Chan wears sunglasses and a light white linen shirt. The sleeves are rolled up along his forearms, and a silver bracelet wraps around his wrist. He wears three rings—two on his middle finger and one on his index finger. They are thick, unpolished, seemingly handcrafted. Maybe he bought them at a fair, or from one of those seaside stalls that pop up in the summer.  

He keeps the window down despite the early morning chill, letting the fresh air blow against his face, ruffling his dark hair. His left arm is bent, elbow resting outside the open window, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. The radio plays Sarah McLachlan’s Black & White. All it takes is closing his eyes to imagine being somewhere else—back in the '90s, in a small town lined with golden maple trees, denim and flannel shirts everywhere, the scent of pumpkin spice latte in the air.  

Felix shifts his gaze away from the car, watching as the city fades into the countryside. Where there were once gray buildings and houses, there are now endless fields, scattered farms, cows grazing freely, flicking their long tails.  

They could easily be mistaken for two friends on a road trip—and in a way, they are. Maybe that’s exactly what Chan thinks, unaware of how much more complicated things really are. Unaware of just how deeply and irreversibly Felix is in love with him.  

Felix wonders if that’s truly the case. If Chan is really that blind, that oblivious, failing to see what’s right in front of him. If he thinks everything that happened at the party was nothing more than an unexpected detour, a slip brought on by too much alcohol, adrenaline, the need to release something buried deep inside. Sometimes, Felix believes Chan is nothing but a coward—pretending to buy into this charade because it’s easier that way. Because facing the consequences of what they refuse to say out loud would be difficult. Maybe even destructive.

Felix half-closes his eyes. His fingertips graze the cold glass as his thoughts stumble over one another in his mind. As pure as those thoughts might seem to him, it’s unfair to place the blame for their situation entirely on Chan. After all, if anyone has been lying in their relationship, it’s been Felix.  

And hadn’t he done it out of cowardice—the same cowardice he had just accused Chan of? That makes him not only a coward, even worse than the friend driving beside him, but also a hypocrite. He sighs.  

Chan wouldn’t bring up the topic even if it were glaringly obvious, because it’s not his place to do so. It’s not his job to drag Felix out of the closet he’s stubbornly locked himself in for years—so much so that he’s practically built a home inside it and settled in for good. That wouldn’t be fair. Maybe he’s just waiting for Felix to be ready to unload all the burdens weighing on his chest. Or maybe he truly is oblivious, genuinely believing that their fragile relationship is defined by a deep love, yes, but a purely platonic one.  

For some reason, between the two possibilities, Felix is more inclined to believe that they’re both desperately trying to protect Pulcinella’s secret. ***  

The airport starts to take shape on the horizon. Against the cloud-gray sky, massive planes ascend slowly, their wings blinking with steady, rhythmic red lights. Felix exhales a tense sigh—one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Chan. As he shifts gears to slow the car down, he asks, “What’s wrong? Getting cold feet?”  

Felix lets out a dry, resigned breath through his nose, equal parts exasperated and sarcastic. “I regretted this the second I said yes. You know, this morning I was this close to crawling back into bed and blocking your number?”  

Chan bursts into laughter—clear, unfiltered. Felix hates him for it, for how effortlessly that sound makes his stomach flip in his chest.  

“I wouldn’t have let you,” Chan says. “I would’ve dragged you into the car by the ears if I had to.”  

“Yeah, sure,” Felix rolls his eyes. “You can’t make my decisions for me, and you know it. When I set my mind on something…”  

He lets the sentence trail off, wondering how true it really is. He can’t recall many times when Chan didn’t get what he wanted. Maybe Felix likes to think of himself as tough, denying the obvious truth—he’s clay in Chan’s hands.  

But Chan doesn’t say that. He just shrugs. “You drive me insane. I always have to push to get what I want. We fight over everything.”  

“And yet, you always win,” Felix mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. He stubbornly looks out the window because if his eyes met Chan’s, the urge to act tough might disappear completely—or worse, grow so overwhelming that he’d become insufferable.  

“What can I say? Being a persistent pain in the ass is part of my charm. Deep down, I think you only give in out of exhaustion, not because I actually convince you.”  

“That’s exactly it. I told you no a hundred times, and yet, here I am.” Felix’s fingers skim over his seatbelt, absently stroking it before pulling it an inch away from his chest.  

“You’ll be glad we came in the end, you’ll see.”  

Felix shoots Chan a skeptical glance. “I highly doubt that.”  

“Stop being so cynical.”  

“The only thing keeping me going is that we’re heading to the Seychelles,” Felix continues. “I looked up some pictures on Google, and it looks like a literal paradise. One of those places where you ‘connect with your inner self’ and all that hippie crap Jisung is obsessed with.”  

Chan lets out a quiet chuckle through his nose as he pulls into the airport parking lot. Hundreds of cars sit under the pale morning sun, glinting like the surface of a dark winter lake.  

He takes the ramp down into the underground garage, tires screeching slightly against the smooth, polished floor. It takes them a few minutes to find an open spot. The parking lines are a deep shade of blue, and their spot is marked D-94.  

When Chan presses the ignition button, the engine dies into silence. Felix unbuckles his seatbelt and is the first to step out, heading straight for the trunk to grab his suitcase. Then he spots Chan’s.  

It’s… childish, to say the least. A hard-shell plastic case, completely covered in stickers of smiling pandas, some holding bamboo sticks, others waving cheerfully. Felix isn’t sure if he finds it funny or deeply embarrassing.  

When Chan reaches him to grab his luggage, Felix can’t resist a snide remark.  

“Didn’t know you were still eight years old.”

“My suitcase tells a story. Yours is plain and boring,” Chan replies, sticking out his tongue just slightly. Once the trunk is closed, almost out of nowhere, he adds, “I’m really glad you’re coming with me. You deserve a proper vacation. You deserve to see beautiful places and just relax.”  

Chan’s words are… kind. And Felix never knows how to handle kindness. The only thing he can do is respond with sarcasm—if only to ease the discomfort that inevitably creeps up on him.  

“It’d be even better if I didn’t have to dress like a woman the whole time.”  

Chan pushes his sunglasses up onto his head like a headband. Felix wishes he hadn’t. His heart immediately picks up speed in his chest.  

“Think of it as a small compromise,” Chan says before stepping ahead, walking toward the parking booth.  

It’s only a moment later that Felix notices Chan is carrying something besides his suitcase—a large white paper bag. On the side, printed in clear, elegant lettering, is the word DIOR. The temptation to ask what it is is strong, but for now, he bites his tongue.  

At the booth, an older man is busy with a crossword puzzle. He mumbles something under his breath, tapping his pencil against the counter before finally noticing them. “Oh! Good morning!” he says, startled.  

The check-in process is quick. Chan gives the license plate and model of his car, provides the parking section and the number of days they’ll be leaving it there, then pays a deposit and hands over the keys.  

Minutes later, they’re stepping out of the elevator, right into the heart of the airport.  

At that point, Felix nods toward the bag Chan is carrying. “What’s that? A wedding gift for your cousin?” He hadn’t even thought about the fact that showing up empty-handed might be a bit rude. Not that he really cares—he’s only here under duress.  

“Huh? No. I got my cousin a set of vintage-style kitchen appliances. This is for you.”  

Felix stops in his tracks for a moment. He almost hopes he misheard. “Why?” he asks immediately.  

“My uncle is picking us up from the airport when we land. You’ll already have to be Lizzie, and… I thought I’d get you something nice, you know, to make a good impression.”  

Felix blinks a couple of times. “You seriously think a normal person would travel in Dior?”  

“I have a classy girlfriend, what can I say?”  

Felix can’t even be mad. His emotions fizz inside him like wild, restless bubbles.  

“So, how about trying them on?”  

“Now?” Felix asks, baffled.  

“Of course. When else? We’re ahead of schedule anyway. This way, we can check in after and get it over with.”  

Easy for him to say. Felix is the one who’ll be walking around dressed as a woman while handing over a passport that clearly states he’s a man. Then again, it’s 2025—most people don’t care about that stuff anymore.  

He glances around until he spots the restroom sign, then snatches the bag from Chan’s hand. No point in complaining too much, right? He knew the deal—on this trip, he wasn’t Felix. He was Lizzie.  

“I’ll be right back.”

It’s embarrassing.  

Felix finds himself in the men’s restroom, squeezed into a push-up bra that’s crushing his ribs and a sand-colored dress that carves out a feminine silhouette he’s never had before. The thin straps leave his narrow shoulders bare, while the sweetheart neckline exposes his collarbones, where a pair of twin moles stand out like coffee stains.  

It makes sense—a couture dress like this is designed to hug a woman’s shape, to make her feel stunning. But Felix is almost uncomfortable with the reflection staring back at him. Now that he’s applied a hint of makeup around his eyes (because of course Chan had thought of everything when packing that bag), slipped on a long blonde wig, and glossed his lips with a sheer cherry tint, he looks like… someone he might have asked out for a drink.  

If he were straight.  

She’s pretty. Really pretty.  

Admitting it feels almost like a defeat.  

He clasps a delicate gold necklace around his neck, its pendant a small white four-leaf clover. He has no idea what brand it is, but it’s fine, elegant—heavy. And Felix knows from experience that heavy things usually mean expensive things.  

But the princess in the mirror disappears the moment he moves. He doesn’t walk like a woman, doesn’t speak like one. Because, at the end of the day, he’s a man, and dressing up doesn’t change that. Femininity is something deep in your spirit, something you just have, and Felix… doesn’t.  

He’s going to have to work hard to be convincing for the next ten days. If he manages to pull this off without anyone suspecting a thing, maybe he should start auditioning for acting gigs—because that would mean he actually has some talent.

He’s just finishing fixing his eyebrows with his fingers when a middle-aged man walks into the restroom. The stranger jolts, his reaction that of someone who thinks he’s made a mistake—like he’s accidentally stepped into the women’s bathroom.  

Felix straightens his back, grabs the Dior bag now stuffed with his boy clothes, and, without uttering a single word, strides out, leaving the bewildered man behind.  

Thankfully, Chan had shown some mercy, allowing him to travel in a pair of brown Converse instead of forcing him to teeter around in heels. A true blessing.

Chan is still there, standing outside the bathroom, phone in hand. He’s probably scrolling through social media, killing time. Felix definitely took his time in there—creating a small masterpiece like this took some effort. If the result turned out this good, it’s thanks to the countless seasons of Drag Race he’s watched. It’s because of those artists that he even knows the difference between blush and bronzer, between lipstick and lip gloss.  

When Chan finally looks up from his screen and sees him, his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Felix lowers his head, avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t want to know if Chan is impressed or unimpressed, if he thinks he looks cute or ridiculous. He just wants this embarrassing moment to be over so they can talk normally again as soon as possible.  

“Hurry up, or we’re actually going to miss our flight,” he grumbles, biting the inside of his cheek.  

“Ah, that tone of yours ruins all the magic…” Chan sighs, dramatically disappointed.  

Felix immediately bristles.  

“Forget it. There’s no way I’m already talking in a falsetto just because I’m wearing a skirt. The flight is long, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  

Oh, Chan had definitely noticed. Thirteen hours on a plane. Enough time to watch the entire extended edition of The Lord of the Rings and still have room for Gone with the Wind.  

Felix, in all honesty, hates watching movies on planes. Actually, he hates doing anything at all. The pressure changes give him splitting headaches, to the point where sleeping is usually the only option.  

Still, he brought a book with him—just in case, for once, things go differently, and he actually manages to read a couple of chapters without feeling like his skull is about to explode.

“You look amazing.”  

“Shut up.”  

“Hey,” Chan scolds him, but he’s laughing as he does. “It was a compliment.”  

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just told you to shut up,” Felix snaps back.  

After checking in their luggage, they follow the signs leading to their gate. No one seems to be giving them strange looks, though Felix is convinced they must look like the oddest pair—at least, that’s what he thinks. Not for a second does he believe they could pass as a well-matched couple from an outsider’s perspective. He’s sure they look like a rough, boyish girl walking alongside a guy who could easily be a magazine cover model for women’s fashion.  

“So… this is it,” Felix says nervously.  

Chan reaches for his hand. His warm fingers brush against Felix’s palm, and his heart shoots straight to his throat.  

“This is it,” Chan echoes.  

Oh, what a terrible idea this was…

*** The "Secret of Pulcinella" is a term used to describe something that, while officially hidden or confidential, is actually widely known or evident to everyone—often because it has been blatantly or unintentionally leaked. The expression originates from the Italian theatrical tradition, where Pulcinella, a character known for his naivety, often ends up revealing secrets that were supposed to remain undisclosed.