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“Lee Felix!”
The warm, slightly accented voice rang out from behind him, and Felix felt his chest heat up. He was smiling before he turned around.
“Chan, what’s up, man?”
“Awww, I missed you! Don’t skip another night without telling me first!”
Felix buried his laughter in Chan’s shoulder, who had stepped in Felix’s space with the intent to bear-hug him. Felix wasn’t complaining. Felix hooked his fingertips together behind Chan’s leather jacket and breathed in deep, feeling the familiar taste and scent of gasoline seep into his body.
“Missed your face too,” Felix said, voice muffled. “D’you fix the transmission in Bluejay?”
“Yeah, she’s golden. Had to replace half the solenoid, there was a defect on one of the mid-coils.” Chan slapped Felix’s back and took a step away. “Come on, take a look, I also added some paint to clean up her wheel hubs.”
Felix bit his lip to contain the shivery excitement lighting up his body. He loved this. He loved it here, in the parking garage under the west entrance to Psy-City mall, with its caved-in staircases and dingy lighting. He loved the people, the wicked laughter, the spray-painted motorcycle helmets and ripped leather boots; he loved the LED floodlights, the smell of hot smoke and fuel, and the taste of metal sharp on his tongue. He loved his car and how it felt to drive - the sense that the world was in reach, and all he had to do was open his hands and take it. He loved his best friend, Bang Chan, famed street racer and tooth-rotting sweetheart under his rough exterior.
He loved the nights he spent here, under urban skyscrapers and the open, rushing wind. In his head, Felix never left.
“Oh, Bluejay,” Felix murmured. Chan’s car was deadly beautiful. Felix always thought so, even when it was dented and scratched, malfunctioning, and spitting oil - there was something about the deep electric-navy paint job and how Bluejay’s frame shook and trembled when the engine was running.
“She’s a fucking monster right now. I know you love Juno but I might let you drive Bluejay later, if you’re lucky.”
“Chan! Felix! How’s our cutest couple doing?”
“Fuck off, Minho,” Chan laughed, gripping Minho’s hand and knocking their shoulders together. “You come to tell me that the race is starting?”
Lee Minho, though an excellent racer, was a bit of an unpredictable menace. Felix never knew what to prepare for when he was around - and maybe that was why he admired Chan’s familiarity with him. Though, to be honest, Chan was like that with everybody. Easy to talk to. Kind. Rarely awkward or stilted, and even when he was, it was somehow charming.
“Can’t I just hang out with some hot guys without having an ulterior motive? Hug me, you bitch, I’m starved for your love.”
Chan groaned and lifted his arms to accept Minho’s embrace. From over Chan’s shoulder, Minho met Felix’s eyes and smirked, mouth set in a easy, mellow line. It wasn’t exactly unexpected when Minho’s hand trailed down and rested on Chan’s ass. Felix crossed his arms over his chest and scratched his boot against the floor irritably.
“Stop touching everyone’s asses in front of Felix, he’s only eighteen,” Chan told Minho, but it was a soft breath against the side of Minho’s head.
“Do you count as ‘everyone’?”
“Don’t make me bite your fucking ear off. It’s right here, I can do it.”
“Sexy,” Minho purred.
Felix wasn’t an idiot. He knew Chan wasn’t in a relationship with Minho, because he’d asked Chan about it before, and he trusted Chan’s answer. He also knew Minho wasn’t really in a relationship with anyone else in their racing group, but that Minho’s definition of relationship might not be the same as his own. This fact became excruciatingly obvious to Felix that one time Minho and a few others got drunk after a race, played truth or dare, and ended up leaving a necklace of hickeys across Han Jisung’s collarbones, which, well- Felix would be lying if he said he didn’t want to join in next time.
Despite knowing that Chan and Minho weren’t involved, he couldn’t help scraping his boot loudly against the concrete floor again.
Something stupid. Something about wanting to be included.
Chan pulled away from Minho, ran a hand through his dark hair, and patted Minho on the shoulder. “Speaking of babies, remind Jeongin to drink water for once and not that fuckin’ toxic waste soda.”
“You got it.” Minho blew Felix a kiss and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Race should be in ten!”
“Oh shit, we should get lined up.” Chan squeezed Felix’s upper arm, some form of friendly reassurance, maybe an extra I miss you - and Felix appreciated it, he appreciated it a lot, because he hadn’t seen Chan since Sunday, and it wasn’t like Felix addicted to him or anything, but Chan’s presence was something Felix had learned to crave. “Wanna bring Juno over here?”
Felix couldn’t contain his bright smile, and he knew Chan’s own grin lighting up in return was just as insuppressible. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”
—
TWO DAYS AGO
Sometimes, Felix thought, I live in my head a little too much.
“I’m not an alcoholic,” he said. “And I don’t do drugs.”
His father, ever the argumentative force between the two of them, raised his thick eyebrows. His hands were splayed flat on the kitchen countertop between them; his skin, pockmarked by age, contrasted the pale grey marble with near-comfortable clarity.
“I’m allowed to go out when I want,” Felix told him.
Somehow, his father’s eyebrows lifted even higher.
“Your little rebellion isn’t something to do with my wife, is it?”
There was a scowl on his face now - Felix could feel his own mouth curling up unpleasantly at the corners. He fought to flatten his lips.
“No.”
Your wife.
Yeah, Felix wanted to say. Your wife. Nothing’s ever your fault, is it?
I need to leave.
The urge gripped him with a fiery, choking rage, as it often did, and Felix’s knuckles tightened on the back of the chair he was holding. His position was nowhere close to vulnerable, and both he and his father knew it; he was poised between the kitchen and the front door, hands against the seat back of a kitchen chair, waging a slow, grim war over the counter. This was not new to either of them. Nor was the silent challenge - the dare, the unspoken, malicious invitation to turn around and leave the apartment.
One of these days, Felix was going to snap.
He closed his eyes and relaxed his hands. The tck-tck scratch of his father’s cane was a melody over his racing heart.
“Take me to the hospital tonight,” his father said.
Not a question, not a request. This was an order.
“Yes, father.”
Felix breathed out. Once, in, out again.
The air smelled like cold smoke and dust.
—
Juno was one of Felix’s favourite things in the world. It was a car that had been abandoned in the parking garage - this parking garage - for more than a month, and finally, when Felix figured nobody was going to come after it, he’d hotwired and then subsequently had keys made that matched. Hell, if nobody was driving it, he might as well put the machine to use.
And it was a machine, for sure. He had to work on Juno for weeks, almost months, after he’d first decided to take the car as his own. Felix had more memories than he could count of sliding down to work on the undercarriage and having grease and oil drip onto his face, into his hair. He remembered the roar of engines around him as he worked, desperate to finish sooner, sooner, so he could get on the streets and race with the others.
He’d ridden passenger with some of them, of course. It was how he met Chan - in the rush before a race, Chan calling out for his name, waving him over, asking if Felix had ever been street racing before. There had been the shake of Felix’s head, Chan’s blinding smile, and the next thing Felix knew, he was in the city in Chan’s car with his heart beating a tattoo against his throat, his eyes wide; he was the most awake he’d ever been in all eighteen years of his life. All it took was the wind in his hair and Chan’s voice in his ears and adrenaline lancing through every broken, strained corner of his mind, and Felix knew he was long gone before the race even reached its halfway point.
He’d given his hands and heart to Juno the next week. He didn’t want to watch anymore - he wanted to race.
“STRAYS!”
Felix felt his heart leap, turning over and over in chest in time with Juno’s furious engine. To his right, Bang Chan. To his left, Hwang Hyunjin, the style rider with a lanky figure that made him recognizable from miles away. There were cars and racers and betters and bidders everywhere, scattered throughout the darkest corner of the parking garage, but right now, all Felix could focus on were the two rows of five cars lined up in between pillars, all of them facing the exit ramps: one leading up, and one leading down.
Pick a ramp and pick a route. The traffic bridges between buildings were sometimes more direct than the street - but the streets were more open, with less security and surveillance. Pick a fight, pick a lane, pick a white line on the pavement to follow.
Felix loved this.
“READY UP!”
All he needed was the burst flare. When he glanced to the right to check on the woman holding the race pistol, he caught Chan’s fire-spark gaze, and felt his insides burn. There was a split second, one tiny moment between milliseconds of breath, when Chan’s dark eyes became deadly and sleek and rough and hard like Bluejay and then-
BANG.
Felix floored the accelerator and took off.
Down the ramp, turn a hard corner, out onto the road. He was going to see the sky tonight - he was going to race outside, on the sidewinder streets at the edge of Seoul at 2 AM.
Because that's what he wanted to do.
And Felix could do what he wanted, here, behind the wheel of the car he rebuilt, behind the wheel of his life and his dreams and his death. Felix could do anything.
—
“You’re getting faster.”
Chan’s voice was an impressed mumble against Felix’s shoulder. Felix had parked Juno, scanned the lot for where Bluejay was parked a few spots away, and immediately staggered at the sudden weight of Chan looping an arm around him. Right now, the other racers were packing up, rolling their cars between spots, while some of the older ones drove off to their own lives and their own garages elsewhere.
“Not as fast as you,” Felix reminded him, unable to force the wild, post-race grin off his face.
“Ahh, you’ll be faster than me soon. D’you see Jisung out there today? Almost ran me down, I swear.”
Felix had, but he’d been occupied with Hyunjin for most of the race. Hyunjin’s red-black car had been sitting doggedly in his rearview for too long - Felix tried to shake him off, sure, but Hyunjin was quick and witty and knew how to compensate for Felix’s lack of forethought when their cars got too close on a freeway corner bank. He should thank Hyunjin later for not taking them both out.
“Was Jisung high tonight?”
Chan laughed, once. “Fucking hope not. I’ll headlock him for a day if he pulls that again. We are not repeating last-last week’s race.”
Felix snorted and bumped the side of his head against Chan’s forehead, which was still resting against his shoulder. Often, Chan would get touchy after a race - he’d cling to Felix a little more than normal, hug him a little harder than Felix was used to, and wind an arm around his waist if they were sitting down together. Felix didn’t know why. He never pointed it out. He didn’t need Chan - didn’t want Chan - to stop. So what if his chest and ears warmed up when his best friend pulled him close? So what if Felix liked physical contact, liked being touched? So what if Felix was starved for a kind of romantic affection he’d never really been privy to, only given tastes of through platonic friendships - and hey, so what if Felix was a little sensitive to how big Chan’s hands were, after a race, when he’d touch Felix’s wrists and the side of his neck and maybe, maybe sometimes, his hair when they hugged, or pulled his thigh closer when they sat down, or rubbed the skin of Felix’s knee through his ripped jeans? So what?
Chan was just Chan. And Felix was alive.
“Han Jisung!”
A cackle told Felix that Jisung had heard Chan’s shout. “Heyyy, Channie.”
In this corner of the parking garage, a group of the racers had set up some neon lights, rigged to a socket on the ceiling, and propped up some plastic benches around a fire pit on the floor. They were friends with Chan, and Felix, by extension; after months of hanging around and competing alongside them, Felix was more than welcome to stay as part of their group.
Chan detached himself from Felix’s side and bounded towards a grinning Jisung, who made a half-assed effort to scramble away before Chan caught him across the chest with a pseudo-headlock violent enough to bring Jisung to his knees - ever the dramatic. “Don’t kill me! Chan! Chan- Felix don’t just stand there, come help me-”
Felix gave him a thumbs up and a smile and turned to Jeongin instead, who was facing away from him, holding some kind of game console. “Drink any water today?”
“Ah-auhh, holy shit Felix I’m in the middle of a game, stop saying weird stuff with your voice all fucking deep like that, it scares me!”
“Stop swearing!”
Jeongin gave Felix a challenging look over his console. “Fuck.”
Adopting the fragile, wavering tone of an old man, Felix said, “Ahh, kids these days,” and Jeongin immediately groaned, putting his hands to his face.
“You’re only four months older than me! We’re both eighteen!”
Felix answered by wrapping Jeongin in a crushing hug. Jeongin was one of the youngest racers here, and Felix couldn’t help but give into his protective streak when it came to Jeongin. Jeongin was an angel - and a brat - and a light-speed freeway racer, all at once. He was the one who let Felix practice his braiding skills on his hair. And, sometimes, he shared his food when Felix arrived empty-handed on an empty stomach. Jeongin was just- sweet. And lovely. Felix couldn’t help but want to hug him.
Against Jeongin’s ear, soft and as low as he could make it, feeling his own throat vibrate close to Jeongin’s skull, Felix murmured, “Chan says drink water.”
If Jeongin shivered slightly, Felix wasn’t going to mention it.
“Changbin, soju, please,” Seungmin was saying. Felix’s ears perked up at soju - he didn’t drink a lot, but he’d usually take some when it was offered to him. And right now, he was in the mood to be offered some. Words, spoken the day before-
I’m not an alcoholic. And I don’t do drugs.
Felix shoved the memory out of his mind before it could take him over.
Jeongin grumbled and went back to his game console when Felix drew away. “Need help with the fire, Seungmin-ie?”
Seungmin was a low-profile racer, but his car was a masterpiece. Felix had been dying to get in the passenger seat for months, just to feel the frame under his feet, but he hadn’t had luck with that so far. Seungmin only let Minho and Chan ride. Even then, it had only been a few times when Minho was drunk and clingy, and once when Chan was helping him test a new clutch.
“Would be great if you could take the soju away from Changbin,” Seungmin said, with little bite to his words. Seungmin hadn’t raced today; he wasn’t wearing his leather, just a hoodie and some cargo pants with too many buckles.
Changbin released the bottle from his mouth with a pop and sighed deeply. He handed the soju to Seungmin, complaining, “Ah, don’t waste it all on the fire, Minnie.”
Changbin’s car was leagues of difference from Seungmin’s. It was constantly in several stages of repair, but Felix almost suspected Changbin kept it like that on purpose because it looked cool. Scratches on the hood? Warped wheel covers, spider-web shattered windows? Changbin’s jet-black car always managed to keep up with the rest of them, even if the only thing that worked right was the heavy growling engine and the easy shift of its transmission. He’d run it into the ground if it meant he’d climb the ranks in their races.
Felix yawned, stretched his right arm across his chest until his shoulder popped, and let himself take in the rest of the activity around him.
Hyunjin was holding various stencils up to his helmet, which he had propped on his legs, sitting on the floor. Cans of spray paint were stacked around him. When he was concentrating, like he was right now, Hyunjin’s tongue would peek from between his lips, caught between his teeth - Felix was pretty sure Hyunjin didn’t even realize he was doing it. At the fire pit, Seungmin and Changbin were working together in comfortable silence, balling up paper and holding lighters to alcohol-soaked newsprint. Jeongin was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire. His hands were out, already anticipating its warmth. On one of the benches, Chan was sitting with a squirming Jisung in his lap, one arm around his chest and the other tight over his waist, while Minho laughed and poked his thighs and pushed at his hair - Jisung was laughing, too, and when Chan caught Felix’s gaze, he grinned and waved him over.
“What did he do?” Felix asked Chan, swatting at Jisung when he aimed a kick at Felix’s shins.
“Ow- Minho, you shithead-”
Chan shrugged. “I think he bit Minho. Not my problem!”
“You’re holding me captive, it’s gonna become your problem!” Jisung kicked and rolled out of Chan’s grip, shoving him to the side as he went, and Felix caught Chan’s arm to keep him from falling off the bench. Jisung and Minho’s cackling laughter echoed between the concrete pillars.
“Aww, he was keeping me warm,” Chan whined. “Felix. Come on, sit down.” In one fluid motion, Chan dragged Felix to sit beside him, knocking their shoulders together lightly.
“I can keep you warm,” Felix murmured. He knew the effect was ruined by his bright smile and open posture, but he used the lilting, gravelly tone of his voice anyways. He liked sitting next to Chan. He liked sitting on Chan’s lap even more - and right now, he knew Chan wouldn’t mind at all, not in the hour after a race, surrounded by friends and alcohol and gasoline and fire. He leaned forwards off the bench, swiped the soju from beside Seungmin, took a long, sweet gulp, and passed it back into Seungmin’s disapproving hand - and then he lifted himself up and slid his ass back until he was sitting on Chan’s thighs.
“Hmm,” Felix hummed, knowing Chan could feel the vibrations through his chest.
Chan hummed in reply, hooked his chin over Felix’s shoulder, and then crossed his arms heavily over Felix’s hips. His fingertips were solid and warm on Felix’s hipbones.
Felix melted against him.
“Want to go for a drive in Bluejay later?”
Chan’s voice was a whisper against Felix’s neck, and Felix was feeling hot all over, the soju he’d sipped burning a familiar fire behind his throat. “I’m drinking, though.”
“I can drive. We can go together.”
“Hmmm. Yeah.”
Chan pushed his nose against Felix’s skin, nuzzling up behind his ear. Felix let his eyes slip closed. He wasn’t even close to tipsy, but Chan’s proximity was strangely intoxicating. Felix couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t explain how his chest filled with warm molten metal when he felt Chan breathe in, deep through his nose and mouth, fast and hot against his neck, and when Chan exhaled softly, breath tickling his skin. He couldn’t explain any of it.
Something tapped Felix’s knee, and he opened his eyes to Hyunjin, holding a can of red spray paint. “Can I see your hair for a second?”
Warily, Felix asked, “Red?”
Hyunjin smiled. Felix almost gave in, right there on the spot, but he opened his mouth instead. “Show me first. On you.”
With a dramatic eye-roll, Hyunjin sprayed a spot in the middle of his palm and ran it back through his brown hair, twisting one strand, and letting it fall limp on his head. It didn’t leave that much colour, his hair as dark as it was, but the gleam of red paint managed to shine under pink-orange LEDs. “Good?”
Felix sighed. Hyunjin was like this sometimes; quietly pushy, asking for Felix’s hand, or his arm, or his shoulder. Felix was one of his favourite people to draw and paint on. More than once Felix had to scrub black pen-marks from his wrists and knuckles in the morning to keep anyone in his daily life from asking questions - but he wasn’t complaining, not when the tip of Hyunjin’s paintbrush and pens felt so gentle, so soft and grounding against his skin. Maybe Felix was crazy. Maybe Felix just liked Hyunjin being close and holding his body like it was art.
“Sure,” Felix allowed.
Felix could tell Hyunjin was side-eyeing Chan, but neither Chan nor Felix made any attempt to move. Hyunjin settled on the bench beside them.
“You race like you want to die,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Felix felt Chan’s chest buckle with a quick, stifled laugh, and then the vibrations of Chan’s voice through his back. “Which one of us are you talking to, Hyunjinnie?”
Hyunjin waved his hand, just barely in Felix’s peripheral vision. “Felix, but same goes for both of you.”
“Thank you for not killing me earlier,” Felix interjected, before he forgot. “On the freeway bank.”
Hyunjin patted his head. “No problem. Can you sit up a bit?”
Felix leaned forward and made an effort to hold himself upright, but really only succeeded in pushing his ass harder against Chan’s hips. Chan’s arms across him tightened and loosened in rapid succession. Suddenly, Felix wanted another sip of soju.
“This might stain your hair pink. Is that okay?”
Pink, Felix thought faintly.
My father won’t be happy about that.
Chan’s body was hot and solid behind him, Hyunjin was petting his hair, lightly, softly, twisting the ends into points, and Felix didn’t give a fuck about tomorrow.
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
Chan squeezed him, gently. Felix felt his entire body relax again. Chan had been there when Felix bleached his hair last month - he knew, or was at least dimly aware of, the implications of Felix looking different, acting different, becoming different, around the people in his daily life. The first time he bleached his hair, Felix hadn’t come to the garage for multiple nights in a row. When he saw Chan again, he knew he’d been a pitiful sight; lips bitten raw with anxiety, hair tucked into a hat, a bruise along his side that he never told Chan about, but he was pretty sure Chan discovered when he pressed fingers against it and Felix accidentally hissed. Chan had hugged him tighter than usual and skipped the race to sit beside him.
All Felix could remember from that day besides Chan and the scent of gasoline on his jacket was the burning, crawling ache at the back of his throat, the threat of tears that never ended up falling.
But he wasn’t going to think about that tonight.
Hyunjin started rubbing red paint into the ends of Felix’s bangs, and the strong smell of toluene paint thinner filled his nose, making him waver on the edge of delicious light-headedness.
“Don’t breathe it in, it’s bad for you,” Hyunjin reminded him, swiping at the air in front of Felix’s face.
“Hmm.”
“Hmmmm,” Hyunjin parroted back. He tapped Felix’s chin towards him and made some kind of request signal to Chan, because his fingers were soon replaced by Chan’s warm hand, one of his arms gone from around Felix’s hips. Chan pushed Felix’s face towards Hyunjin and cupped his jaw with his palm to keep it still while Hyunjin worked.
Love you, Felix thought, foggily.
Love you both.
A static buzz cut through the idle chatter around Felix, and he opened his eyes to see Changbin and Jeongin crouched beside the fire, fiddling with an old speaker.
“How the fuck does-”
“Oh shit!”
The heavy beat of old electronica shook the ground under their bench. Hyunjin was scowling, Felix could tell, but Felix couldn’t prevent himself from letting out an excited shout in solidarity with Jisung, Changbin, and Jeongin, who were hooting and whistling, thrilled at the sudden music. The heat around Felix’s heart surged.
“Sit still! Chan, hold him!” Hyunjin complained, holding a threatening hand in front of Felix’s face, fingers slick with red paint. But Chan was laughing, and then Felix was laughing too, and Hyunjin was biting his lip to keep from smiling, saying, “I only did the tips of your bangs, you idiot,” and pressing his red fingers to Felix’s cheek.
“Hey!” Felix spluttered, dodging Hyunjin and off-balancing himself, nearly falling out of Chan’s lap. Chan pulled Felix’s hips towards him until he was flush against Chan’s chest again. Felix was panting, gripping Hyunjin’s wrist, body tense with laughter and physical strain, warring against Hyunjin’s tightly-coiled arm muscles, because why would Hyunjin be just pretty if he could also be muscled as fuck, as Felix knew from the few times he’d seen Hyunjin change shirts around him-
“Open your mouth, brat,” Hyunjin teased, breaking Felix’s hold and gesturing his paint-covered fingers at Felix’s face.
“Thought- I thought it was bad for me,” Felix protested, between quick breaths. He sank back against Chan and let his jaw fall open, tongue flat on the bottom of his mouth, because if Hyunjin asked so politely and forcefully like that, well, fuck, he’d go ahead and do it.
“It is!” Hyunjin looked scandalized. “Oh my god. Felix.” He pushed Felix’s mouth closed, clicking his teeth together, and held his chin for a second, the thinly-veiled amused panic not leaving his eyes. “Chan, you have to keep this one alive.”
Did you want to suck on his fingers or did you want to die-
Shut up.
Felix forced himself to blink hard, ending his stream of thoughts before they could spiral out of control. “Thank you for doing my hair, Hyunjinnie.”
Hyunjin wiped his fingers on his jacket and gave Felix a scrunched-up look, wrinkling his nose. “O-kay. Yongbokkie.” It took him a few quick seconds to wipe away the excess paint from Felix’s bangs, fluffing the affected area up with his fingers until his hair was reasonably dry, and then he put the can of paint on the floor to go somewhere else.
“Are you cold?”
Felix turned his head against Chan’s. Chan’s nose rubbed his ear when Felix replied, “Not really. Are you?”
A breath of a laugh. “Not anymore.”
And then, a second later: “You were gonna let Hyunjin put paint in your mouth?”
Felix pursed his lips. Strange electricity coiled in his stomach.
“Does paint taste good,” Chan mumbled, but it was against Felix’s neck again, so Felix wasn’t paying as much attention to the question as he should’ve been.
“Does Hyunjin taste good,” Felix offered in return, under his breath, half-hoping Chan wouldn’t hear him.
“Hm.”
Felix couldn’t tell if he had.
Ticking seconds, frozen in the spaces between loud electronic music and the shouts of teenage boys around them. Chan spoke close to Felix’s ear. “Want to sit close to the fire anyway?”
“Hmmm. Yeah.”
Felix rolled to the side, off Chan’s lap, and dragged him to the ground by his forearm, fingers tight in the leather of his jacket. He wanted to keep Chan close, as he always did, but it felt like his body was moving of its own instinctual accord - he was so aware of Chan’s warmth, of each miniscule motion Chan made. He almost felt dizzy with it.
I really shouldn’t be drinking, he realized dolefully, after a few long minutes.
Maybe the adrenaline high he’d gotten from this race was too much for him to handle when combined with alcohol; it happened sometimes. Or maybe he was tired and lonely and cold, but he often was, so it shouldn’t have made him feel any different. Or maybe he just missed Chan.
“I missed you,” Felix whispered against Chan’s shoulder.
“-pretty tough, actually. Felix?” Ah, shit, Chan was talking to someone. Jisung.
Felix blinked upright and wound his arm together with Chan’s. Both Jisung and Minho had chosen spots across the fire from each other as a result of their spat, though Felix suspected it was for show, because most of the time they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Not in a sexual way. Most of the time, at least. Though Felix thought Minho was a little too fond of gripping bruises into Jisung’s legs for the results to be entirely platonic.
“Hm?” Chan asked again, nosing up against Felix’s hair. Sparks caught Felix’s insides and singed him with hot static. He shook his head and breathed in, heavy, deep, the scent of paint and leather and gasoline filling his lungs.
“Anyone want to drink?”
Changbin was passing the soju around, and as soon as Chan got the bottle, he raised it to Felix’s mouth, asking a silent question. Felix hummed, and Chan tipped the bottle against his lips. Soju always tasted sweeter like this.
“More?” Chan murmured, pulling the bottle away after a second. Felix responded by licking his lips and squeezing Chan’s arm. It was stupid, it was really, really stupid, how warm Felix’s chest got when Chan laughed quietly and tipped the bottle up again, but it was okay, because this was Chan, and Felix could hang onto his arm and go wide-eyed for soju all day and Chan would still look at him with that ridiculous blinding smile, the one that made Felix feel like nothing in the world was wrong.
“Hey,” Jeongin complained. His braces flashed in the neon lights, sitting across from Felix on the other side of the tiny fire that Seungmin was still coaxing to life. “I call dibs next.”
“What if I backwashed,” Felix said. The back of his throat burned, but the lazy, small smile hadn’t slipped his face.
“I’d still-” Jeongin cut himself off. “You didn’t, though.”
“You’d still drink from it if Felix spat in the soju?” Seungmin interjected, looking up from the fire with a shit-eating grin.
“No,” Jeongin said weakly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, and Chan dissolved into laughter, followed quickly by Seungmin’s giggling, and Felix wasn’t sure if he should join in or make bedroom eyes at Jeongin until he blushed and looked away.
“I would too,” Chan admitted, between breaths. Felix’s mind pinched.
Seungmin smacked his own knee. “Okay, what the fuck is wrong with both of you-”
“Shut up,” Felix groaned, feeling the soju sink heavy fingers into his bloodstream. “Nobody’s drinking my spit.”
Minho’s voice cut across the fire. “Felix? I’d let Felix spit in my mouth for ten bucks.”
“Minho, you’d let anyone spit in your mouth for ten bucks-”
“Stop whore-coding me, Han Jisung, I’ll bite your neck really hard.”
“Oooh, you wanna fuck me so bad right now- ow- ow, fuck sorry-”
Felix would recognize Hyunjin’s whine anywhere. “Give me back my paint! Stop throwing- Minho, that’s my favourite colour!”
“Ach- Sorry, Jinnie!”
Felix tuned out the cacophony of shouts, ignoring the thud of a paint can landing beside his ankle. Minho and Hyunjin were grappling now, and Jisung had started making ad-lib noises over the electronica - all sharp skrrt skkrt WAOH sounds that Felix was so used to hearing - and he suspected it was Changbin who was drumming on the concrete floor on the other side of Chan. Amidst the chaos, Chan passed the soju to Jeongin, who was now taking little sips under Seungmin’s supervision, grimacing after each one.
Felix closed his eyes and wound his arm around Chan’s waist. Chan reciprocated by putting an arm around Felix’s shoulders and leaning his cheek on Felix’s head. There was alcohol, licking soothing heat up his throat; there was Chan’s body, hot and close beside him; there was the clamour of friends all around them. Felix wanted to live in this moment forever.
“I like what Hyunjin did with your hair,” Chan mumbled.
“Yeah?” Felix’s mouth was barely moving. “Should I dye my whole head, d’you think?”
“If you want to. It would look good.”
Copper coils lit up in fiery red in Felix’s stomach. “Hmmm. Channie.”
“Hmmm. Felix?”
“Christopher,” Felix drawled, forming the syllables to Chan’s full English name. He’d call him that, sometimes. Usually as a joke. It worked much in the same way as a middle name would, when Felix was trying to get on his nerves or scold him for something minor.
“That’s hyung to you,” Chan teased, softly.
Felix felt his face split into a smile. “Chan-ah.”
“Yah, Felix!”
“Hmmm, Chan-ah. Yeah?”
“Disrespecting me!” Chan rocked sideways and faux-punched Felix’s arm, knuckles light against Felix’s racing jacket. “I’m your elder. Don’t forget!”
“Chan-ah,” Felix insisted, sitting up and leaning in towards Chan’s face. “You said you’d drink my-”
“Don’t bring it up!” Chan’s hands rose to cover his eyes. “I wouldn’t let you spit in my mouth, I didn’t say that, I just said I’d drink a little if you gave me the soju, I mean, you touch the bottle with your mouth anyways, I’d just drink it because I’m polite and I don’t like wasting things-”
“Thoughtful,” Felix purred, all up in Chan’s space, absorbing his heat and the scent of his skin. Chan rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands and suddenly he was close, he was so so close to Felix’s face, and his cheeks were tinted pink and not just because of the neon lights because the pink lights weren’t set up in this direction, they were pointing the other direction, it was just the orange and white lights illuminating Chan’s face, which wasn’t even that important but it really complimented his eyebrow slit and sharp features, and Felix knew Chan was attractive - he thought all of his friends were attractive - but when Chan’s lips parted like this and his eyes were wide and gentle, Felix felt like he’d been holding his breath for days.
“You smell like soju,” Chan whispered, teeth flashing.
Felix rolled his eyes, dizzy. “You smell like cars.”
Just because I was thinking about kissing Chan doesn’t mean I was actually going to kiss him, Felix ran through his head, again and again. Just because I was thinking about it. Just because I was thinking about it doesn’t mean I was going to- just because I was thinking about it.
In quick succession, Felix sighed, closed his eyes, and wrapped Chan in a violent hug, pushing him onto the floor in the process. Chan grunted and hugged Felix back with just as much vigor - and when Felix buried his face against Chan’s collar, he couldn’t stop thinking about Chan’s orange-white illuminated face, bright and sharp and perfect. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Are they making out?” Changbin asked, with resigned interest.
Felix felt Chan kick a paint can. By Changbin’s cackle, he assumed it ended up nowhere near him.
I’m going to crash and burn, Felix thought.
—
Some number of minutes later, Chan decided it was time to go for a drive. Felix was pleasantly drunk. Chan’s muscled body felt good against his relaxed, pliant one, and Felix made an effort to drape himself over Chan as much as possible to make sure Chan knew just how good their bodies felt together, too.
He’d whispered in Felix’s ear - “Bluejay?” - and Felix had nodded and pushed himself up on unsteady feet. Jeongin had caught his ankle as he tried to step away, but his grip was fluttery and light, and all it took was a shake of Felix’s foot before Jeongin was rolling over and giggling.
“You’re so fucking drunk,” Felix had laughed. “Jeonginnie, what the fuck.”
“You are too, genius. Why tonight, huh?” Chan had told him, slipping his hand into Felix’s. Then, tossed over his shoulder, addressing the rest of the group, Chan added, “I’m taking Felix for a drive!”
And now, Chan was slamming Bluejay’s drivers’ side door closed with practiced efficiency. Felix was in the passenger seat; he felt free and happy, more so than he had all night. He felt like fuzzy static and hard noise. He felt like his body was a patchwork wreck, built from the headlights of a fourteen-wheeler, humming with electricity. He felt like there was an engine in his heart, spitting out delicious, burning exhaust.
“Love this car,” he murmured.
Chan’s smile was brilliant. “I know you do.”
He turned the key in the ignition, and the roar of Bluejay’s engine shot straight through Felix’s bones. It travelled up through his feet and knees, wound between his muscles and skin, his ribs, his blood, and coiled around his heart like live wires, spitting and sparking and deadly.
“Fuck,” Felix groaned, pressing back against the headrest. He felt Chan’s eyes on him, relentless. His skin prickled and stung. And then Chan hit the accelerator, and Felix became high and weightless and nothing else.
Radio stations. Bright headlights. Neon signs and storm drains.
At the centre of it all, Chan; his eyes dark, his earrings bright, his hands smooth and fast on the wheel like he’d been driving his entire life. Chan. His electric-blue digital display on Bluejay’s dash. The worn handle of Bluejay’s clutch. His hair, just unkempt enough to make Felix want to run his fingers through it, but neat enough to prevent him from actually doing it. The periodic flash of white lights on Chan’s face throwing his features into jagged relief. The way his lips curved as he smiled and glanced in the rearview, then at Felix, then away when he caught Felix staring back. The city was a dream at this time of night.
Chan was a dream at this time of night.
Felix was in love with everything.