Limerence (Famous Young Things): Chapter 38

I’d not heard a word from him all weekend. I’d been on the phone with Ava when he arrived home on Saturday afternoon, so I knew he was safe, and so I’d decided—against the sheer force coursing through my body to go to him—to give him space. I was hoping he’d have calmed down and seen sense and called, but he hadn’t. Giving him space also meant not reaching out. Not reminding him how angry he was with me and might still be. It was a waiting game.

I’d spoken with Sofia on Saturday night and again last night. Somehow we’d been able to slip back into our previous friendship as though the last two years hadn’t happened. I hadn’t been expecting it and was sure I didn’t deserve it, but I was so grateful I had her to talk to. It had actually been her idea to give him the weekend to calm down, to give him some space to work it out by himself. “He’ll realise you’re not built that way; that this couldn’t have been you. And if he doesn’t, well he doesn’t deserve you.” But all I could see was how sad he’d been, how broken he’d been, and not being there for him right now when I know he’s at his worst seems contrary to loving him. It was not a fun weekend. And he hadn’t reached out.

He also doesn’t show for our early morning practice, which itself seems to speak volumes. He is still pissed at me; he still thinks I did this.

I work through my own solos until 8:30 and then make my way to studio one. Julien is here this week; he drops in periodically but will be on set each day once the sets are up and rehearsal moves to stage B. He, Benedict, Fen, and the other choreographers are by the piano with Marcus, deep in conversation. On the opposite side of the large space are the corps. Ava, Charlie, and the other principals by the windows. There’s no sign of Felix, and it worries me that he’s going to be late again. He’d been exemplary the last few weeks, and almost at his best form, too. I hate the idea of this setting him back. I make my way to Niall and Jesse, who are laughing at something on Jesse’s phone.

“Morning,” I say as I set my water bottle and towel down.

“Hey,” they say in tandem.

“So, the whole lot of them are here today, huh.” I glance anxiously at the management team and then at the door, before looking at my watch.

“£50 says the demigod is going to be late,” says Niall.

“That’s a given, not a bet,” says Jesse, uninterested. “We could do it on time?”

“You weren’t in four this morning?” Niall asks me.

“I was,” I say. “He wasn’t.”

He raises his eyebrows at Jesse. “Okay, I’ll take £50 on him arriving after ten.”

“Done,” says Jesse.

They both look at me. “Don’t be dicks.”

Come on, princess, don’t fucking give them this.

It’s four minutes before nine when he walks in. My chest eases immediately, until I notice what he’s wearing: baggy jeans, sweatshirt, and trainers. Streetwear, not practice clothes. Clearly, everyone has been waiting to see when he’d appear, because the entire cast turns to watch as he crosses the large space. He notices me and a look comes into his eyes—apology. Relief hits my chest. But a moment later, I understand that it’s not for what he’s done, it’s for what he’s about to do. I think he’s going to Ava, but he ignores her entirely and stops in front of Charlie instead. Charlie, whose face is pale and suddenly frantic.

It happens in the blink of an eye, but it feels like I’m watching in slow motion. Charlie opens his mouth to say something, but Felix isn’t listening, instead, he raises his arm and slams his fist into his face. There’s a shriek of alarm, Ava I think, and then it’s pandemonium. Without a thought, I’m running across the room to where Felix has Charlie pinned against the wall, fist raised in threat.

“How much was I worth!?” Felix is shouting. “How much you disloyal piece of shit!? All I’ve done is be your friend! WHY? Why would you do this? How much was it worth? How much was I worth?!”

“Felix! Stop!” Ava shouts, distressed. She tries to pull him off, but Felix turns and levels a look on her so cold it could freeze an entire ocean. Charlie’s eyes are wide and filled with tears, but Felix seems not to care. No one else comes near them; half the room wouldn’t dare, and the other half are no doubt enjoying the scene playing out in front of them. I reach Felix before Ben does and manage to drag him away from Charlie. Or he lets me.

“Get him out of here,” Ben hisses at me as he tends to Charlie.

An arm around him, I drag Felix out of the room, his entire body trembling in my hold. He lets me lead him out of the studio and along the corridor towards the communal area, but I worry that Ben might dismiss the session, and I don’t want everyone flooding out while he’s like this. I guide him instead into one of the small meeting rooms and close the door behind us. There’s a small fridge in the corner that I know will be stocked, so I go get a bottle of water and hand it to him. Instead of drinking it, he just rolls it between his hands, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. I wait him out, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to talk. Then:

“It was Charlie,” he says in a very flat voice.

“I gathered.”

His nostrils flare angrily but the hurt is evident.

“I was his friend. I… thought he was mine. But no….” He shakes his head. “He doesn’t care about me. No one fucking does.”

I want to tell him that isn’t true, that I care about him—that I love him—but it’s absolutely not the time, and I’m certain would make no difference right now. He walks to the conference table and sits on it.

“How did you find out?” I ask.

A sour smile. “I went to see my dad. I wanted him to—I asked him for help, to help Christian.” He isn’t looking at me, focussed very hard on the bottle in his hand. “And he, very happily, told me Charlie was the one who told him.”

Fucking Charlie. “So your father was the one who told the newspaper?”

Finally, he lifts his head. My heart pinches. He looks as small and lost and sad as he did in my apartment on Saturday. I still want to pull him into my arms, but I don’t know if he’d want it. Instead, I settle a hand on his shoulder.

“There wasn’t any newspaper. My dad wanted Christian out, so he used this. He’s known for weeks—Charlie stole shit from my fucking phone and gave it to my father. I just…”

“Fuck, Felix. I’m so sorry.”

Felix swallows and shakes his head. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have listened to you. You said it wasn’t you and I should have believed you. I’m… such a fuckup. I’m so sorry.” He looks down again, miserable. Felix has said a lot of shit to me over the years, insults and digs mainly, but he’s never apologised for anything before, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

I squeeze his shoulder. “Hey, stop it. I get why you thought it was me, I do.” He was never going to assume it was one of his best friends. Who would? “I’m glad you know it wasn’t, but fuck, I’m not happy it was Charlie. Felix, what you did in there, holy shit. Ben is gonna come down hard on you for that, you know that?”

“Oh, he’s going to kick me out for it. I’m finished here, maybe everywhere.” He laughs a little, but it’s not with humour. “Friday, I had everything I wanted: friends, a career, a role that was going to make me an icon. A guy I was ready to fall in love with.” He looks at me. “Now, I have nothing.”

On Friday he was ready to fall in love with me? And what, he isn’t anymore? I’m about to ask for clarification on that and why he’d think he didn’t still have it, when the door is thrust open and Benedict appears. He looks more furious than I’ve ever seen him, he looks at least five years older too. There’s something forlorn in his eyes as he looks at Felix. When I glance at Felix, he looks deeply ashamed, unable to look at his director.

“Nicoló, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us,” Ben says gravely. “I’ve dismissed the cast for the day, so you’re free to go home.”

I go to leave but stop by Ben in the doorway. I’m not sure what to say to him that might convince him to go easy on Felix. If he knew the circumstances, would it help? Likely not. Assaulting another dancer is reprehensible, I know that, but I have to try.

“He’s sorry, Benedict. He knows he fucked up. Can you just let him—”

“Shut up, Nico,” snaps Felix. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I’ll agree with him on this,” says Ben. “Thanks for your assistance. See you in the morning, Nicoló.”

With a heavy sigh and a final look at Felix, I leave the room.



I don’t go home. I go to Felix’s, and I wait on his doorstep until he arrives an hour later carrying a backpack and his dance bag. He rolls his eyes at the sight of me and continues toward his front door.

“What happened?” I ask, getting to my feet.

“He kicked me out.”

My stomach plummets.

I stare, speechless, as he shoves his key into the door and leaves it open for me as an invitation to follow.

“What else did he say?”

He kicks off his shoes by the door. I do the same. “He doesn’t know if Charlie will press charges, but he wanted me to be aware that the company would cooperate fully with any police investigation if he did. There were, after all, a lot of witnesses. Like I wouldn’t admit it if it got to that.”

“Surely he wouldn’t press charges? Not after what he did?”

Felix dumps his bags by the foot of the stairs and continues into the living space.

“How the fuck should I know? Charles Dever is an unknown entity to me.” It’s said with chilly indifference as he goes straight to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He ponders, looks at his watch, and pulls out a carton of oat milk before filling the kettle.

“Tea? Coffee?” he asks.

“No.” I go toward him. “So, what will you do? Is there any recourse for him to let you back in? A disciplinary hearing, anything like that?”

“None. What I did was at best, gross misconduct, and at worst, a criminal offense, so no. My contract with LBC has been terminated effective immediately.”

It’s scaring me how completely calm he sounds about it; I have to assume it’s a front. But it’s one I wish he wouldn’t put on with me.

“Felix, look at me.”

He does. His hair is a riot of caramel curls, his eyes shadowed and leeched of all emotion, his complexion washed out. He looks like shit.

“You have to fight this. Did you tell him about Charlie? What he did?”

“It’s none of his fucking business, no. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway; I hit him. You saw it, everyone saw it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. Maybe if I speak to Ben, tell him I won’t do the show without you. That Niall can’t do this, he’s not lead material.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Savini,” he snaps, eyes darkening. “I told you, this has nothing to do with you, and I meant it. Stay out of it.”

“Nothing to do with me. How do you figure that? You’re my partner, Felix. You’re the co-lead in this show, one we’ve already put a lot of fucking hours into, and I’m not willing to let that go to waste. So you’re wrong, this has a lot to do with me.”

He turns and busies himself making tea. “Ben’s been looking for an excuse for months to get rid of me. I gave him one.”

“That’s not true. You’ve been testing his patience for months, probably years— honestly, mine too—but he knows how great you are, or you wouldn’t be lead and he wouldn’t have cast you in his fucking dream project. And you’ve proven him right the last few weeks.”

He turns to face me but keeps his eyes downcast. “None of that matters now, Nico.”

Why isn’t he fighting for this? For any of this? This is not any version of Felix I know, and I fucking hate it. I hate Charlie and Ben and his father and anyone who’s dampened even a single flame of his fire.

“What did you mean back there,” I ask. It hadn’t been what I expected to say at all, it seems hardly relevant right now, but I’m not willing to forget he said it either. “When you said that you had a guy you were ready to fall in love with? Did you mean me?”

He gives me a look that suggests I’m a fucking idiot.

“Right, great. So, what’s changed?”

The look intensifies.

“With us, I mean. How does any of what’s happened this weekend, or this morning change us?”

“Because I’m a fucking mess, Nico, and I make everyone’s life hell, and you should get as far away from me as possible.”

“These aren’t new developments, princess,” I say with a small smile. “You’ve always been a massive fucking nightmare. I just happen to be very, very into that.”

His mouth twitches. I take it as a sign of encouragement and go towards him.

“Can I ask you something else?”

He shrugs.

“If it weren’t for the show, and if we didn’t dance together, and if you didn’t fucking hate me, what would this be?” I motion between us. “You and I. What would we be?”

“Lot of ifs in there, Savini.”

“Yeah, but there’s always been a whole lot of ifs between us, Felix, and I sort of want to know what’s left when we strip them away.”

He sets his cup down on the counter. “What if there isn’t anything left?”

“Sorry, was that another if?”

He glares at me.

“Talk to me,” I say. “Tell me what you want when you take the dance out of it.”

“Yeah, well, I sort of already did that, didn’t I?”

“Okay, so tell me what you want from me right now, tomorrow, next week. Do you want me by your side for whatever happens next? Or do you still want me to fuck off back to where I came from?”

A panicked look flits across his eyes, which quickly transforms into anger.

“Why the fuck is this all on me? What about you? You’ve not just lost absolutely everything that’s important to you in a single weekend, so how about you give me a break here and take some of the strain? Why don’t you tell me what it is you want?”

I say, “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m in a joking fucking mood, Nico? Do I?” He scrubs a hand over his face, swipes up his cup, and marches into the living room.

“No, you look like shit, actually.”

He turns and gives me a death stare. “Oh, well, thanks, just what every girl wants to hear.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not one of your fucking myrmidons, Felix. I’m not here to tell you what you want to hear—I never have been—I’m here to tell you it like it is, so why don’t you listen. I didn’t come to London for the weather or to ruin your life. I came to dance with possibly the greatest dancer there’s ever been. And since I got here, I’ve tried to be whatever the hell he needed me to be: a rival, a punching bag, a quick fuck, a friend, a sounding board. Whatever you needed, I’ve tried to be. You know, on Saturday when you accused me of betraying you like that, when you stood in front of me breaking down because you thought I’d done that, it hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. You know why? Not because you were accusing me but because you were hurting. Someone had hurt you and I fucking hated it. I never want to see you hurt, ever. You asked me what I want? Honestly, I thought that was crystal clear, princess, but apparently not. I want you. Always have. And I’ll take you in whatever fucking capacity I’m allowed to have you. If only you would just… trust me.”

He staring at me, wide green eyes shimmering with something that looks like tears. He’s quiet a very long time, so long that I start to question if I’ve said too much. Or if I said it wrong. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m trying to make him feel better with platitudes I don’t feel because he’s having a hard day. The last thing I expect is for him to come toward me and sink into me the soft, vulnerable way he does and begin to cry. Quiet and soft on my shoulder.

“I trust you,” he says. “I think… maybe… you’re the only person I trust, Nico. I’m so fucking alone. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.”

I smooth a hand over his hair. “You’re not alone, baby. I promise you, you’re not. I’m here; let me be here for you.”

“Alright,” he says against my chest. “Alright.”