Between two worlds | Chanlix

The song of the lost

Chan sat at his desk, hunched over with dark circles under his eyes and a stiffness in his shoulders that even hours of stretching couldn't fix. The studio was cold despite the warmth of the city outside, and the only light in the room came from the dim glow of his laptop screen — the title "For You" still flickering on top of the playback window.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he hesitated, once again, to send the file.
But he'd already told himself — this was revenge. This was closure.
This was what Felix asked for.

He clicked Send with a sigh heavy enough to shake the silence around him.

A soft knock at the door broke him from the trance, and Han peeked inside. His face was a mix of worry and warmth — the kind only best friends could wear.

"You done?" he asked gently, stepping into the studio.

Chan just nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Han studied him for a second. "You look like shit."

Chan gave a faint, humorless laugh. "I feel worse."

Han walked over, tossing himself down onto the old sofa. "You don't have to do this, you know. It's not too late to back out."

Chan finally looked at him, and the silence in his expression said more than words ever could.
Han sighed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You're still in love with him."

"No," Chan muttered, almost convincing himself. "I'm in love with who I thought he was."

"That's still love, hyung."

Before Chan could respond, his phone buzzed. A message from Felix's secretary:
"Mr. Lee invites you to the private gathering tomorrow evening at the family estate. Please arrive by 6 PM. He will personally introduce your performance."

Han read it over Chan's shoulder, then groaned dramatically. "A party. Rich people. Suits. Dead eyes and expensive champagne. Sounds like hell."

Chan shut the laptop and leaned back in his chair. "It's one song. Then I'm out."

Han was quiet for a second. "Are you really okay performing this in front of him?"

"No," Chan said simply. "But I will."

Just then, Changbin barged into the room, holding two iced Americanos like a savior. "I heard there's a party. Are we dressing up? Are we allowed to eat their food? Are we going to fake our deaths afterwards?"

Chan cracked a smile despite himself. "We're performing one song. You're not even invited."

"I'll sneak in," Changbin shrugged. "Anyway, what's the song? Let me hear the emotional trauma we're banking on."

With a silent nod, Chan hit play.

The studio filled with the haunting beginning of For You. Soft piano. A single note that stretched with pain. Then Chan's voice — low, worn, emotional. Raw.

Han's expression changed immediately. His body stilled, and his lips pressed together.
Changbin blinked once, then twice, as the lyrics flowed.

"You held my name like a secret,
Only in silence, only at night.
And I was the fool who believed it —
That love without light could still feel right..."

When it ended, the room was heavy with breathlessness.

"Holy shit," Changbin whispered.

Han stood up slowly, placing a hand on Chan's shoulder. "That's not just a song. That's a goodbye."

Chan looked away. "Maybe it's both."

They didn't press more. The air didn't need to be filled with words when the music had already screamed everything.

Tomorrow was the performance.
Tomorrow, Chan would bare it all — not for applause, not for recognition — but to put the final stone on a love that was never allowed to live.

The heavy doors of the penthouse clicked shut behind Felix as he stepped into the cool, pristine silence of his home. The faint scent of white lilies floated from a vase too perfectly arranged, too intentionally placed by the interior decorator his wife insisted on hiring. Every corner of the place felt like a showroom rather than a home — nothing out of place, nothing truly lived in.

He loosened the collar of his shirt as he walked past the hallway mirror, catching a glimpse of himself. Tired. Controlled. Perfect, always.

She was in the lounge, draped across the cream-colored couch like a sculpture in silk. A magazine half-open on her lap, a glass of white wine in her manicured hand. She barely looked up as she spoke.

"So? Did he finish it?"
Her voice was smooth, light — a tone she reserved for cocktail parties and press interviews. It never quite reached sincerity.

Felix nodded, removing his watch and placing it neatly on the tray by the entry table. "Yeah. It's ready."

She smiled, sitting up slightly, her interest finally piqued. "I can't believe he agreed. I love his voice. It's so... real. So damaged in a good way, you know?"
She giggled softly. "It'll be perfect for the party. Everyone's going to be obsessed."

Felix didn't reply.

She noticed the shift. "You don't seem excited."

He exhaled slowly and sat down across from her, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading together. "He didn't do it for us. And I don't think he's doing this for fun."

She tilted her head. "Who cares why he's doing it? He said yes. He'll perform. That's all that matters."

That sentence hit him like a slap.

That's all that matters.

Felix looked at her — really looked at her — and saw the emptiness behind her glossy expression. She was beautiful, yes. Immaculate, always. But she was cold. Distant. Like a polished porcelain doll that only came alive when others were watching.

Their marriage, their union, was just that — a glass case for display.

There were no fights. No passion. No touches that lingered. Their photos smiled more than they ever did in private. Their kisses were short, rehearsed, camera-ready.

And it made him sick to his stomach when she spoke about Chan like that — like he was a product. Like his pain was an aesthetic.

"You like him too much," Felix said, eyes narrowing slightly.

She laughed again, careless. "Oh come on, it's just a crush. It's not like I'm in love with your ex or anything."
She paused. "You are still over him, right?"

Felix didn't answer right away. The silence stretched just long enough for discomfort to creep in.

"I am," he said. But it was a lie he'd told himself so many times it almost sounded convincing.

His wife watched him closely. Then, with a shrug, she stood and walked toward the hallway. "Well, make sure everything is ready. I want the song to be perfect. Our anniversary party has to make a statement."

When she disappeared into the bedroom, Felix finally let the mask fall from his face.

His jaw clenched, and he leaned back into the couch, one hand rubbing his temple. The thought of Chan singing at that event — at their event — made his skin itch. It was wrong. Cruel. And yet... he was the one who agreed. He was the one who said yes.

Because he didn't want Chan's song.
He wanted Chan.

But maybe this was the only way to see him again — even if it broke both of them in the process.