Page 23 of Felix

Christian

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Christian,” my grandmother says warmly, opening her arms wide. “Get over here.”

I head over to her chair and give my grandma a hug. Like me, she has dark hair, although hers has more silver running through it than black these days. We look a lot alike, in fact. I never knew my dad, but it’s clear I take after the Korean half of my family, a fact my blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother seemed to love and hate in equal measure.

“How’s jail?” I ask, leaning back.

My grandma chuckles. She moved into an assisted living facility—as she insists I call it—after a nasty fall busted her hip. She doesn’t get around all that well these days, and her decision to move, as she likes to remind me, was the best option.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I miss seeing her at home, in the apartment where I now live. I’ll always think of it as hers.

“It’s far from a jail cell,” she says, giving me a gentle prod. “Back up. Let me see you.”

With a laugh, I step back and fluff my skirt. Opening my arms wide, I ask, “Well?”

“That’s a gorgeous one, sweetheart. Chiffon?”

“Yep,” I say, sweeping my skirt under me as I take a seat on the end of her bed.

“Bet those layers took a while.”

They did. The skirt is long, reaching all the way to my ankles, and layered enough for the white fabric not to be see-through. It wasn’t the easiest material to work with, but I’m really happy with the end result. I paired the skirt with a black crop top today and boots of the same color. I like the blend of soft and hard.

“It was tricky, but Bernie was a champ,” I tell my grandma.

She smiles, always happy to hear about my sewing. “Give any more thought to selling your pieces?”

I fidget with my skirt. “I don’t know who’d buy them, Grandma.”

She hums. “Boys like you, I imagine.”

I nod, but I wouldn’t have a clue where to start when it comes to opening a business. The legalities alone make my head spin, not to mention figuring out how to sell online. It’s so much to learn, and I’m not even a professional seamster. I don’t have training. Sewing is just my hobby.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, grateful, at least, for her unwavering support.

My grandma smiles, and conversation turns to other topics. I stay with her for a good while, the two of us chatting and playing war with a deck of cards until it’s her lunchtime. As she goes to eat with her friends, I head to work.

I’m filming with Emil today.

Well, pseudo-filming. It’s more a trial run to make sure everything runs smoothly with the live feed. But it will be me and Emil. On a bed. Together.

My stomach does a strange little hop just thinking about it. I’ve seen the man on a bed—naked, no less—dozens of times. But this will be different.

Because I’ll be there with him.

I use my code to get into the building and follow the sound of chatter to Studio 2. Alex and a man I don’t recognize are inside, practically giggling as they huddle together in front of a laptop. Some of the crew is here, too, getting the set ready.

“Hey,” I say, heading toward Alex, since I know him best. The man makes it near impossible to feel like a stranger.

His blonde head pops up, and he gives me a swift smile, followed by a once-over. “Damn, boo. Love the skirt.”

“Thanks,” I reply, giving it a pluck.

Alex pokes the man next to him in the cheek. “Christian, this is Kipp, Teddy’s boytoy.”

“Husband,” Kipp corrects, shoving Alex’s shoulder.

---