Alcohol is just alcohol, and whoever calls it liquid courage is full of crap. Felix doesn't feel any braver as they reenter the crowded hall. The place is filled with high-ranking men and women wrapped in outfits so expensive they could easily equate to Felix's yearly earnings. Painted faces, styled hair, beards meticulously shaped to appear symmetrical and full. Felix fixates on these details as they cross the distance to Jennifer. For him, it feels like walking the plank, teetering on the edge. Whatever he'd anticipated for this evening had been swiftly dismantled. Reality had put him back in his place rather quickly.

What did he think he was? And more importantly, why does he still cling to the delusion that he means something to Chan? Why does he still think of him as his best friend? These questions swirl in Felix’s mind as his eyes meet Jennifer's cool, scrutinizing gaze, sizing him up like some kind of circus sideshow. No one could buy into this charade—only Chan could be foolish enough to believe it. If Felix could open a trapdoor beneath him and disappear, he would, without hesitation.

“Jen,” says Chan, his voice flirtatious. Felix loathes it. Chan has this habit of giving everyone nicknames. Jen, Lix. Why does he do that? Maybe it's a way to force a connection where there isn't one. People inevitably feel closer to someone who comes up with unique names for them. Or maybe it's just Felix—because he's been in love with Chan his entire life?

He's had too much to drink. His thoughts are tangled, and he misses the first part of their conversation, realizing he’s expected to say something only when Chan's grip on his arm tightens. Felix blinks. What were they doing again? Oh, right—introductions. Felix doesn’t speak. He stretches his lips into a smile and tilts his head to the side.

“I didn’t think you believed in relationships,” Jennifer says then, shifting her gaze from Felix to Chan. “…I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”

It takes Felix a moment to realize Jennifer is being sincere. Surprised, yes, but sincere. She also seems bored by the whole thing, glancing around as if searching for someone to escape to—probably her boyfriend. Felix realizes Jennifer isn’t enchanted by Chan at all, isn’t remotely jealous, and doesn’t even seem slightly interested in his relationship with Lizzie. And that fact pleases Felix perhaps a little too much, forcing him to lower his head to hide the grin spreading across his lips. Chan, on the other hand, looks distinctly irritated.

“Lizzie is special,” Chan says, doubling down. His hand clamps onto Felix's hip, making him gasp. Fingers play with the creases in his dress, the fabric rubbing against his skin. The sensation feels amplified in Felix's mind, as if all his nerves have converged on that single point where Chan's fingers touch, explore, probe, brand him. Lizzie is special. Felix’s treacherous heart ignores the fact that he's angry with Chan and starts beating harder all the same.

“I’m sure she is—it was nice seeing you and meeting your… girlfriend. But I really must go find Jacob—”

Her red-lacquered lips smile for a moment before her head of dark curls bounces away. Her perfume lingers even as she departs, her heels clicking against the polished marble in dramatic punctuation. Chan is left standing there, frozen. He’s not used to rejection, and this one must have stung.

A friend—a real friend—would feel bad for him. They’d tell him she’s a stuck-up snob and not to give her a second thought, that he could definitely do better. Felix, instead, revels in the small victory. For a moment, he allows himself to imagine taking Jennifer's place, though he doesn't even know what logic brought that thought into his mind—perhaps the logic of the wine and nothing more.

“Don’t mind her,” Chan says, as if Felix could think about anything other than the boy who still holds him like there’s actually something between them. “She’ll come around. She always does.”

Felix presses his lips together. Did he want to know that? Absolutely not.

He spots a waiter, snags a glass of wine, and takes a few gulps. Chan sighs in exasperation when he notices. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough for tonight?”

Screw that, Felix thinks. Considering what I’m dealing with, I haven’t even had half of what I deserve. He doesn’t say it, though. How could he? Chan’s lips are suddenly so close to his ear that Felix doesn’t even register when it happened. He only knows that, for a moment, they graze his earlobe, and the world seems to explode.

“Care to keep up the act a little longer?”

No.

Never.

This game should’ve ended an hour ago.

In fact, it never should’ve started.

It’s all wrong—every last bit of it.

There’s no way they’ll come out of this unscathed. Their friendship will crack; it’ll be a disaster.

It already would be if the party ended now. Why make it worse?

No way. Absolutely not.

Felix wants to say all of these things, but for some reason, his mouth says, “Yes,” and nothing else. Chan pulls the glass from his fingers, turning it to face the stain of gloss Felix's lips left on the rim. Then Chan presses his own lips to it, drinking the last sip of wine. Felix watches the scene, horrified.

But it’s a kind of horror that heats his insides and makes his knees feel weak, as if he might collapse at any moment. He’d probably just start crying if that happened.

Chan hands the empty glass to a passing waiter. A second later, his hands are on Felix’s hips, their eyes locked as though some magnetic force binds them. Chan is acting—he’s made that perfectly clear. But it’s hard to remember when you’re living the best moment of your life. Felix is hypnotized. “May I have this dance?”

Shit.

Felix would laugh like an idiot under any other circumstance, but not now. Now, he can’t. Now, he believes it. He’s officially too deep into the role to allow himself to crack. Unofficially, he’s so hopelessly in love that if Chan told him to jump off the terrace, Felix would take a running start. “No one else is dancing,” Felix points out.

Chan chuckles. The sound is low, rough, flirtatious. It’s absurd. Felix wonders if he’s hallucinating all of this and is, in reality, in some kind of wine-induced coma. He almost hopes so. Then Chan speaks again: “Then we’ll be the first.”

They move. Felix doesn’t even know where they’re going, but he can’t stop the momentum. They reach the center of the hall, and Chan says, “Put your arms around my neck,” and Felix complies. Then Chan turns to someone, makes a few gestures, and the lights dim. Felix is suddenly sure he must have hit his head somewhere. This can’t be real. It’s all too unreal.

“I’d like to dedicate this dance to Lizzie,” Chan announces loudly. “My muse, my inspiration. And I’d like to invite all of you to join us. Our musicians will play for us as we dance in the name of love.”

Felix snorts. He can’t. It’s too much. Even Chan smirks. The moment is embarrassing and ridiculous. Someone laughs, but then a couple of pairs step forward. The music starts. Felix moves his feet awkwardly, not following the rhythm, but it doesn’t matter now. He never claimed to be a good dancer. “You’ll pay for this,” he says, smiling.

“Shut up,” Chan murmurs. “You’re having fun.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you do one more thing for me?”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t I done enough for you?”

“You’re right, but—” Chan’s grip on his waist tightens as they turn. “Look toward Jennifer. Is she watching us?”

Felix bites the inside of his cheek for a moment, then scans the room for Jennifer. She’s not paying them any attention. She’s laughing with a guy, touching her hair flirtatiously. Felix pulls Chan closer. “She can’t take her eyes off us. She must be burning inside.”

“Perfect,” Chan grins, his hand brushing Felix’s back, sending a shiver down his spine. Felix can’t take it. He just can’t.

“We could deal the final blow,” Felix murmurs, his breath laced with alcohol, his eyes darker, more liquid than usual. But Chan doesn’t notice. He looks intrigued.

“Really? How?”

Alcohol is just alcohol, and whoever calls it liquid courage is full of crap.

And yet Felix lifts a hand to place it on Chan’s nape.

And yet Felix ignores his friend’s widening eyes as he closes his own.

And yet Felix presses his lips to Chan’s in a nearly violent kiss that quickly becomes softer, more calculated.

Felix’s tongue brushes against Chan’s lips, and he begins counting the seconds before Chan shoves him away and calls him a fag.

One, two, three.

Four.

Five.

Chan’s tongue brushes against his.