Between two worlds | Chanlix

The broken silence

The heavy door to the studio creaked open as Chan stormed out into the hallway, his heart still hammering in his chest.

Felix stood there, calm as if he had all the time in the world, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his expensive coat.

"What are you doing here?" Chan asked, his voice sharper than intended.

Felix shrugged, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

"I came to see who's still working this late," he said, looking around the empty halls before adding with a little smirk, "Not like it matters. These hours aren't paid anyway."

The words stung — the casual dismissal, the implication that all this effort didn't matter.

Chan gritted his teeth.

"Right," he said coldly, turning his head away as if looking at Felix hurt.

Felix shifted his weight slightly, watching him.

"That song..." he started, voice softer now, "It's beautiful."

Chan didn't respond.

Not a word.

Not even a glance.

The compliment floated in the air between them, heavy and unwanted.

A few seconds of tense silence passed before Felix spoke again, almost mockingly:

"You wrote it yourself?"

It was a spark.

The spark that exploded the whole powder keg Chan had been sitting on for a year.

"Yes," Chan snapped, voice low and furious.

Felix tilted his head, that same cold sarcasm dripping from his voice:

"Must've been inspired by something *very* special."

That was it.

The last straw.

Chan laughed — a bitter, broken sound.

He took a step forward, so close now that Felix had to meet his burning eyes.

"You know exactly what inspired it," Chan said, voice trembling with restrained rage.

"So don't ask stupid questions you already know the answer to."

Felix blinked, caught off guard by the venom in Chan's tone.

For the first time, someone spoke to him like he was nothing.

Not a CEO.

Not a golden boy.

Just... a man who wrecked something beautiful.

"And now," Chan added, voice cutting like a blade, "I've finished my work. There's no reason for you to be here. Get out."

The silence after those words was deafening.

Felix didn't argue.

He didn't defend himself.

He just stood there for a moment, lips parting like he wanted to say something — then thinking better of it — and walked away without a word.

Chan watched his figure disappear down the hall.

It didn't feel like a victory.

It felt like bleeding out after surviving a battlefield.

He staggered back inside, collapsing onto the worn-out studio sofa.

The moment the door closed, his body shook uncontrollably, the pressure he'd bottled up for a whole year ripping out of him.

He held his head in his hands, gasping for air he couldn't seem to find.

The betrayal.

The humiliation.

The pure heartbreak.

He couldn't stop the tears.

He didn't even try.

He slid down the sofa, curling up like a wounded animal, headphones pressing tightly against his ears to drown the world out with sound.

It didn't help.

The memories crashed through him mercilessly — the moments they shared, the stupid smiles, the way Felix had looked at him once.

*He was so stupid to believe any of it.*

Meanwhile, somewhere across the city, Felix sat alone in his vast penthouse — a cold, beautiful prison.

He stared blankly at the walls, the untouched glass of whiskey on the table beside him.

The woman he had married was out partying with her friends, like she usually did.

And he?

He lived in a marriage that was nothing but a contract.

A miserable alliance sewn together by money and power.

Nobody cared that Felix had been born different.

Nobody cared that he loved someone he was never supposed to love.

Since childhood, expectations were chains around his wrists — he was suffocating under them.

The past year had been a nightmare of social events, fake smiles, obligations he despised.

The only thing that had kept him breathing — the only fragment of joy he allowed himself — was secretly following Chan's career from afar.

Every song.

Every lyric.

Every performance.

It made him feel close to him, even though he knew he had no right anymore.

But today, seeing Chan again — seeing the man he had *forced* to grow colder, harder, unreachable — hit Felix harder than he expected.

He realized with horror:

*He had destroyed the only pure thing he had ever touched.*

And now...

There was nothing left between them but silence and broken dreams.

Felix leaned his forehead against the cold glass window, watching the lights of the city blur into nothing.

He had made his choices.

He had to live with them.

But why did it feel like he had killed the only part of himself that was ever truly alive?