Jake had read through every dating rumor ever made about him. Unfortunately, none of them included the one person he was actually dating— you.

You two had been together for nearly a year now, and at first, keeping it a secret was fun. The sneaking around, the subtle glances, the thrill of knowing something the world didn’t. But now? Now it was just frustrating.

Because no matter what you both did to spark a rumor, it always backfired spectacularly.

“Okay, new plan,” you said, sitting across from Jake in the company lounge. “Coordinated outfits at the airport. Fans love that.”

Jake nodded eagerly. “Right! And I’ll hold your bag or something. They’ll eat that up.”

It was foolproof. Or so you thought.

The next morning, the two of you walked through the airport dressed in what you thought was obvious couple attire—matching beanies, similar oversized coats, and sneakers that weren’t identical but clearly complementary.

The result?

“OMG, Jake and Sunghoon are totally twinning again! The best duo!”

Jake nearly dropped your bag when he read the tweet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

You patted his back sympathetically. “It’s okay, babe. We’ll try again.”

The next attempt was an award show.

The plan: Jake would lean over during the ceremony and whisper something to you, something small and intimate-looking. The cameras would catch it, fans would go wild, and boom—dating rumors sparked.

What actually happened: While Jake was busy making sure his whisper looked natural, the camera cut away at the worst possible moment. Then, when the broadcast returned, it showed Jake laughing… next to another female idol.

Cue the internet exploding with a brand-new ship.

Jake groaned as he scrolled through his feed later that night. “I risked getting scolded for PDA and somehow ended up with a whole new love line?”

You, of course, found this hilarious. “Maybe they’re trying to humble you.”

Jake slumped against your shoulder. “At this point, I feel like we could kiss onstage, and they’d say I was just being friendly.”

You giggled, running a hand through his hair. “One more try?”

“One more try.”

The final plan was a classic: couple bracelets.

You both wore the dainty, matching bands during a live broadcast, making sure to flash them every chance you got.

You thought you’d finally done it when a fan account tweeted, “Wait, Jake and Y/N’s bracelets… COINCIDENCE???”

Jake held his breath.

Then, the next reply: “Oh, I think Jay has the same one too! Friendship bracelets?”

Jake threw his phone onto the couch dramatically. “I give up.”

You burst into laughter, flopping beside him. “I mean… at least we know we’re together?”

Jake pouted. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Despite all the failed attempts, despite the fans unknowingly thwarting your every move, you knew one thing for sure—Jake was yours, and that was all that really mattered.

If there was one constant in your life, it was control. You thrived on order, schedules, and structure. You were the reliable one, the problem-solver, the person who always had a plan. That is, until Jake Sim crashed into your perfectly managed world like an unrelenting storm.

It started at work, where you first met him. He was a new hire, brought in by your boss who swore he was a genius despite his… tendencies. The first week alone, he set off the fire alarm—not once, but twice. The first time, he microwaved his coffee with a spoon still inside. The second? He somehow managed to spill an entire cup of instant ramen onto the office printer, which, for reasons beyond logic, resulted in sparks and a minor panic.

You had to explain to the fire department both times that no, it was not an actual emergency, and yes, it was the same person responsible.

“I swear I was just trying to print my expense report,” Jake had defended, flashing you a sheepish grin as if that would erase the chaos he had caused.

“You what?” You had pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. “Why were you eating ramen next to the printer in the first place?”

“It was a multitasking experiment.”

“It failed.”

But the thing with Jake was, no matter how exasperated he made you, you couldn’t stay mad at him. Because as much trouble as he caused, he somehow always managed to drag you into it, too.

Like the time he roped you into helping him cook.

“I don’t know why you agreed to this,” you muttered as you stood in his kitchen, arms crossed while he rummaged through his cabinets. “You burn toast. Toast, Jake.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Is it? Last week you set the break room toaster on fire.”

“That was an accident!” He looked at you with the most innocent expression, and you had to fight the urge to smile. “Besides, this time, I have you. You’re responsible. You can supervise.”

Supervise, it turned out, was an understatement. Because thirty minutes later, he had somehow flung sauce onto the ceiling, nearly sliced his finger cutting vegetables, and, in a grand finale, almost knocked over the entire pot of pasta while attempting to “save” a single noodle that had slipped onto the counter.

You had barely managed to grab his wrist in time, yanking him back before disaster struck.

“Are you trying to burn your apartment down?” you groaned.

Jake just laughed, his eyes bright with amusement as he looked down at where your hand was still gripping his wrist. “Nah. If anything, I’d say I’m making your life a little more exciting.”

That was the problem. You were starting to realize that maybe you didn’t hate the chaos he brought. Maybe you liked it more than you were willing to admit.

Maybe you liked him.

And that was dangerous.

You told yourself you were just looking out for him, that’s why you always came running to fix whatever mess he got himself into. But then there were moments—small, fleeting moments—that made you question everything.

Like when he’d grinned at you after that near-kitchen disaster, like you were the best part of his day.

Like when he’d brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear absentmindedly, as if he did it all the time.

Like now.

It was late, and you had found yourself once again in Jake’s orbit, this time because he had texted you I need help with no context. You had rushed over, only to find him staring at his laptop with the most defeated expression.

“I deleted the entire project file,” he admitted. “Like, it’s gone.”

You sighed, sitting down beside him and pulling the laptop towards you. “You know, one day, I’m going to let you suffer the consequences of your own disasters.”

“No, you won’t,” he said confidently, propping his chin on his hand as he watched you work. “You like me too much.”

Your fingers froze over the keyboard. Your heart did too.

You turned to glare at him, but he only smirked, leaning in slightly.

“You do,” he teased. “You always come running, no matter what kind of mess I make.”

“That’s because you’d literally die without me.”

“True.” He grinned, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “But also because you care.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t wrong. You did care. And you were realizing, maybe, just maybe, you weren’t just putting out his fires.

Maybe you were falling straight into them.