#falling deep

Seorin

“You better not burn the house down,” Jake had said lazily, reclining on the couch with his leg stretched out and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Seorin, halfway into pulling on her hoodie, had scoffed. “Please. The only thing I’m torching is whatever brain cell is keeping you from remembering your meds on your own.”

He chuckled, eyes trailing her as she zipped her jacket. “You’re so mean to me, love.”

“Tell that to someone who cares.”

She didn’t miss the way his grin deepened. Or the way he waved her out with a fond, “Hurry back, nurse from hell.”

And maybe it was the way he said it so easily like it didn’t matter if she was prickly or gruff or sarcastic. Like she could still be loved, even in her most unlovable tone. Maybe that’s why she left faster than necessary, needing air before she melted into his goddamn sexy sturdy chest again.

Now here she was. Twenty minutes later.

Sitting at a corner table in a cozy café with far too many succulents and jazz music. Her hands were wrapped around a pretty cup of sweet iced vanilla latte she hadn’t even touched, her leg bouncing under the table.

She needed Airi.

Brutally honest, lovingly savage, older sister vibes Airi.

Because Seorin was officially spiraling.

What she wasn’t expecting was for Airi to strut in through the front door like she owned the café with not one, but two stunning women trailing behind her.

The first had a piercing gaze and a model’s walk, her long caramel hair twisted up in a claw clip, and a trench coat that screamed CEO wife with knives in her handbag. The second had her hair slicked into a high ponytail, gold hoops dangling from her ears, and a knowing grin that said she already had the entire room clocked and categorized.

“What. The hell.” Seorin muttered under her breath.

Airi beamed. “Hope you don’t mind! I brought backup.”

“I said emotional support, not a firing squad.”

The women laughed, sliding into the booth around her.

“I’m Weiyin,” said the one with the sharp eyes and gentle tone, offering a small wave. “Jake’s my unofficial brother. I’m the one who reminds him he’s not as charming as he thinks he is.”

“Yeji,” said the one with the trench coat. “I’m the one who agrees he’s as charming as he thinks he is. But only on Tuesdays.”

Seorin blinked. “You’re those friends?”

“Guilty.” Airi grinned as she flagged down a waiter.

“Oh no,” Seorin said, leaning back against the booth. “This was a mistake. I needed one opinion, not a coven.”

Airi played with her hair. “Baby, when you're about to risk it all for a man with boba eyes and injured knees, you need all hands on deck.”

Weiyin raised a brow. “You like him?”

“No,” Seorin lied with a scoff. It was pathetic and not believable in the slightest.

Airi snorted. “Oh please. You slept in his bed, made him breakfast, and you’re glowing like someone who’s kissed sin and liked the taste.”

“Excuse me!” Could Airi see the past?

“Don’t even try to backtrack,” Yeji added, looking like she was thriving off the chaos. “Jake’s different with you. He’s quieter, but not in a broody way. In a ‘I want this to last’ way.”

Seorin’s mouth opened, then closed again. “…He has a way of making people feel like they’re the only one that matters.”

“That’s because,” Weiyin said gently, “when Jake cares, he goes all in.”

Seorin looked down at her untouched latte, the steam now gone, but her heart just starting to stir.

She bit her lip. “I’m scared to fall for someone who might not be mine to keep.”

And for once, they didn’t laugh or tease.

Airi reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “Then make sure you fall with him, not alone.”

Jake

Seorin left.

Cool.

She said she’d be out for a few hours.

Cool.

She left in ripped jeans, her hoodie halfway falling off one shoulder, hair loose, eyes sharp, and attitude sharper and he let her walk out the door looking like that. Just told her not to take too long or he’d start limping around town looking for her like some lovesick penguin.

She’d called him a menace and slammed the door.

Cool. Cool. Cool.

What was not cool, however, was the fact that six of his loud, nosy, sugar hyped best friends were currently in his house, raiding his snack cabinet like they hadn’t eaten in 10 years.

Heeseung was on the couch with a box of his cereal…Jake favorite cereal that Seorin hated, eating it straight from the box with no shame.

Jungwon was building a card tower on the floor. Why? Who knows.

Ni-ki was watching Sunghoon and Jay argue about the best way to treat leather boots while Sunoo scrolled through a very suspicious forum labeled. “how to tell if your best friend is in love.” Okay that was a joke.

And Jake? Jake was ready to implode.

He grabbed the remote, muted the background noise, and faced the room like he was about to deliver a eulogy.

“I need to talk about something,” he said, dramatic and dead serious.

Ni-ki didn’t look up. “Are you dying? Cause if your not then I don’t care”

“I think I’m in love.”

Now everyone looked up.

Jay blinked. “Is it Seorin?”

“No, it’s Santa Claus,” Jake snapped. “Yes, it’s Seorin!”

“Finally,” Sunghoon muttered, popping a grape in his mouth. “You’ve been vibrating like a cat in heat.”

Jungwon held up a hand. “Is this a ‘she kissed me and now I want to marry her’ situation, or a ‘she might be the one but I’m scared because I’m emotionally constipated’ situation?”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “How do you know there was kissing?”

Sunoo smirked. “Because you’re glowing and you haven’t used your cologne today. Which means someone got very close and still didn’t complain.”

Jake groaned. “This is a mistake.”

Heeseung leaned forward, setting the cereal box down. “No, what’s a mistake is pretending you don’t like her when it’s written all over your face, bro. You call her love like it’s your native language.”

Jay shrugged. “She’s hot, smart, and mean to you. Honestly, the healthiest thing you’ve been into since Layla.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped.

God, Layla. He missed his dog. He missed running drills, missed the sound of cleats on turf, the locker room noise. Everything.

And Seorin had seen that. She’d sat with him in the pain, not tried to fix it. Just been there.

“I don’t think this is just about attraction,” he finally said. “She makes me feel...normal. Not like Jake the soccer star, not like some broken guy in recovery. Just...me.”

The room went still.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Well, shit.”

Jungwon smiled softly. “Then it’s real.”

Jay looked unimpressed. “So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know if she feels the same,” Jake admitted dragging a hand through his fluffy hair. “And I don’t want to ruin what we have if I’m just a passing job to her. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Heeseung stood and handed him the cereal box. “Here.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“It’s your favorite, right? Because when you care about something, you protect it. You make it known.”

Jake looked down at the box. “Did you just use cereal to give me a metaphor?”

Heeseung shrugged. “You’re a simple man.”

Sunoo tossed a pillow at him. “Just tell her. Or make her fall for you harder. Either works.”

Jake grinned slowly. Yeah. He could do that.

Because if Seorin was worried about falling?

He’d catch her.

And maybe kiss her senseless afterward.

Seorin

The second iced latte was probably overkill.

But Seorin didn’t care.

She sat curled into the corner of the booth, straw between her lips, oversized hoodie drowning her frame, and a look of mild panic on her face as she confessed the spiraling thoughts in her head to three incredibly intimidating women, two of whom she hadn’t even expected to see today.

Airi had brought backup.

Weiyin sat to her right, stirring her coffee like she was trying to summon a demon. Yeji was on her left, sipping something that looked like death in a cup, eyes sharp but kind. And across from her sat Airi, arms folded, brows raised, already looking like she was preparing to go to war.

“So let me get this straight,” Airi said, voice flat. “You’ve been living with Jake, Sim Jaeyun for over a month now. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he kisses like a sinner in church, and now he’s asking deep questions about your childhood like you’re on a Netflix documentary…and your biggest fear is that he’s too attracted to you?”

Seorin blinked. “…Yes?”

Weiyin snorted into her cup.

Yeji just smiled and patted her arm gently. “Oh, honey.”

“I’m serious!” Seorin groaned, hiding her face behind the latte like it could protect her. “What if it’s just convenience? What if I’m just the only woman in his orbit right now and that’s why he thinks he likes me? He can’t even walk yet. What happens when he’s back on his feet and some drop dead gorgeous girl with zero attitude and better makeup waltzes in?”

Airi leaned forward. “First of all, if you ever insult your face card like that again, I will personally ban you from this café.”

“Second,” Weiyin added, tilting her head thoughtfully, “Jake’s not that guy. I’ve only known him for eight months, but he’s not casual. He doesn’t play. If he was just horny or bored, he wouldn’t be talking about your childhood and calling you ‘love’ like he’s in a romance drama.”

“Exactly,” Airi chimed in. “If Jake just wanted someone to scratch the itch, there are literally easier ways. He has fans, followers, and access. And if you haven’t noticed, he’s hot. But he’s not out here trying to get laid he’s trying to get to know you. That’s different.”

Yeji nodded slowly. “And I’ve known Jake since before the injury. He’s…intense, but also honest. When he wants something, he really wants it. And girl, I’ve never seen him like this. Ever.”

“But what if it doesn’t last?” Seorin whispered. “What if I fall so hard and then…I don’t know. He heals. Moves on. And I’m left behind because I got caught up in something that wasn’t meant to be forever?”

“Then you survive,” Yeji said simply. “Because that’s what we do. But don’t go writing the heartbreak before the love story’s even begun.”

Airi snapped her fingers. “Bars. Put that shit on a t-shirt.”

Weiyin leaned in and smiled. “Look, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And believe it or not, that attitude of yours? That’s not what’s going to scare him off. It’s what’s going to make him stay. Because Jake doesn’t need another yes woman. He needs you.”

Seorin sat back slowly, cup between her hands. The warmth seeped into her fingers. Into her chest.

They weren’t wrong.

Still…“You guys are all older than me. It’s unfair how emotionally grounded you are.”

Yeji grinned. “That’s why you’re officially our maknae now.”

Airi reached over and pulled the hood of Seorin’s hoodie up like she was claiming her. “Maknae rights activated. That means we protect you, scold you, and hype you up when you forget you’re the whole damn package.”

Weiyin raised her cup. “To Seorin. The scary, chaotic nurse who stole Jake’s sanity.”

They all clinked their cups together.

And for the first time in a while, Seorin wasn’t scared of how she felt.

Not entirely, at least.

Jake

Jake was in hell.

Not literal fire and brimstone hell but the kind where all six of his closest friends were gathered in his living room, eating his snacks, drinking his smoothies, and giving him the worst relationship advice known to man.

You’d think Lee Heeseung, acclaimed actor, 28 years old and engaged to sweet, calming, too good for this dumbass, earth fairy Weiyin, would be the voice of reason.

But no.

“You should just fake cry,” Heeseung said seriously, tossing a piece of dried mango into his mouth. “Like, really sob. Women love emotional vulnerability. She’ll comfort you, and then bam love confession.”

Jake stared. “I’m not manipulating her into pity cuddles, you freak.”

“Worked for me,” Heeseung shrugged. “I mean, I was actually crying but still. Bonus points.”

“You were crying because you lost to Weiyin in Mario Kart,” Jungwon reminded flatly.

The group fell into a brief silence. Heeseung flipped him off.

Speaking of Jungwon, 26 year old CEO of the Yang Corporation, the one who looked like a Calvin Klein model and married the quietest, kindest woman ever. Yeji, who was now bolder and a bit terrifying because she was raising three kids under six, Jungwon should’ve been smarter.

He was not.

“Just be direct,” Jungwon offered, legs crossed like a man who had never known anxiety. “Walk up to her, say, ‘I like you. Don’t leave.’ Done.”

Jake blinked. “That’s your plan?”

“You’d be surprised how many decisions are made because Yeji raised one eyebrow at me.”

“…You’re not normal,” Jake muttered.

Sunghoon, doctor, father of an 8 month old gremlin, and engaged to Airi, Ni-ki’s younger sister spoke up next. “Honestly? Just get her pregnant.”

Jake gawked. “I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

“By accident!” Sunghoon added. “Well not now obviously. But in the future. Women don’t leave when you have a baby.”

“You should be arrested,” Jake was flabbergasted. “You’re a medical professional!”

Sunghoon looked unbothered. “Just saying.”

The three single idiots. Jay, Sunoo, and Ni-ki nodded along like they had wisdom to add, but Jake waved them off before they could open their mouths. He already saw where this was going.

He sighed, leaning back into the couch, leg stretched out on a pillow. His knee throbbed slightly, not in pain, just…dull discomfort. The scar was fading. The rehab was working.

His leg was healing fast.

And time…time was disappearing even faster.

Three weeks.

Three weeks until Seorin left.

And maybe she’d never talk to him again.

“Do you think,” he said quietly, breaking the haze of loud banter, “that she just…feels bad for me? That it’s not real for her? That once she leaves, she won’t even remember me?”

Silence.

For once, blessed silence.

Until Ni-ki, lounging on the counter, legs crossed like a Greek philosopher, finally looked up from his phone and said, “You’re an idiot.”

Jake blinked. “Excuse me?”

“She doesn’t feel bad for you. She likes you. Like…really likes you. I saw her at the grocery store when she thought you couldn’t walk and she yelled at a guy for standing too close to the chip aisle. You think that’s pity?”

“She did yell at a child once,” Sunoo added, thoughtful.

Ni-ki ignored him. “You’re not her patient anymore. You’re hers. And you know it.”

Jake was quiet.

“She lets you get under her skin,” Ni-ki continued. “That means she cares. And the fact that you care if she stays or goes? That means you’re already gone man.”

Jake stared at the ceiling.

Gone. Hooked. Sunk.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

Ni-ki hopped down from the counter, snagged a banana, and pointed it at him like a mic drop.

“She’s not leaving you behind, hyung. Unless you’re too scared to give her a reason to stay.”

Then he walked into a different room.

And for once, Jake had no comeback.

Just hope.

And a growing ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his healing knee.

Seorin

Her blond hair was loose, eyes barely lined with makeup, and for once…she looked kind of soft.

Too soft, if you asked her.

Weiyin who she quickly clocked as the warmest person in the room sipped her chamomile tea like she had nothing but time, her gaze sweet and unassuming. And yet, her next words held the weight of a thousand truths.

“So…” Weiyin said lightly, gently setting her cup down. “What are you going to do in three weeks?”

Silence.

The kind that stretches thin and cuts deep.

Airi, dressed in full athleisure, red sunglasses perched uselessly on her head indoors, leaned forward dramatically. “Yeah, Seorinnie,” she drawled. “What’s the move, babe?”

Yeji raised a brow over her coffee cup. “And don’t say ‘go home.’ That’s a cop out. I have three kids and haven’t slept in six years. I can spot emotional repression like a hawk.”

Seorin blinked, mouth half open. “…What the fuck,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “You guys are insane.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” Airi sing songed.

Weiyin, sweet as ever, rested her chin on her palm. “Seriously, though. What happens next?”

Seorin sighed.

And then, because she didn’t want to run anymore because the thought of going back to an empty apartment with nothing but new patients and forgotten memories made her stomach turn she answered.

“If he wants me,” she said quietly, “I’ll stay.”

Three simple words. One devastating truth.

Not as his nurse.

Not as some passing rebound while his leg healed.

But as something more.

Something permanent.

God, she was so down bad. Falling like she didn’t even know how to stop herself. She barely even cussed at him anymore. That had to mean something.

And she wasn’t scared this time, not of him, at least. Just of what it meant to want something so badly and not know if she could keep it.

The girls all looked at her three different personalities, one shared understanding.

Airi smiled slowly, like she saw through everything and was damn proud of it.

Yeji let out a tired sigh and said, “About time.”

And Weiyin? She just reached out and squeezed her hand like she already knew the answer, no matter what came next.

Seorin didn’t realize how safe she felt until right then.

But the moment shattered in the next second when a voice called from across the café, deep and familiar.

“Weiyin?”

The girls turned.

And Seorin felt her heart skip.

Because the man walking toward them was tall, sharp jawed, and very clearly heading straight for the sweetest woman at the table.

She had a feeling this was going to be…interesting.

Seorin didn’t know who the hell this man was, but she didn’t like him.

First of all, he was ugly.

Okay, fine, not ugly. Just average. And average was offensive when he stood next to someone like Weiyin, who looked like she belonged in an ethereal forest feeding woodland creatures. This man thing walked up like he owned the ground beneath him. Like the rest of them were supposed to part for him.

Seorin clocked the moment Weiyin's smile dropped. Like a switch flipped. Like someone had yanked the air out of her lungs.

She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Yeji and Airi both stiffened, clearly blindsided, hands slowly reaching for Weiyin’s arms like instinct like protection.

And that’s when Seorin knew.

Whoever this guy was…

He wasn’t just an ex friend.

He was the ex.

And he didn’t deserve to breathe in Weiyin’s direction.

“You really thought you could disappear?” the man said, lips curled, gaze flicking around like he was scanning for witnesses. “You didn’t even say goodbye, sweetheart.”

Weiyin’s fingers started to tremble under Airi’s hand.

Yeji moved closer, jaw locked.

Seorin hadn’t moved a muscle. But her blood had started to boil.

He went on like he hadn’t just stepped into the wrong goddamn café at the wrong goddamn time. “I told you before you’re mine. Always were. Always will be. You think hiding behind these bitches is going to change that?”

And that was it.

Seorin stood up.

Slowly. Casually. Like she had all the time in the world. She rolled her shoulders once, stepped around the booth, and stood directly between him and the three women.

She didn’t even blink when his eyes snapped to her.

“You know,” she said flatly, “I had a good day going. Great coffee. Good company. Solid girl talk. And then you walked in with your patchy ass beard and breath that smells like insecurity.”

Airi stifled a laugh. Yeji did not.

Weiyin, bless her trembling soul, looked up at Seorin like she was seeing her for the first time.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” Seorin continued, taking a step forward, “but I do know one thing. You’re done talking to her.”

He sneered. “And you are?”

Seorin smiled. Wide. Vicious. Cracking her knuckles slowly.

“I’m her friend. Which means I’ll ruin you before you can blink. Keep talking and I’ll tell you all the ways your face is pissing me off.”

His nostrils flared. “Stay out of this, whore.”

Ah.

There it was.

The word hung in the air like smoke.

Airi sat up straighter. Yeji stilled. Weiyin visibly flinched.

But Seorin?

Seorin leaned in just enough to smile deeper, cold, amused, terrifying. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”

And just like that, the storm had arrived.

Seorin didn’t know who the man was—. Didn’t know his name, didn’t know his story. But from the way Weiyin trembled in Airi’s arms like she was holding herself together with string and breath, Seorin could piece enough together:

He was scum.

The kind of man women ran from. The kind that made you hate the color of your own skin if he touched it long enough. The kind of man who needed a public reckoning.

And Seorin was always happy to oblige.

She stepped forward again, this time close enough to smell his drugstore cologne. He had the nerve to puff his chest like he was intimidating. All she saw was a walking red flag who deserved a street sign with ‘Caution: Unstable Loser’ nailed to his forehead.

“You mad?” she taunted, voice sweet and syrupy with venom. “Mad that she’s glowing now that she’s not weighed down by your crusty ass presence?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Back off-”

“Oh no, I’m just getting started, dickless.” Her voice sharpened like glass. “Is that why you tracked her down? Because you heard she’s marrying one of the finest, richest, kindest bachelors in all of South Korea and your tiny, thumb looking dick got jealous?”

The entire café gasped.

Airi slapped a hand over her mouth.

Yeji straight up whispered “Oh my God.”

Weiyin’s eyes were wide and wet, but she didn’t say a word. She just watched.

“You lost her,” Seorin growled. “And now she’s upgraded so hard she needs to reset the goddamn system. Meanwhile, you’re still shopping for personality traits on aisle three next to the expired milk. Pathetic.”

That did it.

His face twisted into something grotesque, and his hand lifted fast.

Too fast.

Everyone in the café froze.

Airi stood up, mouth open in horror.

Yeji grabbed Weiyin, shielding her with her body.

Someone screamed from behind the counter.

But Seorin?

Seorin moved.

In one swift, practiced, furious motion, she caught his wrist midair like it was instinct and maybe it was.

And then, just like that one idiot who smacked her ass on a blind date last year. She made him regret being born.

Her knee drove up hard and unforgiving into his groin.

There was a crunch. A gasp. A choked off scream.

He dropped like a sack of garbage, moaning on the floor in the fetal position.

Seorin stood above him, unbothered, brushing imaginary dust from her hoodie sleeve.

“Next time you raise your hand to a woman,” she said, voice low and lethal, “make sure you don’t need balls to survive the fall.”

The café erupted in whispers.

Phones were recording now.

Someone in the back whispered, “Holy shit, is this a K-drama?”

Airi looked like she was trying so hard not to high five her. Yeji blinked slowly like she was updating her will to include Seorin. And Weiyin, sweet, delicate Weiyin burst into quiet, trembling laughter as tears slid down her face.

“You okay?” Seorin asked her, voice softening, just for her.

Weiyin nodded through her tears. “I think you just gave me closure.”

Seorin looked down at the groaning man still holding his destroyed crotch. “Glad I could help.”

Jake

It was a chill afternoon.

Too chill, if you asked Jake.

He had the rare moment of peace, feet propped up on the ottoman, a smoothie in hand that Seorin had made him that morning before she left with her cryptic errands and a smart ass goodbye. His friends were around, talking about something stupid, probably Jungwon’s toddler son beating him at chess again… which wasn’t possible, but Jake wasn’t listening.

He was scrolling through old dog videos of Layla when Sunghoon’s phone rang.

He answered without thinking.

And instantly flinched.

"OH MY GOD SUNGHOON!"

“Jesus, AIRIIII, ” He yanked the phone away from his ear like it bit him, slapping it onto speaker so she could scream at the room like she apparently intended.

Jake blinked. “...Is she dying?”

“No,” Airi snapped, breathless and manic. “She’s laugh crying, Heeseung, come get your wife before she ascends into the fucking moon, and Jake!-”

He straightened on instinct.

“If you don’t marry Seorin after this I’m disowning you, blocking you, and feeding you to Layla!”

Jake looked around wildly. “What the hell did she do?!”

“She’s TALKING to the cops!”

“THE COPS?!” Jungwon barked.

“Yeah, because she broke a guy’s dick!”

“...She what?” Ni-ki asked calmly, as if he were confirming his food order.

“She BROKE. HIS. DICK.”

Everyone froze.

You could hear the silence grip the room.

Sunoo, bless him, whispered, “How.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Airi yelled again. “All I know is that this ugly man showed up at the café, threatened Weiyin, tried to hit Seorin and she WENT FERAL. Knee to groin. Screaming. There’s footage! She went full Godzilla.”

“...Oh my God,” Jake said, blinking like he just witnessed a spiritual awakening. “I’m going to marry that woman.”

“YOU BETTER!”

“But wait, what’s wrong now? Why are you yelling?” Jay asked frantically. 

“Because she’s sweet talking the cops, like, flirting, like this ‘oh no, officer, was it really that bad?’ nonsense and they’re EATING IT UP like she didn’t just SEND A MAN TO THE HOSPITAL.”

Sunghoon snapped up. “Where are you?!”

“Downtown. Café Luna.”

“On it.”

Cue: chaos.

Heeseung bolted upright, already calling Weiyin’s name and grabbing his keys like he was born ready.

Jungwon looked so stressed he might’ve canceled all his meetings for the week.

Sunghoon threw his phone in his pocket and clapped once, army style. “Ni-ki, help Jake!”

“Got him,” Ni-ki said, already picking Jake up bridal style.

Jake didn’t even argue.

He just shouted, “GET MY CRUTCHES!”

Sunoo grabbed them like they were national treasures and sprinted behind Ni-ki, who was carrying Jake like a sack of precious potatoes.

They all piled into cars like it was a mission, engines roaring to life. Jay peeled off so fast they all screamed like lunatics, as Heeseung followed behind with the others. 

“She broke a dick,” Jungwon muttered again as he buckled up. “She really broke a dick.”

Jake just sat in the back seat, a wild grin spreading across his face.

“...I love her.”

Jay groaned in agony. “Don’t say that until we get her out of police custody!”

Jake didn’t care. He’d never been more certain of anything.

Jake expected disaster.

What he didn’t expect was Seorin sitting on a bench outside the café, long legs crossed, cool as a cucumber smoothie, her fingers gently twirling the ends of her blond hair while she talked to the two cops standing before her like they were contestants on The Bachelor.

And they looked moonstruck.

Absolutely. Fucking. Gone.

He froze, leaning heavy on his crutches, trying to process what the hell he was witnessing. Was she flirting? With the cops? Since when did she twirl her hair? She mocked girls who did that. He knew she told him. And now here she was doing it like she was starring in a rom-com spin off.

He was gonna bark. Actually bark.

Meanwhile, behind him. “Oh my God,” Sunghoon wheezed.

“She’s so unbothered,” Jungwon muttered, stunned.

“She’s sipping matcha,” Ni-ki pointed out.

“She’s seducing the legal system,” Heeseung said. “I think I’m scared of her.”

Sunoo clapped. “I’ve always been scared of her.”

“Same,” muttered Jay.

Airi, Yeji, and Weiyin were sitting on the curb off to the side, legs stretched out, sipping their drinks like they were watching the season finale of a drama.

“You’re late,” Airi called to Sunghoon, holding up her empty cup. “She already committed murder and seduced the jury.”

“I didn’t know she had it in her,” Yeji added, blinking slowly.

“I did,” Weiyin whispered.

But Jake didn’t care about any of them right now.

He limped forward, fast as he could, crutches clacking on the pavement. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked on her.

His.

Seorin glanced up just as he reached her, and her grin turned feline like she knew.

She knew what she was doing to him.

Before she could say anything, Jake dropped a crutch and wrapped an arm around her waist, yanking her against him in one swift pull like she was some damsel even though she was clearly the one dominating the room.

“What are you doing?” she said with a smirk, tilting her chin up at him.

“Saving the nation’s police force from falling in love,” Jake muttered near her ear.

Seorin blinked. And then snorted.

“Mr. Sim?” one of the cops asked, eyes wide and clearly starstruck.

Jake turned, slowly, raising a brow. “...Yeah?”

Both cops lit up like Christmas came early.

“Oh my God, it’s really you,” one said. “Dude we’re huge fans. Loved you since your Busan match.”

Jake just blinked again. He was not prepared for this today.

The second officer pulled out his little notepad and cleared his throat. “Just to confirm, you’re Sim Jaeyun?”

Jake nodded, arm still firmly locked around Seorin’s waist. “That’s me.”

They both grinned and glanced at each other like they were dying inside.

“Well then,” said one of them, “You’re all free to go. Witnesses say it was self defense, and honestly, we’re pretty sure he’ll never try that again.”

“Or anything again,” muttered the other officer hand covering his private, “You’ve got a fierce girl, man.”

Jake didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he looked down at Seorin, who gave a dramatic blink like she was the poster girl for innocence.

“I know,” he said, voice smug. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to my peace and sanity.”

“Peace?” Seorin muttered.

“Okay, chaos. But you’re my chaos.”

She rolled her eyes, but her face was already pink.

Behind them, Sunoo whispered, “Oh my God he’s whipped.”

“Deep fried,” Ni-ki added.

“Bro, he’s air-m fried twice,” Heeseung agreed.

But Jake didn’t hear any of them.

He was still holding Seorin, and Seorin wasn’t pulling away.

And if she didn’t pull away, he sure as hell wasn’t letting go.

Seorin

Jay had dropped them off twenty minutes ago.

Jake hadn’t said a word the entire drive.

Not one.

And now, standing in the entryway of the house, leaning against the table with his jaw locked and his crutches tossed onto the floor like they’d personally insulted him, Jake looked like he was about to combust.

But Seorin knew.

Oh, she knew.

This wasn’t about her temporarily turning a man’s private parts into an origami swan with her knee.

This wasn’t about nearly being arrested.

Nope.

This was jealousy.

Pure, hot blooded, absolutely stupid, sexy as hell jealousy.

The realization settled into her chest like a warm blanket and Seorin, being who she was, decided to ruin his day a little more.

Just for fun.

She let out a soft, dramatic sigh, crouching to untie her sneakers slowly, fingers lingering on the laces longer than they needed to. She knew he was watching she could feel the weight of his stare on the back of her neck like a second spine.

"You gonna stand there brooding all night, or…?" she tossed over her shoulder, slipping her shoes off and neatly placing them beside the door. "You need me to write an apology letter to the cops for out flirting you?"

She turned her head just in time to catch his eyes darkening.

Bingo.

Jake groaned loudly, like a man in pain and then suddenly, he moved.

Before she could blink, she was hoisted up like she weighed nothing, planted right on top of the narrow entryway table. His other crutch clattered to the ground behind him, forgotten.

“Hey…” she started, but he stepped between her legs, large hands gripping the edge of the table on either side of her hips.

Close.

Too close.

Her words caught in her throat as she looked up at him.

His jaw was clenched. His chest rising and falling faster than it should. His hair slightly messed from the drive, eyes molten and set on her like he was trying to memorize every inch of her.

“You don’t,” he said lowly, voice rough and full of that deep lilt, “even know what the hell you do to me.”

Seorin blinked.

And then smirked.

“Oh, I have a very good idea,” she purred, letting her legs lazily wrap around his waist, heels gently resting against his back like she wasn’t absolutely asking for trouble. “You’re not exactly subtle, Jaeyun.”

Jake huffed a bitter laugh, fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to grab first.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice strained.

“I think you’re sexy when you’re mad,” she replied, tilting her head in mock sweetness. “Especially when it’s about me twirling my hair at two twenty year old cops who didn’t even get my number. Tragic.”

Jake growled. Growled.

“You were twirling your hair. You hate that.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, leaning just a little closer, “but you were watching.”

His hands slammed down harder on the table. He leaned in, breath hot on her cheek, nose nearly brushing hers.

“You think you’re so clever,” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth but not kissing her. “Keep playing, baby. One of these days, I won’t be so nice.”

Seorin raised a brow.

“Was this you being nice?”

Jake’s nostrils flared. His grip didn’t move. But his whole body buzzed like a live wire pressed against hers.

She tilted her head, lips brushing his jaw as she whispered.

“Would’ve been a shame if I flirted with the female cop instead.”

Jake practically shook.

But he didn’t kiss her. And she didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

Let him suffer a little longer. She was a menace, after all. And Sim Jaeyun had it bad.

He was still between her legs, jaw clenched like he was chewing on his own restraint.

Seorin was calm.

No she was smug.

She had him, hook, line, and simmering frustration.

Jake Sim, soccer god, flirt supreme, emotionally constipated menace to society, was looking at her like he’d sell his soul for a taste. Just one. And she’d almost given it to him. Almost.

But not tonight.

No.

Not when he looked so deliciously undone just standing there, teeth gritted, knuckles white on the table, nostrils flaring like a bull in a Spanish arena.

She raised her eyebrows as if to say, done?

He didn’t answer.

She placed one gentle palm on his chest and gave a light push.

“Don’t strain yourself, golden boy,” she said with mock concern, eyes wide and too damn sweet.

Jake stumbled back a step, forced by the motion, jaw ticking dangerously.

Without another word, she hopped off the table gracefully, landing on bare feet with the lightest of sounds. She bent down, grabbed his fallen crutches from the floor, and handed them to him with all the kindness of a nurse who just diagnosed a man with terminal blue balls.

“Here,” she said, voice calm, soft.

Jake took them slowly, eyes still burning a hole into her profile.

But Seorin?

Seorin turned away.

And smirked.

He couldn’t see it, but she knew he felt it in his bones. She started walking toward her hallway, her long, toned legs taking lazy steps. That damn ponytail bouncing once, then twice. It was unfair. Unholy. Probably illegal in four states.

As she disappeared around the corner, her voice floated back, light and casual.

“You better ice your leg.”

A beat.

“FUCK.”

The thump of something heavy. A grunt. And then a growl.

She didn’t hear it. Nope. Not at all.

She bit her lip to hide the grin as she slipped into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Behind it, she leaned against the wood, breathing out slowly.

Her heart was racing. But her hands were steady. Because no matter how much Sim Jaeyun thought he was dangerous with that voice, that body, and that firestorm of a mouth.

She was the real threat.

And God help them both when she finally stopped playing nice.

Jake

She knew what she was doing.

And he was letting her.

Because God help him, Jake Sim was a willing casualty in whatever war Seorin was waging against his sanity.

It had been four days.

Four days of soft glances and teasing touches. Of her helping him stretch without mercy, then handing him ice packs like she hadn’t just bent him into a pretzel. Of her walking around his house like she was born in it owning every inch of space like it belonged to her.

Because it did.

She did.

She owned him. Heart, body, soul. Down to the marrow in his bones.

Jake was convinced no one in the history of recovery had healed faster, not just because of therapy or appointments or stretching but because of her. Sunghoon had actually stared at his chart like it was some kind of anomaly, muttering that Jake must be an alien, because "this level of progress doesn’t make sense."

Jake didn’t argue.

Of course it didn’t make sense.

Nothing about Seorin ever had.

She fed him like a worried wife, scolded him like a bossy best friend, looked at him like he was maybe more than just a patient. But it was the little things that killed him. That slow burn of knowing glances, sarcastic comments, the smugness in her smirk when she caught him staring. And her outfits? Jesus.

Tank tops and those goddamn shorts.

He was convinced she did it on purpose.

Today she took it further. His shirt.

His fucking T-shirt.

She walked out of his bedroom, hair half pulled up, wearing his black tee that hung just a little too low, a little too wide at the collar, and those same tiny shorts that made him consider sinning at 8 a.m.

She didn't ask if she could wear it.

She just did.

Like she had every right to his closet, his house his heart.

And Jake? He let her. Hell, he wanted her to.

He’d always liked confident girls, flirted with fire, chased things he couldn't quite touch but Seorin was something else. She was soft edges and sharp teeth, a beautiful contradiction of healing and destruction, and he was losing himself to the chaos of her smile.

He wasn’t sure when the shift happened when his hands started lingering longer, or when her voice started to sound like home. When teasing turned to yearning, or when sleep stopped coming without the memory of her breath on his collarbone.

Maybe it was when she curled beside him one night and stayed until dawn.

Maybe it was when she let herself cry, just a little, and told him what she really wanted from life.

Or maybe it was right now.

Watching her pour juice into a glass like she didn’t just burn through every nerve ending in his body by existing in his clothes.

He rested his head back on the couch, chest rising and falling with something unnameable, and smiled to himself like an idiot.

He was falling.

Already fallen.

If this was what love felt like, hot and heavy, slow and bright, gentle one second and explosive the next. Then he’d follow her straight to hell. He’d let her take his name, his breath, everything.

Seorin wasn’t some fairy tale.

She was every good and bad desire rolled up into one seriously hot, mouthy, mean woman.

And Jake?

Jake Sim had always had a thing for mean girls.

But Seorin wasn’t just a mean girl.

She was his.

And he was so fucking gone.

Seorin

There was no reason for this.

No logical explanation, no medical rationale, no ethical defense.

They were sitting cross legged on the living room floor, surrounded by an explosion of tiny plastic bricks and disassembled pride, building a Lego castle. A full scale medieval monstrosity with working gates and battlements.

It was childish.

It was ridiculous.

It was maybe the most fun Seorin had had in weeks.

And across from her, bathed in late afternoon sunlight and a growing pile of discarded instructions, sat the reason her heart had forgotten how to beat properly.

Jake Sim.

God help her.

He was in a black hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms flexing with every brick he connected. Hair a little messy from how often he raked his fingers through it, lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Every now and then he’d mumble to himself, tilt his head, or flash her that Sim Jake smile that made entire stadiums of girls scream.

Seorin was not immune.

She was suffering in silence.

Well mostly silence.

She loved watching him work, watching the way he focused on the tiniest things like they were life or death. That attention, that passion she wanted it all turned on her. Only her.

“Your turret’s lopsided,” she commented casually, chin resting in her hand.

Jake didn’t look up. “Yours has a giant crack down the middle.”

“I like my cracks exactly where they are, thanks.”

He finally glanced at her, that smirk rising like the sun on a dangerous day. “Yeah? You like cracks?”

“I like fixing broken things.”

His hands paused on the piece he was pressing in, a flicker of something wild crossing his expression.

Bingo.

She should’ve stopped. Should’ve stuck to teasing him about the crooked battlements or the wonky flag. But she was having too much fun. The flirting was a game they both liked to play but she was pushing it today. Pushing him.

Because Seorin was many things: smart, brave, kind on a good day.

But patient?

Never.

And Jake Sim had been looking at her like he wanted to ruin her for days now.

So she reached for a new piece, brushing past his hand just enough to feel skin.

So warm. So strong.

“God,” she muttered with a perfectly timed sigh, “why are your hands always this big?”

That did it.

Everything stopped.

The room, the air, the teasing energy.

Jake’s eyes snapped to hers, darkened and sharp. Like a knife pressed to glass, about to shatter something permanent. His jaw clenched. A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips.

That was not the smile of a man amused.

That was the smile of a man who had snapped.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared.

Hot.

Focused.

Predatory.

And Seorin, oh, she didn’t just feel the heat, she basked in it.

Because she’d been waiting for this.

Waiting for him.

And if the castle crumbled before they finished?

So be it.

She was already building something else.

Jake

Jake had warned himself.

He’d told himself to be patient. Told himself that teasing smile of hers those goddamn shorts, that stupidly oversized t-shirt that belonged to him wouldn’t be the death of him.

But then she had to go and talk about his hands.

And now she was smirking like the whole thing was funny. Like she didn’t just flip his world upside down by sitting cross legged on his living room floor, looking like sin in a sunshine wrapped body.

Jake Sim had lost.

She beat him days ago, weeks ago, maybe.

And he was the sorry bastard sitting in front of a Lego castle while the woman he wanted sat less than a foot away, talking like her voice wasn’t a loaded gun aimed right at his restraint.

He didn’t remember moving. One second, she was teasing.

The next?

She was on her back, body flush against the living room floor, her wild blonde hair spread like a halo across the rug. Her eyes wide. Mouth open to say something.

Nope.

He shut her up with a kiss.

But not the kind they’d shared in his kitchen or while pressed against walls.

This one was deliberate. Slow. Heated in all the wrong ways and so right.

His lips moved against hers with aching control, drinking her in like salvation. Like he was writing a prayer with his mouth and every sentence ended with her. He kissed her like she was the answer to every question he didn’t know how to ask.

She whimpered into it just a little.

He smiled into her mouth, dark and wrecked.

Her hands moved to his hoodie, and he let her push it off, careful not to strain his leg as he braced his weight evenly. She arched into him. God, she was so warm so there beneath him, and he was never going to survive this.

Jake’s hands found her thighs first, sliding upward, coaxing a soft moan as he gripped just enough to make her gasp. When he pushed the shirt up, his shirt he took his time. Dragged his fingers along her stomach like it was sacred ground.

She was bare under it.

No bra.

No fucking mercy.

“Jesus Christ, Seorin,” he rasped against her collarbone, lips skimming her heated skin. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”

He chuckled dark and low before leaning down again. His mouth claimed hers with more intensity this time, tongue sliding in with a rhythm meant to undo her. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, the other running up her side, fingers splaying across ribs, then up, up.

Her breath hitched, and he swallowed it with satisfaction.

No rushing this time.

No fumbling need.

He was going to take his time, mark her memory, tattoo himself into every inch of her skin with his mouth and hands and name.

They weren’t just going to connect.

He was going to imprint.

Seorin

He was kissing her like a man discovering worship for the first time like his hands had never known anything holy until they touched her.

And God, did he touch her.

Rough palms curved around her breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin like he was memorizing her sighs. His mouth left a trail of heat down her neck, tongue and teeth alternating like he couldn’t decide whether to mark her or soothe her.

She arched beneath him, careful, always careful about his leg, but her body had a mind of its own. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, tighter against her.

She shouldn’t be this far gone.

Not over a man who made her laugh until she wheezed, who limped around with stubbornness, and flirted like it was an Olympic sport. But Jake Sim ruined her.

And she let him.

Because the most dangerous thing wasn’t his lips or his hands it was how much he wanted her. The way he wanted her. Not with greed, but with reverence. Like she was something worthy of being broken down slowly, piece by trembling piece.

And Seorin?

She’d let him leave her bare on this floor emotionally, physically and still praise him for it.

Her fingers clawed at his hoodie. She needed to see him, feel him all of him. He rose just enough to let her yank it up and off, flinging it somewhere behind them, forgotten.

Their chests met.

Bare skin to bare skin.

They both inhaled sharply like it shocked them. Like their bodies couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

She whispered his name.

He growled hers.

Then his mouth descended again on her throat, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. Each kiss slower, deeper, every touch pulling more sounds from her, sounds she didn’t even know she could make. Her hips shifted, and his hand gripped her waist like a lifeline.

Her body was a wildfire, and Jake Sim was the match and the wind.

And she?

She was already burning for him.

Jake

She was everywhere, under him, around him, all over his skin, his thoughts, his breath. And God, the way she melted for him, trusting him with the softest parts of herself it undid him.

He’d thought he liked her mouth best when she was teasing him, throwing barbs and eye rolls like weapons.

But now? Her mouth was parted in a quiet gasp, her fingers clutching at his back, her thighs wrapped tight around his waist like she belonged there. And maybe she did. Maybe she always had.

Her skin burned under his touch, all satin and heat, his hands sweeping over her nipples, lips tugging at her throat and he drank in the sight of her like a man starved. She arched under him as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, teeth dragging just enough to make her squirm. Her hips rolled, and he groaned against her collarbone, his breath catching at the way she moved with such purpose, like she wanted to carve him into her soul.

His fingers sinking into her core, drawing out a moan so sweet and only for him. Just me.

He murmured something against her skin, something in his own language, raw and unfiltered and her body answered before her mouth did.

“Jake…” she breathed, barely a whisper.

He looked up. Her eyes were wide and dazed, lips kiss swollen, flushed all the way down to her chest. She looked like sin and salvation, and he was both the worshiper and the ruined.

“You feel what I feel, don’t you?” he asked, voice gravel and want.

She nodded slowly, pupils blown, fingers moving to tug at his hair as his hand speed up, drawing out the prettiest sounds, lips attacking her beautiful breast, her eyes tearing up from the sheer feeling alone. And when she fell apart on his fingers, and he brought his hand to his mouth groaning at her taste, her legs twitched around him. 

They both stilled.

Then sighed together into each other’s mouths like it was the first breath after drowning.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. The kind of kiss that says stay with me. The kind that binds. And when her hands found the waistband of his sweats, tugging, testing he let her.

He let her push him onto his back, her hair falling like a curtain around them as she settled between his legs, taking control with the kind of hunger that had his spine arching against the floor. She kissed his chest, dragged her teeth across his ribs, mapped every inch of him like she’d waited lifetimes to know him like this. Before her pretty lips found that special spot, mother heating up his skin as she sucked. 

His head fell back.

“Jesus,” he groaned, one hand gripping her waist, the other buried in her hair.

They moved together like it was always meant to be this way urgent, needy, a little reckless but built on something so real it could only be described as inevitable.

Clothes were tugged down, limbs tangled as she sat on top of him head thrown back, soft gasps filled the room as they hovered right on the edge of something electric.

And when he pulled her back down to him, bodies pressed tight, hearts racing like thunder, he kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

Because she was.

Seorin

They never made it to the bed.

The LEGO castle sat half finished in the corner, forgotten, the lights still dimmed low in the living room. Soft shadows stretched across the walls as the city outside kept humming on, unaware that something irreversible had shifted in this quiet little apartment.

They were on the floor, a tangle of limbs and breaths and blankets pulled hastily from the nearby couch. Seorin was tucked into Jake’s side, her bare leg thrown over his hip, the fabric of the throw barely covering the both of them but neither cared.

The heat between them had simmered down, but the burn lingered, not just on skin, but somewhere deeper behind her ribs, in the curve of her throat, in the center of her chest where his words had hit and stayed.

Jake was half asleep, arm lazily curled around her waist like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting her go, even in dreams. His face was buried in her hair, nose brushing her scalp now and then as he exhaled, and she could feel the rhythm of his heart in sync with hers.

For a long time, Seorin just listened to the quiet.

It felt too fragile to speak.

Her hand rested on his chest, tracing lazy patterns over his skin, feeling every rise and fall of breath like it grounded her. She’d never done this, not like this. She wasn’t the type to stay after. Not the type to linger in someone’s arms and feel…safe.

But right now, she couldn’t move if she wanted to.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough to look at him. His lashes fluttered in sleep, lips slightly parted, so soft like this, without the smirk or the teasing grin. He looked younger somehow. More peaceful.

He held me like I was his world.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because what if he was hers?

Seorin had always been good at protecting herself. Good at building walls and coating her words in sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood. But this man, this stupid, infuriating, gorgeous man had somehow slipped through the cracks and now he was sleeping on her chest like he belonged there.

Like she belonged.

She sighed quietly and leaned in, kissing his temple barely a brush. Just a whisper of a promise she didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

Then his arm tightened just slightly, pulling her closer in his sleep, and for once…she let him.

They stayed like that until morning, hearts resting against each other in a silence full of everything neither had said yet.

Morning crept in slowly, painting the walls in pale gold, spilling through the blinds in stripes that danced lazily across the floor. The apartment smelled like sleep and skin, warm cotton and lingering affection. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped once before falling silent, like the world was holding its breath with them.

Seorin stirred first, blinking her eyes open to the unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling of waking up next to someone. Her legs were tangled with Jake’s beneath the blanket, her cheek resting against his chest, rising and falling gently beneath her ear.

He was already awake.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice low and groggy but laced with something sweeter. “You drooled on me.”

She scoffed, still half asleep. “You wish.”

His hand trailed up her spine lazily. “Seorin.”

She looked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. His face was serious now, though the corners of his lips hinted at a smile.

“You can’t leave me after this.”

She blinked. “What?”

He held her gaze, no teasing this time. “Three weeks. That was the countdown, right?” His thumb traced a light circle on her waist. “That’s not enough time. Not anymore. You can’t go.”

Seorin swallowed, her heart making an odd twist. She could joke. She could deflect. But instead, she just said, quietly, “I don’t want to.”

And she meant it. With every fiber of her stubborn, guarded, too big heart she didn’t want to go.

Silence settled between them, soft and warm.

“I didn’t plan for this,” she finally said, shifting slightly so she could look at him more directly. “You were supposed to be a job. A really hot, annoying, emotionally constipated job.”

Jake grinned. “Guilty.”

“But now…” She exhaled. “I think about you even when I’m not here. I’m constantly worried about you, I want to slap you and kiss you in the same breath, and when I imagined walking away leaving when it’s over. I realized it would wreck me.”

Jake’s expression turned gentle, the kind of softness that didn’t come easy for him. “Then don’t.”

Her voice was quieter. “This is serious now, right? It’s not just heat or tension or proximity.”

He nodded once, firm. “It hasn’t been just that for a while, Seorin. I feel like I’ve known you longer than time will ever measure.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“And what happens next?” she asked. “I stay…then what? What if we mess this up?”

Jake lifted his hand and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Then we mess it up. Together. But we try. You and me.”

She smiled slowly. “That’s dangerously romantic, Sim.”

He leaned in, kissed her forehead softly. “Yeah, well, turns out I’m a goner for this ruthless nurse with a foul mouth and healing hands.”

Seorin let herself laugh into his chest, her fears still lingering, but somehow not as loud. Maybe love didn’t need a roadmap. Maybe all it needed was the courage to say, I’m staying.

And she was.

Jake

He’s in love.

Sue him. No, really. Throw the book at him, slap the cuffs on, take him in for emotional indecency.

Because this? This is criminal.

It’s week three, twenty one days of flirting, teasing, healing, therapy, and the most unhinged, soul ruining affection he’s ever experienced and here he is, standing in the sports medicine wing of the hospital, sweating bullets on a rubber mat like a first time toddler.

His leg wobbles.

His heart soars.

Two nurses flank him like he's made of glass, gripping his arms as he shifts his weight forward. The brace had come off two days ago, and the miracle is: he's not dead. He’s not flat on the floor sobbing. He's standing. His foot hits the mat and it hurts, but it’s not pain. Not like it used to be.

And across the room?

Well, there she is. His beautiful, mean, healing handed, no shit taking, mine nurse slash girlfriend slash goddess in joggers. Clipboard in one hand, her other on her hip, and her eyes fixed on him like a hawk watching a fragile, stupid rabbit.

Her lips are pursed. She’s assessing. She’s planning to scold him. Jake can feel it in his bones the way her mouth tightens means she thinks he’s overdoing it.

He is. And he would lie if it didn’t make him want to pounce on her and whisper sweet profanities until she melts into his mouth.

He breathes in through his nose. Focus, Sim.

He takes another guided step. Victory. One more and he’ll get a gold star or at least a kiss if he behaves.

Maybe.

If she's feeling merciful.

She won’t be.

Because all she sees is him wobbling like a newborn deer and already preparing her “you overconfident dumbass” speech. He knows the look. She’s glaring like she doesn’t secretly kiss his chest every morning when she thinks he’s asleep.

But he’s awake, baby girl. He’s always watching.

And what’s worse is that he knows, knows the minute he can walk fully on his own without support, he is going to fold her in half and thank her the only way he knows how.

God bless therapy. God bless progress. And God bless that tiny little mole on the back of her neck that drives him insane.

But deeper than all of that? Beneath the want and the aching?

He loves her.

With the kind of bone deep certainty that he used to reserve for game winning goals and championship dreams.

She made him better. Not fixed. Better.

He’s still learning. Still letting go of the bitterness of losing the sport he dedicated half his life to. Still missing his dog like it’s a limb. But he has her. And her hands. Her voice. Her lowkey terrifying lectures.

And those eyes those soft, tired eyes that never looked at him like he was broken.

Jake exhales as the nurses help him lower onto the bench. She walks toward him now, slow and unreadable, clipboard tucked to her chest. The air shifts. The nurses? Oblivious.

But Jake?

He’s already gone.

He grins like an idiot and whispers under his breath as she approaches, “I’d marry you right here if my leg didn’t feel like jelly.”

She squints at him. “What did you just say?”

“Hmm? Nothing, boss nurse. Just talking to God.”

And damn life is good.

He’s doing it.

He’s walking.

Okay, so maybe not a cool, cinematic walk, there’s no wind in his hair or dramatic music playing but he’s moving. Slowly. Carefully. One foot in front of the other. From the front door to the couch.

And he’s not alone.

Seorin walks backward in front of him, hands wrapped around his forearms like she’s leading the world’s clumsiest waltz. Her steps are precise, her gaze locked on his feet first, then his eyes, then back down again like she’s mentally screaming don’t fall, Jake, I will kill you if you fall but also I’ve got you.

And that’s the thing. She does have him.

He can’t even make a sarcastic joke about how pathetic he probably looks right now because God.

Her lip wobbles.

Her actual, perfect, bossy lip wobbles.

He watches it in real time. Her eyes glisten just slightly, her jaw tightens like she’s trying to pull herself together, and when she whispers, “I’m proud of you,” it lands like a punch straight to the chest.

“Oh my God,” he croaks dramatically. “You care.”

She immediately tries to backpedal, straightening up like he didn’t catch it, but it’s too late. His smile splits wide, dumb and glowing.

“Stop smiling like that,” she mutters, but she’s clearly fighting off her own grin.

“You care about me, Nurse Han. That little lip tremble was love.”

“It was not,” she lies so fast she practically stumbles. “It was…dust. I have dry eyes.”

Jake snorts. “Uh huh. I’m just glad I didn’t cry before you did. I win.”

“You’re still limping like a baby deer.”

“And yet somehow,” he says, inching toward the couch with all the swagger of a half functioning toddler, “I feel like a king.”

They reach the couch finally and Jake doesn’t let her go. In one motion, he tugs her down with him and wraps his arms around her so tightly she yelps and half lands on his lap, half beside him.

“No escaping,” he mumbles, face pressed into her hair. “You’re mine now.”

She laughs. God, laughs, soft and breathless and settles in with a sigh against his chest.

“So the nurse fell for the patient, huh?” he teases, voice low, warm with smug delight. “Doomed from the start.”

She hums. “Patient had a hot face. And a smart mouth. And a death wish.”

“Still do.”

“Mm. But I guess I can’t quit now.”

Jake leans back, heart full, legs weak, arms full of the woman he never expected to fall for.

He’s not playing soccer again. That life’s behind him.

But this? Her? This is the win.

And he’ll limp his way into every future day if it means she’s waiting on the other side.

Seorin

Day 14 since Jake got off the leg brace.

He still uses his crutches because if he didn’t, she would absolutely stab him but that hasn’t stopped him from becoming the most insufferable man on Earth.

She’s no longer his live in nurse, not officially. Back at the hospital, taking shifts like a normal human being. And yet, apparently, he cannot survive the simple act of being alone in his house for more than four hours without spiraling into dramatic monologues about loneliness, starvation, and the tragic silence of an empty home.

God may move mountains. But Jake Sim moves faster.

Her apartment? A ghost town. A haunted shrine to independence. Might as well be a dust habitat now, overrun by forgotten plants and a flickering fridge light. Because according to her golden retriever of a boyfriend, she’s not allowed to spend a single night away from him.

“I sleep better with you next to me,” he’d said last week with the most heartbreaking pout and then he had the audacity to back it up by not sleeping at all the night she went home.

And now?

She lives here. Apparently.

Not that she ever moved in not with boxes or bags or a key handoff. No, Jake just decided. And when she made the mistake of asking what that meant, he smiled brightly and said, “I hired a moving company. They’ll pick up your stuff on Friday.”

That was two days ago.

She should probably be concerned. As a girlfriend, maybe she’s supposed to pace herself, draw a line, make a plan, take things slow.

But the truth is, she already lived here before the label. Before the whispered baby, the shouted love, or the dozens of other ridiculous names he threw at her on a daily basis.

She’d already memorized the creak in the hallway floor, the way his bathroom light flickered for half a second before fully turning on, the spot on the kitchen counter he always leaned on when he was watching her cook.

She already belonged here. With him.

Even if he was currently hanging off his crutches at the kitchen island, dramatically sighing every time she turned her back.

“Do you even miss me when you’re at work?” he asks for the third time today.

She doesn’t turn. “I miss my quiet.”

He gasps like she just slapped him. “You’re mean.”

“And yet you’re still obsessed with me.”

“Have you seen yourself?” he replies, resting his chin on his crutch like a kicked puppy. “You’re the hottest mean girl in all of Seoul. Maybe the planet.”

She rolls her eyes, pouring the coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her sane. “Don’t you have therapy in an hour?”

He perks up instantly. “Are you driving me?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going.”

She spins slowly, one brow raised. “Jake.”

“I’m weak. I can’t go alone.”

“You went alone yesterday.”

“I missed you the whole time.”

She sets the mug down. Stares at him. Debates the pros and cons of murder.

But when he gives her that stupid grin the one that crinkles his eyes and makes her stomach do backflips she sighs and grabs her keys.

Maybe she should be worried they’re acting like an old married couple. That they’re living together without ever having a formal conversation about it. That he’s planning future grocery runs and sock drawers and holiday plans with her in them.

But she isn’t.

Because somehow, she’s never felt more like herself than she does in the orbit of Jake Sim.

And she’s not going anywhere.

Jake

Layla is a traitor.

There’s no other explanation. None that could soothe the gaping wound in Jake Sim’s chest as he sits crippled, emotionally and otherwise on Ni-ki’s designer couch, watching his daughter fall for the enemy.

Enemy being Seorin, his beloved girlfriend. But still.

Four months. Four amazing, chaotic, healing, bone melting months of love, and she’s already turning his child against him.

Unbelievable.

The betrayal began the second they walked into Ni-ki’s apartment. Layla didn’t even bark. Didn’t whine or whimper or do that dramatic full body tremble like she used to when Jake came home from soccer practice back in the day.

No.

The overly intelligent golden retriever sniffed his hand once, wagged her tail…and walked away.

Trotted off like he was some guy on the street. No tailspin. No pounce. No I-missed-you-so-much-I-forgot-how-to-breathe energy.

She went straight to Seorin.

His girlfriend had barely gotten her shoes off before Layla was in her lap paws planted, tongue out, full retriever grin on display. Like they were bonded by fate and he was the ex roommate that still texted sometimes.

Seorin’s giggles, giggles can you believe that, ring across the room as she scratches behind Layla’s ears, cooing, “You’re such a pretty girl. Such a sweet thing. You like me better, huh?”

And Layla, freaking Layla, lets out a content huff and lays her head on Seorin’s thigh.

Jake is going to die. He’s going to wither into dust right here next to Ni-ki’s tacky throw pillows.

“You good, hyung?” Ni-ki asks from the other end of the couch, barely containing his grin. The 25 year old demon doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I am crying,” Jake deadpans.

Ni-ki snorts. “Can’t even see your tears.”

“They’re on the inside. Where the pain is.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Your niece just betrayed me.”

Ni-ki raises a brow. “You mean your dog?”

“Same thing.”

Across the room, Seorin is now on the floor, Layla half in her lap, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she speaks softly in baby talk.

Jake would call her out for being a liar, he knows damn well she said she doesn’t do baby talk but here she is, fully whipped by a four legged heathen with too much fur and too little remorse.

“She’s perfect,” Seorin says without looking up, rubbing her face against Layla’s snout. “How have I not met her until now?”

Jake groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch.

Because he hadn’t been ready. Because this was his daughter. Because he thought stupidly, naively that she’d be more loyal.

“You hear that?” Ni-ki says with a shit eating grin, nudging Jake’s arm. “Your girl and your dog are having a bonding moment. That’s endgame material.”

Jake cuts him a side eye. “This is how villains are made, you know.”

“Hyung, she literally brought Layla a bag of organic treats and a new collar. You never stood a chance.”

“Layla only likes her because she smells like vanilla and violence.”

“And because she’s not a clingy man baby who talks about emotions all the time.”

Jake gasps. “Excuse me for loving my family.”

“Oh my God,” Ni-ki says, laughing, “you’re jealous of your dog.”

Jake crosses his arms. “I’m not jealous.”

“You’re pouting.”

“She used to cuddle me.”

“Bro. Layla’s been sleeping in my bed since your surgery.”

Jake clutches his chest like he’s been shot.

Seorin finally glances up, clearly aware they’re talking about her, Jake, or Layla or all three. “Everything okay?” she asks, smile soft, fingers still stroking Layla’s back.

Jake frowns. “No.”

Layla picks her head up and barks once at him.

“Oh, now you remember I exist,” he mutters bitterly.

Seorin giggles again, and Jake hates how his heart does a stupid little spin. Especially when she pats the floor next to her and says, “Come sit with us, Sim. There’s room for one more.”

But Jake stays seated on the couch. Arms crossed. Mouth tight. “No thanks. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Ni-ki fake coughs. “Drama queen.”

Seorin’s brows lift in challenge. “So you’re not coming over here?”

“I’m emotionally wounded.”

“Poor baby,” she coos, eyes glittering. “Layla, go get Daddy.”

Layla lifts her head, glances at Jake and does not move.

Ni-ki loses it, howling with laughter.

Jake glares at them all. “This is the worst day of my life.”

But even as he sulks, even as Layla shamelessly chooses Seorin’s lap over his, Jake feels his chest lighten.

Because if his girl can win over his dog this easily...maybe she really is meant to stay.

Seorin

She’s sweating bullets.

Like literal bullets. The kind you only see in war movies where the protagonist is standing in front of a bomb with wires and no scissors. Except her bomb is this stupid living room, decorated too nicely because Jake insisted they make it cozy for the guests, and her wires are four very chatty, very opinionated parents.

Jake, of course, is completely relaxed.

He’s leaning against the arm of the couch like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world, sipping from his iced coffee like this isn’t the single most stressful day of her entire life.

She wants to slap him with his crutch.

Because why is he smiling at her like that? Why does he look like he’s watching his favorite rom-com come to life?

Probably because his mom, soft curls, warm eyes, a thick Australian accent, and an Olympic level hug has got her locked in a death grip and is currently calling her, “My sweet girl,” and “God’s gift to Jakey.”

Breathing is not an option. Not with this much maternal love squeezing the air from her lungs.

And then there’s her mother.

The woman who birthed her, flamboyant, dramatic, dressed in floral silk like she’s going to a brunch gala is sitting with Jake’s mom now, both of them giggling and bonding like they’ve known each other their entire lives. Apparently, they’ve already decided the wedding should be in spring.

There is no engagement ring yet. Not that it matters.

Her father is stoic, football obsessed, a man who has only ever raised his voice during sports matches is currently bonding with Jake’s dad over Korean barbecue grilling styles, vintage jerseys, and something about dog psychology.

Jake’s dad, who she had been warned was a “quiet and serious man,” has just pulled out a picture of Layla from his wallet.

Layla. Jakes dog. Their daughter. Who has betrayed her again by curling up next to Jake's mother like she’s been raised in Australia her entire life and is a seasoned expat. The traitor.

Seorin stands in the middle of the chaos, arms stiff at her sides, eyes wide as the world melts around her in flower-scented maternal laughter, dad jokes, and Layla’s tail wagging violently against the hardwood floor.

She is not okay.

And Jake Sim, bane of her existence, love of her life has the audacity to grin at her again.

“Baby,” he calls softly, holding out one hand from where he’s now sitting upright, eyes gleaming with humor and affection.

She glares.

He grins wider.

When she doesn’t move, he grabs her wrist and pulls her gently down beside him on the couch, tucking her into his side like she belongs there. Like this is the most natural thing in the world.

She’s just about to whisper something threatening something sharp and mean to mask her rapidly crumbling panic when Jake presses his lips to her temple and murmurs, “Hold me still, baby.”

Her heart stops. And then, somehow, it speeds up.

Because that’s what he always says when he’s overwhelmed. When his world feels too fast, and she’s the only anchor he has. When he needs her, truly needs her to keep him grounded. It’s the first thing he ever asked her when they crossed the line between nurse and patient, and it’s the thing that makes her stay every time.

Her chest tightens, the panic quiets. And suddenly, she’s not sweating anymore.

She turns her head slightly to look at him. His smile is quieter now, less smug, more soft. His fingers trail small circles along her arm, and Layla lets out a happy sigh from her spot now curled between their feet.

Jake leans in, brushing his nose against her cheek.

“We’re really doing this, huh?”

She hums, curling into his warmth despite herself. “Apparently.”

“Our parents are planning a spring wedding and we haven’t even proposed.”

Jake grins. “You wanna do it now?”

She snorts. “Jake, if you pull out a ring, I will kill you.”

“Okay, okay.” He kisses her jaw. “Next week then.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She can’t help it.

Because this, the chaos, the laughter, the overwhelming affection, the ridiculous dog, and the stupidly beautiful man beside her is her home now.

And she’s not going anywhere.

Not from this couch.

Not from him.

Not from the love she accidentally tripped into with all the grace of a hammer hitting glass.

She’s staying. Forever.

And as her mom starts talking about flower arrangements and Jake’s mom excitedly asks if Seorin likes vanilla or strawberry cake, she thinks maybe…just maybe this love story was always meant to happen.

Layla jumps onto the couch, shoving her snout between them like a giant fluffy wedge.

“Your daughter has no boundaries,” Seorin mutters.

Jake just laughs, arms curling around both of them.

“Yeah. But neither do we.”