Chapter Text
The 3RACHA Entertainment headquarters did not smell like a prestigious music label. It smelled like burnt Arabica beans, ozone from overheating servers, and the faint, lingering scent of the spicy chicken Changbin had ordered at 2:00 AM.
Bang Chan, CEO, Head Producer, and part-time ghost haunting his own hallways, rubbed his eyes. He was currently in the zone, which was a polite way of saying he hadn't seen natural sunlight in forty-eight hours and his hair looked like a bird had tried to build a nest in it and then given up halfway through.
"I need a receptionist," Chan muttered to his computer monitor. The monitor did not reply. "Someone stable. Someone boring. Someone who won't join in when Jisung starts screaming lyrics about cheesecake at three in the morning. I'm so glad that we have someone coming in today for an interview. If they aren't a good fit, I give up and hide under my desk until the next album comes out. Or the coffee runs out, whichever comes first."
A soft knock at the door interrupted his spiral.
"Come in," Chan croaked, expecting an intern with more bad news about a corrupted audio file.
The door opened, and the air in the room seemed to shift. The stale, recycled oxygen was replaced by the scent of... citrus? And perhaps sunshine?
In walked a boy who looked like he had been filtered through a Soft Glow Instagram lens. He had blonde hair that caught the dim studio light, a sprinkling of freckles across his nose that looked like stars, and a smile so bright Chan actually blinked twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from sleep deprivation.
"Hi! G'day! I'm here for the 9:00 AM interview? I'm Lee Felix."
Chan froze. The voice did not match the face. The face was an angel; the voice was a sub-woofer buried in the Earth’s crust. It was deep. It was resonant. It was Australian.
"You're... Australian?" Chan asked, his own accent slipping out like a reflex.
"Born and raised, mate," Felix beamed, stepping into the cluttered office. He looked at the mountain of empty energy drink cans and empty mugs of coffee on Chan’s desk with a look of genuine, heartbreaking concern. "Oh, wow. Are you alright? You look like you’re vibrating."
"I am the CEO," Chan said, trying to regain his dignity while accidentally knocking a stapler off his desk. "I am supposed to vibrate. It’s... a leadership tactic."
Felix didn't laugh. Instead, he walked over, gently took the lukewarm espresso cup out of Chan’s hand, and replaced it with a bottle of cold water he pulled from his backpack.
"Let’s start with hydration," Felix said softly. "I’m the new hire, right? If this interview goes well of course. I’m supposed to handle the front desk and maybe help out with the choreography team?"
Chan watched him. He watched the way Felix tidied a stack of loose papers without being asked. He watched the way the morning light hit those freckles. For the first time in five years, Bang Chan’s brain - usually a chaotic mess of synth melodies and logistics - went completely silent.
I have to marry him, Chan thought. Then, he corrected himself. No, I have to hire him. And then protect him. If Changbin sees this boy, he’ll try to put him in a gym locker to keep him forever. If Minho sees him, he’ll try to teach him how to use a professional air-fryer.
"You're hired," Chan said, far too quickly. "You start five minutes ago. Your salary is whatever you want. Please don't leave."
Felix giggled - a sound that Chan was certain could cure a cold. "Brilliant! I'm looking forward to it. I've actually heard a lot about this place. A friend of mine works here."
Chan wasn't listening. He was already imagining a world where Felix brought him water every day and told him "G'day" in that tectonic-plate-shifting voice.
Deep in the back of the building, in Studio B, Han Jisung suddenly sneezed. He smirked to himself, leaning back in his chair. "He’s in the building," Jisung whispered, spinning his pen. "Let the games begin."
Chan stood up so abruptly that his rolling chair careened backward, thudding against a shelf of vintage vinyl. He didn't even flinch. He was too busy trying to smooth down his hair, which he now realised felt like dry straw compared to the silk-spun gold on Felix’s head.
"Right! Yes. The tour," Chan said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, aiming for distinguished executive but landing somewhere near overexcited golden retriever. "As the CEO of 3RACHA Entertainment, I usually delegate this to HR. But since HR is currently just a cardboard cutout of Changbin with a wig on - long story, budget cuts, don't ask - I’ll show you the ropes myself."
Felix tilted his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "A cardboard cutout? Sounds like a very focused department."
"He’s very good at saying no to vacation requests," Chan joked, feeling a surge of pride when Felix actually laughed. It was a rich, melodic sound that made Chan want to go out and buy a ring immediately.
"Follow me, Lix - can I call you Lix? Or is it Felix? Or 'Your Excellency'?"
Felix’s ears turned a faint shade of pink. "Lix is fine, Chris."
Chan felt a physical pang in his chest. Chris. No one called him Chris anymore. He was 'Bang Chan,' 'Chan-hyung,' or 'That guy who hasn't slept since 2017.' Hearing his English name in that deep, honeyed Australian accent felt like a warm hug for his brain.
They stepped out of the office and into the main artery of the building. 3RACHA HQ was less of a corporate office and more of a high-tech dormitory designed by people who were allergic to minimalism. The walls were covered in framed platinum records, graffiti-style murals, and wanted posters for whoever kept stealing the almond milk.
"Over here is the main lounge," Chan gestured to an area filled with beanbags and a TV that was currently playing a 10-hour loop of 'Relaxing Jazz for Cats.' "We believe in a creative atmosphere. If you feel the urge to nap, don't. Just drink more caffeine. That’s the 3RACHA way."
Felix peered into the kitchen area. "Is that a pile of protein powder containers in the sink?"
Chan winced. "That would be Changbin. He believes the dishwasher is a decorative sculpture. Ignore it. I’ll hire someone to pressure-wash the kitchen later. Or I'll do it. I'll do anything for the company." He paused, looking at Felix’s pristine white hoodie. "Actually, don't go in there. I don't want you to get stained by the... well, the environment."
As they passed a heavy, soundproof door labeled 'STUDIO B: TRASHPANDA SQUAT', the door creaked open just an inch.
Chan didn't notice, because he was busy explaining the complex filing system for the company’s demo tracks (which mostly involved him remembering which USB stick was at the bottom of his backpack). But Felix noticed.
A pair of dark, mischievous eyes peered through the crack.
Han Jisung was crouching on a rolling chair just inside the door, looking like a squirrel that had successfully infiltrated a nut factory. He caught Felix’s eye and gave a tiny, frantic wave. He blew a silent kiss, his cheeks puffing out in a silent giggle.
Felix’s professional mask flickered for a split second. He shot Han a quick wink - a sharp, practiced movement that would have ended Bang Chan’s life if he had seen it - and then immediately returned his gaze to Chan.
"And this," Chan said, stopping in front of a massive glass window overlooking the main dance floor, "is where the magic happens. Or where we realise we can't dance and cry. It’s a 50/50 split, really."
"It’s beautiful," Felix breathed, pressing his hands against the glass. "The lighting is perfect."
Chan watched him. He looks like a painting, Chan thought. A very expensive painting that I should probably insure. Why is he so pretty? Is it the Australian water? Did I miss out on a glow-up because I moved to Korea too early?
"So, Felix," Chan said, leaning against the wall and trying to look ruggedly handsome, only to realise he was leaning on a fire extinguisher. "What brought you to 3RACHA? You could probably work at any of the 'Big Three' agencies with a face - I mean, a resume - like yours."
Felix turned back to him, his expression softening into something genuine. "I wanted to work somewhere that felt like family. A place where people actually like each other. Plus, I heard the producers here are geniuses."
Chan’s heart did a backflip. "Geniuses? Well, I mean, we try. Changbin is okay. Jisung is... loud. But I-"
"I was mostly talking about you, Chris," Felix said, stepping a little closer. The scent of citrus was stronger now. It was intoxicating.
Chan’s brain officially short-circuited. He forgot how to speak Korean. He forgot how to speak English. He was currently operating on a primitive level of 'Pretty boy said my name.'
"I... uh... thank you," Chan managed. "I should... we should... check the printers. Very important. Printers. Technology. Papers."
As Chan stumbled toward the supply closet to hide his flaming red face, he didn't see Han Jisung slip out of Studio B, grab Felix’s hand for a lightning-fast squeeze, and whisper, "You're doing great, babe." before disappearing back into the shadows.
Felix just grinned, adjusted his lanyard, and followed his new boss. This was going to be the most fun he’d ever had at a job.
"I just need to print your contract," Chan said, his voice echoing slightly in the small room. "It’s a standard non-disclosure agreement. Basically, it says you won't tell the press that Changbin sleeps with a plushie named 'Gyu' or that I once cried because a pizza delivery was three minutes late."
Felix chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "My lips are sealed, Chris."
Chan hit the print button with the flourish of a man who knew what he was doing. The machine responded by making a sound like a blender full of gravel. A red light began to blink—ominous and rhythmic.
ERROR: PAPER JAM. CLEAR PATH 4B.
"Path 4B?" Chan hissed, dropping to his knees. "What even is a Path 4B? I built a world-class recording studio from scratch, but I am defeated by a plastic box from Canon."
He began pulling at trays with increasing desperation. He was sweating now. He wanted to look like a capable, tech-savvy CEO, but instead, he was currently head-first in a paper tray, muttering darkly about the industrial revolution.
"Here, let me help," Felix said, kneeling down beside him.
The space was small. Very small. Their shoulders brushed - a brief, electric contact that made Chan’s heart rate spike to a tempo that would have been perfect for a hardstyle EDM track. Felix reached past Chan, his arm grazing Chan’s bicep as he reached deep into the machine.
"You have to be gentle with her," Felix whispered, his deep voice vibrating in the tiny room. "She’s just stressed."
Chan watched, mesmerised, as Felix’s slender fingers moved with surgical precision. With a satisfying click, Felix pulled out a crumpled, blackened sheet of paper. He turned to Chan, their faces now only inches apart. Chan could see the individual gold flecks in Felix’s eyes. He could see the slight shimmer of lip balm.
"Fixed it," Felix breathed.
Chan didn't move. He couldn't. He was currently wondering if it was legal to give a receptionist a 500% raise on their first day. "You... you're a genius," Chan whispered.
"It’s just a printer, Chris."
"No," Chan said, his eyes wide. "It’s a sign."
Once the contract was finally signed (and Chan had spent three minutes longer than necessary guiding Felix's hand to the signature line), they headed back to the main area. But Chan’s pocket was vibrating.
The 3RACHA + LOSERS group chat was exploding.
[CEO Bang]: Guys, the new hire is here. Stay professional. Do NOT be weird.
[SpearB]: Define weird.
[QuokkaJisung]: Yeah, Chan-hyung. Define weird. Like, 'screaming in the hallway' weird or 'staring at him until he feels uncomfortable' weird?
[SpearB]: Also, is he cute? I need someone to spot me at the gym later.
[CEO Bang]: He is an angel. He is a delicate flower. If any of you scare him, I will delete your unreleased tracks from the server. I mean it.
Chan pocketed his phone, unaware that the quokka in question was currently sitting in the studio next door, texting Felix under the desk.
[Jisungie ❤️]: how’s my favorite receptionist doing? did Channie-hyung propose yet?
[Lixie]: almost. he’s currently staring at my hand because I touched the printer.
[Jisungie ❤️]: lmao he’s so gone. try not to laugh. see you at lunch for a secret closet kiss? 😉
Felix tucked his phone away just as they reached the front desk - a sleek, marble slab that looked far too cold for someone as warm as Felix.
"This is your station," Chan said, gesturing grandly to the desk. "You are the face of the company now, Felix. The gatekeeper."
"I take my duties very seriously," Felix said, sitting in the ergonomic chair and spinning once. He looked perfect. He looked like he belonged there.
Chan was about to say something profoundly cheesy - perhaps something about how the gate to his heart was also open - when the elevator pinged.
The doors slid open to reveal a man wearing a bucket hat, a silk shirt unbuttoned one button too far, and an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom. It was Lee Minho, the Head of Performance, carrying an iced Americano like it was a weapon of war.
Minho stopped dead in his tracks. His cat-like eyes zeroed in on the new blonde at the desk. He didn't say hello to Chan. He didn't even acknowledge Chan existed.
He walked straight up to the desk, leaned over the marble, and stared into Felix’s soul for five agonizingly long seconds.
"You," Minho said, his voice a sharp contrast to Felix's deep rumble. "You have good lines."
Felix blinked, tilting his head. "Lines? Like... script lines?"
"No," Minho smirked, a dangerous, predatory glint in his eye. "Dance lines. I can tell by the way you sit. You’re coming with me to the studio in ten minutes. I need a new toy to practice choreo on."
"Actually, he’s my receptionist-" Chan started, but Minho just held up a hand to silence him.
"He’s a masterpiece, Chan. Stop talking," Minho said, then turned back to Felix, dropping the extra-large iced coffee on the desk. "Drink this. We work at noon. Don't be late, Sunshine."
Minho sauntered off toward the practice rooms, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and chaos in his wake.
Chan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I lost him. It’s been ten minutes and the dancers are already trying to steal him."
Felix just looked at the coffee, then at the retreating figure of Lee Minho, and then - subtly - at the door to Han's studio. He bit his lip to hide a grin.
The 3RACHA office was about to become a battlefield, and Felix was the prize.