ruru195

[ruru195]

The Most Awkward Family Dinner

The Drew family had invited the Angel family over for dinner. Everyone was nervous—well, except Cuphead, who showed up with a bottle of wine and a grin like this was already a party.

The table was beautifully set. On one side sat Cuphead, instantly locked in animated conversation with Evangeline—Andrew’s mom. They were laughing so loud the glasses on the table rattled.

“I swear, Evangeline, when Celine was little, she shoved crayons up her nose and told me she was ‘a candle.’” Cuphead said, cackling.

“Oh dear heavens, Andrew once glued his wings to the wall because he thought he could ‘sleep while flying!’” Evangeline responded, slapping the table as she laughed.

The two were practically best friends by the second appetizer.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the table, Celine sat leaning against Andrew’s shoulder, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, just enjoying the comfort. Andrew softly turned a page of the book he’d brought along.

Madeline, sitting beside them, leaned forward. “So, Andrew, what’s your favorite play?”

Andrew’s halo gleamed as he lit up. “Hamlet. The tragedy, the soliloquies, the—”

“Ugh, boring,” Cendrick groaned, munching breadsticks. “The kid should’ve just joined a softball team. Boom—problems solved.”

Cindy chuckled, eyes half–lidded on Andrew. “Ignore him. He thinks sports fix everything.”

Cendrick puffed his chest. “They do! Ask Dad—oh wait, don’t. He doesn’t even let me hit balls near the house anymore…”

“Because you broke the mailbox!” Celine reminded, flicking a pea at him.

The siblings bickered happily, with Andrew jumping in now and then to add some earnest, dramatic theater references that made everyone roll their eyes but smile anyway.

And then… there was the dad’s corner.

At the far end of the table, Bendy sat stiff as a board, slowly cutting his steak with the precision of a surgeon who hated his job. Beside him sat Raphael—Andrew’s father—tall, broad–shouldered, glowing faintly like someone had left the “holy” setting on too long.

Neither spoke.

The only sounds: knives scraping plates, forks tapping, teeth grinding.

At one point, Raphael glanced at Bendy. Bendy glared right back. It was like watching two statues argue silently with eye contact alone.

Cuphead noticed and tried to defuse. “So, uh, Raphael, do you—”

“Mm.” Raphael grunted without looking away from his plate.

Bendy stuffed a potato in his mouth and chewed aggressively, muttering, “Hmf. Figures.”

Cuphead sighed. “They’re bonding in their own way,” he whispered to Evangeline.

“Oh yes,” she whispered back, “it’s like watching two cats sit in the same room pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

Back at the kids’ side, Madeline had gotten Andrew talking about Shakespeare again, while Celine doodled little sports cars on her napkin. Cendrick was bragging about his softball strikeout rate. And Celine—head still resting on Andrew’s shoulder—was smiling softly, looking happier than she’d ever been.

Cuphead looked at her, then at Evangeline, both parents grinning at their children’s happiness.

Bendy, however, stabbed his steak like it had personally insulted him. Raphael did the same.

Civil? Maybe. Enjoying themselves? Absolutely not.

It was going to be a long family dinner.

[ruru195]

The Knock

The doorbell rang.

Bendy stomped toward it, already scowling. He opened it to find Andrew—eighteen, tall, glowing like the sun itself with his white bright halo and snow–white wings tucked neatly behind him. He looked like the poster child for “Perfect Boy Next Door.”

Andrew grinned politely. “Hello, Mister Drew!”

Bendy squinted at him, instantly annoyed by how dazzling his teeth were. “…Hello, Andrew,” he said flatly, his tone as dry as burnt toast.

“I came to see Celine!” Andrew said brightly, bouncing a little on his heels like an excited puppy.

Bendy’s eyes narrowed. He put one hand on the doorframe, blocking the way. “Well, what a shame. Cindy’s, uh… unavailable right now. Very busy.”

Andrew blinked. “Busy?”

“Yes,” Bendy nodded firmly, already pulling lies out of thin air. “She, uh… joined the monastery this morning. Shaved her head. Took a vow of silence. Won’t be back for—oh, I don’t know—ten to twelve years.”

Andrew tilted his head, confused but still polite. “But I texted her, and she told me to come over—”

Before Bendy could dig the hole deeper, Cuphead appeared behind him, smacking a hand over his husband’s mouth. “Hahaaa, don’t mind him! He gets… weird when he hasn’t had coffee. Come on in, Andrew! Cindy’s upstairs in her room!”

Andrew, oblivious as always, beamed. “Thank you! It is always a pleasure to see you Mister Cuphead.” and stepped inside, wings brushing the doorway.

“Hahaa... the pleasure is mine!”

The second he was out of sight, Cuphead released Bendy.

Bendy spun around, tail lashing, fangs bared. “WHAT the hell was THAT, Cup?! I was protecting our daughter, and you—you just LET HIM IN?!”

Cuphead raised a brow. “Protecting her? Bendy, you were about to convince that boy Cindy was in a monastery!”

“And it would’ve WORKED if you hadn’t stopped me!” Bendy hissed. He stomped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “She’s our baby girl! And you just let that… that BOY march up to her room unsupervised?!”

Cuphead sighed, leaning against the wall. “Bendy, Cindy’s eighteen. She knows better. You gotta let go sometime, plus they have been together ever since 7th grade.”

Bendy’s jaw dropped. “Let go?! Cuphead, she’s still our little girl! And Andrew—he’s a boy. Do you know what boys think about?!”

“Homework and snacks?” Cuphead deadpanned.

“No! EVIL! Villainous things! Impure, ungodly things!” Bendy snarled, waving his hands dramatically. “He could be planning anything up there!”

Cuphead rubbed his temples. “Bendy, the only thing Andrew has been planning since kindergarten is to marry Cindy. He’s been in love with her since they were in diapers!”

Bendy gagged. “Ugh! Why are you so casual about this?!”

“Because it’s true!” Cuphead groaned. “The kid’s so squeaky clean he squeaks when he walks. He’s probably more virgin than a carton of olive oil. The worst thing he’ll ever do is ask her to braid his halo or something.”

“That’s already TOO MUCH!” Bendy barked, arms flinging into the air. He crossed them tightly, tail thrashing. “I don’t care if he’s got angel wings and says please and thank you. I don’t like him. I’ll NEVER like him.”

Cuphead raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “When are you gonna stop being a jealous dad and let them be happy?”

“Never,” Bendy shot back instantly, puffing his chest like he’d just won. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

From upstairs, Cindy’s laugh rang out—soft, bright, happy.

Both dads froze.

Cuphead smiled, leaning on the banister. “Hear that? That’s your daughter happy.”

Bendy twitched, his eyes twitching at the sound, his heart melting for half a second… before his scowl came back twice as strong. “Tch. Still don’t like that boy.”

Cuphead laughed, patting him on the back. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll be crying at their wedding.”

Bendy whipped his head toward him, pointing an accusatory finger. “NEVER. I’ll sabotage it myself. I’ll object so loud the church will collapse!”

Cuphead snorted. “Sure, tough guy. And then Cindy’ll never speak to you again.”

Bendy froze mid–rant, face falling like he’d just been hit with lightning. “…” He crossed his arms again, muttering darkly. “…Still don’t like him, though.”

Cuphead just shook his head, chuckling as he walked off. “Jealous dad forever.”

Bendy grumbled under his breath, tail coiling protectively around his legs. “Damn right I am.”

[ruru195]

Oooh ohh what is this??? What is this??

I love their myth designs so much 🙏 they looks so so awesome GRAHHHHH

[ruru195]

Mugman vs. Boris: The Battle of Affection

Boris had one rule in life: no mushy stuff. No hugs, no kisses on the cheek, no long handshakes. A good pat on the shoulder was more than enough, thank you kindly.

Which, of course, made Mugman’s mission all the more clear: test that rule every single day.

It started one afternoon while the two were fishing by the river. Boris was focused, ears perked, tail swishing lazily. Mugman sat beside him, humming. Out of nowhere, Mugman rested his hand right on Boris’s thigh.

Boris froze, fur bristling. “…What’re you doin’?”

Mugman leaned closer, all innocence. “Oh, nothin’. Just makin’ sure you don’t fall in.”

Boris groaned, cheeks hot beneath his fur. “Yer impossible.”

The next day, Mugman escalated. Every time Boris bent down to grab something, Mugman swooped in for a hug from behind, squeezing him tight.

“Quit it!” Boris barked, trying to wriggle free.

“But you’re so huggable!” Mugman laughed, nuzzling his cheek right against Boris’s ear.

Boris’s knees nearly gave out, torn between laughing, crying, and bolting for the hills.

Mugman didn’t stop there.

When they sat on the couch? Mugman plopped down and rested his head right on Boris’s shoulder.

When they lay in the grass watching the clouds? Mugman casually scooted over and used Boris’s belly as a pillow, sighing dreamily.

“Yer fur’s so soft, Boris,” Mugman teased. “Like sleepin’ on a cloud!”

Boris covered his face with his big paws, groaning into them, his tail thumping against the ground in embarrassed betrayal. “Mugs, yer killin’ me!”

Mugman only laughed harder, poking Boris’s ribs until the poor wolf burst into helpless giggles.

The best moment came one evening when Mugman decided to “seal the deal.” He leaned in, bumped his head lightly against Boris’s, and whispered, “Best pals forever.”

Boris melted on the spot, ears drooping, eyes watering. “Aw, gee, Mugsy…” He tried to grumble, but the truth was written all over his face—he loved it, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Mugman grinned, satisfied. “Knew I’d get ya eventually.”

And from then on, Boris still pretended to hate it… but Mugman noticed he never actually pushed him away.

Not once.

[ruru195]

First Night Home

The house had never felt so full. Not because of noise—everything was hushed, careful, reverent—but because the air itself seemed alive with something new, something sacred. Their daughter was home.

Cuphead sat nestled into the big armchair in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, Cindy cradled against his chest. His body still ached, every muscle begging for rest, but he refused to let go of her. He rocked gently, his lips brushing her soft hair again and again, drinking in every sigh, every tiny sound.

Bendy came padding in from the kitchen, a steaming cup of chamomile tea in one hand, and a bottle of warm milk in the other—“just in case.” His tail swayed behind him, his face tired but glowing. He set the tea down beside Cuphead and crouched in front of him.

“You’ve been holding her for hours, sugarplum,” Bendy said gently, brushing back Cuphead’s bangs. “Your arms must be aching. Let me take her for a bit, yeah?”

Cuphead’s arms tightened around Cindy like iron. His eyes went wide and desperate. “N-No! I—she just got here. She needs me.”

Bendy smiled softly, not the least surprised. “Sweetheart, she ain’t going anywhere. She’s ours. You can let yourself rest.”

But Cuphead shook his head stubbornly, rocking their baby closer. “I’ll rest when she does.”

Bendy chuckled low, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Stubborn mug.” He straightened, tail flicking, and padded back to the sofa where he flopped down, watching them with soft amusement. “Alright, you win. But don’t cry to me when your arms go numb.”

Cuphead ignored him, nose buried against Cindy’s blanket, tears threatening again at how tiny, how real she was. He whispered to her like a secret: “I’m not lettin’ go, not ever.”

Hours passed. The fireplace glowed low, the house quiet but for the soft sounds of Cindy breathing. Cuphead’s eyelids drooped, his head nodding, but his arms never loosened.

Bendy, ever watchful, got up when he noticed Cuphead’s head tilting dangerously close to bonking against the arm of the chair. He leaned down, carefully sliding one hand under Cuphead’s arms and the other beneath Cindy.

Cuphead stirred, whining softly, clutching Cindy tighter. “No, don’t take her.” His voice was slurred with exhaustion, but his grip was like a vice.

Bendy chuckled under his breath. “I ain’t takin’ her, darlin’. Just makin’ sure you two don’t topple over like bowling pins.” He carefully adjusted Cuphead, sliding a pillow behind him, tucking the blanket around them both. Cindy never stirred, still curled safely against her papa.

Bendy kissed Cuphead’s temple, whispering, “There. Safe and sound.”

Sometime later, in the quiet of night, Cuphead finally drifted into a deep sleep. His arms slackened a little, but even then his body curled protectively around Cindy, his cheek pressed to her tiny head.

Bendy sat nearby, watching with a soft ache in his chest. His family. His Cuphead, stubborn and sweet, his baby girl, impossibly small. He could barely breathe past the love in him.

He leaned over, pressed a kiss to Cuphead’s cheek, then to Cindy’s forehead. Whispering like a prayer, he said: “My whole world.”

Then he settled into the chair beside them, one hand on Cuphead’s, one tail wrapped protectively over them both, keeping his silent promise: he’d guard them always.

[ruru195]

First Light

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of machines and the tiny, steady breaths of the newborn resting in the bassinet. Cuphead lay in the bed, his whole body trembling from exhaustion, pain lacing through every inch of him. His chest ached, his limbs felt heavy like stone, and yet his heart beat with a desperate longing—his little girl, Cindy, was right there, so close, but he couldn’t even find the strength to lift his arms.

Tears welled in his eyes as he turned his head slightly, watching the soft bundle rise and fall with each little breath. His baby. His daughter. She was perfect, and he couldn’t even hold her. The helplessness broke something inside him, and quiet sobs slipped past his lips. His shoulders shook, but his body refused to obey him, leaving him trapped in the hurt and the longing.

He shut his eyes, letting the tears run freely. The loneliness of that moment cut deeper than any wound.

Then—warmth. A gentle hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away the tears. Cuphead’s eyes fluttered open, and through the blur of pain and crying he saw Bendy, his eyes wide and glistening with worry.

“Cup… hey, hey, sweetheart…” Bendy whispered, leaning close, his voice trembling with tenderness. His hand smoothed Cuphead’s damp hair, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’m here, I’ve got you. You don’t have to be alone.”

Cuphead’s throat worked, but no words came. Only more tears. He shook his head weakly, confessing without speaking that it hurt—everything hurt.

Bendy pulled him into a careful embrace, mindful of his fragile state, holding him close enough to be felt, steady and warm. “I know, love… I know. But it’s over now. You’re safe. She’s safe. And I promise—I’ll take care of both of you.”

His words were steady, but his voice cracked with emotion.

Cuphead sniffled, his eyes darting to the bassinet, then back to Bendy. His lips parted, trembling. “C–Cindy…” His voice was weak, broken. He didn’t have to say more—Bendy understood.

“You want to hold her?” Bendy asked softly.

Cuphead gave the smallest nod, tears sliding down his cheeks again.

Bendy’s heart twisted. He leaned forward, carefully lifting the tiny bundle from the bassinet, his hands steady though his chest was shaking with the weight of the moment. He turned, easing Cuphead up against the pillows with as much care as if he were glass. Then, with infinite gentleness, he lowered Cindy into Cuphead’s waiting arms.

Cuphead’s hands trembled as they closed around her, but once she was there, against him, something shifted. The pain was still there, the exhaustion, the weakness—but it all softened as he looked down at her. His baby girl. Her little face scrunched as she dreamed, her tiny fists curled near her chin.

A small, fragile smile broke through his tears. His thumb brushed over the soft blanket wrapping her, and he leaned down just enough to press a trembling kiss against her tiny forehead.

Bendy’s eyes shimmered as he watched them—his Cuphead, weary and hurting, and their daughter nestled safely in his arms. He sat beside them, his tail curling protectively around both. One hand never left Cuphead’s cheek as he whispered, “See? She’s here. And she’s perfect. Just like you.”

Cuphead’s eyes closed, fresh tears spilling as he let out a shaky breath—but this time, he was smiling. For the first time since the pain began, he felt whole.

[ruru195]

"...And one super-fan!"

It's so weird drawing Mickey like this BUT AY, we're on the grind, ladies!!!(and gentlemen, ig.../j) Mickey fucked up my process, man, it was so hard to draw just him(free balled the other ones). Maybe it was because I kept having the OG Mickey pop through my mind CAUSE THIS AINT HIM! How does a two foot tall little rat turn into this? IDK I was just getting war flashbacks I guess. Halfway through this I realized it was pretty close to a scene that happens in the story so- I guess this is a redraw? It wasn't meant to be but oh well. I'm not redoing it. Though I feel like I should've cause you can't see the eyebags that he has(we lowkey could've been twinning) Anyways, Here's the silly art of the day:(the OC dragging him away is not mine. She belongs to Cupid in the discord server!) And the AU is @myth-of-the-machine !!

(I only put a signature on this since it does have someone else's OC in it and I don't want their OC to get stolen) AND This ain't goin' any where else. It's only posted on here Edit: I KEEP FORGETTING TO DRAW TOODLES FUCK

[ruru195]

A clip for my au

Two animation frames

(Note: I’m back in school so I probably won’t be uploading all that frequently)

[ruru195]

Played with a sort of transformation~

[ruru195]

The Kiss Saboteur

The backstage dressing room was buzzing with noise—the clatter of skates, the faint hum of rehearsals echoing from the ice arena, and the rustle of costumes. But Oswald sat calmly before the mirror, brush in hand, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he carefully painted his face with white powder and bold black lines. Every stroke was precise; every detail perfect. He wasn’t just performing tonight. He was presenting art.

Behind him, Felix hummed to himself, fingers weaving deftly through Oswald’s hair as he smoothed it back into a sleek, tight bun at the nape of his neck. “There,” Felix said softly, tying it off neatly. “Low and secure. Won’t give you a fuss while you’re skating. You’ll be aerodynamic, love.”

Oswald gave a quick approving nod but didn’t take his eyes off his reflection. The eyeliner needed symmetry, and the blush had to be just so. His perfectionist heart demanded it.

Felix, however, had a glint in his eye. Watching his rabbit husband so serious, so focused, sent a mischievous thought sparking in his historian brain. Slowly, the corners of his mouth curled into an evil little smile.

“Ozzy.”

Oswald paused, brush in hand, and turned just slightly toward Felix. “Yes?”

That was all Felix needed. In a flash, he leaned down, squished Oswald’s cheeks together with both hands—turning his serious expression into a fishy pout—and planted a big, loud kiss right on his lips.

“Felix!” Oswald jerked back, eyes wide. He grabbed the mirror and gasped. His perfectly blended makeup was smudged into a pink-and-black mess.

Felix? Absolutely losing it. He laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach. “Ohhh, the look on your face—worth every second! I’m not sorry, not in the slightest!” He doubled over, snorting like a schoolboy who just pulled the best prank in history.

Oswald, meanwhile, slowly turned in his chair, death in his gaze. His ears twitched, his whiskers twitched, and his hands gripped his makeup brush like it was a weapon. “Felix. Tom. Messmer.” His voice dropped dangerously low. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get my foundation even?”

Felix, wiping tears of laughter, only leaned down and pressed another kiss to the top of Oswald’s head, completely unbothered. “And yet… you still look beautiful.” With that, he breezed out of the room, still chuckling, muttering something about checking on the kids before the show.

Oswald sat frozen, brush trembling in his hand, glaring holes into the doorway Felix had disappeared through. He sighed, grabbed a makeup wipe, and muttered under his breath, “I married an absolute menace…”

But despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips as he started all over again.

[ruru195]

The Nap Thief

Felix sat comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, glasses perched neatly on his nose as he flipped through the fragile pages of an old history book. His world had shrunk down to words, notes, and the occasional satisfied hum as he pieced through yet another theory about ruins.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. Which usually meant trouble.

Without warning, Oswald padded over, silent as a shadow. Felix barely looked up when his hat was suddenly whisked right off his head.

Felix blinked. “…Oswald?”

Oswald didn’t answer. He placed the wide-brimmed hat squarely on his own head, the brim tipping over one eye. Felix tilted his head, suspicious. “Are you—going to nap?” he asked slowly, because by now he knew the pattern: Oswald only stole his hat when nap time was imminent.

Again, no words. Just Oswald climbing onto the couch with all the subtlety of a cat well rabbit who thought he owned the place. Felix started to protest—“Wait, Os, I’m reading, what are you—”

And then Oswald sat right on Felix’s lap.

Before Felix could fully process that, Oswald tugged Felix’s shirt off with casual ease, balled it up, and tossed it on the floor. Then, without hesitation, he sprawled forward, resting his head against Felix’s bare chest and laying his head directly over Felix’s heart.

The silence was deafening.

Felix’s book slid out of his hands and onto the floor. His face turned crimson from ear to collar. “O–Oswald, what in the world—?! You—you can’t just—” He stammered, words tumbling uselessly as his historian’s mind utterly failed him.

Oswald, however, seemed perfectly content. Eyes already closed, breathing slowing into the rhythm of sleep, a little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to Felix’s heartbeat thrum steady under his ear.

Felix just sat there, frozen, arms hovering awkwardly in the air. His brain tried to catalogue this event like he did with every artifact: Subject—Oswald. Action—shirt removal. Circumstance—lap occupation. Purpose—heart as pillow?

But the only conclusion Felix came to was that his face was very, very hot.

Minutes passed. Felix still hadn’t moved, still trying to process what just happened. Finally, with a defeated sigh, he carefully rested one hand against Oswald’s back, gentle and protective, while the rabbit slept soundly on him.

“…Nap thief,” Felix muttered under his breath, cheeks still glowing red.

Oswald just snored softly, hat tipped low, and nestled even closer.

[ruru195]

[ruru195]

Fanart for @myth-of-the-machine bendy I'm honestly starting to get obsessed with this comic-

[ruru195]

Always happy to continue with this amazing project.

Siempre un placer continuar con tan grandioso proyecto.

IMPORTANT UPDATE / AVISO IMPORTANTE

Hi guys!

I'm Brindzzz, creator of the I.V. AU

First of all...

THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!!

Thank you guys... without you, this wouldn't have been possible. I love you all.

And... I also wanted to apologize.

I recently started university and... let’s just say I don’t have much time to draw anymore...

(Also, my tablet is starting to stop working...)

But not all news is bad! Because now this project is moving forward thanks to:

@k1tsstuff (HELPER)

@ruru195 (HELPER)

@dexye (DISCORD CO-ADMIN)

(Love you, muak 💋)

So don’t worry! This project is still going strong.

See you! Take care 💖!

----------------------------------------

Remember, if you want more advances and especial draws, join our discord 🫶

[ruru195]

Just a cup in love, thinking about his love one. ❤️

[ruru195]

Another drawing for the dead account :D

Just Cuphead and Bendy being in love

[ruru195]

The Ballet of Two Souls

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp and the pale wash of moonlight spilling through tall windows. The air felt still, save for the faint hum of an old record player in the corner, spinning a delicate piece of slow, mournful music.

And in that fragile space, Oswald danced.

His feet moved with elegance across the polished floor, each step deliberate yet weightless. His long ears and hair flowed with his turns like ribbons of ink, his arms gliding in slow arcs that painted the air. Every plié, every stretch of his form carried grief and grace intertwined — a man who had once carried tragedy, now letting it move through him as art.

Felix stood quietly in the doorway, struck breathless. For a moment, he did not wish to disturb the scene — the way Oswald’s body curved, the way the music seemed to pour directly through his bones. But the pull was too strong.

He stepped forward, his shoes clicking softly against the wood. Oswald noticed the sound, but he didn’t stop. Instead, his body flowed into another turn, arms extended like an open invitation.

Felix reached him, and with hands that trembled not from fear but from reverence, he touched Oswald’s waist. His palm settled there, guiding with the gentlest pressure, syncing into the rhythm.

Oswald tilted his head up at last, ears swaying like pendulums. His eyes softened when they met Felix’s — and for a heartbeat, he faltered, warmth rushing through him. But then he closed his eyes, trusting.

Their dance became one.

Felix’s hand slid to Oswald’s shoulder, his other catching Oswald’s palm, fingers lacing delicately. Their steps began to mirror each other, Felix following Oswald’s natural grace while offering quiet steadiness of his own. They turned together, bodies brushing, their shadows merging against the pale wall.

Oswald arched into Felix’s lead, his movements slowing, melting, as though yielding not just to the music but to the presence holding him. Felix leaned close, his breath near Oswald’s temple, guiding him into a sweeping turn before drawing him back into his chest.

Neither spoke. There was no need. Every touch, every brush of hand against hand, every press of palm to palm said what words could not.

The music lulled into its final notes, fading like mist. But neither of them broke the moment. Felix’s hand lingered against Oswald’s back; Oswald’s forehead rested lightly against Felix’s cheek. They stayed there, suspended in silence, as though the world outside no longer existed.

And when Oswald finally opened his eyes again, Felix was smiling — a quiet, unshakable smile that told him:

I Love You