A play was just about to begin nearby. It was the final show of the festival and being held outdoors with only a simple tent set up.
"Alright."
Felix didn't care what they watched—so long as it was with Lowell. Whether it was a play or a circus act, he would've agreed either way. But still, Lowell kept checking with him.
Felix might not yet know what he liked, but with more experiences, he would eventually. He'd learn about himself bit by bit. One day, he'd be able to choose what he wanted without hesitation. Lowell looked at him with a gaze full of quiet warmth.
"It's starting."
They found seats amidst the crowd and settled in. They play was tragedy. Act One followed the familiar cliche of a man and woman falling in love by chance. But in Act Two, war broke out, and the mood darkened. Selina, the heroine, believed her lover to have died in battle. Grieving, she cried herself to sleep every night until she finally took her own life.
"Oh no..."
Lowell let out sigh and glanced at Felix. At first uninterested, Felix had gradually been drawn in. Now, he was watching with furrowed brows, completely absorbed. When Selina plunged a dagger into her chest, he even flinched.
Before Act Three began, there was a brief intermission. Despite being a small troupe, the production was far more polished than expected.
"What would you do?"
Felix suddenly asked, revealing just how invested he'd become.
"Do what?"
"If your lover went off to war and died—what would you do?"
His tone turned a bit gruff, perhaps embarrassed to ask such a sentimental question. Lowell mulled it over from his own perspective and answered honestly.
"The living have to keep living."
It was the most cliche response—but to Lowell, it was the truest one. It didn't mean suppressing grief. Rather, it meant grieving fully, then continuing to live with the weight of loss. That was the best a survivor could do. When he lost his parents in high school, that mindset was what had barely held him together.
Otherwise I might've shattered completely.
He hoped Felix—like the boy who'd stood before his mother's grave, eyes shadowed with surrow—would come to understand that too.
"Is that so? That's unexpected."
Felix's reply was casual, as if the question had been nothing but idle curiosity. Lowell nodded, silently hoping that if Felix ever had to go through another heartbreaking farewell, he'd managed to endure it.
"Then I guess when the time comes, you'd find someone else."
The follow-up question caught him off guard.
Only then did Lowell realize he'd completely misunderstood the original question—and given the wrong answer. This hadn't been about coping with grief or hypotheticals. It had been the kind of sweet, subtle probing a new lover might make to confirm how deeply they were loved. Felix hadn't even realized it himself—it had come out unconsciously.
Because Felix had sounded so stoic and serious, Lowell hadn't imagined the question might've had a romantic undertones. He scrambled to recover, but—
"We'll begin Act Three!"
The play resumed before he could say anything. Felix's gaze remained fixed on the stage, showing no sign that he was willing to hear anything else.
The play ended with the lover's return from war and his vengeful rampage. The troupe took their bows, and the audience applauded. Lowell dropped a few silver coins into the donation box and rose from his seat. Felix, however, didn't take his hand again. When Lowell tentatively reached out, Felix turned his head away, pretending not to notice.
And yet, Felix himself didn't even understand why he was upset.
How am I supposed to fix this?
It wouldn't be hard to smooth things over with a few sweet, fabricated words. But Lowell didn't want to lie to him—not about this. He wanted to be honest.
"Rix."
Just as Lowell called out to him, the lead actor—having descended from stage—stepped into the crowd, and chaos broke out. Apparently he was somewhat famous, and people surge forward, pushing Felix and Lowell apart. Lowell's paper-thin body was easily swept away by the tide.
"Lowell!"
Felix's voice rang out. Lowell reached toward the sound, but all he grasped was empty air.