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angstama · 8 days ago

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03 ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: hey lovelies~ this isn't really proof read but i promise i'll edit the errors as i re-read it on my flight to seoul :")))) this chapter was mainly inspired by day6's 'still there'🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ it's one of my favourite tracks of all time and imo jeno and y/n's ost tbh🙂‍↔️ thank you guys SO SO MUCH for the support this series have been receiving and im so excited to start on the next chapter (i have so many idea panned out omg). as i'll be away supporting dreamies on tds4 for all 3 concert days, i ask for your patience to give me some time to complete chapter 4~ i promise i'll have them up asap!!!!! once again, THANK YOU SO MUCH for the lovely messages and comments <33333 and please keep them coming because it motivates writers like me to continue writing!!!!! i love you guys so muchhhhhh~~

chapter music: still there - DAY6

sbu m.list | previous | next chapter

“if everything looks correct, you can sign here.” chen le’s voice was gentle, almost too gentle — wrapped in the kind of clinical calm only someone in his position could master. it was the practiced neutrality of a man who had watched too many love stories unravel in rooms just like this one.

but even he faltered for a beat.

because this? this was a love story he never imagined would end like this. he had seen you both through the storm and the sun — had celebrated your wedding from the third row, had stayed late at your apartment during the nights you fought but still chose to stay. he’d laughed with you at housewarmings and babysat jun once when you both were too tired to keep your eyes open.

he had seen your love endure.

until now.

and though his tone remained even, his eyes lingered on you with something quieter. something that almost looked like grief.

he tapped the dotted line with his pen, a faint click against paper that somehow echoed louder than it should have. you stared at it. the inked void where your name was supposed to go haunting you instantly almost like a quiet reminder of what you were about to let go.

your fingers tightened around the pen, knuckles white against the smooth silver and feet planted on the ground, like your body needed to anchor itself against the weight of this moment.

but your hand wouldn’t move.

how could it?

how do you sign the end of your life as you knew it?

across from you, jeno didn’t hesitate. no falter. not a single pause. just the smooth sweep of his signature bleeding across the page. as if eight years of marriage were just a formality. as if twelve years of loving each other from awkward teenage beginnings to building a home, to raising a son could be condensed into a line of ink and left behind without ceremony.

you couldn’t look at him. not when he looked like stone, like he had already mourned something you were still clinging to and you wondered if it meant less to him?

or if he had simply gotten better at hiding the hurt.

because surely, you couldn’t be the only one sitting in this quiet, airless room, staring down at the ruins of a life you built together — desperately rewinding every memory like a broken tape, trying to catch the exact moment things began to slip.

the nights you stayed up waiting. the mornings you carried the weight of both your worlds. the times you swallowed your pride, softened your voice, reached across the silence between you just to try.

you had given so much — so much of yourself, your time, your patience — to fix the cracks before they split wide open.

so how could it be that you were the only one still clinging to the pieces?

how could he sit across from you like this calm, collected — while you were still mourning the end of your relationship?

you finally signed the paper. it was just ink. but it might as well have been blood.

“is this really what you want?” your voice cracked on the last word, shame blooming in your chest. you hated how small you sounded. how vulnerable. but you asked anyway. because part of you still needed him to say no.

jeno didn’t flinch. he just looked down at the paper between you both and nodded, slow and solemn. “it’s what we need.”

you let out a bitter laugh, incredulous. “what we need?”

“y/n—”

“no.” your voice rose, sharp and shaking. “you don’t get to say that like we’re doing something brave. like this is noble. you just signed away twelve years of us, and you didn’t even blink.”

jeno’s jaw tensed. but he stayed quiet.

“and jun,” you continued, voice breaking again. “what about him, jeno? what happens the next time he asks why we aren’t a family anymore? do you have a perfect answer lined up for that too?”

“i think about him every damn day,” he snapped, the words finally cutting through the air like a blade. “don’t act like i don’t.”

“then why are you giving up?”

“because we’re already gone, y/n. you just can’t admit it.” jeno huffed, his words hitting you like a slap, causing you to stagger back in your chair, the wind knocked clean from your chest.

he lowered his gaze, hands clenched tightly in his lap. “we’ve been gone for a while. and you know it.”

and maybe, somewhere deep down, you did.

but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

knowing didn’t make it okay.

tears welled in your eyes, hot and blurring the edges of the world. you pressed your fingers to your mouth to keep the sob from slipping out. but it came anyway.

you tried to be strong. you tried not to beg.

but your voice was a whisper when you asked, “how did we get here?”

jeno didn’t answer, simply looking at you with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen — like maybe he wanted to take it all back, but didn’t know how to anymore. like maybe he had already accepted being the villain in the story just so you could both finally rest.

"i don't know."

you never truly got over the day your marriage with jeno ended.

no matter how much time passed, it lingered — a shadow stretched long behind you. you remembered every detail with unbearable clarity: the cold press of the pen between your fingers, the silence that rang louder than anything said, and the way jeno looked when he signed the papers.

it sat at the back of your mind like a weight you never stopped carrying — surfacing in every disagreement, every quiet exchange about jun. it gnawed at you in the moments between, when the house was quiet and you had no one to be strong for.

sometimes, you still hear your own voice from that day — cracking under the weight of heartbreak, begging him not to go. begging him to love you.

telling him you could do more. be more.

but jeno still looked you in the eye and decided he couldn’t do love with you.

and that broke something inside you.

not just your heart — but your sense of self.

because how could you not hate yourself, even just a little, for not being enough for the person who once swore you were everything?

you hadn’t planned to bring it up today — not like this.

but as soon as jeno showed up at your door, right on time, cap tucked under his arm and a smile that feels too normal for how not-normal things have felt lately, you knew you couldn't let it slide.

"hey," he says easily, glancing past you. "jun ready?"

"not yet," you replied, not moving aside for him to enter your home like usually do. "can we talk for a minute?"

you nod towards the small bench near your door. walking out as he follows you out and sits, hands folded loosely between his knees, waiting.

“you introduced him to her,” you say. no preamble, no patience.

jeno blinks, thrown. “what?”

“soomin,” you bite, your voice trembling. “jun told me. she gave him a lollipop. said hi to him by name. you already introduced them.”

jeno exhales, shoulders slumping slightly. “look, it wasn’t—”

"wasn’t like what, exactly?" you snapped, eyes narrowing. "you didn’t think I deserved to know that my son met the woman you want to build a life with? the woman you think is important enough to take him camping with?"

"you’re twisting it."

"am i?" your voice cracked despite your best efforts. "jeno, he called her lollipop auntie. that means he remembers her. he’s met her. he likes her. and you let that happen without even talking to me."

jeno opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, jaw clenching. he looked away for a second, like he couldn’t face you, like it was easier to aim his guilt at the sidewalk than at your eyes.

“she was leaving when we got back. it wasn’t planned,” he said finally. “she just gave him a lollipop. that was it.”

you stared at him, disbelief and disappointment bubbling under your skin like something volcanic.

"that was it to you," you said, stepping closer. "but not to him. and not to me. it’s not just about the lollipop, jeno — it’s about the principle. we agreed, didn’t we? that we’d talk about things like this first?"

"yeah, well, maybe i didn’t want another fight," he muttered. and then, under his breath, "i’m tired of feeling like i need your permission for every move I make."

you blinked. stunned. “excuse me?”

jeno looked up at you then, frustration surfacing behind his usually calm expression. “i’m trying, okay? i’m trying to make this work — the co-parenting, the balance, the split holidays and the monthly family days like we’re still whole. but we’re not. we’re not whole, and i’m doing the best i can.”

your throat burned, but you swallowed the tears before they could rise. "you don’t get to make me the bad guy for wanting to be included in our son’s life. i didn’t leave, jeno. you did. and now you want to rewrite the script like you’re the one who’s been hurt?"

jeno flinched at that. he exhaled hard, looking like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came.

you took a step back, pressing a hand to your chest like that could quiet the way your heart was shattering all over again.

"you could’ve told me. that’s all i wanted. to be told. to not be the last to know something important about our son. i’m not trying to control you — i’m trying to be his mother."

“that’s not fair—”

“no, what’s not fair is you putting her in jun’s life before we talked. what’s not fair is asking me to agree to the camping trip with her when you already knew they’d met. like it was my choice. like i had a say.”

you let out a shaky breath. “you said soomin was important. but did you ever stop to think about who’s important to me? what it feels like to be treated like an afterthought in my own child's life?”

jeno’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked impossibly small. but you didn’t wait for him to apologize. you didn’t even wait for him to catch his breath.

you just turned around and walked away — because if you didn’t, you might break again in front of the very person who once promised never to let you.

you sent jun off as per your usual weekly routine, waving him off with the brightest smile you could muster despite where you've left off with jeno.

the documents in your hands crinkled slightly, betraying the grip you didn’t realize had tightened since you left the apartment.

you were still thinking about it — jeno’s voice, the way his jaw clenched when you called him out, how his silence somehow hurt more than if he’d just yelled back. the ache lingered like smoke in your chest. and now, here you were, trying to will it all into the background as you made your way towards jaemin's office as per the instructions he's texted you.

the city pulsed around you, a little too fast, too bright, too indifferent. every honk, every hurried step of the strangers brushing past, felt like the world moving on without waiting for you to catch your breath.

then you looked up. the skyscrapers loomed above you, cold and gleaming as if a mirror to everything you once gave up for the life you thought would last forever. somewhere between chasing stability and building a home for jun, you had tucked away the version of yourself who once dreamed of standing in buildings like these, in rooms that smelled like coffee and ambition, with sharp minds and sharper tongues — and winning.

jaemin’s office was tucked on the fifty-seventh floor of a building that screamed sleek money and generational power. you had to sign in at the lobby, ride the elevator in silence next to someone wearing a watch that probably cost more than your rent, and rehearse in your head that you belonged here too.

you did, right?

the elevator doors slid open with a sterile chime. you stepped into the corridor, clutching your folder like a shield, heart still reeling from the confrontation with jeno earlier.

jaemin looked up from the table as you approached, his usual smirk halfway formed before it softened. maybe it was the stiffness in your shoulders or how you didn’t offer your usual sarcastic jab in greeting — either way, he noticed.

“hey,” he said, a little too gently for your liking.

“hey.” you slid into the chair, setting your folder down with more force than intended.

his eyes flicked to the paper, then back to your face. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you replied too quickly, flipping open your notepad. “just… long morning.”

jaemin doesn't press further, instead he slides you the cup of orange cold brew from that tucked away cafe from your old dormitory he remembered you loved back in university and swore that you couldn't live without it. "i hope your tastebuds haven't changed much."

you glanced down at the drink, the citrus-sweet scent wafting up to meet you. for a moment, it almost disarms the ache in your chest — almost. “you remembered,” you murmur, fingers curling around the condensation-damp cup. you don’t say thank you, but the way you held the drink — like it’s something precious — says enough.

jaemin just shrugs, settling back into his chair like it was nothing. but it wasn’t nothing. not really.

hours slipped away unnoticed as the two of you immersed yourselves in strategising, the world outside fading into the background. you sat curled up on jaemin's office office couch, sleeves rolled, pen tapping against your lip as your eyes scanned a paragraph for the fifth time.

“if we start by subpoenaing their quarterly disposal logs, we’ll see just how far back the discrepancies go,” you said, tapping your pen against the margin of the report. “but if they’re smart — and they usually are — they’ve already scrubbed them clean.”

jaemin leaned back in his chair, one ankle hooked over his knee, his fingers steepled thoughtfully beneath his chin. “which is why we go for the suppliers first. small contracts, subcontracted transport routes. someone always cuts corners, and someone always talks when their name’s not on the million-dollar invoice.”

you nodded slowly, the wheels already turning. “i can draft the outreach list for depositions. we can start local, where the impact was worst.”

“and we lean on the class action angle,” jaemin added. “emotional damages, long-term health risk assessments. those reports from the labs could back us if we play it right.”

“you’re not bad at this,” you muttered, feigning reluctance as your pen scribbled a note.

jaemin smirked. “and you’re still terrible at giving compliments.”

“not a compliment. just an observation,” you quipped, eyes on the file.

your eyes finally drifted to the clock perched on Jaemin’s desk, and the hands told you it was already 9 p.m. jaemin glanced up as well, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "huh it's already 9pm. do you have to go back to jun?" he asked.

you shook your head, pushing your chair back. “nope. he’s with his dad tonight.” you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, surprised by how freeing the thought felt. “i'm on my own.”

jaemin leaned forward, folding his hands on the tabletop. “then… would you like to grab dinner? my treat.”

the invitation hung in the quiet room, warm and unexpected. you studied his face—tired, but hopeful. “dinner?” you repeated, letting the word roll around. you realised you hadn’t eaten more than a handful of granola this afternoon. “where?”

“there’s a little ramen place a few blocks away. my go-to after late nights.”  he grinned, the familiar spark returning.

before you could answer, jaemin stood up excitedly, gathering his laptop. “come on. you'll love it.”

you followed him towards the door without much protest, surprising yourself with how easily you slipped into step beside him. "are you sure you're not gonna poison me?"

"if i wanted to i would've already done so earlier." he scoffed.

it was a small ramen shop tucked into the quiet corner of a side street, almost hidden beneath the shadow of towering skyscrapers. the signboard was weathered, its paint chipped and lettering faded with time, but the warm glow spilling from the windows gave it a charm that stood resilient against the sleek sterility of the city. inside, the air was thick with the scent of rich broth and slow-cooked spices, the kind of place that felt less like a restaurant and more like a secret haven—quiet, unassuming, and comforting in all the ways that mattered.

“wait—so you’re telling me you haven’t dated anyone since graduation?” you laughed, the sound bubbling out of you as you slammed your empty sake cup on the table a little too enthusiastically. “—not even for sex?” you asked, incredulous, as if jaemin had just revealed he’d been living on a mountaintop in celibacy for the past decade.

he looked mildly amused, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you spiral. “that’s your follow-up question?”

“i'm just saying!” you said, voice rising a little with the sake and disbelief. “you’re—like—you... aren't you rich?"

your cheeks were warm, not just from the ramen broth but from the sake steadily loosening the stiffness in your shoulders. you’d lost track of how many shots you’d had—three? five? more? all you remembered was suggesting a bottle of sake to shake off a long day of hard work and somewhere between pouring the second glass and slurping your noodles, the conversation had veered into personal territory.

jaemin, of course, hadn’t touched his drink. his cup sat perfectly untouched in front of him, condensation beading against the ceramic. he didn't say much after your little rant—didn’t confirm, didn’t deny. just leaned back against the booth, eyes on you, that familiar half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. it was the kind of smile that said he was entertained. not by the conversation itself, but by you.

you, slumped just slightly forward with your elbow propped on the table, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the sake. you, asking wildly inappropriate questions like it was a courtroom cross-examination. you, so unfiltered in your tipsiness, so openly curious and bold. and maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just how long it had been since you both sat across from each other like this, but you didn’t hold back—not your voice, not your laughter, not the way you squinted at him like he was some puzzle you were determined to solve.

“you’re seriously not gonna answer?” you challenged, lifting your brows, sake cup in hand like you were about to swear an oath.

jaemin shrugged, still saying nothing, but there was a soft gleam in his eyes—fond, maybe. amused, definitely.

jaemin had his fair share of entanglements — fleeting connections, one-night stands, and the kind of half-hearted situationships that never made it past surface level. nothing ever stuck. not because he couldn’t commit, but because he never wanted to stay long enough to try. he always left before things could mean anything.

but sitting across from you now, watching the way your eyes crinkled with amusement and exhaustion, he found himself unwilling to let you know any of that. because for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be seen as the man who never took love seriously.

not with you.

you narrowed your eyes. “you're enjoying this.”

he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “a little.”

“a little?” you echoed. “wow, what a thrill it must be to be inside that mysterious, non-committal brain of yours.”

he tilted his head, lips curving just a little more. “you’re cute when you’re drunk.”

that made you freeze, sake cup halfway to your mouth. “excuse me?”

“tipsy,” he corrected smoothly, reaching for his water. “tipsy and opinionated. same thing.”

you blinked at him, mouth falling open for half a second before you recovered. “you’re deflecting.”

“i’m choosing peace,” he said, sipping his iced water calmly. “unlike someone.”

“peace is overrated.” you scoffed.

"what about you?” he said instead, quieter now. “why did you and jeno split?”

your breath caught. his dodge was smooth, clean. too clean. and now, the air between you shifted.

it wasn’t playful anymore. it was real. real enough that your throat tightened.

you looked away first, eyes settling on the rim of your empty sake glass, fingers absently tracing the ring of condensation. there was a strange comfort in avoiding his gaze — like if you didn’t meet his eyes, maybe the truth wouldn’t sound so raw coming out of your mouth.

“it wasn’t one thing,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, as if saying it too loud might make it crack. “we didn’t blow up. we didn’t cheat. we just… eroded.”

jaemin stayed silent, his elbows now resting on the table, body leaning slightly toward you like he was bracing for a tide.

“i gave up a lot for us. for the life we were building. and he did too. but somewhere along the way, it started to feel like i was the only one still holding onto it.” you laughed, but there was no humor in it. “i kept thinking if i worked harder, gave more, forgave more… he’d come back to me. but he didn’t. he just got busier. colder. and i got tired.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. “i asked him to fight for us. he didn’t.”

jaemin’s fingers drummed lightly against the table once, then stopped. “you asked him to love you, and he said no.”

the words hit more softly than you expected — like they’d been living under your skin, waiting for someone else to say them out loud. you gave a small nod, your throat thick.

“i told him i could change. do more. anything.”

you paused, throat tightening.

“and he told me he couldn’t do love with me anymore.”

the silence stretched, heavier now.

“and now?” he asked.

“now,” you exhaled, “we co-parent. we try to be civil. we try not to break each other in front of jun.”

a pause.

“but it still hurts?”

you blinked a few times, the heat of the sake crawling back up your chest. “every time he makes a decision without me. every time jun asks me why daddy’s not around more. every time i remember how hard i begged him to stay.”

“he was a fool,” he said finally, and this time, he meant it without a trace of smugness. you let out a breath — not quite a laugh, but close. “don’t say that. he’s still jun’s dad.”

“being a dad and being a husband aren’t the same thing,” jaemin replied, tone even. “and being one doesn’t excuse how badly he handled the other.”

you didn’t answer. maybe because part of you still wanted to defend jeno — or maybe because hearing someone else say what you’ve been trying not to admit was hitting too close to bone.

persistent throb at your temples. your mouth was dry, your head foggy, and the unfamiliar ceiling above you was definitely not your own.

you blinked a few times, trying to remember. the ramen bar. the sake. jaemin. too many shots. too many questions.

for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. the sheets beneath you were impossibly smooth. high thread count. expensive. and the faint scent in the air wasn’t yours — something between cedarwood and expensive laundry detergent, subtle but unmistakably masculine.

you sat up slowly, head pounding, temple throbbing from the aftermath of the sake shots you so confidently downed last night. your eyes scanned the unfamiliar room — impossibly tall ceilings, soft grey walls, and sleek built-ins that looked like they belonged in an interior design magazine.

no clutter. no mess. not even a wrinkle out of place.

the windows spanned from floor to ceiling, flooding the room with soft daylight and a sweeping view of the city skyline. you’d never been here before — you were sure of it.

your phone buzzed violently on the nightstand beside you.

15 missed calls – jun's appa

and one message:

jun's appa: can you pick jun up this morning? something came up. urgent.

you groaned, pressing a palm to your forehead. your mind spun, rewinding through hazy fragments of the night before: ramen, sake, you asking too many inappropriate questions, jaemin smirking at you from across the table.

and then — blackout.

wait.

your eyes narrowed at the decor again.

is this...?

before you could even finish the thought, you heard footsteps coming your way.

you looked toward the door just as jaemin appeared, dressed in a plain white tee and dark sweatpants, his hair still a little tousled from sleep. he was holding a bowl of something steaming, and a glass of water in the other hand.

“morning,” he said casually, like this was something the two of you did every sunday.

“...where am i?” you asked, your voice dry and a little hoarse.

he raised an eyebrow. “you’re at my place.”

you blinked.

“why am i—?”

“because you passed out,” he said, setting the bowl down on the coffee table near the couch. “i didn’t know where you lived and calling jeno wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.”

you stared at him. “so you just… brought me here?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he smirked. “you drooled on my shoulder the entire cab ride and then face-planted into my pillow. zero sex appeal involved.”

your face burned hot as you buried it in your hands, muffling a groan. “god.” of all the people to unravel in front of, it had to be na jaemin. it was one thing to be a mess — but to be that kind of mess in front of him? reckless, unfiltered, and utterly humiliated?

suddenly, the memory of the fifteen missed calls crashed into you like cold water. your stomach twisted with panic as you shot upright, the blanket slipping off your lap.

“shit,” you muttered, scrambling for your phone on the nightstand. your fingers trembled as you unlocked the screen — fifteen missed calls, three texts from jeno, and a voice note you didn’t dare press play on.

“i need to go,” you said frantically. “jeno’s been trying to call me all morning,” you shook your head. “i was supposed to pick jun up. there’s something urgent— i don’t know, i didn’t see the texts—”

“hey, hey—breathe,” jaemin set the mug down and walked over, holding the bowl out gently like a peace offering. “drink this first. it’ll help the headache. then i’ll drive you.”

you hesitated, eyes flicking between the soup and your phone. “it’s not your responsibility.”

“neither was carrying your unconscious body into my apartment last night,” he said dryly, crossing his arms. “but here we are.”

you gave him a tired glare. “you’re not funny.”

“not trying to be.”

he nudged the bowl towards you again.

“you’re no good to jun if you pass out mid-pickup,” he added. and that was what made you sit back down.

you picked up the spoon again with a shaky hand, sipping slowly. jaemin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you but not hovering. after a few more bites, you exhaled.

“thanks,” you said, still not looking at him.

“don’t mention it,” he replied, walking off towards living room. “i’ll grab my keys.”

// to be continued

taglist: @chaoticstrawberryland @bbykaixx @strawberrytyong @desiree-lee @mybearcollective @dilflover44 @kangshinwoolovin

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