Somewhere Between Us ft. Childhood Friend!Hongjoong
A/n: WARNING, super dense and oblivious Hongjoong who doesnt no what love is, incoming!
Genre: Childhood friends au, Romance, angst, fluff, one sided love
Pairings: Childhood Friend!Hongjoong x Minju (fem oc/ named reader)
Warnings: Hongjoong is kind of an ass here
Minju had loved Hongjoong for as long as she could remember. She didn’t even remember her life before he entered it. She knew it had always been him.
But Hongjoong was dense — painfully, hopelessly dense. He had never dated anyone, never flirted, never even noticed when someone liked him. So she told herself that was the reason he never saw her that way.
But sometimes… sometimes she wondered if he really was that oblivious, or if he just didn’t want to see her that way.
Because currently, he was pulling the empty chair next to him for Sohee — one of the girls who had joined their friend circle in college.
Minju had wanted to sit beside him earlier, but when she arrived, he had already placed his jacket and bag on that seat.
She’d smiled and told him she wanted to sit there, but he’d laughed softly and said,
“I just want to keep my stuff here for tonight.”
So she’d nodded and sat across from him instead.
And now here he was, moving that same jacket and gesturing for Sohee to sit.
It wasn’t just about the chair. Not really.
It was the meaning behind it — or maybe, the lack of it.
Sohee had liked Hongjoong since college. Everyone knew it. Even the guys had told her countless times to stop, because Minju liked him. And still, she hadn’t stopped.
And Hongjoong… didn’t seem to mind.
The laughter around the table grew louder, filling the restaurant with warmth Minju couldn’t feel. She ate quietly, keeping her eyes on her plate, pretending she wasn’t listening to the sound of Hongjoong’s laughter — that soft, bright tone she hadn’t heard from him in months.
The tone that had never belonged to her.
He never talked to her like that. Not once.
She’d tried to talk to him earlier — a small comment here, a joke there — but he only nodded absentmindedly before turning back to his own world.
He sat right across from her, yet he had never felt so far away.
It was like he was slipping farther out of reach with every second that passed.
When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes met Mingi’s — her older brother, sitting a few seats away, watching her quietly.
His expression was soft but worried, like he could see straight through her. He always could.
Her throat tightened, humiliation prickling under her skin. She looked away before he could say anything.
A little while later, Sohee got up, brushing her hair behind her ear as she smiled at the group.
“I should get going,” she said.
Hongjoong looked up, eyes widening.
“Already? Stay a little longer,” he said, voice gentle. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”
“It’s okay,” Sohee laughed. “You guys have fun. I’ll see you next time.”
He stood halfway as she waved goodbye, even offering,
“Want me to walk you to your car?”
“No, it’s fine,” she replied quickly. “I’ll be okay.”
And just like that, she left — with him smiling after her, watching until she was out of sight.
When Sohee left, the table felt quieter for a moment — just the six of them now.
But even in that quiet, Minju felt invisible.
It was like Hongjoong had forgotten she was there.
Wooyoung was the first to break the silence, grinning.
“Hyungggg, she totally likes you!” he teased, dragging out the words.
Hongjoong laughed, waving him off.
“I don’t like her,” he said, smiling. “But she’s cute.”
Minju’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Yeosang leaned in with an easy grin.
“You should go for it. She’s totally your type.”
San nodded in agreement.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen you that happy with any girl before.”
That did it.
The sound of their laughter started to blur around her, like glass cracking quietly in her chest.
Because they knew.
They all knew.
They knew she had adored Hongjoong since they were kids — since before any of them even knew what love really meant.
They knew how much she’d loved him, how many times she’d stayed behind just to walk with him, how she always waited.
They’d promised her once that they’d be her wingmen, that they’d help her one day.
But now they were teasing him with someone else.
And maybe it was because they were adults now, and it wasn’t their place anymore.
But it still hurt.
It hurt so much she could barely breathe.
She tried to laugh along with them, to pretend it was fine, but it felt wrong — the sound catching in her throat, her lips trembling with every forced smile.
Across the table, Mingi stayed quiet.
Her older brother’s eyes didn’t leave her.
He looked sad. Angry. Worried.
But she didn’t dare meet his gaze.
Every time she did, she felt humiliated — like the biggest fool sitting in plain sight.
Like everyone could see just how pathetic she was.
The laughter around her started to feel suffocating. Every second that passed, the air grew heavier, pressing down on her chest.
She couldn’t stay any longer.
If she did, she’d cry right there — in front of all of them.
So she began packing her bag quietly, hoping no one would notice. But Wooyoung, who sat beside her, caught on first.
“Hey, you’re leaving already? Stay a little longer!” he said, eyes wide.
Before she could answer, Hongjoong finally looked up.
“Oh, you’re leaving?” he asked, his tone casual — almost distracted.
She nodded, forcing a small smile.
“Yeah. Need to get to work early.”
The others protested softly, telling her to stay, but Hongjoong just nodded once.
“Okay then. See you,” he said, already turning back to his food.
That was it.
She almost laughed at herself.
He hadn’t even looked at her twice before going back into his little bubble — the one that seemed to exist only when she was there.
He didn’t ask her to stay longer.
He didn’t offer to walk her out.
Of course, he didn’t have to — but it hurt anyway.
Because he’d said all those things to someone else tonight.
And when it came to her, he didn’t even think twice before looking away.
Maybe he was just hungry — after all, he’d spent the entire evening laughing and performing every little stunt that shattered her heart piece by piece. After all that work, who wouldn't be exhausted and hungry?
She stared at the top of his head, at how easily he smiled at his plate, as if she wasn’t even there.
The others noticed then — noticed the way she looked at him, the way realization crept across their faces too late.
Wooyoung’s voice softened.
“Minju…” he called quietly.
But she just shook her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder before walking away.
Her footsteps echoed against the tile as she left the restaurant, each step heavier than the last.
The laughter behind her faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the city outside.
She walked through the dim streets toward the parking lot, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
She told herself not to cry. Not here. Not now.
Then she heard a familiar voice.
“Min!”
She turned, and there he was — Mingi, her older brother, looking like he’d stormed out after her.
She looked down quickly, her lips pressing together, trying to hold herself together.
“He’s stupid,” Mingi said softly, stepping closer. “You didn’t deserve any of that tonight.”
That was all it took.
The walls she’d built all evening cracked and broke. Her knees gave out as she crouched down on the sidewalk, burying her face in her hands.
And she finally let herself cry.
Her sobs started to quiet a little, but her chest still heaved as she pressed her palm against her face. When she pulled it away, she stared at it — wet with tears.
"It’s not fair…" she whispered, voice trembling.
Mingi’s heart clenched. He crouched beside her instantly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and gently pulling her up to stand. She let him, leaning against him as her tears continued to fall in quiet streams.
“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, rocking her just a little. “It’s okay. He doesn’t deserve you. You don’t deserve this treatment. I’m so sorry. I should’ve said something back there.”
She shook her head against his chest, muffling her sobs.
“I… I tried to laugh, Mingi. I tried… but it was too much.”
He held her tighter.
“I know, Min. I know.”
For a moment, the world felt still around them. The city noises faded, the distant honks and chatter of people felt far away. All that existed was the small figure of his sister shaking in his arms, and the tight, protective squeeze he offered.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly. “You just… let it out. You don’t have to pretend for anyone. Not tonight. Not ever.”
She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself cling to him, finally letting someone see just how much it had hurt.
—
Two weeks later, it was her birthday.
She had originally planned to call everyone over for dinner, but the guys — guilty as ever — had suggested that she just call Hongjoong. No distractions. No one else. If it were just the two of them, maybe he’d actually talk. Maybe she’d finally see that he really did care. Maybe — just maybe — it could ignite something between them.
It was the afternoon of her birthday. She had called him multiple times in the days leading up to it. She’d tried three, maybe four days in advance, but he hadn’t picked up once. Not even a missed call notification.
He never forgot her birthday. Not once, not ever. Since they were kids, it had been a ritual — a text, a call, a small gesture. He’d definitely remember… right?
She had spent the whole day preparing. Cooking. Making sure everything was perfect. She set the table for two, polished the silverware, and made sure the house was spotless. Every detail mattered, even though her hands shook with anticipation.
Night fell. Still, he hadn’t called. Her heart started to thump nervously, but when her phone finally rang at 7 PM, she forced a small, hopeful smile and answered.
“Sorry I couldn’t pick up. I’m out having dinner with colleagues,” he said casually.
Her chest sank. Speechless.
“For… three days, huh?” she asked, her voice colder than intended.
He chuckled.
“Whoops. I guess our timing didn’t align.”
She rolled her eyes, the urge to scoff bubbling up.
“You didn’t even think of calling bac—forget it. Nothing. I just wanted to ask something, but it’s already dealt with.”
He didn’t even pause.
“Oh, alright then. Maybe next time you should call me when I’m out from work rather than during my work hours.”
Her lips pressed together, and she stayed quiet. She couldn’t find the words. It sounded so wrong — so snarky, so indifferent, so mean — and yet, he said it like it was nothing.
“Hello? Minju? Hello?” he called before ending the call.
The moment it disconnected, she got up, switched off her phone, and threw it onto the couch. Her hands trembled as she cleared the cutlery and set up the table again. Her laptop called to her from the counter. She clicked the email she’d been putting off for weeks and accepted the job offer in Jeju.
She had originally planned not to take it. It was too far. She wouldn’t see him. She’d miss him. But… fuck Hongjoong.
If he was going to treat her like this — if he was going to remain indifferent while treating everyone else better — she didn’t care anymore.
The tears came in full force, blinding her. She let them fall freely, sobbing as if she were drowning, before clearing her throat and telling herself to breathe. To stop crying.
She sniffled and wiped at her cheeks, shaking hands lighting the candles on the cake Mingi had gotten for her. She plated up the food she had made, carelessly, without worrying about presentation. She tied her hair back and let out a shaky breath, sitting down and closing her eyes.
She made a wish, quietly, internally:
Take these feelings away from me…
It wasn’t about the birthday. It wasn’t about the recent events. It wasn’t even about what he had said.
It was the indifference. The way he had always pushed her aside, treated others better than her, smiled for everyone but never for her. It was painfully obvious, and it hurt like fire.
If he hated her so much, why couldn’t he just say it?
She sniffled again and wiped her tears, digging her spoon into the cake without care, eating it straight from the plate. She let the tears fall freely as she ate, shoving forkful after forkful of the food she had made into her mouth.
It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t perfect. But she didn’t care anymore.
She just let herself feel.
A while later, she was slumped over the dining table, staring at the more-than-half-eaten cake. Her lips still had remnants of frosting and crumbs clinging stubbornly, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. She just sat there, blankly staring at the plate, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across her face.
Her back ached from sitting in the same position for too long, but she didn’t move. She let herself linger in the quiet, the weight of the evening pressing down on her like a physical thing.
Finally, she pushed herself upright, shoulders stiff, and rested her chin in her hands.
Hongjoong.
The thought of him twisted in her chest. The Hongjoong who had never dated anyone. The Hongjoong who never seemed to have the slightest idea about romance.
It was becoming impossible to understand him.
It was becoming impossible to brush off the way he had treated her tonight — as if she were invisible, as if she didn’t matter, as if he only existed in a world where everyone else came first.
For years, she had told herself, He doesn’t know any better. He’s just dense. He can’t help it.
But now… it was becoming harder and harder to convince herself of that.
Because density didn’t look like this.
Indifference didn’t look like this.
And no matter how much she tried to rationalize, her chest ached with the same old truth she had buried deep down:
She had always loved him.
And he had always let her hurt.
—
A week later, they sat across from each other in a quiet little café. Minju’s sunglasses hid most of her expression, and her lips were set in a straight line, giving away nothing.
Hongjoong studied her carefully, guilt knotting his stomach. He had missed her birthday. Her birthday. He had never missed it before, not once. Seeing her now — distant, closed off, different — made his chest tighten painfully.
“I… I’m so sorry, Minju,” he said again, voice heavy with regret. He couldn’t stop apologizing. “I don’t even have words for how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have… I can’t believe I missed it.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t respond. She just pushed her sunglasses slightly up the bridge of her nose, staring at her hands folded neatly on the table.
He looked at her. Really looked. She seemed smaller somehow, quieter, but also… distant. Unreachable. The warmth he’d always taken for granted in her eyes was gone.
“I thought… maybe lunch would… I don’t know. I just wanted to see you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Minju finally spoke, her words low, almost indifferent:
“I’m leaving soon.”
Hongjoong froze, confusion flashing across his face.
“Leaving… what do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward. “Where… why?”
She lifted her gaze briefly, meeting his eyes through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses.
“Got a job offer in Jeju,” she said, calm but firm. “So I leave in a month.”
His heart skipped a beat. A month. That was so soon. He could feel the sharp edges of his own guilt and regret cut deeper. Words failed him. He wanted to say something — anything — but all that came out was a strained whisper:
“Jeju…?”
She nodded once, turning her head slightly toward the window, as if letting him see that there was no room for negotiation.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, filled with everything he hadn’t done, everything he had taken for granted, and everything she had silently endured for years.
Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt battling in his chest. He had never felt this helpless before.
“Minju… please,” he started, voice low and earnest. “I know I messed up. I… I should have remembered. I should have called, I should have—”
She cut him off, her tone flat.
“It’s not the birthday I’m angry about,” she said quietly, her voice steady but sharp. “It’s… everything else. The way you’ve treated me all these years. The way I’ve been here, always, and you… you never noticed. Not really.”
His chest tightened. Everything else? The words hit harder than he expected. He had always assumed she’d forgive small things, that her love would somehow make up for his obliviousness.
“I… I brought you out today because I wanted to see you. To explain. To—” He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. “To make it right, somehow.”
Minju’s gaze flicked to him briefly, then back down at her hands. She didn’t smile, didn’t soften.
“There’s nothing to make right about the past. You’ve been… indifferent. You’ve taken me for granted for years. And now… now it’s too late to just fix it with an apology.”
He flinched at the words, the sting sharper than he expected. He reached across the table, hesitating only a moment before lightly touching her hand.
“I do see you. I always have. You’ve been right there, Minju, my whole life. I just… I didn’t realize how much I needed to show you that, until now.”
She pulled her hand back slowly, almost reflexively.
“It’s too late,” she murmured. “I can’t… I can’t keep waiting for something that might never happen.”
He swallowed, desperation creeping into his voice.
“Please. Don’t decide yet. Let me—let me show you. Just give me a chance. One chance to fix this before you go. Before Jeju.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze dropped to the table again. A small part of her wanted to hope, wanted to believe him. But another part — the part that had been hurting quietly for years — knew better.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
Hongjoong’s eyes softened, but the intensity didn’t fade.
“Then let me try. That’s all I’m asking. One try. Please, Minju. One try.”
She stayed silent for a long moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. Her heart thumped unevenly in her chest. Could she risk it? Could she let him in after all this time?
Finally, she lifted her sunglasses slightly, her eyes meeting his.
“One try,” she said softly, almost reluctantly.
A flicker of hope lit his face, and for the first time in days, he allowed himself a small, careful smile.
“That’s all I need,” he said, voice gentle, but steady. “Just one try.”
And though she didn’t fully trust it yet, a tiny part of her — the part that had always loved him — stirred with the faintest whisper of hope.
Hongjoong sat back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind inside him.
He didn’t understand what he was feeling exactly. It wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t just regret. It was… something else, something heavier, something that made his chest tighten and his stomach twist into knots.
But what he did know was this: the thought of her leaving — of Minju leaving, moving to Jeju, disappearing from his life — was unbearably uncomfortable.
Extremely uncomfortable.
Every scenario he imagined — her packing her things, closing her apartment door for the last time, stepping onto a plane — made his stomach churn and his heart pound in a way he had never experienced before.
It wasn’t just fear of losing a friend. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was her. The thought of a life without her near him, without her presence, without her laugh, without her constant quiet energy filling the spaces he didn’t even realize needed filling… it was too much.
His chest felt tight, as if it might collapse inward at any moment. His hands clenched and unclenched, fingers tapping nervously against the table.
He realized, suddenly and terrifyingly, that this discomfort — this aching, twisting, relentless discomfort — wasn’t going away.
Because he had never considered that she might leave.
He had never thought about a life in which Minju wasn’t there.
And now… the idea of that life was unbearable.
Hongjoong’s gaze fell on her, and for a long moment, their eyes locked.
He stared at those eyes — the ones that had quietly carried so much over the years, the ones that had been patient, forgiving, and unwavering. And the more he looked, the heavier the guilt settled in his chest.
He didn’t understand what had made him treat her the way he did. Why had he ignored her, brushed her off, acted like she was just… there? It had been uncalled for. He was a jerk. A selfish, thoughtless jerk.
And as he thought back, memories he hadn’t consciously considered before started surfacing. More than once, he had ignored her, failed to notice her, not paid attention to what she wanted or needed.
Maybe it was because he had always known she’d be there. Always.
She had never left. She had always shown up. And that… that had made him careless. Complacent.
But now, looking at her — really looking — he realized just how wrong he had been.
He saw it in her eyes: the quiet patience, the constant support, the unwavering loyalty.
Whenever he had failed, she had been there to pick him back up.
Whenever he had succeeded, she had been there to celebrate with him.
And along the way… he had become selfish.
He had become rude.
He had taken her for granted.
Every past action, every careless word, every moment of indifference crashed down on him like a wave he couldn’t fight.
He had hurt her.
He had let the one person who had always loved him quietly, fiercely, entirely… go unnoticed.
And now, facing her, the weight of that truth was undeniable.
Hongjoong’s chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, words tumbling out before he could second-guess them.
“Minju… I’m so sorry. Not just for your birthday… for everything. For all the times I ignored you, or brushed you off, or acted like you were just… always going to be there. I didn’t see you the way I should have. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved. And I… I was selfish. So selfish.”
His voice broke slightly, raw with regret. He reached across the table, but hesitated, not wanting to push her away further.
“You’ve always been there for me, Minju. Every time I failed, every time I needed someone, you were there. And every time I succeeded, you were the first person I should have celebrated with… and I didn’t. I took you for granted. I didn’t appreciate how much you loved me, how much you gave… how much you are. And I—God, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how I let myself treat you like that.”
He stopped, taking a shaky breath, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. His eyes never left hers.
“I don’t want to lose you. Not like this. Not after everything. I… I don’t know what I was thinking before, but I know now. I see it. I see you. I see everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve been to me… and I’m terrified at the thought of losing you, Minju.”
For the first time, there was no teasing, no casual laughter, no lighthearted deflection. It was just him, stripped down, vulnerable, desperate to make her understand.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I need you to know how truly sorry I am. And that I see you now. I see you. You’ve always been the most important person in my life, and I’ve been too blind to notice. But I… I don’t want to be blind anymore.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with everything he hadn’t said in years — every time he’d been dense, every time he’d taken her for granted, every time he’d failed to notice what had been in front of him all along.
For the first time, Minju could see the raw sincerity in his eyes. And for the first time in a long while, the walls around her heart quivered.
Hongjoong’s eyes softened, and a small, almost crooked smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“You can get super angry at me,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You can throw me off the roof if you want. You can… even torture me slowly and painfully. I deserve it. I know I do.”
He reached for the jug of lemon water on the table and gently took her hand, wrapping it around the handle. His own hand covered hers, guiding it. Then, without hesitation, he lowered himself onto his knees beside her, his eyes never leaving hers as he pointed at himself.
“Drench me. Throw hot coffee too if you want. I’m… I’m asking you to let it out. All the anger, all the hurt you’ve been holding onto for years… let me take it. I’ll take it all.”
He gave a small, rueful laugh, but it didn’t hide the seriousness in his eyes.
“I’m not afraid of it. I’m not afraid of you being angry at me. I need you to be. I deserve it. Minju… I deserve this.”
There was no shame, no pride left. Just honesty. Just him, kneeling beside her, willing to face whatever she had bottled up inside — the years of neglect, the indifference, the moments he had taken her for granted.
His eyes searched hers, waiting, silently begging her to let herself be angry, to let herself release all the pain she’d carried for him.
Minju froze, her hand still trapped in his around the jug handle. Her eyes widened as she suddenly became aware of the murmurs and stifled laughter from around the room.
Everyone was looking at them.
Hongjoong, kneeling beside her like that, holding her hand and offering himself to her anger, was impossible to ignore. And Minju… Minju, caught in the moment, felt her cheeks heat instantly.
She pulled her hand back slightly, instinctively, but he held it gently, giving her a small, encouraging squeeze.
“Ignore them,” he murmured softly, voice just for her. “It’s just you and me right now. All that matters is that I… I let you be angry. That I take this from you.”
She bit her lip, feeling a strange mix of shock, embarrassment, and… something else she couldn’t quite name. Her hand trembled slightly in his grip.
“Everyone’s staring,” she whispered, still taken aback.
He gave a small, wry shrug, still kneeling, still looking up at her with those serious, pleading eyes.
“Let them stare. Let them see what I deserve. I don’t care who’s watching. I care about you. Only you.”
Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She could feel the weight of his sincerity pressing down on her — heavier than the embarrassment, heavier than the awkwardness.
For the first time, Minju realized just how much he was willing to humble himself for her. To face her anger, to acknowledge every wrong he had done.
And… maybe, just maybe, that was the first crack in the wall she had built around her heart.
Minju shook her head immediately, tugging her hand back from the jug.
“No! I’m not… I can’t! I won’t drench you!” she exclaimed, her voice half-shocked, half-indignant.
Hongjoong’s eyes widened for a split second, then a determined look spread across his face.
“No! Throw it at me!” he shot back, leaning closer, still kneeling, his hands hovering over hers like a challenge. “I said I deserve it! Don’t let me get away now!”
“I… I can’t!” she stammered, her cheeks heating even more. “Everyone’s watching! And… it’s water! It’s just… ridiculous!”
“Exactly!” he argued, pointing at himself theatrically. “It’s ridiculous because I deserve ridiculous! You’ve been holding onto all that anger and frustration for years, Minju! Now’s the time to use it! Don’t deny me this!”
She huffed, crossing her arms, pretending to look away, but he leaned even closer, insistence in his eyes.
“C’mon, Min! Drench me! Pour it all over me! Hot coffee too! Anything! I said I deserve it!”
She groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping despite herself.
“You’re insane,” she muttered.
“Maybe,” he said, hopelessly, “but you’re going to drench me anyway.”
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him mockingly.
“You’re going to regret this,” she warned, though the corners of her lips twitched as she prepared to take aim with the jug.
“Bring it on,” he said, spreading his arms like a martyr ready for his punishment. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.”
Minju huffed, her fingers tightening around the jug.
“Fine. You asked for it,” she said quietly, tilting it over.
Water poured steadily over him, soaking his hair, his clothes, running down his face.
But there was no exaggerated yell, no dramatic flailing. He didn’t act comical.
He simply closed his eyes, letting it fall, and when he opened them, he looked at her with a calm, almost reverent intensity.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I… needed this. Needed to feel it, to know that I… deserved it.”
Minju blinked, stunned. She had expected anger, or maybe protest. But there was none. Just sincerity.
He reached out with one wet hand, gently brushing a strand of her hair from her face.
“I know I hurt you, Minju,” he said, voice low, warm. “All those times I ignored you, all the times I didn’t notice… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, didn’t understand, but I see now. I see you. And I see what I’ve lost, what I’ve almost lost.”
She felt her chest tighten. His eyes, wet and earnest, held hers as if trying to speak everything he couldn’t put into words.
“I don’t deserve your patience. I don’t deserve your love. But… I want to. I want to be better. I want to notice you. Appreciate you. Cherish you. And I… I don’t ever want to let you go.”
The air between them felt thick, warm, and fragile. Minju’s hand lingered near his, and for the first time in years, she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to soften.
No more jokes. No more teasing. Just him — drenched, humbled, and entirely sincere — showing her how much she truly meant to him.
And for the first time in a long while, Minju felt… hope.
—
They walked together in silence after the incident, the streets quiet around them. The night air was cool, brushing against their damp clothes, carrying the faint scent of the city. Minju’s hand instinctively went to her bag, and she pulled out a tissue, holding it out toward him.
He stopped mid-step, shaking his head gently, his eyes soft but intense.
“Minju… no,” he said quietly, his voice steady but trembling slightly. “Don’t have mercy on me. Let me suffer. Please.”
Her brow furrowed.
“What… what are you saying?” she asked softly.
He looked at her, drenched hair plastered to his forehead, water still dripping from his clothes. But there was no trace of humor in his expression — only honesty, regret, and a deep vulnerability that made her chest ache.
“I’ve hurt you for years,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “I’ve been careless, selfish, blind… and I need to feel it. I need to feel the weight of your anger, the weight of your disappointment. I deserve it, Minju. I deserve to suffer for the way I treated you.”
She faltered, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or be frustrated. But instead, she stayed silent, watching him with a mixture of sorrow and something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time — the stirring of hope.
“So don’t give me the tissue,” he said again, a small, wry tilt to his lips despite the seriousness in his eyes. “Don’t forgive me yet. Let me sit with this. Let me understand, really understand, the pain I’ve caused you. Then… maybe I can start to make it right.”
Minju’s hand trembled slightly as she lowered the tissue, letting him choose how to face his guilt. Her heart thumped, conflicted — a mix of frustration, lingering hurt, and a deep, reluctant desire to see him truly see her for the first time in years.
Minju sighed, the sound low and weary, but not unkind. She reached up and gripped his shoulder, turning him so he faced her. The streetlight haloed the wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead; his eyes were still earnest, a little raw.
She dug a handkerchief from her bag, the fabric soft with years of use, and began to dab at his face and hair with careful, steady motions — not harsh, not hurried. Her fingers moved as if they remembered how to comfort him long before they remembered how to hurt.
“You’re so stupid sometimes,” she muttered, the words half scold, half affection. “You’ll get sick.”
He let out a small, half-laugh, half-breath. “I know,” he said, voice quiet. “I deserve to be stupid. I deserve this.”
She paused, pressing the handkerchief a little harder to the corner of his lip, making sure it was dry. Her fingers brushed his skin and, for a blink, everything that had been jagged between them softened at the touch.
“Don’t make me do things like that again,” she warned, tone brittle but warmer than it had been earlier. “Not for drama. Not for prizes. For real—notice me. Remember things. Don’t let it get to this point.”
He nodded, earnestness pouring from him. “I will. I mean it, Minju. I don’t want to be the kind of person who makes you cry in the middle of the street.” He swallowed. “I’ll try. I’ll actually try.”
She folded the handkerchief and slipped it back into her bag, fingers lingering close to where his hand brushed hers as if neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away. For the first time that night, she let herself believe, just a little, that he might mean it.
Minju reached up again, her fingers gently moving the wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead back into place. She brushed them aside with care, almost unconsciously, as if the simple act could smooth out everything between them.
No matter how much I try to hate you… she thought, her lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile.
She shook her head slightly and muttered under her breath, almost to herself, almost to him:
“No matter how much I try to hate you, I always end up… coming back to be in love with you again.”
The words hung in the air, soft and fragile, but they carried years of truth.
She chuckled quietly at herself, the sound warm and a little embarrassed.
Hongjoong blinked at her, momentarily stunned, before a slow, small smile spread across his face — the kind that was both relieved and full of awe, like he could hardly believe she had just said that.
“Minju…” he whispered, voice thick, as if saying her name aloud reminded him of everything he had ignored for so long. “I… I don’t deserve you.”
She shrugged lightly, still brushing the last stray locks of hair from his face, her eyes meeting his.
“Maybe not,” she said softly, “but you get me anyway.”
For a moment, there was only the two of them — the quiet hum of the city fading around them, the past tension lingering but softening, and the truth of their feelings standing stark and undeniable between them.
And in that silence, drenched, tired, and finally honest, they both realized that no amount of mistakes could erase what had always been there.
They walked side by side, quiet footsteps echoing softly against the empty street. Hongjoong stole a glance at her, his expression tentative, almost vulnerable.
“You know…” he began, voice low, hesitant. “I never really knew what love was… not properly. Not like this, not until now. But… I always knew that what I felt for you… wasn’t platonic.”
Minju froze for a moment, letting the words settle. She looked at him, her expression unreadable, though her chest tightened.
“And yet,” he continued, voice thick with regret, “I’ve been horrible. Horrible at showing it. Horrible at noticing. Horrible at… appreciating you the way I should have.”
She tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching as she let out a dry laugh.
“Extremely horrible,” she muttered, shaking her head, her voice edged with both amusement and lingering hurt.
He flinched, half-smiling at her words, half-wincing at the truth in them.
“Yeah…” he admitted softly. “I know. I’ve been selfish, dense, blind. I didn’t realize what I had until now. And I… I’m sorry, Minju. More than I can ever put into words.”
But before he could continue, she stepped closer and pressed her palm over his mouth, stopping the words in their tracks. Her hand lingered there, warm against his skin, her eyes burning into his.
“Stop apologizing…” she murmured, her voice low, husky from all the emotions she’d been holding in. “Just stop.”
He blinked at her, stunned, his breath warm against her palm.
Her fingers trembled slightly but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in just a little closer, her eyes searching his.
“Stop apologizing…” she whispered again, softer this time, “and just kiss me before I become crazy.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, like a plea. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought he might hear it.
Hongjoong’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him all at once, his pulse racing under her touch.
Hongjoong’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, but then, without a word, he slowly lifted her hand from his lips, keeping it in his own, fingers curling around hers like he never wanted to let go.
His gaze locked onto hers, unblinking, searching, desperate. Time seemed to stretch between them, the world around them fading to a blur.
He raised his free hand slowly, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that made her chest tighten. His thumb brushed lightly along her jawline as he leaned in just a fraction, eyes still locked on hers, memorizing every detail, every flicker of emotion.
Her breath hitched. Every instinct screamed, every nerve felt alive, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he closed his eyes and tilted his head, leaning in the final inch. Their foreheads brushed for a fleeting moment before his lips met hers, soft at first, testing, almost fragile, yet full of everything he had never said — every apology, every confession, every long-suppressed feeling.
The kiss deepened, slow, deliberate, tasting years of longing, of unspoken love, of all the moments they’d wasted ignoring what had been there all along. Her fingers twined into his damp hair, holding him closer, her body pressed forward as if trying to make up for lost time.
Every hesitation melted away as they clung to each other in that moment, the tension snapping, replaced by heat, warmth, and a raw, undeniable connection that had been simmering for far too long.
When they finally pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, their foreheads rested together, eyes closed, hearts racing in perfect sync.
“Finally,” she whispered against his lips, voice shaky but full of relief.
“Finally,” he echoed, the word a vow, a confession, a promise — and for the first time, neither of them doubted the other’s feelings.
She felt his hand still cupping her cheek, thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding her. The world around them had faded completely — there was only this quiet, shared space between them, where the city noises, the streetlights, and even the years of hurt no longer mattered.
Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, soft and reverent, as if he were sealing a promise in that one touch. Her breath hitched, chest tightening with the sheer tenderness of it.
Then their foreheads met again, skin warm against skin, his eyes never leaving hers. He studied her face, the way her lips still trembled slightly, the faint shimmer of tears lingering in the corners of her eyes. Every detail was etched into him, as if he was trying to carry her with him, always.
That's it for this one 😭
I hope y'all liked it 💖
Not my best work but I still like it 🐺
Likes and rebloggs are appreciated 💖 ✨️
