Between two worlds | Chanlix

The Director

It felt like a lifetime coming — but Chan had finally made it.

After months, no — years — of endless work, sleepless nights, broken voice notes, and coffee-stained lyric sheets, he finally got the recognition he deserved: a spot at the director's table.

It wasn't just a title; it was real influence. Investors saw the gold he spun out of raw talent and sweat. They trusted him to build new projects under his name, to develop young artists, to craft real stars.

He was no longer just a producer or a performer.

He was becoming a leader.

When the news broke, he didn't celebrate with champagne or flashy parties.

He did the only thing that felt right — he called Han and Changbin.

"Yah, you won't believe it!" Chan shouted over the phone, almost tripping over his own words. "Director! Me!"

Han, the eternal clown, screamed so loud the line crackled. "Director-nim! Ahh! Finally! Now we have to call you Sir!"

"Sir Bang!" Changbin snorted, "Or should we just bow every time we see you now?"

"No bowing!" Chan protested, but they were already laughing too hard to listen.

That night, they went out to a tiny local restaurant — the kind with plastic chairs and smoky air and sticky tables — ordering too much meat and way too much soju.

"Speech!" Han demanded, banging his shot glass on the table.

Chan rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot. "I just wanna say," he raised his drink, "without you two clowns constantly distracting me... I'd probably be even more successful by now!"

"Ouch!" Changbin pretended to clutch his chest. "He admits it!"

"And you owe me fifty bucks!" Han turned to Changbin. "I told you he'd throw shade tonight!"

They cackled like maniacs, attracting annoyed glances from the neighboring tables.

But Chan didn't care.

He was happy — for once, *truly* happy, with no dark clouds looming overhead.

The night ended with Han nearly falling asleep at the bus stop and Changbin losing his wallet for ten minutes (only to find it in his shoe).

They made memories that were messy, loud, and real.

It was exactly what Chan needed before the storm.

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**The next day came too fast.**

Chan was in the office, buried in the production of a Japanese singer's debut EP.

He adjusted the vocal layers on his laptop, humming under his breath, when his manager slipped into the room.

"Hyung," he said, serious, "tomorrow's the directors' board meeting. You need to be there. CEO will be attending too."

The air shifted.

Chan looked up, blinking.

*CEO?*

He hadn't heard that title for a year.

Felix.

"Got it," Chan said calmly, though his fingers tightened slightly on the laptop.

He gave no other reaction. He had trained himself too well by now.

When the manager left, he sat back in his chair, breathing out slowly.

*Tomorrow.*

*After a whole year...*

Later that evening, Chan wandered back to their shared studio space. Han was sprawled over the couch, pen in mouth, strumming an out-of-tune guitar.

"Big news," Chan said, tossing his backpack onto the chair. "Felix will be at the meeting tomorrow."

Han's head popped up like a meerkat. "You serious?"

"Dead serious."

Han dropped the guitar immediately. "Listen," he pointed a warning finger, "you've worked too hard to get here. Don't mess it up. No drama. No heart-eyes. No tragic K-drama staring. Ice cold, hyung. Ice cold."

Chan chuckled. "I'm not that dramatic."

"You are that dramatic!" Changbin called from across the room, earning a pillow to the face.

But deep inside, Chan knew Han was right.

He couldn't afford to let old scars bleed now.

Tomorrow wasn't about feelings.

Tomorrow was business.

He would sit at that table, a professional, a leader — not some broken boy looking for scraps of love.

He owed that much to himself.

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