Over the next few weeks, their encounters became an unspoken rhythm, sometimes planned, more often coincidentally woven into the fabric of the city's evening. It started with Taeyang pulling up outside the police station to pick Hana up, only to find Jiwoon walking beside her, discussing everything from solved cases to the mundane mess of paperwork. Hana's face would brighten the moment she spotted Taeyang, waving him over with an infectious energy. Jiwoon, with a small, observant nod, would acknowledge him, a quiet recognition passing between the two men.
They weren't close friends yet. But the strained unfamiliarity had evaporated.
"You're early," Hana remarked one evening, stepping out of the glass doors with Jiwoon by her side.
Taeyang leaned against the car, arms crossed, the streetlight casting soft shadows over his face. "You're late," he teased, echoing her words from that night.
She rolled her eyes with a grin, and Jiwoon offered a chuckle, a sound that was comfortable.
"Long day?" Taeyang asked, his gaze settling briefly on Jiwoon.
Jiwoon nodded. "One of those days where the printer broke, a suspect ran, and the coffee machine gave up on us."
"Tragic," Taeyang said dryly, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.
A brief, shared smile touched their lips. Hana glanced between them, sensing the subtle ease that had begun to settle. The air between them, once stiff with unspoken questions, was starting to feel… accustomed.
Sometimes, Taeyang joined them for coffee if Hana insisted. Other times, Jiwoon would linger when Taeyang showed up, holding casual conversations outside the station before heading his way. The unspoken barrier between them was quietly eroding, not through forced camaraderie, but through shared moments and a growing mutual assessment.
The silences between Taeyang and Jiwoon began to fill, slowly. It started lightly, with Jiwoon mentioning some odd case from the day.
"There was this guy who filed a report about a stolen bicycle," he said one evening as they walked beside Hana. "Turns out he'd sold it himself two months ago and forgot."
Hana laughed, incredulous. "You're kidding."
"Nope. He even thanked us for helping him 'find closure.'" Jiwoon shook his head with a quiet smile.
Taeyang chuckled. "Closure's important. Even for a bicycle."
"Anything strange in your line of work?" Jiwoon asked him one day, his tone genuinely curious.
Taeyang raised an eyebrow. "Strange is sort of the baseline."
Jiwoon's lips twitched. "Fair."
So Taeyang began to share, not much, just small pieces. Odd encounters. People who spoke in circles. Unnamed towns with too many secrets. He was careful, always, but Jiwoon never pushed. He listened, adding his quiet commentary or a thoughtful nod that conveyed a deeper understanding. Jiwoon was astute; he recognized the careful omissions, the guardedness of a man who moved through shadows.
One late evening, the three of them ended up at a small station. It was Hana's idea; she was too tired to cook, and Jiwoon had mentioned the place once. They sat beneath the soft glow of hanging lights, eating spicy rice cakes and grilled skewers, the air around them humming with distant conversations and the scent of sesame oil.
"So," Jiwoon said as he took a bite, "how long have you two known each other?"
Taeyang glanced at Hana, then back. "Since we were kids. Our parents were… close."
Hana, chewing, simply nodded, a distant look in her eyes.
"That's rare," Jiwoon said, his voice quieter, reflective. "To stay close like that."
"Not really," Taeyang replied, his gaze settling on Hana for a moment, a profound depth in his eyes. "When you've lost the same people, sometimes you hold on to what's left."
Jiwoon studied him carefully, not with suspicion, but with a new understanding. He was beginning to see the profound layers in their bond. It wasn't just friendship. It was history. Grief. Loyalty. A shared past wrapped around unspoken emotions that bound them fiercely.
Later that night, Jiwoon offered to wait with Hana while she wrapped up a report. She needed to grab something from upstairs, and Taeyang, passing by from a nearby errand, noticed them from across the street.
He crossed over, hands in his coat pockets, nodding once in greeting. Jiwoon nodded back, standing beside the parked car.
"She talks a lot about the cases," Taeyang added, more quietly this time. "You're good to her."
Jiwoon met his gaze, a subtle understanding passing between them. "She's good too."
They didn't say much else, just stood under the amber light until Hana reappeared, waving from the doors.
As they walked her to the apartment later that night, Taeyang mentioned something offhand.
"We used to live in Busan before all this," he said, his voice low, eyes on the pavement. "It was quieter there. Until… the accident."
Jiwoon looked over. "Accident?"
Taeyang's expression didn't change. "Yeah. Our parents."
Silence fell between them for a beat too long, and Taeyang seemed to catch himself, as if realizing he'd revealed too much. "It was a long time ago," he added quickly. "Anyway, Seoul's different. Faster. Busier."
Jiwoon didn't press. He sensed the unspoken boundary, but something in his mind clicked. It wasn't just what Taeyang said; it was how quickly he moved on, the subtle wall that instantly went up. As if he were used to skipping details, protecting a narrative.
One evening, as they waited for Hana outside the building, she was running late from a meeting, the two men stood side by side under the mellow orange glow of a streetlight.
"Feels like we do this often," Jiwoon remarked.
"We do," Taeyang said. "Strange how quickly that happened."
Jiwoon looked sideways at him, his expression thoughtful. "You're different from most people I meet."
Taeyang didn't flinch, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. "So are you."
There was a moment's pause, not tense, just a quiet acknowledgment of their distinct natures.
"She trusts you," Jiwoon said at last, a statement, not a question.
"She trusts you, too," Taeyang returned, his tone even.
Jiwoon nodded. "Guess we're both lucky."
Taeyang didn't respond. He just gave a small, knowing smile, a shared understanding settling between them that went beyond words.
On another day, they found themselves in the small café again, all three of them. Hana had dragged them there after work, tired but beaming. Jiwoon and Taeyang took the booth seats while Hana ordered for all of them without asking.
"You two talk," she said with a dismissive wave, disappearing to the counter.
They both watched her go, then turned toward each other with mirrored amusement.
"She's bossy when she's tired," Jiwoon noted.
"Always been like that," Taeyang replied with fondness.
"Hey," Jiwoon said after a sip of warm tea. "You mentioned once that some people you meet say strange things. What kind of strange?"
Taeyang tilted his head slightly, thinking. "Ever talk to someone and feel like they're answering a question you didn't ask?"
Jiwoon gave a thoughtful nod. "Yeah. Usually means they're hiding the real story."
"Exactly."
"You follow up?"
"Sometimes. Depends on how fast they run."
Jiwoon laughed, a genuine sound. "Have you ever considered being a detective?"
"I consider a lot of things. Doesn't mean I want them."
Just then, Hana returned, setting down mugs and plates like she was hosting a tiny feast.
"I got you both the same thing, so no fighting," she said, clearly proud of her choices.
Jiwoon glanced at his cup. "You remembered what I had last time?"
"Of course I did."
Taeyang watched her for a moment longer than necessary, a private warmth in his gaze. She didn't seem to notice, or perhaps she did, and simply let it pass.
Over the next week, the pattern continued. Sometimes Hana was there with them, laughing between bites of street food or playfully slapping Jiwoon's arm when he made dry jokes. Other times, it was just the two of them, Jiwoon and Taeyang, waiting outside, falling into the kind of conversations that built trust one quiet evening at a time.
Neither man spoke directly of their pasts. But now and then, something would slip a name left out, a pause before answering, a sharp look toward nothing.
Jiwoon noticed the way Taeyang sometimes scanned the street when he thought no one was watching, his eyes sharp and assessing.
Taeyang noticed the way Jiwoon always positioned himself between Hana and the road, instinctively protective, a quiet sentinel.
They were both observant, cautious, and accustomed to seeing beyond the surface. And maybe that's why neither of them ever truly pressed the other about what they were doing during the day. They respected the boundaries, for now, recognizing a similar need for a certain level of privacy.
One rainy evening, Jiwoon held out an umbrella, sheltering both Taeyang and himself while Hana dashed for the car.
"She still doesn't keep an umbrella in her bag?" Taeyang asked with a smirk, a hint of exasperation.
"That's your job," Jiwoon replied, chuckling, the corner of his lips turning up.
Taeyang looked at him, then up at the umbrella. "You're alright, Jiwoon."
"You're not too bad yourself," Jiwoon said, his gaze steady, acknowledging.
A quiet understanding passed between them in that moment. It wasn't a declared friendship, but something close. A mutual acknowledgment of their respective strengths, their shared commitment to Hana, and a growing, practical respect for each other's quiet complexities.
Two men, vastly different yet intricately aligned by a common, cherished thread. Her.