Between two worlds | Chanlix

Intro

Hi,

I am back with another Chanlix book. It's a mature type of book, i mean there will be a lot of development of relations that are complicated and hard. 

Possibly it will be my last book, here. I have some things to figure out, so if it won't work i won't be able to write anymore, but i will finish all of the books that are on my page now going, there are 4 or 5) no worries i keep everything with logical ending for sure. 

Maybe after, i will take another HIATUS and then return, we will see). Or everything will go as i planned and i will be having a time for writing. Anyways, hope you enjoy this book)

Something you have to focus is that mostly Chanlix story, very small of side ships timing...it mean i will focus on their deep background and story their life)

Intro:

The night air in Seoul was heavy, buzzing with the life of the city, yet cold enough to bite through Chan's worn leather jacket. As he walked down the neon-lit streets, the sounds of honking cars, chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter felt distant, like echoes from a world that wasn't his. His headphones sat loosely over his ears, blasting a song he'd listened to a hundred times before— something to drown out his own thoughts. Thoughts of another failed audition. Another door closed.

Chan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the chill seep through his frayed jeans. He'd left the studio hours ago, but the words still stung, like needles pricking at his skin: "Not quite what we're looking for." How many times had he heard that now? He'd lost count. It was a broken record, scratching away in the background of his life. No matter how hard he tried, how many times he threw himself on stage with everything he had, it was never enough.

The bar came into view, a dimly lit place tucked between a convenience store and a row of closed shops. "The Den" was where aspiring artists like him tended to gather, sharing drinks and stories of dreams yet to come true. It was small, cramped, with the scent of cheap beer and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. But it was familiar, and right now, Chan needed that.

He pushed open the door, and the warmth hit him like a wave. He scanned the room, catching sight of Minho hunched over a glass at the bar, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Minho glanced up, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he waved Chan over.

"Rough night?" Minho asked, not even bothering to hide the sympathy in his tone.

"When is it not?" Chan sighed, dropping onto the stool next to him. The bartender slid a glass his way, and he took a sip, letting the bitter taste of soju burn its way down his throat. "Got another 'thanks, but no thanks' today. Said I didn't have the right 'look.' Whatever that means."

Minho snorted, taking a drag from his cigarette. "It means they're idiots, that's what. You've got more talent than half the people they sign."

Chan managed a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Talent doesn't pay the rent."

"True. But..." Minho reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, black business card. He slid it across the bar toward Chan, who picked it up, eyeing the embossed silver letters: Lee Felix. Underneath the name, there was just a phone number and an address in Hongdae.

"Who's this?" Chan asked, frowning as he turned the card over. No logo, no company name. Just that stark, elegant lettering.

Minho leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. "Felix is a producer. He's been in the industry for a while, mostly behind the scenes, but I hear he's good. Has an eye for talent. I don't know the guy personally, but I know people who do. Some say he's a miracle worker. Others say he's... well, let's just say he gets what he wants."

Chan glanced at the card again, feeling a strange sensation twist in his gut. He'd heard the name before, mostly whispered among struggling artists like himself, but there was never much detail, just vague stories and rumors. Felix was elusive, like a shadow in the industry—a name that slipped through the cracks, but always seemed to come up when people talked about sudden success stories, the kind that didn't quite add up.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Chan asked, not taking his eyes off the card.
Minho shrugged, but his gaze was steady. "Because you're my friend, and I know how much this

means to you. I'm not saying it's a golden ticket or anything, but... maybe it's a door you haven't tried yet."

Chan's fingers tightened around the card. He'd tried so many doors already, and most of them had slammed shut before he even had a chance to step inside. But what was one more? It wasn't like he had anything left to lose.

"Thanks," he said quietly, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'll check it out."

Minho gave him a pat on the back. "That's the spirit. You know, you'll make it someday. You've got too much fire to burn out."

Chan didn't reply. He just downed the rest of his drink, letting the warmth numb the edge of his disappointment. The thought of another empty audition or rejection twisted in his chest, but the card in his pocket felt like a small weight—a reminder that there might still be a chance.

The night bled into dawn as he walked back to his tiny studio apartment, his breath misting in the cool morning air. It was a shabby place, with paint peeling off the walls and a heater that worked only when it wanted to. He collapsed onto the mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The card seemed to burn in his pocket, a small flame against the darkness that filled the room.

The next morning, he stood outside the address printed on the card, a nondescript building in Hongdae. It didn't look like much—just a tall, gray structure with tinted windows and a glass door. His reflection stared back at him, tired and worn, and he could feel his doubts creeping in. Was this a mistake? Was he just setting himself up for another rejection?

But he hadn't come this far to walk away now.
Taking a deep breath, Chan pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The lobby was quiet, almost eerily so, with sleek marble floors and a long hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. A receptionist glanced up from her desk, eyes briefly flicking over him before returning to her computer screen.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite but indifferent.
"I'm here to see Felix," Chan said, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. She paused, her gaze sharpening ever so slightly. "Do you have an appointment?" "No," he admitted, "but I... I was told he might be interested in hearing me sing." She studied him for a moment, then picked up the phone. "One moment."

As she spoke quietly into the receiver, Chan's pulse quickened. He tried to calm himself, but it was impossible to ignore the feeling that he was about to step into something he couldn't quite see— something that could change everything. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he knew one thing for certain.

He had to find out.