Felix blinked awake, the morning light spilling softly across the room.
The ceiling above him was washed in pale gold, the kind of light that carried both warmth and fragility, as though the world had been carefully reset overnight.
For a fleeting second, he wondered if everything from yesterday had been a dream—too vivid, too raw, too full of feelings his chest hadn't yet caught up with.
He rolled slightly onto his side, stretching carefully so as not to disturb the quiet that lingered in the house.
His arm reached for the drawer beside his bed, fingers brushing against the familiar leather spine that never failed to make his heart twitch.
The diary. The one stamped with bold, teasing letters: DON'T READ ME.
Felix's lips curved into a conspiratorial smile, his voice low as though whispering to an old friend.
"…I will definitely read you," he murmured.
With practiced care, he drew it into his lap, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed.
