The city lights blurred before Hana's eyes, a chaotic symphony reflecting the turmoil within her. Taeyang. Her steadfast anchor in a tumultuous world. If he were in trouble, she wouldn't hesitate. Her thumb hovered over the send button, the carefully chosen words a fragile bridge between them.
Hana: "I know you don't want to worry me, but Taeyang, something's not right. Please tell me you're okay. Whatever's happening, we'll figure it out together."
A fleeting thought of calling him again, but she resisted. Pushing him would only make him retreat further. She trusted him, or at least, she wanted to. But trust didn't silence the relentless, gnawing concern that churned in her gut. With a heavy heart, she pressed send, the message disappearing into the vast digital expanse. Regardless of his response, one thing was certain: if her instincts proved true, she would move heaven and earth to protect him.
A soft buzz, and Taeyang's name illuminated her screen. A wave of relief washed over her as she opened the message.
Taeyang: "I'm okay, Hana. I promise. I know you worry because you care, and that means the world to me. But you don't need to lose sleep over this. I've got it under control, and I'll make it back in one piece. Get some rest, alright?"
A faint smile touched Hana's lips. Taeyang always knew how to soothe her anxieties, his words a balm to her troubled mind.
Hana: "Alright, I'll let you handle it. But if you need me, I'm here, no questions asked. And don't push yourself too hard, Taeyang. I mean it."
She set her phone down, exhaling slowly as she leaned back in her chair. The weight on her shoulders lightened, but a subtle unease persisted.
Despite Taeyang's reassurances, the feeling lingered. As much as she craved to believe him, there was a guardedness in his tone, a subtle restraint just beneath the surface. He was a master at masking his true feelings, but Hana knew him too well. Whatever he was grappling with, he wasn't ready to share, and that unsettling realization deepened the sick feeling in her chest.
Her gaze drifted to the message on her phone before she set it down with a sigh. Taeyang, ever stubborn, insisted on shouldering the world's burdens alone. He had a knack for concealing his struggles, a staunch belief in his self-sufficiency. It frustrated her, yet she understood it completely; it mirrored her coping mechanism.
"Fine, Taeyang," she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "Keep your secrets for now. But I'll be here when you're ready." Though her mind remained restless, she chose to trust him for the moment. Taeyang was meticulous; he wouldn't allow himself to stumble into anything he couldn't manage.
The next day, the workplace buzzed with its usual morning energy, and Hana, with her customary warm demeanor, brought a fresh wave of light into the room as she greeted her colleagues. She had barely settled into her desk when Jiwoon sauntered in, his presence exuding effortless charm. As a higher-ranking officer, he commanded respect, but his interactions with Hana always carried an easy familiarity.
Jiwoon's easygoing nature evaporated, replaced by a sharp, commanding focus. He called everyone to attention, his voice now devoid of its earlier warmth, announcing that a critical case had escalated to top priority: a powerful organization was actively attempting to secure the release of their leader and systematically erase all incriminating evidence against them. The threat loomed large and ominous, a dark cloud of impending danger. Jiwoon, now standing at the front of the room, wasted no time outlining their immediate strategy with a steely resolve.
"We're not just dealing with common criminals here; these people are meticulous, calculated, and utterly ruthless," he stated, his voice steady and firm, cutting through the sudden silence. "Stay alert. Every single one of you. If you spot anything, anything at all, that seems suspicious, you are to act immediately. We need arrests on the spot, there is absolutely no room for error, no second chances."
His gaze swept across the room, intense and unwavering, before finally softening almost imperceptibly as it landed on Hana. His expression held a momentary flicker of concern, but his words remained sharp, unyielding. "Everyone, be careful out there. That's an order."
The day dissolved into a relentless blur of intensive strategy meetings and heated discussions, the air thick with tension and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. As the workplace slowly began to wind down, the last rays of daylight fading from the windows, Jiwoon appeared beside Hana's desk once more. This time, his voice was softer, stripped of its earlier urgency. "Hey. Can I walk you home?"
She hesitated for a beat, the day's exhaustion weighing on her, before a small nod escaped her. "Sure. I could use the company."
The crisp Seoul evening air enveloped them as they stepped outside, the city's myriad lights twinkling like distant, scattered stars against the darkening sky. As they walked, Hana's eyes suddenly widened, captivated by the vibrant glow of a nearby cotton candy stall. "Oh! Cotton candy!" she exclaimed, the small burst of childlike wonder momentarily eclipsing the weighty concerns of the day.
Jiwoon chuckled, his gaze fixed on her with quiet amusement, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You want some?"
Before she could even voice her answer, he had already approached the stall, bought a stick of fluffy pink cotton candy, and handed it to her. She took a bite, savoring the immediate rush of sugary sweetness, then glanced at him. After a brief, almost imperceptible pause, she subtly tilted the stick in his direction.
"Do you want to taste it?" she asked, her voice deliberately casual, as if the offer were nothing out of the ordinary.
Jiwoon's eyebrows arched in surprise, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes that she couldn't quite decipher. He hadn't expected the offer. "Why not?" he said, leaning in, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he delicately tore off a small piece. He popped it into his mouth, his brows lifting slightly in genuine surprise. "Huh. It's good."
Hana laughed, a genuine, lighthearted sound that broke through the lingering tension of the day. "What, expecting it to be terrible?"
"Maybe," he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes before he turned back to the stall and bought one for himself. They continued their walk, the lighthearted moment a welcome, fragile contrast to the underlying gravity of their work. As they neared Hana's neighborhood, the conversation naturally drifted to more personal ground. She spoke of Taeyang, her best friend, her unwavering anchor. "He's always been there for me," she said softly, a wistful note in her voice. "I miss him. He understands me like no one else truly can."
Jiwoon listened in silence, his expression unreadable, yet something profound flickered in his gaze, a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest, one he wasn't yet ready to acknowledge, let alone name. They reached her building just as a gentle breeze carried a solitary, delicate Sakura leaf, settling it perfectly in Hana's hair. Before she could react, Jiwoon instinctively reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her scalp as he carefully removed it.
"There," he said, his voice a low murmur, holding the fragile Sakura blossom out to her. "All better."
Hana swallowed, her pulse quickening inexplicably. She took the flower from him, a small, tremulous smile gracing her lips. "Thanks, Jiwoon. For everything."
He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on her as she turned and disappeared into the building, the heavy door closing softly behind her. For a long moment, he remained rooted to the spot, the cool night air pressing against his skin, the silence of the street amplifying the frantic beat of his own heart.
Then, almost unconsciously, his hand lifted to his chest, pressing against the steady, insistent rhythm of his heart.
"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, a self-admonishment laced with frustration. But the faint, undeniably soft smile that lingered on his lips told a different story.
That night, back in the quiet sanctuary of her bed, Hana curled up with her phone, a wave of relief washing over her as Taeyang's name appeared on the screen. He was still in Busan, but their daily chats had become a cherished ritual, a small, steady comfort in her otherwise restless world.
Hana: You sound lighter today. Had a good day?
Taeyang: Yeah, not bad. Just missing home.
Hana: Then come back soon. You've been gone too long.
Taeyang: I will. Soon.
She smiled to herself, a little more at ease than before. Taeyang's mood tonight seemed brighter, a hopeful shift that was enough to finally allow her to drift into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning, the workplace was plunged into utter chaos. An emergency briefing had been called, the air crackling with frantic energy and whispered alarms. The organization had just encountered the very gang members they were after, but not in some distant, strategic operation. The criminals had made an audacious, brazen move, attempting to breach the workplace itself. Security had managed to repel them, but the sheer audacity of the attack was a stark, chilling sign that the situation was escalating, spiraling dangerously out of control. Hana stood amidst the pandemonium, her chest tightening with a cold knot of dread as she processed the terrifying reality of it all. It was one thing to analyze crime from the detached safety of a desk; this was different. The danger was no longer theoretical; it was tangible, immediate, and very, very real.
Jiwoon wasted no time, his commands sharp and resonant, cutting through the frantic buzz of the room. He moved with a swift, decisive authority, immediately increasing security measures, his voice echoing as he reassigned officers, ensuring those who had fought during the harrowing earlier skirmish got much-needed rest. But despite his forceful orders, no one seemed to slow down. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, pressing down on everyone like an invisible weight.
"Hana," Jiwoon called, his voice cutting through the din, as he strode purposefully toward her. "I need you on surveillance."
She straightened, her posture immediately alert. "Where?"
"The guest building next door. The evidence we seized, the very core of this case, is locked in a vault there. If the gang makes another move, that's where they'll go for it. It's their primary target."
Hana nodded, a grim resolve settling over her features as she adjusted the gun holstered at her waist, its cold weight a stark reminder of the escalating stakes. Without another word, she moved with purpose, making her way out of the main workplace and into the escalating uncertainty.
The evening sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time Hana reached her designated post, casting long, encroaching shadows over the city. From her vantage point near the window, she had a clear, unobstructed view of the surrounding area, a silent sentinel watching the fading light. Everything seemed normal, deceptively calm – until it wasn't.
And then, just like that, darkness swallowed the entire building whole, plunging it into an abrupt, chilling void. Hana froze for a split second, her heart seizing in her chest, before her honed instincts kicked in with a jolt of ice-cold clarity. Power cut. Deliberate. At the same moment, across the way, Jiwoon, who had been heading toward the guest building from the main workplace, saw the lights die, the familiar structure becoming a stark silhouette against the twilight. His brows furrowed instantly, a wave of primal dread washing over him as he instinctively pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Hana's contact, about to make the call –
Gunshots.
The sharp, deafening cracks tore through the sudden silence of the night. Jiwoon's stomach lurched, a sickening knot forming deep within him.
Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted forward, his legs pumping furiously, driven by a terror that was utterly unfamiliar and utterly overwhelming.
Inside the guest building, Hana's pulse hammered against her eardrums, a frantic drumbeat urging her onward as she relentlessly chased the intruders. Three men armed, terrifyingly fast, and radiating a desperate, dangerous energy. One of them, she noted with a sickening lurch, clutched a small, nondescript briefcase. The evidence.
They bolted up the creaking stairwell, their heavy boots thudding against the steps, and Hana followed, her grip firm and unwavering on her gun, the cold metal a familiar weight in her hand. She fired twice, precise, calculated shots aimed not to kill, but to incapacitate, striking their legs with brutal efficiency. Two of them collapsed instantly, immobilized with pained groans that echoed eerily in the stairwell. The third, the one still clutching the briefcase, did not falter, his eyes fixed on escape. He burst onto the terrace, panting heavily, his breath ragged, backing dangerously toward the very edge as he saw reinforcements swarming the lower floors, effectively cutting off his retreat.
Hana leveled her gun at him, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Drop it."
A cruel smirk twisted his lips, defiance burning in his eyes. "You think I'm stupid?"
Without a word of warning, he lunged, a desperate, unexpected tackle. Hana barely had time to brace herself as he collided with her, sending them both sprawling across the cold, gritty concrete of the rooftop. She felt a sharp sting as his nails dug into her arm, a grim warning of his desperation. The briefcase skidded violently to the side, sliding several feet away, a beacon of their struggle.
They grappled fiercely, a raw, brutal dance of survival – punches thrown, counterattacks blocked, parries met with desperate force. He was undeniably stronger, his muscles rippling with raw power, but Hana was faster, more agile, her movements fluid and precise. She struck him hard, a swift, calculated blow, then twisted his wrists, aiming to disarm him.
And then –
Jiwoon burst onto the terrace, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, every muscle screaming in protest from the frantic sprint. Relief, pure and unadulterated, flooded his face at the sight of Hana, alive and standing, her gun still in her hand.
But the moment of reprieve was agonizingly short-lived.
The culprit, a cornered animal realizing his escape was impossible, made a split-second, desperate decision. A cruel, triumphant smirk slashed across his face as he lunged, grabbing Hana, his hands digging into her arms, and with a guttural roar, shoved her violently toward the edge of the rooftop.
Time itself seemed to stretch, distorting into an unbearable crawl.
Jiwoon's heart leaped into his throat, a frozen scream lodged within him as he watched her body tip backward, sickeningly, over the railing, her form silhouetted against the dark sky.
No.
The last thing the culprit saw was the unholy fire in Jiwoon's eyes, a terrifying, incandescent rage, before a single, perfectly aimed bullet, fired with unwavering precision, lodged directly between his brows. He crumpled instantly, his life extinguished before he even hit the ground.
Jiwoon didn't stop to watch him fall. He ran.
Hana's fingers, slick with sweat and grime, clung desperately to the rough edge of the railing, her grip slipping, losing purchase. A raw gasp tore from her lips as she felt the relentless, unforgiving pull of gravity dragging her downward, into the abyss.
Hana's world spun into a dizzying kaleidoscope of blurred lights and churning darkness as she felt her body tip irrevocably over the terrace railing. The last thing her terrified eyes registered was Jiwoon's outstretched hand, impossibly close, just inches away – but utterly, tragically too late.
Jiwoon's scream, a raw, primal sound of pure anguish, tore through the night air, echoing the terror that had just consumed him.
"HANA!"
But instead of the bone-shattering impact of cold, unforgiving concrete –
Splash!
She plunged into deep, dark water, the shock of the frigid embrace momentarily stealing her breath.
Jiwoon, in his desperate, uncontrolled rush to get down, tripped over something unseen, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. His temple hit the unforgiving concrete, and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down the side of his face. He barely registered the sharp sting of pain, his mind consumed by a singular, overwhelming terror. By the time he stumbled back to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and burst outside, the night was alight with the chaotic symphony of sirens. Police cars and ambulances, their red and blue lights flashing wildly, pulsed against the dark sky, transforming the area into a maelstrom of urgent activity. His frantic eyes scanned the organized chaos, desperate, almost deranged, in his search for her –
And then –
"I'm fine."
His head snapped toward the voice, his heart hammering against his ribs, a fragile hope igniting in his chest.
There she was. Drenched, gasping for breath, but miraculously, impossibly, in someone else's arms.
Jiwoon's breath caught in his throat, a painful, desperate gasp. A man was holding Hana, his hands gently cupping her face, his thumbs brushing against her skin as he meticulously checked for injuries, his entire being radiating an overwhelming concern. The way his fingers lingered, the raw, unfiltered worry etched in his eyes –
Jiwoon was not the only one who had shouted her name.
Because Taeyang was there, too.
Taeyang had arrived to surprise Hana, intending to take her to dinner. He hadn't expected to be thrust into a nightmare, to witness her body plummeting from the rooftop, a scene that froze his blood and nearly stopped his heart.
Before he even consciously registered the thought, he was running, a primal, unstoppable force, pushing past bewildered officers, shoving anyone who dared impede his path. The moment her body hit the water with a sickening splash, he didn't hesitate – he ripped off his jacket and plunged in after her, the cold shock of the water a mere afterthought. Now, dripping wet, his arms were still wrapped around her, his grip possessive and unwavering.
"Hana, are you hurt? Does anything feel strange?" His hands moved with an almost frantic tenderness over her face, her arms, checking every inch of her for signs of injury, for any indication that she was anything but whole. His voice, usually so calm and steady, trembled slightly, the raw edge of his worry betraying his composure.
Hana, still gasping for breath, her lungs burning, managed a weak, shaky smile. "I think I'm okay."
Taeyang exhaled heavily, a profound, shuddering breath of relief, and pulled her into a tight, almost desperate embrace, burying his face in her wet hair.
For the first time, Jiwoon saw it – the raw, unfiltered, incandescent love shining in Taeyang's eyes. The way he held her, as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the entire world, as if her very existence was his lifeblood.
And Hana… she didn't resist. She melted into his embrace, her body relaxing into his arms as if she belonged there, as if that was her rightful place.
Something inside Jiwoon cracked, a hairline fracture that spread rapidly, shattering into a million sharp, agonizing pieces.
Her words from before echoed in his mind, haunting him with their quiet significance – her best friend. So this was what she meant. This was the depth of their connection.
His fingers curled into tight, white knuckled fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. His face paled, the color draining from it, leaving him looking gaunt and hollow. His chest tightened in a way that felt utterly unbearable, a crushing weight that stole his breath. He had just risked everything, had faced the horrifying possibility of losing her forever, only to realize –
She already has someone who would die for her. Someone who already jumped in after her, without a second thought.
Taking slow, deliberate steps back, Jiwoon forced his eyes away from them, away from the tender, heartbreaking scene. He knew he looked horrible – a disheveled mess of blood, sweat, and crushing regret, a ghost of his usual composed self. But he refused to stay, refused to witness another second of their undeniable connection.
With a jaw clenched so tight it ached, he turned away, his back to them, and walked straight toward the officers who were now efficiently handling the criminals. His voice, when he spoke, was sharp, devoid of any emotion, a sterile mask.
"Update me on their status," he ordered, his eyes flinty, his gaze unwavering.
No one dared to question him.
He didn't look back.
Hana searched for Jiwoon the moment the swirling chaos of flashing lights and urgent voices settled into a semblance of order. But he was nowhere to be seen, a stark, unsettling absence. Something inside her twisted, a pang of unease. She wanted to talk to him, to make sure he was okay after what had happened, to thank him, but… he had simply vanished. Reluctantly, she let Taeyang guide her away from the scene. He was still holding her hand, his grip firm yet profoundly comforting, a grounding presence amidst the lingering adrenaline.
Once they reached her apartment, the familiar comfort of home a welcome embrace, Taeyang let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples with a weary hand. "Go take a warm bath," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You'll catch a cold like this."
She wanted to argue, to question him. "Taeyang, I need to—"
He cut her off, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Not tonight, Hana." There was something in his eyes – a depth of exhaustion, a quiet plea that she couldn't ignore. Hana swallowed her words, nodding, her weariness finally catching up to her.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, warm steam clinging to her skin, the comforting scent of food filled the air, a familiar aroma that tugged at something deep inside her.
Taeyang had cooked. He placed the hot, steaming meal in front of her, the simple act a profound gesture of care. Before she could eat, he gently took her arm, his fingers tracing the faint red marks where the culprit's nails had dug in. He cleaned and bandaged the small wounds with practiced ease, his touch light and careful.
He sat beside her, watching as she ate, though he barely touched his plate. His gaze held something unreadable, something heavier than usual, a quiet intensity that she couldn't quite decipher. She tried again, the words bubbling to her lips. "Taeyang, I—"
"Sleep."
He reached out, his fingers gently brushing damp strands of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather. "We'll talk tomorrow. Everything."
Hana hesitated, but seeing the profound exhaustion etched onto his features, she gave in. She climbed into bed, the soft mattress a welcome sanctuary, and Taeyang stayed by her side, a silent guardian, watching over her until her breathing evened out, a steady rhythm of peaceful slumber.
And then –
A single, glistening tear slid down his cheek, tracing a silent path through the faint lines of fatigue. He reached out, his fingers gently, reverently, brushing against her hair, as if touching something infinitely precious. He had loved her for so long, a silent, enduring devotion that had been both his strength and his most agonizing secret. But he had always been too afraid to confess, to risk shattering the delicate balance of their friendship, to potentially lose her entirely. Tonight, when he saw her fall–when for a terrifying, heart stopping moment he truly believed he had lost her forever–he realized with a painful clarity that he couldn't keep pretending. Not anymore. His grip on her hand, still nestled within his own, tightened slightly, a silent vow.
I don't want to lose you, Hana.
Not now. Not ever.
Under the cold, unforgiving chill of the night, inside a lonely bungalow far removed from the city's chaotic embrace, the sharp sound of blood dripping onto shattered glass echoed eerily in the oppressive silence. Jiwoon stood by the broken window, his hand slick with crimson, fresh, jagged cuts lining his knuckles from where he had unleashed his raw fury upon the mirror. The shards on the floor glinted malevolently under the dim, unforgiving moonlight, each piece reflecting his hollow, tormented expression.
Yet, the searing physical pain from his wounds was a mere whisper compared to the agonizing ache in his chest, a deep, pervasive throbbing that threatened to consume him. His bloodied fingers trembled slightly as he ran them through his disheveled hair, his breaths uneven, ragged, barely controlled. He had been reckless tonight, both in the brutal, chaotic dance of battle and in the wild, untamed surge of his own emotions. The moment Hana fell from that rooftop, plummeting into the terrifying abyss, something inside him had snapped, a fundamental part of him shattering. He had shot that man without a single flicker of hesitation, his usual calm and precise control shattering in the face of sheer, blinding terror.
And then, just when his hammering heartbeat had finally begun to settle after hearing her voice, after the blessed relief of seeing her, drenched but safe, he saw him.
Taeyang.
Holding her. Protecting her. Claiming her.
Jiwoon was not stupid. He had always known, deep down, that there was someone profoundly important in Hana's life. She had spoken of Taeyang with a warmth that was almost reverent, with a kind of quiet longing and undeniable affection that Jiwoon, despite his carefully constructed emotional walls, couldn't mistake. But seeing it with his own eyes, seeing Taeyang clutch her so desperately, so possessively, as if the entire world would collapse if he lost her, as if she were his very breath, made something in Jiwoon crumble entirely.
It was not just jealousy, though that bitter sting was undeniably present. It was a profound, soul-crushing realization.
Hana had someone. Someone who had always been there, through every triumph and every silent struggle. Someone she trusted implicitly. Someone she chose, irrevocably.
And Jiwoon… Jiwoon had no one. He was utterly, painfully alone.
He clenched his fist, wincing as the fresh wounds on his knuckles stung, a searing pain that mirrored the one in his chest. He had spent his entire life being precisely what others expected of him: his father's perfect soldier, the sharpest, most unfeeling officer, the man who never, ever let emotions interfere with his duty. He was accustomed to obeying orders, to meticulously suppressing his desires, to burying every inconvenient feeling beneath layers of discipline and control.
But Hana was the first thing in years that had truly made him feel again. Made him feel anything. And that, he realized with a horrifying clarity, was the most dangerous thing of all.
His lips curled into a bitter, self-mocking smile as he stared at the fractured moon through the jagged, broken window. "I can't wish for what's not mine," he murmured, his voice raw, laced with quiet agony, the words barely audible.
Because the moment he allowed himself to truly want her, truly desire her, he would lose control. And Jiwoon had spent his entire life, every waking moment, learning how to not want. How to not feel. How to not yearn.
"I need to stay away," he whispered into the cold, indifferent night, his chest tightening painfully, a suffocating band of despair squeezing his lungs. "Or else… I won't be able to stop myself."
He staggered toward the bed, his legs heavy, and collapsed onto it, his body sinking into the mattress, but sleep brought no comfort, no respite. His mind swirled endlessly with the tormenting ghosts of everything he could never have, everything he dared not wish for.
And somewhere in the desolate distance, the faint, haunting echoes of Taeyang's voice, calling Hana's name with such raw, desperate love, rang in his ears, tormenting him even in his tormented dreams.