Between two worlds | Chanlix

Undone

The moment their lips met again, it wasn't rushed. It wasn't stolen. It was years of silence, pain, longing, and denial crashing down like waves too heavy to hold anymore.

Felix's mouth was warm, trembling slightly under the heat of Chan's. Neither of them could pretend anymore. Chan's hands cupped Felix's face, fingers brushing through his hair as if anchoring himself to something he thought he had lost forever. Felix dropped the bottle, the glass rolling somewhere forgotten as their kiss deepened—not wild, not feverish, but desperate.

Their bodies pressed close, and Felix exhaled a soft, broken breath against Chan's lips. "I thought... I ruined everything," he whispered.

"You did," Chan murmured back, forehead resting on Felix's. "But so did I."

Neither of them moved. The city blinked beyond the glass wall—Seoul alive and breathing, while inside the penthouse, time stood still. The air around them crackled with tension, thick with emotions unsaid. Chan's thumb grazed over Felix's lower lip, his eyes half-lidded, searching.

"You're not going to disappear again, are you?" Chan asked, his voice so soft it nearly broke. "Not after this?"

Felix's eyes shimmered, red-rimmed from alcohol and emotion. "I don't want to. But I'm still chained to things I can't fix overnight."

"I'm not asking for miracles," Chan said. "I just want the truth. Only that."

With a nod, Felix reached for the hem of Chan's shirt and pulled it upward, his fingers brushing bare skin. It wasn't lust—it was reverence. A need to feel something real after years of pretending. Chan let him, breathing in slowly as he peeled Felix's shirt from his shoulders next.

They fell back to the bed together, limbs tangled, lips brushing in between heavy breaths. Hands explored gently, learning again what they thought they forgot. The bed dipped under their weight, soft and warm, a temporary refuge from the cold world outside. Felix's hands trembled as they touched Chan's chest—familiar but foreign—like reading a memory from a book long lost.

"I missed you in ways I can't explain," Felix whispered into Chan's neck, voice hoarse and raw.

Chan responded by wrapping his arms around him tightly, like Felix might slip through his fingers again. "Then don't say it. Just stay here. Just be."

The tension turned softer, warmer, as their bodies molded into one another. Fingers laced. Faces buried in skin. Every kiss was a promise unspoken. Every caress a confession.

They didn't need words anymore.

What they had wasn't perfect. It was messy. It was broken in places. But it was real—and real was the only thing either of them had left.

When morning finally crawled into the corners of the room, neither of them had moved far. Felix's head rested on Chan's chest, heartbeat slow and steady beneath his cheek. Chan's hand lay on Felix's back, fingers drawing shapes like music notes.

Silent. Breathless. Whole—for now.

The dawn crept slowly, seeping in through the floor-to-ceiling glass, casting pale golden light across the tangled bedsheets and strewn clothing. The city beyond stirred to life—but inside the suite, the silence between them was louder than ever.

Chan stirred first, eyes heavy with the kind of sleep born of emotional exhaustion. He reached for the other side of the bed, already cold.

Gone.

His heart sank for a moment, but the sound of the sliding door drew his eyes toward the balcony.

Felix was there.

Leaning with both hands on the railing, shirtless and cigarette lit between his fingers, the crisp morning wind tousling his hair. His back was bare, muscles tense under pale skin, the curve of his spine dipped with the cold, or the weight of everything on his shoulders. He didn't flinch when Chan approached. He didn't turn. He just exhaled a stream of smoke into the early sky.

Chan stood behind him silently for a moment, just watching.

This wasn't victory.

This wasn't peace.

This was fragility wearing the skin of two men who had broken their own hearts in the process of loving each other.

"You shouldn't be smoking this early," Chan said finally, voice low, hoarse with sleep.

Felix chuckled bitterly, flicking ash from the cigarette. "You shouldn't be here."

"I could say the same about you." Chan crossed his arms over his bare chest, shivering slightly from the chill. "Are you planning to disappear again?"

Felix didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took one last drag before stubbing out the cigarette in the tray beside him. "No. I'm tired of running."

Chan waited, but the silence stretched too long.

"I crossed a line last night," he said finally. "We both did."

Felix turned his head slightly, profile etched with something unreadable. "Then let's stop pretending there's a line at all."

"That's not how it works, Felix."

"I know." His voice cracked. "God, I know."

Chan stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His skin was cold. "You're going to catch a chill."

"I already did," Felix murmured, tilting his head back against Chan's hand, closing his eyes for a moment. "The second I let you go."

The tenderness of that confession stung more than any argument.

"Tell me what you want," Chan whispered.

"I want..." Felix hesitated. "I want a world where you and I don't have to look over our shoulders. I want to be free from my father. I want to stop lying to everyone—including myself."

Chan's grip on his shoulder tightened gently. "And her?"

Felix's silence answered that.

"She's pregnant, Felix."

"She's not pregnant with my child," he said, voice like gravel. "And you know it."

Chan's stomach twisted. He turned away, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "We shouldn't have done this."

"But we did." Felix reached for him now, fingers brushing along his arm. "Don't regret it, Chan. Please."

"I don't." The words escaped before he could stop them. "But it makes everything more dangerous now. For you. For me. For all of this."

Felix stepped closer, his breath warm against Chan's cheek. "Then don't leave me to do this alone."

Chan met his eyes. They were bloodshot, tired, but devastatingly honest.

"Let me take care of you," Chan said softly, wrapping his arms around him, pulling Felix into his chest. "Just... for now."

Felix nodded against him, arms curling around Chan's waist like he might fall apart without him. And for a moment, just a moment, the chaos outside didn't matter.

But Chan knew—as he looked over Felix's shoulder out at the waking city—that this fragile moment of peace wouldn't last. Not when everything around them was built to keep them apart.

Not when love felt like a warzone.