Chapter Text
“Y/n you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty-five minutes!” Jongho groaned, lazily thudding his balled fist against the shotty door to your shared bathroom a total of six times before you finally heard him scuttle away and back out into the living room where you were positive he was pacing impatiently, waiting for you to hurry up in hopes that the two of you didn’t miss your uber that was definitely already waiting outside.
With a heaving sigh you finish applying your mascara, turning to hop down from your spot perched up on the bathroom counter with your legs crossed. You’d always taken forever to do your makeup, never really knowing what to do beyond some basic concealer and mascara. Though all things considered, you felt cute. Maybe not runway hot, and definitely not in the same league as the guy you were so dreading seeing tonight but you still felt cute.
“Jonghooo” you whined a few minutes later as you padded from the bathroom to the modest living room where the boy in question is sitting on the edge of the couch, very clearly waiting for you.
“Honest thoughts only.” You huffed before turning in a full circle in front of him. It wasn’t anything special, just a simple pink crop top and a pair of wide-legged jeans paired with your platform docs but, as always, you waited for his validation anyways.
“You look fine , y/n.” Your roommate said plainly, pushing himself up off the couch. “Just like I told you an hour ago when you asked.” he griped, “You never listen to me when I give you my opinion anyways.” the younger boy says, his tone serious but the small quirk at the corner of his mouth gives him away every time.
“That’s only because—“ you start but he holds up a hand, his eyes dropping down to your hands that dangle awkwardly at your sides.
“You’ve got what… four band-aids on your fingers right now?” he huffs incredulously, “I know you’ve got questionable taste but that’s not really in , ya know?” he mocks playfully and you roll your eyes.
“I’ve just been nervous, okay?” you mumble, pulling your hands behind your back in an attempt to shake off his scrutiny but he just reaches out and carefully extricates your clasped hands so he can look down at them properly.
He wasn’t wrong, the colorful band aids gracing multiple fingers wasn’t really a good look but ever since San sent you that party invite last week you’d been worrying yourself sick in anticipation. The picking at your cuticles and nail biting wasn’t cute but you’d really hoped no one would say anything, though you should’ve known your best friend and long-time roommate wouldn’t let it slide.
“You’ve been taking your meds?”
“What? Of course I ha—“
“I’m not accusing you, y/n. I’m just checking in.” He smooths out, giving one of his signature hugs, wrapping his large arms around you and giving a tight squeeze.
“Is this because you’re going to see Joong tonight?,” he asks calmly, after a beat of silence he can feel your muscles tense in his arms and he rubs soothing circles on your arm with his thumb to ease you back a bit.
The slight platform of your boots puts you at just below his height so you gently rest your chin on his shoulder and breathe for a moment.
“Yeah,” you mumble finally, “I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me.”
“If he wanted to avoid you then he wouldn’t have agreed to stay at the SanWooSang house.” he states matter-of-factly, “Literally all of us are there all the time, you practically live there on the weekends”
To that you did have to concede. The house San had found was perfect for them and it had two spare rooms for when you or the guys stayed. Subsequently, that meant that it was sort of expected that you would be there. After work, after class, and definitely when San was throwing a party celebrating Hongjoong and Mingi’s return for break.
“Yeah well..” you sigh and let go of him. “I guess you’re right”
“I’m always right.” He grumbles, pulling away from you with a quick pat at your shoulder before pulling his phone out. “Now I’m definitely going to have to order another uber.”
In the meantime you decided to plop down on the couch for a second and finally check your phone, ignoring the several texts from Wooyoung asking when you and Jongho will be there and opting to open your chat with the one person who hasn’t texted you back in days .
Hongjoong.
A familiar sinking feeling fills your stomach as you look down at the unanswered message.
Joongie 🐿️❤️
Tuesday 5:23 PM
You : heyy
You : heard ur in town
for break!
Thursday 7:23 PM
You : Hwa said you’d be at
San’s party tomorrow,
ig i’ll see u there?
It’s totally normal for Hongjoong to not text back , you remind yourself again for the 100th time today and lock your phone again.
He’s always working or busy so he probably just hasn’t seen it… for days… yeah.
“Hey, our ride is here” Jungho called from the entryway and you let out a long, drawn out groan as you stood and made your way over to the door.
“If you’re so worked up about the party then we can just stay home.” he reasoned, seeing the anxiety practically written all over your face. And you knew he was being truthful because in all honesty, Jongho was only going because you’d begged him not to make you go alone once you’d realized that Hongjoong would be there.
“No no!” you protest, hands flailing around defensively. “I already told Wooyoung and Seonghwa that I’m going so let’s gooo!” and with that you power through the anxiety in favor of getting out of your apartment building before the second uber leaves.
---———————————---
The drive from your apartment to the other side of the city where San and his roommates live was only about twenty minutes in total but the moment you had shut the car door behind you and stepped in front of their house you suddenly wished the ride was significantly longer. As usual, Jongho is at your side in a matter of moments, the stoic look on his face easing the panic in you just a bit as he pushes you forwards towards the steps with hand at your middle back.
Jongho had always been such a rock in your life, since middle school when he’d transferred to your school and the two of you hit it off, becoming the extrovert that latched onto the unwitting introvert that was and is Choi Jongho. His steady presence beside you is just about the only thing that gives you the courage to walk up to the door.
The door that just happens to swing open as your hand raises to press the doorbell.
Silence, aside from the distant music and the cheerful chime of the doorbell, fills the space between you and the entryway as you stare in abject horror at none other than Kim Hongjoong standing right in front of you. He stares back, unblinking, for a beat before he opens his mouth.
"Y/nnie! Jonghooo!" A familiar voice calls out excitedly, and Hongjoong is unceremoniously pushed aside as Wooyoung practically tackles you into a hug.
You can’t help but laugh, your arms instinctively wrapping around your other best friend as he squeezes you like he hasn’t seen you in years when really it’s only been a few days. The scent of alcohol is strong on him as he smacks a kiss on your cheek.
“Ugh, gross,” you laugh, wiping at your cheek as he pulls away, slinging an arm over Jongho’s shoulders and ushering you both inside.
“Come on, we’ve been waiting forever!” Wooyoung whines, tugging you by the wrist through the house. He practically drags you into the main room, where five other familiar faces are looking up at you from various spots around the room.
“Took you long enough!” Mingi’s deep voice booms from closer than expected, and before you can blink, he’s pulling you into his side, grinning like a dork. He shoves a cold can of beer into your hand.
“Wooyoung was about to call a search party if you didn’t show up soon,” Yunho adds from the couch, his voice light but amused.
“You said the party started at eight,” you pout, setting the can down on the coffee table as you settle onto the floor in front of the sofa. “It’s literally not even eight-thirty!”
“In my defense,” Jongho chimes in with a dramatic sigh, “I had an Uber ready for us at 7:30, but someone took forever getting ready.”
You raise an eyebrow and glance at your best friend, who’s already playfully rolling his eyes. “See? This is why I moved out,” Yunho groans, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“Oh, hush. You know you miss us,” you tease from behind your can, leaning back as Wooyoung plops down on the couch behind you.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Yunho drawls sarcastically as he links arms with Jongho and drags him toward the kitchen. “I’m sure that’s why you’re always asking me to come back for pizza night.
Smiling to yourself, you silently glance around the room at your friends as you lean your head back against Wooyoung’s leg. For the moment, you're content with your decision to come. It felt so natural for the nine of you to just keep hanging out like this. The fact that you’d all gotten jobs or gone off to college had barely changed the closeness you felt to them. And yeah, some of your cousins and girlfriends from college remarked on how odd it was that you surrounded yourself with men—hot men, at that—but with them, it was just easy.
San was leaning against the wall beside the speaker, scrolling through his phone, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to find the perfect playlist for the night’s vibe. Mingi had stolen Yunho’s seat, sprawling out on the sofa next to Wooyoung, a Switch controller in hand, though the Mario Kart game he’d started with Yunho was paused and all but forgotten on the TV ahead of them.
Yeosang and Seonghwa were on the loveseat, chatting about whatever it is business majors talk about—probably the weather or stock prices or some other random thing you’d never understand.
It didn’t take long for you to realize that Hongjoong was nowhere to be seen among your friends, and you couldn’t help but wonder where he’d gone in the few minutes between your arrival and now.
“He’s probably just upstairs,” Wooyoung whispered to make sure only you heard, though he wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Mingi chuckled a bit at his words, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin.
“Probably pacing back and forth, trying to figure out how to talk to y/n about what happened—”
A scowl, straight from the depths of hell, twisted your face, and Mingi’s words cut off abruptly.
“Okay!” you clapped your hands together, trying to get the attention of the room. Straightening your back, you flashed a tight smile. “If any of you even think about bringing up the events of winter break, I will personally track you down after this party and castrate you. Got it?”
You took a moment to glare at each and every one of them, narrowing your eyes at Mingi for an extra second. The boys winced at your words and nodded, but you could see Hwa struggling not to giggle behind his hand.
You couldn’t help it; these guys were too much sometimes. But you knew when to choose your battles, and today wasn’t going to be the day you got into it over what happened back then.
These guys , your chosen family. Your people.
You’d known Jungho, Wooyoung, and San since middle school, but the other five had joined the group at various points throughout your high school days. Each one brought their own brand of unhinged humor, baggage, and drama—but you wouldn’t change any of it, not for anything.
“No one is going to mention it, y/n,” Seonghwa chuckled, shaking his head with that dumb, beautiful smile on his face. “And even if we did—” He paused, catching the glare you shot in his direction. “—he was wasted. He told me he barely even remembers that weekend at all, so you really shouldn’t worry.”
You sighed, feeling a little of the tension drain from your shoulders, even though you knew Seonghwa wasn’t exactly helping things.
Trying your best to avoid the conversation you really didn’t want to continue, you pushed yourself up from the floor, only stumbling a little as you stepped out from between the couch and the coffee table.
“I’m going to grab another drink and make sure Yunho isn’t trying to get my roommate wasted,” you grumble, slipping off down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Hey, you two better not b—”
Your voice cuts off mid-sentence the second you step through the doorway.
Yunho, Jongho, and Hongjoong are huddled at the far side of the island, arms flying and voices low but sharp —even in a whisper, the tension is palpable. You’re sure you hear your name—murmured but urgent—and it makes your back go ramrod straight.
“Am I, uh… interrupting something?” you ask, half a step backward already, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all.
Yunho jolts slightly, clearly not expecting to see you. “Oh! Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in!” He quickly steps away from the other two, moving toward the fridge as if to grab a drink and pretend everything’s normal. “We were just arguing about pizza toppings.”
You raise a brow. “Right. Anchovies must be a real hot topic.”
Jongho doesn't even try to play along. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed as he stares down Hongjoong with a glare that could strip paint. His arms are folded across his chest in a way that feels more like he's holding himself back than resting casually.
Hongjoong, on the other hand, is leaning back against the counter, arms crossed as well—but not in defiance. It looks more like he’s shutting down. His gaze is fixed somewhere over your shoulder, determinedly not meeting yours. You watch as his jaw ticks slightly, a tell you recognize all too well from past arguments and nights you'd rather not think about.
Oh, Seonghwa was so wrong. Hongjoong definitely remembered what happened. Probably in excruciating detail.
And judging by the daggers Jongho was throwing at him, he wasn’t the only one.
You swallow thickly and look away, a slow burn of heat crawling up your neck, your ears, your cheeks.
God why did he have to look so good?
His simple white tee hung loosely from his frame, a black and red leather jacket with various chains and spikes that you know he altered on his own. His dark jeans and combat books finished off the look perfectly.
God. This was torture.
You never should’ve come tonight. San would’ve understood. But no, your stubborn ass just had to prove you were fine—totally unaffected. And now? Now you were stuck in a room where Hongjoong was actively pretending you didn’t exist while Jungho looked one bad sentence away from starting something no one could walk back.
The worst part? This wasn’t even the most awkward part of your night.
Because crashing here wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Not this week . Not for the next two weeks .
Why?
Because, of course , Hongjoong was staying in the guest room for the entirety of spring break. Meaning no more spontaneous sleepovers. No more curling up in Wooyoung’s room after work or letting Yunho talk you into midnight snacks and bad TV. For the foreseeable future, your evenings belonged to your tiny, silent apartment—and the echo of a conversation you never actually finished.
Jongho and Yunho exchanged a look—a quiet but unmistakable flash of something tense and wordless between them. Then, Jungho stepped forward, clapping a heavy hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. Not rough, but definitely not friendly. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So… what was it San said he wanted on the pizza again?” he asked, tone carefully casual.
You inhaled slowly, tearing your eyes away from the man you’d been staring at for far too long. Yunho had come around the island, his face softened by a mix of sympathy and concern as he looked down at you through the fringe of his dark hair, a genuine but sad smile on his face.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to steal Jongie away from the party,” Yunho says, voice light as he reaches out and ruffles your hair before giving a gentle tug to a strand.
You wince and bat at his hand, rubbing your scalp. “Hey!”
His grin widens, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“I thought the bullying would stop once you moved out, but here we are,” you mutter, lips curving into a half-hearted pout as you give him a soft shove to the chest.
“Pfft, it never stops. Who else is gonna keep you humble?” he teases, his smile finally reaching his eyes. The kind that makes it hard not to smile back. Familiar. Comforting. Easy.
You part your lips to toss something back—but you're cut off by a sharp exhale behind you.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and angry.
You freeze, and so does Yunho.
“This has nothing to do with you, Jongho,” Hongjoong snaps, his tone rising with every word. It’s not just frustration now—it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering for a while.
You’d heard Hongjoong argue before—he had passion, intensity—but this? This was new.
No one yelled at Jongho. Ever.
He must’ve realized it too because his scowl quickly falls away and his eyes sweep the room, falling on you for a moment too long before he’s mumbling a half-hearted apology and storming out of the kitchen.
You can feel it—panic, creeping in like a rising tide—as you look up at Yunho.
His hands rest gently on your forearms, thumbs tracing slow, grounding circles into your skin. On any other day, the motion might’ve helped. Might’ve eased that pressure in your chest, helped you breathe through the anxiety clawing at your ribs.
But not tonight.
Not when the one person you wanted to pretend didn’t exist just reminded you, loudly, that you clearly didn’t matter at all.
Your throat tightens as you gently peel Yunho’s hands from your arms. His brows furrow, but he doesn’t stop you. You take a single step back—and then you’re turning, your exit from the kitchen too fast to be anything but what it is: an escape.
You don’t look back. Can’t.
You bypass the living room, ignoring the conversations, the laughter, the music—and make a beeline straight for the stairs.
Each step makes your chest feel tighter. Heavier. Like if you stopped moving, it would crush you.
By the time you reach the guest room, your fingers are trembling. You slip inside and close the door with a quiet click , pressing your back against the wood like it’s the only thing holding you up.
The tears come fast. Hot. Relentless. You don’t bother trying to stop them.
You feel stupid for reacting this way. Embarrassed, even. He hadn’t even spoken to you—hadn’t looked your way since the second you walked in.
But that was the part that hurt the most, wasn’t it?
He hadn’t said anything at all.
You wished— God , you wished—you could forget it. Forget him. Pretend things were normal again. That spring break didn’t mean two whole weeks of avoiding your second home. That he hadn’t looked right through you like you didn’t exist.
But instead, you let out a shuddering sigh—and the memories crash over you like a wave.
---——————————---
flash back
winter break, 4 months earlier
“Hongjoong this is way too much soju! We aren’t in high school anymore. I don’t think anyone but maybe Mingi could handle all this liquor.” You groan, trying to move the heavy plastic bags over to your other hand in an attempt to grab the keys from your belt.
You’d gone to three separate shops and Joong had insisted on buying every flavor he could find in addition to the unholy amount of snacks.
Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong sat his bags down on the floor outside of the apartment and crossed the distance between you, leaning in suddenly. Your mouth had gone dry immediately at his closeness, a knowing smirk sneaking up his face at your blush as he leaned in and snagged the keys hooked on your belt loop before stepping back and unlocking the door for you.
“Ah.. th-thanks” you mumbled, quickly stepping into your apartment to avoid his eyes.
It’d been like this since he’d left for university. Calls getting a bit longer. Texts getting a bit more flirty, and the time spent together when he came back to visit feeling… different. Like the space between you was charged.
You’d noticed he’d been taking the chance to get a bit closer to you in the few moments he got alone with you. His hands resting on your arm or back a bit longer than they used to. You thought that maybe he felt the way you did. That the crush you’d had on him for the past 4 years wasn’t as unrequited as you’d thought.
You set the bags down on the kitchen counter and paused, letting yourself breathe for a second. Just a few hours. Just you and Hongjoong, before the rest of the guys showed up. You shut your eyes and took a slow breath, trying to center yourself—
A hand landed on your shoulder.
You jumped with a small yelp, spinning around to find Hongjoong standing way too close, a smug grin already spreading across his face.
“Ha—gotcha,” he said with a soft laugh, bumping your arm with his elbow before stepping forward. He reached around you to start unpacking the drinks and snacks, bracketing you against the counter for a second too long before stepping back again.
Dear God. It’s me, Y/N. Please stop giving me your hardest battles. I’m not your strongest soldier.
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Because of course you did. It’s Hongjoong , for Christ’s sake.
“I—I can put the soju in the fridge if you wanna call in the takeout,” you offered, trying to steady your voice. It still came out a little too soft, a little too shaky.
He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. But he nodded and turned to grab his phone.
Thank fuck . If he’d looked at you a second longer, you might’ve just kissed him and ruined your entire life.
As you both moved around the kitchen, finishing your tasks, you rubbed the back of your neck nervously. “We’ve got a bit... wanna put on a movie or something?”
“Yeah. Let’s…” he trailed off.
You turned just as he stepped closer, gently taking your hand in his. Your stomach dropped.
You knew what he saw. You knew .
You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you there—gentle, never forceful.
“I thought you stopped picking at your hands like this,” he murmured, turning your palm up to study your nail beds.
His voice wasn’t accusing. It was quiet, careful. And somehow that made it worse.
“I—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat under the weight of his gaze.
You looked away, cheeks flushing again. “I’ve been doing better,” you mumbled. “It’s just been… a rough week.”
He nodded slowly, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. Then he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing the softest kiss to the tip of your finger before letting it fall back to your side.
It wasn’t much. The act itself was small. Innocent, even. Seonghwa and Wooyoung had kissed you before—on the mouth , no less—and it hadn’t meant anything.
But this?
The way Hongjoong looked at you as if he saw something you didn’t want him to see?
Your stomach flipped.
“Y/N, you have to kno—”
Nope. Absolutely not. Not now.
You cleared your throat and stepped back like it didn’t mean anything. “So. What flavor soju do you want for the movie?”
You turned to the fridge, flinging the door open a little too quickly.
You didn’t see the look on his face—the hesitation, the quiet worry mirroring your own as he watched you retreat.
In all honesty, Hongjoong was reeling. He’d be stupid not to notice the crush you’d had on him in school but with the various extracurriculars he was in and the part time jobs, he never had time or energy for anything serious. It wasn’t until he’d moved hours away for university and only got to see you and guys every few months that he realized just how much he missed you. How much he liked you.
Was he looking into it too much? He’d been filled with excited, nervous energy after you’d asked him to help you shop for the party. Hoping that he’d finally have the chance to see if the feelings he had were returned or if you’d gotten over your crush in the year since he’d moved away.
Seonghwa had told him dozens of times now to just tell you. To just say to hell with it and confess and let all of this be behind them but something about the way you’d avoided his eyes had him second guessing himself.
After a few minutes of tense shuffling around the kitchen to get the soju put away and put the snacks out on the counter, you sighed and finally let your eyes settle on the man leaning against the opposite counter. His smile light and eyes lingering you almost just open your mouth and say it.
Hey, so actually I think I’m in love with you.
God no that’s awful.
Hey Hongjoong, y’know how i practically threw myself at you throughout all of high school? Well it’s because i had a big fat crush—
Ugh.
This is impossible.
“Uh, earth to Y/nnie?” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the fog in your head, his hand waving dramatically in front of your face.
You blink and shake your head. “Sorry, sorry—I was just... thinking,” you mutter, brushing past him toward the living room before your mouth can get you into trouble.
“Thinking’s dangerous business,” he calls out playfully, trailing after you. “How about that soju? We should pregame a little before the guys show up. You know they’re probably already doing shots back at the house.”
You hear the soft thud of him flopping down on the couch behind you, the rustle of the soju bottle and clink of glass. A moment later, he sets two shot glasses on the coffee table and pours without saying much else.
He slides one your way and lifts his own. “C’mon,” he says, eyes warm. “Like old times?”
Your heart does that annoying lurch again as you reach for the glass, trying not to let your fingers brush his. “I’m supposed to pour for you , oppa,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you bring the shot to your lips and knock it back without hesitation.
He smirks, tossing his own back with ease. “Eh, whatever,” he shrugs. “I’m feeling generous today.”
You don’t answer—just set your glass back on the table a little too gently and pretend the burn in your throat is the only thing making your eyes sting.
For a moment, the room is quiet—comfortably so, at least for you. But beside you, Hongjoong is still, too still, his eyes flicking toward you more than once. You pretend not to notice, though it’s getting harder each time he does it.
“Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask…” he says, shifting to face you on the couch. His voice is low, his expression suddenly unreadable.
Your stomach knots. That look. That tone. You know what’s coming—or you think you do.
“It’s… about high school,” he continues, a bit slower this time.
And just like that, panic spikes in your chest. Shit. He knows . He’s about to say you made things weird back then. That he never said anything because he didn’t want to embarrass you. That he doesn’t feel the same.
Before you can stop yourself, you blurt it out.
“Oh—the crush? Yeah, don’t worry about it, Joongie!” You toss him a smile that feels too tight on your face. “Totally ancient history.”
He blinks. You push on.
“I mean, yeah, it was probably obvious back then, but I’m over it. We’re cool, right?”
You try to sound breezy, but your voice wavers at the end. Your shoulders are stiff, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t taken a full breath in thirty seconds.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he looks away.
“Yeah. Super cool,” he mutters, reaching for the soju bottle. He pours himself a shot—just himself—and knocks it back without hesitation, grimacing at the burn.
Another pause. He clears his throat, still not meeting your eyes.
“So uh… when’s everyone else getting here?
.
The rest of the night felt like walking through wet cement—heavy, slow, and impossibly messy.
Hongjoong hadn’t said more than a few words to you since the others arrived. You tried not to take it personally at first, but the way he suddenly got very interested in helping Yeosang set up the console the second you walked into the room? Yeah. That stung.
You’d laughed along with everyone, sat on the floor with your drink in hand, nodded through conversations, but the second Hongjoong entered the space, it was like gravity shifted. Either he left—or you did.
After the third time excusing yourself to your bedroom under the pretense of "grabbing something," you stopped pretending.
You’d ruined it.
Maybe if you hadn’t blurted that stupid lie about getting over him, maybe if you’d just told the truth, maybe—
You shake your head.
No. That would’ve been worse. You couldn’t even imagine what would’ve happened if you’d admitted you still felt that way. At least now he only thinks you’re awkward, not desperate.
Still, the look in his eyes before he poured that second shot lingers in your head. The way he hadn’t filled your glass. The way he hadn’t even looked at you when he said “super cool.”
Clearly, you’d made him uncomfortable. Clearly, your feelings—past or present—were just a complication he didn’t ask for.
Clearly, he’s upset that you’d lied back in high school. That when he was just trying to be your friend, you were busy falling for him.
Clearly.
Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong was having a crisis of his own.
He’d knocked back at least three bottles of soju since your conversation earlier, and at that very moment, he was digging around for another. Anything to numb the ache that had lodged itself in his chest the second you said used to like him.
Hongjoong had many regrets in life. Not calling his mom back more often. Choosing a university so far from everything familiar. Hell, even the sweater he’d picked tonight was feeling like a mistake. But none of those regrets compared to the one eating him alive right now.
He regretted not saying something.
Back then, and especially now. He’d been so caught up in expectations—grades, future plans, perfect transcripts—that he hadn’t realized he was letting go of the people who mattered most. His family. The guys. You.
He’d been so sure he was reading things right tonight. The way you looked at him. The way your hands shook when he touched them. The way your voice cracked around his name. He was so sure there was something there—had always been something there.
But now?
Now he just felt stupid.
Worse than stupid. He felt like one of those guys who got mad at girls for not returning their feelings. That kind of guy made him sick. The kind who whined about being “friend-zoned” like friendship wasn’t already a privilege. Was that what he was doing now? Making you uncomfortable?
The idea that you’d moved on while he... hadn’t, made his stomach twist. Would you hate him if you knew he couldn’t see you as just a friend anymore? Would you feel betrayed?
The thoughts came so fast, so loud, he couldn’t stand being in the same room anymore. With a half-empty bottle hanging from his hand, he ducked out, heading for the one place he could be alone: the shitty, dimly lit bathroom you shared with Jongho.
But as he turned the corner—
There you were.
Standing just outside your bedroom, shoulders drawn tight, tears still clinging to your lashes.
You froze the moment you saw him. Wide eyes locking with his. The hallway felt too narrow. Too quiet.
A beat passed.
Then another.
His breath caught. The sight of you—vulnerable, hurting—hit harder than he was ready for. It knocked the air from his lungs, twisted the guilt in his chest until it burned.
He’d lost his chance.
And realizing that? Hurt more than any bottle ever could
You both opened your mouths to speak—at the exact same time.
And just as quickly, you both went silent.
The moment hung between you, thick and unbearable. The air felt stale, like the hallway itself was holding its breath.
Hongjoong shifted, eyes darting away as he ran a hand through his hair. “I—uh… s-sorry,” he mumbled, voice cracking with something unspoken.
Before you could stop him, he turned and slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut with an awful finality.
You stood frozen for a second, heart hammering so loudly it drowned out the muffled voices from the living room.
Then, quietly, you wiped your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater and forced your feet to move. One step, then another, back toward the noise and the laughter and the safety of pretending nothing had happened.
Pretending your heart wasn’t trying to claw its way out of your chest.
.
The rest of the night blurred by in a haze of alcohol and avoidance. After the hallway moment, you’d made it your mission to forget—shot after shot until your thoughts stopped spinning around him.
Hongjoong had taken a similar approach, downing soju until Mingi eventually had to scoop him up bridal-style and carry him out, muttering something about “lightweights” and “emotional damage” under his breath. The sight might’ve made you laugh under different circumstances.
You hadn’t been doing much better, swaying on your feet by the time everyone started to trickle out.
Thankfully, Jongho and Yunho were the kind of friends who didn’t ask questions. They just helped you into bed, pulling your shoes off and tucking you under the blankets without a word.
Yunho claimed the old futon in his former room, now mostly taken over by Jongho’s weights and a dusty punching bag. Jongho, ever the protector, stretched out on the floor beside your bed with a spare pillow and a quiet promise to keep an ear out in case you got sick.
He always had been the softest of them all. Not that you’d ever say that out loud. Especially not while he was within earshot.
.
The rest of winter break was spent avoiding Hongjoong, which—by default—meant avoiding the house entirely.
You felt bad about missing New Year’s with the guys, you really did. But the idea of watching Wooyoung and San make out at midnight wasn’t something you could stomach—not because it was gross or weird, but because it would remind you exactly what you couldn’t have.
You didn’t want to think about who you wanted to kiss when the ball dropped. Not when you knew he wouldn’t be thinking about you.
By the time you finally worked up the nerve to swing by the house on the last day of break, Yunho told you that Hongjoong had already left.
No text. No goodbye. Nothing.
---———————————---
Present
Taking a shaky breath in, you try to push the weight of the memories out of your mind, blinking back tears that threaten to ruin your makeup.
When your vision clears, and the pressure in your chest eases just enough for you to breathe slowly, you realize in your panic that you've ended up in the spare room. Your room on occasion, but right now, Hongjoong’s room. His suitcase is open on the floor near the bed, his laptop bag tossed carelessly on the bed, and an empty coffee mug sits on the nightstand. The space feels wrong, as if you're intruding, and the familiarity of it suddenly feels distant.
You don’t want to linger here, so you turn quickly, opening the door and stepping back into the hallway, determined to not mess this up any more than you already have.
That is, until you round the corner and collide hard into someone.
"Fuck!" You hiss, rubbing your forehead where it smacked into… oh.
"Dammit, can you wat—" he stops, eyes wide, as he looks at you.
In that instant, everything from the last few months floods back, and you're right back to four months ago, the last time you’d gotten caught sneaking off at a party.
"Hey," Hongjoong's voice is quiet, but there's a hint of something you can’t quite place. He looks almost… embarrassed? No, it must be the alcohol.
"Hey."
"I was, uh… I was gonna head to the room for a bit," he starts, his words stuttering just a little as he glances down at his feet, then back at you. "It’s a bit loud down there right now. Yunho convinced Jungho, Wooyoung, and Yeosang to play beer pong with him, and… you remember what happened last time?" He smiles, and for the first time in what feels like ages, it's genuine. A fleeting reminder of the carefree Hongjoong you used to know.
You chuckle despite yourself, the heaviness in your chest easing just a fraction at the sight of his smile.
The moment lingers, and for a second, you both just stand there, caught in the quiet. Then, Hongjoong inhales deeply, and you can almost feel the shift in the air before he opens his mouth again.
"Y/n," he starts, his voice softer this time, more uncertain. His hands are clenched tightly at his sides, and you notice the slight tremble in his fingers.
Seeing you hurt like this and knowing he’s made it worse is eating at him. The last several months have felt like years, each day heavier than the last, as he replays every moment of the last time he saw you over and over again. The doubt, the confusion, the silence between you—it’s been unbearable. He cannot let tonight end without saying something. Without doing something to fix this.
"Yeah?"
The question in your eyes makes him falter. It’s like you’ve cracked open something inside of him, and for a moment, he’s lost. His words catch in his throat, and he stands there frozen, staring at you, torn between what he wants to say and the fear of saying it wrong.
He swallows hard, clears his throat, and forces himself to speak again.
"I need to talk to you."