Between two worlds | Chanlix

The wreck side

Three weeks passed.

And not a word came from Felix.

Chan didn't answer the calls. He didn't even open the messages. When JYP's number appeared on his screen, he simply locked it again and dropped it face down on the desk. He didn't owe anyone anything anymore.

Not him. Not her. Not them.

The new performances were going flawlessly. Each time the trio went on stage, the energy was electric, but beneath that fire, Chan had become eerily... calm.

Like the storm in him had frozen over instead of passed.

Changbin noticed it first.

Chan was no longer yelling during rehearsals, no longer joking as much, not even scolding Han when he made dumb faces during interviews. He was simply... efficient. Focused. Silently driven. If he wasn't in the studio, he was at the gym. If he wasn't there, he was sleeping. Nothing in between. Just routine.

"He's too calm," Changbin whispered one night as they watched Chan lift weights like a machine. "Like, not even one breakdown this week. Who is this guy?"

Han glanced over from the treadmill, chewing gum obnoxiously. "That's what heartbreak looks like when it goes cold. He froze the whole damn thing."

Changbin grunted. "It's unhealthy."

Han nodded.

So he planned something.

A surprise.

"Hyung! You're not skipping this one," Han yelled as he stormed into Chan's flat. "Shoes. Now."

Chan didn't even resist.

He blinked, sighed, then went to grab his jacket.

That night, the three of them ended up at a loud Korean BBQ place packed with young people and noise. Han ordered too much soju. Changbin cracked too many jokes. Someone spilled meat sauce on someone's pants and there was a chaotic argument about who was better looking between the three of them.

Chan laughed.

Not politely. Not the hollow, distant kind of laugh he had mastered in front of cameras. But really laughed. He leaned back in his chair, cheeks pink from the alcohol and warmth, head thrown slightly to the side.

He looked alive again.

Han gave Changbin a subtle thumbs-up behind Chan's back.

They were mid-way through their fourth bottle when Mr. Kim arrived.

Still sharply dressed in his navy suit, but without his usual stiffness. He fit in easily with the group. He laughed with them, toasted to their success, and even joined when they all imitated the choreography of their latest song like fools.

When Mr. Kim excused himself to smoke outside, Chan followed a few minutes later with a cigarette of his own. They stood in silence first, shoulder to shoulder outside the restaurant. The night air was cool, the city buzzing softly around them.

Chan lit his cigarette. "You don't seem like the smoking type."

"I wasn't," Mr. Kim said with a soft smile. "Business changed that."

They shared a quiet moment, just the sound of faint laughter from inside and the occasional hiss of a passing car.

Then Mr. Kim turned slightly toward him.

There was something different in his expression. Gentler. Warmer. A tension in the way he looked at Chan—not businesslike. Not friendly either.

Something paused in the air.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Mr. Kim said.

Chan blinked. "What is it?"

Mr. Kim took a slow step closer, his voice quieter now.

"Have you ever considered—"

The sentence hung there, unfinished.

The night stilled.

Chan's breath caught in his throat.

The cigarette between Chan's fingers was nearly down to the filter when Mr. Kim finally spoke again, voice softer now—barely above the whisper of the street noise.

"I've been thinking about this for a while, Chan."

Chan turned his head toward him, brows raised slightly.

Mr. Kim offered a faint, almost bashful smile, the kind that didn't belong to the sharp businessman he knew but rather to someone just... trying.

"Would you ever consider trying something with me?"

The words fell between them like a sudden drop in temperature.

Chan blinked, lips parting slightly. His breath left in a thin stream of smoke. "You mean... us?"

A nod. "Yeah."

There was no pressure in the tone, no urgency. Just a calm, quiet offer.

Chan looked away, not in discomfort but in honest thought. He had never considered Mr. Kim in that way. The man was kind, respectful, brilliant—but his mind, his heart, had been wrapped in something else for so long, there was no space to consider someone new.

"I don't think I ever saw you like that," he admitted gently. "I never thought you saw me like that either."

"I didn't, at first," Mr. Kim replied with a shrug, smiling faintly. "But you kept surprising me. Not with your music. I expected that. But with who you are."

Chan was quiet again.

Mr. Kim chuckled, brushing ash off his sleeve. "It's okay. I knew what your answer might be."

He tapped his cigarette against the ashtray beside them, then gave Chan a warm glance. "At least I tried. I won't regret it."

That made Chan smile—a small one, but real. "You're braver than me."

They both laughed.

The night deepened around them, the glow of the restaurant windows behind casting golden light onto the street. It was quiet, almost peaceful.

"I'll drive you home," Mr. Kim said as they flicked away the final embers and headed back inside. "Han and Changbin already left."

Chan nodded. "Thanks. I'm too tired to deal with taxis tonight."

They walked side by side to Mr. Kim's car, the city gently humming around them. Music leaked from nearby clubs, headlights flashed, but there was a calm between them—a comfort neither tried to fill with words.

But as they drove, something changed.

Mr. Kim didn't turn toward Chan's place.

Instead, he took a left off the usual route, heading into a quieter part of the city. Chan turned to him, puzzled. "Where are we going?"

"I just need to stop somewhere quickly," Mr. Kim said. "I promise it won't take long. Just... come in with me?"

Something about his tone made Chan pause—but he nodded.

The car pulled into the covered driveway of a sleek, high-rise hotel. Warm lighting lit the stone exterior. A doorman greeted Mr. Kim with familiarity, and the lobby inside shimmered with luxury, soft jazz humming beneath crystal chandeliers.

Mr. Kim turned back to Chan as they entered.

"I need you to guide me to someone."

Chan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Kim gave him a look—an unreadable one.

But there was a spark of something serious behind it.

"Just follow me," he said, already walking toward the elevators.

Chan hesitated—but he followed.

The lobby doors closed behind them.