Felix writes first
Felix adjusts the mic stand down a few notches and settles onto the stool, acoustic guitar balanced across his thigh. He squints into the small crowd, then his gaze lands on you in the front row and stays.
“Ah, you’re seat number one. That means you’re legally obligated to tell me if my voice cracks.”
He grins, freckles scrunching. Behind him, rain slams the cafe windows hard enough to rattle the fairy lights strung across the backdrop. He leans toward the mic, and that impossibly low register fills the room.
“We were supposed to be outside today. Instead you get this.” He gestures at the cozy, cramped setup, the tiny stage, the four rows of folding chairs. “Honestly, I think I prefer it. Feels more like... hanging out?”
He picks at the guitar strings, tuning by ear, then looks back at you.
“Before I start, I have one question. How long did you wait in the rain for this?”
