Falling for You in 48 Hours（6）
987 Words
The war, as anticipated, concluded in a decisive victory for the Starfall Resistance.
General Valerius was captured, his command structure dismantled, and the news of the regime's critical weakness ignited long-suppressed citizen uprisings across the star system. The oppressive Valkor dynasty, its foundation already cracked, finally shattered under the weight of its own tyranny.
Weeks later, in a quiet, sunlit room in the newly established provisional capital, Felix was draped across a plush sofa, idly clicking through news feeds on a wall-mounted viewscreen.
A neat white bandage was visible beneath the loose collar of his shirt, covering the healed wound on his shoulder.
Reports of reconstruction efforts, speeches from new council members, and highlights of planetary celebrations flickered across the display, but none held his interest for long.
“Ugh, so boring,” he mumbled with a sigh, tossing the remote onto the cushions beside him.
In a chair nearby, Gareth sat. Dressed simply in uniform trousers and a black shirt, he wasn’t watching the screen.
His dark, focused gaze was fixed on Felix’s profile— tracing the way the sunlight gilded his blond hair, the faint frown of boredom on his lips, the lazy shift of his eyes as they scanned the dull reports.
The moment Felix turned his head, Gareth’s eyes snapped away. His hand moved almost reflexively to a glass of water on the side table, offering it with a carefully constructed casualness.
“Here,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
Felix took the glass, raising a single, skeptical eyebrow. He took a deliberate sip, then fixed Gareth with a look of pure, amused insight.
“So, General,” he began, drawing out the title. “Don’t you have, like… a planet to run? Or twelve? I’m pretty sure the news said the provisional council unanimously voted you in as Prime Minister. Shouldn’t you be buried under a mountain of paperwork?”
He flopped back against the cushions with a theatrical groan. “Don’t you have actual things to do?”
Gareth opened his mouth, a faint flush touching his neck, ready to explain something.
But a low, insistent buzz from his comm unit on the table cut him off. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly before he reached over and decisively silenced the call.
Felix’s expression shifted into one of utter, unimpressed comprehension. “Ah. I see. You’re just… hiding in my room. Playing hooky from the government.”
“Felix, it’s not—” Gareth started, his deep voice intent.
A sharp, rapid knock sounded at the door before he could finish. Gareth’s jaw tightened in visible frustration.
Felix just glanced from the door back to Gareth’s stymied expression, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He waved a dismissive hand.
“Anyway,” Felix said, his tone light and teasing, effectively cutting off any attempt at explanation. “Don’t let me keep you from your… extremely important and not-at-all-avoidable duties, Your Excellency.”
Gareth looked at the young man lounging before him—the one who had endured unimaginable pain without breaking, and was now teasing the most powerful man in the new republic without a hint of fear—and found himself, for the first time in his meticulously ordered life, utterly without a retort.
The moment was abruptly overshadowed by the cold memory of finding Felix after the battle. When Gareth turned back with joy in his heart, all he saw was a sight that shattered it——
There, slumped against a cold metal wall, was Felix. His face was a terrifying, bloodless white, a stark contrast to the dark crimson bloom soaking through his shirt at the shoulder. His eyes were closed, his breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible.
The fear that seized Gareth was more paralyzing than any enemy fire—a raw, primal terror that had nothing to do with war and everything to do with the fragile young man bleeding out on the floor.
“Medic! NOW!” He dropped to his knees, his usually steady hands shaking as he applied pressure to the wound, his other hand frantically searching for a pulse at Felix’s throat.
The faint, thready beat beneath his fingers was the most precious thing he’d ever felt. He hadn’t left his side until the medics had stabilized him, and even then, the image was burned into his mind.
In the weeks that followed, Gareth found any excuse to be near, overseeing Felix’s recovery with a vigilance that bordered on obsession. He told himself it was his duty as Orion’s friend, as the Resistance’s leader, to protect the commander’s son.
But the truth, which Gareth was slowly allowing himself to acknowledge, was far more complicated. This fierce, protective urge, the need to ensure Felix was safe, comfortable, and happy, went far beyond duty. He didn’t yet have a name for the warm, unfamiliar feeling that tightened his chest when Felix smiled, or the fond exasperation that washed over him at the boy’s cheeky remarks.
Was it a guardian’s care? Or was it the beginning of something deeper, something like a lover’s devotion?
The frustrating, and utterly charming, reality was that Felix seemed completely oblivious to the latter possibility.
He accepted Gareth’s presence with casual ease, teasing him like a cranky older brother, showing no sign of seeing the conflicted adoration in the General’s eyes.
But it didn’t change his resolve. His Felix—brave, infuriating, and brilliant—was alive. And whether as his guardian or, one day, hopefully something more, Gareth would spend the rest of his life making sure he stayed that way. His own confusing feelings were his to manage.
The boy deserved to be cherished, protected, and yes, utterly spoiled, whether he understood the depth of the devotion behind it or not.
After all, if you’ve decided someone is yours to keep, you might as well get used to indulging them.
- Writer
