Between two worlds | Chanlix

The last hope

The city was alive with neon lights and the ceaseless hum of engines, but none of it reached Chan. His world was narrowed down to one goal—find Felix.

He had already searched the obvious places: the bars they once laughed in, the rooftop studio that still held echoes of old songs, the café they used to sneak away to during long recording sessions. Each door he opened led to more silence. More absence. He could feel panic crawling up his spine like ice water.

His last resort wasn't logical—it was emotional. A memory.

The hotel.

He jumped on his bike, the wind slicing through the late evening air as he rode across the city. His mind pulsed with each beat of his heart, wondering—hoping—that he wasn't too late.

The hotel's lobby hadn't changed. Luxurious. Quiet. Detached. The concierge didn't blink when Chan approached—he was recognized easily. With a little coaxing, and a quiet explanation laced with desperation, they gave him the room number.

Top floor. Same place.

He stood at the door for a few seconds, heart hammering against his ribs. Then he entered the code and slowly opened the door.

The scent hit him first—alcohol, thick and stale, mixed with the expensive cologne Felix always wore. The room was dimly lit by the city lights bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there he was.

Felix sat on the edge of the same bed they'd once touched each other in, hunched over, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand. His eyes were bloodshot, lips chapped, hair a mess, and yet somehow—still heartbreakingly beautiful. Like someone broken in the most poetic way.

He blinked, disoriented, and then stared at Chan in disbelief.

"You came..." he whispered, the words cracked and ghostlike. "Why...?"

Chan didn't answer immediately. He took a slow step forward. "Your wife called me. She was worried."

Felix scoffed. "Since when does she worry?"

"She thought you were dead, Felix," Chan replied sharply, his voice full of controlled tension. "You've been gone three days. Drinking yourself into the floor isn't exactly subtle."

Felix's eyes shimmered. He laughed, bitter and hollow. "And yet... you still came."

"I didn't come for you," Chan snapped. "I came to return you home. That's all."

Something shifted in Felix's eyes then. Hurt—deep and visible. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.

Chan reached for his phone and dialed quickly. "Yujin. He's at the old hotel. Same room. He's alive. You can come pick him up."

Yujin's relieved voice echoed faintly through the receiver before Chan ended the call without another word.

Felix stared at him with a mix of rage and sorrow, his jaw clenching. "Why would you do that?"

"Because someone still gives a damn whether you rot in a hotel or not," Chan answered, his voice low. "Even if it's not me."

A silence stretched between them, heavy and aching.

Chan moved toward him slowly and placed a hand on Felix's shoulder, attempting to guide him toward the bed. "Come on. Just lie down. You look like hell."

Felix didn't resist—at first. He let Chan help him to the bed, collapsing back on the mattress with a groan. His shirt was half open, revealing the faintest scar on his chest that Chan remembered too well.

But then something shifted. Felix reached up suddenly, grabbing Chan by the wrist, his grip surprisingly strong.

"You shouldn't have come," he murmured, eyes searching Chan's face. "Because I can't keep pretending anymore."

"Felix," Chan started, his throat tight, "don't—"

But he didn't get to finish.

Felix pulled him closer, and in a blur of drunken desperation and years of repressed pain, he kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't careful. It was hungry. Messy. Furious.

And Chan—Chan stood frozen for one breathless second, his heart shattering against his ribs, before everything crashed down at once.

Chan stumbled back a step, the taste of Felix still lingering on his lips like fire and regret. His fingers trembled, fists clenching at his sides. Felix just stared at him, dazed and drunk, eyes rimmed red—not from alcohol, but from something deeper. Something Chan knew all too well.

"What the hell are you doing?" Chan whispered, breath caught somewhere between fury and despair. "You're drunk, and I'm not—" He swallowed hard. "I'm not doing this again."

Felix didn't answer. He sat there, slouched on the edge of the bed, looking up at Chan like he'd lost the last thread holding him together.

"I missed you," he muttered. "I missed you so much, I started drinking things I hate just to forget the taste of you."

Chan's heart caved in slightly, but his face remained still, cold. "You made your choice. You married her. You stood in your suit and smiled for cameras and kissed her hand like you were proud. You threw me away like it meant nothing. So don't stand there and tell me you missed me."

"I didn't have a choice—"

"There's always a choice, Felix!"

The silence that followed was brutal.

Chan looked away, jaw trembling, chest heaving like he had just sprinted a marathon. "I begged you to fight for me. I waited like a fool, hoping you'd show up. And then I wrote that damn song... thinking maybe you'd hear it and just understand. But you didn't."

Felix ran his fingers through his hair, dragging it back in frustration. "I did understand. I did. And that's what broke me."

Chan stared at him, his own pain bleeding from his eyes. "Then why now? Why this? Why are you doing this when everything's already over?"

Felix stood, the movement unsteady but determined. He stepped closer, too close, and Chan didn't move away. Their breaths mingled in the thick, charged air between them.

"Because I can't take it anymore," Felix said, voice rough. "This shell I'm living in, this marriage, the lies—they're suffocating me. And I know it's too late, and I know I ruined you, but I had to see you one last time. Just once, not as your boss, not as her husband. Just as the man who's still completely in love with you."

Chan's breath caught.

He turned away abruptly, stepping toward the door, heart cracking in places it thought had long turned to stone. "Your wife is coming," he said flatly. "You should sober up."

Felix didn't stop him.

As Chan opened the door to leave, he paused, back still turned. "You broke me, Felix. And maybe I'll survive it. But I'm not letting you finish the job."

He stepped out, letting the door close quietly behind him.

Inside, Felix sank back onto the bed, alone, his chest burning with everything he should've said and everything he had no right to ask for. The bottle lay shattered on the floor, but the real wreckage was within him.

And there was no cleaning that up.