Hye-jin sat in her room, the walls closing in, a suffocating pressure building in her chest. The weight of everything—everything she'd tried to suppress—finally cracked open. The endless hours of rehearsals, the carefully constructed façade of calm, all the moments where she pretended she was fine—none of it mattered now. It felt like everything she had been holding back for so long had erupted all at once. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in shallow gasps, trying desperately to keep her composure.
But it was impossible.
The memories of Ji-hoon, of everything that had led to this point, played in her mind like a haunting melody—one that she could never escape, no matter how hard she tried to run. The silence, the empty spaces between words that used to mean so much. His blindness. The way his voice cracked when he'd realized the truth. The burden she had carried for so long, the weight of protecting him, of keeping him in the dark, of sheltering him from the storm that had always surrounded him… It was all crashing down now.
She stood up from the chair, pacing, her mind spinning out of control. She couldn't think straight. The room felt like it was spinning around her, a dizzying blur of thoughts and regrets. Her feet shuffled across the floor, but each step felt heavier than the last, like the ground was swallowing her up.
"Hye-jin…"
She froze.
The voice echoed in her head. Ji-hoon's voice. But it wasn't just his voice—it was his pain, his anger, his confusion. It had all been there, under the surface, and now it was impossible to ignore.
"Why did you hide this from me?" Ji-hoon had asked, his voice trembling. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She hadn't known how to answer him. She still didn't. How could she explain something so deep, so complicated, to someone who had already been through so much? How could she tell him the truth when the truth was tangled in lies, in betrayal, in choices that neither of them could take back?
The weight of her secret felt like it was crushing her. She had been the one to see it all unfold—the murder, the lies, the manipulation. She had seen the darkness behind the curtain, the truth hidden beneath the surface of everything. And yet, she had stayed silent. She had chosen to protect him in the only way she knew how, by keeping him in the dark. By pretending it didn't matter, pretending that they could both go on with their lives as if everything were fine.
But nothing was fine. And she couldn't pretend anymore.
"Hye-jin, talk to me."
The voice echoed again, this time coming from the door. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. It was Si-wan, standing there, watching her with that cold, calculating expression he always wore.
His presence was like a shadow in the room, always lurking, always present. It made her feel small, insignificant. Like she wasn't allowed to feel, to break down, to show the cracks in her carefully constructed armor.
"You can't keep doing this," Si-wan said, his voice low, but with a hint of something that almost sounded like concern. "You're not invincible, Hye-jin. You've been holding everything together for so long, but it's starting to tear you apart. I can see it. You need to stop pretending."
But she couldn't. She had always been the strong one, the one who kept her emotions in check, the one who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders without complaint. She couldn't be weak. She couldn't let them see her like this, not now, not when everything was falling apart.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do," she snapped, turning toward him, her voice sharper than she intended. But the anger wasn't directed at him. It was directed at herself. "I know what I'm doing."
"No, you don't," Si-wan said, his tone more insistent now. "You think you do, but you don't. You're breaking down, Hye-jin. I can see it. And I'm not going to stand here and watch you destroy yourself."
She turned away from him, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I'm not breaking down," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Si-wan said softly, stepping closer to her. "You haven't been fine for a long time. And I don't know how much longer you can keep pretending."
Her chest tightened. The tears that she had been holding back for so long finally threatened to spill over. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting with the effort to keep them down. She couldn't cry. She couldn't let him see her like this.
"Don't you get it?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been carrying this weight for so long. I don't know how much longer I can keep it all inside. I'm not… I'm not okay. And I don't know how to fix it."
She finally let the tears fall, her shoulders shaking as she let the dam break. She didn't care anymore. The truth was out. It wasn't just about Ji-hoon, or Si-wan, or the lies. It was about her, about everything she had buried inside of herself.
She wasn't okay.
And for the first time in a long time, she was finally willing to admit it.
Hye-jin stood there, frozen in the middle of the room, her body trembling, unable to escape the weight of everything crashing down on her. The tears flowed freely now, each drop feeling like a release of the dam that had been holding her back for so long. She had spent years—years—keeping everything inside, pretending she was fine, pretending she had control. But the truth was, the control had been slipping from her for a long time, and now it was all unraveling.
Si-wan didn't move, but he didn't look away either. He had always been good at reading people, knowing when they were lying to themselves, knowing when their strength was just a façade. And right now, he could see that Hye-jin's façade had crumbled. There was no more pretending. She was a storm, and he had seen enough of them to know that the hardest part was always the aftermath.
"You don't have to carry it all alone," Si-wan said quietly, his voice softer than it had been before. There was no arrogance in it now, no sharpness. Just an unspoken understanding that they both knew what it was like to be consumed by something you couldn't control, something you couldn't fix.
Hye-jin shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I don't know how to stop, Si-wan. I don't know how to just let go." She closed her eyes tightly, as if she could block out the emotions that were threatening to suffocate her. She had always been so careful, so composed, and now everything was falling apart. It was too much, too overwhelming. Her mind felt like it was spinning, her body too weak to hold itself together.
Si-wan took a step forward, his voice low but firm. "You don't have to let go all at once. Just let me help you. You don't have to carry all of this by yourself."
Hye-jin felt a sudden surge of anger. It wasn't anger toward him—it was anger toward herself. How had she let it get this far? How had she allowed herself to believe that she could handle everything on her own? Her entire life, she had been the one who kept everything in place, who held everything together for everyone else. She had been the strong one, the reliable one. But now, in this moment, she felt like a failure.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and pain. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth? I could've helped you! I could've—" She broke off, choking on the words. She couldn't finish the sentence. What could she have done? What could anyone have done?
She turned away, wiping her face with the back of her hand, trying to regain some semblance of control. But the tears kept coming, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop them. She didn't want to feel weak. She didn't want to be someone who crumbled under the weight of everything. But that's exactly what she was doing now.
"I was trying to protect you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She didn't know if Si-wan could hear her or if she was even speaking to him anymore. She didn't know if she was speaking to herself or to the version of Ji-hoon that she could never quite reach. "I thought if I kept you safe from the truth, if I kept you away from all of this, it would be easier. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."
Si-wan said nothing, but he didn't need to. He knew her too well. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own lies, to believe that you were doing the right thing even when everything was falling apart around you. He had been there. He had lived through it. And now, as he watched her, he knew that she was fighting a battle inside herself that no one could understand except for the two of them.
The room was silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken words. Hye-jin's sobs had quieted, but the weight of everything still hung in the air. It wasn't just the truth of what had happened—it was the realization that they couldn't change any of it. The people who had hurt Ji-hoon, the people who had caused all of this, they were still out there. And they were still pulling the strings. Hye-jin had tried so hard to protect him, but now, she didn't know if she had done enough.
"I failed him," Hye-jin said quietly, her voice breaking. She couldn't look at Si-wan anymore. She couldn't look at anyone. She was too ashamed, too scared of what had happened, of what they had allowed to happen. "I failed him, and I don't know how to fix it."
Si-wan stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "You didn't fail him, Hye-jin. You did what you thought was right at the time. You made the best choices you could with the information you had. But now... now we have to make different choices. We have to fix it together."
Hye-jin's heart thudded in her chest. She had always relied on herself, on her ability to control everything. But now, she wasn't so sure anymore. She was tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying to carry the world on her shoulders. She needed someone to help her, to show her that it wasn't too late to make things right. But most of all, she needed to believe that it wasn't too late to stop the pain. To stop the endless cycle of grief and regret.
"I don't know if I can do it," Hye-jin whispered, her voice barely audible. She was so close to breaking, so close to falling apart completely. She had always been the one to keep everything together, but now, she wasn't sure if she could even keep herself together anymore.
Si-wan's hand tightened on her shoulder, his grip firm and steady. "We don't have to do it alone. We'll do it together."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Hye-jin allowed herself to lean into someone. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of everything wash over her. She had spent so long hiding, so long keeping everyone at arm's length. But now, with Si-wan's steady presence beside her, she felt the flicker of something else—something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
Hye-jin stood there in the stillness of the room, the weight of everything she had been holding in for so long threatening to crush her. The raw emotion, the guilt, the fear—it was too much, and the dam that had kept it all locked inside her had finally broken. She could feel the tremors of her own body, the uncontrollable shaking that came from the sheer intensity of everything crashing down on her at once. She had thought she could handle it, that if she kept pushing forward, if she kept up the act of being in control, everything would eventually fall into place.
But now, as the tears ran down her face, Hye-jin realized that nothing was going to fix itself. The past had already been set into motion, and the mistakes—her mistakes—were too deeply ingrained to be erased with a few moments of regret.
Si-wan's presence beside her was steady, unwavering. He wasn't saying anything more now, but she could feel the understanding in his silence. He knew. He knew better than anyone what it was like to carry the weight of a past you couldn't change, to live with decisions that haunted you, decisions that were made with the best of intentions but with disastrous consequences.
She thought about Ji-hoon—his smile, his pain, his anger—and how, despite everything, he was still here, still fighting. But that was the difference between them, wasn't it? He fought for himself. He fought because he had no choice. She had been fighting for others, for him, for the idea of saving him, and in the process, she had forgotten about herself. Forgotten how to fight for her own redemption.
"I don't know where to begin," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness of the room. The words felt like a confession, as though admitting her own weakness was somehow a betrayal. She had always prided herself on being strong, on keeping things together, on being the one that everyone could rely on. But now, she realized that strength had only led her to the breaking point.
Si-wan finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "You don't have to start anywhere. Just... breathe."
The simplicity of his words cut through the chaos in her mind. Breathe. She had forgotten how to breathe properly in all of this—how to let go of the weight of everything and just exist for a moment. Her chest tightened as she inhaled slowly, trying to follow his instructions. The air felt thick, as if it too carried the burden of all her choices, but with every breath, she began to feel a little less suffocated.
"I failed him," she said again, her voice cracking. "I should have done more. I should have known sooner..."
Si-wan shook his head gently, his hand still resting on her shoulder. "You can't change the past, Hye-jin. But you can still do something now. You can still make things right."
She closed her eyes, trying to focus on his words, trying to let them sink in. It felt impossible, though. The guilt, the anger, the confusion—they were all tangled together in her mind, and she didn't know where one ended and the other began.
"Where do I even start?" she asked, barely able to voice the question.
Si-wan's voice softened even more. "Start by being honest with yourself. Then with Ji-hoon. The rest will follow. But you can't fix things until you stop running from them."
Her body stiffened at the mention of Ji-hoon. How could she even look him in the eye after everything? How could she face the consequences of her own actions when it had been her choices that had brought him to this point of pain?
"I don't even know how to face him," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "After everything I've kept from him... how do I even begin?"
Si-wan's grip tightened for just a moment, then loosened. "You don't have to fix everything at once. Just... tell him the truth. The truth about why you did what you did, about why you kept so much from him. It's the only way forward. For both of you."
It was the kind of advice that felt both terrifying and freeing. Telling the truth would expose the parts of her that she had hidden for so long—the parts of herself that she had buried deep within, too afraid to face the reality of her own choices. But maybe, just maybe, it was the only way to start unraveling the mess she had created.
Hye-jin wiped her face, the weight of Si-wan's words settling over her like a heavy blanket. There was no easy way out of this, no simple solution. But the truth would be the only thing that could cut through the lies, the only thing that could allow her to breathe again.
She took another deep breath, and this time, it felt a little easier. Slowly, step by step, she would face her mistakes. She would face Ji-hoon and tell him everything she had hidden from him. And maybe, just maybe, they would be able to heal together. But it would take time. And for the first time in a long time, Hye-jin was willing to face that.
"Thank you," she said quietly to Si-wan, her voice thick with emotion. He didn't need to say anything. His silent presence, his quiet strength, was enough. It was all she needed.