Chapter 15 Felix #3
There was a long, horrible pause. His mouth worked soundlessly, like he was trying to find words that didn’t exist.
Something snapped. My heart started pounding like never before. The cold stickiness of spilled beer on my back, the press of bodies around us, the complete impossibility of Kit being at this concert—it was all too much.
I needed to be alone. I needed space to think.
“I’m… I’m going to find a bathroom!” I twisted away before Kit could respond, already weaving through the crowd towards the edge of the arena.
“Wait!” Kit’s voice shouted, but I didn’t stop.
I pushed between bodies, muttering apologies as I squeezed past groups of fans.
The crowd seemed endless, a maze of people that shifted and moved just as I thought I’d found a clear path.
I followed the overhead signs through the arena corridors, weaving past merchandise stalls and food vendors until I spotted the familiar blue toilet symbols.
My heart was in my throat as I rushed through the swing doors, desperate for a cubicle to unravel in.
I’d expected massive queues. Instead, I found blessed, miraculous space. Just a handful of men at the urinals, a couple of others washing their hands. The noise from the arena felt blissfully muffled here.
The door swung open behind me.
I just knew it was Kit. Something about his presence made the air shift, made my skin prickle with awareness.
I turned around. “I’m just getting the beer off me!” I practically shouted at him.
“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands and taking two measured steps away from me.
The other men glanced at us, eyebrows raised at whatever drama we were broadcasting. Heat shot to my face. Brilliant. Just what I needed right now.
Kit stood there watching as I grabbed fistfuls of paper towels from the dispenser and attempted to dry my sodden hoodie. The beer had soaked right through to my T-shirt underneath, making the fabric cling uncomfortably to my skin.
The paper towels were useless, but I wasn’t really focused on getting dry. I was solely focused on Kit. Just… standing there, staring at me with the weirdest expression.
Once I’d taken a few deep breaths and thrown the paper towels in the bin, I turned to face him properly.
“So? What’s going on?”
Kit looked like he was wrestling with something enormous. He placed two hands on either side of his head, his eyes saucer-wide.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen him like this.
What on earth was going on?!
“Can we…” He stopped, started again. “Can we go somewhere? If you don’t mind missing the rest of the concert?”
I stared at him. “Go somewhere?”
“I’d suggest a bar or pub, but they’re all going to be rammed. Can you come back to my house? Just for a tiny bit? Then I’ll order you an Uber home.”
My brain stuttered to a complete halt. Kit now wanted me to go back to his house? Kit, who’d somehow materialised at a sold-out K-pop gig, wanted to take me home with him?
Lily had told me resale tickets for tonight were going for thousands of pounds. And Kit had just… shown up? Caused a massive scene by pulling me away from that guy, and now wanted to take me to his house to explain himself?
What could he possibly have to say that required that level of privacy?
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Someone flushed a urinal, and the sound echoed off the tiles. Kit’s eyes never left my face, waiting for an answer I didn’t know how to give.
I found myself nodding, despite every logical part of my brain screaming that this was mental. But the alternative was going back into that crowd, finding Lily, pretending everything was normal whilst my head spun dizzy with questions.
“Alright,” I said warily, feeling slightly like I didn’t have a choice.
Kit’s shoulders sagged in relief. He moved to the door and held it open for me, his hand hovering near my back without quite touching as I walked through. He led the way through the arena corridors, and I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Lily:
Feeling sick so gone home early. Don’t worry, see you tomorrow. Love you. x
Outside, the night air was crisp and sharp after the stifling heat of the arena. Kit quickly led us to the nearest taxi bay.
I hesitated before climbing into the front seat. I usually hated talking to taxi drivers—all that forced small talk, the pressure to be entertaining or at least polite. But I wasn’t sure I could handle being in the back with Kit right now. Not with this tension radiating between us.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Kit gave his address, then the engine rumbled to life, and we pulled away from the kerb into the Saturday night traffic.
I stared out the window at the passing streetlights, trying not to completely freak out. Kit remained absolutely silent in the back, but I could feel his presence like a weight pressing against my shoulders. The air in the cab felt thick and charged, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.
Every few seconds, I caught the driver’s eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, probably wondering what our deal was. The silence echoed in my ears. I couldn’t help feeling like we were building towards something that felt oddly… monumental?
We finally pulled up on a residential road lined with Victorian terraces. The meter ticked over to an eye-watering amount that made me wince, but Kit mumbled a thank you and leaned forward to tap his card.
Then we were alone on the pavement, the taxi’s red taillights disappearing into the London night.
“It’s this one,” Kit said, gesturing towards a three-storey house that had clearly been converted into flats. His ground floor flat had its own separate entrance, painted cherry red.
I followed him miserably up the short path, wishing I was already tucked up in my own bed.
Inside, Kit’s flat was… nice. Really nice.
Far nicer than mine—no wonder he’d made that comment about the size of my place.
The living area was homely in a way that surprised me.
Plants everywhere, trailing ivy cascading from floating shelves, colourful succulents clustered on windowsills.
Lots of bright knick-knacks scattered about—ceramic bowls, framed photographs, what looked like handmade pottery.
One of those classic Pixar desk lamps curved over a comfy-looking sofa I almost wanted to throw myself onto. The whole space felt warm and lived-in, nothing like the sterile bachelor pad I’d expected.
For a moment, I almost forgot the strange circumstances of my being there. When it all rushed back, I hovered in the middle of a stripy rug, one arm clutching the other.
Kit went straight to the open-plan kitchen, hands moving restlessly over the granite worktop. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something?”
He looked hopeful, almost desperate. Maybe he wanted to delay this conversation we apparently needed to have.
Food would help settle my churning stomach.
“Um… could I maybe just get some toast or something?”
Relief flickered across Kit’s face, and he nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course. Butter? Jam?”
“Jam would be great.”
I watched him move around the kitchen, pulling bread from a wooden bin. Everything about his movements screamed nervous energy barely held in check.
“I’m going to use your bathroom,” I said quietly, heading for the doorway. I was desperate for a moment alone, plus I’d decided to just strip off this revolting beer-soaked shirt that kept sticking to my skin.
“It’s just down the hall,” Kit called after me.
The corridor stretched ahead with four doors, all shut. I headed for the furthest one and twisted the handle.
Light flooded the space as I flicked the switch.
Not the bathroom.
I blinked, taking in the scene before me.
It was Kit’s bedroom.
I took a half step backwards, intending to switch off the light and close the door, but found myself pausing. Curious, despite everything.
The room was sparse compared to the colourful living area. A wooden chair in the corner. A large oak wardrobe with some shirts hanging off the door handle. The space was mostly dominated by a massive bed with an ornate iron frame that looked like it belonged in a period drama.
My eye snagged on the teal blanket draped across it. Thick and fluffy looking, the kind that would swallow you whole. For a moment I wanted to throw myself onto it. The bed was huge—king size, easily—stretching all the way to a pile of plush-looking pillows.
But there was something on the pillow to the left. Something black, with white lettering. Something hoodie-shaped.
I frowned. Kit didn’t wear hoodies. Only cardigans—endless cardigans in every pattern known to mankind.
Whereas I…
I couldn’t help it. I stepped closer into the room, drawn towards the bed like a moth to a flame.
Because I was becoming increasingly sure I’d seen that particular hoodie before.
Increasingly sure it was mine. My hoodie that I’d left behind at work one day weeks ago. My favourite one, the one that said: I’m not antisocial, I’m just not user friendly. I’d looked for it the next day, but hadn’t been able to find it.
Blood rushed through my ears as I picked it up, holding it in front of me with both hands.
The fabric shook—no, my hands were shaking. My throat constricted as if someone had wrapped fingers around my windpipe.
Why why why why why?
My vision became spotty around the edges. Every instinct I possessed screamed danger, flight, escape. Fight or flight mode activated with the force of a slap.
I chose flight.
I bolted out of the bedroom, charging for the front door and fumbling desperately with locks that seemed designed to trap me inside. The metallic clicking echoed through the flat, so loud Kit would definitely hear.
Shit. I was going to have to sprint.