kalina — ᨳଓ .

“so, where do we start?” he pushed the words out, his attention wavering the moment your eyes met his.

“there was this content from week three that i didn’t really get.” you pushed your laptop to sit more evenly between the two of you. “we can start there.”

jake nodded inwardly, perching the glasses atop his nose a little higher, before silently asking for permission of the laptop in your possession.

with the focus now on the actual task, jake slowly found his previous beating heart find its regular steady pace, and the empty feeling in his stomach fill itself back up. the atmosphere felt less intimate and personal, which was all jake needed to comfortably guide you through whatever content you had struggled with.

time became nonexistent as fifteen minutes gradually became an hour and thirty minutes, which neither of you paid much mind to. still, it was only a matter of time before the numb feeling of you legs would turn noticeably hard to ignore.

“let’s take a break.” you stretched your limbs out before hoisting yourself on your feet, a slight limp kicking in. jake didn’t argue back and found himself pushing his body up onto the sofa behind him where you’d been leaning against.

“stay here, i’ll get us something to drink.” you instructed, and without giving him much of a choice, you turned to exit the room.

your absence prompted jake to finally take a proper look at his surroundings. your living room appeared simple, nothing that stood out or caught his attention.

“wait, jake!” you suddenly called out from the hallway, cutting jake’s tour short. “i want you to meet someone.” your footsteps neared closer, and a plethora of scenarios kicked through his mind.

in the next few seconds, you would turn around the corner with what jake thought might be your partner. or your friend. or maybe even a family member.

you turned the corner to enter into the room, and all of jake’s previous suspicions vanished as a small, fluffy ball of hair entered his vision.

there was a wide grin accompanying your face as you walked over towards the coffee table. “this is my child, clover. isn’t she cute?”

and indeed, jake did believe the bunny staring right at him had to be one of the cutest things he’d seen in a while. his face lit up unknowingly, and you didn’t waste a single second to offer clover in his direction.

jake hesitated, his hands twitching upwards before fully accepting her in his grasp. he wasn’t too sure if he was holding her right, so he resorted to lowering her down onto his lap for good measure.

you took a seat next to him, not too close, but still present enough for jake to look up for a moment before looking back down at the life sat on him.

“hi.” he greeted, his voice coming out breathy. your smile widened, and you watched as jake reached a hand out to pet clover by her ear. “i think she likes you already.” you observed, and the assurance was enough for jake to get more confident with his actions as he started stroking all of her body.

you observed in silent awe. jake seemed suddenly all too caught up in the action of petting your bunny that he forgot about you right next to him. and weirdly enough, the attentiveness, as well as lack of, was something you couldn’t find it within you to break.

there was a certain appeal in what had unfolded in front of you. the view of jake, in the gray hoodie you had grown to know him by, looking down at clover with a genuine smile that appeared too affectionate, as well as the spark in his eyes that seemed almost caring, brought a weird fluttery feeling within your stomach region.

“you’re so cute.” jake had cooed in a whisper, and that same fluttering tickled further for a split moment. jake suddenly looked back up, almost as if remembering your existence before an embarrassed flush grew on his face. “what?” he muttered awkwardly.

you had no words to say back for a good long second. “nothing,” you claimed. “this is just cute to look at.”

jake’s mouth itched to drop wide, but he restrained his urges and instead remained speechless. after all, what could he possibly say back that wouldn’t sound weird?

“should we go back to study?” he diverted instead, stroking the mammal one last time. 

previous masterlist next

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : their slow progress is just so lovely. someone pls tell her that her goal is to get sunghoon. ALSO BIG CHAPTER NEXT WITH BIG AWAITED EVENT…… hoonyn nation be there

You’ve also started to believe that Sunghoon and Jay have developed a personal vendetta against you. To make it sound more complicated, you do not care whether Jake and Riki go to parties, usually waving them off with a simple, “It’s none of my business, do what you want.” Except Jake has stopped going altogether, despite your repeated encouragement for him to exercise his individuality, because apparently he would rather spend his Friday nights watching animal documentaries with you.

No hate from the boys of course, they just think you’ve stolen their man from them.

With that, Jake had also met your father formally a month ago over dinner, even though formally was a loose term considering your father already knew him as the Sim boy from charity galas and those adult conversations where surnames mattered in the financial sense. 

Still, you had done it properly by telling your father ahead of time, warning Riki not to say anything stupid that involved 100 bucks, and also warning Jake not to say anything charming enough that your father would invite him golfing (he did, they have one scheduled next weekend).

The dinner itself had gone well at first. Your father was polite, Jake was polite, Riki, by some divine intervention, managed to go full minutes without mentioning illegal outsourcing or the fact that Jake had once technically been hired to romance you against your knowledge.

For most of the meal, your father asked Jake about school, soccer, his parents, his plans for college, and Jake answered because he’s always been charismatic and charming the way networking was always going to be an easy thing he can do (your dad was already smiling differently at him like he was that golden jackpot son-in-law). He was respectful, but not stiff; confident, but not cocky. He somehow managed to make your father look interested in a conversation that did not involve stocks, real estate, or golf.

The most unsettling part that might have made you twitch a little — mostly because some still really mad part can’t help but act out — your father turned to you and asked about one of your classes, and when you answered, he actually listened. Not the distracted kind of listening he usually did, where his eyes were on his phone and half his attention remained somewhere else. He actually looked at you and asked a follow-up question like he was interested, and not because it was another thing to check off his to-do list. 

You told him about a professor you didn’t like, and he laughed. For a while, it felt normal, and close enough that your chest loosened far more than you would have let it. 

You started thinking that maybe it was not too late. That maybe your relationship with your father was not something permanently broken, maybe things could recover slowly through dinners and questions and laughter that did not need an audience to exist — which was stupid.

Then your father smiled across the table and said, “See? This is good for you. I should’ve gotten you a boyfriend years ago. Maybe you would’ve smiled more and mothered Riki less.”

Then you go back to hating him.

You return to that one crime documentary about the daughter who killed her father and start understanding the cinematography on a deeper level. Especially when he keeps smiling like he did not just undo fifteen minutes of character development and storyline progress.

However, because your life had recently developed the irritating habit of becoming emotionally productive, you did eventually understand what happened. It took a very long conversation with Jake in your room that night, where you sat on your bed with your arms crossed. He was careful not to sound like he was defending your father too much, because he was fond of living.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him,” Jake said.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe he’s trying.”

He did not tell you your father deserved anything or to let it go. He didn’t flatten the years of hurt into one inspirational sentence and expected you to make it easier for a father that made your life harder. He only said that your dad had been home more recently, that he had been asking about your classes, that he had started remembering Riki’s schedule, that maybe it was too late, or maybe it wasn’t, but either way, he was trying.

“But,” he added, “you might want to know what happens if you try too.”

So, against your better judgment and several documentaries, you decided to try his advice. Not because your father had earned a dramatic reunion scene in the rain or because one decent dinner could undo years of making you the emergency contact for everyone’s inconvenience, but because maybe you owed it to yourself too.

So you stopped actively ignoring him when he was in the house, which was a humanitarian effort, really.

You smiled when he entered the kitchen. Sometimes you even stayed there instead of pretending you suddenly had urgent business upstairs, and also answered when he asked about school. You laughed once when he made a decent joke, then immediately regretted encouraging him because he spent the rest of dinner trying to be funny.

You also agreed to play golf with him one of these days, which Riki called “the most disturbing thing he’s ever heard in his life,” and Jake called it “progress”.

The house became slightly less cold in the places where your father stood. Which was how your father ended up hosting another barbecue in the middle of spring.

Someone’s wife had brought pasta salad in a glass container large enough to feed a small province, but most of the guests were still your father’s friends, which meant executives with white hair and expensive watches that actually were there for casual gatherings in t-shirts and shorts.

You had been standing with them for maybe seven minutes because, weirdly enough, you were fond of them. They were like uncles who had seen you grow up, called Riki “little man” even after he outgrew half of them, and still somehow believed you were fourteen.

Mr. Han tilts his head at you like he suddenly remembers something very important. “Do you remember Beomgyu? He’s in college now,” he says, “Business administration. Very sharp boy.”

Another one of your father’s friends nodded beside him. “Good head on his shoulders.”

Mr. Han looks back at you with a smile. “You could learn a few things from him, you know. Business, discipline, networking. He also plays pickleball now,” he adds, like that is meant to sweeten the offer. “Very popular these days.”

“Right,” you say, because what else were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations to Beomgyu and his racket?

Your father, standing a few feet away with a beer in hand, laughs and shakes his head. “Han.” he points at him lightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just saying, they’re around the same age.”

You laugh again, awkward and thin, because this is still technically a barbecue and not a marriage market with grilled meat. “I’m sure Beomgyu is great.”

You take a sip from your cup and consider walking away blatantly right now, until a very familiar arm settles over your shoulders.

“Pickleball?” Jake says easily, stepping into your side like he had been there the whole time. “He’s already where the board members are.”

Your head turns slowly, but Jake does not look at you. He only kept smiling at them, pleasant and entirely shameless. 

That earns him a smile from Mr. Han, then a point with the same hand holding his beer. “Exactly. Smart guy.”

Your father laughs like Jake has just said something personally rewarding to him, then steps closer and claps a hand over his shoulder. “Jake Sim,” he says, and somehow says it with the same pride as he would introduce his favorite child (Jake is his favorite child now). “You know his father.”

Recognition moves through them almost immediately. “Ah,” Mr. Han says, nodding. “Sim’s youngest son.”

“The one in engineering?” another asks.

Jake smiles politely. “Trying to be.”

Your father looks far too pleased. “He’s dating my daughter.”

Then Mr. Han’s expression shifts into something amused and knowing, because old men truly hear two surnames in one sentence and start seeing stock prices. “I see,” he says, looking between you and Jake. “So that’s where your head is at. Very strategic.”

“Tying the families early, aye.” one of the other men says.

Jake’s arm stays around your shoulders, but you feel him laugh under his breath. 

You stare at him, deeply irritated by the fact that he had arrived twenty minutes late and immediately became the most likable person anyway. They started asking him about engineering, golf, and whether he had considered business on the side, and Jake answered smoothly while keeping his arm around your shoulders. Every few seconds, his thumb brushed lightly against your upper arm, calm and absent, as if he had not just inserted himself into the middle of a soft-launch arranged marriage attempt.

You let him talk for another minute, then you step on his shoe when it’s enough.

Jake’s smile does not move, but his arm tightens around you and you can see the slight twitch on his face. “Ow.”

You smile at the men. “Excuse us for a second.”

Before anyone can answer, you take Jake by the wrist and drag him away from the drinks table, past Riki and his girlfriend, who were sitting on the outdoor couch with matching plates of barbecue.

Riki looked up. “Trouble in paradise?”

You ignore him and continue pulling Jake toward the side of the patio, near the narrow space between the house and the garden wall where the noise from the backyard softens. The second you’re out of view, you pinch his side.

Jake flinches, laughing. “Okay, okay.”

“You’re twenty minutes late. You said you were on the way!”

“I was.”

“From where? Another country?”

Jake lifts the paper bag he had been carrying and pulls out a small white box. He watches your face carefully, already trying not to look too pleased with himself when familiarity settles slowly. “Compensation.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What is that?”

“Open it.”

Your suspicion weakens immediately, which is unfortunate and frankly humiliating. You take the box from him and open it to find the dessert you like from the bakery across town, the one that was annoying to get because parking was terrible and the line was always long for being a local icon.

You look up at him. “You drove across town?”

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant but his perfectly straight teeth are flashing you already. “They had one left.”

You try to keep glaring at him, but the dessert is sitting pretty in your hands and he’s looking at you like he knows exactly how close he is to forgiveness. You hate that a smile is threatening to curve on your lips, so you shove the box against his chest instead. “You’re still late.”

He steps closer, smiling softly now. “But compensated?”

You look up to argue, but he’s already leaning in. His hand comes to your waist first, gentle and sure, and then he kisses your forehead.

He pulls back with the smallest smile. “Hi.”

You stare at him, though with a glare. And because you’re a woman of discipline and emotional restraint, you pinch his side again, which makes him laugh and catch your hand before you can do it a third time. 

Jake looks down at you, still smiling. He lifts the hand he already caught, turns it over, and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

By the time the two of you return to the backyard, the whole place has settled into something warmer and looser. The adults are spread across the patio with beer bottles and paper plates, sunglasses pushed into white hair, laughing too loudly. 

You stay close to Jake without thinking too much about it. Sometimes your shoulder leans briefly into his when one of your father’s friends makes a joke. Or sometimes Jake’s arm is around the back of your chair while you eat the dessert he brought you, his body angled toward yours without even noticing it.

When you reach the grill, your father immediately starts explaining some trick about heat zones, and Jake listens because he is apparently very committed to being everyone’s favorite. He demonstrates what he learned by shifting a few pieces of meat to the side and saying something about indirect heat and the physics behind it.

For about six minutes, it works — until one side comes out almost burnt. He gives you a wounded look, which you ignore.

Eventually, the two of you end up in the lounge area by the pool with Riki, his girlfriend, and a few other people around your age. The outdoor couches are low and wide, arranged under the shade with plates balanced on knees, bowls of fruit on the table, ribs stacked on paper trays, and drinks sweating in the heat. 

Everyone talks to one of your family friends about college plans, thumb moving slowly as an absent habit now. You lean back against the armrest with a plate of fruit in your hands, listening while Riki complains about how everyone keeps asking what course he wants to take as if your father hasn’t already pretty much decided his career trajectory and started informing stakeholders.

The backyard is warm, the pool is bright under the spring sun, Riki is happy beside his girlfriend, and Jake is sitting there with your legs over his lap. Every now and then, when he thinks no one is looking, he leans in close enough to kiss your temple or the side of your head, quick and quiet, like he still enjoys getting away with it.

You keep telling him people can see. He keeps doing it anyway.

In the middle of one of the most boring stories ever told, a familiar voice comes from behind you.

“Don’t tell me Nishimura finally brought out the famous ribeye.”

You go still.

Your whole body reacts before your brain fully catches up, your shoulders dropping, your face changing so quickly that Jake notices it before he even turns his head. One second you are beside him, half-listening to someone talk about golf club renovations, and the next, you are staring past everyone like a celebrity just walked back into the yard.

A guy stands a few feet away from the lounge area, sunglasses pushed into his hair, one hand in his pocket, smiling beside his father, whom he has very clearly outgrown in height.

You literally gasp. Riki looks up too, and his expression shifts with recognition.

The guy’s smile widens when he sees you. “There she is.”

You do not even think (that is the first strange thing).

You just stand so fast the plate of fruit almost tips from your hand, set it down somewhere without looking, and cross the space in three steps. He opens his arms at the same time, like he already knows you are coming, and you walk straight into them.

It is not a polite hug, first and foremost.

Not one of those stiff family-friend greetings where everyone performs affection for the parents watching. It is both arms, no hesitation, your face pressed briefly into his shoulder, his hand landing at the back of your head for half a second before sliding to your upper back.

Woahh.

The kind of hug that says this has happened a lot before. The kind of hug that does not ask permission because, at some point in your life, permission had already been given.

Jake stays seated. His hand, still resting near the arm of your chair, slowly curls against nothing.

Because you do not hug people like that.

You barely hug your own father without looking like you are surviving an obligation. You act like affection is something to tolerate, not step into. But here you are, laughing into some guy’s shoulder like your body remembers him before you remember to be difficult.

The guy leans back first, still holding your arms lightly as he looks at you. “You got prettier.”

You hit his chest immediately. “Shut up.”

And you smile, which isn’t polite nor controlled, not the little smug one you give Jake when you know you have won something.

Jake’s hand, now empty on his lap, curls once against his knee.

Riki stops talking mid-sentence when he realizes who it was, his girlfriend also looks. The guy laughs as he holds you. “Wait,” he says. “Did you get taller?”

Your smile drops. “Shut up. You know I’ve been this height since I was fifteen.”

He laughs, then reaches up and ruffles your hair.

Jake’s eye twitches because as far as he knows, that was his thing that he can only do to you. Turns out he doesn’t know a lot at all!

You laugh, and Jake’s mouth stays in a polite line while he psychoanalyzes the guy that got to tease your height, hug you, touch you, and mess your hair — which feels like a shit ton of information to process right now. The guy finally lets you go, but he keeps one hand briefly at your shoulder, squeezing once with old familiarity. 

“I missed you, scary girl.”

Now he gets to say I miss you?

You giggle again, softer this time, before you ask him about college, about where he’s staying now, about whether business school has successfully humbled him. He tells you he’s fighting back with bad expectations that hit his pressure points. You ask about his mother, his younger sister, the dog they used to bring over when you were kids, and he answers each one easily, like no time has passed at all and the two years between you was nothing.

Jake stays seated for another second, not because he is upset.

Obviously not.

He is a mature and reasonable person, someone who understands that family friends exist and that not every man who hugs his girlfriend needs to be interrogated the way you used to with people.

Still, the way you keep smiling at him feels like he needs to be the way you used to operate. He’d really appreciate it by asking his background prior to the name.

Before Jake can stand, Riki clears his throat beside you. “Wow,” he says flatly. “No one missed me?”

The guy looks over at him, and his face brightens again. “No way.”

They do the manly dap up, pulling him into one of those half-hug greetings boys do. “Little Rik,” he says, laughing. “You’re as tall as me now?”

Riki immediately stands straighter. “Taller, actually.”

“You were literally up to my shoulder last time I saw you.”

You laugh, and Riki points at the guy like this is a legal offense. “See, this is why I didn’t miss you.”

“You definitely missed me.”

“I missed your mom’s cooking.”

The whole thing is familiar in a way that makes the air around you shift, because it’s lived in and the exact setting that didn’t make you feel out of place before. It’s the kind of familiar that does not need explanation, because Riki is smiling, you are laughing too easily, and the guy fits in like someone who used to belong there.

Riki glances at you when the other one’s distracted, eyes moving from you to Jake, then back to you with the expression of someone saying, Are you stupid?

“Oh,” you say, turning quickly.

Jake smiles when your eyes find him, but there is something slightly off about it. Unfortunately, you don’t notice things when you’re too excited.

“Jake,” you say, reaching a hand toward him. “Come here.”

He does. Very normally, or at least that is what he tells himself.

You glance between them, still smiling in a way that is not exactly helping Jake’s current emotional stability. “Jake, this is Hyunjin,” you say. “My childhood friend.”

Hyunjin turns to him fully.

“And Hyunjin,” you continue, shifting closer until your hand brushes Jake’s arm, casual but clear. “This is Jake.”

You pause for half a second.

“My boyfriend.”

For a second, Hyunjin only stares, then his jaw drops. “No way.” he points at Jake, then at you, looking genuinely stunned in a way that is far too dramatic. “Someone is dating you?”

You scoff, offended. “What the fuck?”

“No, I mean, good for him.” Hyunjin looks Jake over, then nods like he is congratulating someone for surviving a difficult licensing exam. “Brave guy.”

Hyunjin then steps forward, offering his hand, which Jake takes and it immediately turns it into another dap. Jake follows smoothly because he is Jake Sim, and because social skills do not abandon him just because his girlfriend has apparently been hugging men from her childhood with the comfort of a weighted blanket.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Hyunjin says.

“You too,” Jake answers.

Usually, Jake’s charm comes easily.

It is one of the more irritating things about him, actually. He can walk into a room where nobody knows him and somehow make himself feel familiar within ten minutes. Warm smile, easy laugh, eye contact, just enough confidence to make people comfortable without making them want to humble him.

Today, however, that version of Jake has apparently taken the afternoon off.

He stands beside you, smiling when he is supposed to, nodding when Hyunjin says something, but none of it lands right. The timing is there, as well as the expression, so technically, the boyfriend is functioning.

Emotionally, he is not.

You are too distracted to notice, too caught in the weird rush of Hyunjin being there at all, of seeing someone who knew the house before it became something you had to manage. Before Riki became less like your brother and more like your full-time unpaid internship, and before your father became someone you even ever had to forgive.

Hyunjin looks around the backyard like he still knows the map of it.

That is what Jake notices first.

Not just the hug, though God knows he noticed the hug. He noticed the way you walked straight into it without thinking, the way your face pressed briefly into Hyunjin’s shoulder, the way his hand landed at the back of your head like he had touched you there before and survived it.

Jake noticed all of that.

But now Hyunjin is looking around your backyard and naming things. Small and stupid things that should not matter, except they come out of Hyunjin’s mouth like he has had them stored somewhere safe for years.

And you smile, not polite nor amused in the controlled way you get when someone makes an unfunny joke. It is easier and younger than that. A smile Jake has seen before, but rarely, and usually only after working very hard to earn it.

Hyunjin gets it by remembering a broken swing.

Great. Fantastic. Jake was hoping for exactly that.

He smiles too, because everyone else is smiling, and he is not insane. He is perfectly normal.

Hyunjin knows things Jake does not.

That is normal too — obviously. People have histories, childhood friends exist, memories do not expire just because someone gets a boyfriend.

Jake knows this. He also hates knowing this.

Hyunjin looks back at you with sudden recognition, like another memory has just come loose. “Do you still know how to make your mom’s mango strawberry smoothie?”

Your smile shifts before you can stop it.

It goes softer, sadder at the edges, like the memory has touched something old enough to still hurt. The word mom has always existed in your house like a glass sitting too close to the edge of a table. Everyone knows it is there, and they move carefully around it. Nobody wants to be the person who knocks it over.

But Hyunjin says it so easily.

You let out a small laugh, looking down at the cup in your hand. “I haven’t made that in years.”

Hyunjin’s face warms with the memory. “Your mom used to make a whole pitcher every time we came over.”

Jake smiles because everyone else smiles.

Normal boyfriend behavior. Healthy. Stable. Very mature.

Except Hyunjin knows what your mother made when the house still sounded like children running around and someone calling from the kitchen. Hyunjin knows your mother as a person who made pitchers of smoothies, who had routines people can remember without making the room go quiet.

Jake only knows her through half-sentences you never finish.

My mom used to… I don’t know, it’s not important.

And then you stop every time.

Jake has never pushed because he knows better. He knows that part of you is locked, and he has been standing outside it with both hands in his pockets, pretending patience does not ache.

Then Hyunjin walks in and the door opens.

Not for Jake. For him.

Jake looks down at his shoes and decides, very calmly, that he possibly hates fruit as a category.

“You should make it again sometime,” Hyunjin says, still smiling. “I’ve been craving it for years.”

You look at him, and for a second, you seem younger and smaller, somehow — but never weak. Just closer to a version of yourself Jake has only ever met in pieces.

You shrug, trying to make it nothing. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin leans back. “I’d pay good money.”

“You cannot afford me.”

He laughs as you laugh. Jake also makes a sound that might count as laughter.

Before Hyunjin can answer, your father calls him from across the yard. He excuses himself with a small laugh, stepping away from the lounge area and toward the adults. His father is already near yours by the grill, both of them smiling like they are about to discuss something boring and expensive.

You turn toward Jake then, finally. Your hand comes to his arm, fingers rubbing lightly over his sleeve. “I’ll just go over there for a bit,” you say. “Catch up with the old men.”

You are smiling at him, a little apologetically, like you know you got swept up in seeing Hyunjin again and are trying to make sure Jake does not feel forgotten.

Which should help (it does not). Jake is currently very aware of the fact that your hand is on his arm, but your attention is already halfway across the yard.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “Go.”

Your smile softens. “I’ll be quick.”

Hyunjin says your name from across the yard, and your head turns immediately. You squeeze his arm once, then walk away.

He watches you go because, unfortunately, he has eyes and no survival instinct.

You slide easily into the small circle with your father, Hyunjin, and Hyunjin’s dad. Your father laughs almost instantly at something Hyunjin says, clapping him once on the shoulder with that proud, familiar affection that makes Jake’s jaw tighten before he can stop it. Hyunjin’s father gestures between you and Hyunjin with his beer bottle, saying something that makes you roll your eyes and smile anyway.

Jake stands there, suddenly feeling very stupid.

Great. Really great.

He returns to the lounge area with Riki beside him, sits down, and reaches for the beer on the table. He takes a long drink, which Riki watches over the rim of his cup. “Damn. Slow down, man.”

Jake lowers the bottle, eyes still across the yard. “I’m fine.”

Across the yard, Hyunjin says something to your father. Your father laughs again. You stand between them with your arms crossed, smiling in that slightly exasperated way Jake loves.

He takes another drink, deeply bothered by a conversation that does not involve him. His jaw tightens, fidgeting with the bottle in his fingers. “They seem really close.”

Riki grimaces immediately before he picks up a piece of fruit from the bowl, mostly so he has something to do with his hands while choosing exactly what words to say. “Yeah, our families were really close.” he gestures vaguely with the fruit, like that should explain anything. “Our parents used to joke about them getting married after college.”

Jake goes very still.

“Mostly joke,” Riki adds, which is somehow worse.

The backyard noise continues around them, and Jake watches it happen with the emotional stability of a man reading his own autopsy report. Because he feels like he’s dying as they speak right now, as Hyunjin looks at you with a smile because he was never scared of you. 

“What does that mean?” he asks.

Riki makes a face. “I mean, our dads were close. Same circles, same charity things, same boring conversations about properties and expansion and whatever. They thought it would be good if the families stayed connected.”

“Through marriage.”

“It was rich business people insane, yeah,” Riki says, like this is an important legal distinction. “They kind of kept pushing her to date him.”

The sentence fucks Jake up with a fucking Ak up his ass at this point, and the trigger pulls when he hears Hyunjin laughing with your father over the goddamn music.

Family plans, apparently, that involve marriage jokes the adults obviously actually meant.

“She thought it was stupid. Hyunjin too, I think. They were close, but not like that.”

Jake says nothing.

Riki leans forward a little, lowering his voice. “Bro, I’m telling you this as someone who has made many mistakes involving your relationship and a couple hundred dollars. Don’t be dumb.”

Jake exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I’m not being dumb.”

Riki looks at him for a second longer, then slowly glances at the beer bottle in his hand. “Okay.”

Jake leans back into the cushions, which is not the body language of a man doing well. It is the body language of a man who has decided to sink into outdoor furniture and let spring swallow him whole. He keeps his eyes across the yard, watching you talk with your father, Hyunjin, and his dad like this is all very normal and not a psychological test.

Beside him, Riki and his girlfriend have gone back to their own conversation, which should be less irritating because it has nothing to do with him, except they have started doing that thing where they speak quietly and smile too much at each other. Jake watches it happen for three seconds and then takes another drink.

He has a decent tolerance, usually. But apparently his tolerance does not account for emotional sabotage through childhood friends and smoothie history, because after almost half an hour, his head starts to feel pleasantly unclear in a way that is not helpful at all. 

Across the yard, Hyunjin says something that makes you laugh again. That makes Jake look down at the bottle in his hand and decide the beer is responsible for the shitty jerk in his chest.

“Dude,” Riki says.

His girlfriend looks at the bottle, then at Jake, with gentle concern. “Maybe slow down?”

Jake sits up a little. “I’m slowed. And comfortable.”

“And very obvious too.”

Before Jake can respond, your shadow falls over him. You are standing in front of the couch with one hand on your hip, eyes moving from his face to the bottle in his hand, then back again. “What are you doing?” you ask.

“Sitting.”

You narrow your eyes at Jake, and he smiles up at you like he is very normal and not currently being held together by jealousy, ribs, and fermented grain. Then your hand reaches down for his. “Come on.”

He looks at your hand, then at you. “Where?”

“We’re playing billiards.”

Riki sits up while Jake processes that that was an actual sentence said to him. “Dad’s table?”

“Hyunjin brought it up.”

Riki’s girlfriend brightens a little. “That sounds fun.”

You tug Jake’s hand. “Up.”

He lets you pull him to his feet, mostly because refusing would be suspicious and also because your hand is warm around his. The moment he stands, the yard tilts for half a second, though not badly — just enough that he becomes very aware of the fact that maybe he should have listened when Riki’s girlfriend told him to slow down.

You notice immediately, your hand tightening around his. “Are you okay?”

Jake nods. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He nods again, then leans down before you can say anything else. His forehead brushes yours, warm and a little unsteady, though his smile is still soft enough to make your concern shift into something else.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just missed you.”

You blink before you giggle, which is probably unfair to him. Your hand lifts to his cheek, palm settling against his very warm skin. His eyes are focused on you with that specific heaviness that makes your suspicion return immediately. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” His smile grows slightly, lazy at the edges. “I just feel warm around you.”

Riki makes a noise from the couch. “That was disgusting.”

His girlfriend elbows him lightly. “It was cute.”

You ignore them and press a kiss to Jake’s other cheek, mostly because he is being stupid and warm and looking at you like you are the only thing in the backyard that has managed to make sense all afternoon.

He stares at you with a strange, softened expression, because you’re softer today. Somewhere in the reasonable part of his mind, Jake understands that you are allowed to be sweet to him without it becoming a federal mystery. You are his girlfriend.

Still, it feels different right now. It has no resistance in it, no insult tucked into the corner, no eye roll, no little shove afterward. Just your hand on his cheek and your mouth against the other, easy and warm — which should make Jake happy. Unfortunately, it also makes him suspicious, because apparently jealousy has turned him into someone who sees affection and thinks it’s too easily given.

Did Hyunjin do this?

That is an insane thought.

Did seeing Hyunjin make you softer? Did laughing with someone from before make the house feel easier? Did remembering your mother through mango strawberry smoothies loosen something in you that Jake has been trying, carefully and quietly, to reach for months?

Was Hyunjin the reason you were smiling like this? Was Hyunjin the emotional WD-40?

Terrible thought. Horrible and deeply undignified.

Jake smiles, but it comes out bitter and sharp at the edges. “Why are you so happy?” he asks.

For a second, the backyard noise fades strangely around you. “What?”

“I mean,” he says, then stops. “You just. You look really happy.”

Your brows pull together. “And that’s bad?”

“No,” Jake says quickly. “No, it’s not bad.”

He should say more after that, like something normal, preferably. But nothing comes to the brain that’s usually reliable enough for charm and math and conversations, which simply sits there with its hands folded.

Your expression stays confused for a moment longer before you sigh. You pat his chest once, light and dismissive, but your mouth still curves a little like you do not fully mind him being weird. “Come on, you’re on my team.”

The pool table sits in the sunroom. Riki picks the least chipped cue stick, and immediately starts chalking it like he is about to get serious. Jake, for the first time in thirty minutes, feels something close to purpose. 

Because billiards, he can do.

Billiards is math, angles, force, control, clean shots — his area. This is where he can stop being a jealous idiot with a beer bottle and start being impressive again. A man with skill and composure, a man whose girlfriend will watch him sink a perfect shot and remember that he is, in fact, her boyfriend.

You pick up a cue stick and walk around the table, studying the rack like you know exactly what you are doing. Jake watches, already softening despite himself, because you look focused in that way that always makes him want to kiss you and also stay out of your path. A complicated emotional position, but he has adapted.

“You’re breaking?” Hyunjin asks, amused.

You glance at him. “Do you have a problem?”

“No,” he says. “I just remember how bad you were.”

You hit Hyunjin lightly with the back of your stick, just against his arm, and he laughs like he expected it. Worse, he looks at you while laughing, like getting hit by you is part of the experience he’s so familiar with.

Terrible start for Jake, actually. He feels like he’s breaking.

You scoff and turn back to the table, leaning down to line up your shot. Jake’s attention immediately gets divided between your form, Hyunjin’s face, and the strong moral belief that Hyunjin should stop knowing things.

You break the rack, the cue ball hits the triangle, the balls scatter weakly, and all the balls stop nowhere near a pocket. For half a second, everyone is quiet, until Hyunjin laughs so obnoxiously loud.

You turn and point the cue at him. “I will hit you harder.”

Great. Jake’s convinced you’re actually hitting on each other.

Jake steps forward, calm and polite and completely deranged in a quiet way he never ever is. “Solids or stripes?”

You look at the table. “We haven’t decided teams.”

“I thought you said I was on your team.”

“I did. But we’re five—”

“Good.” Jake circles the table once, assessing the layout with too much seriousness for a backyard game. “Then we’re solids.”

And that makes the room go quiet, horribly quiet enough that you make eye contact with Riki. Neither of you says anything, but the conversation is clear.

You turn back to Jake, trying not to look amused before the game even really began. He leans over the table, lines up his shot, and hits the cue ball cleanly. One of the solids drops into the corner pocket.

Hyunjin lets out a low whistle. “Okay.”

Jake lines up the next shot and sinks another one.

Riki looks at you. “Your boyfriend’s kind of intense right now.”

You look at Jake, who is already walking around the table with his cue in hand, studying angles like there is money on the line. “I’ve noticed.”

Jake misses the third shot by a little, the ball knocking against the edge of the pocket before rolling away. He straightens, jaw working once like the table has betrayed him.

Hyunjin steps forward. “My turn?”

Jake moves aside with a polite little gesture. “Go ahead.”

Hyunjin takes his shot and gets one stripe in, clean enough that he looks pleased with himself to even look at you. “See? Still got it.”

Riki reacts. “You’re pretty good.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Used to play here.”

Jake’s hand tightens around his cue because of course Hyunjin used to play here, of course the pool table has lore, of course every object in this house has apparently been emotionally notarized before Jake ever arrived in your life.

Hyunjin laughs, and Jake decides, with full awareness of his own pettiness, that he now has to beat him badly.

Hyunjin then leans for his next shot, although this one he misses. 

Jake says, very calmly, “Tough angle.”

Hyunjin looks at him, amused. “Was it?”

You step up next, deciding to ignore all the tension that’s not supposed to be there, and lean over the table to line up your shot. Jake watches from beside you, one hand around his cue as you hit the cue ball, and it rolls past the pocket by barely an inch.

Jake immediately steps closer. “You rushed it,” he says.

You stare at him for a second, already irritated. “Did I ask?”

Hyunjin, leaning against his cue on the other side of the table, smiles a little and says, “Yeah, she hates being coached.”

Jake looks at him only for a second, but you catch it. The quick glance, the small clench in his jaw, the way he immediately looks back down at the table like he is trying to make his face behave.

“I know,” Jake says.

Riki’s girlfriend clears her throat, probably sensing that the room needs another person to do literally anything else. She reaches for Riki’s cue and steps forward. “My turn!”

She leans over the table, takes barely three seconds to aim, and hits the cue ball cleanly. One of the solids rolls straight into the side pocket.

Riki immediately stands straighter. “Yup. That’s my girl.”

You laugh, and his girlfriend looks pleased in that quiet way, trying not to smile too much while Riki points at the table like he contributed to the shot through moral support.

Jake goes next when she misses the next. He gets one in, of course, because physics is on his side the way emotional instability isn’t. The next shot does not go as well though, it hits the edge of the pocket then rolls away.

You make a small sound to tease. “Tragic.”

That gets the smallest real smile out of him, which feels like progress until Riki takes his turn and misses so badly the cue ball barely touches anything. Everyone laughs at once, and he turns to his girlfriend immediately like he needs major reassurance that she still thinks he’s attractive.

“That was the table,” he says.

She pats his arm. “Sure.”

Your turn comes again after that, so you move around the table, trying to ignore the fact that Hyunjin is watching with that amused little look like he already knows whether you are going to miss.

You lean down and study the shot, and Hyunjin shifts beside the table. “If you angle it a little more to the left, you might get it.”

Jake moves before you can answer and you feel him behind you before he speaks. “Not left,” he says, voice calm. “You’ll hit the stripe first.”

He’s close enough now that you can smell the beer on him, faint beneath his cologne, so when you look at him over your shoulder you see him watching you carefully, waiting for you to decide whether he gets to stay there.

For a second, neither of you says anything, and somehow the whole sentence is there anyway.

You look at him a moment longer, still mildly irritated, then you turn back to your shot without telling him to move away. Because that is answer enough.

Jake steps in quietly behind you, careful now. He does not crowd you, but he is close enough that his chest nearly brushes your back when he leans over to see the angle. “A little straighter,” he says, low enough that it feels meant only for you. “Not hard. Just follow through.”

You let him adjust the angle, his fingers brushing yours for half a second. It is stupid, how warm your face feels from something that is technically just billiards advice. Stupid, and very inconvenient, and unfortunately not helped by the way Jake’s voice drops when he says, “There. You’re good.”

You stare at the ball. “You smell like beer.”

He smiles behind you, his hand still on yours. “Focus, baby.”

No one else sees it, mostly because everyone else is looking at the table. Jake's other hand drops briefly to your butt, giving it a quick smack before he steps back like he did absolutely nothing.

You freeze for half a second, warmth curling in your abdomen. But you pay him no mind: you shoot. The ball rolls cleanly across the felt and drops into the pocket.

You straighten immediately, refusing to look too pleased. "I would've done that anyway."

When you glance at Jake, it is only for one second but he sees the warmth on your face, the way you look away too quickly, and the tiny effort it takes for you to pretend you are completely unaffected. His smile settles softer, but there is still something smug at the edge of it.

“Of course,” he says.

Jake only smiles and steps closer when you line up for the next shot. This time, you let him hover without making a comment, mostly because the last one went in and you are unfortunately results-oriented. He leans in just enough to look at the angle, one hand resting on the table while the other points lightly near the cue ball.

“A little softer this time,” he says.

“I know.”

“Okay, sorry.”

Still, you take the shot the way he suggests. The cue ball hits yours cleanly, but the angle is off by a fraction, and the ball taps the edge of the pocket before rolling away.

He hums, very softly, but no coaching because he knows you know. 

Hyunjin takes his turn after that, still amused but smart enough not to say anything about whatever just happened. He leans over, lines up the shot, and sinks one of the stripes cleanly. He straightens, grinning. “Watch and learn.”

You scoff. “Luck.”

Jake steps in beside you suddenly, though not abruptly, his arm slides around your waist again, a hand settling low at your stomach. He does not even look down when he does it, he just keeps his eyes on the table, calm and unreadable.

You look at him though he keeps his gaze at the table, nodding when Hyunjin gets it. “Nice shot.”

Hyunjin glances at Jake’s arm around you, then at his face, and Hyunjin’s mouth curves like he is trying not to laugh. “Thanks.”

You lean your shoulder back against Jake’s chest for one second, just enough for him to feel it. When Hyunjin misses the next shot, Jake’s thumb moves once over the fabric of your shirt. 

You do not look at him when you say, “Your turn.” 

Jake’s mouth curves near your temple, like he doesn’t want it to be his turn yet. 

“Impress us.”

“Us?”

You glance at him now. “Me.”

He looks at you for a second longer, and the jealousy does not disappear, not entirely, but it goes quiet. Then he steps away from you, lines up his shot, and sinks the next solid with the kind of calm that makes Riki groan into his drink.

Jake lines up for the next shot with that calm, focused look on his face, which lasts all of three seconds before Riki says something from the side of the table purely to be irritating. It works, because Jake’s shot goes slightly wide and misses the pocket by a long way.

He straightens slowly and looks at him. Riki looks back with his drink halfway to his mouth, suddenly pretending innocence while Jake lifts the cue slightly in his direction to suggest that being hit with the equipment has been a possibility.

Riki’s girlfriend takes her turn, because honestly she has been quietly carrying the game while everyone else deals with whatever strange male pride thing has started happening around the pool table.

You are standing near the side, waiting for your next turn, when Hyunjin ends up on your left and Jake ends up on your right. It is not intentional, probably, but it feels intentional enough that you notice the way they both stand a little too straight beside you.

Hyunjin glances past you toward Jake. “You’re pretty good. You play a lot?”

Jake leans lightly against his cue. “Enough.”

Hyunjin nods. “Could tell.”

“Yeah?”

“You take it seriously.”

Jake’s smile stays polite. “Yeah,” Jake says. “Usually depends who I’m playing against.”

You look between them and see that they’re both smiling, but neither smile is friendly enough to be trusted or even be remotely comfortable to be sandwiched between.

Hyunjin shifts his cue from one hand to the other. “Well, this table has a way of humbling people, so,”

Jake glances at the table, then back at him. “Must be nice. Having all that history with the table.”

Hyunjin laughs under his breath, because that one lands exactly where it is supposed to. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Jake looks at him with the kind of pleasant expression that would pass anywhere else. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Hyunjin raises his brows, more amused that he expected to be.

The silence after that is not long, but it has enough weight to be embarrassing. You roll your eyes. “You’re both acting like kids.”

Hyunjin looks at you, brows knitting like he has no idea what you mean. “What? It’s just small brotherly banter.”

Jake laughs, but it’s cleaner and flatter, polite enough to pass but not warm to belong to him. “Yeah,” Jake says, still smiling. “It is.”

You ignore them, mostly because they are right and you hate that. Then you point your cue toward the table. “Can I take my shot now, or do you two need to finish whatever this is?”

Hyunjin steps back immediately, hands raised. Jake steps back too, quieter. “All yours.”

You take your shot without either of them telling you what to do. The cue ball rolls cleanly across the felt, clips the solid at the right angle, and sends it straight into the corner pocket. You then line up the next one, hitting it softly, and it drops into the side pocket.

Hyunjin laughs. “No coaching needed, then.”

You glance at him, but only briefly, because your eyes move to Jake almost on instinct.

For the record, you do not even mean to do it. You just look at him first, like his reaction is the one that matters most. So when your eyes find his, something in his expression shifts — a bit smug and pleased.

He lifts his brows slightly. “Nice.”

You try not to smile. “Just nice?”

Jake’s mouth curves. “You want more?”

You roll your eyes before the smile can fully happen and shove lightly at his arm. Jake barely moves, but he looks very pleased anyway, which is the problem with him.

The game continues for multiple rounds like that for a while, with everyone getting less serious and somehow worse at the same time. Hyunjin keeps making comments under his breath whenever you line up a shot, Jake keeps giving advice only when you let him, and Riki keeps acting like the table is shitty and therefore needs to be replaced. His girlfriend, unfortunately for his pride, remains the best player by accident, sinking balls with very little effort while Riki stands beside her looking proud of achievements that are not his.

At some point, Hyunjin flicks Riki off after Riki calls one of his shots ugly. Riki flicks him off back, misses his next turn completely, and then has the nerve to blame the table again.

It gets easier after that. People laugh more, the adults call over from the patio every now and then, and Jake actually exchanges a few light messages with the childhood memory shape of a man. Once when Riki took a shot, the cue ball clips the edge of one ball, ricochets wrong, hits the side rail too hard, and somehow jumps slightly before bouncing off the table entirely.

By the time your turn comes around again, the game is barely organized with exhaustion. You lean over the table, aim for the 8-ball, and hit the cue ball carefully. It rolls cleanly across the felt, catches the ball just right, and sends it into the corner pocket with a neat little drop.

Hyunjin claps once, grinning. “Wow. Good job, scary girl.”

You laugh, still pleased from the shot, and Hyunjin lifts his fist toward you. It is automatic enough that you meet it without thinking, knuckles tapping lightly against his before you turn back to the table, still smiling like the whole thing is nothing.

Jake watches it happen, obviously, because it’s not like he can’t.

It is literally a fist bump, an action so harmless it should not mean anything at all. There is no reason for it to land wrong — but it does.

Because you and Hyunjin are apparently a team now. You and Jake won the round, you are on Jake’s team, you chose him, you looked at him first after your shot, you let him help you, and he knows that because he saw it with his own two eyes, which are currently being extremely unhelpful.

Still, Hyunjin says a childhood petname, and you laugh because he doesn’t annoy you. 

Jake should feel like he won, but for some reason, he feels like he just lost.

He sets his cue back against the wall a little too hard, loud enough that you guys look over immediately. Jake ignores it, already stepping away from the table and pushing a hand through his hair like he is only hot from the weather and not quietly becoming unwell near recreational furniture. “I’m gonna check on the food,” he says.

You turn toward him, smile still half-there. “What?”

But Jake is already moving, not even sparing you a proper glance before he steps out and heads toward the grill.

For a second, you just watch him go. He is standing near the grill now, beside your father, who is talking to him about something with tongs in hand. Jake nods at the right places, smiles when he is supposed to, but even from where you stand, something about it looks off. 

Hyunjin looks genuinely confused, which makes the whole thing worse because he really has not done anything wrong. He only showed up, hugged you, remembered too much, and existed near your boyfriend too much.

His mouth curves, but gently this time. “He jealous?”

You stare at Jake. “No. He doesn’t get jealous,” you say, like that settles it. “He’s not insecure.”

Hyunjin shrugs, clearly not convinced but smart enough not to argue with a woman who is already looking mildly irritated. “Okay.”

You look over at Riki instead, who’s standing near the edge of the pool table with his girlfriend beside him, both of them suddenly very invested in doing nothing. Riki meets your eyes for half a second, then looks away with the exact expression of someone who knows something and would rather be medically sedated than involved.

So you give up and cross the yard.

Jake is apparently left in charge of the meat while your father has gone inside to get more sauce. He stands there with the tongs in one hand, eyes on the lamb chop, and when he realizes you’re near, he does not look at you right away, but you see it anyway. The slight pout sitting at his mouth, the stubborn set of his jaw, the very obvious attempt at looking unbothered.

You stop beside him and glance at the grill. “Dad trusts you enough with this?”

Jake flips one piece of meat and does not answer. You wait but he keeps looking at the grill, clearly more invested in it than he is with your presence.

You slowly tilt your head. “Are you ignoring me?”

Jake exhales through his nose, still not looking at you. “Thought you were busy entertaining your fan club.”

There it is.

You blink once, then press your lips together because laughing feels dangerous. Not because it would hurt him, exactly, but because Jake looks genuinely annoyed, and it is made about ten times worse by the fact that he is holding tongs and standing beside barbecue like a wounded suburban husband.

“My fan club?” you repeat.

He finally looks at you, and the pout is still there, faint but visible enough to ruin his entire case. “Yeah.”

You stare at him. “Hyunjin?”

He looks back at the grill. He flips another rib, then immediately frowns at it. “He’s nice.”

You scoff. “He is.”

“Great.”

You look away to hide the smile that starts pulling at your mouth, because there is no possible way you are letting him know that his sulking is doing anything except making him look ridiculous.

His jaw shifts, and he turns one of the meats again with far too much attention for someone who is not emotionally projecting onto barbecue. “Do you two always act like that?”

You look back at him. “That’s very specific.”

Jake gives you a look, then immediately looks back at the grill, because apparently maintaining eye contact during jealousy is where he draws the line. “You know what I mean.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “Yeah, kind of. We grew up together.”

He scoffs loudly and dramatically. “Right,” he says, tongs clicking once against the tray. “I almost forgot.”

You stare at the side of his face. “Jake, you sound insane.”

He gives the grill another unnecessary look. “Wow. Good to know.”

You press your lips together again, because now you are definitely trying not to laugh. It is not funny, technically. Your boyfriend is clearly upset, and you should be taking that seriously. But he is also standing there in front of your father’s grill, pouting at lamb chops because another guy called you a childhood nickname.

Jake looks over at Hyunjin across the yard, long enough to make himself worse.

Hyunjin is standing by the pool table still, laughing at something Riki says, his posture easy, his expression relaxed, the whole package annoyingly well-adjusted. He is older than both of you by maybe two years, which is not a lot, but apparently enough for Jake’s brain to start acting like Hyunjin is far more superior in your type list.

You like responsible people. Hyunjin is responsible, the kind that comes with business school and a clean laugh. He also has seniority, not just some random guy trying to impress you now. He is the original file, the older family-friend version, the one who knew you when you were a child, when Riki was small enough to be called Little Rik without irony, and when your mom was still around.

Jake has spent four months learning how to be close to you, and Hyunjin had a decade-long free trial.

Terrible. Unfair. 

Jake looks back at the grill and flips one meat with unnecessary aggression and drama.

You see all of it and before you can say anything, Hyunjin appears beside you.

He stands there with both hands on his hips, looking far too casual for someone walking into a situation that already has smoke coming off it — emotionally and literally. “Riki and his girlfriend want to try your mom’s smoothie thing,” he says. “You should make it.”

Jake goes very still and then he sighs so loudly that it sounds like he has just been asked to blend his own downfall with ice and honey and evidence, right in front of your father’s grill.

You look at him quickly, but his eyes don’t meet yours.

Hyunjin, unfortunately, does not seem to realize he has just thrown a grenade into the barbecue area and asked if anyone wants a straw. “If you still remember how.”

You open your mouth, but your father comes back at the same time, sauce mixture in hand, completely oblivious to the fact that the three of you are standing in a very strange triangle of old history, jealousy, and grilled meat.

“Here,” your father says, reaching for the tongs. “I’ll take over.”

Jake gives them up immediately.

Your father starts brushing sauce over the ribs, already talking about heat and timing and whatever else men say to impress 20-year-olds with backyard cooking. You stand there, still watching Jake as he runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

Then he is already walking toward the house, no glance at you, least of all an attempt to make it look normal. He just turns and goes inside without another word — which is concerning, because Jake never ever gets passive with you.

Your father keeps brushing sauce on the ribs. Hyunjin looks between you and the door, finally starting to understand that maybe something really is off.

Before Hyunjin can even say anything, you turn to him.

“Leave me alone for a while.” It comes out sharper than intended, but you do not take it back. You are too annoyed now, with Jake, with Hyunjin, with the smoothie, with the fact that everyone keeps remembering things out loud like your life is a group activity.

Hyunjin raises both hands, surprised but not exactly shocked. He has known you long enough to recognize when you are about to become unpleasant to be efficient. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Sorry.”

You do not answer, you only turn and follow Jake inside.

The kitchen is cooler than the backyard, the noise outside turning muffled the second the sliding door closes behind you. He’s standing in front of the open fridge, one hand gripping the handle, staring into it like the composure might be sitting behind the orange juice.

“What the hell is your problem?” you ask.

Jake does not look at you. “I’m getting water.”

“You walked out.”

“It was hot.”

“Jake.”

He reaches for a bottle, closes the fridge, then sets it on the counter without drinking from it. Truly natural behavior from a man who definitely came inside for hydration and not because he was one memory mentioned away from combusting truly.

You cross your arms. “Are you seriously ignoring me now?”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“You left without looking at me.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“No, keep going. This is very mature.”

He looks at you then, and there it is again. That weird, tight expression, which is not anger exactly, just something more embarrassed than that, which somehow makes him look even more irritated.

“I said sorry.”

“No, you’re being a dick,” you say, genuinely this time and you hold his stare. “And you’ve been acting weird all day. Literally what, over a smoothie?”

Jake looks at you — irritated, unimpressed, still unfairly hot, which feels disrespectful given the situation. 

Then he says, “Yeah. I was jealous.”

You blink, thrown off by the honesty. “What?”

“I was jealous,” he repeats, slower this time. “That’s what you wanted me to say, right?”

You stare at him. “Over Hyunjin?”

“Obviously.”

You laugh once, but it comes out more shocked than amused. “Jake, he’s my childhood friend. He’s basically family.”

“I know.”

“You met him literally today.”

“Yeah, and he already knows more about your life than I do.”

That makes you pause.

Jake looks away first, jaw tight, like he hates that he said it but not enough to take it back. “He knows the dog. The swing, the pool table, the smoothie, your mom. He walks in and everyone just opens up around him like he never left, and you looked so happy.” He exhales sharply. “And I know that’s not a crime. I’m not stupid. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You cross your arms tighter. “Then why are you acting like I did?”

He scoffs. “I’m really not.”

“You walked out.”

“Because I didn’t want to stand there and keep watching it you,” he says, finally looking back at you. “With him.”

Your face shifts. “There’s nothing with him.”

“I know. He didn’t flirt with you. You didn’t flirt with him. Nothing happened but it still felt shitty.”

You look at him for a second, trying to decide whether to be mad or confused. “Because he knows old stories about smoothies?”

“Because he knows old stories I’ve been too scared to ask about.”

That lands in a way that makes you shut up and tighten your arms around yourself.

Jake rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t ask about your mom because I know how you get when people even come close to that. I know you’ll tell me when you want to. I’ve been trying to respect that.”

“And I appreciate that,” you say, voice tightening. “But that doesn’t mean I can suddenly talk about it just because you feel left out. You can’t just force that out of me, Jake.”

“I’m not asking you to suddenly talk about it —”

“It sounds like you are.”

“— I’m asking you to stop acting like I’m insane for feeling something,” he says. “Hyunjin said your mom like it was easy, and you let him. I can’t even say her name without feeling like I’m about to hurt you.”

The kitchen feels too cold now.

Outside, the barbecue is still going, muffled voices and laughter coming through the glass like nothing inside has shifted. Your father is probably still brushing sauce over ribs. Riki is probably eating something he did not cook, living his happily ever after with a girlfriend who isn’t even half as difficult as you.

And Jake is in front of you, looking jealous and hurt and too honest for how angry you still want to be.

“He was there,” you say. “That’s why he knows. That’s it. Not because he’s on some leverage like you’re making it look like.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Also know that he didn’t earn anything like dumb arcade tickets to know ‘lore’ about my mom. He doesn’t get more of me because he knew me first.”

Jake’s mouth tightens. “It felt like he did.”

“Well, he doesn’t. You should already believe me on that!”

“I do,” he says quickly. “I believe you. I just don’t know what to do with the fact that you looked at him like he was home.”

You go still, completely frozen.

His voice drops. “And I was right there.”

You stare at him, the anger in your chest suddenly turning uncomfortable, because that is too close to something you do not want to sort through in front of him.

“Hyunjin isn’t home,” you say. “He just remembers what it used to feel like. And maybe I missed that,” you add, quieter. “Maybe I missed someone remembering it with me. The smoothies, the dog, Riki being small, my dad being different. I don’t know.”

Jake looks at you for a long second, being careful with what you're telling him.

Then he asks, “And I can’t be that for you?”

Your throat tightens. “Jake.”

“No, I’m asking.” His voice stays low, but there is hurt under it now. “I know I wasn’t there. I know I can’t remember it with you the way he can. But I can listen. I can know it now.”

You look at him. “Don’t make me feel bad for not saying everything to you.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You kind of are.” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “I need time with things. You knew that when we got together. You knew I don’t just open up because someone cares about me enough.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it.”

“I have been acting like it,” Jake says, sharper now. “That’s the whole point. I’ve been waiting. I’ve been careful. I don’t push because I know you hate it. But today, Hyunjin walked in and touched the exact thing I’ve been scared to even mention, and you looked at me like I was dramatic for noticing.”

You stare at him.

He exhales, rough and frustrated. “I don’t think I earn your pain because I waited. I’m not treating your life like a prize. But I am allowed to feel like shit when someone else gets to stand there and talk about your mom like it’s easy.”

“It’s not easy,” you snap.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You saw me laugh and thought it was easy. I shouldn’t have to tell you to know that either, because you should.”

“Baby,” he huffs, “I’m not a mind reader.”

Your mouth parts like you have an argument ready, but nothing comes out.

Jake looks at you, breathing harder. “You left me there.”

“I went to talk to someone I grew up with.”

“Right. And completely forgot I was beside you.”

“I didn’t forget you.”

“It felt like it.”

You laugh once, sharp and disbelieving. “So you get to be a dick about it?”

“I wasn’t being a dick. I didn’t disrespect anyone out there. I didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. I didn’t even say anything to you.”

“That’s not the defense you think it is.”

“I walked away,” he says. “That’s all I did.”

“You walked away from me.”

“Because I didn’t want to stand there and keep feeling stupid.”

You stare at him.

Jake’s jaw tightens. “I wasn’t trying to punish you. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I just didn’t want to stay there watching you and Hyunjin talk about your whole life like I was some random guy at the grill.”

“You’re not a random guy at the grill — you’re the guy I like. You’re the one who comes over. You’re the one who eats in my kitchen, drives Riki around, and holds me when I don’t want to talk.”

Jake’s face shifts, but you keep going because now you cannot stop.

“Hyunjin knows old things because he was there. Fine. But you know me now. You know when I’m mad. You know when I’m quiet. You know when I’m about to cry and pretending I’m not. He doesn’t get this.” You gesture between you two. “He doesn’t get us.”

Jake stares at you. And then he gets quieter, “But he gets the part I don’t know how to reach.”

You blink.

“That’s what I’m jealous of,” he says. “Not because I think he owns it. Not because I think you owe it to me. I’m jealous because I want to know every part of you, and there’s this huge part I can’t even ask about without feeling like I’m going to hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

“And I hate that he can stand there and remember it with you,” Jake says, voice rough now. 

“He’s my childhood friend.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Exactly,” you snap. “So why are you still jealous?”

“Because I love you.”

Both of you stop.

The whole kitchen goes still.

Your mouth stays slightly open, the next argument still sitting there, suddenly useless. He freezes too, eyes on yours, chest rising once like even he did not know the words were coming until they were already out.

Jake looks absolutely horrified.

Not because he regrets it, but because this is probably the worst possible way he could have said it. No perfect timing he planned to do it, no nice romantic moment, just him standing in your kitchen, jealous, upset, holding too much hurt in his hands until the truth slipped out and hit the floor between you.

You blink. “What?”

His jaw works once, and he looks like he might take it back. The whole thing is so violently unplanned that even the universe seems embarrassed.

But then he exhales.

“I love you,” he says again.

He looks at you like he is done pretending this is about Hyunjin, or smoothies, or who knew what first. Like he has finally reached the actual ugly center of it and has no choice but to stand there.

“That’s why,” he says. “That’s why I’m jealous. Because Hyunjin knows a part of you that I don’t,” he says. “And I hate that.”

Your throat tightens.

“I hate that he can say something about your mom and you understand him immediately. I hate that he can bring up some old thing and you just know what he means. I hate that he was there for things I can only guess about.” His voice drops. “And I hate that I’m jealous of that, because I know it’s not fair.”

Jake lets out a breath, almost embarrassed. “But I am.”

The kitchen feels too small again, but not in the angry way anymore. 

“I love you,” Jake says again, softer this time. “So yeah, I want to know those parts too. Not because I think I deserve them.” His eyes flick over your face. “I just want to be close to you there too.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

For once, Jake does not push. He only stands there, looking at you with all that hurt still on his face, but also something warmer now. Something scared and hopeful and very, very him.

“I don’t want Hyunjin erased from your life,” he says. “I just hate that there’s this part of you I want to take care of, and I don’t even know where it is.”

Something about that sounds worse than the jealousy, worse than the smoothie, worse than the fan club comment and the meat abandonment and every dumb thing he has done since Hyunjin arrived.

“I don’t want you to take care of me,” you say, but your voice has lost the sharp edge it had before.

Jake nods immediately, like he was waiting for you to say that, like he understands the difference even if it took him a terrible amount of jealousy and one emotionally damaged barbecue to get there.

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

He steps closer, he only reaches for you carefully, hands settling around your elbows, warm and steady. He looks down at where he is holding you, then back up at your face.

“I want to love you,” he says.

Your chest tightens so hard it almost feels inconvenient.

He swallows, but keeps going. “Not fix you, or take over, or push my way into things.” His thumbs move once, barely there, against your arms. “I just want to love you. All of you.”

You stare at him.

For once, there is nothing sharp ready in your mouth, which has been the only thing he can do: disarm you.

Just Jake, standing in your kitchen with the fridge humming behind him, looking at you like loving you is not some heroic thing he is offering, but something he is already doing badly and honestly and trying to learn how to do better.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

Jake closes his eyes briefly, and you are standing close enough to feel the way his hands pause around your arms. 

“It’s okay,” he says.

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean it.” His hands loosen slightly, like he is preparing to let go of you before you can ask him to. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it so you would.”

“I know.”

“I just said it because it’s true. But I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he says. “Especially not after tonight.”

You look at him for a second, then shake your head. “That’s not why I don’t know what to say.”

Jake goes still, and he watches you swallow, annoyed by how difficult every word feels. “It’s not because I don’t feel anything.”

His eyes stay on yours.

“It’s because I do,”

You stop at that because that is apparently as far as your vocabulary can go before it starts failing you completely. Big surprise. You have always been terrible with words when it meant your feelings, which is deeply inconvenient for someone who has built most of her personality around sounding like she knows exactly what she is doing.

Jake looks at you carefully, still holding himself back — that makes it worse, because he’s so worth it.

You do the only thing your body seems capable of doing. You hit his chest very lightly, more of a tap than an actual hit, but he still looks down at the spot like you have given him a formal complaint.

“What was that for?” he asks, voice quiet.

You do not answer.

Instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to your height. He barely has time to react before you kiss him.

For half a second, he goes completely still, probably because his brain has not caught up yet. One moment you were arguing with him in your kitchen, and the next, your hands are in his shirt and your mouth is on his, giving him the answer you cannot say properly.

Then he exhales against you.

His hands move from your arms to your waist, careful at first, then steadier when you do not pull away. He kisses you back like he is relieved and still scared of being relieved, like he does not want to assume too much but cannot help holding you closer once you let him, pushing his tongue into your mouth and you gasp.

It is messy and badly timed and still a little upset around the edges, with barbecue smoke clinging to his shirt and a water bottle forgotten on the counter beside you. His first I love you is still sitting between you, dramatic and unplanned, but now your hands are curled in the fabric of his shirt, and Jake is kissing you like maybe this is enough of an answer for now.

When you pull back, neither of you speaks immediately.

His eyes open slowly, stuck on your mouth then your eyes.

You look at him for one second, then glance away because his face is unbearable. “Don’t look at me like you won.”

His mouth curves, soft and stupid. “Did I?”

You hit his chest again, just as lightly. “You’re so annoying.”

Jake’s smile grows, but his voice stays careful. “As annoying as Hyunjin?”

Despite yourself, you giggle. It comes out small, caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion, but once it is out, you cannot pull it back. 

“No,” you say, still smiling. “You’re more annoying than Hyunjin.”

His brows lift. “More?”

“Significantly.”

He looks down like he is absorbing the insult with the seriousness it deserves. “Wow, after the big three too.”

You roll your eyes instead of answering and pull him down again.

This kiss is softer than the first one, less like an argument trying to find somewhere to land and more a response that speaks for itself. Jake’s hand comes back to your waist, careful, before sliding to your back to pull you closer.

You pull, looking back up at him. “Come upstairs.”

Jake stares at you, but you do not explain, and maybe that is its own explanation.

Your room is quieter, the backyard noise distant through the walls. The second the door shuts behind him, the air changes again, but not in any sharp way. 

When he reaches you, you grab the front of his shirt again. You pull him closer and kiss him again, not to answer everything, but because he is here, and you want him here.

Jake kisses you back gently, hands resting at your waist. When you pull away, he does not chase it — he only stays close, forehead touching yours. 

Your fingers move to the hair at his nape, playing with the ends lightly while you keep your eyes somewhere near his collar instead of his face. Jake stays still, like even that small touch is something he is trying not to react to too much.

You frown. “I hated that. It felt like you were ignoring me.”

Jake looks at you for a second before his mouth curves in that smug and arrogant way.

“You wanted my attention?” he asks, all fake sympathy and quiet teasing.

You shift closer instead of answering, which is already enough of an answer and unfortunately humiliating for you as a person. “Whatever,” you mutter.

Jake’s smile grows, because he obviously enjoys you.

“Whatever,” he repeats softly.

His arms move around you more securely, pulling you closer like he has decided not to waste the opportunity. You let him, because apparently your pride has left the room to get water and will not be returning soon.

You close your eyes for a second, hating how good it feels to be held like this after being mad at him. “I don’t like when you go cold on me.”

He nods.

“You’re not allowed.”

His mouth brushes lightly against your temple. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. It is quiet but doesn’t feel empty, while he keeps you close, one hand slow against your back, the other resting at your waist. Then he pulls away a little, just enough to look at you properly.

You look up at him through your lashes, still frowning a little because it is easier than looking as affected as you feel. His eyes move over your face carefully, like he is checking whether you are still mad.

Then he whispers, “I love you.”

Your breath catches and Jake catches it immediately. Something in his expression changes, quiet and pleased in a way that makes your stomach flip. You just shift a little closer without meaning to, and that is enough for him.

He leans down, bypassing your lips as his meets the soft skin of your neck.

“I love you,” he whispers against your pulse.

The hand on your waist slides down to the hem of your pants, until his hand glides inside and underneath your panties. The pad of his fingers touches your clit, and your bodies tenses against him as a small and soft gasp escapes your mouth.

“Jake—”

He rubs on you softly, while the hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer to him. His long fingers slip in between your folds, stroking from your clit to your hole.

“Compensation, my love.” he says as he kisses your neck, just before he gently backs you against your bed. 

“On your stomach.”