The drive home from work was a blur of throbbing agony. Each pulse of the engine, each flash of passing headlights, seemed to sync with the punishing rhythm behind Taekyun's eyes. The world was a distorted, painful mess. His only anchor, his only thought cutting through the haze, was the image of Rinwoo's room. The quiet. The dark. The faint, lingering scent on the blanket that offered a few precious moments of respite from the torment.
He barely acknowledged the servants as he strode through the grand foyer of the Lee estate, his steps hurried and unsteady. He didn't go to his own wing. He moved on autopilot, drawn like a moth to a single, dim flame, down the hallway to the door that had become his secret sanctuary.
He shoved the door open and stepped inside.
And froze.
The air that hit him was wrong. It was sterile. Clean. It smelled of lemon polish and bleach.
