Chan is the first to step out of the car.

He opens the door, and in an instant, he’s outside. The sharp sound of the door closing pulls Felix back to reality. He presses his fingers against the red release button of his seatbelt, unfastens it, and steps out as well. The cold air of the underground garage hits his face. Chan walks around the car, heading toward the elevators, and Felix hurries to keep up.

They exchange only a few words. Even in the elevator, silence stretches between them. Despite the tension Felix feels building within him, Chan seems completely at ease, as always. Felix starts to wonder if all these worries exist solely in his own head—and they probably do. After all, between the two of them, the one with a guilty conscience is him.

The small display shows the numbers rising, climbing rapidly. Felix feels his stomach twist with dizziness. Chan lives ridiculously high up—on the twenty-third floor. The building where Felix lives barely has five floors, and he lives on the first because it was the cheapest option. 

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a long, well-maintained hallway bathed in soft lighting. The floor is covered by a long, dark carpet, and the walls are adorned with paintings by emerging local artists. Even the decorative plants seem like they’d have interesting stories to tell. There’s nothing in this building that doesn’t scream luxury and the wealth of its residents.

Chan unlocks the door, and they step inside the apartment.

It’s not the first time Felix has been here. He’s visited multiple times in the past, yet he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how stunning this place is. The polished marble floors, the glass walls offering a breathtaking view of Sydney, the dark strip of the ocean visible beyond the glowing skyscrapers. Chan’s choice of decor leans dark and minimalist, creating an atmosphere that’s both masculine and calming. You can tell it’s a single man’s home just by looking around. It might sound like a cliché, but the absence of any feminine touch is unmistakable.

Felix wonders if the same could be said about his place.

Probably not, considering his furniture is a chaotic mix of pieces left behind by the previous tenant and second-hand finds from Marketplace.

Chan kicks off his shoes, then commands Google Alexa to turn on all the lights. Shrugging off his jacket, he tosses it onto the leather couch. Chan’s physique is still something Felix could spend entire nights daydreaming about.

Better to focus on the decor.  

On the apartment.  

On the tiles.  

Not on Chan and his muscles.  

Absolutely not.

“It always gets to me, walking in here,” Felix says. “It reminds me just how different our lives are.”

Chan is silent for a moment. Then, turning to Felix, he looks him straight in the eye and asks, “Did they fix the pipe at your place?”

“Not yet. Apparently, it’s an old part that’s hard to find because they don’t make it anymore.”

“Still sleeping on Jisung’s couch?”

No. I couldn’t handle the back pain, so now we’re sharing his bed. Felix wonders how Chan would react to the truth.

“Yes, I’m still sleeping on his couch,” Felix lies.

“You should come stay here. This place is huge; you’d have a real bed, and you’d keep me company.”

Felix snorts as he walks toward Chan. “You’re not exactly short on company. I’m not a fan of the constant coming and going of people in the places I want to rest.”

Chan frowns. “How many people do you think I bring home…?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve never wondered. It’s not something I’m interested in knowing.”

The words slip out so naturally that for a moment, Felix wonders if he’s said too much. But Chan laughs, so probably not. If anything, he doesn’t find the statement strange at all.

“Go to my room,” Chan says, pointing toward the hallway. “You’ll find a bag—open it. Your outfit’s in there. Put it on and call me: I want to see if you’re convincing as a girlfriend.”

Felix flips him the middle finger but doesn’t argue further. He heads down the hallway toward Chan’s bedroom, shutting the door behind him. As promised, there’s a large paper bag waiting for him. He plunges his hands inside and pulls out a tight, sparkly dress in a vibrant flamingo-pink color.

“What the hell…”

Inside the bag are a pair of matching shoes, a set of jewelry, a wig, and even padding for his chest and hips. Felix wonders if Chan is okay. Like, what on earth possessed him to—Felix decides to drop it. There’s no figuring Chan out, and he’s not going to start now.

He strips off his clothes and begins putting on the ones Chan bought for him. He feels mortifyingly uncomfortable. Looking in the mirror, he feels ridiculous, like a clown or a sideshow act. Things improve slightly when he adds the padding—his body now has curves that might actually fool someone into thinking he’s a woman. Next, he adjusts the wig: it’s blonde, slightly longer than his actual hair. Felix positions it carefully. Finally, he puts on the jewelry. Without makeup and dressed like this… he has to admit it. He genuinely looks like a girl.

He’s speechless.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he doesn’t recognize the person looking back. He can’t decide if he likes what he sees; he only knows it’s strange… visually pleasing, sure, but far from comfortable. Better than he expected, but miles away from feeling natural.

On the heels, Felix walks like a baby dinosaur. He stumbles into the living room and stands in front of Chan, expecting him to burst into laughter. But Chan doesn’t laugh. He just looks at him. His dark eyes scan Felix from head to toe so intently that Felix feels suddenly exposed. He wants to cover himself, but that would be absurd.

“Well? How do I look?” Felix asks.

Chan stands up from the couch and walks toward him until they’re far too close. Felix holds his breath as Chan’s hands reach up to brush against his cheek. His fingers trace Felix’s cheekbones, then his jawline. Everywhere Chan’s fingers touch feels like it’s on fire.

“If I didn’t know you were a guy…” Chan murmurs, his voice so low it sends shivers down Felix’s spine. Their noses almost touch, and Felix stops breathing entirely. He’s frozen, unable to move. 

Then Chan laughs and steps back, shaking his head. “I’d say it works. And now…” Chan glances at the Rolex on his wrist. Of course, it’s a Rolex. “We need to go. If we’re late, my mom will never let me hear the end of it.”

“What? Right now?”

“When else? Tomorrow? Come on, grab your coat.”

“Wait—did you see how I’m walking? I look ridiculous! No one’s going to believe I’m a woman!”

Chan raises an eyebrow. Grabbing Felix by the wrist, he strides toward his bedroom. Felix stumbles after him, nearly twisting his ankles twice. Chan positions Felix in front of the mirror and stands behind him, his hands resting lightly on Felix’s stomach. Felix stares at their reflection, his mind spinning. Chan meets his gaze in the mirror, and Felix has no idea what to think or say.

“Look at us,” Chan says. “Look carefully.”

Felix stares at their reflection, but all he can see is the panic roaring inside him. They’re too close. Chan’s embrace is too much, too intimate, and Felix isn’t ready for this kind of contact. Not like this. He’s going to collapse in Chan’s arms, and Chan has no idea.

“We look like a couple. You have nothing to worry about. No one will realize you’re not a girl.”

Chan’s hands briefly caress his stomach before letting go, releasing him from that warm hold.

Felix might actually fall to his knees. He could do it, right here and now. He has no idea where he finds the strength to stay upright, not with the chaos erupting inside him. His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s in every vein of his body. 

This is madness.  

This isn’t normal.  

"Let's go. The party awaits."

If this is just the prelude...

Felix truly has no idea how he's going to survive the entire evening.