Chapter 26 - Felix
Felix
Ihovered down the street from Kit’s flat, checking my phone for the fifth time in two minutes. Seven-oh-five. I was already five minutes late, but my feet refused to move forward.
This is ridiculous, I told myself. You’ve been to Kit’s flat like six times now.
But tonight was going to be different. Tonight, we were going to… well. Things were going to happen. We’d already worked our way through most of my list. Now it was time for the rest of it. And then some.
I tugged at the black fabric of my hoodie, wondering for the hundredth time if I was dressed appropriately.
I’d tried on two different smart button-down shirts earlier, but felt stupid in both of them, so went with one of my trusted favourites instead.
The red Pac-Man ghost staring out at me from the soft cotton.
Hopefully, Kit would think it was cute? Or at least, retro.
Seven minutes late now. I forced myself to continue down the road, my trainers squeaking against the wet pavement. Did I need an excuse for being seven minutes late? Bus late? Somehow got lost? Spontaneous existential crisis about whether I was ready for this?
The truth was, I was being ridiculous. I’d already seen Kit twice today—once during the morning briefing, where he’d sat across from me looking stupidly handsome in his navy cardigan. And once, before work, at our spot under the lime tree.
The lime tree stood halfway down Killigrew Street, far enough from the hotel to feel private, hidden beneath that canopy of waxy leaves.
We’d started meeting there almost every morning.
Just ten minutes together, away from the others.
At first, it had been innocent enough—coffee, quick conversations about the day ahead—but lately…
This morning, Kit had pressed me back against the rough bark, his mouth hot and insistent against mine.
His hands had fisted in my hoodie, pulling me closer as I’d melted into him completely.
The kiss had been desperate, hungry—the kind you see in films where the leads can’t keep their hands off each other.
An elderly woman walking her terrier had wolf whistled loudly at us, before calling out, “No need to get a room.”
I couldn’t deny that the thrill of potentially getting caught sent a rush of sparks dancing through my veins.
Sure, the others usually used the basement tunnel entrance or came from the direction of the Tube station, but it was still possible someone from Killigrew Street might happen upon us one morning.
When I finally arrived at Kit’s, he opened the door before I could even knock, his face flooding with relief. I’d been early all the other times—he probably thought I was bailing.
“Nice apron,” I said immediately, desperate to avoid even a scrap of awkward silence.
Kit glanced down at the navy blue apron tied around his waist, flour dusting the front. “Hi,” he said, then shyly opened his arms for a hug.
After the tiniest moment of hesitation, I fell into him.
His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm, and I buried my face against his shoulder.
We stood there for what felt like ages, my heart rate finally slowing to something approaching normal.
This was why I kept coming back. Not just because his flat was far nicer than mine, but because of this—feeling safe. Feeling calm.
“Come on,” he murmured against my hair. “I think I’ve finally found a wine you’ll actually like.”
I groaned theatrically as we walked into the kitchen. “Kit, we’ve been through this. I don’t like wine. Any wine. It all tastes like… wine.”
“Don’t worry, I still have coke,” he said, grinning as he reached for a bottle on the counter. “But I think you’ll really like this one.”
I squinted at the wine bottle. “Is it white or red?”
Kit’s smile turned triumphant. “Neither. It’s rosé. Extremely sweet rosé. It’s absolutely disgusting. To me. So you can have the whole bottle.”
My pulse kicked up again. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Definitely not too drunk,” he said, and there was that edge to his voice that made my heart skip a beat.
“So, um.” I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject before I combusted on the spot. “What are we having for dinner?” One of the many good things about always coming to Kit’s flat was that he always cooked me delicious things.
“Well, I’ve made pasta from scratch,” he said. “After you said you’d never had it fresh. And then, for dessert…” He tore his eyes away from me, turning to fiddle with something on the counter. “I thought I’d try making hotteok.”
“Hotteok?” I repeated, still processing.
“You know, the sweet pancake things with the filling? They’re Korean, right?” His fingers drummed against the countertop. “I found it online…”
“You’re making us hotteok?” The words barely made it past my throat.
His eyes snapped back to mine. “Why do you look like you’re going to cry? Do you hate them?”
I laughed. “No. I love them. They’re the best. I’ve only ever had them in Seoul. My mother says they’re too unhealthy and a pain to make. She’s not really a dessert person.”
Kit’s face split into a horizon-wide grin. “Good thing I am. I made the dough earlier—it needed to rise. And I’ve got all the sugar, nuts and cinnamon ready for the filling.” He gestured to bowls lined up on the counter. “I’ll obviously cook them fresh.”
“Obviously,” I agreed.
Kit poured me a glass of wine. While he stirred the pasta sauce, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “So how often do you get back to Seoul?”
“Well,” I said, perching on one of his kitchen stools. “We used to go loads, but not for years now. Eomma hasn’t needed to go for work, and Appa…” I paused. “Travel’s got harder for him.”
“What’s it like there?”
I thought about it, swirling my wine. “Loud. Busy. Amazing street food everywhere. The subway system makes London’s look like a toy train set.” I laughed. “I had a complete meltdown in Gangnam Station once. I was sick of my family and thought I’d leave the city for a bit. Rookie mistake.”
Kit turned fully around. “What happened?”
I told him about getting swept up in the crowd surge at rush hour, how I’d lost my phone and couldn’t find the exit signs with bodies pressed against me from every direction.
How I’d ended up sitting on the platform floor for two hours, back against a pillar, trying to remember breathing techniques whilst security guards and concerned strangers kept checking on me.
Kit’s expression grew increasingly concerned, his stirring slowing to a stop as he listened.
I glossed over the worst bit—my complete mortification of being twenty and having a panic attack in public.
“That sounds absolutely terrifying,” Kit said softly.
“It was. But Seoul’s incredible when you’re not having a breakdown in the middle of it.”
Kit’s eyes lit up, the soft edges of a smile dancing on his lips. “Maybe one day we could go together. I could handle the crowds for you. Make sure you don’t get trampled.”
My heart did the impossible—became a helium balloon broken free of its chain, floating up and up until it pressed against my ribs. This. This was what it was supposed to feel like.
I’d never understood what people meant when they talked about chemistry, about that spark.
I’d kissed a few people before—girls, and that disastrous attempt with Wren—but it had always felt like following a script I’d never properly learned.
Like I was missing some crucial piece of software that everyone else had installed at birth.
But this thing with Kit? It was like discovering I’d been colourblind my whole life and suddenly seeing the world in full spectrum.
Addictive in the way that first hit of caffeine rewired your neural pathways, except instead of jittery energy, it was this warm, golden certainty spreading through my chest. I wanted to chase this feeling, hoard it, let it reprogramme every circuit in my brain.
Bind it to myself so thoroughly that nothing could ever take it away.
“Yeah,” I managed. “Sounds like a plan.”
Kit set me to watering his houseplants while he finished cooking, giving me increasingly detailed instructions about how much water each one needed—apparently the snake plant was a drama queen who’d sulk if overwatered.
Upon tasting the wine, I had to admit it was quite nice. Kit’s mushroom pasta dish was, unsurprisingly, the best thing I’d ever eaten. He packed up the leftovers in a container for me to take home, and I set a mental reminder to drag Lily round to try some.
“Right,” he said, wiping his hands on that flour-dusted apron. “Dessert time.”
Soon, the smell of frying batter filled his flat, followed by the sweet warmth of cinnamon and brown sugar as he spooned the filling into each golden pancake.
When he finished, instead of setting them out on the dining table, he loaded them into a deep bowl and gave me this shy, almost nervous look.
“Come over here,” he said, settling onto the sofa and patting his lap.
I raised an eyebrow but climbed onto him anyway, legs straddling his thighs. “What are you—”
He picked up one of the hotteok and brought it to my mouth, eyes sparkling.
“Seriously?” I said, though I was fighting back a smile.
“Humour me.”
I rolled my eyes but opened my mouth obediently. The pancake was perfect—crispy outside, soft and sweet inside, the filling still warm enough to make me close my eyes in appreciation. Kit’s thumb brushed away a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and a shiver trilled through me.
“Good?” he asked.
“Amazing,” I said. “The best hotteok I’ve ever had.”
He fed me another, then another, eating half himself, until the bowl was empty except for the crystallised sugar stuck to the bottom. Kit scraped it up with his fingers, golden grains clinging to his skin.
“Open,” he said softly.