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PROMPT DRABBLE

Prompt: 'What's wrong with you, seriously?'

Pairing: Felix x female reader

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: a domestic in a restaurant, insecurity, jealousy, established relationship and an inability to say 'i love you'. shock and awe mica writes more angst—

©️ copyright: jl-micasea-fics march 2023

Relationships are work. That’s what people say.

When one is tested by their significant other and all one has left to cling to is the vagrant love that now lives buried under a mountain of insurmountable differences, that’s what they say. That relationships are work, that nothing good comes easily, that living by clichés is easier than accepting that perhaps some people are simply not meant to be.

You love Felix; that much is not to be disputed. He was your first love and yours was a veritable whirlwind romance ignited by passion so strong it quickly became untenable. For Felix’s ardour was matched by his penchant for jealousy; just as likely was he to shower you with affection as he was to sink into a bout of depression on a triviality. But relationships are work, and that’s what you’d maintained until tonight. Until now.

The restaurant bustles with the vibrancy of nightlife, the glow of Saturday evening has brushed everyone to anticipation. You’ve dressed up so fitting the occasion, as has Felix in a smart cream button-down and distressed jeans. His hair is parted on one side, the soft, sleek blonde catching light from the gentle hanging lamps above the table. A sweeping of dark liner accentuates his thick lashes, his freckles smatter his cheeks and nose adorably. You admire him in between perusing the menu; he’s the most beautiful person here.

“You’re staring,” he smiles, not looking up from his own menu.

“Can’t I stare?”

He shrugs. “You can.”

“Then shut up and let me stare.”

A gentle blooming of pink dusts his cheeks; he lifts the menu to cover his face. You laugh and reach over the table, lowering the plastic from your view.

“Shy?” you ask teasingly.

He narrows his eyes. “Can’t I be shy?”

“Touché.”

“You look great, by the way,” he says.

You look down at yourself, supposing he’s not wrong. “Thanks.”

“You’ve really made an effort.”

“I always make an effort.”

“I know. I just mean, you know... extra effort,” he drags a slow, pointed gaze down the cut neckline of your dress, the vacancy behind it implying so much more than he could say. Something stirs in your stomach uncomfortably. You shift in your seat, readjusting the fall of the material over your cleavage. Felix smiles.

At that moment, a waiter approaches the table; your heart sinks. He’s a handsome young blonde man, tall and with a soft smile of white, relaxed in his stance as he takes his notetaker out of his pocket and a pencil from behind his ear.

“Good evening guys,” he says politely.

Felix doesn’t even look at him; which means you must.

“My name is Hyunjin, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, picking up the drinks menu despite knowing what you’ll order. Felix watches you intently. “I’ll have a large glass of the house white, please?”

Hyunjin nods, scribbles down your order. He turns to Felix and says, “And for you, sir?”

“Water.”

Your brow furrows; he told you earlier he’d been looking forward to a drink all day.

“Bottled or tap?” Hyunjin asks.

Felix grimaces, his nose upturning. “Bottled. Obviously.”

Hyunjin blinks in startlement, then forces his smile back. “Of course. Can I get you anything else?”

Irritation crawls up your spine. You know precisely what’s happening, for in the case of your relationship, it’s a tale as old as time.

“No, thank you, that’s great,” you say, hoping the young man doesn’t now have a grim impression of the table. He nods amicably, and walks away.

“What’s wrong with you, seriously?” you hiss over the table when Hyunjin is out of earshot.

Felix glowers. “What’s wrong with me?” he retorts. “You were practically falling out of your chair over that guy.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in despair. A tale as old as time.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Of course you’re wrong,” you exclaim. “But it’s like this every time, isn’t it? Whenever we go anywhere, this happens. You get jealous over the stupidest, most mundane little thing, and it ruins everything.”

Your boyfriend swallows, he picks at a spot on the tablecloth.

“Why can’t we just have a normal date?”

He shakes his head. “It would be nice if you could just reassure me, you know.”

“Reassure you about what? That I don’t want to fuck every guy with a pulse? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is? How much pressure it puts on me? You should know how I feel by now—”

“How am I supposed to know that when you never tell me?” he hisses, eyes flashing as he leans over the table.

You sink into your seat, supposing that it was only a matter of time until this cropped up and was weaponized against you.

“In the fifteen months we’ve been together, you’ve never once said it.”

“Felix—”

“Why can’t you say it?”

To try and unpack your reasons for never being able to manifest the sentiment of your feeling in tangible words is a task more mammoth than you’re able to handle in this moment, and so you simply remain silent, anxiety swirling around you.

“Is it because you don’t love me?” a distressed Felix asks.

“No,” you reply immediately.

“Then why?”

“I don’t know why, Felix. I wish I did. It’s something I’m working through.”

He scoffs, leans back in his chair, arms crossed firmly.

“I want to be able to say it,” you say, voice breaking. “I know it’s what you need, but accusing me of looking elsewhere every time a man breathes near me isn’t going to help me get any closer to overcoming whatever’s broken in me.”

Felix swallows, his eyes softening, his arms relaxing.

“I care about you so much, and I’m exhausted.”

Your boyfriend reaches over the table, finds your hand to hold gently. “Babe...”

“There’s something wrong with me. I know it.”

And Felix then rises from the table, rounds it and crouches at your side, taking you into his arms. Nearby patrons turn and stare, whispers are shared between couples of a domestic no doubt just had, but you find yourself uncaring. Your head in his shoulder, Felix soothes your hair, and whispers sincerely:

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll be better, I promise.”

Tears soak into his button-down.

“Let’s get out of here,” he kisses your temple, takes your hand. “Come on.”

You’re led through the bustling restaurant, out to the street where the chill night air sobers and grounds. A bottle of water and large glass of house white are delivered to an empty table. Felix keeps you close, kisses you warmly, promises to be everything you hoped he might.

Relationships are work, you think once more. How much work depends on you.