Chapter Sixteen. The Right Fireworks at the Wrong Time #2
Thurs, July 4, 10:19 PM
[Pretty Boy ]
Hiya Heading back! Want me too buy u anything (pads/tampons, choclate, etc)?
XX
Feeling a tinge of guilt for lying about being on my period, I reply: I’m good. See you soon:)
Right after, a text from Mateo pops up at the top of my screen: Almost there! Get ready!!
I reach to turn off the lights when the door swings open and a cacophony of people yell “surprise!” from the hall, behind Felix. He stands in the doorway, slack-jawed. I guess “almost there” means “literally right outside” to Mateo.
The band members, Bhavani, and two other makeup artists squeeze around him. Bhavani blows an air kiss as they pass me. Felix steps inside and closes the door, then quietly watches everyone dig into the hotel snack bar and make themselves comfortable.
His eyes drift away from the DIY birthday banner and lock onto me, and everything else fades.
He pulls me into a hug, the warmth of his arms enveloping me in a way that’s both sudden and familiar.
I’m hit with an unexpected wave of emotion as his heart beats against mine.
I make no move to step back, and he doesn’t pull away, either, as if he’s trying to take in the weight of the surprise I pulled off, the joy in this simple, intimate moment.
When he finally releases me, a strange emptiness lingers in his place.
The thought leaves my mind when I spot Lachlan watching us from the side. His brows are ever-so-slightly furrowed, but it’s enough to make me wonder what he’s thinking.
Before I can dwell on it, Felix presses his hand into a fist and kisses the back of it, a playful grin tugging at his lips, “KissFist!”
“Since when do you know ASL slang?” I ask, feeling a little lighter, but my heart still flutters from the way he made me feel like the most important person in the room.
“A-V-A taught me.”
I smile. “Felix, I’ve seen how hard you’re workin—” My rare compliment is interrupted when Lachlan comes over and takes Felix by the wrist.
“You’re missing your own party, birthday boy,” he says. His eyes float to me as he pulls Felix farther into the room. Calum places a party hat on top of his sweaty, post-show hair.
Will and Bhavani hand out cups filled with suspicious purple liquid. Lachlan quickly downs his drink, connects his phone to a Bluetooth speaker, plays music, and the party takes off.
After an hour of nonstop auditory stimuli and two cups of Will’s mystery drink (which tastes like Kool-Aid and hand sanitizer), I sneak into the hallway.
The quiet is a welcome reprieve to the overwhelming buzz of the party.
My head throbs, and it’s hard to pinpoint if it’s because I’m a lightweight, auditorily fatigued, or both.
I wobble as I sit and lean my head against the wall.
Ginger lies next to me, and her presence is grounding, but I can’t quite shake the feeling that the walls are swaying.
The door swings open a few minutes later, and Felix emerges.
“Are you tired … of the party?” he half-signs, half-speaks, sitting across from me so I can lipread.
“Yeah. I’ve never actually been to a party party,” I admit. My hands and face tingle as I use SimCom. “My mom is kind of”—I’m interrupted by a hiccup. Felix laughs—“a helicopter parent.”
“How’d she react to … you coming … on tour?”
“Pfft.” I laugh dryly. “Before I left, we got into a massive fight, and we haven’t talked since. If you flip to ‘silent treatment’ in the dictionary, her picture is in there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes I just wish I had a functional family. Like yours.”
His brows knit, lips twisting downward. “My family’s hardly perfect.”
I raise a disbelieving brow. I think about all the DAYDREAM memorabilia proudly displayed by Mrs. Song and the family’s excitement whenever he’s home.
“My relationship with my dad is … rough.” His expression is similar to when he told me about his learning disabilities.
Anxious, vulnerable. “He’s got a wicked IQ and was always the best in school, all the way from childhood to uni.
I never got anything better than a C+, and that was unacceptable.
Even after my diagnoses, he accused me of using them as an excuse.
And when I came out as pansexual a few years ago, that was the final straw.
He’s made it abundantly clear I’m a huge disappointment. ”
“God. I’m so sorry. He’s always seemed so understanding of Ava’s hearing loss.”
“That’s what sucks most, actually. ’Course, I’m happy for Aves. She has a dad who accommodates and loves her wholeheartedly. But I never got that dad. It makes it feel like the problem was never him. It was me. Y’know?”
“I do,” I breathe. He quirks his head curiously. “Not to the same extent, but my mom’s always snapping at me. Sometimes it feels like … ugh, like I can’t do anything right. I wonder if she even likes me.”
The words spill out in a long, tangled string, and I’m not sure if they make sense, and I don’t even know where I’m going with any of this, but I can’t stop rambling.
“God, it sounds weird, but in a twisted way, I think it wouldn’t hurt as much if she were a jerk to us both, right?
But she’s like a whole different person with Jo.
Like, how can you have such a different childhood as your sibling yet be raised by the same people?
” I stop, but my mind keeps running circles around itself.
Felix nods like he gets it, and I don’t know if he really does, but the warm hum in my veins makes it feel like it doesn’t matter anyway.
Anger toward Mom rears its head, and every argument flashes through my mind like a compilation. Every time she’s spent days on end ignoring me or condemned me for having dreams. And her moments with Jo—moments with far more patience, forgiveness, and love.
It felt like I was a side character in their story, looking in from the outside while Jo got the childhood I didn’t.
When Felix takes my hand, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on my skin, I’m torn from my thoughts. I look at him and find my cheeks are wet. I paw at the unexpected tears and fight oncoming ones.
We sit in silence for what could be seconds or minutes, the stillness of the hall carrying the heaviness of our conversation. Eventually, the fog in my brain starts to lift, and I can focus a little better.
“It was brave to come out to your parents, though. I won’t ever tell my mom I’m demi,” I say.
He frowns. “Er, sorry … demi?”
“Oh, demiromantic. I don’t form romantic feelings until I have an emotional bond with people, or, like, connect with their personality.”
“Ah.” He nods. “Mum and Aves are cool with my sexuality. It’s only my dad who’s not.”
He takes a beat before standing and extending his hand to me. With the elegance of a newborn giraffe, I join him. The hall isn’t spinning as much, but I’m still unsteady. His hand grips mine tightly, and it’s oddly reassuring.
“D’you wanna get some fresh air?” he asks. “Maybe being outside … would help?”
I stumble a bit while dropping Ginger off in my room. Felix tucks me under his arm as we head for the elevator. During the ride to the rooftop, he keeps me pressed against his side.
“So what’s the deal with the Post-it notes?” I break the silence. “I saw some in your room, and you keep giving them to me. Wouldn’t your Notes app be easier?”
“The digital world is a black hole. Anything I wrote there would get lost.” He laughs. “Having a physical reminder helps me remember important stuff.”
“And presidential puns are ‘important’?”
“You underestimate my dedication to tomfoolery.” He winks as we step out of the elevator.
On the roof, summer heat lingers in the air, but a cool breeze hits my face. This rooftop is vastly different from the one in Nashville. It has a patio, chairs, and a bar.
Several guests sip drinks and watch the fireworks.
We lean against a glass barrier in a remote corner.
From here we have a clear view of bursts of light exploding above the Schuylkill.
Red, blue, yellow, and purple fireworks dance across the river’s dark water and fill Philadelphia’s sky with a kaleidoscope of colors.
But I can’t focus on the actual display.
Felix is compressing his tall frame as he bends to rest his elbows on top of the glass wall; chin propped in his hands, full lips pressed into a pout.
I watch fireworks burst through his intense gaze.
Every second, a new color shines in his midnight eyes, reflecting like an oil spill.
“I never thanked you for the concert in DC,” I say. “The interpreter.”
He glances at me with a small frown. “Making our music accessible isn’t something to thank me for, Nat. It’s the bare minimum. I’m kinda embarrassed I didn’t think of it myself.”
He’s right. Of course that’s right. Accommodations are the bare minimum.
So why would his statement trigger butterflies in my stomach?
Why does watching the way his rosebud lips form words make my cheeks hot?
Why am I pretty certain I like Felix “pain in my ass” Song when he’s the last person on planet earth I would’ve ever thought I’d connect with?
“—the rest of the tour … Nat? Are you listening?” He waves his hand in front of my face.
“Huh? What? Oh! Yes, sorry,” I stammer. I was totally listening. I wasn’t staring at his face. Nope. Not even a little bit. “Um … what’d you say, though?”
“Famke, the interpreter, will be with us for the rest of the tour. She’s already memorized the set list.” His eyes twinkle in a wickedly addictive way before he turns back to the show.
I wonder how many girls would fall instantly and irrevocably in love with him if he cracked a smile half as dazzling as that one.
His childlike wonder is so captivating that I open my camera app. The same mystical force that compelled me to save the backstage selfie he sent in Miami possesses me tonight.
I take a picture of him.
He looks over. “Did you just take a photo of me?”
“I…” Can’t think of an excuse fast enough “… didn’t think you’d notice.”
His eyes crinkle, and his teeth show as he giggles. “Nat, phones make a sound when you take a photo with your ringer on.”
My jaw drops. “What?!”
He clutches his stomach and howls with laughter. I turn my ringer off and hide my face in my hands. I’ve never been this mortified in my entire eighteen years of life. He gently grabs my shoulder.
“It’s alright, pinkie swear,” he soothes. “Just thought I’d be safe from paparazzi up here.”
“You’re so annoying, Felix Song,” I grumble.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Oh? Well, you’re cute, Nat Nielsen.”
“Is that an insult?” I scoff.
“It’s a fact.”
My heart traitorously flips. I comb the deepest corners of my mind for a witty retort, but I’m rendered speechless by the galaxy in Felix’s eyes.
I find his hand on my shoulder, and before I even realize it, my fingers are threading through his.
The simple pressure of his fingers squeezing mine sends a shiver down my spine, igniting something deep inside me, something beautiful and terrifying.
I take a step closer, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Like the night in Nashville, my arms find their way around his neck.
Felix’s eyes drink me in, studying every detail of my face.
Slowly, he reaches out and his thumb brushes gently over my cheek, and I gasp softly.
His touch is so light, so delicate, the sensation barely registers, yet every spot he grazes ignites like one of the fireworks above us.
His gaze intensifies as he dips his head down, inching closer to mine. The simple, magnetic action sends a shock of heat coursing through my body that settles low in my gut.
His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer, tilting my head slightly. My breath catches as I lean into him, feeling the heat of his skin, the warmth of his breath across my lips. My eyes flutter closed, every nerve in my body alight as his lips ghost over mine and—Bzz bzz.
I jump backward as my phone forcefully buzzes. He steps away from me and awkwardly teeters as I fumble with the device.
Thurs, July 4, 11:48 PM
[Lachlan]
Where did you two go?
“You OK?” Felix asks.
I open my mouth and prime my hands to respond, but once again, I’m at a loss for words. I rush forward, slide my hands underneath Felix’s BURBERRY coat, and slip my arms around his waist.
I allow myself this one moment of weakness. His hands run up and down my back; his heart beats against my cheek when I bury my face in his chest; I breathe in the tang of post-concert sweat mixed with absurdly expensive TOM FORD cologne.
The alcohol in my veins has blurred the clear lines between us. And though my thoughts are muddled, I know we could never be more than what we are right now.
I’m learning that he’s not who the world thinks he is, and I was wrong about his commitment to Ava, but I forcibly remind myself of the vast divide between our realities. He’s so busy that we can barely fit in tutoring. He doesn’t have time in his life for anything else. And neither do I.
I have to dedicate every free second to keeping the Center afloat.
My plans require time and energy—not to mention fundraising—so we can stop merely surviving.
If I want my plans to come to fruition, I’ll not only need to be totally focused, but I’ll also need the money Felix owes me …
If we take our relationship further and it ends badly, it puts everything I’ve worked for at risk.
My jaw locks up, and I exhale a sharp breath as the harsh reality sets in. I can’t be that girl he wrote about in his songbook. I can only be his teacher. Nothing more, nothing less.
I pull away from his embrace. “We need to keep this professional.” I hate how impersonal it sounds leaving my lips.
He puts distance between us, and his brows tug into a deep frown. Thirty seconds of painful silence pass before he swallows heavily, his shoulders sagging.
“I understand,” he finally replies, trying to mask the hurt and confusion in his tone.
“Okay,” I breathe. “I should go to bed.”
“Okay,” he parrots. “Goodnight, Natalie.”
I stare at the ground while I walk away, but something akin to the Screenshotting Spirit stops me. “Felix?” I call out, halfway to the elevator.
He spins around, dark eyes filled with fireworks and hope.
“Happy birthday,” I sign.
From across the rooftop, his smile hits me like a gut punch.
I’ve seen it before. When interview hosts tell unfunny jokes, when DAYDREAM is swarmed at the airport, or in promotional photos. The one that doesn’t reach his eyes, his lips curved stiffly, just a facade. His “DAYDREAM mode” look.
A look I’ve never been on the receiving end of.