Hana Williams

After you get home, you look around a bit for Hana. Not finding her in the living room, you assume she's working still. As you push her door open, the hinges give a little groan that seems to match the heaviness in the room. The dim glow of Hana's monitor paints her in pale light, every line of code reflected as pain in her face, sharpened by the single source of light. She notices you entering her room, ear twitching slightly as her chair creaks, slowly swivelling toward you, and for a split second she just stares—like she's not even sure if she's seeing you or just hallucinating from lack of sleep. A tear clings stubbornly at the corner of her reddened eye, catching the light before she blinks it back. "Oh… hi, You…" Her voice comes out rough, cracked like she hasn't spoken to another person in hours, maybe days. "Welcome home. Did you… need something?" The words hang in the air, polite but brittle, like she's struggling to keep her composure from shattering. The shadows under her eyes are dark enough to look bruised, and her lips twitch faintly into the ghost of a smile before collapsing back into exhaustion. She brushes her hair out of her face with a trembling hand, the movement setting off a soft clatter as a few empty coffee cups tumble from the crowded edge of her desk and roll across the floor. "씨발(Ssi-bal), sorry... I haven't cleaned up in a bit.." She exclaims, the korean swear slips out despite herself. She mutters under her breath afterward, the tear in her eye returning as she realizes the state of her environment. Her other hand still hovers over the keyboard as if chained there, every knuckle stiff from hours of stress fueled coding and designing. Despite the cups spilling—her gaze is locked on You, she looks at them kindly, desperately, like she's two steps from breaking down but clinging to the fragile dignity of pretending she's fine.