┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 🔔 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

L'emplacement: 70 rue de Chronosaurus
Le temps: 15:30

The mind's defense force is an odd troop of compulsions and incomplete thoughts—cut off before logic could have its way to reintroduce the suppressed reality. These soldiers would not think before commanding the muscles to move, the blood to rush to the body parts that would act on impulse rather than reason, and the brain to ignore the depth of foreseeable regret if respective actions were taken.

These troops would fight blindly on the battlefield, shooting without aim, ignoring the sting of bullets to their skin with the rush of adrenaline, foolishly getting caught up in the detonation of their own grenades. They'd cause outbursts in the calmest of conversations, ineptly eager to defend, to prove their cause to be the most faithful, their twisted version of the truth to be the most correct.

These troops care not that they are holding up the sanity of their general as a sacrifice for their recklessness, as long as in the moment, the depth of their sorrows is forgotten. They prefer to deceive and pretend, to induce forgetfulness at the moment with their swords of distraction and shields to avoid the strike of resistance from an external party.

What complicated wording for a simple concept; an odd analogy to answer the questions: To what extent might a man go to remove the ills of life from his mind? How much or how little would he be willing to sacrifice for a moment of peace? What value would he take away from whatever or whoever it was that would entertain his misery?

Getting so caught up in Felix's touch, his smell, his skin and his voice and his eyes and his entire presence beneath the broader frame, Chan had forgotten about the patches that had deepened in color on his skin. But Felix's bright eyes couldn't miss them, and his alert mind couldn't keep his tongue from asking questions, from growing angry at Chan's immediate defensiveness.

Two days had passed since their exchange. Two days of sulking, on Felix's part. Two days of thinking back and trying to make sense of it all. Two days of dissecting the center of their relationship to understand whether it was worth the effort; whether it had enough life to sustain them both, or if it was the one draining the life from their hearts.

Florian observed Felix's distance, his lack of appetite, his forced smiles, and his robotic politeness. But he didn't inquire, seeking peace for himself and his family in Felix's isolation. He figured that the boy might be better off solving his ungodly issues on his own, and soon enough he'd find his way back to the light.

His bond with Chan was one that he would miss. But he was a grown man, he thought. There was more to life than longing for what could no longer be.

The afternoon was a quiet one. The silence in the house was a breeding ground for Felix's persisting frustration, and the view outside of his window was fuel for his unhappy imagination. People, walking the streets. Buildings; made meaningful by pure feelings and habitation. It all facilitated his reflection and Felix concluded that he needed to talk to Chan.

It was then or never.

That was a man that he loved despite whatever secret he was hiding. He left his heart in Chan's motel room, and it was about time he went to check on it. It was about time they solved their issues and worked out the problems that their relationship was supposedly built on.

Felix pulled a black turtleneck over his head, checked the halls to safely assume that his parents were having a nap, and then carefully closed the door on his way out. He took a deep breath in, felt the breeze shuffle through his thin strands of hair, and exhaled.

"I could start by saying... hm... hey Chan. Hey Channie? No, Chan. We should talk?" Felix mumbled as he walked, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. "I could apologize for avoiding him when I'm the only one who can really reach out." He frowned, feeling guilty for staying away from Chan for so long.

Was he worried? What were his thoughts of Felix like since their argument? If he truly loved Felix as he claimed, he must have been heartbroken. He must have felt so hopeless, considering that going up to Florian's doorstep would have been some sort of death wish.

Did he cry? Did he sit and wonder whether Felix truly loved him? Did he lose his appetite or find it difficult to fall asleep?

Or did Chan go out again? Did he locate Elizabeth to sleep with her again? Or some other beautiful woman? Someone more admirable and feminine than Felix? Someone more mature? More worth his time?

Felix fought back tears. Deep breaths and long blinks helped him to keep his composure as he drew nearer and nearer to Chan's motel.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds as he stood in front of Chan's door, holding his breath until he could feel the force of his heartbeat behind his chest, and exhaled so deeply that some droplets of saliva flew past his lips.

He knocked; once, twice, three times.

A small smile opposed the resistance of his cheeks when he noticed the knob being turned. "Channie," he started, but the smile that was growing dulled much quicker than its birth. Yes, Chan had dark hair, but that person's was too black to belong to him. Chan's skin was paler, his lips plusher, his jawline more defined. Chan's cheeks housed dimples, unlike the roundness of the man's behind that door.

Chan's nose was fuller, and when did he ever linger behind closed doors with a T-shirt? He was always either shirtless or in a vest. That was the Chan that Felix knew.

His mind ran with the scene; was this Chan's new lover? He looked nothing like Felix. From the hair length and color to the size, to the lack of freckles. Was Chan lying about his love for Felix's freckles all along? Was Chan lying about his love for Felix?

He couldn't stop the tears from glassing over his eyes, hurt at the implications of that young man opening the door of Chan's motel room.

"Hello there," the man spoke in French. Felix arched his eyebrow, involuntarily sending a tear sliding down his cheek. Chan was not the best at French, from what he knew. He couldn't have been lying about that too, could he? "How may I help you?"

"You are not Christopher," Felix stuttered. "Do you, perhaps, know Christopher?"

"No," the man said. "My apologies, you must be mistaken."

"No problem," Felix answered, still not fully convinced. "Have a pleasant afternoon. Sorry for bothering you."

"Thank you. No worries!"

Felix feigned a thin smile, wiping the tears off of his face with his sleeve. He left that door with more questions for Chan than he came. He checked to make sure he knocked on the correct one. He did. So where was Chan? But more importantly, why would Chan leave without telling him?

Where would Chan go?

Why would Chan abandon him?

Felix headed for the front desk, and in a tone as polite and managed as possible, asked, "Did Christopher Bang check out already?"

The lady at the front had to be in her early seventies. Her white hair was cut short, flowing down to a length just above the pencil-thick lens of her glasses. "Felix, correct?" She asked, and Felix nodded, hesitant, confused. "Christopher left yesterday, and he asked me to let you know when... if you showed up again. He asked me to give you this." She handed Felix a small envelope, To Felix written in cursive at the back.

"Also," she lowered her voice and leaned forward, indicating for Felix to come closer, "he said that he loves you. And he truly does, Felix." She smiled, warm and reassuring, like a mother. And Felix couldn't hold back the tears this time. He nodded over and over, wiping his sleeved wrist over his cheeks as he looked down at the envelope in his hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I- thank you. Have a great afternoon."

+ + + + +

The smell of his mother's stew cautioned Felix to maintain his composure as he opened the front door. He tucked the envelope in his pants, hidden under his shirt, and wore a fake smile for the woman in the kitchen.

"I went for a walk." He stood, out of respect, to speak. "I will be in my bedroom if you need me."

"Come here, Felix," said Caroline, her eyes warm and welcoming, urging Felix forward. She spoke softly; Florian must have still been asleep. "Do you fear your mother? I love you, Felix. Come, let us talk."

"Talk about what?" Felix asked carefully, leaning against the kitchen counter, palms braced on either side.

"Don't pretend," she hummed, sighing. "I am not deaf or blind. I see everything that is happening. I know that you and your father have spoken about the... Christopher situation. I also know about the altercation that they had. But I have not spoken to you about it, as my son."

"There is nothing to talk about, mum. I see my wrong, I apologize for my wrong, and we can move forward." Felix forced those words through his teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the paper tickling his abdomen. He wondered what words Chan took his time to write on those lines. How much time did it take him to write it?

Was there a promise of them seeing each other again? Soon?

Was there a promise to never stop loving Felix? Perhaps a simple explanation that he had an emergency back home to attend to, but he would be on the first flight back to Paris as soon as everything was resolved?

"Felix," Caroline placed her spoon down to face her son, calling his tired eyes to meet hers. "You must know that I am disappointed, yes. I was angry, even, only not as much as your father. But I know what love is." She sighed, unsure of if she should persist with her honesty.

She felt conflicted, at that moment. She wondered if her motherly empathy would contradict the beliefs that she was supposed to have. "I love you, Felix," Caroline said, her eyebrows furrowed, "and I want you to know that you are seen and understood. I do not support all of your decisions, but I understand. And I want you to know that you are not hated by your family. Your father... he is hardheaded. He feels more betrayed than anything considering the bond that he shared with Christopher... and I hope you understand that."

"Everybody wants me to understand them. But who understands me, mum?" Felix lets out without thinking, tears already welling up in his eyes once more. He closed them, unable to look at his mother. Unable to accept the warmth that she was radiating. Unable to allow himself to be lost in the eyes that always looked upon him with so much unconditional love. Because he couldn't trust it.

He couldn't trust himself to grow so comfortable with his mother that he might risk going into detail about his deep, deep love for Chan. About his adoration for the eyes of another, older man, how they shine when the sun glistens above them. About the pair of lips that had made his swell and darken, scarred with his skill. About the hands that had marked his skin by holding him so tight yet so tenderly. The heart that mirrored his beats.

The man that he loved.

"I understand you, Felix," Caroline held Felix's face with both of her hands, smiling when he opened his eyes again. "I do not have to agree with you to understand you. I am telling you that I do understand you, and I love you. I do not have to support your decisions to keep treating you like my son. My darling son. Your love is real, and I recognize that. I apologize for not expressing myself in this way sooner, even when things happened with Jisung..."

"Mum..."

"I've always been thinking, Felix. About whether I should live to appease the church and your father or be a mother. And I've chosen. So, take courage, dear. And in whatever decision you make, just know that you will always be loved."

"Thank you, mum. I appreciate this so much." Felix cried and hugged his mother so tightly, shedding more tears onto her shoulder, his limbs slack as she held him close.

+ + + + +

Felix opened Chan's envelope with trembling hands, his eyelashes damp with earlier tears, his lower lip clasped between his teeth. He breathed in, smiling a little at the thought of Chan, trying to remain optimistic about the letter's content.

✎

Dear Felix Lee,
            My sweet Angel. I feel guilty as I organize my many thoughts for this letter. I hope you are doing well, my dear. I know that you might feel confused, and you may have more questions now than at any other moment in your life. I must start by apologizing for leaving so suddenly, without warning you or without a proper goodbye. Please understand that this decision was truly hard for me too. I love you, Felix.

            I know that you feel like I owe you a detailed explanation for my defensiveness, but my love, please understand that some things are better left unsaid. However, like you, I analyzed our relationship and tried to project an end goal for us. But, just like you, I see nothing. And it pains me to admit this, Felix. It breaks my heart to materialize this truth with ink. I much prefer to believe that our love is enough to carry us through; to lift us above the laws, expectations, and stereotypes.

̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶ Please forgive me for my words unsaid, Felix. Please forgive me for touching you and feeling you and sewing our hearts together. Please forgive me for accepting your love, and for bruising your young mind with my inappropriate immaturity.

I love you, Angel. I do love you with all of my heart. I hate myself for the brevity of this letter. I have so much that I want to say. That I need to say. But I am a weak, weak man, Felix. And my hand is willing, but my mind goes blank when it comes to you. All that resides is love and adoration. And fear. Not fear that you would despise me if you knew. But fear that you would despise yourself, perhaps, for something that you have no control over.

Consider my secrecy as a manifestation of my love for you, Felix. Please.

Sincerely,
Chan.

✎

Felix turned the paper behind, looking for more, a puff of air huffing past his lips. Chan was unbelievable. What was the point of such a vague letter? Was there any truth behind the love that he claimed to have if he could not be honest with whom his heart belonged?

Felix scoffed, raking a hand through his hair before standing to grab a black-ink pen and paper. Anger and annoyance waterboarded the love that he felt to confess honesty in his lines. He'd mail that letter to Australia as soon as he was done.

And then he'd consider moving on from Chan; letting go of their liaison and accepting that they were never meant to be, that their mutual feelings were mere distractions; rough seas on a longer journey, hands held during strong turbulence that must let go when the calm returned—when all could think clearly.

✎

Dear Christopher Bang,
I frown as I write to you. For what purpose did your letter serve? I feel used, Chan. I feel like you took advantage of my naiveness, and now that you are satisfied, you have hurried back to Australia, leaving this pathetic letter behind.

What is a relationship without trust? What is love without honesty? You spew sweet words like an anthem, yet your actions contradict. You claim that you love me yet you keep such great secrets from me. You claim that you love me and then you flee the country and leave for me a few paragraphs that say so little in so much. You claim that you love me and yet cause me to feel so insignificant and exploited.

I am so confused, Chan. I feel so foolish to have risked so much for you, for us. I feel so utterly childish and stupid to have believed that we could have bloomed into something more. I feel so ashamed for giving in to your charm, for growing fond of your handsomeness, for carelessly grooming my heart to beat for yours.

Is it that you were married in Australia all along? Is that what you are too afraid to tell me? Are you a father of three? A murderer? A thief? Have you gone back to serve your sentence?

Would you believe me if I said that I would still love you regardless? That I would still stand by your side and hold your hand just so that we could remain together? Do you not understand how much I love you, Chan?

How will I erase the prints of your fingers from my skin? How can I remove the taste of you from my tongue? How must I exorcise the ghost of your lips from mine? How must I move on with no closure, Chan? Do you not see that this is torture for me? Do you not understand how much I have sacrificed, both literally and figuratively, just to call you mine even in secrecy?

I hope that you are happy in whatever you do, Chan. I apologize for not being enough to keep you here. I apologize for not being mature enough, or beautiful enough, or worthy enough for you to remain in my life.

Thank you for the times we shared.

Signed,
Felix Lee.

✎

Felix sighed in his tears as he folded the paper into an envelope, scribbling Chan's name and address on the back. He then hurried to the nearest post office, thankful for his mother's lack of question toward his haste.

He didn't even have the strength to reread the words that he wrote, trusting that a review would question their authenticity. He concluded that Chan needed to be faced with the rawness of his emotions. Nothing filtered, nothing assessed by the calm that came with forgetting what was felt in the heat of the moment.

+ + + + +

L'emplacement: 70 rue de Chronosaurus
Le temps: 22:30

Weeks passed, three, Felix growing more and more restless by the day. Was Chan truly done with him? Was Felix's letter one more object that Chan could use to look back and laugh? Was he holding it up to show his friends at the bar, joking about how he had that young preacher's son on his knees for another god?

Felix had mid-semester exams on the way and that's what he was supposed to be focusing on. He should have been studying and reviewing, not curled up in bed moping and replaying his moments with Chan behind his eyelids.

Was that how Jisung felt? He wondered. At least he had the decency to approach Jisung in person and reassure him that he wasn't the problem. He had the morality to be honest with Jisung, to be as transparent as possible with very little to wonder and assume on top of his evident heartbreak.

Sighing, Felix sat up from his bed, head spinning, messy hair flowing down in front of his eyes. His joints felt so weak, so strained to perform the smallest of movements. It was as though his heart grew too tired to pump sufficient blood to all parts of his body; only willing to do just enough to keep him alive.

Because was there any worth in shifting from the comfort of his bed when seeing his lover again was not promised? Why should he make any effort to shower or take care of himself when that meant risking the loss of his skin's memory of Chan?

Felix sighed and stood slowly, stretching his hands above his head and shivering when his back cracked. His parents and sister should have been asleep by that time, so he decided to go eat something substantial before his body gave up during the night.

Walking, barely dragging his feet with his steps, Felix stopped in front of the house phone when its rings startled his ears. Who could that be at such an hour? Felix frowned, taking the phone out of its holder quickly before the sound pulled his parents from their slumber and gave way to an unnecessary, uncomfortable conversation.

"Good evening," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "You've reached the Lee household, who am I speaking with?"

A huff of breath, a teary sniffle, words uttered in a desperate tone from a mouth that was most probably smiling from relief. "Felix, my angel."

Felix panicked, slammed the phone back on the wall, and stepped back as if he had just received a death threat. His eyes were blown wide, his chest heaving, his mind racing with questions.

Angel.

Only Chan. Only Chan could say that word in such a way that it meant something to Felix. But why Chan? Why after all that time? Had he grown tired of his abundance of men and women? Did he crave the thrill of sneaking around with a young, ignorant boy like Felix?

The phone started ringing again, pulling Felix from his trans. He swallowed, Adam's apple rolling, his gulp audible. Felix walked forward slowly, hesitantly, as if he were approaching a wild animal to be tamed.

He pulled the phone to his ears, silent, waiting.

"Felix, please don't hang up. Please," Chan pleaded, crying. Chan was crying. His voice lacked the confidence that he so frequently radiated. He sounded weak, strained, and tired. "Angel, I'm sorry," he coughed. "Please forgive me. Please forgive me for how I have hurt you."

"Chan..."

"Just listen, baby. I don't have much time. I just had to call you so you could hear my voice. You could hear me..." he paused, coughed again, groaning away from the mic. Felix could've sworn that he heard someone close by mumble you're doing great. "I love you, and I am so, so sorry for making you doubt that. For making you doubt me. For making you doubt yourself."

Felix held his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyebrows furrowed to an almost painful degree. "I miss you," he said.

"I miss you too, angel. I'll miss you forever. But I must go now."

"What? Chan, wait-" Felix was cut off by the beeping tone, and instantly he tried to call back the number. But no one answered. Once again, he was left with a dozen more questions than before.

Why was Chan crying? Why did he sound so distressed? Why was the call so rushed? Why couldn't they talk about their problems? What was it that they were too weak to solve together? Felix had never felt so powerless.

He dropped to his knees, back pressed against the wall, head buried in his arms. All considerations of eating were out the window; the window at which his sanity was now standing at the edge of. This was all mental and emotional torture, rippling into negative physical effects.

Where was Chan exactly?

What was he hiding? What mountain was so impossibly high that they couldn't cross it together So hopelessly dangerous that he couldn't even introduce the terrain to Felix?

+ + + + +

L'emplacement: Social Path Hospital, Sydney, Austrailia
Le temps: 16:43

"Thank you."

"No problem at all my dear. Are you sure you want to be left alone?"

"Yes, please."

"If that's what you want, Chris. Take courage, alright? You've done well. You have no unfinished business. This is just a transition."

"Thank you."

He wore a smile on his tear-stained cheeks. His fingers clawed at the bedsheet on either side of his body. Goosebumps littered his skin beneath the thin hospital robe that offered very little comfort.

He'd done his due. He'd provided the best closure that he could for the one that he loved the most.

Chan wondered if Felix had gotten his second letter already. The one that he sent just before he called Felix one week earlier. Chan wondered if Felix would only despise him more after soaking in the truth of his words. He sighed, coughing, eyes closed with his futile attempt to take deeper, longer breaths.

Everywhere hurt. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Parts within himself that he never knew existed, he felt incurable pain.

If only he could see Felix one last time. Felix, his angel. Felix, the preacher's son that he foolishly fell for, and more foolishly persuaded to fall for him, knowing that they would not progress into anything more.

How selfish.

Chan was only a man. A man who craved. A man who took in his weakest moments, hoping to fill his voids with someone who had nothing to do with his predicament.

Felix was not supposed to be a victim of his carelessness. Felix was not supposed to be holding on to him to face the recoil of his actions; recoil from a bullet that Felix had no hand in shooting.

Felix was not supposed to be hopelessly in love with a dying man.

Chan opened his eyes with the little strength that remained, gazing at the door that the lovely nurse had closed on her way out. He swallowed and coughed from his dry throat when the door began to open, slowly.

Chan's eyes opened as wide as they could, his dry lips parted, and his short breaths quickened.

So, Felix did get his letter?

Felix booked the first flight to Sydney to be with Chan in his final moments...?

Chan missed that sweet smile. That constellation of freckles. Those soft, soft hands touching his now thin ones. Those loving brown eyes that always looked into his with so much love.

Chan hated that Felix had to see him like this, stripped of his muscles, of the plushness of his cheeks; so skinny that not even his dimples were fully evident. He dreaded the reality of Felix's hopeful eyes facing his dull ones, only glistening when filled with tears. He didn't want to talk for Felix to hear his hoarse voice, weary. Dying.

"Channie," hummed Felix, sitting at the edge of Chan's bed, holding on to the elder's hand. "My Channie." He was smiling, warm and soothing. "My sweet, sweet Channie. I love you. I'll always love you."

"Angel," Chan whispered, tears running down his temple. "Thank you."

"No, thank you."

Chan smiled at last. It hurt, but it was so worth it. He squeezed Felix's hands with all the might that he had left, finally allowing his breaths to slow down. He could feel the force of his heartbeats in every corner of his body. It seemed as though the slower they got, the harder they were, pumping life into each part of his body one last time.

He let his eyes close on their own, still feeling Felix's hands in his, Felix's presence right beside him, guiding him to the door of the other side.

Felix, his angel.

Felix, his love. By his side in his final moments. Holding his hand. Whispering sweet, encouraging words in his ears, every sound fading out except Felix's.

Dying a lone man with a committed heart.

Every touch was fading, except Felix's.

Every taste, every sight, every smell, except Felix's.

Every memory except Felix.

Everything.

Is it not amazing what the mind can do in moments of weakness?

That letter would take at least two weeks to be delivered.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 🔔 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

[A/N]
Happy new year <3

Questions [Optional]
1. What do you think about Chan's decision to leave France without telling Felix in person?

2. What are your thoughts about Caroline and how she spoke to Felix?

3. What do you think about the vagueness of Chan's first letter? And what do you think about Felix's response letter?

4. Thoughts on Chan's hallucination of Felix being with him in his final moments?

5. General thoughts on the chapter/story progression?

6. Emotional Outbursts?