If someone had flung Felix to another planet with a massive slingshot, he’d probably feel less out of sorts than he does now, just sitting in Chan’s car. How many times has he been in this car? Too many to count. Yet he’s never felt like this before—never. It’s as if his blood is prickling inside his veins, his legs itching to bounce all over the place, settling instead for a jittery, rhythmic tremble.

But why?

One reason could be that Felix is dressed as a woman. The hem of the dress pulls tight around his thighs, the padding itches, the wig is suffocatingly hot, and the high heels are giving him blisters in places on his feet he didn’t even know existed. It’s not exactly the most comfortable outfit, nor one he feels remotely at ease in.

He’d known it would be hard from the moment this punishment dropped on him like a hammer. But wearing women’s clothes is nothing compared to the second reason the drive feels so strange—or at least strange according to Felix’s already warped perception.

It’s how close they were just before.
How close they’ll likely be at the party.

Both thoughts make Felix feel like he’s about to drown in his own nervousness.

It might be easier to deal with everything if Chan looked as tense as he feels, but he doesn’t. Not even a little. Chan drives casually, like there’s nothing unusual or insane happening. If he’s bothered by the situation, he doesn’t show it. Not one bit.

Billie Eilish sings softly in the background. Chan silently mouths the words, his full lips moving to the rhythm as his dark eyes stay focused on the road. Felix watches him and wonders how they’d look to an outsider—someone who knew what was bothering one and what the other was oblivious to. This imaginary observer would reach two obvious conclusions: Chan is an idiot, and Felix is an even bigger idiot.

Why did he agree to this?

Felix reaches out to touch the fabric of the car door, running his fingers over it before sliding them onto the plastic beneath. Simple, calculated gestures that give him the illusion of calming his agitation. Is this the chance of a lifetime or the beginning of eternal damnation? He’s not sure yet, but he knows he’ll have the answer before the night is over.

How is Chan so unfazed?
How can he not think, even once, that taking his best friend to a party to pretend he’s his girlfriend is at least a little strange?
How can he not feel nervous about faking so much intimacy with him?

Felix pulls his knees closer and cracks his knuckles, locking his index fingers beneath his thumbs. Thinking and overthinking won’t lead anywhere except to more tension. He needs to clear his mind. So, he looks at the billboards, the neon signs, the motorcycles passing them, and the pedestrians stopped at traffic lights with their eyes glued to their phones. He sees all these things, but none of them register because his mind keeps circling back to that mirror.

The mirror where he saw his reflection next to Chan’s.
Where Chan placed his hands on Felix’s waist.
Where Chan whispered that they looked like a real couple.
Where—

Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.

He has to banish that thought immediately before it’s too late. He’s dressed as a woman, for God’s sake! If anything “woke up” down there, it would be impossible to hide. He bites his lower lip and lowers his gaze to the strange, definitely-not-feminine shape of his knobby knees.

The problem is, even if someone smacked him over the head with a shovel, that moment would still be the best of his entire life. Maybe someone did hit him with a shovel, and he’s too dazed to notice. That’s why he doesn’t feel the impact, the pain, the agony. No. All he feels is adrenaline. The feverish anxiety of wondering what will happen next. The intoxicating thought of Chan’s warmth pressing against him, his lips brushing his ear, his husky voice sinking into Felix like a spell.

“We look like a real couple.”

That phrase will haunt his dreams.
It’ll invade his nightmares and his wet dreams, of that he’s certain.

How will he live a normal life now?
How will he treat Chan the way he always has?

He already feels like it’s impossible to share the same air as him without feeling completely lost. A wise person would get out of the car and say, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m going home.” But Felix isn’t a wise person. Felix is a desperate person. Desperate for something—anything—from Chan. And he’s never had an opportunity like this before.

So yes.
Maybe tonight will be the grave of their friendship.
But it was bound to happen eventually, right?
Better for it to happen like this.
Maybe he’s even lucky.
Not every friend-zoned idiot can boast of a blessing like this.

Chan pulls into an underground parking garage, and the shift in lighting is enough to snap Felix out of his spiral. The bright white neon lights make it impossible to slip into daydreams. Suddenly, everything feels sharp again. The details of the car stand out clearly.

“We’re here,” Chan says, maneuvering into a parking spot marked with white lines. The tires squeal against the smooth floor.

“This isn’t going to work,” Felix blurts out.

Chan looks at him, raising an eyebrow, then presses his thumb against the red release button on his seatbelt. With a sharp click, the belt retracts. “You freaking out, Lix?”

“Yes,” Felix answers bluntly. He’s grateful Chan asked that and not something else because Felix is so out of it right now that he’d blurt out the truth no matter what. He doesn’t think he’s in a state to lie to save himself. “It’s obvious I’m a guy. Your parents will think you’ve lost your mind. Or worse. What if they think you’re gay? Have you considered that?”

“Oh no,” Chan says, completely unimpressed. “What a tragedy. How will I survive?”

Felix’s eyes widen slightly. So Chan wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t bother him. It’s not something that worries or disgusts him.

That’s... good.
Right?
He hopes so.

“What—what are you saying? Of course, it’s a problem. Especially since it’s not true, and—”

Chan reaches toward Felix. Felix holds his breath. When Chan presses the red release button on his seatbelt, he feels like a complete idiot. What was he expecting? Whatever it was, he needs to keep breathing. Even though Chan’s face is now close. Dangerously close.

Chan is watching him.
Felix feels like a mouse in a cage.

“Stop freaking out. And anyway, no one will ever guess. That you’re a guy, I mean. You really do look like a pretty girl, Lix.”

Felix feels like all the air is sucked out of the car. He turns his face away. Too much. It’s all too much. Without thinking, he grabs the door handle and yanks it. “Let’s just get out,” he says, his voice almost icy, composed. Then he slips out of the car. He swears he sees Chan smirk before he escapes. Or maybe it’s just his imagination. Or his madness.

He’s losing it. Obviously.
And it’s a process that can’t be reversed.

Now that he’s outside, he feels a bit better.
Chan’s scent isn’t muddling his brain anymore, and the cool air is taming his racing thoughts.

The sound of the car door closing is followed by Chan’s footsteps. “Follow me,” Chan says, walking ahead. Felix follows. In heels, he feels like a clumsy dinosaur. Chan glances back at him and exhales a small laugh. “You were less awkward earlier.”

“Shut up,” Felix hisses. Chan laughs again and moves beside him, sliding his arm under Felix’s.

“Hold onto me.”

Shut up! Felix thinks again, his heart pounding.

It takes him a while to walk somewhat steadily. They stop in front of an elevator, and when the doors open, Felix doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not that there’s another couple inside. She’s gorgeous, slim, stunning. Felix doesn’t compare. But no one seems to notice anything unusual—no stares, no curiosity. Felix wonders if maybe Chan is right. Maybe he really does look like a girl.

The problem will be his voice.

He decides to speak as little as possible.

When the elevator doors open again, Chan’s hand slips into his. Felix dies a little inside. The warmth of his palm, the length of his fingers... Felix laces his fingers with Chan’s as they walk toward the door.

“They’ll know the moment I open my mouth.”

“Then I’ll do the talking.”

“I can’t stay silent all night.”

“Can you talk in falsetto?”

Felix raises an eyebrow.

“I’d sound ridiculous.”

“Try it.”

Felix rolls his eyes and clears his throat. Then he pitches his voice higher. “Like this?”

“Ugh. Awful. Try again. Use your throat, not your diaphragm.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I said I can’t—”

“Just try,” Chan insists, squeezing his hand tighter.

So Felix tries again, making his voice higher and speaking from his throat. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Chan’s girlfriend.”

... Okay. Not perfect. But okay. He sounds like a woman with a deep voice.

“Perfect,” Chan says, smiling. “See, you little idiot? All it took was trying. Now stop worrying. Let’s go.”

Chan’s hand moves to the doorknob, and he pushes the door open.

The party begins.