Deep End | Hyunlix

55

Felix wanted nothing more than to vanish. To pull the sheets over his head, lock the door, and drown in the kind of quiet that could numb him from the ache clawing at his chest. But quiet wasn't peace, it was a breeding ground for thoughts, and right now, his thoughts were a storm tearing him apart.

Last night was too much. Too good. Too dangerous. The softness of Hyunjin's lips, the desperation laced with tenderness in his touch, the way his voice broke when he whispered, stay. It had all felt so real that for one brief, treacherous moment, Felix believed it. Believed that Hyunjin could choose him.

But hope was cruel like that, sweet in the moment, bitter in the morning.

Felix sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped as he stared at the phone in his hand. The screen glowed harshly in the dim room, mocking him with the truth he didn't want to face. Dozens of notifications stacked like accusations

Chan:Where the hell are you? Check in.
Chan:This isn't like you, Lix. Talk to me.
Chan:I swear, if you don't answer, I'm driving to your place.

Below those were others, fragments of concern and tension.

I.N:You good? Just say something, hyung. Anything.

Felix's chest constricted. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words wouldn't come. He couldn't tell them he was okay, because he wasn't. He couldn't tell them the truth either, that the reason he'd gone silent wasn't a tactical slip, but a personal one. That while his team was out in the dark intercepting weapons, he'd been in with their enemy, breaking every rule he'd set for himself.

With a sharp breath, he locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the nightstand.

The shower roared to life a moment later, steam curling in the air as Felix stepped under the punishing heat. Water pounded against his skin, scalding enough to redden the pale dusting of freckles across his shoulders, but it didn't burn away the memory of Hyunjin's hands gripping him, nails biting into his back as if letting go would shatter them both.

The images came in fragments, Hyunjin beneath him, flushed and trembling, the soft gasp that slipped past his lips when Felix kissed the hollow of his throat, the whispered "please" that nearly undid him.

Felix groaned, pressing his forehead against the slick tile. His fist tightened around his cock almost without thought, working in slow, rough strokes as frustration and longing tangled in his veins. The sounds tearing from his throat were muffled against his own arm, guttural and low. He came with a sharp exhale, his body shuddering under the cascade of heat, but the relief was hollow.

When it was over, he stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, staring at the water swirling down the drain. He felt raw, skin scrubbed clean but heart still filthy with want.

By the time he stepped out, the mirror was a fogged blur. Felix wiped a streak through it with his palm and caught his own reflection, damp hair clinging to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed not from tears but from exhaustion he couldn't shake. He hated what he saw. Hated the weakness staring back at him.

Clothes were armor today: black jeans, fitted shirt, combat boots laced with precision. Every movement was mechanical, rehearsed, the rhythm of a man clinging to control because the alternative was collapse.

By the time he reached the compound, the sun was bleeding gold across the skyline, sharp and unforgiving. He swiped his keycard, the steel door unlocking with a hollow click that echoed louder than it should have.

Inside, voices stilled the moment he stepped in. His team was already gathered around the main table, maps and intel spread like an autopsy. Chan's eyes snapped to his the second he entered, sharp and unrelenting.