As Taeyang stood there, completely lost in Hana's luminous presence, a sudden, jarring impact brought him back to reality. Someone had bumped into him from behind. "Ah, sorry," he said instinctively, turning to face the person, his polite apology automatic.
It was an elderly man, dressed in simple, unassuming clothes, his face a roadmap of deep lines etched by age and experience. He carried an air of quiet wisdom, a serene composure that seemed to absorb the city's chaotic energy.
Before Taeyang could step aside or offer a further apology, Hana, drawn by the brief interruption, walked up beside him, her natural curiosity leading her. The old man's gaze, ancient and perceptive, shifted between the two of them, his expression unreadable, a deep knowing in his eyes. Then, his gaze settled on Hana, a quiet intensity in his stare, and he spoke, his voice calm yet firm, resonant with an unexpected authority.
"Fate is a variable," he said, his words soft but distinct above the city's hum. "It gives us many chances and options to choose a path and move forward."
Hana blinked in confusion, her brow furrowing slightly. She glanced at Taeyang, who looked equally puzzled, a faint frown creasing his forehead as he tried to decipher the unexpected pronouncement. The old man's gaze, however, remained steady, unwavering, holding Hana's attention. A knowing look briefly illuminated his eyes as he spoke again, this time softer, almost a whisper.
"Don't let go of that chance." His gaze briefly flickered toward Taeyang, a fleeting, almost imperceptible movement, before returning with a quiet insistence to Hana. "Don't let go."
With that enigmatic pronouncement, he gave them a small, dignified nod. He turned, walking away with a measured, deliberate pace, disappearing effortlessly into the dense, swirling crowd, leaving them standing in the bustling street, a ripple of quiet bewilderment in his wake.
Hana stood frozen, rooted to the spot, his cryptic words echoing in her mind, repeating themselves like a mantra. The unusual encounter, the man's intense gaze, and the weighty simplicity of his advice—all left her feeling profoundly unsettled.
She turned to Taeyang, her confusion deepening into a frown. "What was that about?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost bewildered.
Taeyang let out a small, dismissive laugh, a light, almost practiced sound, trying to brush it off, to break the strange tension that lingered. But there was something in his expression, something unspoken, a fleeting flicker of unease or perhaps even understanding that he quickly concealed.
"Who knows," he said lightly, shoving his hands casually into his pockets, affecting an air of nonchalance.
But Hana couldn't shake the feeling, a persistent hum beneath her thoughts, that those words had a weight, a profound significance that defied casual dismissal. That somehow, inexplicably, they meant something specific, something deeply personal to her.
And for the first time, truly, genuinely for the first time, she found herself wondering with a peculiar intensity, what was the chance she was being told not to let go of? The question, unbidden and unsettling, settled deep within her, a quiet seed of curiosity.
A few days had passed since the weekend, and Taeyang had recovered completely, at least physically. Life had picked up its usual pace again, and the city buzzed with the familiar rhythm of a Monday morning. Hana was getting ready for the office, her thoughts already drifting toward deadlines and meetings. Before stepping out of their shared apartment, she paused to deliver her now routine morning lecture to Taeyang, a mix of concern and sternness, reminding him to eat on time, take proper breaks, and, above all, get enough sleep.
"Okay, mom," Taeyang replied with a dramatic eye roll, the corners of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile. His energy had returned, and with it, his signature playful defiance.
Hana gave him a mock glare, though it softened almost immediately. "I mean it. Don't make me show up at your office and drag you home again."
Taeyang laughed quietly, that familiar warmth back in his voice. He didn't argue—he knew better. He just watched her leave, a small, unreadable smile lingering on his lips, touched with both amusement and the quiet weight of the secret he still carried.
At work, Hana found herself looking forward to seeing Jiwoon with an unusual sense of anticipation. But when she arrived at the office, her immediate glance towards his cabin revealed it was empty. His desk was neat, his chair pushed in. She pouted slightly, a fleeting expression of disappointment. Where is he? she wondered, a flicker of concern.
Shaking off the thought, she quickly refocused on her tasks, immersing herself in the stacks of investigation files and intricate case reports that awaited her. The complex details of the cases provided a welcome distraction from her lingering worries.
Just as she was completely lost in her documents, her mind fully absorbed in the intricate details of a particular file, a small, familiar box was placed gently in front of her. She blinked, her focus broken, and looked up, only to find Jiwoon standing there, a familiar, flattering smile gracing his lips, his eyes sparkling with a quiet warmth.
"Hungry?" he asked casually, his voice soft, a subtle invitation. Her face instantly lit up, a genuine smile replacing her earlier frown. "Where were you?" she asked, a touch of relief in her voice.
Jiwoon shrugged, a relaxed gesture, as he pulled up a chair and settled comfortably beside her desk. "Took a stroll to a cafe. Figured you'd be starving too, with all that intense thinking you do." His gaze held a teasing glint.
Inside the small box were plump, fresh strawberries, their vibrant red contrasting beautifully with a small cup of melted chocolate, its rich aroma wafting enticingly. Without hesitation, a shared ritual established in moments of camaraderie, they began to share the snacks, dipping the sweet strawberries into the rich, dark chocolate, a simple pleasure that brought a lightness to the morning.
Jiwoon wasn't pretending; he genuinely felt lighter, unburdened by the crushing despair that had plagued him. That night by the river, the unexpected intimacy had given him a profound sense of hope, a fragile but powerful belief that things could change. The way Hana had let him lean on her, the gentle, comforting way she had ruffled his hair, and even the soft, lingering kiss on top of his head, she hadn't pushed him away. Her actions had been full of an unexpected tenderness. It all meant something profound to him.
He wasn't overconfident, not foolish enough to believe that a single moment had erased years of unrequited feelings. He knew his biggest competitor remained Taeyang, Hana's best friend, her childhood confidant, undeniably the most important person in her life. Their bond was deep, a tapestry woven over two decades. But today, as she smiled at him with such genuine warmth and shared her snacks without hesitation, Jiwoon felt a quiet reassurance settle within him.
He still had a chance. The door wasn't closed. And for now, that possibility was enough. It was enough to fuel his quiet optimism, enough to bring a lightness to his steps.
As they worked through the intricate case files, the day passed quickly, marked by the steady click of keyboards and the rustle of papers. Jiwoon, now back to his usual sharp, focused self, made the atmosphere in their shared space feel distinctly lighter, more productive. They bounced ideas off each other, debated complex case theories with intellectual vigor, and even shared a few quiet laughs, their camaraderie deepening with each passing hour.
But something kept pulling Hana's attention away, a persistent tug that fragmented her focus.
Jiwoon, observant as ever, noticed the way she frequently checked her phone, her fingers tapping the screen impatiently before locking it again, only to repeat the action minutes later. At first, he brushed it off, perhaps an urgent work message, maybe just a new habit. He told himself it was nothing.
But as time went on, the frequency became too obvious, too insistent to ignore.
Jiwoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp and assessing as he watched her glance at her phone yet again, a faint furrow in her brow.
"You're checking your phone a lot," he said, his tone light, almost casual, but undeniably observant, probing. "Waiting for something?"
Hana hesitated, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly, before she slowly shook her head. "No, just… making sure Taeyang is okay." The admission was soft, almost hesitant, but firm.
Jiwoon's brows furrowed slightly, a ripple of concern, mixed with a growing unease, crossing his face. Since when did she need to do that? He thought, the question forming unbidden in his mind.
Taeyang was capable, independent, and even famously stubborn. He could handle himself, he always had, and Hana knew that better than anyone. They had grown up together, navigating life's challenges side by side. So why was she acting like this? Why did she suddenly seem so consumed with worry about him, almost to the point of obsession? It wasn't like her.
Jiwoon didn't say anything further, not out loud, but the thought settled in his mind, heavy, uneasy, and persistently nagging.
Something wasn't right. This went beyond typical friendly concern.
Jiwoon watched her for a moment longer, studying her worried expression, before finally speaking again, his voice carefully neutral. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, a rhythmic sound as he processed her words, connecting them to her recent behavior, the pieces slowly beginning to align. "So… what exactly happened?" he asked, his tone softer now, genuinely curious.
"Taeyang fainted in his office a few days ago," Hana said with a sigh, her voice heavy as she finally set her phone down with a decisive thump, her attention now fully on him.
Jiwoon's expression darkened instantly. "He fainted?" The disbelief in his voice was palpable. This was completely out of character for the usually resilient Taeyang.
She nodded, her gaze troubled. "He's been overworking himself like crazy. I had to go to his office, wake him up, and bring him back home. He barely ate, barely slept… He was never like this before. It was like he was a completely different person, so unlike himself."
Jiwoon stayed quiet, his jaw tightening slightly as he absorbed the information. Taeyang fainted? That truly wasn't like him at all. The guy was stubborn, yes, driven, almost to a fault, but he had always known his limits, always maintained a meticulous self-control, even under immense pressure. This was an alarming deviation.
Hana ran a hand through her hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "I made him stay home for a few days, took care of him, made sure he ate and rested… but even now, I feel like something's still wrong. He's different. Distant, even when he's right there." She exhaled, a ragged, frustrated breath. "And he absolutely won't tell me what it is. He just shuts down."
Jiwoon leaned forward slightly, his posture shifting, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he watched her, his mind already piecing together the subtle hints he'd observed. "And you think it's just because of overwork?" His tone was skeptical, challenging her assumption.
Jiwoon let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair, considering his words carefully. He knew he needed to approach this delicately. "You've told me a lot about Taeyang before, Hana," he began, his voice calm, even, recalling their previous conversations.
She blinked, a slight frown of confusion. "Huh?"
He gave her a pointed look, a faint, knowing smile gracing his lips. "You always talk about him. How he's annoyingly picky about food, how he never skips gym even when he's exhausted, how he acts like a workaholic but still knows when to stop, when to step away from the desk." Jiwoon's lips curved slightly, a genuine, understated amusement in his eyes. "I think I know as much about Taeyang as I do about myself at this point. Probably more."
Hana pursed her lips, a slight flush rising on her cheeks, realizing he wasn't wrong. She did talk about Taeyang a lot, random things, his quirky habits, their countless childhood stories, and snippets of their shared lives. It wasn't intentional; he was just there, a constant presence in her life, like a part of her history, someone she never had to think twice about, so intertwined were their existences.
Jiwoon, however, wasn't just listing facts or teasing her. He was making a very deliberate point, carefully building his argument.
"And based on all that," Jiwoon continued, his voice steady, serious now, "I know that collapsing in his office isn't just 'overwork' for him. It's not normal. It's not in his character, not for a man who prides himself on his control and resilience."
Hana stared at him, momentarily speechless, the truth of his words striking her with unexpected force. His outsider perspective, unclouded by her emotional attachment, suddenly made everything alarmingly clear.
Jiwoon leaned forward, his gaze sharp, piercing through her lingering denial. "So ask yourself, Hana, if it's not just work, if it's something else entirely, then what's going on with him? What could be so overwhelming that it brings someone like Taeyang to his knees?"
Hana hesitated, her mind racing, grappling with the implications of his question. "What else could it be?" she murmured, more to herself than to him, the possibilities both terrifying and vague.
Jiwoon studied her carefully, his mind turning, processing every piece of information, every subtle nuance. There's something more, he thought, a strong, intuitive feeling. He had never met Taeyang, but through Hana's words, her stories, her silences, he had formed a sense of the man. And from what he'd gathered, Taeyang wasn't the kind to fall apart over work alone, no matter how intense the pressure. This felt different. This felt deeper. A hidden weight neither of them had yet uncovered.
And what unsettled Jiwoon even more… was how much this mystery, this profound shift in Taeyang, was affecting Hana. Her constant worry, her distractedness, her unwavering need to ensure his wellbeing. It was a depth of concern that resonated with his secret feelings for her, making his understanding of their bond even more complex.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, the hours marked by a quiet tension. Hana and Jiwoon continued working on their case files, but their minds were undeniably elsewhere, both caught in the swirling thoughts of Taeyang, each grappling with their interpretations of his strange behavior.
For Hana, it was pure, unadulterated worry. No matter how much she tried to focus on the intricate details of the files before her, the memory of Taeyang collapsing in his office, his pale, exhausted face, and the desperate, almost childlike way he had clung to her that night, kept creeping back into her mind, an insistent, troubling image. He was always strong, always steady, her immovable pillar, but now… he felt different, fragile, burdened by something immense and unseen.
For Jiwoon, it was something else entirely. As an officer, his instincts were sharp, honed by years of training and experience, trained to notice patterns, inconsistencies, things that didn't add up in a narrative. He didn't know Taeyang personally, not the way Hana did, but from everything she had told him, from her descriptions, this situation wasn't normal. It was an anomaly, a stark deviation from Taeyang's established character.
Something about Taeyang's sudden, alarming decline, his profound secrecy, and Hana's unusual, almost obsessive level of concern for him didn't sit right with Jiwoon's finely tuned intuition. And Jiwoon had learned, through years of experience on the force, to trust his gut, to follow those unexplainable hunches that often led to the truth.
Even if he didn't have concrete proof yet, even if he couldn't articulate the precise nature of the anomaly, one thing was clear in his mind: there was more to this situation than Hana realized. A hidden layer, a darker truth, waiting to be uncovered.