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The first thing Felix noticed was the warmth.
Not the burning kind, not fevered, not desperate, but something gentler, something he'd almost forgotten existed. A warmth that cradled rather than consumed.
He shifted slightly, eyes still shut, muscles aching from somewhere deep inside. There was an arm around him strong, sure, holding him close from behind. A slow, steady rise and fall against his back, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of his own battered breathing.
For a flickering second, he thought... Hyunjin.
Of course. It’s just Hyunjin.
But then, a breath ghosted against the side of his neck. Not Hyunjin's scent— sharp with aftershave and cheap shampoo. This was something else. Something new. Something impossible.
A scent so unique he couldn’t even give it a name... warmth wrapped in sweetness, something deeper, something older. A scent that shouldn’t exist in the real world— the way moonlight shouldn’t have a flavor, or the sound of laughter shouldn't stain your skin. It smelled like home and heartbreak and the very first moment of spring after a brutal winter.
Felix’s lashes fluttered open.
The morning sun pierced through the huge window beside the bed, spilling golden light across the rumpled sheets, washing the room in a soft, forgiving glow, dust motes floated lazily in the sunbeams.
And then he realized—the arm around him was clad in red. Not the slick black jackets Hyunjin wore, not the lazy sweatshirts and denim... But Blood-red fabric, crushed velvet, torn slightly at the sleeve.
Felix froze momentarily before he turned his head slowly and carefully—heart hammering so hard it made his vision pulse.
The man behind him stirred too and when Felix met his eyes, he stopped breathing altogether.
...It wasn’t Hyunjin.
No soft raven hair, no cocky smirk, no human imperfection.
Blonde hair, messy and wild, catching fire in the sunlight. Chocolate eyes, molten and endless, staring at him with such terrifying, unbearable tenderness it made Felix's throat close up... the once-cruel mouth, now trembling slightly—like the Jester was holding himself back from speaking, from begging, from breaking all over again.
Does this mean... No mask, shadows and hiding anymore? Was it all over? Felix hoped it was.
It was him.
The real Jester, his nightmare. Him.
For a long, aching moment, neither of them spoke and the world outside could have collapsed and neither would have noticed.
