The Space Between
Synopsis:
Two hearts, a cat, one domestic life... and a single email that might break them. Can they hold on to what they have?
(Written for Hanki shippers, by a Hanki shipper. No refunds if you cry. DEFINITELY NOT A SMUT *wink**wink*)
(Please listen to this song while reading. I highly recommend 🥹)
Chapter 3
Woongki’s POV
The Seoul streets were quieter than usual, the hum of cars distant beneath the glow of neon lights. My hands dug into my coat pockets as I walked, the email from Spain looping in my mind like a broken record.
Two weeks. I’d known for two weeks. And Han didn’t know.
The wind tugged at my hair, and I shivered—not from the cold, but from the weight of what I hadn’t said. A year away. A new life waiting. And Han… my Han, who didn’t deserve to feel blindsided.
I passed a small cafe and paused, staring at the warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. I could go in. I could call him. I could… do something. But my chest felt like stone. I just wanted to keep walking until my legs forgot the way home.
Back at the apartment, the door clicked shut behind me. Cookie meowed, rubbing against my legs as if sensing the tension in my shoulders. I slumped on the couch, laptop open but unread, my fingers tracing the edge of the keyboard without focus.
Shuaibo and JL’s words echoed in my mind. You got this. We got you.
I knew they were right. I had to tell Han. I had to. But the thought of seeing his expression, the possibility of disappointment, made my stomach twist.
Cookie jumped onto my lap, and I buried my face in her fur, letting her warmth steady me.
“You’re the luckiest and the unluckiest guy all at once, huh?” I whispered. “I just hope you still… love me after this.”
When Han came home, the air shifted. The door swung open with that familiar creak, and there he was—hair a little mussed from rehearsal, guitar case slung over one shoulder, and a paper bag dangling from his other hand.
“You didn’t check your messages?” he asked as he kicked off his shoes. “I texted you a while ago. Guess you were busy.” His tone was light, but his eyes searched my face like he was trying to read the whole day in one glance. He lifted the bag with a grin. “I bought us our favorite snack—Fried Egg Gummies.”
I straightened from the couch, my phone slipping onto the coffee table. “I was out with friends. Sorry, I didn’t notice.” Then I spotted the bag in his hand, the yellow-and-white gummies peeking out. “Oh wow, I want one right now. But—before that—I made us dinner.”
His brows rose in pleasant surprise. “You cooked?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to match his warmth, though my chest felt tight.
He followed me to the kitchen, where steam curled from a pot of kimchi jjigae, the rich scent of pork and chili pepper filling the air. A plate of sizzling meat rested beside it.
Han’s smile softened. “Let’s eat. This looks amazing.”
We sat at our small wooden table, bowls steaming, Cookie weaving between our legs before settling against my ankle. Han dug into his rice like he’d been starving all day. I stared at mine, appetite gone.
That email had been burning in my mind for two weeks. Two weeks of keeping my phone face-down, two weeks of avoiding certain topics, two weeks of swallowing the guilt every time Han smiled at me. I’d drafted replies I never sent. Each time I looked at him, the weight grew heavier.
Finally, I set my spoon down. “Han… I need to tell you something.”
He looked up, mid-chew, slowing as if bracing himself. “Okay…”
“I got an email a while back,” I started, my voice too quiet. “It’s… a job offer. In Madrid. For a year.”
Han froze mid-bite. The chopsticks in his hand hovered. “When?” His voice was quiet but sharp, and the calmness didn’t reach his eyes.
“Next month.” The words came out small. “I’d have to leave by the 10th.”
His brow furrowed. “You’ve… known about this?”
I swallowed hard. “Two weeks.”
The chopsticks slipped from his hand, clattering loud against his bowl.
“Two weeks, Woongki? You sat here, ate breakfast with me every day, kissed me goodnight, and just—kept this to yourself?”
“I didn’t want to upset you. I wanted to think it through first.”
“Think it through?” His jaw tightened. “You’re making decisions about our lives and didn’t even trust me to be part of it?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you!” The words came out fast, sharp. “Do you think this is easy for me? You think I want to leave you?”
“You think I’m just going to be fine with you being a continent away for a year?” His voice cracked now, rawer. “Do you even care how much this hurts me?”
“I do care!” My throat burned. “I love you! I just… I need this.”
“You need this?” His hands pressed flat against the table, knuckles white. “And what about us? What about our whole life here? What happens to all of that?”
“I can’t stop dreaming because it hurts you, Han!” My voice was shaking.
“Well maybe I can’t stop feeling hurt because you keep secrets!” His chair scraped across the floor as he pushed back.
“Han—don’t—” I reached for him, but he was already at the door, his shoulders rigid.
The slamming of the door was ringing in my chest like a gunshot.
I sank to the floor. The jjigae on the table was still steaming, untouched. Cookie padded over, climbing into my lap and curling up as if she could keep me from falling apart.
Han’s POV
The streets outside were silent, but inside my head it was deafening — thoughts crashing into each other, tearing me apart. My feet moved on their own, hands jammed into my pockets, like if I walked fast enough, I could outrun the ache.
Steven was the first to see me when I slipped into the studio. He froze mid-step, his eyebrows shot up. “Bro… Jesus. You look like shit. What the fuck happened?”
Jeongwoo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like he’d been waiting for me to crack. “Yeah, man. Talk.”
I scrubbed my hands through my hair, words sticking in my throat before they finally tumbled out. “We fought. Woongki… he’s leaving. Madrid. Next month.” My voice dipped lower, bitter. “I didn’t even know until tonight.”
Steven swore under his breath, shaking his head. “No way. Just like that?”
“Out of nowhere?” Jeongwoo’s brows pulled together, sharp with disbelief.
“Two weeks, hyung.” I muttered. “Two fucking weeks he kept it from me. Some year-long contract, this job he wants so bad. And I—I get it, I do. I want him happy. But fuck—” I clenched my fists. “The thought of him gone… it’s killing me.”
Steven’s hand landed heavy on my shoulder, not gentle but grounding. “Then admit it, man. You’re allowed to be pissed. You’re hurt. Own it.”
“Yeah,” Jeongwoo added, his tone blunt, unwavering. “Quit acting like you gotta be unshakable all the damn time. You’re not his superhero. You’re his boyfriend. That means you bleed too.”
I let out a humorless laugh, hollow in my chest. “So what, I tell him I’m falling apart and make him feel guilty for chasing a dream? Great way to love someone.”
“No.” Steven leaned in, eyes sharp. “You don’t dump your shit on him, you tell him the truth. Straight up. ‘I’m hurting, but I love you enough to let you go if you need to.’ You just gotta be honest, man.”
Jeongwoo pushed off the wall, arms unfolding. “And if you don’t? You’ll regret it. He’ll leave thinking you don’t care enough to even break. And you’ll be here convincing yourself you’re the strong one when really—you’re just alone.”
The words cut deep, heavier than I wanted to admit.
Steven clapped me lightly on the back, breaking the silence. “Come on. Let’s get a drink before you sink right here on the floor. You need to let some of this shit out.”
I hesitated, glanced at the maknaes working quietly in the practice room, too young to carry this kind of weight. And then I nodded.
“Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”
By the third round, the burn of the soju had dulled into a heavy hum under my skin. I wasn’t drunk—just loose enough that my tongue stopped filtering every thought before it slipped out.
“Alright,” Jeongwoo said, leaning back in his seat, one hand lazily nursing his glass. “Man to man. No bullshit. What’s going on in your head?”
I exhaled shakily, sinking deeper into the chair. “He didn’t tell me. Not until tonight. Weeks, he kept it from me. Like—what am I to him, then? Background noise? Someone he can just… spring this on like it won’t break me?” My grip tightened on the glass. “He wants this, and yeah—I want him happy. But I can’t fucking picture him gone. Waking up without him. No stupid arguments. No… nothing.”
Steven leaned back in his chair, staring at me like he was trying to read through all the cracks. “So what’s the real fear, man? That he goes to Spain and forgets about you? Or that you’re not enough to make him stay?”
I froze for a second, glass halfway to my mouth. The words hit harder than the liquor.
Jeongwoo scoffed quietly, swirling the ice in his drink. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re scared as fuck he’ll figure out he can live without you. That’s the ego talking. Pride, insecurity—whatever. That’s your shit, not his.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered, half-hearted. My chest was too tight to throw the words with venom.
He smirked, leaning forward. “Nah, fuck you. You need to hear it. You’ve been walking around acting like he owes you his whole life, and then you crumble the second he actually chooses something for himself.”
Steven gave him a look, softer. “Ease up, Jeongwoo. He’s not wrong, but… Han, listen.” He muttered, “That’s fucked,” before knocking back another sip. Then he leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “But look—you’re not wrong too for hurting. You’re not weak for saying it out loud. Stop acting like it makes you less of a man. It doesn’t.”
I stared at the ice clinking in my glass, my voice breaking softer. “I don’t want to hold him back. I don’t. But the idea of him waking up in another country and forgetting how we fit—” My chest tightened painfully. “Fuck, I don’t know how to survive that.”
“Then tell him that. Let him see what he means to you.” Steven pointed a finger at me, eyes steady. “Sometimes the bravest shit you can do is stand still and let them chase their dream—trusting they’ll come back.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “And what if he doesn’t?”
Jeongwoo lifted his glass, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Then you take it like a man. You hurt. You scream. You bleed. And then you live. That’s the risk with love, Han. You don’t get the good without gambling everything on the bad.”
The words settled heavy in my chest, and I tipped back the rest of my drink, letting it burn.
Authors’s Note:
Okay sooo… chapter 3 it is 🤭. I honestly thought Han would just sulk in the studio and call it a night but nope. Han is depressed. Woongki is also depressed. Everyone’s crying, nobody’s winning. It’s basically just bad communication with a side of alcohol. Jeongwoo lowkey ate tho?? like why was he so hot telling han to talk about his feelings 😳
Next chapter will be linked here:
(Chapter 4)