Unaware of the silent disaster Taeyang was facing, Hana couldn't sit still. The gnawing unease in her chest only grew stronger with each passing hour, a relentless drumbeat of worry. His sudden distance, the hollow ring in his voice, it all screamed that something was profoundly wrong. She needed to see him, to lay eyes on him, to make sure he was okay, that the world hadn't swallowed him whole while she was distracted by her fragile hopes. The thought of him alone, struggling with an unseen burden, was unbearable.
Without wasting another second, driven by a primal need to confirm his safety, she went straight to his private office. The building was a modern monolith of glass and steel, usually bustling with activity, but tonight, the hallways were eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the frantic thumping of her own heart. She stood in front of the dark wooden door of his office, its polished surface reflecting her anxious face. She knocked three times, a measured rhythm, her voice firm but undeniably laced with worry.
"Taeyang?" she called, her voice echoing faintly in the desolate corridor.
No response. Only the oppressive silence.
She knocked again, harder this time, the sound a sharp crack in the stillness. "Taeyang, are you in there?" she pressed, a desperate urgency creeping into her tone.
Silence. Heavy, suffocating, absolute.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic, warning drum. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones, a cold dread seeping into her very core. Every instinct screamed at her that he was in trouble, that her worst fears might be realized.
Without hesitating, her hand instinctively fumbled for the spare key he had once given her, a small, silver token of trust he had entrusted to her years ago, joking that she was the only one who could handle his chaotic workspace. With trembling fingers that betrayed her outward resolve, she inserted the key into the lock. It turned with a soft click that sounded deafening in the silence. She pushed the door open, a sliver of darkness widening into a cavernous void.
The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn shut, blocking out the last vestiges of the city's vibrant glow. Papers were scattered across the desk like fallen leaves in a storm, an empty coffee cup lying on its side, a dark stain spreading across a vital looking document. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of old coffee, desperation, and something else… something that smelled like a battle fought in solitude. But that wasn't what made her stomach drop, what sent a sickening wave of cold through her.
It was the sight of Taeyang.
He was on the ground, crumpled, motionless beside his desk, a dark silhouette against the faint light filtering from the hallway.
"Taeyang!" Hana's voice cracked, a strangled cry of pure terror as she rushed forward, her legs moving on their own accord.
He didn't move. Didn't even stir, a chilling stillness that froze her blood.
Hana's hands trembled violently as she knelt beside him, gently shaking Taeyang's shoulder again, desperately searching for a sign of life. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, his pulse faint but unmistakably present beneath the frantic fluttering of her own. He was just unconscious, exhausted, maybe. Collapsed from overwork. Not… not worse. She exhaled shakily, a ragged breath of immense relief, tears blurring her vision. She brushed his hair back from his face, her touch reverent, almost fearful. He looked pale, alarmingly so, with deep, bruised looking dark circles under his eyes, his lips dry and cracked, as if he hadn't had water in days. How long had he been pushing himself like this? How many nights had he spent in this lonely, self imposed prison?
Her eyes flickered across the desk, taking in the chaotic mess of papers, documents, and hastily scribbled notes scattered everywhere. It was complete chaos, scribbled handwriting, frantic annotations, coffee-stained pages, some even crumpled into tight balls, as if he had thrown them in frustration, in despair. The sheer volume of material spoke of an obsessive, relentless search.
Hana frowned, a deep line forming between her brows. What was he working on that had him like this, driven to the point of collapse? What secret had consumed him so utterly?
She reached for a page instinctively, her fingers brushing against the crisp paper, a name or a date catching her eye, a faint recognition stirring in her memory. But before she could read a single word, before the fragments could coalesce into understanding, Taeyang stirred.
A quiet groan left his lips, a low, pained sound, as his fingers twitched slightly, a subtle movement that halted her breath. Hana immediately dropped the paper, letting it flutter back onto the desk like a wounded bird, and turned her full attention back to him.
"Taeyang?" She called his name softly, urgently.
His eyelids fluttered, heavy, reluctant, before he slowly, agonizingly, opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked disoriented, his gaze unfocused, as if he was still lost in a deep dream—or, more accurately, a harrowing nightmare. Then, as his vision cleared, slowly, painstakingly, his eyes locked onto Hana's face, a flicker of bewildered recognition blooming in their depths.
"…Hana?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, barely above a whisper, as if unused for hours.
Relief, pure and unadulterated, flooded through her, washing away the last vestiges of terror. "You idiot," she scolded, though her voice shook with the aftermath of her panic, betraying the depth of her worry. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought—" She couldn't finish the thought, the dark possibility still too raw.
Taeyang blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings, his mind slowly catching up. He seemed to realize where he was, slumped on the cold floor of his office, the chaotic scene of his desperate work spread out around him. A flicker of something was it panic? a flash of fear?passed through his eyes when he noticed the mess on his desk, the exposed papers.
Immediately, he tried to sit up, a desperate, almost violent surge of effort, but his body was weak, heavy, unresponsive. Hana placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently but insistently back down. "Don't even think about it," she warned, her voice stern but laced with concern. "You're not going anywhere until you explain why you locked yourself in here all night, pushing yourself to the brink of collapse."
Taeyang hesitated, his gaze darting to the scattered documents, then back to her face. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something, like a silent war was raging inside him, a desperate conflict between his need to protect her and his desperate need to unburden himself. But then, just as quickly, his expression shuttered, the window to his soul closing abruptly, his face becoming a mask of carefully constructed indifference.
"It's nothing," he muttered, turning his head away, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Just work."
Hana narrowed her eyes, a sharp glint of frustration and suspicion in their depths. "Work? You look like you haven't slept or eaten in days, Taeyang. What kind of work is this that drains you so completely?" Her voice was laced with an accusation she couldn't quite contain.
He didn't answer, his silence a stark barrier between them.
Her stomach twisted at the way he avoided her gaze, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the way his fingers subtly curled into fists, as if bracing himself against an unseen impact. She could tell, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that he was hiding something monumental, something terrifying. But what? What could be so devastating that it drove him to this?
Hana sighed, frustration and worry mixing in her chest, a volatile cocktail of emotions. She wanted to push him, to shake him, to demand answers with an insistent urgency, but she knew Taeyang. She knew him deeply. If he didn't want to talk, if he was determined to keep his secrets, no amount of questioning, no amount of pressure, would change that. It would only make him retreat further into himself.
For now, her immediate priority was to make sure he was physically okay. The questions could wait.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. "But at least eat something first."
She reached for her bag, pulling out a small, individually wrapped snack she had bought on the way, a simple gesture of care. She unwrapped it with delicate movements, the rustle of the packaging loud in the quiet room, and held it out to him.
Taeyang hesitated, his eyes flicking from the snack to her face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. Then, slowly, with a profound weariness, he finally took it from her hand.
Hana watched as he took a slow, almost mechanical bite, her chest still heavy with an ominous sense of foreboding. Whatever this was, whatever he was desperately keeping from her, it wasn't just "nothing." It was something vast, something terrifying.
And she was afraid that sooner or later, inevitably, she was going to find out, and the truth would shatter everything.
After making sure Taeyang ate and drank enough to regain some semblance of strength, Hana helped him to his feet. He was still weak, his body sluggish, heavy with the lingering effects of profound exhaustion and emotional torment.
"You need to rest," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument, as she guided him toward the small, utilitarian bed tucked away in the corner of his private office. It was clearly for emergencies, not prolonged use, a stark cot that offered little comfort.
"I can go home," he muttered, his voice barely audible, trying to assert some semblance of independence. He attempted to stand on his own, but his legs wobbled slightly beneath him, forcing him to grab onto her arm for balance, an undeniable sign of his fragility.
Hana shot him a sharp look, her eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Yeah, right. You can barely walk." Her tone was laced with exasperation, but beneath it, deep concern.
Taeyang clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. He didn't want to stay here. Not with Hana hovering around, her perceptive gaze threatening to unravel his carefully constructed defenses. Not when his desk was filled with documents, with forensic reports, with cryptic notes about their parents' deaths. The very air in the room seemed thick with the ghosts of the past.
If she saw them… if she stumbled upon the truth… if she found out…
No. He couldn't let that happen. Not yet. He forced a weak chuckle, a pathetic attempt to brush it off, to dismiss her worries. "I'm fine. I just need to—"
"Taeyang."
Her voice was quiet, a mere whisper, but it carried an undeniable force. It was the kind of voice that left no room for argument, a silent command that bypassed all his defenses. He sighed, a heavy, defeated sound, knowing he had no choice. For now, at least, he was trapped. Reluctantly, he let her gently push him back onto the bed, the mattress creaking softly under his weight. Hana pulled a thin blanket over him, her expression softening with a tenderness that twisted his gut with guilt, as she sat at the very edge of the mattress.
"You're always like this," she murmured, her voice a soft lament. "Pushing yourself too hard. Carrying everything alone. Why do you always do this to yourself?"
Taeyang swallowed, his throat tight, guilt gnawing at him like a relentless beast. If only she knew the unbearable weight he carried, the terrifying secret that now dictated his every move. If only she knew why he had to carry it alone.
She sighed, a gentle sound that resonated with unspoken understanding, and reached out, her fingers brushing stray strands of dark hair from his forehead. The simple, innocent gesture made his chest tighten, a raw ache spreading through him. It was a comfort he didn't deserve, a warmth he was afraid he would soon shatter.
"I won't ask now," she continued, as if sensing his resistance, his desperate need to hold onto his secrets. "But… if something's wrong, Taeyang, something truly important, you can tell me. You know that, right? I'm here for you, always."
For a second, a fleeting, agonizing second, he almost gave in. Almost told her everything. The words formed on his tongue, hot and bitter, desperate to be released. The profound agony of the truth, the terrifying implications, everything he had discovered in Busan, threatened to spill out.
But instead, he forced a small, brittle smile, a mask over his unraveling heart. "I know." The lie was a sharp, painful thing, tearing at him from the inside.
Hana was about to stand up, a quiet resolve in her movements, when she felt a sudden, desperate tug on her wrist.
Taeyang's hand, surprisingly strong despite his exhaustion, clutched hers, his grip tight, almost pleading, a silent, desperate cry for her to stay. Before she could react, before she could even question his sudden urgency, he pulled her toward him with an unexpected force, and she stumbled slightly, landing back on the bed beside him, a soft thump.
He shifted, his body trembling with an almost imperceptible tremor, and rested his head on her lap, his face buried against her thigh.
"Don't leave," he muttered, his voice raw, hoarse, almost broken, a guttural sound that tore at her heart.
Hana froze.
She looked down at him, utterly shocked. Taeyang never showed weakness, not like this. He had always been the strong one, the unyielding protector, the one who kept everything together, no matter how much he was hurting inside, no matter what personal demons he battled. He was the anchor, the steady presence in her tumultuous life.
But right now, he was unraveling, piece by agonizing piece. She could feel it in the way his fingers clung to her hand, a desperate lifeline, in the uneven rise and fall of his chest against her leg. And then, she felt something warm, a searing heat that quickly turned cold.
A tear.
It landed softly on her thigh, a single, lonely drop, followed almost immediately by another, then another, a silent cascade of raw emotion.
Taeyang was crying. Silently, without a sound, without a sob, but the sheer weight of his emotions was crushing, suffocating. His tears were a testament to a pain so deep, so profound, that it defied verbal expression.
Hana's heart twisted, a painful knot tightening in her chest. She had no idea what he was truly going through, what kind of pain was eating him up inside, what terrifying truth was breaking him. But she knew one thing, with a chilling certainty—he was terrified. Scared of something beyond her comprehension.
Slowly, gently, she placed her free hand on his head, running her fingers through his soft, dark hair, a soothing, rhythmic motion. He stiffened for a moment, a fleeting hesitation, before melting into her touch, his body relaxing, his grip on her hand loosening just slightly, as if finding a fragile comfort in her presence.
"I won't leave," she whispered, her voice a soft, unwavering promise, a balm to his tormented soul. She didn't ask what was wrong. She didn't push him for answers. She didn't demand explanations.
She just stayed. She simply existed beside him, offering her presence, her silent comfort, her unwavering support, a steadfast beacon in his private storm.
Taeyang didn't say anything after that. He simply lay there, breathing unevenly, his body heavy, as if the unbearable weight of whatever he was carrying was finally too much to bear, finally forcing him to surrender to exhaustion.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The quiet hum of the city outside faded into the background, the only sounds the soft, even breathing of two souls intertwined in a moment of raw vulnerability.
Eventually, his breathing steadied, the restless tremors in his body ceasing. His grip on her hand loosened further, his fingers relaxing as sleep, deep and merciful, finally claimed him, pulling him into a much needed oblivion.
Hana stared down at him, her fingers still gently running through his hair, her gaze filled with a profound sadness and an even deeper resolve.
She didn't know what he was hiding, what terrifying secret had brought him to this breaking point.
But she knew this; whatever it was, it was tearing him apart. And she would do whatever it took to understand, to help him carry it, even if he didn't want her to. Because she wouldn't let him face this alone. Not anymore.