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70 rue de Chronosaurus

22:20

Love was an autocratic form of emotion. It subdued limbs to its instructions, and impulses to its desires, no matter how unrecognizable it might have seemed, for the time being. Love knew how to twist and turn and concoct any form of behavior that it was confident would serve as a truck to move all of its belongings into one's heart, where it would settle in to admire another from the grandest window.

But there was a thin line between panic and what could be defined as the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that was arrowed by love itself, from its camouflaged position within one's subconsciousness. The barrier stood with too little strength to withstand the current of the division, though. So, they took advantage of its permeability and flowed into each other; mixed.

The denial that love sent along to overshadow its journey, when merged with utter disbelief and fright and fear from impulsive actions, brewed the assumption of delusion. The chemicals toyed with the mind to such an extent that rationality objected to the existence of them both; too unrealistic. Too idealistic.

So, with the notion that nothing being felt was real, sanity opted to reject all possibilities and be convinced that the only logical reasoning behind what Felix was feeling was a misconception. Conflict buzzed in Felix's mind as he ran, and ran, with too-close breaths, open mouth, furrowed brows, and dizzy head. The happening of his lips' willing meeting with Chan's was trying ever so hard to lodge itself as a detailed memory in his mind but alas, Felix wouldn't let it. Could not let it.

The mere idea of indulging in the mouth's version of the valse musette with Chan Bang, of all the men that he could've chosen to risk what was left of his dignity with, was illogical. Impractical. Phantasmagoric. Felix felt delusional, convinced that his sanity had failed him to even allow such a thing to happen. To somehow enable him to enjoy that kiss, or whatever it was that he had done with Chan.

Felix held his chest as he approached the exterior of his home, panting, wheezing, closing his eyes, and searching the darkness behind his lids for any form of solution for his discomposure. Because Felix couldn't risk a confrontation with his parents for an explanation behind his breathlessness upon late return, as they'd ask of Chan, knowing that he had to have just come from the older man's company.

Felix's hands were still shaking, and clammy, but he'd managed to soothe his breaths and wipe the tears that he had no knowledge of until he touched his fac when he opened the front door of his home as discreetly as possible. And alas, a breath of relief huffed from his lungs at the dark interior, confirming that Florian and Caroline were fast asleep, and probably had been for the entire duration of Felix's absence.

That night held no strain of serenity, for Felix. Even as he attempted to find comfort, curled underneath his blanket; thick and grey, too-hot, Felix achieved nothing, but skin dampened by sweat, vest clinging onto his heaving chest due to the growing moisture. The pillow that was at least expected to somewhat ease the ache growing at the back of his head too, was ridiculously warm, intolerable. So, Felix dragged it from beneath his head to lay on the mattress, gaze up at the ceiling, and get lost in the domineering darkness of his bedroom.

"Let it happen."

So, Felix let it happen. Let his lips meet Chan's, mouth open slightly so that their lips could fold, and they could taste the bland saliva that seeped out from the contact. Let his hands cup Chan's cheeks, head tilted sideways; let their tongues meet.

Panting, and wheezing just as he was earlier, Felix awoke and sat up at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists, catching a glimpse of his two pillows and blankets scattered on the floor, just beside the bed. He had fallen asleep, hadn't he? Wasn't sure for how long, but ever so skeptical to allow his eyes to close again.

Because that damned scene was replaying itself, making every attempt to confirm the occurrence of the kiss. To facilitate the journey of affection to Felix's heart, despite the potholes of plot holes that Felix induced along the road. Felix shook his head, over and over and over again. The mental dilemma was too much, too great.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. Hours turned to days, yet without a glimpse of sunlight from the outside. Felix's head ached like never before; heartbeats fastened. Why was he feeling so lost and befuddled over sharing a kiss with a mere man? It wasn't as though Felix hadn't done such a thing before, countless times, with Jisung Han.

But perhaps that was it. The fact that he had broken up with Jisung just that afternoon; mayhap that played a part in the procession to convince Felix that his dream and the frustratingly life-like experience was mere delusion. That he was on the brink of insanity. Yes, the relationship between him and Jisung was over, confirmed, but still.

Still, it felt wrong. Felt immoral, to move on with such haste. Felt dirty, to kiss and feel things for another man. A man who was not Jisung. A man who was not the one that he had made countless exceptions for, and promised himself not to do such a thing, ever again. That if he and Jisung were to somehow, some way, end it all one day, that would be it.

Felix would have had to stick to his religion and focus on his family, studies, and the life that his father planned for him to live. But there he was, thinking, dreaming, lusting over another man. An older man. A man who was the dearest friend of his own father, a pastor. A sinner. A sinner, like Felix himself.

Felix felt like throwing up, disgusted. All of the self-loath that he had internalized was digging its way up, to the surface, to his heart to inflict guilt for whatever it was that was coming along. Soon. Too soon. Too realistic to be a delusion.

Felix's eyes closed yet again; knees held up to his chest. He breathed in, and out, and in, and out; panicking, or falling in love.

Panicking, not falling in love.

"Let it happen."

So, Felix let it happen. Let his lips meet Chan's, mouth open slightly so that their lips could fold, and they could taste the bland saliva that seeped out from the contact. Let his hands cup Chan's cheeks, head tilted sideways; let their tongues meet.

Chan tasted like oil, and medication; odd, but it was Chan. So... Chan. And that was all that mattered to Felix, for the moment. Felix whimpered into their contact, blushed at the brushing of their noses, rolled his hips above Chan's crotch, lost in the touch when Chan's coarse hands met his hips, and held it. Held Felix in place, as if urging him to quit the movement if he wasn't ready for what would come.

But Felix persisted, and took one of Chan's hands from his waist after detaching their lips for a brief moment, a string of saliva still connecting them.

"Let it happen," Felix reiterated but frowned when Chan smirked, rethinking his confidence. His heart followed the pattern of Chan's beats, but for a completely different reason. They were panicking, or falling in love.

Felix was panicking.

Chan was falling in love.

Again, Felix arose with great haste, dizzy, sweating more than ever before. Goodness, he could not take this. The confusion began to hurt his chest, physically. And Felix was near certain that one more round of that dream, or anything like it, would trigger the fall of his sanity and land him in an asylum.

He couldn't be feeling all of those things for a man. All those things that he had not even felt for Jisung. Such repetition was a torment that something deep inside him wished to settle and morph into pleasure, whilst the larger fraction of his rationality aimed to avoid at all costs. To erase. To remake. To turn back the hands of time and refrain from giving in to the paralyzing temptation and Chan's attractiveness.

Felix sobbed into his palm, resisting the impulse to pray with the belief that he did not deserve to. Wasn't worthy enough for mercy, or understanding. Felix felt disgusting; disgusted, with himself. Within himself. Of every desire bubbling on his insides, persuading that they were part of him.

Oh, dear. Oh, goodness. Why Chan?

One more chance. One more attempt at sleep. The night had done nothing but fulfill its promise of ridding all forms of settlement from Felix but, he still held hope. Some weak form of hope, for the mercy that he had already concluded he did not deserve.

Minutes passed; felt like hours, days, weeks, balled above his bed with a tear-stained face and anguish lodged into his senses. But alas, his eyes closed once more. His breaths slowed back into normality; heartbeats refocused on a natural rhythm.

"Let it happen."

So, Felix let it happen. Let his lips meet Chan's, mouth open slightly so that their lips could fold, and they could taste the bland saliva that seeped out from the contact. Let his hands cup Chan's cheeks, head tilted sideways; let their tongues meet.

Chan tasted like oil, and medication; odd, but it was Chan. So... Chan. And that was all that mattered to Felix, for the moment. Felix whimpered into their contact, blushed at the brushing of their noses, rolled his hips above Chan's crotch, lost in the touch when Chan's coarse hands met his hips, and held it. Held Felix in place, as if urging him to quit the movement if he wasn't ready for what would come.

But Felix persisted, and took one of Chan's hands from his waist after detaching their lips for a brief moment, a string of saliva still connecting them.

"Let it happen," Felix reiterated, mirroring Chan's frustratingly warming smile, surprised yet certain of confidence. His heart followed the pattern of Chan's beats. And Felix began to roll his hips again, with eyes locked with Chan's, lips slightly parted, the skin beneath his freckles tinted in an obvious red.

Chan's hands slid up underneath Felix's shirt, caressing his torso inch by inch, igniting goosebumps along the tender skin with the bristly surface of his palms. Either hesitant, but excited, getting on their knees to worship the body that the infamous god of sin had placed in their hands.

They'd take advantage of what they were given before life would snatch away what it pleased. Whoever, that it pleased. Chan rolled them over so that he could hover above the slim, mesmerizingly beautiful preacher's son, and connect their mouths again. Chan ground his own hips in between Felix's open legs and rediscovered every nook and cranny on the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

So erroneous, yet compelling. Enticing. Demanding.

Felix was shaking, screaming as feebly as he could into his pillow. Because why were such erotic occurrences recurring in his mind? Things that he had not even done, with Chan. Heights that he had failed to climb, in just one night, and most probably never, ever wished to, with another man; with Chan.

But perhaps that was the sole purpose of Felix's mind playing those tricks on him and driving him to madness. All of that, simply to get him to admit that he did in fact share a kiss with Chan. That he was not delusional, but simply panicking at his stance on the edge of a cliff, losing his balance slowly but surely, where love pooled below.

Felix gave up on sleeping for the night. It had to be nearing dawn by then, but he felt too tired to near his clock to check the time, too weak in the limbs. So, Felix stood before his window, analyzing the still-lasting romance between the maple branch and the glass, admiring them. Their confidence, their resilience.

It almost made no sense, but that was love, wasn't it?

Never truly made any sense.

Never a warning before the fall.

+ + + + +

Levanter Chapel

10:30

A week had passed since the episode. Since the assumption of delusion, and the panic, and the denial of the chances of falling for another man after being out of love for months. Seven days since that moral dilemma.

And Felix had never felt so appeased at church in the past. It was as though the sin that had been titled in his head was erased at the mere thought of 'doing something right', and interacting with the very people who had formulated his reasoning in such a way in the first place.

Of course, Felix had avoided Chan for that entire week. Bypassed the inquiries that his father would raise now and then, about why he remained at home for all hours of the day, refusing to visit Chan, or even speak of the times that they'd spent together, considering how much closer they had grown.

He distracted himself with more brother-sister times; reading to Louise, engaging in conversations about her greatest desires and biggest regrets—whatever she considered a regret to be at her young age. So, the past week brought forth peace, for the most part. Aside from the two more nights of tears and blurred yet awfully detailed dreams, everything was fine. As fine as they could be.

The church that Florian managed wasn't a grand one. It didn't resemble those ran and attended by the wealthy, closer to the center of Paris. It was rural, almost, with a dozen pews rowed on either side of the walkway, a slightly raised altar with seats for the dignitaries far back; including one for Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin; the altar servers.

Felix wore a practiced expression during every service when he sat up there, trembling indecipherably underneath the judgmental eyes of the congregation. But sitting there also gave a clear view of the outside; the front of the gate that surrounded the building, the lawn that would need to be mowed in at least another week, and any church member who would begin their entry after service had begun.

Any visitor.

Chan.

Chan was walking in, with a white shirt hugging the full length of his sleeves, rolled at his wrist, tucked into a pair of black trousers, followed by dress shoes that sold the newness of their state with their artificial shine. Chan's hair was gelled with visible spikes; neat, and handsome. Frustratingly, inappropriately handsome, with his clenched jaw, full lips, and broad shoulders.

Chan walked in with too much confidence for Felix's liking, taking a seat at the very back and smiling at Florian on the pulpit, who continued on with his sermon after briefly lifting the corners of his mouth in approval of Chan's presence. Felix could feel the contentment radiating from his father's back, and he only hoped that his face could keep its mutual setting.

Prayed that he'd not frown or quiver or cry at Chan's presence. Chan, the man that he had kissed. Chan, the man who was capable of sending him mad with one meeting of their lips. Chan that he had done his best to avoid for a week and hoped to never see again until he would visit to bid goodbye before his return to Australia.

Felix's stomach churned with nausea, butterflies mutated by his confliction, batting uncontrollably on his insides. He chewed on his lower lip; habitual, ignoring the questioning glances spared his way by Jeongin and Seungmin.

Felix couldn't breathe properly, upon catching Chan's fervent gaze on his tensed frame. Felix could hardly form a coherent thought, if he were to be honest. Looking Chan in the eyes, after all that he had unwillingly fantasized, just felt so utterly iniquitous. Felix felt dirty, undeserving. The cloak of feigned holiness had been pulled down from his shoulders, exposing his back scarred by lust and earthly desire, sore and yearning for Chan to cure its infection.

The service seemed to have gone by as slowly as the intermissions between Felix's dreams the week prior. But Florian concluded, at last. And as the faces, bleared to Felix, left with their bodies and bags and children—prolonged by lengthy goodbyes and unnecessary conversations of the weeks' plans—made their way out of the church building, Felix hurried out to the bathroom.

He washed his face, over and over and over again. He breathed in, breathed out. Repeat. He had to face Chan, whether he would feel like collapsing and never waking again or not. Felix propped his hands against the sink, porcelain white, and slippery beneath his palm. He eyed himself in the mirror; almost unrecognizable.

Strands of blond hair stuck to his forehead; his eyes puffy due to the limited sleep that he'd been able to obtain for the past couple of days; afraid to dream again. Of Chan. Of the possibility of a love that he didn't see fit to accept.

"Felix," Seungmin startled Felix from his brooding, placing a hand atop his shoulder. "Are you alright?" He asked, in French. "You seem troubled... since before service ended. What's on your mind."

"N-nothing," Felix lied, rolling his shoulder, and drying his face with a piece of tissue paper. "I'm alright. Only brought my mind back to... negative thoughts. I'm fine."

"Really?" Seungmin mused, arms folded. "I'm no fool, Felix. Both Jeongin and I noticed that you became tense as soon as your father's friend stepped into the church."

"How'd you know that he's my father's friend?"

"Because your father went up to him as soon as he ended," Seungmin sighed, idle eyes looking around the bare bathroom; unpainted concrete walls, a mop, and a broom partnered at one corner. "But why are you ignoring my question, Felix? Is there something that you're not telling us?"

"No," Felix hesitated for not a second to answer, hands tensed at their respective sides. "There is nothing, Seungmin. Nothing. My discomposure has nothing to do with him, alright? Nothing."

"Noted," Seungmin hummed, fully aware that Felix was not telling the truth. But Seungmin had no energy to push further. Florian's sermons were often as tormenting for him, and Jeongin, as it was for Felix. Because they shared the same blood, figuratively. The same wants. A more concentrated act of rebellion than Felix, but unvirtuous all the same.

The two of them; Seungmin and Jeongin. All three were the same. None of them were saints.

Alas, Felix worked up the courage to enter the main building once more. He practiced his breathing before approaching his father, mother, and Louise. And Chan.

Louise was grinning, clinging onto her uncle's hand, pretending to understand anything being rolled from the tongues of the bilingual adults. Chan nurtured her affection with gentle pats on her head, Florian hugged his wife close by her waist.

Approaching couldn't be that bad. Chan wasn't mad enough to bring up what he and Felix had done. Not then. Not ever.