Taehyung's POV:

The office felt suffocating, even though the air conditioning was running full blast. I stood there in my boss's office, fists clenched at my sides, swallowing the bitter lump of frustration that had settled in my throat.

"What the hell is this, Taehyung?" My boss's voice cut through the room, sharp and accusing. He slammed the report onto the desk, the pages scattering slightly from the impact. My heart sank as his words pierced through the haze in my mind. "This is the second time in two weeks that you've handed me subpar work. How do you expect me to present this to buyers tonight?"

I felt my jaw tighten, but I forced myself to stay composed. Apologies lingered on my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to speak just yet.

Then, my phone started ringing.

The sudden noise jolted me, and instinctively, I slipped my hand into my pocket to silence it without even looking. My boss's eyes narrowed, but he went on with the lecture venting his anger out. The phone started ringing again bringing panic to my heart, I looked up at my boss, his face reddening further.

"Turn off that damn phone before I fire you!" he barked, the volume making me wince.

Without hesitation, I pulled out the device and pressed down on the power button. The screen dimmed, shutting down completely. I didn't even glance at who was calling—I couldn't risk another outburst.

"Now pick that up," he demanded, gesturing at the file he'd thrown. The scattered papers on the floor felt like a metaphor for my life right now—chaotic, disjointed, and humiliating.

I crouched down, gathering the sheets one by one, each move feeling heavier than the last. My boss continued his tirade above me, berating me for my lack of focus, my declining performance, and my inability to handle the simplest of tasks.

"You were one of the best here," he said, his tone laced with disappointment. "Now you're just... wasting space."

Those words hit harder than they should have.

When I finally stood up, file in hand, he jabbed a finger at me. "Fix this. You have three hours. Don't make me regret giving you another chance."

I nodded stiffly, murmuring a quiet, "Yes, sir," before retreating from his office.

Back at my desk, I could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me. The hushed whispers and stifled laughter were louder than any shout.

Taehyung, the top performer. The man everyone envied. Now, a joke.

I sat down and stared at my computer screen, the glowing cursor blinking back at me, mocking me. My hands trembled slightly as I began typing, trying to piece together the mess I'd created.

My thoughts were a jumble, but I pushed them aside. This wasn't just about me—I couldn't afford to let myself go. Jo was taking time off, and I needed to keep us afloat. Her treatments, her well-being, everything depended on me holding it together.

But holding it together was becoming harder every day.

I wished I could come home and vent to Jo like I used to—to let her cheer me up, her laugh cutting through the weight of my frustrations, her presence making everything feel manageable. But those days felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the tables had turned.

I missed her. I missed us.

I had to man up and suck it up, to be the pillar she needed, even when it was hard, even when she was making it hard for me. She was hurting in ways I couldn't understand, and the way she carried that pain seemed to drain the light from her. I couldn't find the words to comfort her anymore. Everything I said felt wrong, insufficient, or worse, like it made things harder for her.

And I wasn't the same either. Jo was spiraling, but so was I. I was drowning in my own silence, swallowing the frustration of failing to fix things—at work, at home, in our lives. Every day felt like a battle to keep my head above water, to keep the façade of strength intact for her sake. But inside, I was crumbling, one piece at a time.

I thought about that day—the day Jo begged me, desperate and broken, to do something I wasn't ready for. I still saw it in her eyes sometimes, the lingering hurt that I'd let her down. It had been a turning point for both of us, pushing us further apart even though we were clinging to each other in our own ways.

But clinging wasn't enough.

Now, everything between us felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter what little remained. I didn't know how to get close to her again. And with every passing day, the gap between us seemed to widen. Yet, I couldn't afford to give in to my own pain. I had to keep it all in—stacking up emotions, failures, and frustrations like bricks in a wall I was building around myself. It was the only way I knew to survive.

My fingers moved across the keyboard faster, my determination kicking in despite the ache in my chest. I couldn't afford to fail. Not here. Not for Jo.

Three hours later, I stood in my boss's office again. He flipped through the updated report, his face unreadable. Finally, he nodded, setting the file aside.

"Good," he said curtly before grabbing his things and walking out, not sparing me a glance.

As I left his office, I felt drained. Emotionally, mentally, physically.

"You need a drink," a familiar voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Jisoo, one of the few people in the office who didn't look at me with pity or scorn.

I hesitated, but then I nodded. "Just one."

At the bar, the dim lighting and low hum of conversations felt oddly comforting. Jisoo handed me a glass, and I downed it in one go, the burn in my throat grounding me for a moment.

"I'm falling apart, man," I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

Jisoo raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Maybe. But you're still here. That counts for something."

I nodded, staring at the empty glass in my hand. "Yeah," I muttered, though I wasn't sure I believed it.

As I sat there, the weight of everything I'd been carrying pressed down harder. I thought about Jo again, about going home to her. I hoped, selfishly, that tonight would be different—that she'd look at me like she used to, that we could find some semblance of normalcy again.

I paid for my drink and left, the cool night air hitting me as I stepped outside. With every step I took toward home, my heart felt heavier.