The rich aroma of ginseng chicken soup, a scent that promised warmth and comfort, gently pulled Hana from a deep, dreamless sleep. She stretched, her muscles protesting softly from the previous day's ordeal, and rubbed her eyes before stepping out of her room. In the kitchen, Taeyang stood by the stove, a silent sentinel, stirring the simmering broth with an almost unnerving focus.
He turned at the soft sound of her footsteps, his sharp eyes, usually so guarded, immediately softening into a profound relief. "You're up." His voice was gentle, a tender rasp, but an unmistakable weight underscored it, a tremor she recognized as lingering fear. "How are you feeling? Still tired?"
Hana offered a small, hesitant smile. "Better. I'm okay now. Did I worry you too much?" she asked, her tone laced with a quiet, lingering guilt that twisted in her gut.
Taeyang's hand faltered. The spoon slipped from his fingers, splashing unnoticed into the pot, as if the physical world had momentarily ceased to matter. In an instant, he turned, pulling her into a firm hug. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his chin resting against the top of her head.
"I know we both do risky jobs," he murmured, his voice wavering, raw with an emotion that bordered on anguish. "But seeing you fall like that… From that height… You were so damn close to being gone forever. I—" His breath hitched, a choked sound in his throat. "I don't ever want to lose you, Hana. You're the only one I have in this world. The only one left."
Hana's heart clenched, a painful knot tightening in her chest at the raw, unfiltered emotion in his words. Without a second thought, she hugged him back, her arms tightening around him, seeking the grounding presence he always provided. "I know. I'm so sorry." They found reassurance in the simple, undeniable fact that they were both still here, still breathing.
When they finally pulled away, Taeyang cleared his throat, the sound a deliberate attempt to regain composure, and turned back to the stove. "Come on, let's eat. You need something warm."
They sat down for breakfast. The atmosphere felt lighter, yet a subtle tension lingered, tinged with the weight of unspoken emotions and the ghost of yesterday's fear. As they ate, their conversation drifted, a welcome distraction, to Taeyang's latest private investigation in Busan.
"It's about an old farmer," he explained between bites, his voice regaining its usual steadiness. "He had massive assets, and now there's some suspicious activity surrounding his land. Something isn't adding up."
Hana hummed in understanding, stirring her soup, the familiar warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread of the night before. "Sounds like a mess."
"It is," he sighed, a flicker of weariness in his eyes. "But that's nothing new for me, is it?" For the first time in days, they talked. About work, about life, about everything and nothing at all, their words weaving a familiar tapestry of comfort and understanding. And though the lingering fear of the past night still hovered, a faint shadow in the periphery, for now, they let the simple, profound warmth of the moment settle between them.
Taeyang made sure Hana got plenty of rest throughout the day, his concern a palpable presence. He prepared healthy meals and fresh juices, a silent but constant vigil, while he worked on his case files. Occasionally, he'd glance up from stacks of reports, his gaze sweeping over her, a subtle check to ensure she was truly alright. By the time evening arrived, a soft, familiar knock on his door pulled him from his work. He looked up to find Hana standing there, her expression expectant, a spark of her usual vivacity returning.
"I want to go out," she said, her voice firm, a hint of defiance in her tone.
Taeyang hesitated, a fresh wave of concern washing over him as he remembered her fragility just yesterday, the sickening sight of her teetering on the edge. His brows furrowed, weighing the risks. Sensing his hesitation, Hana crossed her arms, her patience wearing thin. "Staying home all day is boring, Taeyang. I need to breathe."
A small, reluctant smile finally tugged at Taeyang's lips. He knew that look, that determined glint in her eyes. There was no stopping Hana once her mind was set. Letting out a resigned sigh that was half affection, half worry, he pushed his chair back. "Alright," he conceded, standing up. "Let's go."
Hana's face lit up, a genuine, unburdened smile breaking through the lingering shadows. For the first time in days, she looked like herself again, vibrant and alive.
As they stepped outside, the cool evening breeze greeted them, a refreshing contrast to the stifling weight of the past day. Taeyang watched as Hana breathed in deeply, a contented sigh escaping her lips, as if shedding the last vestiges of fear. He silently hoped that this small outing, this brief escape, would help her truly feel whole again.
A lively festival was in full swing near the Han River, the air buzzing with an infectious excitement. The distant echoes of laughter and upbeat music blended harmoniously with the gentle, rhythmic sound of flowing water. It seemed like a fireworks celebration, painting the sky with anticipation.
Taeyang walked beside Hana along the Han River Bridge, the calm ripples below reflecting the festive lights above. Crowds had gathered, some gazing at the dazzling displays, others dancing freely to the music, or indulging in an array of street food. The rich scent of grilled delicacies and sweet treats mingled with the crisp evening air, creating a sensory symphony.
Hana's mood lifted almost instantly, like a kite catching a strong current. Her eyes sparkling with a childlike wonder as she took in the vibrant atmosphere, a genuine, unforced smile slowly spreading across her lips. The exhaustion and the bone-deep heaviness from the past days seemed to dissipate, replaced by the warmth of the moment, the simple joy of being amidst life. Taeyang watched her quietly, a fragile sense of relief blossoming in his chest.
But that relief was fleeting, a fragile blossom in a storm. The weight on Taeyang's heart grew heavier, the burden of his recent discovery pressing down on him with suffocating force. He had lied about the Busan investigation. He had indeed gone there, but what he found was an unbearable truth, a tangled web of mysteries that threatened to consume him whole. He couldn't drag Hana into this, not after seeing her so close to death, not after witnessing her fragile brush with oblivion.
He hated keeping secrets from her; every fiber of his being recoiled from the deception. Yet, this one was necessary, a cruel necessity he bore alone. It was the only way, he truly believed, to keep her safe, to shield her from a darkness he couldn't yet comprehend. Still, the silence was suffocating, a heavy cloak draped over his heart. Tears welled in his eyes, hot and sharp, as he held it all in, every agonizing detail. She was the only person he had, the only one he could truly call his own, his anchor in a world that constantly shifted beneath his feet. All he wanted was to confide in her to let this unbearable weight go, to share the crushing burden. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He would rather lose his own life than risk hers. Because he loved her. Not just as a friend, but with a fierce, unconditional devotion that transcended all logic, a love he had hidden for years, a love that was now a burning agony in his chest.
Without thinking, driven by a primal need to ground himself, to assure himself she was real and present, he reached for her hand and gently squeezed it. His eyes locked onto hers, a silent plea in their depths, raw and aching with unspoken fears.
"I can never put into words how grateful I am for your presence in my life," he murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion, betraying the careful composure he usually maintained. "I don't ever want to lose you. So remember this, I have only you. If you're gone… I am, too. So don't ever risk your life like that again. Please, Hana. Promise me."
His gaze was intense, unwavering, a desperate plea etched into his features. Hana, seeing the deep distress in his eyes, the residual shock of her near-death experience, assumed it was the trauma from yesterday's events, the chilling echo of what he had witnessed. She smiled softly, a gentle reassurance in her eyes, and nodded, her throat tight with emotion. "I promise, Taeyang. I promise."
And at that precise moment, as if orchestrated by fate, a golden firework exploded above them, painting the night sky in a dazzling, ephemeral glow. The world around them melted away, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his presence, the warmth of his love, and the silent, agonizing promise he had made to himself: he would protect her, even if it meant sacrificing his life, no matter what.
After roaming through the lively stalls, savoring different street foods, and allowing themselves to be swept up in the festival's vibrant atmosphere, Hana and Taeyang finally felt exhaustion creeping in. The night had been long, filled with laughter, dazzling lights, and shared moments, yet beneath it all, Taeyang's heart carried a weight he couldn't shake off, a secret that felt like a living thing, festering within him.
As they walked back to their flats, the festival's distant hum fading behind them, Hana stretched her arms, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "That was fun," she said, turning to him, her smile genuine. "We should do this more often."
Taeyang nodded, forcing a small smile, a brittle facade over his turmoil. "Yeah," he said, his voice quieter than usual, the single word heavy with unspoken thoughts.
They reached their doors, standing in the dimly lit hallway, the night's warmth still lingering in the cool air. Hana turned to him, tilting her head, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "You okay? You seem… distant."
For a moment, Taeyang hesitated. The words sat on the tip of his tongue, the truth, the fears, the terrifying secret he was keeping. He longed to unburden himself, to let it all pour out. But he swallowed them down, the metallic taste of unspoken words coating his tongue. "Yeah, just tired," he finally said, the lie a bitter taste in his mouth, but a necessary one, he told himself.
Hana smiled, oblivious to the storm raging within him, to the agonizing battle he fought for her sake. "Then rest well. Goodnight, Taeyang."
"Goodnight, Hana," he whispered, watching her disappear behind her door, the soft click echoing in the sudden silence of the hallway. He exhaled slowly, leaning against the door for a long moment, the weight of his secret pressing down on him. The truth from Busan weighed heavily, but he couldn't let it slip. Not yet. Because once he did, there would be no going back, no way to shield her from the impending storm.
The next morning, Hana was all set to leave for the office, her energy renewed. Even after she resisted, Taeyang insisted on dropping her off, his overprotective streak a constant presence. As they arrived under the towering office building, he stepped out of the car, handing her a neatly packed lunchbox, the mundane gesture laced with his deep concern.
"So you don't have to go out by yourself," he said, his voice firm but gentle, his gaze unwavering.
Hana rolled her eyes playfully, a faint smile touching her lips. "You're being overprotective again, you know."
Taeyang didn't deny it. "Call it what you want. After that incident... I can't take any chances with you." Hana's smile faltered slightly, memories of that night creeping in, the dizzying fall, the terror, the chilling proximity to death. She sighed, accepting the lunchbox, the cold plastic a stark reminder of the fragile line between life and death. "Thank you, Taeyang."
Unbeknownst to them, from his office cabin high above, Jiwoon watched the interaction unfold below. His grip on the pen tightened. Ever since he saw them together two nights ago, something inside him had irrevocably shifted. The easygoing charm he once carried, the effortless familiarity he shared with Hana, was now buried under a cold, unapproachable exterior. Everyone in the office had noticed the change; his words were sharper, cutting, his gaze unreadable, and his presence, once reassuring, was now daunting, almost intimidating.
When Hana entered the bustling office, a small group of colleagues immediately surrounded her, concern etched on their faces.
"How are you doing, Hana?"
"Are you okay now? We were so worried."
"I still can't believe what happened."
She offered a reassuring smile, a practiced mask over her lingering unease. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."
The conversation soon drifted to the case, to the chilling efficiency with which Jiwoon had personally ensured justice was served. "He shot that guy in the head," someone whispered, the hushed tone filled with a mix of awe and dread. "The one who pushed Hana off the terrace." Hana's stomach twisted, a cold knot forming in her gut. Jiwoon had always been composed, strategic, and analytical. Killing wasn't his first choice; it was always his last resort, a line he rarely crossed. This wasn't like him. Not the Jiwoon she thought she knew.
Driven by a surge of concern and a desperate need for answers, she made her way to his office, determination in her steps. Knocking lightly, she entered without waiting for a response, her heart thumping against her ribs. "Jiwoon, are you—"
"Call me Sir," he cut her off, his voice flat, devoid of warmth, his gaze unwavering, like chips of ice. "I'm not your best friend, Hana. You address me formally, as befits a higher-ranking officer."
Hana froze. Shock rippled through her, a cold wave washing over her. Just a few days ago, he had been teasing her, insisting she call him by his name, a familiar intimacy. He had always hated being called 'sir' by those he considered colleagues, friends. Now, he was enforcing it, building an invisible wall between them.
"Jiwoon… What's wrong?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, searching his rigid face for an answer, for any flicker of the man she knew.
His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. "Don't you ever dare to risk your life like that again," he practically growled, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "You could have shot him. You could have killed him. But instead, you fought him barehanded. Can't you sense your surroundings? What if there had been no swimming pool? What if you had—" His voice wavered, betraying the raw, powerful emotions he fought desperately to contain. The fear in his eyes, the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands, told a story he wouldn't articulate.
Understanding dawned upon Hana, a painful, heavy realization. He wasn't just angry—he was profoundly shaken, terrified. She had scared him. Truly terrified him.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she murmured, knowing there was nothing else she could say, no words that could truly ease his turmoil, no bridge that could span the chasm he had just opened between them.
Jiwoon nodded curtly, his expression unreadable, before turning away, presenting his rigid back to her. "Get back to work."
Hana stood there for a long moment, watching his unyielding posture, his broad shoulders stiff with contained emotion. Questions swirled in her mind, a dizzying vortex, but she knew he wouldn't answer them. Not now. She walked out of his office, the heavy door closing softly behind her, her heart feeling heavier than before. What had changed in Jiwoon wasn't just anger or concern—it was something far deeper, a raw, fresh heartbreak. And she had no idea how to fix it, or even if she could.
For the next few days, the distance Jiwoon created between them became a palpable thing. Hana noticed his deliberate avoidance, the way his gaze would skate past her in the hallway, the curt brevity of his official commands. She didn't know why he was doing it, but she couldn't take it. The silence, the subtle rejection, gnawed at her. Determined, she intentionally stayed late at work, her eyes fixed on his cabin, noting the persistent glow of his desk lamp. If he truly didn't care anymore, if his concern had vanished, he wouldn't react—but she knew better. She wanted to see how long he would keep ignoring her.
When Jiwoon finally finished his work, the last rays of sunlight having long faded, he stepped out of his cabin, his movements stiff. He hesitated for a fleeting moment, his eyes sweeping over the quiet office, before walking over to Hana's desk.
"How long will it take?" he asked, his voice impassive, a careful neutrality.
Hana smiled internally, a small spark of triumph in her chest. He hadn't completely abandoned her. "Just finished, Sir," she said casually, standing up, meeting his gaze with a faint, knowing challenge.
They both entered the elevator, the silence between them thick, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. When they reached the ground floor, Jiwoon walked toward his car without another word, his stride purposeful, almost a test. Hana, expecting him to stop her, to call her back as he always did, let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh, her eyes fixed on his retreating form. When he didn't react, when he kept walking, a smirk slowly touched her lips. She stepped out of the building, into the cool night, knowing, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that he wouldn't let her walk home alone. He couldn't.
She walked further, at a deliberate pace, waiting for him to call her back, but nothing. Just as she was about to turn around, a car stopped smoothly beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Jiwoon's unreadable face, framed by the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
"Get in," he said, his voice clipped, almost a command.
Hana grinned, her previous frustration dissolving into a mischievous warmth. "Someone's been ignoring me for days, Sir," she said loudly, enjoying the slight flicker of annoyance that crossed his features.
Jiwoon frowned, a subtle tightening of his jaw. "Okay, you don't want to get in? I'm leaving then."
Hana quickly opened the door and slipped inside before he could drive away, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.
Jiwoon allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of his lips before focusing on the road ahead, the brief moment of lightness a fragile thing.
Inside the car, the silence stretched between them again, heavier now, filled with words left unsaid, emotions carefully caged. Hana crossed her arms, shifting in her seat, and glanced at Jiwoon. "Are you still angry?" she asked, her voice quieter than before, testing the fragile peace.
Jiwoon kept his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles white. "I wasn't angry," he finally said, his voice controlled but strained, a raw edge barely concealed. I was heartbroken. He wanted to tell her to strip away the pretense, but instead, he exhaled sharply, the breath shaking slightly, and carefully rephrased his words. "I was scared. Terrified. What if something had truly happened to you?"
Hana hummed softly, watching the city lights blur past them, a mesmerizing dance of distant warmth. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, the apology genuine, laced with a newfound understanding of his turmoil. "But you tried. You were there, Jiwoon. You were running towards me, even before Taeyang was. If I were to die at that moment... I wouldn't have been alone. I saw the fear in your eyes, the fear of losing me. That made me feel a little less lonely, even as I was falling." She let out a small, sad chuckle, a sound filled with the echo of her terror. "Even though I couldn't see my best friend for the last time, at least I would have had a satisfactory death knowing someone was trying to save me."
Jiwoon's grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. Without taking his eyes off the perilous road ahead, he firmly, almost savagely, said, "Don't ever talk about death like that again, Hana." His voice wavered slightly, a raw, exposed nerve, but his words held a weight, a desperation, that Hana couldn't ignore.
She turned to look at him, seeing the profound, raw emotion he was trying so desperately to mask, the pain etched around his eyes, the almost imperceptible tremor in his hand. For a moment, she wanted to reach out, to bridge the invisible distance between them, to ease whatever crushing burden he was carrying. But instead, she just nodded, accepting his unspoken command. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
And for the rest of the ride, they let the silence speak for them, a heavy, intricate language understood only by the two of them.
Jiwoon didn't want to ask. He didn't. Every instinct screamed at him to let it go, to leave the gnawing curiosity buried. But the question, sharp and insistent, left his lips before he could stop it, a desperate, almost pathetic plea for confirmation.
"So… how is he?" His voice was calm, almost unnaturally casual, but Hana still glanced at him curiously, sensing the tremor beneath the surface.
"Who?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Jiwoon kept his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "The guy who jumped into the pool after you. The one who was holding you."
"Oh," Hana said, realization dawning, a soft warmth entering her voice as she spoke the name. "You mean Taeyang?"
Jiwoon's fingers flexed slightly on the steering wheel, an involuntary spasm. Taeyang. The face he had seen that night, a face panic-stricken, desperate, willing to throw himself into the cold water without a second thought, driven by a love that Jiwoon could only envy.
"Yeah, he's fine too," Hana continued, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. "But I scared him half to death. He was pretty shaken up."
Jiwoon hummed, a low, guttural sound, his gaze steady ahead, fixed on a point beyond the immediate road. "I know," he murmured, the words raw, tasting like ash in his mouth. "I saw how fucking scared he was. For you."
Hana stilled for a moment, hearing something different in his tone, not just the anger or the protective concern she expected, but something else entirely… something heavy, resigned, and profoundly sad.
She glanced at Jiwoon, a faint sense of unease settling in her chest. "Taeyang… he's always been like that. Reckless when it comes to the people he cares about. He just acts without thinking sometimes."
Jiwoon exhaled slowly, a long, shuddering breath, the silent correction burning in his mind: Loves, he corrected silently. He loves you. Not just cares. And he had been willing to risk his life for her without hesitation, a testament to a bond that Jiwoon, despite his valiant efforts, could never hope to breach. Seeing Taeyang that night, seeing that raw, unadulterated devotion, he realized with a soul-crushing clarity that there were some battles he had already lost before even stepping onto the battlefield. He had lost her, or rather, he had never had her, not in the way Taeyang did.
And that realization weighed on him, a crushing, suffocating truth, more than he cared to admit, more than he allowed himself to feel.
Jiwoon hummed again, a noncommittal sound, keeping his eyes on the road, the rhythmic hum of the engine a dull counterpoint to the frantic beat of his own heart. After a moment, he asked, his voice carefully casual, almost too casual, "How long have you two been friends, Hana?"
Hana hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, a soft, wistful smile touching her lips. "Since… forever, I guess," she said softly, lost in the memories.
Jiwoon glanced at her briefly, his gaze lingering for a fraction too long. "Forever?"
She nodded, her eyes distant, filled with the echoes of a shared past. "Our parents were best friends. We grew up together, practically inseparable. After they… after we lost them, we only had each other. We relied on each other to survive, to get through each day."
Jiwoon didn't say anything right away. He just listened, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the wheel. He knew about loss, about relying on oneself. But this was different. Hana smiled faintly, lost in thought, a tender expression on her face. "Taeyang was always there. No matter what happened, no matter how bad things got, I knew I had him. He never let me feel alone. Never."
Jiwoon tightened his grip on the wheel, not out of jealousy this time, but out of a profound, agonizing understanding that settled deep in his chest—Taeyang wasn't just a best friend. He was family. He was her home, her sanctuary, the undisputed center of her world.
Taeyang. He had built his entire world around Hana, his existence intertwined with hers, and that kind of love, that absolute devotion… Jiwoon wasn't sure if he could ever truly understand it, let alone hope to replicate it. Still, he forced a small, brittle smile to his lips, a grimace masquerading as peace. "I see," he said quietly, his voice raspy. "That makes sense."
Hana turned to him, sensing something in his tone, a subtle shift in the carefully constructed facade. "Jiwoon…?" she began, her voice laced with concern.
He shook his head lightly, a dismissive gesture. "Nothing," he said, his voice tight. "Just… you're lucky, Hana." Hana's lips parted slightly in surprise, but before she could say anything, Jiwoon added, his voice tinged with a longing he couldn't completely conceal, "To have someone like that. Someone who'd do anything for you. Someone who's always there, no matter what."
Hana looked away, her heart feeling heavier than before, a strange, undefined ache settling in her chest. "Yeah," she whispered, the single word laden with a truth that was both a comfort and a burden. "I know."
Jiwoon led Hana to a small, cozy cafe, tucked away in a quiet, unassuming alley. The warm, golden glow from the lights inside was stark. They ordered Americanos and delicate, frosted cupcakes, the sweet scent of freshly baked goods filling the air, a comforting embrace. They sat by the window, watching the city lights blink on and off in the distance, each flicker a tiny pulse of life.
Hana took a bite of her cupcake, her eyes closing in contentment as the rich, buttery flavor melted on her tongue. "This is perfect," she said softly, her voice a gentle hum, leaning back in her chair, savoring the simple, profound moment. "Sometimes, it's nice to just step away from everything, from all the noise, and just enjoy simple things, you know? Just… breathe."
Jiwoon glanced up, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting, intense split second before turning back to his cup, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim. "Yeah, I guess so," he replied, though his thoughts seemed miles away, tangled in a web of silent longing. He wasn't looking at the bustling streets outside or the inviting warmth of the cafe around them—his focus, his entire being, was consumed by Hana. The way the cafe lights caught the subtle highlights in her hair, the way her eyes sparkled even in the dimness of the room, the unconscious grace of her movements, it was all too much for him to ignore, a torment he couldn't escape.
They finished their drinks and cupcakes, the sweet aftertaste lingering on their tongues, before stepping out into the evening air. The walk to Namsan Tower was short but refreshing, the cold air biting gently at their skin, carrying away the lingering scents of coffee and sugar. The sounds of the city grew quieter, a distant murmur, as they neared the base of the tower. Hana smiled, the excitement of the iconic landmark lifting her spirits even further, illuminating her face.
"It's so beautiful here," she said, looking up at the towering structure, its lights piercing the inky sky. "I think I needed this. A break from everything. Just… this." She spread her arms out, taking in the panoramic view, feeling the cool air settle deep in her lungs, a cleansing breath.
Jiwoon didn't reply right away. He wasn't focused on the breathtaking scenery; he was focused solely on Hana. The way she looked at the world, her genuine wonder, the way she let herself breathe deeply, taking in every precious moment. It made something stir inside him, something powerful and agonizingly tender that he couldn't explain, a feeling he desperately wanted to deny.
Hana caught him staring at her, her lips curling into a curious, knowing smile. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft, but with an underlying current of playful challenge.
Jiwoon blinked, startled, realizing he had been lost in the depths of his unbidden thoughts. He quickly shook his head, a dismissive gesture. "Nothing," he said, his voice gruff, his carefully constructed walls back in place. "Just… enjoying the view, I guess. It's a nice view."
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes, but didn't press him. Instead, she laughed lightly, a genuine, melodious sound that resonated within him. "Well, I'm glad you came with me. It's nice to have someone to share the view with."
Jiwoon felt his chest tighten, a familiar ache, and he couldn't suppress the small, soft smile that tugged at his lips, a true smile, a rare glimpse into his guarded heart. "Yeah," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on her, "It is."
The cold air bit at their skin as they walked around the tower, Hana humming softly to herself, a cheerful, tuneless melody. For a brief, precious moment, Jiwoon let himself forget everything else: the lurking dangers of their work, the shattering revelations of his own heart, the undeniable truth of Hana and Taeyang's bond. It was just the two of them, the vast, indifferent night, and the dazzling city spread out beneath them. And for the first time in a long, desolate while, it felt like this moment was enough for him, that Hana was beside him, within his reach, with nothing else in between them. But reality, he knew with a crushing certainty, was too far from being this good.
Hana's phone rang, a sudden, jarring intrusion. It was Taeyang. Jiwoon saw the name flash on the screen, a brilliant, painful beacon, and felt that suffocating despair again, a familiar weight settling in his chest. Before Hana could even lift the call, before she could utter his name, Jiwoon excused himself, the words clipped, barely audible. He turned, his movements stiff, and walked away, a desperate retreat, for he knew he wouldn't be able to bear seeing them, or witnessing their effortless, undeniable interactions. If Hana had observed closely, if she had looked past her lingering joy, she might have seen the unshed tears glistening in his eyes, the profound strain etched on his face, the agony that twisted his every feature. But when did fate ever become so forgiving, so kind, as to grant such perfect clarity in the face of such profound, unrequited sorrow?