Between two worlds | Chanlix

The pain of my love to you

The hush of the hotel hallway was only broken by the sound of their footsteps—slow, deliberate, almost echoing in the luxurious stillness.

Mr. Kim walked ahead of Chan, his expression unusually serious. "I think he won't be able to tell you everything himself," he began, voice low but steady. "That's why I brought you here. You need to hear it from someone."

Chan narrowed his eyes slightly. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Kim let out a breath. "I'm not really the investor. I'm just a personal assistant to the one who actually invested in your label. He wanted to remain anonymous... but he also wanted to be close to the process. So I represented him."

Chan blinked, stunned. "Why would someone go through so much trouble just to hide—?"

"You'll understand in a minute," Mr. Kim interrupted gently.

They stepped into the elevator. Mr. Kim reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black key card. He slid it into the security slot and pressed the button to the top floor.

The elevator hummed to life.

"He said he wanted to support you from a distance. That being known... would complicate everything. For both of you."

Chan's heart beat faster, but he said nothing.

When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened onto an opulent hallway drenched in warm light, the carpet a deep, lush navy. At the end stood an enormous set of double doors, carved with golden accents and guarded by silence.

Mr. Kim turned to Chan, softer now. "He might be tipsy again. But try to talk to him. Please."

With that, he stepped forward and tapped the black card to the scanner beside the doors. There was a quiet click, and the doors eased open with surprising smoothness.

The scent hit Chan instantly.

Soft cologne, fine liquor, and something distinctly familiar—something that pulled him backward through memory and time.

He stepped inside.

The suite was huge—glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, giving an unbroken view of the sleeping city glowing in a thousand lights below. The air was thick, not loud with music, but heavy with emotion and the quiet echo of isolation.

And there he was.

Felix stood barefoot near the glass, one hand clutching an opened bottle, his blazer slumped on the floor behind him. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, clinging loosely to his frame. The lines of exhaustion ran down his neck, his hair slightly damp as if he'd run his hands through it too many times.

The city glowed behind him, but he stood in shadow.

Chan's breath caught in his throat.

He didn't say a word. Not yet. Not when Felix hadn't turned around.

Not when everything was screaming at him—every part of his body reacting to the sight, the moment, the weight of knowing.

The sponsor had been Felix.

It had always been him.

Mr. Kim stepped away, wordlessly disappearing behind the door as it clicked closed behind Chan.

Felix didn't move.

Chan's voice was rough, uncertain. "So it was you."

Felix finally turned his head slightly. His eyes were red. Glossy. But not just from the alcohol.

From grief.

From guilt.

From him.

"You always liked the view," Felix murmured, voice raspy, almost breaking. "I remembered."