Chan was in *shock*.
Standing in the middle of Felix's office, he couldn't even begin to describe the swirl of emotions burning through him.
Felix — the person he loved and hated in the same heartbeat — had just agreed.
Agreed to sleep with him.
For a *fucking song.*
It was insane. It was laughable.
Chan almost wanted to punch the wall again like he did a year ago.
He turned around, plastering on a sarcastic smile to hide the way his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
**"Fine,"** he said, voice unnervingly calm. **"I'll write the damn song."**
Felix, standing there by his desk, nodded once — his expression unreadable.
Still perfect, still untouchable in his custom-tailored suit.
He added that he would send the address of a hotel room. No big deal, like he was asking Chan to send him a coffee order, not demanding a piece of his soul.
Chan agreed easily, throwing the words like weapons over his shoulder as he stormed out of the office.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
---
The hours passed.
Chan buried himself in work, pouring all his fury into the soundboards, adjusting music levels, re-writing parts of the track he didn't even need to touch.
Anything to keep from *thinking* about what he'd just done.
But eventually, when the studio went quiet, when Han and Changbin had already left, when only the blinking city lights outside kept him company —
— that's when it hit him.
A notification buzzed on his phone.
He opened it.
It was the address.
A luxury hotel.
Room number.
Door code.
It was *real.*
Chan leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen like it was some kind of curse.
What the hell was he doing?
He had thrown out that demand in a fit of rage, expecting Felix to scoff, to refuse, to throw him out of the office — something, anything.
But no.
Felix accepted it.
He accepted it without even blinking.
Chan sat there for a long time, head resting back against the chair, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it settle into his bones.
If there was any part of him left that believed this was some kind of love story, it was dead now.
---
He eventually forced himself up.
He went home, showered under cold water, staring at himself in the mirror afterwards.
The steam clinging to the glass blurred his reflection, but he could still see it.
The boy he used to be was gone.
This version of him — sharp, lean, exhausted, *alive* — had survived too much to back down now.
He dressed in his favorite pieces — casual streetwear.
Faded black jeans, a simple black T-shirt, a worn leather jacket.
His combat boots thudded heavy against the ground as he grabbed his helmet and keys.
He took his motorcycle — the only expensive thing he'd allowed himself to buy in the past year — and drove through the sharp coolness of the night.
The hotel was *obscene*.
Glass and gold and marble dripping everywhere like a monument to the rich.
The lobby staff stared at him a little suspiciously — rough-looking kid, leather jacket, messy curls — but Chan didn't even blink.
Let them stare.
A few people recognized him too — whispered his name — *Bang Chan*, the producer, the singer, the rising star.
But Chan ignored them all, heading straight for the private elevator.
He punched in the code.
The elevator moved upward — silently, smoothly — up to the very last floor.
The penthouse.
---
The doors slid open without a sound.
Chan stepped out onto thick plush carpet.
And there he was.
Felix.
Sitting casually on the giant white leather sofa in the middle of the massive open living room.
The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around the space — Seoul glittering outside like another universe.
Felix held a glass of whiskey lazily between his fingers, rolling it gently so the amber liquid caught the light.
He wore simple black pants and a loose white shirt, unbuttoned low enough that Chan could see the dip of his collarbone and the long silver chain resting against his skin.
His blond hair was wet, soft curls clinging to his forehead.
It looked like he'd just gotten out of the shower.
It was *devastating.*
He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.
Their eyes met.
Something ignited.
A silent, screaming fire between them.
Chan stepped further into the room, leather boots silent on the carpet, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
He tried to breathe — he couldn't.
Felix placed the glass gently on the coffee table and leaned back lazily, arms stretched across the back of the sofa like he had all the time in the world.
And then, with that same calm, devastating voice, he asked:
**"What are you waiting for?"**
YOU ARE READING
Between two worlds | Chanlix
FanfictionChan is a poor, ambitious singer with the big heart aiming to reach his goals but fails every single time. Until his friend will recommend him to go to some corporation and have a try. He will meet a cold-hearted, dominant CEO Lee Felix, who is rul...
