[Listen: Sylvain dragging him here was bad enough? Felix doesn't enjoy loud, crowded spaces—and this place is so loud, and so crowded, and if the bartender (whatever it is) hands him one more Long Island Iced Tea (whatever that means) then Felix is going to lose his mind. How long can a man lurk by the end of the bar, reluctantly sipping his drink and glaring at anyone who dares approach him...
...Well. It's Felix, so the answer, naturally, is forever—but damn, if the music in this place isn't making everything worse. Of course he's paying attention to it, albeit in an absent manner. It's different than what he's used to? Which is both, ah, good and bad, he's finding, but that difference doesn't explain why he finds tears running down his face when someone is wailing on the stage. That is annoying; that almost sends him back into the crowd to hunt for Sylvain, just so he can leave this place with or without his best friend.
But then the music... shifts. Three ballads in a row finally gives way to something lighter, something stirring, and Felix finds himself suddenly nursing an odd ache in his chest. Uncomfortable, really. It sends him shifting about, looking back over the crowd of people as he unthinkingly searches for a distraction.
And a distraction he finds, in the form of a familiar shock of orange hair that sends his heart lurching in his chest. It still takes him a second to parse! For his brain to realize that, ah, that is her, struggling to make her way through this sea of taller individuals—and then he's moving, shoving past anyone and everyone on his way to her side. Who cares what they're calling after him? As he nears her, all that matters is—]
Annette?
[He's reaching for her before he even realizes it, hand wrapping tightly around her much smaller one before he tugs her right to him. To help her, you see. Keep her from getting trampled. She's so tiny; this is the least he can do.]
You're— [Hmm. He peers down at her, brow furrowing.] What were you thinking, cutting through the center? There's barely room to move.
[Case in point: someone edges toward them, and Felix tears his eyes from Annette's (very cute, holy shit) face long enough to shoot them a glare.]
the meet cute netflix deserves
...Well. It's Felix, so the answer, naturally, is forever—but damn, if the music in this place isn't making everything worse. Of course he's paying attention to it, albeit in an absent manner. It's different than what he's used to? Which is both, ah, good and bad, he's finding, but that difference doesn't explain why he finds tears running down his face when someone is wailing on the stage. That is annoying; that almost sends him back into the crowd to hunt for Sylvain, just so he can leave this place with or without his best friend.
But then the music... shifts. Three ballads in a row finally gives way to something lighter, something stirring, and Felix finds himself suddenly nursing an odd ache in his chest. Uncomfortable, really. It sends him shifting about, looking back over the crowd of people as he unthinkingly searches for a distraction.
And a distraction he finds, in the form of a familiar shock of orange hair that sends his heart lurching in his chest. It still takes him a second to parse! For his brain to realize that, ah, that is her, struggling to make her way through this sea of taller individuals—and then he's moving, shoving past anyone and everyone on his way to her side. Who cares what they're calling after him? As he nears her, all that matters is—]
Annette?
[He's reaching for her before he even realizes it, hand wrapping tightly around her much smaller one before he tugs her right to him. To help her, you see. Keep her from getting trampled. She's so tiny; this is the least he can do.]
You're— [Hmm. He peers down at her, brow furrowing.] What were you thinking, cutting through the center? There's barely room to move.
[Case in point: someone edges toward them, and Felix tears his eyes from Annette's (very cute, holy shit) face long enough to shoot them a glare.]