Silent Lies

Trust in the Dark

Seungcheol was becoming more and more consumed by the case. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered across his mind, each clue leading to new questions, new angles, but nothing that felt like the final solution. Every time he thought he had a lead, it dissolved just as quickly, leaving him with the same overwhelming feeling of being in over his head. He couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that someone—something—was manipulating the investigation.

But he couldn't tell if that feeling came from the case itself or the unsettling presence of Jeonghan.

Their last encounter had left him questioning not just the investigation but his own judgment. Jeonghan's cryptic words, his provocative demeanor, the way he seemed to see through Seungcheol—it all left a mark. It wasn't just the psychiatrist's mind games that affected him. It was the way Jeonghan made him feel, the way his sharp gaze seemed to pierce through Seungcheol's emotional armor. And it didn't help that every time Seungcheol tried to confront Jeonghan, it felt like he was being dragged deeper into the mystery—and, just maybe, deeper into something else.

Despite his unease, Seungcheol couldn't help but return to Jeonghan. He had been in the dark for too long, and Jeonghan had answers—at least part of them. He needed the psychiatrist's insights to move forward with the investigation, but there was a risk: with each meeting, the boundary between professional and personal grew blurrier.

That afternoon, Seungcheol found himself in Jeonghan's office once again. It had become a familiar place, and despite the tension, Seungcheol felt a strange sense of anticipation whenever he entered. Jeonghan's office was a cool, sterile space, yet there was something oddly comforting about its quiet, its order. It felt like a place where secrets could be exchanged without judgment. Or maybe it was just that Seungcheol trusted Jeonghan in ways he couldn't fully understand.

"Did you find anything interesting?" Jeonghan asked, looking up from his desk as Seungcheol entered. His voice was smooth, yet there was a hint of something darker beneath it—an edge that always made Seungcheol second-guess his own thoughts.

"I found a connection," Seungcheol replied, trying to sound confident, even though the lead was thin at best. "It's about the psychiatric facility you worked at. It's not just a coincidence that all of these people were connected to it in some way."

Jeonghan's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "You're getting closer, I see," he said, his tone suggesting he was pleased—but not surprised. "But the question is, what exactly do you intend to do with that information? What is it you're really after, Seungcheol?"

Seungcheol clenched his fists at his sides. "The truth," he answered, though the words felt hollow. It wasn't just the truth about the disappearances he was after anymore. The more he spent time with Jeonghan, the more he realized that the line between finding answers to the case and unraveling the mystery of Jeonghan himself was becoming impossible to define.

"Maybe the truth isn't what you think it is," Jeonghan replied, his eyes locking with Seungcheol's. "Maybe what you're after is just an illusion. Or maybe you're running away from something else."

Seungcheol's pulse quickened at Jeonghan's words, though he couldn't quite place why. He had heard the psychiatrist speak in riddles before, but this felt different—personal, even. It was as though Jeonghan was speaking directly to something deep within Seungcheol, something he didn't want to acknowledge.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, watching Seungcheol closely. "Tell me, Seungcheol," he said softly, "What do you really fear?"

Seungcheol froze, caught off guard by the question. Fear? He didn't fear anything—at least, not anything he could name. The truth, the answer to the mystery, was all he cared about. But there was something about Jeonghan's gaze, something unsettling in the way the psychiatrist's eyes seemed to see right through him.

"I don't fear anything," Seungcheol said, though his voice faltered slightly.

Jeonghan's smile deepened, and there was something almost predatory in his expression. "Is that so?" He leaned forward slightly, his presence suddenly more intense. "Because I think you fear the one thing you can't control."

For a moment, Seungcheol felt a chill run down his spine. His breath caught in his throat, but he refused to let Jeonghan see how much the question had affected him.

"Let's focus on the case," Seungcheol said firmly, changing the subject. He could feel his walls going up again, just as they always did whenever Jeonghan pushed too far. But he couldn't ignore the discomfort that had settled in his chest. Jeonghan had a way of getting under his skin, of making him question everything—even himself.

Jeonghan didn't press any further. Instead, he nodded. "If you insist," he said, his tone light, almost teasing. "Let's talk about the case."

Seungcheol pushed his unease aside, determined to focus on the investigation. But the tension in the room was thick, palpable. The more they spoke about the disappearances, the more Seungcheol felt that they weren't just talking about the victims—they were talking about something deeper, something unspoken between them.

The conversation shifted back to the psychiatricfacility. Jeonghan offered a few cryptic details, each one more tantalizingthan the last. He didn't give Seungcheol the full answers, of course. Thatwasn't his style. But the pieces were beginning to fit together. Slowly butsurely,

Seungcheol was uncovering the darker side of the facility, the connections between the missing people, and—most unsettling of all—the connection to Jeonghan himself.

Later that evening, as Seungcheol sat alone in his apartment, going over the notes from his meeting with Jeonghan, his mind kept returning to the psychiatrist's last words. They weren't just about the case anymore. They were about him. About Seungcheol's hidden fears, his emotions that he had long buried beneath a thick layer of logic and control.

For the first time in a long time, Seungcheol questioned himself. What was he really afraid of? Was it the truth? Or was it something more personal, something tied to the way Jeonghan made him feel?

As Seungcheol wrestled with his thoughts, he received a message from Mingyu: "You okay? You've been distant lately. You're not letting him get to you, are you?"

Seungcheol stared at the message for a long time, unsure how to respond. He wanted to lie. He wanted to say he was fine, that everything was under control. But the truth was, the more time he spent with Jeonghan, the more it felt like he was losing control. And the more he realized, the less he was sure he wanted to.

He didn't reply to Mingyu. Instead, he set the phone down and stared out the window, the city lights flickering below him. The investigation was taking over his life. And so was Jeonghan.