Page 25 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

My sister was a K-pop addict. The sort where, though she was nineteen now, she still had a poster of Felix from Stray Kids on her wall, despite the pop star sharing a name with me, her brother. I could only hope she didn’t kiss it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

The obsession started years ago, when the pair of us got into Stray Kids, watching music videos for hours and Lily forcing us to attempt dance routines I couldn’t hope to follow. Then Lily found Ateez, and suddenly our house was filled with Korean pop music at all hours.

I wasn’t a K-pop fanatic like her, but I liked that we had this one thing in common, one thing that bonded us together, aside from our parents. She’d been desperate to see a band live ever since getting properly obsessed, but we hadn’t visited family in Korea for years. Now another of her favourites, SEVENTEEN, were on tour and coming to London.

Apparently, she’d woken up at five a.m. for these tickets, which was impressive for Lily.

Appa looked between us with amusement. “How are you planning to survive a concert full of screaming, love-struck teenagers, Felix?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I said, though the thought of being trapped in a venue with thousands of people made my palms sweaty.

Lily’s expression shifted. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly. “I mean, really sure? It’s going to be massive. Like, massive massive.”

I glanced away from her scrutiny, all too aware that she was remembering that awful incident from three years ago, in Seoul.

A lifetime ago now, but it might as well have been yesterday for how clearly I could still recall every mortifying detail. We’d been visiting Eomma’s family, and I’d insisted I was fine to navigate the subway system alone. Just a quick trip to Myeongdong by myself, after being stuck with my family for days on end.

Everything had been fine until the train doors opened at Gangnam, and what felt like half of Seoul’s population had surged forward at once. Bodies pressed against me from every direction, voices shouting in Korean and English and languages I couldn’t identify. Someone’s elbow caught my ribs. Another person stepped on my foot. The crowd swept me along like a tide, and suddenly I couldn’t see the exit signs anymore.

My phone had gone flying when someone knocked into my arm—I’d watched it skitter across the platform and disappear under a forest of legs. No way to call for help. Just me and ten thousand strangers in an underground maze.

The panic had hit like a tidal wave. My chest had tightened until I couldn’t breathe properly, sweat had soaked through my shirt, and my hands had started shaking so badly I’d had to shove them deep in my pockets.

I’d ended up sitting on the platform floor for two hours, back pressed against a pillar, trying to remember the breathing techniques my uni counsellor had taught me. Eventually, a security guard had pulled me to my feet. Someone had handed in my phone—that would never have happened in London—and I called my family to come get me.

“Felix?” Lily’s voice brought me back to the present. She was leaning forward now, her brow creased with worry.

“I’ll be fine,” I said quickly. I wanted to go. I wanted to spend time with Lily. I liked the music, and I wasn’t about to let my stupid brain dictate my life.

“And you’re sure your friend Wren can make it?” Lily asked. She’d snagged four tickets, and insisted that I bring a friend along.

“I think so.”

“And you’re sure you’re really just friends?” She batted her eyelashes in that exaggerated way that made me want to throw a cushion at her.

“You’re far too interested in my love life.” I sighed. “I promise you, we’re really just friends.”

“Only because you friend-zoned him.” She stuck out her tongue.

I sighed again because, annoyingly, it was true.

After Christmas Eve, when Emma had announced to the entire dining table that Wren was interested in me, it had taken months for him to actually ask me out. Probably because I looked like I was on the verge of a panic attack whenever I went into Fat Cat’s, where he worked as a barista. Sadly for me, Wren eventually decided to go for it anyway, doing that classic cringey thing of writing his number on a coffee cup alongside a doodle of a cat blowing a kiss with its paw. He’d written “100% no pressure” and a smiley face, but I had felt pressure. A lot of it.

I couldn’t just not ever message him and still go to Fat Cat’s. And I couldn’t refuse to fetch the team’s coffee from the cafe because of him, else they’d all relentlessly tease me for it.

So I texted the number, and we started hanging out. It was horribly awkward at first; I thought I’d faint from the stress of it. But Wren was unbelievably good at talking. One of those people who can fill any silence, who knew just the right questions to ask. And it turned out we were interested in lots of the same stuff—games, music, a couple of the same anime shows. We’d both read the entire Game of Thrones series twice, and spent hours debating the merits of the TV show, and theorising what might happen in the last book, though I was convinced George R.R. Martin couldn’t be bothered to write it now he was rich.

Wren was also unbelievably gentlemanly. He put me at ease with casual light touches that never went any further. I didn’t even mind hugging him, or him putting his arm around me during walks or films.

But then nothing happened between us. At all.

Things got weirder and weirder, until the time where I went completely mental and tried to kiss him, thinking it was what he wanted, what I was supposed to do next.

It must have been some truly tragic kissing, because he’d pulled back and said, “You don’t need to do that, Felix. I know you’re not into me like that. I just want to be friends.”

I suddenly realised then, he was completely right. That I didn’t fancy him like that. Even though he was a charming, awesome human and I really enjoyed being his friend. Attraction hardly ever happened for me anyway, and when it did, it took ages to develop. It felt like something was wrong with me. Wren and I got on brilliantly, had everything in common, and I still felt nothing romantic.

“So if not Wren, who are you dating at the minute?”