Felix lets himself bask in the quiet peace of that moment, surrounded by the soft, steady beat of Jake's heart—faster than usual, but not fever-paced anymore.
He continues stroking Jake's hair gently, fingers moving in slow, soothing motions.
"Can I admit something?" he murmurs softly, eyes still closed.
Jake hums against his chest—*listening.*
Felix pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his fingers still carding through Jake's hair.
"I... I like this," he confesses quietly. "Not you being sick, obviously—that's... that's scary as hell. But... this. Feeling you against me, like this."
He takes a slow breath, his heart rate quickening slightly.
"I like it when you're... close. When I can feel you breathing. When I can *touch* you."
He feels Jake exhale slowly, the breath warm against his skin. He can't see Jake's face, but he can feel him relax slightly—the tension in his muscles beginning to ease. It's a small victory, but it's one they both need.
"It's... it's grounding," Felix continues, still whispering, like he's afraid speaking too loudly will shatter this fragile moment.
Jake's hold on him tightens just a bit at that—not demanding, but *insisting.* Like he *needs* to know that Felix's really there.
Felix smiles softly at the gesture, his fingers still playing with Jake's hair. The fear and worry are still there, still pressing in on the edges of his mind—but in this moment, it's easier to push those thoughts away. Easier to focus on the feel of Jake's arms around him, the warmth of his body against his own.
He lets out a sigh—content and quiet, just a whisper of a sound.
"It feels... right," he murmurs. "Like this. Being close to you. Touching you. Feeling your heart beating..."
Jake hums softly in response, his fingers tracing absent patterns on Felix's back. The fever-heat is still there, but it's less intense now—the drug's hold slightly less tight.
Felix leans more of his weight against him, pressing himself even closer.
"I wish I could do this more," he whispers, voice slightly muffled against Jake's chest. "Just... hold on to you. Not worry about anything else. Not worry about titles, or... or court bullshit."
Jake lets out a quiet, rough laugh, the sound reverberating through his chest.
"Yeah," he mutters, his voice still rough but undeniably *himself.* "Screw the court. Screw the king. Screw all this stupid... status crap."
He squeezes Felix a little tighter, but there's no edge to it now—no feverish possessiveness. Just a soft, genuine embrace.
"I just wanna be with you," he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "No bullshit, no titles, no goddamn... responsibility. Just us."
Hearing those words—so vulnerable yet so *real*—makes Felix's chest ache. He burrows closer to Jake, his fingers still playing with his hair.
"Me too," he whispers, the words so soft they're almost lost in the silence of the room. "Just us. No bullshit. I don't care about any of the rest of it."
He pauses, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Besides," he adds, voice teasing. "You're a pretty shitty king, anyway."
Jake lets out a weak huff, but there's a small grin in his voice when he replies.
"Gee, thanks," he mutters, a hint of his usual sarcasm creeping back in. "You really know how to stroke my ego, don't you?"
Felix laughs softly, feeling some of the weight on his chest beginning to lift.
"Hey, I'm just telling the truth," he retorts, poking at Jake's side gently. "You're terrible at being royal."
"Yeah, yeah," Jake mumbles, swatting feebly at Felix's hand. "And yet you're still here. Must say something about *you.*"
Felix grins, shifting just enough to look down at him—really look.
"Maybe it does," he says softly. Not teasing anymore.
His thumb brushes over Jake's jawline—slow, tender.
**"Maybe I like the man beneath the crown."**
Jake's breath hitches—just slightly—and for a heartbeat, the world stops.
Then—
he pulls Felix back down into his chest with quiet insistence.
No words this time.
Just warmth.
Just breaths tangled together in the dark.
And love—quiet,
fierce,
*unyielding.*
---
Next morning.
Mika is pacing back and forth in his room, frustration etched into every line of his face. His hands are clenched into shaking fists at his sides, his thoughts racing wildly.
"Damn it," Mika mutters, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "Damn it, damn it, damn it..."
He rubs at his temples, trying to ease the pounding headache that's started up—probably from lack of sleep.
Mika's mind is a tangle of thoughts—fury, frustration, and confusion—as he continues pacing the length of his room. He's been trying for hours to come up
up with a plan—*something* to get under Jake's skin, to really get his attention. To get back at him and his "perfect", infuriatingly calm self.
Finally, he comes to a stop, glaring across the room at the wall as if the answer is written there.
"Felix," Mika whispers—eyes narrowing.
That's the weakness. The *chink* in the armor.
Jake's strong when it's just power, politics, pain—but love?
Love makes him reckless.
Mika's lip curls as a cold idea takes shape. He won't touch Jake again—not directly. Not so soon. But Felix?
Felix is untrained. Unprepared.
And if he disappears…
Jake will *shatter.*
Mika exhales slowly—calm returning to his breath, his posture straightening with quiet resolve.
"Not yet," he murmurs to himself, fingers curling around the edge of the desk.
"But soon."
Outside, dawn breaks over the castle—
but inside Mika's room?
The shadows deepen,
and another plot begins to stir...
---
Mika sits down at his desk, pulling a piece of rough paper towards him and retrieving an inkwell from the drawer. He dips a quill carefully—methodically—into the dark ink, pausing for a moment before setting
the tip to the paper.
He starts to write.
"Dear, Royal Highness," he mumbles under his breath, lips twisting into a cold smile. "I'm sorry to bother you so early this morning..."
And as the ink dries, and the sun rises over the castle walls, the seed of the plot begins to grow…
For the first few hours, Mika stays in his room, hunched at his desk and meticulously writing the letter. He stops periodically to take a deep breath, steadying the anger in his veins and forcing his fingers to keep moving—to keep writing.
He knows it's a slow process, this plan of his—but that's the key.
Mika is nothing if not *patient.*
By the noon-bell, the letter is finally finished. Mika reads it over a dozen times before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope.
Once the letter is packaged, Mika rises carefully and slips out into the hallway, glancing both ways to make sure the coast is clear. He tucks his hands into his pockets, keeping his head down and staying silent as he slips along the stone corridors.
He's had a lot of practice at being unseen, after all.
It doesn't take him long to reach the royal quarters.
Mika pauses outside the door to Jake's room—listens. Silence from within.
Good.
He crouches down and slips the letter under the crack of the door, sliding it gently across the floor until it's just visible in case someone walks by.
Then he stands—back straight, expression blank—and turns away without a sound.
Mission complete… for now.
Mika returns to his room and closes the door behind him, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
*Let the seeds grow,* he thinks. *Let him read it… let him worry.*
He sits at his desk again, but this time—instead of writing—he pulls out a small dagger and begins to clean it slowly with a cloth. The rhythmic motion is calming… meditative.
Outside, birds sing.
Inside?
The storm is just beginning—
and Mika?
He's already miles ahead.
---
It takes longer than Mika would like for the news to arrive. It's not until the evening bells ring—six low, echoing rings that shiver through the castle walls—that Mika hears the first sign of trouble.
Footsteps.
A lot of footsteps.
Mika slips to his door and cracks it open just enough to see into the corridor.
Sure enough, a group of guards is hurrying down the hall past his room, all talking in worried, urgent whispers.
Mika frowns, trying to catch any snippet of their conversation as he slips back into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
*Something's happened,* he thinks, a small sense of satisfaction stirring in his chest. *Something big.*
He sits back down at his desk, pulling a dagger from the drawer and starting to clean it again.
*Just wait,* he thinks. *It won't be long now...*
It *isn't* long. Barely an hour later, there's a sharp knock at Mika's door.
Mika turns his head, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"Come in..." he calls cautiously, setting the dagger down and sitting a bit more alert in his chair.
The door opens slowly, and a familiar figure steps inside.
Jake.
Mika schools his expression into neutrality, straightening in his seat.
"You knocked this time," he notes, folding his hands on the desk. "How polite."
"Cut the crap, Mika," Jake says—voice low, rough with sleeplessness and something darker. His eyes are red-rimmed, jaw clenched tight.
He steps fully into the room and shuts the door behind him with a soft *click.*
"Where is he?"
Mika blinks slowly—playing confused.
"Who?"
"Don't *play* dumb with me," Jake growls, taking another step forward. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled like a spring.
"Felix. He's gone. Vanished from the guest wing this morning—no note, no warning. And you know *exactly* what I'm talking about."
Mika leans back in his chair, feigning nonchalance.
"Ohhh," he says softly, dragging the word out. "That."
A pause.
"...So he *is* missing."
"You *knew?*" Jake snarls, slamming his hands down on Mika's desk, making the inkwell rattle.
Mika doesn't flinch.
"I knew he'd be taken," he says coolly. "Not who did it. Not where. But I *did* know... you'd come running to me."
He tilts his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"And here you are."
Jake's breath comes faster—rage and fear twisting together in his chest.
"If you hurt him—"
"*If?*" Mika interrupts, standing slowly. His voice drops—soft, almost pitying.
"**You already know I didn't take him myself…**
**But I might just know how to get him back.**"
Silence falls thick between them.
Outside—the castle sleeps.
Inside?
A deal is about to be made in blood and desperation…
To be continued.....