JUNGWON FANCTION
Flames Find There Way Home (Part 1)
Y/N Synopsis 📕
You grew up in Korea with the boys long before ENHYPEN existed — same neighborhood, same playgrounds, same school corridors. You were closer to Jungwon than anyone else, practically glued to his side since childhood. He was the quiet kid who always protected you; you were the loud one who always made him laugh.
But everything shifted in high school when your family moved overseas unexpectedly. You had to leave Korea and leave them behind — especially Jungwon, who never really handled losing you well.
Years passed.
You stayed in touch sometimes, but life got heavy. Calls got shorter, texts got delayed, and eventually, silence replaced routine.
Now, you’re back in Korea for university. You’ve been back for almost a year now. And even though you’re older, even though the boys are idols now, even though everything feels bigger and louder…
They still feel like home.
You started visiting them during practices naturally — like stepping back into a version of your life you missed for years. Jungwon especially got used to having you around again, maybe a little too quickly.
Which is why your sudden distance hits him harder than anything.
*Late night practice*
The HYBE building felt different at night — quieter, almost hollow, the halls washed in soft gold from the emergency lights. You’d gotten used to passing through after your university classes, mostly just to decompress on your way home. The building had become familiar again, comfortable in a way your campus still wasn’t.
You weren’t planning to stop by the practice rooms tonight.
Not at first.
But as you walked past the hallway leading to them, you heard it — faint music, steady footsteps, the sound of someone pushing themselves long after everyone else had gone home.
Only one person practiced this late.
Only one person always had.
You paused at the door, lifting your hand and knocking lightly.
A beat.
Then another.
The music cut off.
The door slid open just a crack, and Jungwon appeared in the small gap — hair sticking to his forehead, hoodie damp with sweat, breathing slightly uneven. The moment he recognized you, something in his shoulders eased, like he’d been holding tension he didn’t notice until it dissolved.
“Y/N?” he said softly. “It’s late… shouldn’t you be home?”
You lifted the thermos in your hands. “Finished studying and thought you might still be here. I wasn’t sure, so I brought tea in case you were.”
His eyes flickered to the cup, then back to you.
A tiny smile tugged at his lips — the kind he never showed the cameras.
“You really haven’t changed,” he murmured. “Still taking care of everyone except yourself.”
You rolled your eyes gently. “Says the guy practicing past midnight.”
He opened the door a little wider, stepping aside in a silent invitation.
You walked in slowly, letting the door close behind you. The room was warm from constant movement, your reflection stretching beside his in the long mirror.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I know you’re probably tired from school.”
“I’m not,” you said. “Not really. And it’s… quiet here.”
You hesitated. “Easier to think.”
He nodded like he understood that more than he’d ever say.
Jungwon grabbed the tea from your hands, sipping carefully — then his eyebrows lifted.
“You remembered how I like it.”
You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Old habits.”
He didn’t tease you about it.
Didn’t overstep.
Didn’t pull you in or say anything too heavy.
He just sat down on the floor, leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him.
“Stay for a bit?” he asked quietly, eyes on the polished floor instead of you. “You don’t have to talk. Just… sit with me?”
You felt your chest warm at the simplicity of it — not dramatic, not bold, but honest in a way only he could be.
You sat beside him, leaving just a little space between you. Not too close. Not too far.
Jungwon let out a slow exhale, eyes closing for a second like the room finally felt right.
“You always used to do this,” he said, voice soft. “Back then. When things got too loud.”
You blinked at him. “Sit with you?”
“Yeah.” He turned his head, meeting your eyes. “You didn’t say anything. You just… understood.”
Your heart tightened in a slow, quiet way.
“Well,” you murmured, “some things don’t change.”
He smiled again, barely there but warm.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the hum of the speakers cooling down, the distant elevator chime, the soft rustle of Jungwon’s breathing slowing.
Then he said it — almost too softly for the room to hear:
“I’m glad you came.”
You looked at him. “Yeah?”
He nodded, gaze dropping to the floor again.
“It’s been a long week.”
He just nudged your knee gently — a small, familiar touch — and said:
“Stay a little? Until I’m done cooling down?”
You nodded, voice quiet.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
And the two of you sat there — side by side, close but not touching — letting the slow burn of everything unspoken settle between you.
Safe.
Warm.
Almost too familiar.
*two weeks later*
The look in Jungwon’s eyes that night.
It still haunted you.
Every time he texted — gently, cautiously — your heart twisted.
Every time the guys invited you to drop by practice, you typed:
“I’ve been studying. I’ll visit after exams.”
But it was a lie.
Or at least, half of one.
You weren’t ready to face the boys.
To face him.
But you also couldn’t shake the guilt.
You grew up with them. You laughed, fought, ran through the streets together. They were your people. Avoiding them wasn’t just uncomfortable — it felt like severing a part of yourself.
Still, you stayed away.
The last few days didn’t explode all at once.
They cracked slowly.
Tiny fractures you didn’t notice until they finally split open.
⸻
1. Day One — Jungwon slips first.
He texted you more than usual.
Not clingy—just… too present.
Little things like:
“Did you get home safe?”
“Send me your schedule so I know when you’re free.”
“I miss talking to you.”
And you knew he didn’t mean miss as a friend would.
His words kept getting warmer, softer, more careful.
Like he was trying not to confess by accident.
But everyone else noticed before you did.
Especially Sunghoon.
⸻
2. Day Two — Sunghoon starts watching too closely.
He pretended he wasn’t bothered.
Pretended Jungwon wasn’t acting… different around you.
But Sunghoon has always felt things deeper than he lets on.
He started hovering—
pulling you into conversations, offering rides home, showing up when he didn’t need to.
Too protective.
Too defensive.
Too aware of Jungwon.
And every time you laughed at something Jungwon said?
Hoon’s jaw just… clenched.
⸻
3. Day Three — Jake pieces it together.
Jake is always the one who notices what everyone else ignores.
He caught the way Sunghoon glared at his phone whenever you texted.
He caught the way Jungwon stared at the ground around you.
He caught the way you didn’t seem to understand any of it.
He didn’t call anyone out.
He just got quieter.
More careful around you.
More curious about how you actually felt.
And then he started testing you—
soft questions, indirect ones, watching your reactions like they mattered too much.
Because they did.
Jake was falling too, but silently.
⸻
4. Day Four — Everything starts bleeding together.
You hung out with them after practice.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing big.
But the energy was off.
• Jungwon kept sitting closer than usual
• Sunghoon kept pulling you farther away
• Jake kept watching everything like he was waiting for something to break
And you… felt all of it.
Overlapping.
Confusing.
Contradicting.
But you shrugged it off.
Until you couldn’t.
You didn’t remember much from the restaurant.
Not clearly.
Just… pieces.
A blur of warm lights, clinking dishes, voices that didn’t match the words they were saying.
And the walk outside—cold, too bright, too quiet.
By the time you stepped onto the street, everything felt wrong.
Like you’d walked out of someone else’s life by mistake.
Your legs carried you home on autopilot.
But your mind—
your mind stayed back there.
With them.
With all of them.
⸻
You didn’t remember who spoke first.
Maybe Jake?
No—
maybe Sunghoon.
Or Jungwon.
Or all of them at once, their voices overlapping in a way that made everything feel louder inside your head than it really was.
You rubbed your eyes as you walked, the night air stinging.
Why does it feel like they’re all talking to me differently?
Jake’s voice had been the softest—
but the one that dug the deepest.
Gentle questions, lightly asked, but aimed straight at the truth like he couldn’t help himself.
Sunghoon’s words were sharper—
not cruel, just… edged.
Like he was trying too hard not to care and failing miserably in front of everyone.
And Jungwon—
you remembered his silence most of all.
The way he looked at you like he was holding something he wasn’t supposed to.
Something that wasn’t meant to slip out tonight.
But almost did.
You stumbled a little, catching yourself on a railing.
Why them? Why now? Why all at once?
⸻
You reached your apartment without remembering the last five blocks.
The door shut behind you with a heavy thud.
You dropped your bag.
Then your keys.
Then yourself.
Your chest squeezed until you folded right to the floor, knees hitting the carpet too hard.
Then the tears came—
not soft, not slow.
They were messy.
Panicked.
A week’s worth of confusion held behind your teeth until tonight, and now it poured out faster than you could swallow it back.
And while you cried, the memories kept circling—
• Jake leaning back in his chair, eyes warm and worried, like he knew you were slipping before you did.
• Sunghoon’s jaw clenching whenever someone got too close to you, especially Jungwon.
• Jungwon opening his mouth like he was about to say something, then shutting it so fast the moment cracked in half.
You pressed your palms to your eyes.
“I can’t… I can’t understand them,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know what any of them want.”
From you.
From each other.
From whatever this is turning into.
You sniffed hard, wiping your face.
“They don’t even understand themselves.”
⸻
The knock was soft at first.
Barely there.
You thought you imagined it—
that maybe you were finally losing it.
But then it came again.
A little stronger.
You held your breath.
“Y/N?” a voice called gently. “It’s me…”
Sunoo.
Your chest stuttered.
Not fear.
Not relief.
Just that strange, warm ache that always came with him.
You wiped your cheeks with your sleeves and opened the door.
Sunoo didn’t say a word when he saw your face.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He didn’t push.
He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug that felt like a soft landing after a long fall.
You collapsed into him, tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
He smelled like clean laundry and vanilla lotion, familiar and grounding.
“Let’s sit,” he murmured, guiding you inside like he’d done this before.
Like he knew exactly what you needed without asking.
When you sat, he stayed close—
not touching too much, not too little.
Just close enough.
“Talk,” he said quietly. “Or don’t. Either is okay.”
And that’s when it all slipped out—
not clean, not orderly.
Half-sentences.
Out-of-order moments.
The almost-kiss with Jungwon you weren’t even sure you remembered right.
Sunghoon stepping in, voice tight.
Jake watching you like you were running from something only he could see.
Sunoo listened to every scrambled piece.
“You’re overwhelmed,” he said softly. “Not confused. There’s a difference.”
You looked at him through blurry eyes.
“Why are they all acting like this?”
Sunoo took a slow breath—
soft, thoughtful, knowing.
“Because they care,” he said. “All of them. Just… in different ways.”
Jake with his quiet steadiness.
Sunghoon with his sharp protectiveness.
Jungwon with feelings he’s terrified to show.
And Sunoo—
Sunoo with his gentle truth.
“They’re all trying,” he whispered. “Just not very well.”
You let out a shaky laugh that almost turned into another sob.
“I don’t know how to deal with this.”
Sunoo squeezed your hand.
“You don’t have to deal with it alone.”
You were curled into Sunoo’s side on the couch, finally breathing normally again. Your eyes were puffy, your chest still tight, but the storm inside you had slowed to a drizzle.
Sunoo had one arm around your shoulders, scrolling his phone with the other hand, humming quietly like he was trying to keep the room soft.
You didn’t know how long you’d been like that when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Sunoo peeked over. “Who’s blowing up your phone this late?”
You reached for it, expecting maybe a group chat, maybe Jungwon checking in.
But it wasn’t that.
Jake calling…
Your stomach dropped.
Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Him.”
You swallowed hard. “I… don’t know if I can talk right now.”
Sunoo squeezed your hand. “Then don’t.”
But something inside you said you needed to.
For clarity.
For closure.
For something you couldn’t name.
You answered.
“Hello?”
Jake’s voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.
“Y/N? Are you home?”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah. I’m… home.”
A small breath left him—relief, heavy and shaky.
“I was worried. You left dinner so fast.”
You glanced at Sunoo, who pretended not to listen but very much was.
“I’m okay,” you lied.
Jake didn’t buy it. “You don’t sound okay.”
Silence pressed between you.
Then—
“Did someone upset you?” he asked.
Gentle. Careful. Scared of the answer.
“No,” you whispered. “I just… everything today was too much.”
Jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “Y/N… you know you can talk to me, right?”
Your chest tightened again. “Jake, I don’t want to make this more complicated.”
His voice lowered. “It’s already complicated.”
You closed your eyes.
“Jake…”
“Just tell me something,” he said quietly. “Are you safe? Are you alone?”
You froze.
Your eyes flicked to Sunoo beside you.
Jake hesitated on the phone, picking up on the silence.
“You’re not alone,” he said slowly.
You swallowed. “No. Sunoo’s here.”
Jake was quiet for too long.
“Oh,” he finally said. Just one word—but it felt heavy, disappointed, something he tried to hide.
You fidgeted with the blanket. “He came to check on me.”
Jake’s breath trembled. “Of course he did. Sunoo always notices first.”
Something in his tone changed—gentler, wounded, curious.
“Y/N,” he said, “do you… feel better with him there?”
You felt Sunoo’s hand tighten around yours, warm and grounding.
Your voice cracked. “Yeah. He’s been helping.”
Jake exhaled again, softer this time. “Good. You deserve someone who stays.”
The words hit differently.
“Jake…”
He cut you off—too quick, too nervous:
“I’m not trying to get in the way. I just… I needed to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t just that.
You could hear the things he wasn’t saying hanging in the quiet.
Before you could respond, he added:
“If anything else happens… call me. Even if it’s late. Even if someone else is there. I’ll still pick up.”
Your heart twisted.
Because Jake never admitted feelings directly—but he always said them sideways.
“I will,” you whispered.
“Good.” A long pause. “Get some rest, okay? You sounded really sad earlier.”
“I was,” you said softly.
Jake’s voice broke just a little. “That… hurts to hear.”
Your breath caught.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Jake.”
You hung up.
The room was quiet except for the faint sound of Sunoo nibbling a snack he didn’t need.
Then Sunoo spoke, voice unimpressed but gentle:
“So. That sounded… complicated.”
You laughed weakly. “Everything is complicated.”
Sunoo nudged your shoulder. “You know… they’re not just confused.”
You looked at him, tired. “Then what are they?”
Sunoo smiled sadly and brushed a tear off your cheek with his thumb.
“They just- They, aren’t used to being so close to you now, and don’t know how to handle it.”
You leaned into him, exhausted.
“Neither do I,” you whispered.
Sunoo wrapped his arms around you again.
“That’s why I’m here,” he murmured. “Until you figure it out.”
And you let yourself collapse into him—because right now, he was the only calm in the chaos.
———
Jungwon didn’t even bother knocking at first.
He had your spare key, the one you gave him months ago when you first moved back “in case of emergencies.” And tonight—after watching you leave dinner with that look in your eyes—felt like an emergency.
But he stopped himself at your door, fingers hovering over the handle. He exhaled shakily, forced himself to knock instead.
Knock. Knock.
No answer.
He frowned, leaning closer. “Y/N? It’s me.”
Another beat of silence.
Then—a sound. A muffled sniffle.
Fabric moving.
Someone’s voice—soft and low.
He felt his chest go tight.
Jungwon tried the door.
Unlocked.
He stepped inside slowly, quietly—like he was afraid of what he already knew he might see.
The living room lights were low.
The TV cast soft blue shadows.
And you—
You were curled into Sunoo’s chest on the couch, his arms wrapped carefully around you, hand stroking your back as you trembled.
Jungwon froze.
For a second, he couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t move.
His stomach dropped so fast it hurt.
Sunoo was the first to notice. His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away—he just held you tighter, protective, as he looked up.
“Jungwon—”
You turned at the sound, eyes red, cheeks wet, blanket wrapped around you like armor. The moment you saw him, guilt flickered across your face—sharp, painful, unintentional.
Jungwon felt it like a punch.
He swallowed hard. “You… you didn’t answer your phone.”
Your voice cracked as you said, “I’m sorry. I just… I wasn’t okay.”
Sunoo’s hand stayed on your shoulder.
Jungwon’s eyes caught it immediately—his jaw tightening.
“You should’ve called me,” Jungwon said quietly. “I would’ve come right away.”
Sunoo shifted, protective heat in his voice. “She didn’t have to call anyone. She needed comfort, not pressure.”
Jungwon’s expression didn’t soften.
If anything, it sharpened.
“I’m not pressuring her,” he said tightly. “I’m worried about her.”
“You’re not the only one who worries,” Sunoo shot back.
The tension snapped like an elastic pulled too tight.
You stood abruptly, wiping your cheeks, putting distance between their stares.
“Please,” you whispered. “Stop. I can’t handle this tonight.”
Sunoo exhaled and stood too, steadying you with a gentle touch to your arm before stepping back.
Jungwon watched that touch like it burned him.
“Y/N,” he said softly, stepping forward. “Talk to me. Please.”
You shook your head, voice barely working. “I just need… quiet.”
Hurt flashed across Jungwon’s face—real, raw, unfiltered.
He nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”
He turned toward the door, hand on the knob, but hesitated—voice slipping out before he could stop it.
“For the record…”
His voice cracked.
“I came because I care. More than I should.”
Sunoo’s eyes narrowed at that.
Your breath hitched.
Jungwon didn’t turn around.
He opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and let it close behind him—soft, but final.
The silence afterward felt heavier than anything.
—-
The elevator doors closed before Jungwon could even catch his breath.
He stood there alone, staring at the metal panel, your door still echoing in his mind—
the way Sunoo held you,
the way you cried into someone else’s chest,
the way your eyes looked at him like he came too late.
The moment the elevator started moving, his chest tightened painfully.
He pressed the emergency stop button.
The elevator jolted to a stop.
The sudden silence hit him harder than anything.
And then he broke.
His hand flew to his mouth as a sob punched out of him—ugly, sharp, uncontrollable. He bent forward, hands braced against his knees, shoulders shaking.
“Why…” he choked out, breath stuttering, “why didn’t you call me?”
He’d meant to sound angry.
But all that came out was devastation.
He tried breathing through it, but every inhale hurt.
He saw Sunoo’s arms around you.
He saw the way you leaned into him like it was natural.
Like it wasn’t Jungwon’s place anymore.
Like he never even had a chance.
His fist slammed weakly against the wall.
It didn’t help.
“Sunoo got there first,” he whispered to himself, voice cracking.
“Of course he did. He always knows how to comfort people. He always knows what to say.”
Another sob tore through his chest—quiet, ragged.
“I’m too late.”
He sagged to the floor of the elevator, sliding down until he was sitting with his knees pulled up, forehead pressed to them.
“I should’ve said something,” he whispered.
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
His voice trembled.
“I care about you more than I should. More than you think. More than I can say without ruining everything.”
He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying to calm down, but every time he breathed, his throat tightened again.
He remembered your voice—
cracked, small, tired.
“I just need quiet.”
He had heard the truth beneath the words:
You didn’t need him.
Or maybe he wasn’t the one you reached for anymore.
He covered his eyes with his hand, another tear slipping down.
“I wanted to be the person you called when you were falling apart,” he said quietly.
“I thought I was.”
The elevator hummed softly around him, the only witness.
He finally reached up and hit the button to get it moving again, wiping his face as the doors opened to the lobby.
He stepped out with red eyes, breath shaky, hoodie pulled tight around him.
As he walked out into the cold night air, he whispered one final thing—so soft he wasn’t sure he meant to say it out loud:
“I don’t know how to lose you… when I never got to have you.”
The wind swallowed the words.
But they stayed with him all the way