One thing Chan certainly doesn’t lack is courage. Or maybe it would be better to say nerve?
Sure, technically, Chan has no idea what’s been going on in Felix’s mind for over ten years, but the fact that there are unknowns in the equation doesn’t change the result.

And yet, Felix… What alternatives did he have? Throw a tantrum, push Chan away, and tell him he’s an idiot, completely incapable of realizing what the boundaries were and where they should be? Sure, that would have definitely been a valid alternative if the ultimate goal was to lose face, dignity, and probably even a friendship that had lasted a decade. Felix takes a slow breath. He tries to ignore the anger building inside him, aggressive, burning. He tames it like a circus performer with a lion, but he feels it crackling under his fingers, under the skin, touched by Chan’s hot breath. And even though he wants to lose himself in the damnation that breath means, his mind keeps returning to the face of the girl whose gaze he caught, if only for a second. Her look. Hers had been a fleeting, indecipherable glance. Was she disturbed by what she saw? Had Chan achieved his goal? At least it better have been worth it—Felix would still have to pick up the pieces afterward. At least Chan better get a fuck worthy of the name. He’d empty his balls and be happy—he didn’t care about the price Felix would have to pay for that to happen.

When Chan pulls away from his body, Felix's nose shifts toward the crowd. He lowers his face instead. He’s so pissed off he doesn't even know what to say—he just knows he has to keep his mouth shut, tight, or out will come a string of unrepeatable curses. And he wouldn’t have a way to justify them. Not a single reason.

"I'm sorry," Chan says, but it's with a playful, cocky tone. He chuckles as he lifts Felix’s chin with two fingers. Their eyes meet, but if Felix’s could kill, they would. "You didn’t take it badly, did you? I need you to act a little tonight. I—"

He would. Oh, he would love nothing more than to keep his mouth shut. Not let anything slip, not even a word. But he can’t. Not anymore. "You brought me here," Felix almost growls, "you made me dress like a woman, you made me wear this ridiculous wig, you let me humiliate myself like this under the excuse it was all for a bet, when it was really just to make one of your whores jealous?!"

Did he overreact? Maybe. Felix feels his ears grow hot all of a sudden. The anger surged back inside him with too much force for him to contain it. He realizes how absurd and ridiculous he must look in his friend’s eyes. If the roles were reversed, what would Felix have thought? Certainly nothing positive. Even from his own perspective, he can see that. His emotions are valid, and they always will be, but reacting like that… Felix wonders if he has even an ounce of the strength he’s convinced he possesses, or if the armor he thinks he wears is really just a blanket of tissue paper.

Chan’s forehead furrows. He looks at Felix as if a second head has sprouted from his shoulders, and Felix can’t exactly blame him for that. “What are you—,” Chan starts to say, but Felix cuts him off, shoving his hands against Chan’s chest, furious. He can’t control himself. It’s as if someone pulled the plug, and now the water has no choice but to gush out, relentlessly. “You’re a piece of shit. I’ve never felt more used and—”Chan’s hands stop on Felix’s shoulders. Felix feels his mind go blank. What’s happening? That’s the only question that forms in his head before Chan slams him against the wall. The impact is dull, but not painful. Felix is surprised. It’s the first time Chan has used force with him. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t escape that grip, even if he wanted to, even if he tried. And that makes him even more pissed off.

“Calm down, Lix. What’s with this sudden rage?! Shouldn’t this be—I don’t know, a good thing? The fact that you’re doing all this not just for some stupid bet, but to help your best friend?” The way Chan looks at him makes Felix feel vulnerable. As if those dark eyes have the power to pierce into his mind and read whatever they want. To draw information from him like hands scooping water from a well.

The best friend card is deadly every time. There’s no counterattack that can neutralize it. Once that card is played, the game is lost. Might as well pack up the dice and call it quits. Felix realizes there’s no answer he can give that will tip the scales in his favor. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He repeats that motion twice before he’s able to speak. “You should have told me. That this was the reason. You should have been honest and avoided messing with me. Instead, you kept it from me, and—… and who the hell is that—?”

“Her name is Jennifer,” Chan says, enunciating each word calmly, as if he’s talking to a fussy child.

“Jennifer,” Felix repeats. The name rolls off his tongue like a ball of thorns and rubble.

“We were together years ago. It was a short-lived thing,” Chan continues. Felix should be perfectly used to hearing Chan talk about his past relationships, but no matter how much he thinks he’s become immune to it, it always feels like daggers to the chest, straight to the heart. It hurts. But it’s not the kind of pain that turns into tears or despair—it’s a different kind of ache. An irritation that stings and feeds on the sense of inadequacy that lingers within him.

Felix tries to put two and two together. Too many things don’t make sense. His presence at that party, for starters. And Jennifer’s presence, for that matter. “And what is your ex, who you were with for barely any time, doing at a dinner organized by your parents?”

“Well…” Chan rubs the back of his neck. “We weren’t exactly together.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. Chan is uncomfortable…? Has the world started spinning backward, and Felix was too busy living his own drama to notice? He looks like a kid caught stealing cookies from the pantry. It’s one of those paradoxical situations where Felix isn’t sure if he wants to know more or just stick his fingers in his ears and start screaming to avoid hearing another word.

“It was more of a… clandestine thing. Under the radar. She’s my cousin’s girlfriend, officially. Has been for years.”

Felix starts laughing. It’s a hysterical, desperate laugh, a bitter one. He places his hands on Chan’s chest and pushes him away again. Chan doesn’t resist, stepping back to give him space. “Don’t judge. I care about my cousin, but—”

“Listen,” Felix says, stepping away from the wall. He needs air. A big gulp of air. And a large glass of red wine, too. “I don’t care about you, your cousin, or Jennifer. Really. It’s your life—your business. But I don’t want to be dragged into it. And today, you did just that—you dragged me into this mess, pretty much. Next time you want to use me as a pawn in your little hookup chess game, do me the courtesy of giving me a heads-up.”

Chan sighs and runs a hand over his face. "If you put it like that, you make me sound like an asshole."

"Breaking news: you are. And now," Felix says, pointing at the crowd, "if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a bite to eat. All this bullshit has made me hungry. And then I’m going straight home."

"Lix. We came in my car," Chan points out at that point.

"I’m taking the public transport home," Felix responds quickly. "I’m not wearing this stupid skirt for one more minute."

Chan’s hand grabs Felix’s, warm, soft, smooth. Felix’s brain short-circuits, and he focuses on those details, on that touch that makes him want to intertwine their fingers. But he can’t do it. Chan is his best friend—and even those two words are starting to lose meaning. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that never, not for a second, has he ever thought of Chan in any way other than as a friend. And Felix needs to stop living like he’s waiting for it to suddenly change—it won’t. He’s not a woman, and no wig or short skirt is going to turn him into something even remotely appealing to Chan.

He pulls his hand out of Chan’s grip.

"I’m going to grab a drink. Give me ten minutes, okay? Ten minutes. I need to calm down." Felix’s words are almost desperate. It’s as if he’s negotiating a compromise—but not with Chan. With himself.

Chan clenches his jaw for a moment, then sighs. The arm that just held Felix’s hand falls limply at his side, defeated. "Okay. I didn’t mean to piss you off, I swear—"

"I know," Felix says, more to cut it short than anything else. "We’re good."

"Yeah," Chan says, "We’re good."

And even though they both let it slide, neither of them truly believes that lie.