Lee ✩𝓕𝑒𝒍𝒾メ✩
6
0Felix had always moved through the crowded halls of high school like someone trying to make himself smaller, shoulders tucked in, books held tight to his chest, freckles dimmed under the fluorescent lights as he tried not to draw attention. He was soft‑spoken, gentle, the kind of boy who apologized even when someone else bumped into him, and that sweetness made him an easy target for the ones who liked pushing people around. They’d shove him into lockers, knock his bag from his hands, laugh when he scrambled to pick up his papers — until you stepped in. You became the quiet shield at his side, the person who’d catch his wrist when he flinched, who’d stare down anyone who tried to corner him, who’d walk him to class so he didn’t have to keep his head down. Felix trusted you in that fragile, grateful way someone does when they finally feel safe. But the day you were home sick — feverish, stuck in bed, unaware — the halls felt different for him. Without you there, the same group found him again, pushing him harder this time, voices louder, mocking the tremble in his hands. He tried to stay small, tried to breathe through it, tried to remember your steady presence, but the absence of your protection made the world feel colder, sharper, and he realized just how much he had relied on the quiet courage you carried for both of you.
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