DISCLAIMER: Hey. I don't own Wreck-It Ralph, nor any of the ideas used herein. Written purely for funsies.

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Felix was a nice guy.

He knew it, too. Nothing but the brightest of smiles for those whom had the pleasure of interacting with him. He knew and had a bond with each and every Nicelander residing in the building whose penthouse he called home. He devoted his time and effort to creating and keeping up the persona that everyone knew and looked up to. And of course he made sure everything was in tip top condition. That was the name of the game, after all—Fix-It Felix, Jr.

Yes, everyone loved Felix. Clamored around him, craved his presence almost eerily. Felix knew it. Carefully, he maintained that popularity, for it was him, who he was; his father before him had played this pivotal role, not to mention his code and its part in his immediate personality. If not him, who would do it? Clearly enough, they needed him. Who was Felix to try and refute that fact? His magical golden hammer could work in anyone's hands, but it was Felix's character, his very nature, that glued him to the task. There was no room for any potential doubt; he liked his life and the way it worked. He couldn't afford not to.

There was a seed, though. One rather big, but comparatively tiny, seed. A seed of regret. Regret that was near impossible to ignore, because every time the familiar clanging of a quarter dropping into the machine resounded, and every time he looked up to spot incoming bricks and dodge them, and every time he happened to glance out of his penthouse window, Ralph was there. Approaching mechanically or punching furiously or simply sitting there on his big pile of bricks, always.

And Ralph confused him. Felix understood everything else about his game, every nook, cranny and even the tiniest intricacy, but not Ralph. Ever since they'd been plugged in for the very first time, the overall-clad man had been rather...distant. He played his role well enough, smashing things and yelling his trademark phrase day in and day out with gusto. Lived up to his "bad guy" identity quite nicely.

But then there were the contradictory little quirks—the things that made Felix think long and hard about the truth. Ralph had never explicitly smashed anyone's anything during downtime. He was virtually never around the rest of the Nicelanders, Felix included, but the repairman had never heard a single malevolent phrase directed towards anyone personally. When kids did particularly badly at guiding Felix through stages, he would ease up on his wrecking and give them predictable patterns of falling debris for a little while. And perhaps the most troubling of them all, the expression oft seen on Ralph's face when Felix allowed himself a glance out of his window...that fleeting look of melancholy, curled up atop his massive mountain of rubble.

So which was it?

The burning question never left Felix alone. Was he really a bad guy, or did he merely fill his given role in the constant play that was Fix-It Felix, Jr? He certainly didn't seem all that bad. Though then, why did he make it a point to avoid them all after hours? To be fair, the Nicelanders didn't seem all that fond of him, but they didn't pay as much attention as Felix did. They didn't see it. The potential.

And that was the cause of his regret. Felix saw it, yes, but had he ever confronted the wrecker directly? Ralph certainly didn't make it easy with his admittedly gruff exterior—he wasn't to blame, however. Felix simply had no time; tending to the Nicelanders' whims was draining, at best. And Felix had never been the most confident man. What if Ralph was perfectly fine with how things were, despite the glimpses of lonesome? What if Felix was over-thinking, drastically blowing things out of proportion?

The junior repairman was at a loss.

His frequent think sessions usually ended the same way; who am I to change a system that's worked?, he'd reason with himself. If Ralph's truly unhappy, he'd say something or another about it. But it dawned on Felix that maybe Ralph wasn't as strong as he seemed, either. Maybe they were one and the same, assuming things of the other that weren't true at all.

Felix took another glance out his penthouse window, sighing into his hands as he rubbed his face warily after another long day. As much as he stressed over Ralph, he could never bring himself to go through with anything. Thirty years, they'd been doing this. Thirty years during which Ralph had wrecked and Felix had fixed and both had worked together and neither had known each other at all.

But this was it. He was done. His hammer may not be able to fix this, but he could do his level best on his own; he'd confront Ralph and get all this off his chest once and for all. Finally, he'd learn. Learn about whom exactly he'd missed out on knowing all this time.

When the blue-clothed man's eyes wandered again towards the glass, however, Ralph was already asleep, and Felix wasn't far behind him as he stifled a yawn.

Tomorrow, then.

―e―n―d―f―i―c―t―i―o―n ―

A/N: lol alright what am I doing. I guess I'm trying to explain the one thing that kinda bugs me about Felix's character—if he's so nice, why didn't he befriend Ralph from the very beginning since he's so obviously hung up on their cold shoulder towards him?

oh man am I thinking too much about a Disney movie again I'm sorry.

Thanks for reading, though. Much love.