name ā felix axl cavendish
pronouns ā him, his
age ā twenty-seven
sexual orientation ā demisexual, heteroromantic
height ā 6'5" / 1,97m
occupation ā model, dancer
birthplace ā¤ london, uk
3 positives traits ā¤ flexible, empathetic and intuitive
3 negative traitsā¤ reserved, spontaneous and comtemplative
#šš“š»š°ššøš š“š:
mother ā constatina cavendish
father ā anthony axl william cavendish
siblings ā 0
marital status ā single
issues ā 0
pets ā n / a
His parents struggled for years to conceive, meaning Felix was fiercely loved, but the familyās pockets were light. His dad was a mechanic and his mother worked in catering at a school.
His dad absolutely pushed him into a local boxing gym to "toughen him up" and ensure he could defend himself. Felix actually didn't mind the physical challenge, but he secretly watched the dance class down the hall or found his own rhythm.
What was the best thing about boxing? Footwork is everything in both boxing and ballet. He didn't just abandon boxing; the agility, discipline, and stamina he learned in the ring are exactly what made him an absolute powerhouse when he switched to dance. His dad probably resisted at first, but seeing Felix's brutal work ethic won him over.
Before landing his contract with the Zurich Ballet, he absolutely had to scout for commercial modeling gigs in London just to pay for rent, dance gear, and train tickets. He wasn't a high-fashion runway elite; he was the guy doing athletic wear ads or commercial campaigns because his physique was insane from dance.
The loss of a fellow company member left everyone on the team devastated. The leaders of the ballet company brought them to Pinehaven.
āø» I wouldnāt say I have a proper favorite song or band, to be honest. My taste is a bit all over the shop, but these ones happened to pop up on my Spotify shuffle today. AC/DCās Highway to Hell, a bit of Lou Bega with Mambo No. 5, don't judge me on that one, love, and The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.
45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?
Reading or writing? Why?
33: Concept of home and family?
Deeds. Absolutely. Iāve never been a bloke whoās particularly clever with a long speech or keen on wearing my heart on my sleeve. Words are cheap, mateāpeople tell you things all the time and then change their minds the second the wind shifts. In ballet, if you don't put the physical work in at the barre, the performance falls apart. In boxing, you don't talk a man down; you show your discipline through your movement. If I care about someone, or if I have something to say, I'll show it.
Neither, but if I have to pick one, hmmmā¦ Maybe reading. I'm not much of a writer, I travel a lot, I don't have the time to keep up a journal, I'm entirely focused on the choreography or how to keep my body moving. If something troubles my mind, I solve it in a punch bag.
33. Home used to be a specific neighborhood in London, where my mum worked her fingers to the bone in school catering to keep us afloat. But once you become a professional dancer, the concept of "home" gets a bit distorted. It becomes a hotel room, a row of identical dressing rooms, or a heavy travel pack sitting in the middle of a hallway. As for familyā¦ Itās a complicated one. Thereās the blood family back home, of course, but then there's the family you inherit through sheer survival. The blokes at the boxing gym who practically raised me, or the dancers in the company who sweat, bleed, and carry the exact same brutal pressure at 8:00 AM every single morning. We might not always get along, and we might keep our guards up, but when the curtains go up or things go entirely sideways, that's the lot who actually understands the weight of it all.
How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?
āø» Very, very organized. Felix is hyper-punctual and runs on a strict internal clock born from years of ballet and boxing. To him, being on time means being fifteen minutes early. He views time as a resource and gets restless around indecision or inefficiency. When cooking his massive comfort meals, the kitchen looks like a chaotic hurricane of pots and pans. However, his discipline dictates that every counter must be spotlessly wiped and every dish washed before he allows himself to sit down and eat. He can't bear seeing anything out of order for far too long ( with his own things, he knows not everyone is like him, so other people's mess he does not care ) .
felicityās jaw tightened, the playful spark in her expression instantly hardening into a look of offense. she stood entirely rooted to the floorboards, her fingers curling into tight fists inside the deep pockets of her coat as his words sliced through the narrow hallway. the sudden transition from a tired traveler to an prickly, imposing wall of muscle and biting critique caught her completely off guard, sending a jolt of defensive adrenaline straight to her chest. "fine print?" she echoed, her voice dropping from its previous theatrical pitch into a dangerous, icy register that practically hummed with indignation.
she stepped fully into the corridor, abandoning the safety of the doorframe to glare down at his horizontal form. "excuse the fuck out of me, but the only thing i was sidetracked by was trying to escape a moldy dungeon of a motel room before the ceiling collapsed on my head. i read every single syllable of my receipt, thank you very much, and it promised me a private sanctuary, not a defensive roommate with an attitude problem." she watched him shed his heavy layers, the underlying physical power of his stance not lost on her, but she refused to let herself be intimidated by his sheer scale. if he wanted to get testy about her poking fun at his origins, she could easily match his hostility with her own brand of verbal warfare.
"and for the record, my commentary wasn't a critique, it was an observation on how ridiculously misplaced you seem in this absolute dump," she snapped, a humorless laugh escaping her lips as she whirled around on her heel toward the larger bedroom across the hall. she grabbed the brass doorknob of her newly claimed territory, throwing the door open with a dramatic flare before looking back over her shoulder one last time, her eyes flashing in the dim light of the corridor. "enjoy your silence. i'll be sure to breathe extra loudly in my massive suite just to ruin your aesthetic. pleasant dreams," she practically spat out the final pleasantry before retreating into the dark room and clicking the door shut behind her with a decisive snap, effectively drawing the battle lines for the night.
three hours later, the silence of the apartment had grown heavy, stretching into the deep, hollow quiet of the early morning. predictable as always, sleep hadn't come for felicity. her mind was a hyperactive engine that refused to turn off, leaving her staring at the shadows on her ceiling until she finally gave up, dragged herself out of the unfamiliar bed, and slipped back out into the common area. when a floorboard creaked behind her, she turned her head to see felix stepping into the room, looking slightly less like a thundercloud but still carrying the unmistakable fog of heavy exhaustion.
felicity let out a soft, muted breath, her expression softening into something genuinely apologetic as she reached down into the open paper cardboard pack on the floor. without a word, she pulled out a second cold bottle of beer, using the counter edge to pop the cap off with a sharp, metallic clink before sliding it across the smooth counter toward him. "truce," she murmured, her voice quiet and stripped of its earlier bite
āø» Felix had not only endured a grueling twenty-three-hour journey in a cramped economy seat, but he was also carrying the suffocating weight of a sudden funeral back in London. It was a private tragedy he had no intention of ever sharing with a stranger, but it meant his emotional fuse was entirely burnt out. From his perspective, the moment heād walked through the door, Felicity had been shouting and treating him like heād personally dismantled her entire life. He had barely possessed the energy to roll over onto his side after her final, icy monologue, passing out into a heavy, dreamless sleep the second her bedroom door clicked shut.
When his eyes blinked open into the dark, heavy silence of the apartment, he felt completely disoriented. Checking his phone, he realized only three hours had passed. His internal clock was completely shattered. Dragging his massive, aching frame out of the small bed, he padded quietly into the common area, his bare feet pressing against the hardwood. When a floorboard creaked, Felicity turned, and Felix braced himself for round two, only to be met with a soft, genuinely apologetic breath and the sharp, metallic clink of a fresh beer bottle sliding across the counter toward him.
His intuitive gaze tracked the bottle, a flicker of confusion crossing his tired features before he slowly reached out, his large fingers wrapping around the cold glass. ā Cheers. ā Felix murmured, his low London accent sounding rough and raspy from sleep. He looked from the bottle up to her, a faint, exhausted trace of his usual deadpan humor returning to his eyes. ā Mind you, itās a bit early for a beer, even for a bloke with a shattered sleep schedule. ā
He wasn't trying to judge her; he was mostly just thinking out loud. As a principal dancer and a boxer, his entire life was governed by a strict, hyper-disciplined nutritional balance, even his rare cheat days were carefully calculated. Drinking a heavy alcohol carbloat at three in the morning went against every athletic instinct he possessed, but looking at her softened expression, he didn't want to ruin the peace offering. He set the bottle down on the counter with a soft thud, leaning his broad shoulders against the edge of the kitchen island as he tried to bridge the gap between them.
ā Did you, ermā¦ Manage to fix the algorithm war with the digital ghosts? ā He asked quietly, gesturing vaguely toward her pocket. He tentatively lifted the beer back up, taking a small, polite sip of the crisp liquid just to show her the truce was accepted. ā Or are we still lodging official complaints with the universe tomorrow morning? ā
āø» A quiet, rumbling laugh broke from his chest at her initial deflection, the deep, boyish dimples flashing on his cheeks as he watched her look away. Felix was a fiercely private man, especially when it came to his personal life outside the theater walls. Despite the years they had spent sweating through grueling rehearsals and sharing the stage, he rarely, if ever, spoke about himself. None of his colleagues, not even Ziva, knew the heavy weight he was carrying. They didn't know about the sudden, tragic accident that had taken his high school sweetheart back in London, or that the raw grief from that loss was the real reason heād arrived so late and exhausted to the town. He kept her memory entirely to himself, partly because she had been the total opposite of him, a practical, loud girl who had never once watched him dance, preferring him just as Felix rather than a principal dancer.
When Ziva looked back and genuinely admitted that she would miss him, noting that they had become quite the pair, Felixās playful smirk softened into something more grounded. Her rare vulnerability wasn't lost on his intuitive nature. ā Thatās true. ā He murmured, his low London accent carrying a rare streak of gentle sincerity. He leaned in, playfully bumping his broad shoulder against hers to cut through the sudden heavy atmosphere. ā Weāve put in too many bloody hours at the barre to just dissolve the partnership now, love. ā
But the moment she demanded he follow the script and admit heād miss her just as much, the teasing, deadpan glint returned to his hazel-green eyes. ā Right, then. ā Felix countered, holding up his large hand and explicitly crossing his fingers right in front of her face with a theatrical, completely unconvincing solemnity. ā I will miss you the exact same amount. I bloody well swear on it, Ziva. Look at how sincere I am. ā
his somewhat lofty stature didn't go unnoticed by darcy, you would think a girl of five three would get use to almost everyone towering over her, and yet she found herself taking a step or two backward. felix offering his full name in introduction did amuse her, the corners of her lips curling upward. most townspeople would hardly tell you their first name, so the girl found the sentiment endearing.
she beamed at her new acquaintance, pleased that he'd actually accepted the olive branch. " it's no trouble, really! i'm happy to help anyone navigate pinehaven, plus i'd probably be traipsing around town regardless. " darcy lifted her shoulders in a shrug, seeking to demonstrate that she felt entirely unburdened by the proposal. her light eyes were fastened on felix as he explained his current situation, having consistently bounced from city to city. she felt sympathetic, wondering how lonely it might feel to not have roots put down in any particular place. she let out a brief exhale before replying. " no worries, london boy. we'll get you settled. " the redhead ensured, trying to add a layer of comfortably with some lighthearted expressions. darcy trekked a little ways past him before she stopped to make a slight turn. " come on, we can walk to the town's center at least ! " she said with the wave of her hand, gesturing for him to follow her stride.
āø» Felix noticed the subtle, amused curl of her lips when he gave his full name, but with his usual reserved nature, he chose not to question it. Instead, his intuitive gaze tracked her as she took a step or two backward, fully realizing how intimidating his six-foot-five frame could be to someone who barely reached his chest. A quiet, curious glint touched his hazel-green eyes as she mentioned sheād be wandering the streets regardless.
ā What is it you do then? ā Felix asked, a touch of genuine interest softening his low London accent. ā I know youāre out taking Maple for a stroll right now, but what keeps you busy when you're alwaysā¦ "traipsing around"? Your words, love, not mine. ā Living the life of a traveling principal dancer could be incredibly isolating, and after recently losing a close colleague from the company and someone special, that quiet sense of loneliness felt heavier than usual. Having a local open up to him was a refreshing change of pace. When she confidently promised to get him settled, dubbing him London Boy, a slow, dry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
ā Right then, Red. Letās see how long I actually manage to stick around.ā He countered smoothly, matching her playful energy by executing a perfect fair-trade nickname. He hadn't exactly expected her tour guide offer to start immediately, rather than later, but heād already logged at least half the miles heād intended for his daily walk before Maple interrupted him. Since his schedule was entirely clear and he had nothing better to do than stare at the walls of his apartment, he took a step forward, his long, disciplined strides effortlessly adjusting to match her pace as he fell into step right beside her. As they began to head down the path toward the heart of the community, Felix looked down at her, tilting his head with a deadpan but genuinely intrigued expression. ā Since we're heading that wayā¦ what's your absolute favorite spot in the town center? Where's a bloke supposed to get a proper coffee around here? ā
open starter for anyone, feel free to assume a connection!
@pinehavenstarters
"And then he started laughing when I told him the total," Hanne explained theatrically, waving her hands around. "I guess he thought he was at the grocery store buying $20 wine and not in an established small town winery trying to purchase 3 bottles of 2017 Chardonnay." This was one of the main reasons she didn't enjoy working in the gift shop of Crystal Cove. They offered tours of the place for tourist and they'd come in wearing their khakis and flip flops and expect cheap wine to buy at the end. Hanne's winery didn't sell cheap wine. She hadn't worked as hard as she had over the past few decades to sell her luxury wine for an Andrew Jackson. The wine they made was defined by its exclusivity, limited availability, and their rigorous vineyard practices. There was a cost to that.
"Needless to say," Hanne went on. "He left empty-handed, muttering something about my audacity." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway," She grabbed the bottle of wine the man tried to buy from the shelf behind her and held it up. "Fancy a free glass of 2017 Chardonnay?" She owned the place, Hanne could do whatever she wanted. Had the tourist not laughed in her face, she would've offered him a discount, but alas.
āø» Felix leaned his massive six-foot-five frame casually against the polished edge of the tasting counter, his hazel-green eyes tracking the expressive, theatrical wave of Hanneās hands with quiet fascination. Standing there in his usual oversized Washington flannel and worn joggers, his long blonde hair tucked loosely behind his ears, he looked far more like a local mechanic than an elite principal dancer. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle at the climax of her story, a classic, boyish dimple flashing on his cheek. Having grown up with a mother in school catering, Felix knew a thing or two about the rigid realities of budgeting and what things should cost, but he also deeply respected the brutal, unyielding labor that went into mastering a craft, whether it was a flawless ballet variation or a premium vintage.
When Hanne pulled the bottle from the shelf and offered him a free glass of the exclusive Chardonnay, Felix blinked twice in mild surprise, his intuitive gaze shifting from the elegant label back to the winery owner. ā Blimey. Well, far be it from me to turn down a proper drink.ā Felix murmured, his deep London accent rolling out smooth and polite as he adjusted his posture, giving her his full attention. ā Sure! I'd love a glass, cheers. ā He didn't intend to get completely wasted, of course, his training regime with the Zurich company was grueling, and he had a demanding rehearsal scheduled for the morning, but a single glass of high-end comfort was exactly what his jet-lagged system needed.
Swirling the pale gold liquid briefly to catch the aroma, he took a slow, appreciative sip, letting the crisp flavor settle before leveling a deadpan, highly amused look at Hanne. ā I reckon your tourist friend missed a proper trick then.ā He countered, a dry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ā Though, to be fair, Iām still just settling into the area myself. If you ever need a towering bouncer to escort the khaki-and-flip-flop crowd out the door when they start muttering about your audacity, you let me know, love. I might not know much about luxury grapes yet, but I can certainly handle the crowd control for you. ā
āø» Felix let out a soft, rumbling laugh as Ziva reached back into the bag for another chip, his hazel-green eyes crinkling at the corners. ā Right now? Yeah, I reckon this is about as Michelin-star as it gets in a place like this. ā He teased, his deadpan London accent matching her lighthearted tone. ā Enjoy the grease, love. Don't think too deeply about the macro-nutrients today. ā He shifted his large, six-foot-five frame slightly, adjusting his posture on the grass as his attention drifted back toward the makeshift stage. He watched the local performers with a relaxed, unbothered curiosity. They lacked the brutal, repetitive discipline of the Zurich company, but there was an honest, unpolished charm to their effort that he couldn't help but respect.
When he turned back to her, however, her visceral, almost pale reaction to his question caught him completely off guard. He blinked twice, his intuitive gaze softening as he took in her defensive posture. ā Fair enough, bloody hell. ā Felix murmured, holding up a hand in a gentle, placating gesture. ā Didn't mean to give you a fright. I just thought you might have fancied testing your boundaries in a different creative circle, that's all. ā
As for himself? Acting had never genuinely crossed his mind, he was a creature of movement and physical grit, far more comfortable communicating through choreography or the mechanical puzzle of a motorbike engine than a script. But when Ziva dropped her guard just enough to compliment him, suggesting heād actually make a fantastic actor if he gave it a true shot, a slow, highly amused smirk broke across his face. The genuine warmth of her words hung in the summer air, and Felix leaned his elbow back against his knee, tilting his head to look down at his dance partner with a teasing, boyish glint in his eye. ā Don't worry, I don't intend to jump ship and head to Hollywood just yet. ā He countered softly, his deep voice carrying a playful undercurrent. He nudged her shoulder gently with his own, the dimples flashing on his cheeks as he caught her gaze. ā Though I have to askā¦ Are you admitting youād actually miss me if I left you behind? ā
I. Daddy, daddy cool!
II. Blowing a kiss to the camera to mask the fact that she is actively destroying my hamstrings.
III. Rumor has it I need a haircut. Look at me, thoroughly considering that rumorā¦ And deciding absolutely not.
recognizing neither his face or his voice, she knew he must've been new to pinehaven. after living here for twenty four years & becoming familiar with practically everyone (willing or through word of mouth -- there were few secrets that didn't circulate through the townies), it was nice to meet the occasional newbie. judging by his accent, he was a long way from home.
darcy was relieved that maple's wandersome habits were, in this instance, were well received. " thank you ! " she said in response to him dubbing the dog brilliant. " this is maple. she's well trained, I swear ... just friendly. " then his mention of failing to fix his motorbike earned a titter from the redhead. " ah, yeah, I must have missed that. " she replied, a hint of playfulness to her tone. she didn't usually frequent the performances that the ballet studio put on, but she certainly had respect for the profession. " well, consider this your welcome to pinehaven ! i'm darcy. " the girl gave him a greeting nod whilst identifying herself. " if you need anyone to show you around, let me know -- i'm a local. " it was a genuine offer, she enjoyed showing off what pinehaven had in store. the opportunity of making a new friend was also a plus. " I know moving to a new town can be tough, so ... " darcy shrugged, ending her statement wordlessly. despite not venturing much beyond the confinements of this small town, she could imagine how intimidating it could be to move into such a tight knit community.
āø» Felix looked down at Maple, a trace of genuine warmth softening his tired features. He had never been able to own a pet in his life; once classical dance became his full-time profession, his existence had been entirely trapped inside a suitcase, making it impossible to give an animal the proper time or attention it deserved. Now that he had the chance, he wasn't about to pass up the distraction. ā It's completely fine, nothing to worry about.ā He reassured her, giving the Australian Shepherd one last gentle pat on the head. Besides, the dog hadn't done anything to pester him, and looking into that enthusiastic face, he figured only a right villain could actually stay mad at her.
He straightened up to his full, towering height, wiping his damp hands on his shorts before offering a polite, slightly formal nod. ā I'm Felix. Felix Axl Cavendish. ā He always introduced himself with his full name, a lingering habit from years of dealing with strict artistic directors and press calls. When Darcy extended the genuine offer to show him around the tight-knit community, Felix let out a soft, appreciative chuckle. His intuitive nature picked up on her welcoming energy, and the thought of having a local guide was far too good to pass up.
ā Iād love that, actually. ā He admitted, his low London accent carrying a hint of relief. ā Only if it isn't too much of a bother for you, of course. Iād hate to get in the way of your routine. ā He shifted his weight, looking around the dense perimeter of Pinehaven Forest before locking his hazel-green eyes back onto her. ā But yeah, you caught the accent then. Iām from London originally, so I don't have the foggiest clue how a small town actually works. I've never stayed in one place long enough to learn the layout, y'know? Usually, itās just turn up for the show, unpack at the hotel, and leave for the next city a few days later. This is all a bit new to me. ā
āø» A quiet, rumbling chuckle escaped his chest the moment she lowered her shades, his intuitive gaze catching the flash of recognition on her face before the summer sun could fully blind her. Felix watched with a trace of quiet amusement as she carefully settled onto the fabric beside him, her delicate movements providing a stark, familiar contrast to his own sprawling, six-foot-five frame. He didn't miss the subtle way her nose crinkled as her fingers brushed the grease inside the potato chip bag. While Felix generally maintained a hyper-disciplined diet to fuel his grueling training, he had never been precious about a bit of junk food when the mood struck.
ā One day won't kill you, love. ā He pointed out, his casual London accent rolling out deadpan as he gave her a reassuring nudge with his elbow. ā Besides, weāre technically attending a town event. Gotta support the local culture, or whatever it is the flyers from the artistic directors were rambling on about. ā His eyes drifted back to the bustling crowd, lazily analyzing the various groups of locals drifting between the festival. When she conceded that she might judge the local talent a bit, adding that nobody could quite compare to their company, the slow, familiar smirk returned to the dancer's face.
ā That's for sure. ā He countered, a spark of pride touching his eyes. He raised his bright blue bottle of Powerade in a mock toast before taking a long, measured sip. ā None of them can beat the Zurich ballet. We've been through enough hell to be completely unbreakable, I reckon. ā
Felix set the bottle down in the grass, his attention briefly tracking a pair of street performers setting up a small stage nearby. An intuitive thought flickered across his mind, and he tilted his head toward her, his tone dropping into something a bit more contemplative and curious. ā Be honest with me, Zivaā¦ Have you ever thought about trying proper acting? Like, proper theater or film, outside of the choreography? ā
the heavy drop in temperature at the mention of the companyās loss wasn't lost on him. danteās gaze softened beneath the rim of his glasses, a flicker of quiet understanding replacing his usual charm. he knew the brutal weight of watching a life get cut short and the sudden silence it left behind. for a beat, he just let the space breathe, giving the dancer's grief the room it deserved without trying to gloss over it with a clever line. but dante didn't linger in the shadows for long; reality was something he actively avoided, preferring to pull people back into the light with him. when felixās larger fingers wrapped around his, the contrast was staggering and dante didn't pull back immediately. instead, letting the solid handshake linger just a fraction of a second longer before reclaiming his hand to lightly tap the side of his glass.
"an even exchange. i like a man who demands fair trade," dante purred, his blithe demeanor snapping back into place effortlessly as he leaned his chin right back into his palm. he let out a melodic sigh, looking around the dark, sticky perimeter of the booth as if he were an exiled prince reporting from a far off colony. "you're looking at a first year surgical resident. specifically, the neuro department at saint mary's hospital," he revealed, a self satisfied little grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "i spend my sunless daylight hours meticulously slicing into the human subconscious, trying to fix the wiring inside people's skulls. think of it as choreography, just...with a scalpel and significantly higher stakes."
he took another slow sip of his cocktail, his dark eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and blatant interest as he locked his gaze back onto the towering dancer. "as for what brings a creature of luxury like myself to a delightful little disaster of a dive bar? simple. i am currently staging a highly desperate escape from an absolute mountain of digital patient charting that is entirely beneath my dignity. and honestly? the universe clearly knew i needed a distraction from the hospital's monochrome aesthetic, because looking at you beats staring at a glowing screen hands down."
āø» Retracting his hand as the handshake broke, Felix let his arm drop heavily back onto the table, his intuitive gaze sharpening as he listened to Dante outline his profession. A first-year surgical resident in neurology. The comparison to choreography wasn't lost on the dancer, and a small, respectful nod of his head acknowledged the sheer gravity of what the man did for a living. ā Blimey. That must require an insane amount of patience, then. ā Felix murmured, his low London accent carrying a genuine undertone of appreciation. ā And flawless attention. I mean, if I miss a step on stage, I just look a bit of a fool. If you miss a stepā¦ Well. Higher stakes is putting it lightly, mate. ā
Getting a bit more comfortable in the cracked vinyl seat, Felix adjusted the collar of his shirt, his tall frame relaxing into the booth's shadows just as the bartender finally slid his fresh drink across the counter. He picked up the Negroni, swirling the dark crimson liquid for a brief second. It was his absolute favorite, strong, unapologetic, and carrying a sharp, bitter citrus aroma that cut right through the stale beer smell of the dive bar.
He was just raising the glass to his lips when Dante delivered his blatant, unapologetic line about him being a far better view than a hospital screen. Felix paused, the glass hovering inches from his mouth as the sheer audacity of the compliment left him temporarily speechless. A sudden, genuine laugh broke from his chest, a rare, bright reaction that caused deep, boyish dimples to pop onto his cheeks. He shook his head, looking down at his drink with a mixture of quiet amusement and absolute disbelief. Oh, bloody hell. This definitely wasn't how he expected his quiet night to start, but then again, heād learned long ago that the best things happened when you stopped expecting anything at all.
He took a long, slow sip of the strong cocktail, letting the burn settle before locking his hazel-green eyes right back onto Danteās tinted sunglasses. ā Youāre a dangerous bloke, aren't you, Dante? ā Felix teased, the deadpan humor returning to his eyes as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to meet the doctor's proximity. ā Right then, since you're staging an escapeā¦ How often do you actually come to a delightful little disaster like this? Is this your regular hideout when the hospital gets too monochrome, or did the universe just guide you here tonight? ā
