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*)
Dedicating this Hanki fic to my faves @purrhani & @meowoongki 💖 thank you for always being my inspiration for all the fluff, angst, and everything in between… and for matching my freak hahahaha 🥹
Chapter 1
Woongki’s POV
The smell of grilled beef was already curling through the apartment when I padded out of the bedroom in my socks.
I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand, hair a mess, Cookie trotting behind me like a tiny furry shadow.
Han was in the kitchen — grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, white shirt clinging to his back — flipping slices of galbi on the grill pan. The morning sun was coming in through the blinds, striping him in gold and shadow. He didn’t see me at first, too focused on turning the meat with his tongs like it was some life-or-death mission.
“You’re seriously making galbi for breakfast?” I asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.
Han glanced over his shoulder, mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Galbi and jajangmyeon ,” he corrected. “Your favorite.”
“That’s a dangerous combination for someone who’s supposed to fit into sample sizes,” I teased, sliding into one of the kitchen stools. Cookie immediately jumped up onto my lap, tail swishing like she owned me — which, honestly, she did.
Han didn’t bite at my joke, just reached over to stir the bubbling pot on the stove. The rich scent of the black bean paste sizzling in the pan, mixing with browned meat and sweet, soft onions filled the air. My stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear.
He turned, holding a piece of beef. “Taste.”
I leaned forward, mouth open, and he slipped the galbi in without breaking eye contact. Warm, tender, a little smoky — and maybe I made a noise that was way too close to obscene.
“Mm,” I managed, chewing slowly just to annoy him.
“You’re getting good at this, Hani-yah. I might keep you around.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was the smallest crinkle at the corner — his version of a full-blown grin. “Eat first. Tease later.”
While he cooked, I watched and helped around.
Han wasn’t the type to chatter in the mornings. He moved with this quiet, grounded focus, like the rest of the world didn’t exist. When he’s on stage with the band, he’s loud, straight-up hot as hell, magnetic, pulling the crowd into his orbit — felt miles away here in our kitchen.
I loved both versions. But this one… this was mine.
“You’ve been up for a while?” I asked, reaching over to steal another slice of galbi when he wasn’t looking.
“Since eight,” he said, glancing at me in that sharp way that meant don’t think I didn’t notice you stealing that.
“Band rehearsal’s at three. I thought we could have breakfast together before you… whatever you’re doing today.”
“Design work.” I waved vaguely. “Some sketches for the Spain project.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My chest tightened. I hadn’t told him the full story yet — that it wasn’t just a project. That it was a job offer. A year in Madrid.
Han didn’t react, just nodded, stirring the jajangmyeon like it was the only thing that mattered. I wondered if he knew more than he let on. With him, it was hard to tell.
We ate at the small table by the window, knees brushing under the wood. The jajangmyeon was perfectly chewy, the sauce was savory, glossy enough to make my lips shine. Han ate quietly. I slurped and made noises just to annoy him.
Halfway through, he reached over and wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, totally unbothered, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My ears went hot.
“Messy,” he murmured, and went back to eating.
Cookie sat between us on the table, her tail flicking dangerously close to the bowls. Han gently nudged her away every time she leaned forward to sniff the galbi, muttering, “Not for you,” like she understood.
It was so ordinary, so small, and yet…
I felt the moment sinking into me like an anchor.
Later, maybe even later today, I’d have to tell him.
But for now, I let the comforting noodles, the sizzle of beef, and the weight of his knee against mine keep me here — in this kitchen, on this morning, before anything could change.
Han’s POV
Woongki was never still. Even when he was sitting, he was moving — tapping his fingers on the table, swinging one leg, running his hands through his hair.
But this morning, between the bites of galbi and his deliberately obnoxious slurps, there were moments where he’d just… pause.
Like now. His chopsticks hovered in midair, eyes distant for a fraction too long before he caught me looking.
“What?” he asked, mouth curling in that way that dared me to say something sappy.
“Nothing,” I said, but I didn’t look away.
We cleaned up together, the familiar choreography we’d fallen into over the years. I rinsed; he dried. He sang under his breath something bright and catchy that I didn’t recognize — while I stacked the dishes in the rack.
I liked watching him when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his fingers flicked the towel over the rim of the bowl like it was a precision job. People always thought I was the intense one in this relationship, but Woongki was the one who could obsess over getting something just right.
“You’ve been sketching a lot lately,” I said casually, passing him another plate.
He froze for a second. “That’s… good, right?”
“Depends,” I said. “Sketching for who?”
His eyes flickered, the smallest thing, but I caught it. I always did.
We finished in silence, but not a heavy one. He tossed the towel onto the counter and leaned against it, arms folded. His blue button-down shirt was slipping off one shoulder, and I wondered if he did that on purpose. Probably.
“You’re staring,” he said, smirking.
“I always stare,” I replied, stepping closer until there was barely a hand’s width between us.
I unbuttoned his shirt, my fingers brushing lightly against the fabric, careful, almost reverent, until it fell open to reveal the soft white shirt beneath. God—how can someone so perfect be this precious? He looked at me with that small, unguarded smile, the kind he doesn’t give to anyone else.
It wasn’t planned. I didn’t think about it. My hand just moved — lifting his body to the kitchen counter, sliding to the back of his neck, thumb brushing his hairline. His smirk faltered, but his eyes softened in that way that killed me every time.
“Han—” he started, but I kissed him before he could finish.
It was slow, almost lazy at first — the kind of kiss you could sink into for hours. His lips were warm and soft, and when he tilted his head just right, I deepened it without meaning to.
Woongki made this small sound in the back of his throat, and it pulled something tight in my chest.
My other hand found his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He leaned into me, pressing close, and for a second, the world shrank down to the heat between us and the faint meow of Cookie somewhere near our feet.
When we finally broke apart, he was grinning — that bright, reckless grin that made me forget every bad thing in my life.
“Kitchen make-outs?” he teased, voice a little breathless. “Very domestic of you, Park Han.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t hide my smile.
Even as we went about the rest of the morning, I kept catching him in the corner of my eye — distracted for half a second before covering it up.
Something was coming. I didn’t know what.
But I knew I’d fight it, whatever it was, if it meant keeping mornings like this.
(More cookie cameo)
Author’s Note: Yeah, this is technically Chapter 1. It’s short. I cry every time. Six hours of work went into this, mostly me staring at my laptop. This is my first fanfic pls give lots of love mwa.
Next chapter will be linked here:
(Chapter 2: https://www.tumblr.com/parkhanimnida/791979879880130560/the-space-between)
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · The Space Between · Synopsis: Two hearts, a cat, one domestic life... and a single email that might break them. Can they h
