams interesting.
Aria walks in, sees them, and nearly walks back out.
Felix leans over slightly.
“You’re popular this morning.”
“I’m regretting everything already.”
“No you’re not.”
She side-eyes him. “You always this cocky?”
“Only around people I like.”
A beat. A pause. Her pulse jumps.
“Do you flirt with everyone who sits next to you?”
“No,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “Just the ones who try to act like I don’t exist.”
Professor Min walks in. The lights dim. The projector starts.
Felix finally stops talking.
But he doesn’t stop looking.
Not completely.
He watches her out of the corner of his eye. The way her fingers tap the desk when she’s bored. How she chews the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking. The soft crease between her brows when she concentrates.
And when she finally looks back—just for a second—he smiles again.
Not big. Not obvious.
Just enough.
Still watching?
Always.
As the lecture rolls on, he leans closer, voice a whisper meant for her alone.
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
Pause.
“You never answered my question.”
She glances sideways. “Which one?”
“Do you always stare at people when you don’t like them?”
She exhales, eyes back on the board.
“Maybe I just like the view.”
He stops.
The tension snaps like a thread pulled too tight.
He looks at her—really looks.
And this time?
He’s the one who blushes.
---
It starts with a list.
Posted in the middle of Dr. Min’s lecture slides, like it’s not about to change lives.
Group Project: Midterm Analysis.
Partnered Work.
Pairs assigned randomly.
Y/N’s heart stutters before she even sees the names.
And when she does?
Of course.
Lee, Felix — Y/L/N, Y/N
“Of course,” she mutters under her breath, dragging her fingers down her face.
Beside her, Felix hums like he’s just been handed a birthday present.
“Guess fate ships us.”
“Fate’s on something.”
He leans toward her, propping his chin on his hand. “Or maybe I just manifest really well.”
“You manifested me into a group project?”
He shrugs. “I’ll take what I can get.”
They meet at the campus library later that evening—quiet corner table, papers everywhere, books stacked like walls.
Y/N’s typing notes. Felix is... doodling.
“Are you seriously drawing right now?”
“I’m multitasking.”
She glares.
He smirks.
“I can’t help it,” he says, pencil flicking across the edge of the page. “You’re very drawable.”
“You’re very irritating.”
He holds up the page: a surprisingly decent sketch of her side profile, brows furrowed mid-glare.
“It’s not done yet,” he says. “You look too composed.”
They don’t get much work done.
Every time she reaches for a pen, he steals it.
Every time she rolls her eyes, he grins like it’s a victory.
He keeps bumping her knee under the table. “By accident.”
He asks for help reading something over his shoulder—leans in too close.
And every time their eyes meet, the air thickens.
By the time she escapes the library, it’s past 9, and her phone lights up with a string of all-caps texts:
LANA 🧚♀️✨
WHERE ARE YOU
ARE YOU WITH HIM
I KNOW YOU’RE WITH HIM
DID HE TOUCH YOUR KNEE
DID HE DRAW YOU LIKE ONE OF HIS FRENCH GIRLS
OPEN THIS DOOR RN
Y/N opens the dorm room and Lana literally dives at her with a pillow in one hand and a face mask in the other.
“You’ve been gone for three hours and I demand DETAILS,” she declares.
Y/N kicks her shoes off and sighs. “We were studying.”
“Studying each other’s faces???”
She tries to play it cool. “It was fine. He was... annoying.”
Lana gasps. “Oh my god. You like him.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You do! You have Felix Face™.”
“What is Felix Face?”
“It’s the face of a girl who’s being seduced by dimples and sketchbooks and bad intentions!”
Y/N groans. “It’s a group project.”
“He’s going to fall in love with you.”
“He’s not.”
“You’re going to fall in love with him.”
“No I’m not.”
Lana narrows her eyes. “Then why are you smiling?”
Y/N turns away. “I’m not.”
---
The next partner meeting isn’t in the library.
It’s in Felix’s dorm room.
His side is clean, lived-in, filled with scraps of paper and charcoal-streaked sketchpads. A record player hums something soft in the background, and there’s an open bag of gummy bears on the desk.
He offers her the desk chair. He takes the floor.
And still manages to look like he owns the whole damn room.
“I brought notes,” she says, flipping her laptop open.
“I brought snacks,” he says, already tossing her a chocolate bar.
They start working.
Kind of.
Y/N types. Felix watches her.
Y/N rereads. Felix sketches a corner of her hair where it curls near her ear.
She doesn’t notice. Not until she leans over his shoulder to see what he’s working on and realizes—
He’s drawing her again.
“You’re literally obsessed.”
He grins. “Obsessed is a strong word.”
“Then pick a different one.”
He looks at her for a second. Eyes soft. Almost serious.
“Enchanted.”
Her breath catches.
He doesn’t say it like a joke. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t wink.
Just says it.
Like it’s a fact.
Like it’s truth.
They finish the outline. Barely.
She leaves just before curfew.
And as she walks down the dorm steps, her phone vibrates.
Unknown number.
[ 9:27 PM ]
hey. it’s felix.
don’t freak out, lana gave me your number
(also threatened to stab me if i made u cry)
did you get home safe?
She stares at it for a second.
Smiles.
Then types back:
[ 9:29 PM ]
i survived.
shocked you didn’t draw it.
[ 9:29 PM ]
i would’ve if you’d let me walk you back
next time?
Her stomach flips.
Stupid.
She types: maybe.
---
The next morning.
It’s too early. She’s running on three hours of sleep. She walks into the café on campus needing caffeine more than air.
She does not expect to see Aria at the front of the line.
Worse?
Aria sees her first.
And smiles.
But it’s the kind of smile you feel like a knife.
“Y/N, right?” she says, too loud, too friendly. “From Art History?”
Y/N nods slowly.
Aria cocks her head. “You and Felix seem to be spending a lot of time together lately.”
There it is.
Y/N keeps her voice calm. “We’re just partners.”
Aria leans in slightly. “That’s what they all say.”
Her eyes say the rest: He flirts with everyone. You’re not special.
Y/N takes her coffee, says nothing, walks out with her chin a little higher.
But still—
Her heart is beating faster.
That night, Felix texts again:
[ 10:12 PM ]
aria said something, didn’t she.
[ 10:13 PM ]
i can explain, if you want.
Y/N stares at the message.
The air is still. Her phone lights up again.
[ 10:15 PM ]
or
you can let me show you you’re not just another name.
She almost doesn’t go.
The message sat in her inbox all night.
She read it. Reread it. Didn’t reply.
But now it’s sunset.
And she’s at the edge of campus, phone buzzing.
Felix: I’m out back. You’ll know which car is mine.
She finds it immediately.
The black Jeep. Windows cracked. Music playing low.
And him—leaned against the side in a gray sweatshirt and backwards cap, looking like a sin she’s about to commit.
“Hey,” he says softly as she approaches.
Like this is normal. Like this isn’t something big.
She crosses her arms. “So what exactly am I here for?”
Felix smiles. “Closure.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Closure to what?”
He shrugs. “That question in your head. The one you’ve been asking since the party.”
Is he serious?
Is he like this with everyone?
Am I just another girl he draws and forgets?
She never said it out loud.
But somehow—he heard it anyway.
“Come on,” he says, opening the passenger door. “Let me show you something.”
---
It’s three flights of an old music building, one locked door (he has a key, of course), and a fire escape that definitely looks like it’s not up to code.
Y/N follows him anyway.
And when she steps onto the rooftop—her breath catches.
Fairy lights strung between pipes.
A paint-stained mattress with pillows.
Half-empty sketchbooks tossed in a crate.
A small speaker playing a sleepy playlist.
And the stars.
Not many. But enough.
“I come here when I can’t sleep,” Felix says quietly. “Which is most nights.”
She walks around slowly, taking it in. “You did this?”
He shrugs. “No one else comes up here. Just me. And now you.”
There’s a moment.
Not silence—because the music still hums—but something close.
He sits on the mattress. Tugs his hoodie sleeve over his hand. Looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.
“You think I’m playing a game with you,” he says. “But I’m not.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “But I don’t watch everyone walk away like I’m afraid I’ll never see them again.”
“I don’t remember what people smell like. Or how they take their coffee. Or what side of the desk they always choose.”
He leans forward.
“But I remember you.”
---
She doesn’t sleep.
She just lies in bed, wide awake, heart loud.
Lana notices immediately. Slides onto her bed with a face mask on and a bag of M&M’s.
“Okay,” she says. “Talk.”
Y/N sighs. “There’s nothing to—”
“Try again.”
She stares at the ceiling. “He showed me this rooftop he goes to when he can’t sleep. He said I’m not just anyone.”
Lana is quiet.
Then, “And do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or are you just scared?”
Y/N blinks.
“Scared that if he’s telling the truth… you’re gonna fall.”
“And if he’s not… you already have.”
---
She doesn’t text him the next day.
Or the day after that.
Not because she’s mad. Not because he did something wrong.
But because she still feels it.
The echo of his voice on that rooftop.
The way he looked at her like she was the secret to keep.
Like he was safe with her.
And she knows what it’s like to trust too quickly.
Knows what it’s like to fall into something and mistake it for forever.
So she doesn’t respond.
She doesn’t reach out.
She hides.
And Felix?
Felix lets her.
Until the fourth day.
She’s in the library.
Same corner. Same seat. Pretending to study.
And then he slides into the seat across from her like he never left it.
Quiet. Calm. Tired.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Her throat tightens. “I’m busy.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
She keeps reading.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t push.
Just sits there with that soft, open stillness that hurts more than anger.
Finally—she breaks.
“Why are you doing this?”
He looks at her. Really looks.
“Because I think about you when I’m trying not to think about anything.”
Her breath catches.
“Because when you walked into that classroom, something clicked.
And I haven’t stopped hearing it since.”
Y/N looks down. Her hands are shaking.
“Felix…”
“Let me talk. Just for a second.”
She doesn’t stop him.
“I get it, okay? You don’t trust me.
I wouldn’t either if I were you.”
He exhales. Rubs the back of his neck.
“People think I’m this golden retriever guy. Friendly. Flirty. Soft.
And I am… kinda. But no one really sees me.
Not the part that stays up at night.
Not the part that feels too much and says too little.”
He finally meets her eyes.
“You do.
And that scares the hell out of me.”
Silence.
He laughs once—short, breathless. “Wow. That was a lot.”
She opens her mouth. Then closes it.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says quietly.
Felix leans forward, voice gentle.
“Then we’ll learn together. But please—stop pretending you don’t feel this. Because I know you do. And I’m not gonna hurt you. Even if you run again.”
Her voice cracks.
“I don’t want to need anyone.”
“You don’t have to.”
Pause.
“But I want to be someone you choose. Even when you don’t have to.”
She stands up.
He doesn’t stop her.
She walks out of the library—heart racing, throat tight.
But she doesn’t go back to her dorm.
She walks for miles. Through campus. Through her own head.
And she hears him the whole time.
"I think about you when I’m trying not to think about anything."
"You see me."
"I want to be someone you choose."
She doesn’t sleep that night.
Neither does he.
---
Something shifts.
She doesn’t realize it at first.
It’s little things.
Felix stops sitting next to her in class.
Not obviously. Not out of spite. Just… further away.
He doesn’t text first.
He doesn’t send a meme at 2 a.m.
Doesn’t bump into her at her favorite café.
Doesn’t smile across the quad like she’s his favorite secret.
He’s not gone.
He’s just... absent in all the ways that mattered.
And it hurts.
Worse than she expected.
Because she wanted space.
Didn’t she?
She told herself she needed air. But now all she can breathe in is the space where he should be. In class, she glances sideways. He’s laughing at something Changbin says.
Not looking at her.
Not at all.
And it burns.
You don’t get to miss someone you pushed away.
Except... you do.
And she does.
Every second.
Later that night, she’s curled in her hoodie, staring at the blank notes on her laptop. She can’t write a word.
Lana bursts in like glitter-coated lightning, holding two bags of chips and a mission.
“Okay. Talk.”
Y/N doesn’t even blink. “There’s nothing—”
“STOP,” Lana snaps, dropping the snacks and sitting cross-legged on the bed. “We are not doing the emotionally constipated thing tonight. I’ve let you spiral long enough.”
Y/N swallows.
Lana softens.
“You’re allowed to be scared.
But don’t confuse fear with truth.”
Y/N shakes her head. “What if I fall?”
Lana looks her in the eye.
“Babe, you already did.”
Silence.
“You’re not afraid of getting hurt. You’re afraid that for once... this might be real. And you don’t know what to do with something that isn’t pretending.”
Y/N breathes in shaky.
“I miss him.”
Lana smiles, gentle now. “Then tell him.”
---
It’s midnight.
The hallways are silent, except for the hum of fluorescent lights and her racing heart.
She’s standing in front of his door.
Hand raised.
Not knocking.
Not yet.
She doesn’t know what she’ll say.
Doesn’t even know if he’ll answer.
But she’s here.
And that has to mean something.
She finally knocks—three soft raps that sound like a plea.
A second passes.
Then another.
And then—
The door opens.
Felix stands there, shirt hanging loose, hair tousled like he hasn’t slept. Eyes tired. Voice rough.
“Y/N?”
She doesn’t say anything.
Just looks at him.
Everything in her chest is loud. He steps back, silently letting her in.
She walks past him, stands in the center of the room like she’s still deciding whether to leave or beg.
“Why’d you stop?” she asks finally, voice thin.
He blinks. “Stop what?”
“Everything. The texts. The looks. The rooftop.”
He exhales. Runs a hand through his hair.
“Because you didn’t want it. And I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
“You left.”
“You didn’t follow.”
He stares at her. Then steps forward.
“Do you want me to?”
Y/N’s voice breaks. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Felix closes the space between them, slowly. Gently.
“Then let me show you. But you have to let me. Let me try. Let me in.”
She shudders. Blinks up at him.
“I’m scared.”
His hand finds hers. Warm. Solid. There.
“So am I.”
And then she lets go.
Of the fear. Of the silence. Of the weight she’s been holding for too long.
And she kisses him.
---
Felix’s POV
He didn’t think she’d come.
Even when she knocked, even when he opened the door and saw her standing there—bare-faced, breathless, beautiful—he thought he was dreaming. But then she walked in. And his whole world tilted.
Now she’s here.
In his room. In his space. In his arms.
Her lips are on his and her hands are fisted in his shirt like she’s holding herself together with him—and God, he’s never felt anything so good in his life.
She tastes like everything he’s ever wanted.
And everything he’s afraid to lose.
It’s not gentle. It’s not chaste.
It’s months of tension. Weeks of watching her from across rooms, memorizing her smile, her silence, the way her voice softens when she’s tired. It’s every second he spent wondering if she was going to be the one thing in his life he could never have.
And now? Now she’s right here.
His hands grip her hips like she might disappear if he lets go.
She gasps when he deepens the kiss, and the sound shoots straight through him—low in his spine, hot in his blood.
He wants more.
Not just of her skin.
Of her.
Her thoughts. Her fears. Her trust. Her time. Her everything.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at her.
Her eyes are blown wide. Lips kiss-bitten. Breath shaking.
“Y/N,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “Are you?”
He lets out a breath. A laugh, almost.
“I’ve been sure since the moment you sat next to me.”
She kisses him again—softer now. Slower.
And that’s worse.
Because it’s not hunger anymore.
It’s need.
He kisses down her jaw, to the soft spot under her ear. She tilts her head, exhales his name like it’s a prayer. His fingers slide under the hem of her shirt, touch skimming her waist—waiting, waiting, waiting—
Until she arches into him. And he loses it.
They fall back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and breath.
He’s above her, holding himself up with shaking arms. Her hands are tugging at his hoodie, slipping underneath, palms warm on his stomach.
He wants to take it slow.
He wants to savor it.
But his heart is pounding like it’s chasing something—
Like it already knows it belongs to her.
She pulls him down again and whispers against his mouth:
“Don’t stop. Keep kissing me.”
And he doesn’t.
Not until both of them are breathless and wrecked and whispering each other’s names like it’s the only thing that matters.
Later, when she’s curled into his chest, fingertips tracing circles over his ribs, he lies there in the dark and realizes—
This isn’t a crush.
This isn’t infatuation.
It’s possession, blooming slow.
She’s not his. Not really.
But he wants her to be.
He wants to be the only one she touches like this. The only one she lets in when she’s scared. The only name she says when she’s falling apart.
He wants to be her favorite place.
And if that means playing nice…
He will.
For now.
Because this?
This is just the beginning.
---
The first thing she feels is warmth.
Not the kind that fades. Not morning sun or heated blankets.
It’s Felix.
He’s curled around her—arms wrapped tight like even in sleep, he’s afraid she’ll leave.
His face is buried in her shoulder, breath soft, his hand resting just beneath her shirt. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just... there.
And it’s terrifying how good it feels.
Y/N opens her eyes slowly, her heart beating unevenly.
Last night wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t planned either. It was them—in their most unguarded, breathless state.
She turns her head. Looks at him.He’s still sleeping. Lips parted slightly. Lashes kissing his cheeks. Soft. And for a second, she lets herself feel it.
All of it.
The intimacy.
The closeness.
The ache that this might be more than she was ever ready for.
She slips out of bed quietly—his shirt pulled over her body, her phone clutched in her hand—and pads toward the common tiny dorm kitchenette.
The moment she opens the fridge to grab water—
The door opens.
She freezes.
Aria stands there.
Mascara perfect. Hair tied up. Holding her binder like she owns the damn building. And her eyes flick to Y/N’s clothes.
Felix’s shirt.
Bare legs.
The flush on her cheeks.
Aria’s lips part.
And then curl. Just slightly.
“Oh,” she says coolly. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this was... occupied.”
Y/N blinks. “I—”
But Aria’s already walking away.
Heels clicking like gunfire.
---
Felix finds her earring on his pillow after she leaves.
Tiny. Silver. Bent just slightly at the hook. The one she always wore with the little moon charm.
He stares at it for a while. Rolls it between his fingers.
He should return it.
He should text her, say she forgot something. But he doesn’t.
He walks to his desk.
Opens the small drawer near the back—the one she hasn’t seen yet. The one with scraps and sketches and folded paper corners.
And he places it there.
Right next to the ribbon she wore in her hair the day they first spoke.
And the napkin she doodled on during their second project meeting.
And the sticky note where she wrote “focus, dumbass” and stuck it to his laptop.
Just little things.
Things she left behind.
Things he never meant to keep.
But now?
He can’t throw them away.
Because they’re hers.
And as far as he’s concerned?
What’s hers is his now.
---
It starts between the shelves of the art building.
Y/N didn’t mean to hear it.
She was looking for extra graphite pencils.
What she found instead was Aria’s voice, low and razor-sharp, cutting through soft laughter like a scalpel.
“...she’s cute,” Aria says, her voice just loud enough. “But let’s be honest. She’s not his type. She’s just new. Mystery always makes the game more fun.”
Someone chuckles. Aria goes on.
“You think you’re the only girl he’s ever drawn? Please. It’s how he reels you in. Little sketches, stolen looks. Makes you feel like you’re the only girl he sees—until he’s done playing.”
Y/N freezes behind the bookshelf. Her fingers curl around the pencil tin.
“He doesn’t mean it. None of them ever do. It’s just another knotch in the belt. A fun chase. A pretty face.”
The laugh that follows is cruel.
Y/N doesn’t cry. She doesn’t run.
She walks away calmly, even as her chest is splintering.
They didn’t even go all the way. Not even close.
Just a makeout—heavy, yes. Her hands in his hair, his mouth at her neck, heat pooling low in her stomach. But it wasn’t sex. It was something else. Something more.
At least, she thought it was.
By sunset, it’s unbearable.
She’s been pacing her dorm for over an hour, trying to make it not matter. Trying to tell herself Aria’s bitter. Trying to believe the rooftop, the softness, the way he kissed her like she was the air he needed—meant something.
But the words echo like poison.
Just another game.
She grabs her phone.
“Where’s Felix?”
Changbin replies instantly.
“Not sure. He’s not in the art lab. Might be at the pool.”
She doesn’t even hesitate.
---
The pool is mostly dark.
The lights shimmer under the surface, casting ghost-like ripples onto the walls. There’s a low hum of the filtration system and the occasional splash of water.
And then—him.
Felix.
Alone in the water, shoulders slicing through the surface like it’s second nature. His hair is pushed back, slick and shining. His chest rises with each breath, droplets trailing down to where the V of his hips disappears beneath the surface.
He hasn’t seen her yet.
And for a moment?
Y/N just watches.
He’s beautiful. And she hates that she’s just now admitting it.
The way his muscles move. The way water clings to his skin like it worships him. The tattoos on his ribs and arms. The way his eyes close when he floats on his back like he’s finally at peace.
If this is a game, he’s damn good at playing it.
Her voice cuts through the quiet.
“So was I just another sketch to you?”
He stops.
Turns slowly in the water.
And when he sees her—rage burning behind her eyes, mouth trembling—his chest tightens so violently it aches.
“Y/N—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He swims to the edge, arms resting on the side of the pool. Water drips down his jaw, over his collarbone. He looks up at her like she’s the sun and the fire that burns him alive.
“What did she say to you?”
Y/N crosses her arms. “That this is a game. That you do this to everyone. The sketches. The attention. The pretending.”
“It’s not pretending,” he says immediately, voice raw.
“Then what is it?”
He climbs out of the pool slowly, water running down every inch of golden skin. His chest heaves slightly. His eyes don’t leave hers.
And she can’t stop looking.
His body. His expression. The way he walks toward her, wet hair dripping, towel forgotten.
He’s all beauty and intensity and want.
But she doesn’t back down.
“Tell me the truth, Felix. If this is just some game you’re playing, end it now.”
He stops in front of her. So close.
Water glistens on his chest. His hand twitches, like he wants to touch her but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
Then—
“You think I’d do all this... obsess over you... just to win a game?”
His voice is low, dangerous.
“You think I lie awake replaying your voice in my head because it’s fun? You think I can’t focus in class because I’m faking it? You think I kissed you like that because I do it with everyone?”
She stares. Her chest is heaving now, too.
He steps closer.
“Y/N, I’ve never wanted anything like this before. And that scares the shit out of me.”
Her breath catches.
He keeps going.
“But you— You walk into a room and I feel it. In my teeth. In my chest. In my fucking bones.”
A pause. The air thickens.
“So if this is a game? Then fuck it. I’ll lose. I’ll rip the board to pieces. Just—don’t stand there and act like you don’t feel it too.”
She looks up at him. She does feel it. It’s been clawing at her ribs since the day they met.
And now, it’s screaming.
He moves. Just slightly. Tilts his head. His breath brushes her cheek.
“Still think I’m pretending?”
She doesn’t answer.
She grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him like she needs to prove something.
And he kisses her like he’s breaking.
Hands sliding to her waist. Water soaking into her clothes. Her anger fueling his desperation. This isn’t soft. It’s not careful.
It’s teeth. Tongue. The need to devour.
Her fingers slide through his wet hair. His grip tightens on her waist. He presses her into the wall of the pool room like he’s trying to burn himself into her skin.
And in that moment—
He knows.
She’s not a crush.
She’s not a phase.
She’s his.
Whether she wants to be or not.
---
Since the night at the pool, Felix has changed.
Not drastically.
Not loudly.
But it’s there—in every look, every step, every breath when she’s near.
He’s always touching her now.
A hand on her back when they walk through the quad. Fingers brushing the inside of her wrist when he leans in to whisper something that isn’t school related. Knees pressed against hers under the desk like he needs to feel her to focus.
It’s subtle enough to be deniable. But constant enough to make her burn.
And his voice? Lower. Softer. Like velvet over fire.
“You always smell so good,” he murmurs one day in the hallway.
“You gonna let me kiss you right here?”
She shoves him away, flustered—
And he grins like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.
They’re now studying in her dorm—well, supposed to be.
Felix is stretched across her bed like he owns it, flipping through his sketchbook while Y/N sits at her desk, highlighting a sentence for the third time without actually reading it.
She gets up to grab her charger.
Before she makes it two steps, he hooks an arm around her waist from behind and pulls her back down into his lap.
“Where you going, baby?”
She freezes for half a second.
Baby.
It’s casual. Easy. Like he’s said it before.
But she knows he hasn’t.
And the way it rolls off his tongue, low and warm, with his breath on her neck? It lights a fire in her blood.
She glances at him over her shoulder. “That’s new.”
Felix smiles, all teasing and lazy confidence. “What? You don’t like it?”
She doesn’t answer. But her pulse answers for her.
And he feels it—under his fingertips, in the way her breath catches. And that’s all the confirmation he needs.
---
That friday night,
It starts like always.
A movie playing low. Felix behind her on the bed, arms around her waist, lips brushing her neck every few minutes like he has to touch her or he’ll lose his mind.
She leans back against him, biting her lip.
“You’re not even watching.”
“You’re distracting.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly.”
He flips her onto her back in one smooth move and hovers over her, lips inches from hers, voice warm and teasing.
“Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t.
She grabs him by the collar and drags him down.
It’s heat.
Hands slipping under shirts. Breaths stuttering. His mouth on her throat, his teeth scraping her collarbone. Her legs wrapping around his hips as he groans into her mouth like he’s starved.
“Mine,” he whispers again. “You hear me?”
Her nails dig into his back.
“Say it, Y/N.”
“Yours,” she gasps.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s all I needed.”
Then—
The door opens.
“BABE I BROUGHT PIZZA—WHAT THE ACTUAL—”
Lana stands frozen in the doorway, holding a pizza box like a weapon, eyes wide and absolutely horrified.
Y/N lets out a strangled yelp and shoves Felix off her.
He barely moves. Just rests beside her on one arm, completely unbothered, smirking.
“Hey, Lana.”
“Don’t hey me while your tongue’s halfway down my best friend’s throat!”
Felix laughs—actual, full-on laughs—and Y/N shoves a pillow at his face, humiliated.
Lana blinks. Then slowly sets the pizza down.
“You know what? I’m happy for you both. But I swear to God, if I hear one moan through these paper-thin walls, I will Sage this room myself.”
She slams the bathroom door.
Felix flops back on the bed, still grinning.
“I like her.”
Y/N covers her face with a groan. “I’m going to die.”
Felix leans over, kisses the edge of her jaw.
“You’re gonna live. Right here. With me.”
And he means it.
Every word.
---
Y/N’s sprawled on her bed, hair still tangled from Felix’s fingers, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as Lana stares her down with her arms crossed.
Pizza box open. Tension thick.
“So,” Lana says, chewing slowly, “when were you gonna tell me you’ve been playing tonsil tennis with Mr. Sunshine Sketchbook?”
Y/N groans. “You were there when it happened.”
“Yes. And now I’m here to ask if you’ve lost your entire mind.”
Y/N sits up. “He’s not like that.”
“He’s literally exactly like that. Charming. Hot. Confusingly sweet. Probably a little obsessive—”
“Lana—”
“—which you clearly like, by the way. You’ve got the post-makeout glow of a girl who saw God and he was blonde with wet curls.”
Y/N blushes, hard.
“I’m serious, though,” Lana says gently, voice dropping. “I just… want to make sure you’re not getting swept up in the Felix Lee Effect. He makes people feel like the center of the world. But is he showing you that you are?”
Y/N hesitates.
And that’s the problem. He is.
It’s not just the kisses. It’s how he looks at her like she holds the answer to every question he's ever asked.
And that might be even more dangerous.
It starts small.
The next day, in class, he sits beside her again—his thigh brushing hers, warm and steady.
When a guy from their Art History class leans over to talk to Y/N, Felix slips his hand casually onto her knee under the table. His fingers curl slightly.
She notices.
So does the guy. That’s the point.
Later, in the quad, they’re walking side by side. She mentions a party that night.
He doesn’t ask to go. Doesn’t beg. He just says,
“Text me when you’re there. I’ll find you.”
And when she starts to walk away, he catches her wrist, pulls her back gently, and presses a kiss to her cheek—his lips lingering just a second too long.
“You look so pretty today, baby.”
Y/N walks away on shaky legs.
And Felix?
He’s already planning where he’ll stand so she can’t slip through the crowd without him seeing.
---
It’s Lana’s idea, of course.
She pulls Y/N into a glittery top and thigh-high boots, gives her a winged liner so sharp it could kill, and they arrive together to a pulsing house lit by LED lights and bad decisions.
Y/N’s only had one drink when she sees him.
Felix—leaning against the hallway wall, in a black button-up that’s undone just low enough. His hair is pushed back. His eyes? Already on her.
But she’s tipsy. And she’s mad.
Because the moment she walked in, three different girls said hi to him.
Because even if he’s looking at her now—how long will that last?
She turns back toward the kitchen—
And that’s when he shows up.
Han Jisung. Tall. Golden. Class clown. Been in two of her lectures. Sweet enough.
“Hey, I know you,” he says, flashing a grin. “Y/N, right?”
She nods. Smiles. Feels the heat of Felix’s stare even as she turns.
Jisung keeps talking. Flirting, even. Offers her a drink. Compliments her hair. And Y/N? She lets him.
Just a little.
Just to see.
And then she feels it.
A hand—warm and firm—on her lower back.
“Hey, baby.”
Felix’s voice is soft. But there’s something in it. Something sharp.
She turns slowly.
He’s standing close.
Too close.
Jisung blinks. “Oh. You guys—?”
Felix just smiles, all teeth. “Yeah. We’re together.”
Y/N opens her mouth to say something because they're not officiall together—but Felix’s hand is already sliding up her side, slow and deliberate, like he’s staking a claim.
Jisung clears his throat. “Got it. I’ll, uh… catch you later.”
He walks away fast.
Felix waits until he’s out of sight.
Then looks at her.
“Was that fun?”
Y/N crosses her arms. “Were you jealous?”
He leans in.
“No,” he lies. “I was possessive. Big difference.”
Her breath hitches.
His fingers trace the curve of her waist, barely there.
“Do it again,” he murmurs, eyes burning. “Let someone else touch you. And I’ll show you exactly what that means.”
They don’t speak for ten minutes after the Jisung moment.
Y/N walks ahead of Felix down the sidewalk, heels clicking, air cold on her skin and his hands still ghosting her waist even though he’s not touching her anymore.
He trails her like a shadow.
Close. Silent. Watching.
They make it to her dorm. She pushes the door open hard. Doesn’t wait for him to be invited in.
Felix steps inside anyway. Of course he does.
“You mad?” he asks, voice casual—but laced with heat.
She whirls around.
“You don’t get to just claim me like that.”
His mouth twitches. “Didn’t hear you complain.”
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
He steps closer.
“But you liked it.”
“That’s not the point.”
He stops in front of her. Looks down.
“Then what is?”
“You don’t own me, Felix.”
“I know.”
“I’m not yours to control—”
“I know.”
He leans down, his lips brushing her ear.
“But I want to be. I want you to want that.”
Her knees nearly buckle.
She shoves him, weakly. “You’re such an asshole.”
He catches her wrists. Gently. Warm fingers. Steady grip.
“But I’m your asshole, right?”
“Felix.”
He’s close again. Breathing heavy.
“Say it again.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Say I don’t own you. Look me in the eye and tell me I don’t already have a piece of you.”
Silence.
She can’t.
Because she does want it.
His intensity. The way he looks at her like he’s starving. The way his touch lingers.
It’s terrifying. But it’s also...
Addictive.
“You’re insane,” she whispers.
“Only about you.”
He leans in, and this time when he kisses her—
It’s slower. Deeper. More dangerous.
Like he’s carving his name into her lips.
And when he pulls back, eyes glazed, breathing hard—
He whispers,
“I think I’m losing it.”
---
Later that night, he’s in his room.
Alone.
Lights off.
Sketchbook open in his lap. Dozens of pages already filled.
All of them?
Her.
Her asleep. Her smiling. Her with her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her mid-laugh. Her annoyed. Her biting her lip. Her crying—he imagined that one.
He flips through the pages slowly, like each one is a confession.
“You don’t own me,” she said.
But she’s everywhere.
His walls. His folders. His phone.
He’s not even sure when it started.
He just knows he hasn’t drawn anyone else in weeks.
He reaches into his drawer.
Takes out the box.
The one with the earring. The napkin. The note.
He presses her earring to his lips.
“You're mine,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t say it yet.”
His breath hitches.
“I’ll wait.”
---
She doesn’t sleep that night.
Not because she’s overthinking. Not because she’s scared. But because the sheets still smell like him. And her body won’t stop remembering.
The press of his hands.
The weight of his stare.
The way he kissed her like he was trying to leave fingerprints on her soul.
She should want distance.
But all she wants is him.
She catches herself scrolling through old texts. Replaying his voice. Imagining his fingers tracing down her spine.
I want to be yours.
Say it again.
You look so pretty today, baby.
Her thighs squeeze together. Her breath hitches.
She hates how much she likes it.
He’s consuming her.
And the worst part?
She’s letting him.
---
“Something’s wrong with you.”
Seungmin says it over coffee, sitting across from Felix in the dining hall. He’s watched Felix tap his pen twelve times in a row, eyes glazed, not listening to a single word being said.
Felix blinks. “Huh?”
Seungmin narrows his eyes. “You’re obsessed.”
Felix chuckles. “I like her. That’s all.”
“No,” Seungmin says, sharper now. “You orbit her. You rearranged your schedule to match hers. You’ve stopped drawing anything but her. You don’t even eat when she’s not around.”
Felix’s jaw ticks.
“You think I don’t see it?” Seungmin adds. “I know what obsession looks like, Felix. And this? It’s not love.”
Felix leans back in his chair, slowly. His voice is soft.
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