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“So you finally found out ‘what is it to romance’, after all, huh?”
It was meant in jest, a passing comment not meant to get anything more than a flustered reaction before being promptly brushed aside. And that was what his aunt did as soon as she conspicuously whispered that to Félix during his sixteenth birthday. Félix on the hand? He did what he knew best and started overanalyzing till he hit a spiral that dragged him underwater.
And there, he found: no, he didn’t.
He and Marinette had been dating for a few months now—the happiest months of his life—and he still had no clue as to what it was to romance.
~•~
He had managed to shelve the thought for a good while—even if it pricked at the back of his mind from time to time—finding satisfaction in the fact that he did want to be with Marinette, she seemed to– she did also want the same, and they were happy together. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what it was to romance and whether or not what he felt could be considered it.
And it was fine, he didn’t need to have a good explanation for every single inconsistency in his life—nope, no sire. It didn’t bother him at all—if the important part was that they had come to a routine that worked for the both of them.
Then, on a fateful day at school, somebody commented: “They’re still the same as before! Are you sure they’re really dating?” And Félix was pulled right to the bottom of that same spiral, which had just grown larger since the last time he’d been there.
Marinette hadn’t heard—thank God—still acting the same as ever before. Acting the same as when they were simply friends. Was that a problem? Were they dating wrong? What was the difference supposed to be?
While stuck in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Marinette moving until her soft hand was on his stiff one; rubbing his knuckles till he relaxed them, allowing her to interlace their fingers.
Félix’s shoulders drooped. Were it anyone else reaching for his hand, he’d immediately recoil, uncomfortable with the invasion to his personal bubble. Maybe that was what it was to romance. Allowing someone into your bubble without getting uncomfortable. And even when you do get uncomfortable—Félix thought, remembering the several times he wasn’t as happy with Marinette’s touch—you still allow it because your partner’s happiness was worth it.
A small smile blossomed on Félix’s lips and he squeezed her hand, scooching closer, satisfied with his answer to what it was to romance.
~•~
Félix wasn’t called to converse with his peers without ulterior motives being involved, so, when a group of snickering boys called him over, it was to reason that his first instinct was to bolt right out of there.
Unfortunately, just over his shoulder was the teacher, looking delighted at seeing her students trying to include the class recluse as she urged Félix forwards. Not wanting to make a scene, Félix squared his shoulders, eyes on the floor, and shuffled over to the classmates he barely knew the names of.
“Félix! The newly taken between us. How did you get a girlfriend before most of us here?” It sounded light-hearted enough, but Félix felt like he was being accused of something. “What’s that even like?”
“Hm?” Félix looked up—just slightly—enough to gleam at their sharp grins, but not to get fixed in a painful staredown.
“Dating? You dating Marinette? What’s that like?” They seemed genuinely curious.
What was it to romance?
Félix flexed his hand, stretching and coiling his thin fingers.
“It’s–” His heart was beating and it was suddenly a little difficult to breathe. He already found a sound conclusion, why was he nervous? “It’s letting her hold your hand.” He gripped his own shaky palm, pulling it down as he blinked tightly. “Because… it doesn’t make you uncomfortable when it’s her.”
The drums in his chest were the only sounds for a while.
And then laughter. Loud and piercing. Félix flinched.
“What are you? Fucking six?”
“Did you get lost from kindergarten or something?”
“That shit is what we tell BABIES when they ask what couples do!”
There was a sting in Félix’s chest and on the back of his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but his feet wouldn’t move.
“Come on, come on– that can’t be all…” Someone—Félix didn’t care who—pacified his friends, calming the boisterous laughter into scattered snickers. “Come on, Félix, tell us what it is like to date Marinette! You have another friend—that Flower girl—don’t you? Don’t you also let her hold your hand? What’s the difference between them?”
“I…” Félix blinked, feeling the spiral looming ever closer.
Yeah, he’d let Flora hold his hand sometimes. But it was different. What was the difference? Marinette would do it quietly. And not necessarily only when they were going somewhere together. But why was it different? What did he feel for Marinette that made her different from a regular friend? Because that was what it was to romance, wasn’t it? There was a feeling involved, but…
Félix raised his eyes, not exactly meeting any of these guys’ gaze, just unfocused staring forwards.
“So…?”
“I,” Félix started, voice quiet, “I don’t know if I ever felt romantic feelings.”
“What?”
He snapped his head back, eyes wide as he met Marinette’s teary gaze.
“So…” A tear fell from her glistening gray eyes. “…you never…”
“No! That’s not it!” Félix reached for her, but she was already bolting out of the room.
He groaned, knocking on his own head once– twice– no, no time for that, he needed to reach Marinette.
Gripping his knuckle, he dashed after her.
There were many places in the school where Félix liked to tuck himself in when he needed time alone. Places he offered to Marinette when she needed time to herself too. Places they both shared space in when each other was the only company they could bear at the moment.
First, Félix tried the closet under the main staircase: empty. Then, onto the unfinished chemistry lab: no one in sight. Then, the spot under the stairs in the courtyard–
A frame covered in an oversized deep blue jacket curled under it.
Cautiously, Félix stepped closer. “Marinette…”
“Why did you never tell me?” The thickness in her voice seized his heart. “I wouldn’t mind just being your friend, you know? I’d love that! You’re my best friend. Why did you pretend you wanted–”
“I didn’t!” Félix slammed his palms over his mouth, surprised at the loudness—and resentment—in his voice.
Intentional or not, it made Marinette turn to him, face contorted in confusion as she tilted her head curiously at him.
Félix huffed, letting his hand slump by his sides as he took a seat close to her, their knees touching.
He played with the grass blades under his pants for a bit, before speaking, “You know, when I was eleven—maybe twelve, I don’t remember very well—my aunt asked if I had my ‘eye’ on anyone. I didn’t get it. She had to explain it two or three more times till I understood she meant romance and there was nothing to do with disembodiment.”
A giggle, a bit choked, but a giggle nonetheless. Félix smiled lightly.
“I was still confused though. I knew of romance because of the books I read, but uhm–” He averted his face, cheeks flushing. “It never occurred to me that it’s something that actually happens.”
“What?” an amused exclamation, not the accusing one of earlier.
“I mean, I knew people got married and stuff,” Félix went on to explain, “but I always thought it was like– for practicality? Because some people want a family and that’s how you get one? I don’t know.” Félix covered his face, falling on his back as he let Marinette’s giggles fill him up, chuckles of his own falling out.
He sighed, letting his arms spread out. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Marinette with her knees tucked under her chin, her attention on him.
“After that, I think she just shrugged me off as a lost cause ‘cause she never asked me something like that again, and I just forgot.” He shrugged. “Romance is mostly a story device to me. Something that happens when two or more people’s storylines interlace so well that they have to become a pair for the enhancement of their arcs.” Félix folded his hands over his chest, gripping his arms as he turned his head away. “I never really thought of it as something that happens in real life—that could happen to me—then I met you.”
Félix pushed himself to sit up, still not meeting her eyes as he folded his legs under him, fiddling with the soles of his shoes.
“Marinette, I… I don’t think what I feel is the same as– well, whatever that flutter in your chest is supposed to mean. It’s something special, I feel like it is, just not– not like any of the crushes I read about, but– but you enhance my story…” He raised a shaky hand, clenching it lightly. “A-and– I want our stories to be interlaced. I-if– if you–”
Another hand—her hand—reached for his. He raised it to be in front of her, interviewing their fingers as he met her teary smile.
She wiped her nose, a joyful giggle falling out. “Yeah… I’d like that a lot.”
He smiled, light and relieved. Then, he did the unthinkable and threw his arms around her neck, surprising her with a hug that sent the both of them to the grass.
“I love you,” he said, crushing her between his arms. “I love you so much.”
And he did. Maybe it wasn’t in the same way most people said it was, but it was the love he was able to give her. And she accepted it! Giving him her own love in turn.
And maybe that was what it was to romance.