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From this point, on the helipad of this roof, in this corner of the city, from this high in the air, Felix felt like he could see all of Seoul. He couldn’t, of course, that wasn’t possible given the actual height of the building and how sprawling the intricate web of interconnected streets and roads and neighborhoods of Seoul was but he could pretend.
From here he could pretend anything he wanted about how small Seoul looked from this high up. Streets looked like they belonged on a child’s playset, cars the size of Hot Wheels and people little more than singular pixels on a computer screen. He could think himself a god if he wanted, that he could bring his distressed Converse down and squish anything that might stand in his way, anything that might try to stop him from living his life.
He felt bad about stepping on bugs and actively avoided ant hills but it was a nice little dream.
His icee was nearly melted into clumps of ice and sticky syrup and there were candy bars warming up in his bag but he didn’t make for any of them. It was hot still, summer creeping into fall in a slow, soft way in that he could wake up one morning and suddenly be in the middle of a cold snap and find leaves, crinkly and brown and perfect for crunchy walks, littering the sidewalk. Right now though his leather, fingerless gloves adhered to his hands like a second skin and his plastic mask was too hot to wear for more than five minutes in this heat. Right now his only company on the edge of his very high roof was a cool, high atmosphere breeze billowing through his jacket and the holes of his jeans.
“Hyunjin thought you got caught,” someone said conversationally as they climbed the side of the building. It was nearly 30 stories high so there was no way they climbed the whole thing. It was definitely for style points, Felix considered, reaching over to sip his suicide slush without commentary. The sweet syrup coated his tongue and his throat as he slurped it down, the melted ice not enough to truly cut the sweetness anymore. The person climbed over the edge of the helipad and dropped down next to Felix, curling their legs close until they were criss-crossed beside him. “You didn’t make it tonight.”
“Didn’t feel like coming,” Felix replied. Chan sighed through his nose but didn’t reply. He peeled his own mask off, wiping the sleeve of his hoodie over his upper lip and forehead, sweat beading along those places from the stifling heat his mask trapped close to his skin. The wolf mask clattered to the asphalt, face down next to Felix’s own.
“That’s new,” Chan mentioned, reaching over to tuck Felix’s hair away from his ear. Behind it, inked dark with delicate lines and shading, was a sunflower. Chan’s fingertips brushed Felix’s skin as he moved the platinum blond hair out of the way, a shiver zipping down Felix’s spine as goosebumps erupted on his arms, his jacket covering it. Felix lifted a hand on instinct to slap Chan away, used to the way Jisung and Hyunjin had a tendency to poke and prod at Felix whenever he showed up with new ink.
“Yeah,” Felix replied. “Got it done a couple of days ago.”
“You ever gonna get any of them colored?” Chan asked, his hand falling away. Felix wrapped his lips around the straw of his drink instead of answering.
Felix was covered in ink, from his ankles to his thighs, up his hip and his ribs, over his collarbones and down his arms and now pressed into the thin skin behind his ear, but none of them were in color. All of his ink remained black and white, empty illustrations of shading and line art, not a single picture with color. He didn’t plan on making it a habit, he thought for sure he would get something done with color one day but he just hadn’t. He didn’t think he would now anyway, no reason for it.
“Well I guess that’s that,” Chan said, taking Felix’s silence as his answer. “C’mon, let’s get back. The others are going to think something’s happened to us if we don’t.” Chan got to his feet, brushing off his cargo pants as he did so. Felix lingered though, still sitting with his feet dangling over the edge of the rooftop, staring at the bright spots of light that was Seoul. The neon colored abyss below.
“When was the last time you screamed, Chan?” Felix asked.
“Hm?”
“Not in pain or in pleasure but like… cathartically. Have you ever just been so full of the weight of the world that you need to let it all out and instead of throwing things or breaking shit you just start screaming?” Felix asked. Chan was still standing next to him, a comforting form of warmth just over his shoulder.
Without any further preamble Felix let out a yell. An earth shattering, vocal cord snapping, powerful yell that one might confuse for fear or anger or anguish. Chan didn’t even flinch as Felix let on until he ran out of power, chest heaving with the exertion of his furious shout. The air stilled around them again, like it had never even happened, even as Felix was catching his breath.
“Do you want to go home?” Chan asked. His tone never wavered from the casualty of his last remark, utterly calm.
“Yeah,” Felix admitted, voice rubbed raw from his screaming. “Let’s go home.”
Home was not where the others were. Home was several kilometers from where the others were. An unassuming little townhouse in the middle of the city with bay windows on the left side of the home, a second floor loft and a spacious kitchen. It held very little furniture other than the essentials and Chan let them inside, shutting the door and locking all four locks on it once past the entrance. Felix didn’t wait for him, plastic icee cup landing in the sink, shoes next to the door and rucksack on the couch. His mask landed on the coffee table before he climbed the stairs, feet heavy, until he made it to the spacious bed.
Chan followed him, crawling onto the bed as Felix fell into it, curling around him to tuck his face into Felix’s neck, lips pressed to where his pulse stutter stopped, hands sliding along his body until Chan could get his hands under his shirt.
Raised skin from tens of tattoos met the rough calluses of his fingertips and Felix snuffled softly, dropping his chin to tuck his own nose into Chan’s neck. He inhaled the scene of fresh mint leaves, amber and vetiver, his own hands clutching the back of Chan’s neck as Chan’s hands wandered, tracing the lines of words and drawings, some he had long since memorized and others that were just waiting for him to get to know them.
His hands traveled up Felix’s side, along cattails and lush ferns drawn into the skin just above his hips and further still to where take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die is imprinted, like his ribs were the blue lines of a notebook. His mouth pressed kisses to his pulse like it was the antidote to Felix’s woes, teeth sinking as though to inject the venom that would calm Felix’s rabbit pulse.
It only ramped up as Chan’s hands continued up his body, roughened fingertips skittering over his nipples, Felix’s breath catching where it ghosted, hot and damp, over Chan’s own pulse. He dragged his hands further, rucking the fabric up his body until it bunched under his arms, his greedy hands touching the climbing roses that thread over Felix’s thin clavicle, their very own trellis to cling to. He knows a sun and moon decorate either of Felix’s shoulders, framing the freckles that touch his chest and neck, not at all unlike the stars that blink alive in the night sky every night.
He pulls back reluctantly to help Felix out of his jacket, his shirt following shortly, both of them slipping over the edge of the bed as a second thought. Chan’s lips found the sharp ridge of his clavicle as soon as they fell back into their sheets, Felix’s hands reaching for Chan’s hair instead, threading through the bleached and dyed strands. Chan’s plush lips touched every inked line with a kind of reverence most save for church but Felix is the last holy place he knows.
The only place he falls to his knees now.
A small silhouette of a dragon slithers down Felix’s sternum and Chan’s tongue traces the delicate line of it as he takes his time kissing down Felix’s body. His attention diverts to the soft lines of the cattails, the swirls and swoops of the calligraphy on his ribs and then back around to the other side of his body, fingers touching the tiny blossoms of lavender and baby’s breath inked into Felix’s side, layered into each other like a stunning bouquet. His lips follow his hands, fingers finding the button of Felix’s jeans as he does so.
The carefully inked flowers flow down Felix’s side, over his hip until they end high on his thigh. It’s the only artwork Chan wishes was colored, the light purple and white would look brilliant on Felix’s skin but he doesn’t speak it out loud, simply tugs down Felix’s clothing until it gives up. Felix lifts his hips and his underwear slides away with his jeans, Chan yanking until the denim peels down Felix’s legs.
As the denim skin sloughs off Chan touches the tattoos that travel Felix’s legs. A fox darts down his left thigh, following a rabbit that curves around his knee. The right leg has a river running down his shin, narcissus leaning over the edge of the water, until the water flows to a stop where it wraps his ankle. Chan pulls his jeans the rest of the way off and reveals the words, i know this hurts, it was meant to written into the side of the opposite foot.
The jeans fall over the edge of the bed with his socks and Chan makes his way back up, venturing along all the inked places he knows so well all over again. His kisses touch skin raised by black ink and scarring, all the way up, finding the little ones, the one offs Felix dared get when he was feeling dangerous.
A cresting wave on the front of his ankle. A barbed wire heart on the front of his hip. The word lost over his heart. But Chan’s favorite tattoos were on his arms, picking up Felix’s hand to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, a semicolon branded in thick, dark ink right where his pulse hiccuped.
Felix’s right arm was covered in a forest scene, tall trees spiraling up his arm, a faerie ring cut through the center, just above his elbow on the outside, sharp, jagged mountains up his bicep. Just before his shoulder was a silhouette of a wolf, head tilted back and howling at the full moon inked into the meat of his shoulder. Chan pressed a kiss to the opaque creature before making his way up the curve of Felix’s neck, Felix’s head tilting back as Chan buried his face there once more.
His lips touched the sunflower that grew behind Felix’s ear, still sensitive but oh, so beautiful.
“Do you still feel it?” Chan muttered, words heavy and accented into the thin skin of Felix’s neck. Felix hummed, the vibration making Chan shiver pleasantly. “The weight of the world.”
“Just of you.”
Felix’s fingers tightened, tugging on the thick, dyed hair, directing Chan’s face away from his neck and up, above him and then down, pulling him forward until their lips pressed together. Chan’s lips were dry, a little chapped but so, so plush and familiar his stomach turned over. Felix truly didn’t think he would ever get bored of kissing Chan, comforted by the press of his mouth against his, the way he cupped Felix’s waist in his hands, pads of his fingers touching him so gently as though too much pressure could cause him to shatter in his hands. Not like he was delicate but like he was precious, special, irreplaceable.
And tucked into the threads of Chan’s hair Felix’s fingers held on, the word STAY written across his knuckles like a confession, a plea, a hope that they could always do just that.