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Wisps of hair keep getting stuck in his cherry lip balm, sweat drips down his back like a waterfall, and holy fuck Felix really should have let the taxi driver help him carry his bags.
Loose pebbles threaten to trip him up as he waddles down the little path towards his home for the next three months. The strap of his messenger bag slips from his shoulder for the hundredth time and his suitcase has definitely twisted to the side which means he’s just dragging it through gravel. But he’s too distracted by the manuscript precariously hanging out the side of his not-quite-zipped-all-the-way backpack that he has strapped to his front like a baby koala. Felix surveys his surroundings for peering eyes, but thankfully no one is around to witness his grand fumbling entrance, so he focuses on counting his steps until he reaches the last house at the end of this desolate road.
It’s definitely smaller than what the pictures portrayed. No more than a bungalow with pale yellow siding weathered by ocean winds and bleached by sun rays, but it’s cute nonetheless and perfect for one person. Felix sighs in relief knowing he won’t have to worry about noisy neighbors or a lack of privacy with how spread out the houses are, each of them paired with their own sandy trail that leads to a narrow dock on the water’s edge. The idea of sitting on the very end and dipping his toes in the tide is tempting, makes him almost want to drop everything and run to the waves, to jump in and bask in the quiet below the surface.
When he finally reaches the front door, he props his suitcase up and punches in the code to the lock given to him a few days ago when he booked the trip, tries to commit the numbers to memory. 1-0-0-3. Probably someone’s birthday, maybe an anniversary of sorts.
Getting everything in the door is a hassle, Felix almost drops his favorite pen tucked behind his ear in the process, curses under his breath until his belongings are safely perched on an armchair and he can finally zip his backpack all the way. The first thing he does after brushing the sweat damp hair from his face is send a text to his manager, tells him he made it in just fine, that the oceanside town is everything he said it would be. Hot, humid, and most importantly—far far removed from the blaring city racket and the people who inhabit it.
Minho sends him a thumbs up and the cat with heart eyes emoji about a minute later, tells Felix to reach out if he needs anything, to relax and find the inspiration he’s been told he lost.
All Felix wants to do is shower and sleep right through the next sixteen hours.
But he takes his time looking around the house, eyes roaming over the beach themed knick knacks covering every flat surface and the painted seascapes adoring the walls. The sitting area is simple, two tan armchairs and a navy couch placed around a coffee table that’s probably made of driftwood. To the right is a kitchen with all the necessities and not much else aside from a cookie jar shaped like a sea turtle.
Felix turns toward the back of the house, the side facing the ocean, and his breath hitches ever so slightly. This is why he jumped on the opportunity to come here—that and it’s supposedly Minho’s old stomping grounds—but this, the water, the sun, the sky. Floor to ceiling windows provide an unmatched view of it all, three panels angled like a trifold to frame an antique oak desk. Felix could sit for hours and just write, heart at ease knowing every time he looks up, he’ll be met with this.
He runs his fingers over the polished wood of the desk and picks up the handwritten slip of paper folding in half to stand on its own, a note from the owner of all the houses along the road. The characters are loopy and soft, written in black ink:
Welcome to Paradise! I live just two houses down, the one with the green shutters. Don’t hesitate to call or knock if you need anything :-)
xx-xxx-xxxx
- Chan
Felix sets the note down and taps absentmindedly on the back of the swivel chair pushed under the desk. A fond smile pulls at his lips, content knowing someone is close by if he needs something, though he highly doubts he will.
Turning again, he spots the bedroom on the second floor above the sitting area and the steep stairs leading up to it. It’s almost like a built-in loft, open and bright and decorated in soft blues and teals. Next to the stairs is a small bathroom with a shower, and suddenly Felix can’t imagine doing anything other than washing away his long day of travel.
Stretching his arms above his head, something in his back pops and he winces, rolls his neck as he slips the pen from behind his ear to store safely on the desk. He’s quick to pull his shirt over his head, but hesitates as the sun warms his skin through the windows. Flashing the neighbors is not on his list of to-do’s, would most definitely taint his time here knowing he scarred a family of four with his recklessness, but. But Felix doesn’t hear anyone. Doesn’t see anyone.
Being in a town like this wipes the worry of too many people right from his brain. He continues to undress, grabs his shampoo, his conditioner and body wash, lotion and a brand new loofa he bought before he left home. In the bathroom mirror, he ruffles his hair and sighs until there’s no air left in his lungs, until the stress of the day feels like it’s done and gone.
Now listen, figuring out a new shower is never easy.
But Felix is pretty sure the whole ass showerhead isn’t supposed to fly the fuck off and clang against the tile floor when he turns the handle. Freezing water sprays everywhere, soaking his bare skin in ice cold droplets, pulling gasps and an embarrassing little melody of shrieks from his throat. He scrambles to shut the shower off and uses every brain cell of his creative writing degree to screw the showerhead back into place.
When it doesn’t magically fix itself in five under seconds, Felix mentally berates the bastard who left the shower like this, curses them with fruitless crops for the next decade and a pillow that never has a cool side.
Needless to say, he’s pissed. Pissed enough to yank the fluffy robe from the hook on the door to wrap around himself and stomp over to the desk with a vengeance.
Felix puts all of his energy into conjuring the most creative insults and threats he can throw at this Chan guy while he punches the number into his phone with rage shaky fingers. Who knew so much anger could fit into his body.
The phone rings three times before the line picks up.
“Hello?”
Right off the bat, the voice on the other side of the phone sounds way too fucking excited to be answering a call at 4:30 pm on a Friday. Felix’s feathers are already ruffled, putting him in a poor position to deal with the palpable positive energy seeping through the speaker.
“Yeah, hi. I’m the new renter of the house at the end of the road,” Felix begins, well aware of the bite to his words, but is cut off before he can voice the pressing issue at hand.
“Oh! Welcome! It’s Felix, right? You get in okay?”
Felix’s eyes widen. It makes sense Chan knows his name from his booking application, but that’s not what catches him off guard, no, it’s the way he says his name. Smooth, familiar, natural.
Felix shakes his head, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear out of habit and brings his irritation back to the forefront of his mind. “Uh–yes. Thanks. Listen, I went to wash up in the bathroom and–”
“The blasted showerhead popped off, didn’t it?” Chan sighs, the first sign of something other than joy seeping into his voice. “I told Changbin to make sure it was fixed before you got here. Can’t trust the kid to do anything on time, especially if…”
Felix listens in silence as Chan goes on to talk about the big waves they’ve been getting along the beach these days and some guy on the pier who paints. Truthfully, he lets the other ramble for far too long, no closer to getting his well deserved shower, but something about Chan’s voice tickles Felix’s brain, scratches an itch he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“...I’ll be right over, yeah?”
Snapping back into focus, Felix throws together a string of okay yeah see you soon thanks bye and slumps against the desk when the call finally ends.
While in the middle of tearing through his suitcase in search of something decent to put on, a soft knock sounds off at the back door. He finds a sweater, shorts, every other item of clothing under the sun except for his fucking underwear. The sound of his best friend’s voice rattles through his head: “You gotta hide your underwear so airport security doesn’t see it if your suitcase gets pulled!”
He sends a silent curse to the menace that is Han Jisung and ignores the fact that he’s done a lot of that today.
The knock comes again, this time a little more insistent and all Felix can do is panic, check himself in the small mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door and make sure his ass is covered by the robe.
“Coming!” he half-yells as he shuffles along the wood flooring with bare feet.
As soon as the door swings open, Felix’s mind goes blank. Well, blank aside from many, many thoughts about the man standing in front of him with a beat up old tool box. Chan’s work boots are old and dusty, his light wash jeans are covered in paint and oil stains, and his grey shirt is snug, clinging comfortably to his wide chest and broad shoulders. But it’s his smile, gentle and kind, with just the slightest hint of a dimple on both cheeks that pulls any coherent thought from Felix’s brain.
Instead of greeting Chan like a proper human being, he’s distracted with the smell of salt and ocean and sun, more so than when he first got here. It almost burns his nose with how strong it is, making him scrunch his face a bit before he catches himself and returns a shy attempt at a smile.
Chan’s warm eyes are highlighted by soft crow’s feet, his left eyebrow is split by a small scar, and his hair is a deep brown with flecks of grey running along the sides. He's looking right at Felix. Calm and casual, until he glances down in what feels like slow motion and suddenly they’re both all too aware of what Felix is wearing. Or rather, what he isn’t.
With grave determination and focus now solely on Felix’s bashful face, Chan nods his head once and sidesteps his way into the house. “I’ll be just a minute.”
Felix watches him disappear behind the bathroom door and fights the urge to scream into the nearest pillow because holy fuck Chan is hot . He’s clearly older, though Felix can’t gauge by how much, and impressively built to the point where Felix rethinks his own non-existent workout routine. Chan walks a little stiffly, like his joints ache, but his face shows no signs of pain or discomfort.
How–
How is Felix supposed to enjoy a relaxing summer now that he knows Chan lives two doors down?
He feels like an idiot for standing with the door open, so he closes it like he thinks a normal person would in this situation and tiptoes to the bathroom to sneak a peek. Clangs and clatters reverb from the shower walls as Chan stands halfway in the tub. It’s truly a sight to behold, watching the way Chan’s arms flex as he holds them above his head, causing his shirt to ride up ever so slightly and expose the tan skin along his hips. One hand holds a wrench as the other messes with the showerhead, working in tandem to screw it back into place.
After a cursory tug, Chan flips the handle and lets the water run. Little droplets land on his arms, seep into his shirt, and he’s completely unbothered by how wet he’s getting. Felix, however, is very, very bothered.
At least the showerhead stays put.
“That should do it,” Chan says, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
Felix jumps a bit when the elder turns around and hums in question, as if to ask if the results are to Felix’s liking. Feeling caught and floundering, Felix pretends he understands the magic Chan just performed and thanks him swiftly with a slight bow.
“Aish, none of that,” Chan says with a wave of his hand, “s’what I’m here for.” But he’s not looking at Felix’s face anymore, instead his eyes are caught on the neckline of his robe, where the fabric is now loose, exposing the jut of his collarbones and the slope of his chest.
It’s awkward. Fuck, it’s so awkward, but where Felix would normally shy away, a healthy amount of freaked out and mortified, he’s instead tingling from head to toe, tied up in the uncertainty floating between them.
Chan’s eyes drop to the floor. He bids Felix farewell with a small wave and makes his way towards the back of the house.
Only when the door is gently closed does Felix breathe, holding tightly onto the image of Chan’s flushed cheeks and sweet lopsided grin.
☼
Waking up with the sun isn’t something Felix did a lot back home, but it’s surely going to become a thing of habit as long as he’s here. Which is kinda alright with him, makes him feel like a princess in an animated movie.
The beach side town is quieter in the morning, calm like the waves lapping at the shore. Felix doesn’t quite know what to do without the sounds of traffic and angry pedestrians. That’s not to say the streets aren’t full of people on their way to work, but instead of speed walking to an office job, they’re loading up their trucks with fishing supplies or opening little gift shops filled with the very same trinkets lining Felix’s shelves.
People he’s never met wave to him as he walks past. He’d return the gesture if his arms weren’t full of groceries fresh from the farmer’s market Minho said still takes place every Saturday on the beach. Instead he just nods and bows as best he can, smiling a little brighter each time.
Not that he knows anything about the town’s layout at this point—nor can he bite back his independent nature and ask for directions—but Felix is pretty sure his house is only a short distance from the end of the boardwalk he’s currently on. If he’s wrong, then it’ll be a learning experience. If he’s right, his aching arms will thank him.
And even if his arms do burn a little, the beginning of a small pier beckons him closer with the promise of salty seabreeze and his first chance to get a proper look at the water. Just a few minutes, he’ll stop and look. The view isn’t going anywhere soon, but for the first time in what feels like years, Felix actually has time to waste. His feet carry him across the wooden structure, not too far, just past where a man sits in front of a cheap easel, tucked into his work and surrounded by finished paintings of the shoreline, starfish, a surfer with tattoos.
Looking over the railing, he watches the waves kiss the sand only a body’s length below and follows it out until all he sees is open water. A crisp line lies in the distance, divided into two different shades of blue, one a bit greener than the other. Images of dolphins jumping above the surface fill his head, something he’s only ever seen pictures of, and Felix makes a vow then and there to see it for himself, in the flesh.
A voice, velvety and pleasant, speaks up from behind him.
“New in town?”
Turning around with a startle, Felix bites down a squeak. “I’m sorry?”
It’s the painter. Perched on his stool and twirling a paintbrush between his fingers, splattering speckles of paint all over his baggy jeans. Orange and yellow already dot his cheeks like freckles made of sunshine and Felix feels a little transfixed.
“I spent a lot of time just staring at the water when I first got here too,” he says, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Plan to say long?”
Felix hugs his groceries tighter to his chest.
The man is lovely, beautiful in a raw sort of way that makes him nervous, a little sweaty on top of the sun beating down his back. He looks lithe, with long limbs mostly hidden away by oversized clothes in light shades. Soft brown hair dances across his forehead with the wind, framing his face and neck with effortless grace.
And he appears to be around Felix’s age. It would be nice to have a friend for the summer, one he can talk to and see outside of texts and calls with Jisung.
“Just for the summer,” Felix says, swallowing around the nerves of meeting someone new.
The painter’s plush lip quirks to the side, like he knows something Felix doesn’t. It’s not quite ominous, more like…
“That’s what I said too.”
Okay, maybe it’s a little bit ominous. Felix shuffles his feet, tilts his head to the side in confusion, huffs out an awkward laugh.
“I’m Hyunjin,” the man continues, skirting right past his previous statement without any explanation. He tucks his paintbrush behind his ear, uncaring of the threat of wet paint in his hair, and Felix subconsciously raises his shoulder to his ear to check if his pen is where it’s supposed to be. Hyunjin then leans forward, stretches his arm out, flexes his dainty wrist and offers his ring clad hand to Felix.
It’s quick and clumsy, but Felix manages to shake Hyunjin’s hand without dropping anything and shares his name in turn. “Felix.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Felix,” Hyunjin says as he props an elbow against the pier railing and rests his cheek on his palm.
Felix can’t help but compare the way he says his name to Chan. The syllables don’t roll off his tongue the same way, placing emphasis in a different spot. It doesn’t hold the same weight it did when Chan said it.
Hyunjin glances to the side, faces the beach, and groans like the biggest inconvenience of his life just washed up on shore. Felix follows his gaze in search of what could possibly be such a bother, but is only met with squawking birds, a few people sifting through the sand in search of seashells, others setting up towels and umbrellas. And oh, there’s a guy. Dark-haired and dressed in a wetsuit, jogging towards them with one arm raised, waving like a madman.
“Hyunjin-ah!” he shouts, walking the line of too loud for nine in the morning.
Felix can see the man’s beaming smile from here, but Hyunjin just shakes his head, gnaws on his bottom lip to hide his own obvious grin.
When he gets close enough, the man climbs a small sand dune that has formed against one of the pier posts and holds a hand above his head. “Give me a hand, gorgeous,” he beckons with wiggling fingers.
After a performative eye roll, Hyunjin does just that. Drapes his long torso over the railing until he’s on his tiptoes and latches onto the man’s wrist. With only a small huff, he hauls the man up until he can hook his foot on the platform and climb the rest of the way himself.
The man jumps the railing and lands on the hot wood with a wet slap, does his best to shake the sand from his feet before glancing up and catching Felix’s eye. It almost looks like he postures for a second, puffs out his chest in a way Felix thinks is supposed to be intimidating before gesturing between the two of them.
“Who’s your friend?”
Hyunjin is already back on his stool and dipping his paintbrush into a mixture of teal and white. “Felix, this is Changbin,” Felix gives a little bow, “Changbin, meet Felix. He’s new in town.”
Changbin’s lips quirk the exact same way Hyunjin’s did earlier, like he’s in on the joke. “It’s a pleasure,” he says, nodding once before focusing his full attention on Hyunjin, who seems to pretend the other isn’t there.
As if in retaliation for being ignored, Changbin makes a big show of unzipping the front of his wetsuit, stopping only when he passes his belly button. He pulls his arms out of the stretchy fabric, ties the sleeves around his waist, and playfully flicks the droplets of water from his fingers in Hyunjin’s direction.
“You ruin my painting, you die,” Hyunjin mumbles as he leans further into his canvas, voice effectively conveying the promise of a painful demise.
But Changbin just smirks and hums, completely unaffected. “I wouldn’t dare dream of doing such a thing.”
Felix finds that he enjoys watching them, endeared by whatever weird unspoken thing they have going on. Words begin to swirl around in his head and he imagines putting them to paper or typing them out on a screen. The story of two people dancing around their feelings by the ocean. How’s that for inspiration? Maybe the more he observes, the more material he’ll have to create something really worth reading.
That train of thought comes to a rearing halt when Felix zeros in on Changbin’s upper torso. It’s just now registering in his brain, a testament to how rarely he’s awake and with the people at this time of day.
His writer’s vocabulary must fly out the window because the only words Felix can summon are thick strong wow as he takes in the sight before him. It’s not even the muscles that rock Felix’s world, it’s the tattoos. Two full sleeves of designs so intricate he’d have to sit down and go over each one line by line. Sea creatures and fish swim in water and bubbles and waves on one arm while different flowers and lines of text in both English and Korean swirl up and down the other.
Hyunjin raises his head just as Changbin puts his hands on his hips—happy to be on display now that he sees Felix is looking—and offers his hundredth eye roll of the day. Though this one Felix thinks is just a cover up, an excuse to look at Changbin too.
As inconspicuous as possible, Felix leans to the side, tilts his head in an effort to read the fine words inked into skin. He leans too far, tilts too much, and his carrots begin to slide out from the top of one paper bag.
Catching the orange vegetable, just barely, is enough to pull him back to the present. Felix centers himself, feels the sun shining on him relentlessly and thinks about how he didn’t put sunscreen on before he left the house. He loves his freckles, but sun damage is never on his to-do list.
“I should get going,” he blurts, following it up with a nervous chuckle. Hyunjin and Changbin—who were in the beginning stages of some semi-erotic staring contest—whip their heads towards Felix at the same time. “It was nice to meet you guys.”
Changbin sends him off with a wave while Hyunjin calls out, “Don’t be a stranger!”
Felix smiles, files this interaction in his head under strange and unusual, but he smiles.
☼
It has become glaringly obvious to Felix over the past week that it’s just fucking hot here all the time.
He really thought he was onto something too by starting his walk when the sun was low in the sky. Even brought his notebook with him so he had paper to write on instead of jotting his fleeting thoughts down on his arm. It was a good plan before hindsight bit him in the ass.
Now he’s looking forward to cranking the aircon on as soon as he’s back in the safety of his little beach house. Hell, he might even go wild and cut up some fruit, relax with a bath and listen to the new chapter of that audiobook Seungmin’s been working on. At least someone in their little aspiring-slash-vaguely successful friend group of writers is doing well.
Making a beeline for the thermostat, Felix punches the down arrow until it’s set on a temperature only penguins will enjoy. His ears seek out the sound of cool air blowing through the vents, a precarious grumble he’s slowly gotten used to. He waits. Button smashes the screen. Waits a bit more.
There’s no whoosh of air, no grumble, no nothing and Felix thinks he might actually cry. He’s melting, can’t possibly function without the accompaniment of crisp cold redemption. Sure, the loft has a ceiling fan, but everyone knows heat rises, the only good it’ll do is blow hot air on top of more hot air.
It’s not like he knows where the aircon unit is either, wouldn’t be able to figure out how it works even if he did know where the bitch hides.
Water will help. Cold water. Sustenance. Yeah. Felix walks to the sink, probably a bit too dramatically, and pulls a glass from the overhead cupboard, fills it up, gulps it down.
It helps for approximately eight seconds.
Those eight seconds are glorious, but now Felix is flopping back on the desk chair and staring daggers into the sun. Not directly, of course, but the ill intention is there. This must be what hell is like. Being sweaty and miserable and kinda sticky with no resolution in sight.
Except–
Except Chan’s note, peeking out from under his laptop. Felix chews the skin on his bottom lip, considering. The sun is going down, there’s not much time before it’ll be gone for the night, and Felix would never want to be a bother.
But that’s what Chan is here for right? To help? To swoop in with his magical tool box and save the day?
Felix picks up his phone and dials Chan’s number for the second time in less than a week. He thinks of what to say, if he should play it cool and invite Chan over for a drink or something and slip in a Hey, is it hot in here? Maybe something’s up with the aircon hahah –
No. No, that sounds like a date. Not even a date, more like a lame proposition of sorts and Felix cannot have Chan thinking he wants to get into his pants. Even if he maybe kinda sorta wouldn’t be totally against–
“Hey there! You’ve reached Chan. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number I’ll be sure to…”
Felix hasn’t heard a voicemail like that since his dad called and demanded Felix teach him how to set it up on his new phone, like, a year ago.
He doesn’t leave a message. If Chan isn’t answering the phone, it’s probably for good reason. Or maybe he just fell asleep, or his phone is on silent, or it died. And honestly, that’s enough speculation to get Felix to venture back out into the last rays of sun. Two houses down, green shutters. He sneaks through backyards like the worst criminal who ever lived, but he makes it nonetheless.
The back door light is on, shining a soft glow on the little seating area Chan has under the awning. Two wooden rocking chairs, a little table with a droopy plant, an empty bowl on the ground for some reason. There’s no light on in the house, but Felix knocks a random rhythm into the peeling wood anyway, holds his breath like that’ll help him hear better.
He gets no answer.
That is…a bummer.
Felix’s shoulders deflate, the heat weighs down on him tenfold, and he’s already mentally preparing to melt like an ice cream cone in the middle of the night. Maybe he can call again when he gets home, before it officially gets too late.
He pivots on his heel, chin held high to sneak back the way he came, when very suddenly, Felix’s life flashes before his eyes.
Something is charging at him, barreling towards him, dark grey and red and it’s so fucking fast that Felix can do nothing but flatten himself against the door and wait for the end. He only opens his eyes a second before impact, determined to know the face of his killer so he can haunt them in the afterlife.
Huge paws land on his shoulders. A wet tongue licks his cheek. And in the distance, he hears, “Banshee, no! Come on, girl. Get down!”
The biggest dog Felix has ever seen listens immediately, dropping her paws to the concrete and shaking out her wiry grey fur. Looking up, Felix sees Chan at the end of his dock, fishing rod and tackle box in hand. He’s moving swiftly, his silhouette outlined by the sun, and Felix notices that the faster Chan walks, the more rigid his left leg becomes.
A cold wet nose nuzzles into Felix’s palm, demanding his attention. Banshee , Felix confirms after peeking at the tag on her collar, is wearing a little red life jacket and wiggling happily at his feet. It’s simultaneously the cutest and most ridiculous thing in the world with how tall she is. She stares up at him—which isn’t a huge feat considering her head is eye level with his chest—and continues to sniff at him without a care in the world.
Chan finally reaches them, beads of sweat along his hairline as he practically tosses his things to the side. “Felix,” he begins, and the sound of his name on Chan’s tongue, worried and breathless, makes him fight to subdue a shiver. “Are you alright? Ban didn’t hurt you, did she?”
His eyes are wild with concern as he openly scans Felix from head to toe in search of scratches or marks from Banshee’s overly-excited greeting. Warmth creeps up Felix’s neck and curls around his spine.
“No, no! Not at all,” Felix insists as he takes a deep breath. “She just–surprised me.”
And that is perhaps the understatement of the century. Felix wouldn’t be shocked if he peed a little in those first few seconds, but Chan doesn’t need to know that.
The elder laughs in relief, a bright sound that breaks through the tension in Felix’s chest. “Ah, that’s good. She’s a giant, but she’s harmless,” he says, ruffling the top of Banshee’s head before leaning down to give her a kiss between the ears. “Aren’t you, Ban? My sweet little Banshee.”
It’s hard to hold back a smile when Banshee yips in reply, her bark deep and proud. She wags her long, thin tail, her whole body swaying with the motion. In her excitement, she whips Chan in the leg, who winces ever so slightly and steps out of the way to unbuckle her lifejacket. Felix’s lips part to speak, to ask if he’s okay, but the words die in his throat as he follows the movement of Chan’s hands. They’re covered in scars, some new and some fully healed, some thin and pink, others thick and raised. His fingers are nimble and steady, thicker around the joints of his knuckles. Veins run down the back of his hands and wind up the length of his forearms all the way up to his biceps.
Banshee licks at Chan’s hands as if to say thank you. Felix is…not jealous of a dog. He’s not.
“So, was there something you needed?” Chan asks as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a ring overflowing with keys. The question drags Felix away from his horny intermission and back to the issue at hand. No pun intended.
Stepping out of Chan’s way to give him space to unlock the door, Felix clears his throat, suddenly a bit sheepish. “Oh, uh, the aircon went out at my place,” he chuckles and smiles bashfully. Chan hums a quizzical noise and opens the door to let Banshee prance inside.
“Quite the unlucky one you are, hm?” Chan’s voice is teasing as he glances at Felix from the corner of his eye with a smug tilt to his lips. Then he’s walking inside after Banshee and disappearing around the corner. “Just let me feed this big baby and we can take a look at it.”
Felix is left standing outside to look between the open door and the walk back to his house. Is this his cue to go? To wait for Chan at home? It would probably make the most sense, but Chan just left the door open. Felix can literally hear him rustling around in the kitchen.
Ah, fuck it. Crossing the threshold, Felix wipes his shoes off on the welcome mat just inside the door and steps onto the white linoleum tile with shaky legs. The door shuts behind him with a snick and Felix is hit with the sweet smell of sun and ocean spray. Chan raises his head from where he washes his hands at the sink with a dopey grin on his face, pointed teeth on display. Crow’s feet line the skin around his brown eyes and Felix itches to count them, to run his fingers over the delicate skin.
When Chan’s attention turns back to the counter, Felix lets his eyes wander a bit. The layout of Chan’s place is the same as his own, but instead of beach themed knick knacks and paintings of the ocean, the shelves are covered in books about nature and poetry and the walls are lined with photos of what must be friends and family.
It’s homey and warm and perfectly Chan.
Something clatters into a bowl and Felix scrunches his nose at the sight of raw eggs and cuts of red meat. Chan cracks one more egg over the bowl, shell and all, and finishes it off with a scoop of kibble from a bag under the counter.
“What kind of dog is she?” Felix asks.
“Irish Wolfhound,” Chan chirps, throwing a loving look over his shoulder at the happy pup. “Mostly. I’m sure she has other breeds in her too though. She’d be even bigger if she didn’t.”
Felix’s jaw drops. “Bigger?”
Life in the city means Felix rarely sees dogs that can’t fit into a purse. Banshee’s wiggling body nearly fills up the entire kitchen.
“Oh yeah,” Chan laughs as he turns to face Felix. “Watch this,” he adds before picking up the bowl of food and grabbing Banshee’s attention from where she’s been eagerly but patiently waiting. “Where do you eat, Ban?” he asks, voice light and cutesy. “Show Felix where you eat.”
Banshee barks once in response and twirls her long body in a circle, tail bumping into cabinets and almost knocking a towel from its hook on the fridge. Felix watches on with curious eyes as she leads Chan to a raised stand under the huge back window before sitting without being told. She continues to politely wait as Chan places the bowl down in its spot next to another one filled with water.
Her tail is wagging like crazy, thudding against the floor as her eyes flicker between the food and Chan’s smiling face.
“Okay,” Chan says softly and Banshee digs in.
Felix’s heart swells. Moments like these are often seen as routine and mundane, but Chan looks like he truly values the connection he has with Banshee, like every day is another opportunity to strengthen it more.
“She’s very clever,” Felix admires, gaze directed toward Chan.
The elder nods fondly before looking up and locking eyes with Felix, something coy and teasing sparkling there. “She gets it from her daddy.”
Something in Felix’s brain flickers, like two exposed wires connecting to make sparks, and he bites his tongue hard enough to hurt. Maybe it’s because Chan is just that much older, practically oozes the need to care for something or someone, and is clearly fulfilled by doing so.
Nothing they’ve said to each other up until this point has been anything other than kind, friendly, maybe a bit teasing, but Felix can’t stop the need to tip the scales, to see Chan’s reaction when he says–
“Daddy, huh?”
It’s just as satisfying as he hopes when Chan all but trips over his feet on his way back to the kitchen, catching his weight on the edge of the counter and laughing it off. The room is thrumming, charged with something sticky and heady and slightly uncertain, but Felix can only play innocent and laugh along as he pretends he can’t see the red flush painting Chan’s neck, creeping along his cheeks.
“Shall we?” Chan offers, collecting his keys and grabbing his tool box from his dining room table, placed in by the back window where Felix’s desk would be.
“Mhm,” Felix hums, “lead the way.”
Chan ducks out the back door and waits until Felix follows him before locking up. They walk back to Felix’s place in silence with Chan slightly in front, his gait relaxed in a put on kind of way. Felix eyes him as he moves and lets the heat in his gut simmer into a small flame.
As it turns out, Felix’s aircon unit is ancient as hell and just needed a good kick in the right place to get it working again.
☼
The wind whips through Felix’s hair, blows dark strands around his face and kisses his cheeks with salt from the waves. It should feel nice, wild and free and whatever else, but Felix has been fidgety since he woke up this morning and realized his favorite pen was missing. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.
Jisung would tell him to retrace his steps. Seungmin and Jeongin would try to convince him for the umpteenth time to fully convert to his laptop. Minho would raise one unimpressed eyebrow before pulling a spare from his desk and passing it over.
But Felix is just walking, fingers playing with his ear because the familiar weight is gone and he can’t focus on anything else. The walk he took yesterday was long, nearly impossible to retrace with how little he still knows about this place. Writing on his laptop is fine, he can do it, but it’s the combination of something he relies on so heavily being out of reach in an unfamiliar place. And Minho isn’t here to pass well-meaning judgment and save the day.
The whole thing is silly, Felix knows. He brought other pens. They’re just not what he wants. Not what he needs to sit down and write out the tangled words in his head.
His hasty feet eventually bring him to the only place he remembers how to reach. The pier is busy for midday on a Tuesday, the beach even busier. Despite all that, Hyunjin’s attention is away from his current painting of a jellyfish, away from the old couple looking intently at his work with ooh’s and aah’s.
Hyunjin is leaning against the railing, chin in hand, paintbrush weaving through his fingertips, and his focus is not-so-subtly on a certain tattooed surfer. Changbin is a little ways down the beach, up to his waist in the calm current. A few kids in bright swimsuits hanging onto boogie boards are laughing and shouting as they try and fail to ride the waves. It’s cute, watching Changbin laugh along and encourage them to give it another go.
Felix wonders if they realize how perfect their story is, how much he wants to write it.
“Looks like fun,” he comments, just loud enough over the wind to be heard. Hyunjin startles with a soft curse, head swiveling from side to side until his eyes land on a sly-grinned Felix.
“Not really my thing.” Hyunjin’s nose scrunches in playful distaste as he throws one more glance at Changbin and dives back into his painting. Casual, like he didn’t just get caught ogling.
Felix laughs. “No?” and Hyunjin gives him a look that reads no further comments please. Shrugging, Felix shuffles until he’s in front of the painting the old couple were staring at. “I think you missed out on a sale.”
“I should charge people just for looking,” Hyunjin jokes. “Everyone likes to look, no one wants to buy.” He pauses to think, taps his chin with the end of his paintbrush. “Except for Chan. Stops by for a new one almost every week. Says he has houses to decorate.”
Felix’s ears perk up at the name, almost positive Hyunjin is talking about his Chan, or uh, the same Chan who owns houses fit for so much beach decor.
“Anyways,” Hyunjin continues with a quirked brow, “I’m glad I ran into you, stranger. How do you feel about a bonfire on the beach?”
☼
Changbin and Hyunjin probably introduce Felix to at least twenty people, but he doesn’t remember a single name. Most of them are laying on blankets, staring up at the stars, some of them splash around along the water’s edge, laughs ringing out through the night.
Felix settles deeper into his borrowed lawn chair and watches the embers of the fire float up into the sky. He’s much colder than he thought he’d be with the wind coming in off the waves, freezing and salty, biting into the thin cotton of his pullover.
But it’s nice. To be out with people he barely knows and feel content all the same. Felix can’t recall the last time he was able to just be, the only deadline looming over his head still months away.
“Any music requests?” Changbin pipes up from the other side of the flames as he scrolls through his phone that’s hooked up to a little speaker. A few people chime in with song titles or artists, but Felix shakes his head, hoping that whatever plays next is just something he can tap his toes to.
Hyunjin interrupts Changbin’s search by wrapping his arms around the other’s elbow. “Mm! You should play something from that band you showed me last week.” His fluttering lashes do the trick just fine to convince Changbin, who’s zeroed in on the delicate display with a goofy smile on his face. Felix should really be writing some of this down.
A new string of notes float from the speaker as Felix reaches for his pen…that still isn’t there. As much as he wants to, a frustrated groan probably won’t fit the mood. Maybe if he stares at the obvious lovebirds across from him with enough determination, the image will imprint into words he can scribble down later on. Like the way Hyunjin’s eyes scrunch up when he laughs and the way Changbin’s jaw drops in awe at the sight.
Someone next to Felix gets up with a stretch and moves to one of the numerous blankets set up around them. Felix smiles politely at them before looking elsewhere, at the sand between his toes, the tufts of tall grass up higher on the beach, a man walking his dog under the well-lit boardwalk. The dog looks enormous even from here and for a second Felix wonders if–
“BANG CHAAAN!”
Changbin is close to falling out of his chair with how aggressively he’s waving. The action takes Felix a bit by surprise, not aware that Changbin knew Chan well enough to name drop him from across the beach. But then he looks at a waving Hyunjin and that’s right . Chan buys paintings from Hyunjin and Hyunjin paints on the pier and Changbin is the one who didn’t fix Felix’s showerhead because of the painter on the pier! The magic of small towns. Who knew?
It’s definitely Chan in the distance—Felix squeezes his thighs together on instinct and blames it on the cold—who pulls to a stop and throws his head back in a laugh, smiles in disbelief and offers a friendly wave in turn. The surfer isn’t satisfied though, going as far as to hightail it up the dunes, wrestle Banshee’s leash from the elder’s hands and giggle the whole way back down to the bonfire.
“Get over here, old man!” Changbin teases as he lets a happy Banshee run circles around him in the sand.
Chan looks sheepish the closer he gets, walking a bit unsteadily through the sand, dressed in a loose black hoodie and gym shorts. The dimples in his cheeks are highlighted by the shadows of the fire and Felix feels very normal about that. “Ah, you guys don’t want me around,” Chan says, playing it cool in a self-deprecating sort of way.
Felix furrows his brows. “Of course we do.”
When Chan’s eyes flicker to Felix, his pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted in shock before they pull to one side in a gentle smile. Felix returns one of his own and pats the empty chair next to him without a second thought.
“You heard him. Sit down,” Hyunjin finishes off smugly, already latching back onto Changbin after he passes Banshee’s leash to Chan, who ties it to the leg of his newly appointed chair.
Banshee trots right up to Felix and licks his cheek before he can dodge it, but a laugh bubbles out past his lips when Chan sighs, embarrassed, and tells the pup to go lie down. Which she does, on one of the blankets already occupied by a couple who gush over her and welcome her for a cuddle. Adorable.
Chan settles into the low chair with a groan, the sound something a dad would make after a long day of work at the office. He seems to realize this and coughs lightly to cover it, his cheeks warming up without help from the heat of the fire.
“Long day at work today, grandpa?” Changbin teases, his eyes shining bright with mischief. Felix’s eyes almost pop out of his skull and he watches for Chan’s reaction with bated breath. Sure, they all know each other, but Chan is still their…elder?
Chan narrows his gaze. “Sure was, kiddo,” he replies smoothly as he relaxes further and throws one arm over the back of his chair. His fingers graze the very corner of Felix’s chair, inches away from where he rests his head. “You clean your room like I asked? Awful lot of questionable socks on the floor.”
Everyone around the firepit either laugh or snicker at Changbin's expense. When the surfer glances over to see Hyunjin bent over at the waist with tears in his eyes, he flips Chan the bird while pretending to itch his forehead. Chan just chuckles deep in his chest and blows the other a kiss.
The person to Felix’s right sits up a little straighter in their seat. “How old are you, Bang? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?”
Chan’s attention swivels away from a groveling Changbin, pauses for a split second on Felix, and lands on the speaker. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” His voice is a little smug, a little shy, and Felix almost passes away when Chan catches his eye again and winks.
“He’s sixty-five,” Changbin blurts and sticks his tongue out like a child.
“Oi, you’re really asking for it tonight, Seo,” Chan threatens lightheartedly with a finger pointed in the other’s direction.
Watching the two interact is wild, like a father and son who act more like friends than anything else. Felix supposes he and Minho are kinda like that in a sense. He’s always looked up to the elder, sought out his advice, and trusted him with just about everything in both work and life. Minho probably sees Felix as something akin to a baby chick who imprinted on the wrong species at birth, but hey, it wouldn’t be too far off.
Speaking of his manager, maybe he and Chan are around the same age? Felix swivels his head until he’s looking at Chan’s side profile, the long line of his nose, the curve of his lips, and his curiosity begins to gnaw at him. “Well now you have to tell us. How old are you, hm?”
Chan’s shyness immediately returns in the form of rosy cheeks and an intense interest in his lap. Felix’s heart does a little somersault in his throat. He’s so endearing. How can someone be so endearing?
“I’m forty-three,” Chan says while looking anywhere but at Felix. The hand that isn’t toying with the loose strands on the edge of Felix’s chair is gripping his knee so tight it leaves behind white finger-shaped imprints.
Forty-three. Forty-three. Felix tries to wrap his head around the number, but honestly–
“That’s nothing!” Hyunjin declares. “What’s eighteen years between friends?”
Mathematics was never Felix’s strong suit, thus why he abandoned all hope and stuck to words instead, those he can understand. Nevertheless, he stacks one number on top of the other in his mind and completes the most basic form of subtraction until he’s met with the conclusion that he and Hyunjin are indeed the same age.
Changbin is definitely doing math as well with the way he’s scribbling nonsense into the air with his finger and tapping his chin like he’s really on to something. They watch him figure it out on his own until he’s reeling back and turning to Hyunjin with a scandalized gasp.
“You’re twenty-five?”
Hyunjin looks right back at Changbin as if he has three heads. “Yeah? How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“What’s that look for then?” Hyunjin asks, bewildered.
“I don’t know!” Changbin squawks. “I thought you were older than me!”
The painter just about slides out of his chair. “Older? How old do I look?”
“I-I’m just saying you look very mature—”
“Mature?! I’ll show you mature–”
At the exact same time, Chan and Felix turn to look at each other, eyes wide, lips parted in equal amounts of shock and confusion before Changbin yelps and they break out into giggles. Chan’s grip on Felix’s chair tightens as he pulls himself upright to catch his breath. His teeth glint in the light, his canines pointed more so than the teeth around them, and Felix wants to reach out and poke, wants to remember the way they dig into Chan’s bottom lip as he tries to calm himself down.
Felix isn’t any better though. He’s not even sure they’re still laughing at the ridiculousness that is Changbin and Hyunjin, but at each other and the way each new sound out of their mouths spur the other into a new fit of giggles.
And then Chan does the most wonderful thing. His shoulders shake with the magnitude of his laugh and a little squeak passes his lips in the process.
“Did–did you just squeak?” Felix asks through his own fit. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!”
Chan shakes his head with a bright smile. “Nonono, I most certainly did not. You’re hearing things.” And then he does it again, this time even louder, and doubles over in his seat. “Oh, fuck me. If that’s not embarrassing…”
Felix leans forward and lightly hits Chan on the top of his thigh. “It’s not! It’s not, I swear. It’s so cute.” The daring words leave his mouth and Felix isn’t even bothered to care. Especially not when Chan groans and buries his face in his palms, the fire just bright enough for Felix to see the rosy tips of his ears.
“I’m a forty-three year old man, Felix. I’m not meant to be cute,” Chan argues as he meekly peaks through the crack in his fingers.
“Well, I don’t know how you can be anything but with a laugh like that,” Felix boldly counters. Someone throws another log on the fire and it rages higher, raising Felix’s confidence along with it as it casts Chan in an orange-yellow glow.
The elder drops his hands and raises an eyebrow, the one with the scar running through it. “The night must be clouding your judgment, kid.”
Both of Felix’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Kid? Are we about to have the same argument as those two over there?” He punctuates his words with a flick of his head towards Hyunjin and Changbin, who are—unsurprisingly—still bickering.
“Maybe not as obnoxiously as them,” Chan begins and leans forward towards Felix. “But I am older than you. Old enough to be your dad, I’m sure.”
Felix narrows his eyes, suddenly irked by the stance Chan has taken. “Like Hyunjin said, what’s eighteen years between friends?”
Chan gives Felix a good once over, from the wisps of dark hair framing his face to the way he wiggles his toes deeper into the sand. “Is this your way of asking to be friends, Felix?”
There he goes again, saying Felix’s name like that, like it weighs heavily against his tongue, like each syllable is sweeter than anything else he could possibly say. Felix’s lashes flutter as a familiar warmth seeps through his veins, dancing under his skin like fizzy soda.
“Mm,” Felix hums, leaning forward too, “Yeah, Chan. Let’s be friends.”
Chan eyes Felix even more intently for a few seconds, but the younger can’t get a read on him, not when he just blinks and nods his head once before settling back in his chair and gazing up at the sky. Silence falls between them, or as much silence as can be expected when the lovebirds are now squabbling over who can swim the fastest and the music has been cranked up by someone else to tune them out.
“So tell me then. What brought you here? To this place.”
“Uh,” Felix pauses to think, “Hyunjin invited me.”
“That’s nice,” Chan muses, his lips tilting to the side in a grin. “But I meant this town. It’s as close as you can get to the edge of the world, yanno.”
Chan’s attention is still focused upwards, so Felix looks up too. The stars are out, faint, but there. Felix takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Vacation. Well, work too, but it makes me feel better to think of it as a vacation.”
“Vacation,” Chan drawls. “You picked a good place for it. Lots of charm to this little town.” His voice carries a bit of a chuckle, fond and content.
Felix can’t help but snort. “Oh I’ve met some charmers for sure.”
As if on cue, Changbin stands up from his chair and challenges Hyunjin to a race, first one to swim out to the buoys and back wins. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and tugs Changbin back into his seat by the hand.
“S’better than working all the time at least. Which is…what by the way?” Chan asks.
“I write. Mostly fiction. Short stories, novels and all that.” Felix fidgets with the frayed end of his shorts, pulls on the strings until they break.
Chan makes an intrigued noise. “Yeah?”
When Felix glances over, Chan is already looking at him, eyes dark and curious. He shivers, not because of the cold, and prays the elder doesn’t notice. “Yeah,” Felix says on an exhale, shakier than he would have liked. “Lost my favorite pen though, uh, a few days ago. So that’s. Sad.”
Cool fact, Felix. Talking about your favorite pen like it’s a lost puppy.
But something flashes over Chan’s face and suddenly he’s rummaging through his pockets with haste. Felix has literally no idea what’s going on, but he’s happy to watch the way Chan pushes up his sleeves when he finds what he’s looking for and holds out a steady hand in Felix’s direction.
“This must be yours then.”
Felix almost flings himself from his chair. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Uh, okay?”
“Where’d you get this?” Felix asks in a rushed breath as he plucks his pen from Chan’s warm palm.
“Found it on the ground outside my back door. Held on to it…just because, I guess,” Chan explains with a shrug. He rubs at the side of his neck with the back of his thumb, sheepish once again.
Felix slips the pen behind his right ear and instantly relaxes. “I could seriously kiss you right now,” he says, lips moving faster than his brain.
“Oh, well, I mean–”
But Felix is already slipping into a tangent. “I mean what are the chances you picked it up and kept it in your pocket? And that we just happened to run into each other again today? Honestly, it doesn’t even matter because it’s back and gosh , I feel so relieved and…that probably sounds so silly, but as a writer your pen kinda represents—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Chan gently interrupts, giving Felix the opportunity to breathe. “Felix, you’re welcome.”
Nodding, Felix beams at the elder. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Chan.”
Felix swears Chan’s eyes are on his lips, and for a split second he wonders if Chan feels the same way when he hears Felix say his name. If he feels the familiarity, the natural cadence of it all.
He looks away before Felix can ponder it any further.
They continue to talk. About Felix’s life back in the city, how he almost doesn’t miss anything about it other than the people. That leads Felix to share too many embarrassing stories of his friends being stupid and wonderful. How Jisung is allergic to cats but insists on volunteering at the local shelter in hopes of scoring some extra brownie points from their shared manager. How Jeongin and Seungmin have this secret competition on who can type the fastest or read the quickest for no reason other than the loser has to buy the other’s coffee for the rest of their lives.
Chan asks to know more about Felix’s writing and Felix has to laugh so he won’t pass out from nerves. He explains to Chan how he’s released a few books that have been well received in niche online communities, but he still hasn’t gotten his big break yet. When Chan shows interest in reading some of Felix’s work, the younger stutters and clams up until Chan backpedals and adds only if you want me to, of course.
They talk about Chan and how he used to come here all the time as a child with his family, how he decided this is where he wanted to be permanently after he graduated college with a degree he doesn’t even use. Chan spends a good while waxing poetic about the ocean, how he loves being out on the water whenever he has a free moment away from work as the small town’s jack-of-all-trades of home maintenance.
The smile brightening Chan’s face when he talks about his parents, his siblings, his little nieces and nephews, is easily one of the most beautiful things Felix has ever seen. Felix learns Chan doesn’t get to see them as often as he’d like, but on the rare occasion they surprise him with a last minute vacation or the even rarer occasion he and Banshee can make the drive home for a few days, it makes the distance seem not so daunting.
As they talk, they find themselves leaning in close, touching shoulders and knees and wrists. The fire gives off plenty of heat to keep Felix warm, but so does Chan as he wraps a tentative arm around the back of Felix’s chair and brushes his fingers over the downy hair at the nape of Felix’s neck. Whether he does it on purpose or not is messing with Felix’s head.
“Hey.”
Felix unwillingly directs his focus away from Chan—who’s midway through one of many puppy Banshee stories—and towards a yawning Hyunjin.
“Party’s wrapping up. Want a walk home?”
And yeah, now that Felix is looking anywhere other than Chan, the fire is low, the music is turned down, and there’s only a handful of people left around them. The walk back to his house isn’t too far and he’s confident he can make it back just fine, but it’s late and dark and Felix’s brain is telling him there’s safety in numbers, so–
“I can take him.” Chan’s voice is steady, cool and collected. He looks between Felix and Hyunjin with an easy, unwavering smile. “We live right down the way from each other.”
Felix flushes and glances at Hyunjin, swears his eye is twitching and he’s for sure pouting a bit, but the painter just shrugs and begins packing up his chair with Changbin. Chan pats Felix on the shoulder warmly and stands up with a poorly hidden wince before grabbing Banshee’s collar and sweetly waking her from her nap.
“Have a good night, guys,” Felix wishes. He bows politely at those he still doesn’t remember the names of and waves at a cozy looking Hyunjin and Changbin as they turn to leave while blowing air kisses.
On his left, Banshee is stretching and shaking out her fur with a dramatic yawn. Felix follows suit and reaches his hands up towards the sky, groans as his spine and shoulders pop with the movement.
“Come on, you two. Let’s get you home before I have to carry one of you on each shoulder,” Chan jokes as he too yawns and flexes his wrists. He doesn’t bother to grab at Banshee’s leash, instead just unlatches it from her collar and lets her freely wander close by as they begin their walk.
They spend most of it in a comfortable silence, something Felix quite enjoys. Occasionally Chan will softly call Banshee’s name if she strays too far or tell Felix to watch his step along the sand. Felix wants to tease Chan for treating him like a kid, but manages to trip over a rock as soon as they step off the beach and stumble into the elder’s side.
Chan doesn’t say anything, only smiles and steadies Felix with a hand on his lower back. The pad of his thumb slips under the hem of Felix’s pullover, prods into the dip of his spine, making the younger tremble like a leaf.
“Cold?” Chan asks in a whisper. His hand stays put, warm palm flat against him.
Felix shakes his head, lets out a breathy laugh, and stares down at his feet the whole way back.
When Chan drops him off at his back door, it’s with a kind Goodnight, Felix and a wave as he takes a few steps backwards before turning and heading home.
Felix waits until he’s sure Chan is gone before he whispers it back.
☼
The next few days pass along just fine, great even, if the speed at which Felix’s fingers fly across his keyboard are anything to go by after finding he couldn’t write fast enough with just pen and paper. Call him inspired, a genius in the right eyes, but writing about a certain painter-surfer duo has all but possessed him at this point. And aside from sending emails back and forth with Minho—rubbing it in that yes, he has in fact been putting words to paper—food, water, and bathroom breaks are all he needs.
His laptop pings and a new message from Jisung pops up in the right hand corner, next to the time, which reminds him just how late it is. Jisung wants to know when Felix is going to invite him out for a vacation. Felix says never, but honestly he hasn’t really considered that an option. He supposes it is now.
Just as he’s about to send a little winking emoji in response to Jisung’s frowny face, the lights flicker once, twice, and go out completely. The light from his laptop illuminates the room, giving it an eerie glow, and Felix pushes his rising panic back down his throat.
This is fine. He’s in the zone, a writing genius. He can just continue on his laptop, surely it has enough charge to get him through—okay no. It sure doesn’t.
Peering out the window, he can see the neighbor’s porch light is on, which means one of two things. They have a generator and are winning at life, or Felix’s power is the only one being a bitch.
He calls Chan. Because that seems to be the thing to do in these situations. Chan has all the answers. Chan is great. Felix doesn’t even think twice about it until the phone rings and he recalls the time. Fuck. He should hang up. He should apologize. He should–
“Hello?”
“My power is out.”
“Oh? Mine’s not.”
“Huh. Well thanks anyway! Sorry to bother y–”
“Hold on a second now,” Chan soothes. His voice sounds the same as it always does, maybe a little softer. Felix wonders if he just woke up, if he’s laying in bed, if his cheeks are pink from sleep. “You probably just need to flip the breaker. Let me get dressed and I’ll–”
Felix flails his hand in protest as if Chan is there to see it. “I-I’m sure I can do it myself! You really don’t have to go through all the trouble.”
Chan’s chuckle through the phone, raspy and deep and directly into Felix’s ear, sends goosebumps down his arms. “It’s locked, Felix. I have the key.”
“That…seems like a poor decision on your part,” Felix half-heartedly teases.
“Maybe,” Chan considers, “maybe not. I’ve had some rather weird tenants in the past.”
Felix doesn’t even want to know. He accepts Chan’s help with minimal grace and an internal promise to make it up to him before pulling his knees to his chest on the swivel chair and spinning in a circle to entertain himself until the elder arrives.
He pretends the quiet knock on his back door doesn’t make him jump and shuffles over to let Chan in. The wind is brutal tonight, scattering salt from the ocean even more so than usual and blowing Chan’s sleepy curls around his face. He greets Felix with a quirked eyebrow and a smug grin, raises one hand to rattle his absurd keyring, clicks on a flashlight held in the other. “Shall we?”
Felix simultaneously wants to roll his eyes and lean in to nip the cocky smile right off Chan’s lips. He does neither, just offers a saccharine smile of his own and gestures for Chan to enter. The elder heads to a panel in the wall across from the bathroom, expertly avoiding furniture in the dark. His gait is noticeably stiff, his left leg barely bending at the knee.
Felix follows the same path until he’s peering over Chan’s shoulder as he thumbs through the keys, looking for the right one. Now would be a good time to poke fun at his struggle, teach him how to color code or something.
“Hold this for me, Lix,” Chan says, passing the flashlight over. Felix grabs it and keeps it steady despite his shaky hands. Lix. LixLixLix. He says it over and over again in his head until the word turns warm and syrupy.
Chan makes a happy, puppyish noise when he finds the key to the lock. Felix tries to direct the flashlight as Chan pulls the panel open, but the way the light is shining on Chan’s hands makes the veins along the back of them look insane. He smells so good too, like sand and spice.
Only when Chan begins flipping switches does Felix realize how close they are, practically back to chest, warmth seeping through thin layers of fabric. If he tilted his head just so, he could brush his lips along Chan’s shoulder, trace the hem of the soft cotton shirt until his mouth met heated skin.
Chan hits the last switch, fingers hesitant, and the lights flicker on.
The sudden brightness makes Felix squint, stunned for a few seconds before embarrassment hits. He takes three generous steps back and clicks off the flashlight.
“Thank you,” he says as Chan turns around. He continues with the first thing that comes to mind, “Do you, uh, want to stay for a drink? I have water and…juice?”
Chan looks a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. “I’m happy to help,” he laughs, pocketing his keys into his sweatpants. “But I couldn’t, it’s late enough as it is.”
That’s completely reasonable, the most logical answer. Not the one Felix was hoping for—what is he hoping for?—but yeah, definitely for the best.
And then Chan is pursing his lips, smiling despite himself and asking, “What kind of juice?”
Apple juice hits differently at two o’clock in the morning, Felix thinks, as he wiggles into a comfortable position on the couch. He watches with careful eyes over the rim of his glass as Chan hovers on the outskirts of the sitting area with his own glass, pineapple his juice of choice.
“What, uh,” Chan clears his throat, looks around the room as if he didn’t decorate it himself. “What kept you up so late?”
Felix’s laptop is still open in the middle of the desk, screen now dark. “Writing,” he answers and fights the urge to cringe. “Sorry I woke you.”
Chan hums, his eyebrows furrowing. Felix wants to trace the scar running through one of them. “Oh, I wasn’t asleep.” He says the words as if Felix is silly for assuming such a thing. After taking a sip of his juice, he crosses to the armchair closest to Felix and lowers himself into it, clutching his knee tight and grimacing on the way down.
“I see,” Felix half-laughs, half-worries. “Any particular reason why?” But Chan is still gripping his leg, stretching it out with a clenched jaw and Felix sits up straight in his spot, mind hyper fixated on something else. “I’m sorry, why–I mean, did something happen to your leg?”
Perhaps he was a little too blunt, a little too abrupt. Chan’s eyes blow wide and he almost drops his glass before setting it down on the coffee table. He looks uncomfortable, embarrassed, and Felix tries to backtrack. “That was–sorry,” he shakes his head, ruffles his hair around his face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, no,” Chan soothes despite the pink painting his cheeks. “I’m just afraid it’s not a very impressive story.” Felix places his glass next to Chan’s and gives the elder his full attention, not quite sure what he means. A nervous laugh bubbles up from Chan’s chest. “Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?” Felix gasps, indignant.
“Like that!” Chan gestures to Felix’s confused expression. “With your sparkly eyes and your beautiful smile and those cute little freckles.” Heavy breaths fall past Chan’s lips, like what he’s said has just now caught up to him.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Silence settles between them. Felix wonders if it’s the late hour that’s sparking something like adrenaline but hotter up his spine. He wants to say more, to pull more sweet words from Chan and wrap them around his shoulders like a blanket.
Chan does speak then, frazzled and frayed at the edges, eager to forget his slip-up. Felix tries not to frown. “I fell through the dock when I was a teenager. My friends dared me to run the length of it and back, knowing the wood was rotten and unstable. My leg got stuck and the bones were shattered. Had to wait until someone could come and pull me out.”
The memory shows clearly on Chan’s face. Filled with pain and regret and shame. “Took hours, yanno?” he continues, eyes catching Felix’s before drifting to his knee and digging his thumb into the side. “They were afraid the dock would collapse if anyone else tried to walk on it. Eventually my friend’s dad got his boat close enough to where I could pull myself free and they hauled me into it.”
Felix tries to imagine the scene and shudders; Chan, trapped and in pain. His leg broken and vulnerable in the water. Feeling foolish and panicked and scared. Left with an injury that still haunts him decades later.
He doesn’t have anything worth saying, but he reaches out and brushes his fingers over Chan’s wrist before resting them there, watching intently as Chan’s fingers twitch and grip the arm of the chair tighter.
“It kept me from doing a lot in high school and college,” Chan sighs and pushes brown curls from his eyes. “Nowadays it just aches. Keeps me up at night.”
Felix speaks without thinking, something he’s gotten too good at lately.
“My friends say I give great massages.”
Chan shifts in his seat, eyes flickering between the hand on his wrist and what Felix knows are his best puppy eyes. Maybe he should feel bad for that, for taking advantage of something Chan has already shown weakness towards. But Felix wants to help, knows it’s not the muscles that hurt, but the bones. Knows it’s silly and completely out of the blue, but he can help. He wants to. Wants to be useful and give back to Chan after all he’s done.
With a gulp, Chan nods his head. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t laugh and hide behind his hands, doesn’t insist Felix get up when the younger slides to the floor and gracefully positions himself until he’s kneeling next to Chan’s left leg.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Felix whispers as he gently cups his hands around Chan’s knee over his sweatpants. It’s not ideal, would be much more effective if they were skin to skin, but that’s okay. He can still help like this.
Ultimately, he decides to start from bottom to top, slides his hands down Chan’s calf until he reaches his ankle and applies firm pressure around the joint. Chan’s breaths are steady above him, albeit heavy, as Felix digs his thumbs along either side of the bones in his calf and works outwards towards the firm muscle behind it.
Felix lets his mind wander as his hands work, as he tries to ignore the burn of Chan’s stare, but it doesn’t wander any further than Chan himself. He replays every time Chan has touched him, intentionally or not. The brush along his shoulder, the fingers in his hair, the thumb in the dip of his spine. He recalls every time Chan has looked at him. The first time, when Felix was flustered and in nothing but a bathrobe. With worry etched into his kind features when Banshee greeted Felix too excitedly. Now, as Felix traces the outline of his knee, watching with fascination, with hesitation and something else. Something hidden.
Chan’s inhale is sharp when Felix hits a tender spot just above his knee. He unintentionally jerks his legs further apart before taking a deep breath and willing the discomfort to subside. Felix looks up and mumbles a meek apology, takes care to avoid the area.
And it’s definitely the late hour, the warmth of Chan’s skin through his sweatpants, the accumulation of meeting Chan and getting to know Chan and relying on Chan when shit goes wrong. It’s all those things and more that tip Felix over the edge of I really shouldn’t and send him falling into the pits of but God, do I want to.
He slips between Chan’s spread knees. White noise rushes in his ears as he settles comfortably, grounds himself by rubbing his socked feet into the fluffy rug beneath him. He’s not even thinking anymore. Certainly not when his hands come to rest on Chan’s knees, softly, slowly like he’s afraid the elder will disappear if he moves too fast.
Fingers dance up the inner hem of Chan’s sweatpants, Felix watches as it happens, knowing they're his own but drowning, falling under the surface as he inches higher and higher and higher.
A scarred hand grabs Felix by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks with a squeeze. Sticky shame is the first nail hammered into his heart, followed by indignant petulance, and then he’s ice cold.
“Felix, baby,” Chan whispers, voice choked and tender like it hurts to speak. His fingers tighten around Felix’s wrist, feeling the shift of fragile bones. When the younger looks up, it’s to see something broken highlighting the weathered lines on Chan’s face.
Felix wants to write about them. He wants to spin them into every curved character so he never forgets Chan’s expression as it turns into one of defeat, then acceptance, and finally fiery, feverish hunger.
They meet halfway, lips slotting together in a way that buries the last shreds of uncertainty in Felix’s heart, perfect and searing and not enough. Chan’s lips are dry, but Felix wets them with his own. His muscles are taught, but Felix kneads his thighs until Chan finally relaxes under his touch. Gentle, shaky hands cradle Felix’s face like he’s made of porcelain, juxtaposed by the sharp teeth nipping at his lower lip and pulling until he whimpers into Chan’s mouth.
Chan licks into his mouth like a man starved, like now that he’s had a taste, he can’t possibly dream of devouring anything else. Clouds fill Felix’s head, keeping him afloat as Chan pulls back to breathe and thumbs along his bottom lip, tugs it down and watches it spring delicately back into place.
“You are so…”
Felix doesn’t need to know what Chan thinks he is, right now, he just needs him close. He cuts the elder off with a soft kiss, unable to hold back his grin when Chan huffs out a laugh and dives back in for more. They push and pull at each other like waves on the shore. Felix digs his nails into Chan’s thighs, drawing a hiss from the other. His hands continue on their path until he can feel the hot outline of Chan’s cock through layers of fabric. He presses the heel of his palm down and swallows Chan’s responding groan.
The hands on his face slide down his jaw, his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Strong arms wrap around his back, arching Felix backwards as far as he’ll go as Chan leans in deeper, cradling Felix like he’s something precious.
He feels safe and cared for. Protected. But above all he feels wild, frenzied, famished for more.
Felix whines and runs his fingers along the waistband of Chan’s pants, so eager to touch and feel and see as much of the elder as he’s allowed. He wiggles his hips, groans at the lack of pressure on his cock, trapped and leaking in his shorts. It’s not until he dips his fingers below the elastic that Chan pulls back, still panting and breathless, but that pained expression is seeping back into his features.
“Let me suck you off,” Felix begs, shy but determined to convey just how much he wants this. He paws at Chan’s hard cock again, mouth watering at the idea of feeling the weight of him on his tongue.
Chan scoffs, not cruelly, but in disbelief, like he can’t believe Felix is here, on his knees, asking for permission to please him. He shakes his head ever so slightly, “I don’t think–”
“Please,” Felix whispers. He can see that Chan wants this, he can feel it. Why–why is he holding back?
“Baby–”
A whine slips past Felix’s lips as he kisses Chan again, hard and bruising. Chan melts into him with ease, but slows them down, softens the kiss with his tongue, sucks Felix’s into his mouth and bites gently. It works as a balm to Felix’s desperation and he gives in. Chan is hot and cold and Felix doesn’t understand, but he won’t push it, won’t push Chan away.
“Okay,” he breathes, savoring the shared air between them. He cups Chan’s cheek with one hand and smoothes his finger over the furrow in his brow. “Okay.”
They stare at each other as they try to catch their breath. Felix is still wrapped up in Chan, decides he’s content to do just that. He slumps into the elder’s chest, kisses his cheek and his jaw. Tells him it’s okay, smiles against his soft skin and holds him back just as tight.
The pounding of Felix’s heart doesn’t subside.
Chan nuzzles into his neck, rubs the cool tip of his nose along the thin skin below Felix’s ear and places a few kisses there. Silence blankets them. Felix thinks he could probably fall asleep right here if Chan let him. But Chan is pulling away, just far enough to right Felix’s position and settle his hands on the younger’s waist. The movement presses Felix’s hips against the front of the chair and he gasps softly, shivers through the pulse in his core and flushes under Chan’s knowing stare.
“It’s alright,” Felix assures, trailing off. “I can just…”
Chan glances between Felix’s pink face and the obvious bulge in his shorts. If Felix knows anything, Chan is no doubt having an internal battle with himself. Arguing over what’s right and wrong. Felix doesn’t expect Chan to just say, “Fuck it.”
Without another word, he grabs Felix around the middle and hauls him up into his lap to straddle one thigh with a strength that sends new waves of heat curling in Felix’s gut. “I’ll take care of you,” Chan begins, “Would you like that, Lix?”
Fingers dig into the meat of his hips and Felix is putty in Chan’s hands, can only nod and whine and mumble please yes please until Chan cuts him off with a kiss that’s over too soon.
“Yeah?” the elder asks, lips tilted into a smug grin.
“Yes,” Felix sighs, “want you to take care of me.”
Chan kisses him again, warm and wet and messy and Felix never wants to forget the way it feels. To be surrounded by sun and ocean breeze and to savor the burn in his lungs as he dives underwater head first. They move frantically, desperately, all jumbled limbs and lighthearted giggles as they fumble and map out each other’s body with greedy hands.
Felix rises up on his knees when Chan teases over the hem of his shorts and asks, “This alright?” The waistband is slipped down his thighs, stretched over his knees and pulled off one ankle, leaving Felix bare from the waist down.
Chan raises an eyebrow.
Felix flushes deeper. “S’too hot.”
A hum rumbles through Chan’s chest as he runs a single finger up the underside of Felix’s cock, catching the beads of pearly precum from the tip and spreading the mess all the way down to the base. Felix needs something to hold onto, settles for bunching Chan’s shirt in his fists and arching into him, desirous nonsense floating past his lips.
“Shh,” Chan coos, “I’ve got you.” And he wraps a firm hand around Felix, strokes him from base to tip and looks so fucking pleased with himself when Felix chases his hand for more. It’s maddening, Felix needs, he needs something he can’t even name, but he forces himself to still, to listen and let Chan do what he wants.
Take care of him. Chan wants to take care of him.
Felix’s body trembles as Chan squeezes his cock once more and lets go. His lower lip wobbles pathetically as he holds back a sob, as he fights the need to buck his hips and find his own pleasure.
And then slick fingers move to trace Felix’s bottom lip and his mind quietens. He tastes his own salty bitterness on his tongue as it pokes out to lap at Chan’s pointer and middle fingers, coaxing them into his mouth to lick and suck and nibble. Chan’s eyes are dark, swirling with satisfaction as saliva leaks from the corner of Felix’s mouth. “That’s it, sweetheart.” His other hand grips Felix’s hip before sliding to cup his ass and dig the pads of his fingers into the muscle there meanly. “That’s it.”
Felix has done plenty of things with plenty of people, has given and received pleasure in droves, but never, never has he been so affected by another person’s touch, another person’s everything. He tries to rack his brain, to think of a time when he was wrapped around someone’s finger like this, but he can’t, too caught up in whispered praises and crooked grins.
Chan’s fingers slip from Felix’s mouth, covered in spit that runs down towards his wrist, and he wraps his hand back around Felix’s cock, slowly, one finger at a time. Felix keens into the elder, mouths at his neck with not-quite-kisses, and huffs out small breaths of air.
“Wann–I wanna,” Felix mumbles, too hot, too overwhelmed, hips twitching until he’s left trying to fuck into Chan’s tight grip. “Can I?”
“Can you what? Tell me.” God, Chan is so frustrating and wonderful and all-encompassing and Felix is going to absolutely ruin his sweatpants. If they aren’t ruined already.
But Felix is past words, past being polite. Instead, he wraps his arms around Chan’s neck and crashes their lips together, ruts himself down onto Chan’s thigh and moans something high-pitched and broken. Chan chuckles knowingly, presses his thumb into Felix’s slit and times the rhythm of Felix’s hips with the movement of his hand. Tells him to keep going, to make a mess, as long as he feels good.
And he does. Felix feels so fucking good, wants Chan to know. “Feels s’good. Perfect. Love it so much,” he slurs between wet kisses and bites into Chan’s plush bottom lip. Chan tenses under Felix’s hands, just for a second, and lets go of Felix’s ass to tangle fingers in his hair, pulling his head back at a sharp angle.
A growl seeps into Chan’s voice as he pants right against Felix’s ear. “Good boy. Doing so well. So pretty, baby.”
Felix cums with a sob, body sore and throbbing as he covers Chan’s scarred hand with his release. Watches, dazed, as it seeps between his fingers and squelches obscenely as Chan continues to work him through it, pushing him into an oversensitivity that quickly dances the line of pleasure and pain. He slumps against the elder, spent in both body and mind, and nuzzles against his cheek.
Chan is talking, quietly, asking him things he can’t wrap his brain around just yet. Felix absently registers a shift in their bodies, Chan leaning to the side and grabbing for something, wiping them both off before wrapping Felix securely in his arms and swaying them from side to side.
“–with me, Lix?”
“Mm?” Felix hums and pulls back to meet Chan’s eyes, blinks once, twice, until he can see the crow’s feet around them more clearly.
“There you are,” Chan says with a smile, brushes a finger under Felix’s eye and over the freckles on the bridge of his nose. “Hi, baby.”
Felix might’ve just fallen apart in Chan’s lap, but a hot blush still creeps down his neck. The world shifts back into focus, and suddenly everything feels so much bigger, like the walls they didn’t know they had around them have crumbled to the ground. It leaves Felix feeling bare, exposed, but he’s not…afraid of that. Not with Chan.
Even still, Felix knows they need to talk about what just happened. What comes next. If anything at all. He clears his throat, smiles shyly. “Hi.”
“Do you need anything? Water? Fresh clothes?”
Panic bubbles up in Felix’s chest and he looks down, sees the remnants of his mess on Chan’s thigh and wants to sink into the floor. But then he looks further, sees Chan’s cock still tenting his pants, and his priorities shift. “Oh, you–you didn’t. Do you want me to–”
Chan shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me.”
Felix frowns, wouldn’t feel right leaving Chan like this. “But I want to.”
A firm kiss is placed on Felix’s lips, assertive, final. “Not tonight, okay?”
“Okay.” Felix won’t push it. A small seed of worry plants itself in his chest, but he won’t push it. “Water would be great.”
The smile on Chan’s face is lovely, made even better when his dimples show. Felix pokes one and kisses the other, switches sides and repeats the process. Chan cups him under the backs of his thighs, thumbs tickling the sensitive skin not covered by the long hem of Felix’s shirt, stands with a well-covered groan and carries them to the kitchen. They share a glass of water as Felix sits on a kitchen towel to shield him from the cold countertop. Chan stands between his legs and promises to buy him a new one. Felix laughs and insists he should be the one buying it.
He contemplates asking Chan to stay the night, at least until the sun rises. He thinks about sleeping in Chan’s arms, head on his chest, hand over his heart, and a heavy longing swirls rampantly in his tummy. It’s only after the elder checks the seashell clock on the wall three times in a row and mentions leaving Banshee alone for too long that Felix nearly pushes him out the back door to take care of the pup. He almost succeeds too, but Chan stops short, turns around and pulls Felix in by the nape of his neck.
He kisses Felix slowly, thoroughly, like he too never wants to forget the feeling.
But he also kisses Felix like he knows it won’t be the last time.
“Goodnight,” he whispers, and the ghost of his breath on Felix’s lips makes Felix shiver deep in his bones.
“Get outta here,” Felix teases, playfully pushing the elder out onto the patio.
Chan grabs his hand and doesn’t let go. Stares at Felix like the stars in the sky mean nothing in comparison. “See you soon, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Felix nods, smiling like a damn fool. “Goodnight.”