Three weeks have passed since the party. Three whole weeks. Twenty-one days, a few hours, several minutes, and countless seconds. A considerable chunk of time, if you think about it. A hefty pile of days. So, it’s no wonder Felix is nearly floored when he wakes up, checks his phone, and finds a message from Chan among the recent notifications.

He thinks he must have dreamed it.

He bolts upright, his heart racing in his chest. This can’t be real. Did he die in his sleep, and is this some kind of posthumous hallucination? He blinks two, three times, the screen goes black, and he turns it back on.

The message is still there.

Felix presses the phone into the mattress and stares at the ceiling as if the Almighty Himself might appear to give him instructions on what to do. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he’s overcome with a kind of nervous frenzy. He’s afraid to find out what Chan has written, what grand revelation he’s come to after almost a month of silence.

Felix had ruled out the possibility of Chan reaching out again. He’d been so convinced it was impossible that he’d stopped thinking about it after about ten days. And yet, here we are. The unexpected hits him again, and Felix is thrown off balance. Why do these things always have to happen to him? Why couldn’t he have a boring life like so many, so very many others?

“Fuck…” he curses under his breath.

He needs to take care of his basic bodily functions before reading the message and potentially slipping into a catatonic state. To make sure he’s not tempted to read it before he’s truly ready, Felix leaves the phone tangled in the sheets and heads to the bathroom.

After emptying his bladder, he washes his face and brushes his teeth. He lifts his head slowly, almost theatrically, and meets his own eyes in the mirror. His arms are stiff, his hands gripping the sink. His pale face is dotted with freckles, but they’re overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. The night before, he’d worked at the convenience store until late, and by the time he got home, showered, and ate something, it was already way past bedtime.

He drinks a coffee with all the calm in the world. He sips it almost as if he’s torturing himself. On one hand, he wants to rush back to his room and read the message; on the other, he thinks Chan doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged right away. He deserves to feel ignored. He finishes the cup of coffee and is grateful he gave himself time to think before diving headfirst into his phone.

Now he knows what he has to do.

He goes back to his bedroom and picks up the phone. He doesn’t open the chat with Chan—first, he turns off the internet connection entirely, and for good measure, he switches on airplane mode. Only then does he open the message. This way, Chan will never know he’s seen it.

[I need to talk to you. Tell me what shift you’re working today, I’ll pick you up after work.]

Felix blinks a couple of times.

He hadn’t set any particular expectations, but… this still catches him off guard. And then some.

What an asshole.

He disappears for twenty days, doesn’t even check in to see if Felix is okay, and now, without so much as a polite greeting, he demands to see him?

Jerk.

Felix exits the chat and turns the internet connection back on. He’s glad he didn’t give Chan the satisfaction of seeing the “read” receipt. He has no intention of replying, let alone telling him what his shifts are. He doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want to talk to him, and whatever Chan has to say, he doesn’t want to hear it.

Or does he?

Okay, maybe he does want to hear it. But not now. He wants Chan to sweat a little for the chance to talk to him. He wants him to stew, to wonder if Felix is alive or dead, if he hates him or is open to dialogue, things like that.

His stomach churns with anger.

It’s almost eleven, and he starts work at two. As expected, that message has left him sluggish and useless. Felix throws on some clothes haphazardly, but he can’t stop thinking about the nerve Chan has to make such demands. He ties his hair into a low ponytail, pulls the drawstrings of his oversized gray hoodie, and slips on his favorite sneakers, which, even though they’re a bit worn out, are still the most comfortable choice by far. Then he grabs his apartment keys and opens the door.

Chan is standing there, arm raised as if he’s about to ring the doorbell.

Huh?

“Lix—… Hi. I called your friend, Jisung. He told me you haven’t been staying with him for a few weeks now.”

Felix looks Chan straight in the eyes and… feels anger. More anger than surprise. The surprise barely registers. It’s true what they say—you never really know someone. He had no idea someone like Bang Chan could be so shameless.

“I have to go to work. Move.”

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Chan says, furrowing his brow. “I know you have to go to work. I’ll drive you.”

“No, thanks. I’ll take the bus.”

“You’ll be late if you take the bus.”

Felix pretends to check the time on his watch. “No, I’m perfectly on time for the next one. Get out of my way, Chan.”

But Chan stretches out his arm, blocking Felix’s exit. Felix’s eyes widen. Is he serious? Does he want a punch in the face or something?

“Please… don’t make me lose my patience.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh no. Anyway.” Felix tries to duck under Chan’s arm, but Chan takes the opportunity to grab his shoulders and gently push him back into the apartment, then closes the door behind him.

“Listen to what I have to say, and then I’ll leave.”

“For Christ’s sake…”

“Lix.”

“I’m about to go to work. I have a twelve-hour shift waiting for me. Twelve hours, Chan. I know you’re too rich to understand what that means, but I assure you, for normal people, it’s no small burden. Do you really want to make it worse with this? What kind of mood do you want me to show up in?”

“You’re being an asshole,” Chan sighs. “Stop treating me like this. I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“No.”

“Fine. Get out of my apartment, Chan. I have no intention of hearing a single word you have to say. Leave me alone,” Felix says with a calm and clarity he didn’t even know he was capable of. He walks to the door and swings it open, waiting for Chan to have the decency to get out of the way, but he doesn’t budge.

“I need you to do it again.”

Felix blinks. If Chan had grown a second head, Felix wouldn’t have been half as stunned.

“…What?”

“I need you to dress up as Lizzie. Again.”

If he had any doubts before, he’s now almost mathematically certain.

Chan is messing with him.