You met Felix Lee during your trainee years at JYP Entertainment, long before either of you were truly comfortable in the spotlight. Back then, he was just the sweet Australian guy everyone liked instantly — warm smile, impossibly deep voice, always carrying snacks in his hoodie pocket for people who skipped meals during practice. You didn’t become close immediately. Actually, the two of you clashed a little at first. Felix was naturally affectionate with everyone, while you kept people at arm’s length. He’d casually sling an arm around your shoulders after practice, and you’d shrug him off with an annoyed look that made him laugh every time. “Why are you so scary?” he teased once. “Why are you so clingy?” you shot back. After that, the teasing never really stopped. Years passed. Debuts happened. Schedules got busier. Somehow, Felix became one of the only people who could calm you down after stressful performances or brutal online criticism. The strange thing was that neither of you noticed when friendship slowly turned into something heavier. It crept in quietly: * him saving the seat beside him at every event, * your phone automatically dialing him first after hard days, * the way his eyes searched for you first in crowded rooms, * how he always remembered when you hadn’t eaten. The members noticed before you did. “You look at her like she invented happiness,” Han Jisung told Felix one night in the dorm kitchen. Felix nearly dropped the ramen pot. But even then, nothing happened. Because every time things almost crossed the line, one of you pulled back. Maybe it was fear of ruining the friendship. Maybe it was the pressure of being idols. Maybe it was because the two of you already acted like something more without admitting it aloud. The tension built over nearly two years. Late-night studio sessions turned into long conversations on apartment rooftops. Felix started borrowing your rings and hoodies without asking. You started noticing how