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jakesaverse · 2 months ago

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QUIET LIKE US | 01

Genre: angst; fluff; college au; university au

Pairings Jake x reader; mentions of ex boyfriend; some other guys from school

Synopsis: After your ex-boyfriend dies, the blame nearly drowns you. So you run-to a new town, a new school, where no one knows your name or your past. You try to disappear, keep your head down, stay alone. But then you meet Jake Sim. He's quiet too, not by choice-just the kind of person everyone avoids. As the two of you grow closer, you realize he's hiding something, just like you. And no matter how far you run, some stories follow you.

warning: mentions of death; grief; insecurities; toxic relationship

Notes: Hey! Thanks so much for reading the first chapter. Just a heads-up—some parts might feel repetitive or oddly paced, but that’s all intentional. Also, it’s a made-up story, so don’t worry too much about the details like college or trains being 100% accurate. Hope you enjoy the first chapter 🤍

intro > HERE

——

You sit in front of his tombstone, the heavy weight of two weeks pressing down on you like a stone. The coolness of the morning air does little to ease the ache in your chest. In your hands, you clutch the obituary you were supposed to read at the funeral. It’s still folded, still crumpled in places, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not yet.

His mother’s words from that day echo in your mind. “It should have been you.” You want to scream at the memory, but instead, you swallow hard, fighting the rising flood of tears. It hurts. It all hurts. The raw emptiness that comes with this, the brutal fact that he’s really gone, that you’ll never feel his arms around you again, never hear him laugh or feel his touch.

You finally open the obituary, feeling a sharp ache in your chest. The first words hit you like a slap to the face, and you try to steady your breathing as you read.

“Chul-soon Kim. Beloved son, partner, and friend. Forever in our hearts.”

You blink rapidly, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to push the swelling anger down. This isn’t who he was. Beloved. He didn’t deserve that label, not after everything. Not after the promises he broke.

You take a breath, feeling the sting of your words as you keep reading, your hands shaking now.

“Chul-soon was a man with big dreams, with a heart full of passion and a will to make his mark on the world. He was loved by many, a true friend to those who knew him.”

The tears come now, stinging your eyes as you choke out a bitter laugh. A heart full of passion. The irony burns in your chest. He never had that for you, not in the way you needed. You wanted his love, his unwavering devotion. You wanted him to be there, to keep his promises. But he didn’t. He never did.

“Chul-soon lives through his family, friends, and me, YN, the girl who always believed in him, who loved him more than anyone else ever could.”

The paper slips from your fingers as you crumble under the weight of those words. Who loved him more than anyone else ever could. Did he ever truly love you back? Did he? You want to scream, want to throw the paper in the air and curse his name, curse the lies, the broken promises. But instead, all you do is sit there, broken.

“How could you leave me?” Your voice breaks, the words soft and raw. You clutch your hands together, eyes fixed on the cold stone beneath you. “How could you leave me with nothing? I gave you everything, Chul-soon. Everything. I loved you. I loved you so much. And you… you couldn’t even be here for me when it counted. You promised me that you would. You promised… and now, you’re gone.”

The anger inside you flares again, but it’s mixed with the grief, the overwhelming sadness that feels like a weight you can’t shake. You scream, the sound raw and unfiltered. “I needed you, and you left. You left me here with all of this. With nothing. I waited for you. I waited for you and you—”

Your words falter, and you choke on the pain. You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cold surface of his tombstone. The tears fall, thick and fast now. You clutch the paper again, the words on it feeling foreign, wrong.

“Chul-soon loved deeply, with a spirit that could light up a room, and left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who were lucky enough to know him.”

You laugh bitterly, your hands trembling. “He didn’t love me. Not the way I needed. Not the way I gave him all of myself. How can you say he loved me? He never gave me that. He never loved me enough.”

Your voice cracks on the last words, and you break down again, sobbing into the stone. The grief and anger blend together into a suffocating mess. You clutch at the stone with your hands, your heart warring against the love you still feel for him, even after everything.

“I still love you. I still love you so much,” you whisper, your voice small and broken. The words feel like a confession, like a surrender. Even after all the hurt, all the pain, you still love him. You always will. You would always love him, even though he didn’t love you the way you needed him to. You would always be the girl who gave him everything, no matter how little he ever gave back. You loved him, and that was something that would never change.

You sit there for a long time, the paper clenched in your hand, your tears soaking into the earth beneath you. Finally, you stand, legs weak, your body exhausted from the breakdown, but you know you can’t stay here forever. You wipe your eyes, sniffle, and glance at your watch.

You have 45 minutes to get to the train station.

You bend over and kiss the cold stone, a soft, lingering touch, as if saying goodbye to a part of yourself that’s been left behind.

“Goodbye for now,” you whisper. “I’ll always love you.”

A gust of wind rises suddenly, blowing your hair around your face, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like he’s there. Like he’s kissing you back. You hold your breath, letting the wind swirl around you, and you close your eyes for just a second, feeling the soft pressure of it against your skin, almost like an embrace.

And then, slowly, you pull away.

You walk away from his tombstone, feeling the weight of your heart in every step. But somehow, you feel stronger. Like he’s still with you, just a little bit. Just enough to keep going.

You take one last look over your shoulder, whispering one last goodbye to the man you loved, and then you turn, walking away, determined to live — for both of you.

—-

The station is loud. Overwhelming. Voices echo off tiled walls and shoes scuff against the floor like static that won’t stop. Your chest tightens with every passing second as you glance from one blinking screen to the next, your eyes chasing unfamiliar words, train numbers, platforms—none of it sinking in fast enough.

You don’t know where to go.

You spin in a slow, panicked circle, backpack slung over your shoulder, weighing you down like a living thing. Each strap bites into your skin—reminders of the guilt you packed with your essentials. Regret. Shame. The bruised ache of leaving behind a ghost you’ll never stop loving. The zipper barely closes, like it knows it’s holding more than just clothes. It holds pieces of you too.

Your breath hitches as a wave of helplessness rises. You want to scream. To cry. You already did. Your cheeks are still damp from the cemetery, from whispering goodbye and kissing cold stone. You swipe your sleeve across your face again, trying to erase the evidence. Trying to feel like someone who knows what they’re doing.

But you don’t.

You wander a few more steps, scanning signs, heads darting up to boards, luggage wheels clattering beside your feet. You’re in the wrong place. You know you’re in the wrong place, but you can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t—

“Excuse me,” you manage, voice too soft. The woman walking past doesn’t hear you.

You try again. “Excuse me—sorry—do you know where platform seven is?”

The man you ask glances at you like you’re an annoying flyer that brushed his arm, then shrugs. For a second, you want to sink into the floor, to disappear. But then, with one lazy motion, he lifts his hand and points across the station—to the far side, where a narrow stairwell dips out of view beneath a blinking Departures sign.

You blink. Nod. “Thank you,” you say, quiet, but genuine.

You offer him a soft, grateful smile—your first in days—and start walking.

It’s not a long distance, but your limbs feel like stone. Like they’re still half-stuck in the cemetery. In that moment of goodbye. You feel every ache, every step dragging with the weight of what you’re leaving. Not just the place, but the people. The memories. The lies you let grow roots inside your chest. The love that never fit you quite right, but you wore it anyway.

You make it to the platform and find a bench in the corner, tucking yourself beside a pillar as if hiding will make it easier.

Your backpack thumps to the ground.

You slide down beside it, arms wrapped around your knees, and exhale slowly. The platform’s quieter here. Like the silence found you again. You press your palm to your cheek, wiping the last damp streak, and tilt your head toward the tracks.

You’re not ready.

But you have to go.

Because staying would be worse. Staying would mean drowning in the silence, in the should-haves and what-ifs and “It should’ve been yous.”

You breathe in again.

And wait.

—-

The train doors hiss open, and you step inside, holding your breath like it might keep the world from noticing you. The platform air is hot and close, but in here it’s worse — muggy, silent, and too full of strangers avoiding each other’s eyes.

You grab the nearest open seat. It’s fake leather, cracked in the corner, still warm from someone else’s body. The fluorescent lights overhead hum softly. Your knees tap together.

You blink hard. The world tilts — not enough to fall, just enough to notice.The tilt isn’t from the motion of the train, not really. It’s the hollow ache of an empty stomach, the aftershock of tears that didn’t fully fall, the quiet exhaustion of a night spent sleeping in pieces.

You steady yourself with a hand on the window’s cold edge.

Across from you, a couple leans into each other — boy and girl, probably your age. Maybe younger. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell when someone is laughing like that. Their foreheads are almost touching, his thumb drawing idle circles along the seam of her jeans. The way she looks at him makes your chest ache in a place you thought you’d locked tight.

You look away. But your gaze drifts back, like a bad habit.

You shouldn’t stare.

But something in you wants to punish yourself. Wants to press the bruise of the memory, feel how deep it goes.

The train jerks forward, the sudden movement knocking your knee against the metal seat post. You don’t react. You’re not really here anyway.

The couple from before is still across the aisle. His head is lower now. Their fingers are linked between them, loose but sure. The girl has her cheek tilted toward his shoulder, like her body knows how to trust him without thinking.

The train is still moving.

You can hear it — the rhythmic pulse of wheels over tracks, like a heartbeat too tired to stop.

And still, you can’t look away.

Maybe it’s because of how still they are. Or how close. Or because that was you, once. Not on a train, not in Seoul. But with Chul-soon. Before everything went sideways.

The fight wasn’t even about something real. Just a text message. A misread expression. A joke that stung too deep. You were both tired, both too proud, both too sure the other would come back with an apology.

And then —

No time to fix it.

You shift in your seat, the press of your back against the vinyl jerking you back to the present. The pain in your throat builds tight and hot — but you force it down.

The photo in your pocket crinkles softly when you move, the edges worn from your thumb. You don’t pull it out. You just let it be there, warm against your leg like a silent pact not to forget.

The girl across from you laughs — barely audible, private. You turn your face away.

Outside, the city blurs by in streaks of grey and brown. Inside the train, someone’s service dog pants gently beside its handler, tail wagging once when a child reaches out and gives it a soft pat. You watch the tail sway once, twice — a blink of kindness in a world that keeps turning.

And still, somehow, so much of you feels stuck.

—

The train pulled away behind you hours ago, but you can still feel the tremble in your legs.

You didn’t expect it to be so pretty here.

Old brick buildings with ivy crawling up their sides. Tree-lined streets and wide sidewalks. Cafes with chalkboard menus. Cyclists coasting by like they’ve got time to waste. It looks like the kind of place people write poems about.

But none of it moves you.

You walk aimlessly, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the strap digging deeper with every step. A folded campus map from the train station is clenched in your hand, creased in strange angles, already damp from your grip.

You stop in front of a fountain in the middle of town. A couple sits on the edge, legs tangled, laughing over something neither of them will remember in a week. You look away.

This town is beautiful.

And you feel absolutely nothing.

Did I make a mistake?

The thought crawls slowly and steadily.

New school. New city. No one I know. Nothing I understand. What was I thinking?

Your fingers tighten on the map. It flutters a little in the breeze, like even the paper is ready to leave you behind.

A shout breaks the stillness.

You look up.

Across the street, a woman in a red apron stands in front of a store, yelling at someone.

“No dogs allowed! Can you read? I said—”

The guy she’s screaming at stands still, calm, his hand resting on the head of a golden retriever in a blue service vest.

The vest is unmistakable. So is the look on his face — exhausted. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just tired in a way that says this happens a lot.

You stop walking.

For a second, you almost move toward them. Almost say something.

Instead, you just stare.

Service dogs. That’s the second one you’ve seen today.

Maybe the town is full of people who are broken in ways you can’t see.

Maybe you belong here more than you thought.

Maybe you need one too — not for your body, but for your mind.

But you stay quiet.

You stay quiet because you always do. Because you’re afraid if you speak, you’ll say the wrong thing. You’ll make it worse. You’ll mess something up.

Like you always do.

A voice you thought you buried resurfaces, sharp and close:

“You ruin everything.”

Chul-soon’s voice.

“You think you help, but you don’t. I wish I never met you.”

You remember the way his face looked when he said it — cold, like it was easy.

Then, the switch. The fake smile. The way his arms pulled you in that same night like he hadn’t gutted you.

“I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. You’re all I have.”

The worst part?

You believed him.

You shake your head hard, like the memory will fall out if you rattle your brain enough.

When your vision clears, the guy with the dog is looking at you.

You’d been staring.

Too long.

Too obvious.

His eyes are dark, unreadable. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. Just tilts his head a little — like he’s trying to figure out who you are. Or why you look so haunted.

You drop your gaze immediately.

Your feet start moving before you can think. Away from him. Away from the woman still yelling. Away from the version of yourself that almost got involved.

You keep walking.

Because if you stop again, you might fall apart in the middle of this storybook street.

And you’re tired of crying where strangers can see.

—

You walk until your feet ache.

Until the straps of your backpack have worn themselves into your shoulder, like bruises that belong there.

Until the weight in your chest stops choking you—not because it’s eased, but because it’s settled in the way grief does when it realizes you’re not fighting it anymore.

Eventually, you find a small café tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat.

The windows are fogged. A row of mismatched plants lines the sill — some thriving, others shriveled at the edges like they gave up mid-bloom.

It smells like steeped leaves, lavender, and something faintly burnt.

The bell above the door jingles when you push it open.

No one looks up. That’s a relief.

There’s a hand-scrawled sign that says Order at the counter.

You stare at it longer than you should, as if it might tell you something deeper.

When the barista asks what you want, your mouth moves before your thoughts catch up.

“Just tea.”

“What kind?” she asks, not unkindly.

You blink. “Green tea please.”

You settle into the corner booth—furthest from the windows, closest to the radiator.

The mug she hands you is chipped on one side, but still holds heat.

You wrap both hands around it like it might anchor you. You don’t drink it.

Outside the glass, life keeps moving.

A kid rides past on a scooter.

A group of girls cross the street, laughing too loudly, lanyards swinging around their necks. Their hair is brushed, their voices easy. You wonder if you’ll ever laugh like that again.

You wonder if you ever really did.

You let the steam hit your face.

You close your eyes.

And then—

You open them again when movement catches in your peripheral.

He’s here.

The guy from earlier. The one with the service dog and the too-tight smile.

He’s sitting near the front, close enough to the door that it’s like he’s still waiting to be kicked out again.

The dog lies at his feet, head resting on its paws. Its vest is still on.

He’s not looking at anyone.

He’s got earbuds in.

His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the small wooden chair.

And you feel it—this sharp, sudden ache in your chest that has nothing to do with him, not really.

You just… relate. More than you want to admit.

The look on his face when that woman yelled. The way he didn’t fight back.

How he let it happen.

You’re not sure what would’ve come out of you if you’d spoken up then.

Something too loud, too messy.

You blink and realize you’ve been staring again.

The guy catches you again. Just a flick of his eyes in your direction.

You look away instantly, heart thudding.

You busy yourself with your tea even though it’s gone cold.

Pretend to check your phone.

Pretend you have somewhere to be.

You don’t. Not yet.

You think about walking over. Saying That woman was wrong, or I’m sorry, or You don’t deserve that.

But the words get caught somewhere deep in your throat.

So you do what you’ve learned to do:

You disappear quietly.

You toss the rest of the tea in the sink even though it’s not self-serve.

The barista says nothing. Neither do you.

Outside, the wind’s picked up.

You tighten your jacket around yourself—not because you’re cold, but because it gives your hands something to do.

You take out the campus map again.

The paper’s soft now from all your handling, your thumb smudging the ink where it folds.

There’s a star marking the residence halls. That’s where you’re supposed to be heading.

But all you feel is the distance between here and there.

The ache of not knowing where you belong yet—if anywhere.

You fold the map and tuck it away.

And you start walking again.

Not toward anything. Just… forward.

—

You glance down at your phone.

10%.

The number glows up at you, uncaring. A quiet nudge that time’s up. That you can’t linger out here anymore, pretending the sidewalk is a destination. Pretending you don’t have a place to be.

You tuck the device back into your pocket like it’s something precious, something that’s helped you survive the last few hours—which it has. You would’ve gotten lost three times over without it. Every turn, every wrong corner, every unfamiliar street, that little blue dot kept moving forward even when you weren’t sure you could.

And now, that dot’s destination is right in front of you.

The dorms.

Your new… home.

The word hits harder than expected.

You stop walking, frozen just short of the door. There’s a weird, involuntary chill running up your spine like your body’s catching up to the reality of everything. Home. That word feels too big. Too warm. Too much pressure for a place you’ve never even stepped foot in.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel—excitement? Gratitude?

But all you feel is the heavy roll of your stomach and the rising buzz of anxiety in your chest. The kind that’s too slow to scream and too strong to ignore. Your throat feels tight, and you have to swallow twice just to breathe.

You shouldn’t be this scared.

And yet, your palms are clammy, your vision slightly hazy with nerves, and you wonder—really wonder—if anyone has ever thrown up before entering a dorm room.

You wipe your hands against your jeans, force a breath in, then out. You whisper a quick, shaky “Come on,” to yourself, and let your feet carry you across the threshold.

The building hums with low voices, footsteps echoing down the hall, distant laughter. Everything feels too loud and too far away all at once.

You pull out your phone again, screen dimmer now, its light weaker than before. You click open the email for the third—or fourth—time.

Room 303.

Third floor. You tap it like you’re trying to press the number into your memory, as if forgetting it would undo this whole thing.

The stairs are a blur. The hallway even more so. It all smells like new paint and floor polish, too clean to feel lived-in.

And then, finally, it’s there.

A plain door. A silver number plate: 303.

You stand in front of it and let out a slow breath.

But the email didn’t just tell you the room number.

It also told you there’d be no roommate.

You knew that. You read it earlier. A single room. Peace. Space. You needed it. You still do.

But now, standing here with your heart in your throat and your hand hovering over the door handle, it doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like punishment.

It feels like confirmation of what you’ve always feared—that you’re just… meant to be alone.

Like somehow the world is always making room for other people to find each other and choosing to leave you with echoing space.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The hallway around you is quiet. No one’s looking. No one’s here.

You close your eyes for a second and lean your forehead gently against the door. Just to breathe. Just to keep from unraveling.

Then, after a beat, you lift your head.

And you open the door.

—

The door clicks behind you.

Not a grand arrival. No applause. No air of celebration.

Just the quiet seal of a room swallowing you whole.

You stand there for a second—maybe two—looking at what’s supposed to be home now.

It’s almost too clean. The kind of clean that feels like no one’s ever lived here. Like nothing’s ever happened in this space. No laughter, no arguments, no memories.

Just blank walls and a fresh sheet of silence.

You take a step inside. The air is stale, like it’s been holding its breath.

Your backpack slides off your shoulder and lands beside your foot with a heavy thud. You exhale like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in hours.

The room is small. A desk against the wall, its wood chipped at the edges. A built-in dresser with stiff drawers. A twin bed with a mattress wrapped in plastic that crinkles when you brush against it. A single overhead light buzzes faintly above. The window near the ceiling lets in only a narrow slice of daylight—enough to remind you that the outside world still exists, but not enough to make you feel part of it.

You walk to the bed and sit slowly, testing it like you’re not sure it’ll hold you. The mattress doesn’t give much. It’s firm and unfamiliar, and it smells like cleaner and nothing else.

You blink hard. It’s a lot of nothing.

You start walking again to your backpack, pull the small zipper and look through your supplies. A toothbrush. A sweatshirt. Two pairs of jeans. Four very worn shirts. Two protein bars. Twowater bottles. And a single notebook.

And then, near the bottom, your fingers brush against the worn corner of the picture.

You pull it out gently.

It’s old—creased from being handled too many times.

You and Chul-soon, back when smiles came easier. You’re laughing in the photo, looking away from the camera. He’s squinting at you, mid-laugh himself, like whatever you said had just caught him off guard. The way he’s looking at you—like you were the only person in the world.

You run your thumb across the glossy paper. The corners have dulled from all the times you’ve folded it, kept it close, hidden it like a secret.

It’s the only piece of him you let yourself bring.

You walk across the room, hesitating only slightly before placing it on the edge of the desk—half-visible, tucked against the wall like maybe it won’t hurt so much that way.

But it does. It still does.

You look around again. At the bed that feels too wide for one person. The desk with nothing on it. The air too still.

Your chest tightens.

You reach for your phone. The screen lights up—8% battery left.

A quiet nudge that the day is still moving, even if you’re stuck.

You sigh.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you set the phone down next to the picture.

You sit back down on the bed, both feet on the ground, hands resting in your lap.

It should feel like a beginning.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like walking into a story where your name was never written into the plot.

Still, the faint light from the high window stretches across the floor now, catching a shimmer off the photo. It paints a slanted glow across your backpack and the floor beneath your feet.

And something about it makes you pause.

A flicker. Maybe not of hope. But maybe something quieter.

The smallest breath of okay, even if you’re not yet okay.

—

You barely closed your eyes before the nightmare took hold. The weight on your chest felt like it would crush you, the darkness swallowing you whole.

Chul-soon’s voice rang in your ears, sharp and accusing, each word a dagger to your heart.

“You ruined everything. You ruined me.”

His face twisted in anger, his eyes dark with blame.

“I wish I’d never met you.”

The words echoed over and over, his voice relentless. You stood frozen, incapable of speech, incapable of running. Just absorbing.

Then came the silence—empty and bitter.

“You’ll never be enough, will you?”

It was a whisper now, colder somehow.

“Not for anyone.”

You woke with a gasp, your body flinching like it was trying to outrun something. But there was nothing there. Just the unfamiliar stillness of your new room.

For a second, you didn’t move. You just stared at the ceiling, the shadows creeping long across the walls. The heaviness still sat on your chest, not quite as sharp, but just as unbearable. You blinked a few times, breathing slowly, trying to shake the dream from your skin. But the chill wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, you stood and shuffled to the bathroom, towel and toiletries in hand. The shower water was tepid, the kind that never gets warm no matter how long you let it run, but you stayed under it anyway. Letting it rinse away the sweat, the nightmare, the thoughts you didn’t want to name.

You did your night routine quickly—if you could even call it that. Just the basics: brush your teeth, wash your face with a travel-size cleanser, pull your damp hair into a low bun.

Back in your room, you reached for your bag and dug out a clean outfit to lay out for tomorrow: a pair of ripped jeans and a soft, worn-out t-shirt. It wasn’t much, but it would do. It had to.

Your stomach growled then, deep and hollow. You hesitated, then unzipped the front pocket of your backpack and pulled out your sad excuse for dinner—two protein bars. That was all you had left. That and thirty crumpled dollars.

You sighed and shoved the bars back inside, grabbing your water bottle instead. Maybe if you drank enough, the hunger would go away. You took slow sips, ignoring the way your stomach twisted.

The silence was thicker now, heavier. You glanced at your phone, which was now charging on the nightstand.

6:35 p.m.

You were supposed to meet your “assigned guide” tomorrow—someone to show you around campus. It felt a little juvenile, like something made for kids starting kindergarten. But who were you to judge? Maybe some people needed that. Maybe you did too.

Still, the idea of meeting someone new… having to talk, to pretend like you were fine, like you were excited to be here… it made your stomach twist again.

You flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the marks in the paint. One. Two. Three.

Maybe if you stayed like this, time would pass faster.

Maybe by tomorrow, you’d feel like a person again.

But for now, you just laid there—full of water, empty of anything else.

Trying to settle in.

Failing.

—

It was morning. At least, that’s what the sliver of sun filtering through the blinds insisted.

But it didn’t feel like morning.

It felt like nothing had changed.

Your eyes fluttered open to the same ceiling, the same cold air, the same ache in your chest. You hadn’t slept—not really. Not when every time your eyes closed, he was waiting for you.

Chul-soon’s voice still clung to the inside of your skull like smoke. You’d woken up three, maybe four times throughout the night, each time breathless, each time a little more broken than the last. It was like your body refused to believe he was gone—so it summoned him back in the cruelest ways possible.

His words echoed even now:

“You ruined me.”

“You’ll never be enough.”

You turned your head against the pillow, wiping at your face. Again. The skin under your eyes was raw. Puffy. You didn’t bother checking the mirror—you knew what you’d see.

You laid there a little longer, the room too quiet around you. The silence made it worse somehow, like it gave your thoughts permission to get louder.

You weren’t sure when the sun had risen. Time had collapsed into itself. Last night bled into this morning like they were the same bruise.

It was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning.

But all it felt like was a continuation of grief, dressed up in unfamiliar walls and stiff sheets.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, your limbs heavy like they were moving through water. You reached for the water bottle from yesterday and took a few slow sips, your stomach curling at the emptiness it had gotten used to.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A soft reminder.

“Meet your assigned guide at 9 a.m. - Main Quad.”

You stared at the message, blinking hard. Right. That was today. You had to go. Had to get up. Had to act like you belonged here.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, shaky but determined. You moved like someone else was in control—on autopilot. Reached for the outfit you’d laid out last night: the ripped jeans, the faded t-shirt that smelled like home and hurt. You brushed your hair. Splashed water on your face.

Still, your reflection didn’t look like someone ready to meet anyone new. You looked like someone who had just survived a war.

And in a way, you had.

Only the battlefield was your memory.

And the enemy wore the face of someone you once loved.

You closed your eyes. Took a breath.

And told yourself you could make it through the morning.

Just one more hour.

One more smile.

One more lie that you were okay.

—

You were already sweating by the time you reached the meeting spot for your assigned campus tour. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your back, and your chest rose with uneven breaths—not just from the walk, but the nerves, the anticipation, the heaviness that hadn’t left your body since you arrived.

You looked down at your phone, thumb hovering over the cracked screen.

Park Sunghoon.

That was the name in the email.

You didn’t know him, not even what he looked like, but just reading his name again made your stomach knot. Not because of him—because he was a guy. Because no matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t matter, you could already feel Chul-soon’s voice slithering in from the corners of your mind.

“So you’re really gonna let some guy show you around? That’s what you call respect now?”

You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t still hear him. He wasn’t here.

But somehow, his anger never left you.

You were so lost in the spiral of your thoughts that the sudden tap on your shoulder nearly made you jump.

You turned around sharply.

There was a guy standing behind you—tall, dark hair still damp like he’d come straight from a shower, his expression uncertain. Not in a threatening way. More like someone trying not to scare you off.

“Uh—sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jake.”

You blinked up at him, confused.

“I think there was a partner switch,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Were you supposed to be with someone named Park Sunghoon?”

You nodded, slow and cautious. “Yeah… I was.”

Jake gave a small shrug. “He started the tour with someone else by accident. So they reassigned you to me.”

His voice was soft, a little unsure—but not unkind. Still, your shoulders tensed. Something about this—about being alone with a guy you didn’t know, even if it was just a tour—made your pulse skitter.

You nodded again, feeling the words get caught somewhere in your chest. “Right… okay.”

He waited like he expected more, and when you didn’t say anything, he tilted his head slightly.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “I just… I saw a different name earlier. Wasn’t expecting—”

You cut yourself off before you could ramble. Your mouth felt dry.

Jake offered a small, understanding smile. “No need to apologize.”

You looked down at your shoes.

No need to apologize.

It was such a simple phrase, but it echoed. Loud and low in your chest.

It felt… foreign.

Like something you weren’t used to hearing.

You nodded again, hoping that would be enough. You didn’t trust your voice right now.

Jake shifted his weight a little, looking around like he was trying to ease the silence. “If you’d like, I can show you the popular study rooms. Just to get familiar with the spots people hang out.”

You hesitated.

His voice was gentle. He didn’t seem to be pressuring you. Still, the longer he spoke, the more you found yourself shrinking. Not because of him—but because of yourself. The constant fear of saying the wrong thing, of making it weird, of seeming ungrateful or cold.

“I-I guess…” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smiled softly and nodded, as if he’d heard you just fine. “No rush. We’ll go slow.”

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. “Actually… maybe it’s better if we start with your classes first. That way you won’t get lost tomorrow.”

You nodded. Again.

Jake looked over your schedule, eyes scanning until he stopped and said, “Oh—we have one class together, actually. Psychology.”

Your stomach dropped.

Psychology.

The one class you were most nervous about. The one that felt a little too close to home. The one you hadn’t even wanted to sign up for in the first place. You hadn’t wanted to talk about minds or trauma or healing or guilt.

You took a step back, your hands twisting at the strap of your backpack.

“Actually, I just remembered… I think I left something in my dorm,” you lied, already moving away. “Sorry—I’ll just… I need to go.��

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—okay…”

You didn’t wait for the rest of his sentence. You turned, walking quickly, the guilt pressing into your ribs.

Jake didn’t follow.

But he didn’t look surprised either.

Just stood there, quietly sighing. Like maybe… he was used to people running away.

—

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the wind started drying the tears against your cheeks. The moment your feet hit the pavement, you ran—head down, fists clenched around your straps, breaths shallow and sharp in your throat.

You couldn’t catch your breath.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment. It wasn’t just Jake’s kind voice or the way your chest tightened the second he said psychology.

It was everything.

The heat rising in your face. The memory of Chul-soon’s crooked grin as he explained theories with fire in his eyes. The sound of his voice when he yelled. The last conversation you had with him. The way your name sounded like a curse on his tongue.

You turned the corner and your dorm finally came into view. Your legs burned, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t dare. You fumbled your key three times before finally unlocking the door. And the second it clicked—

You were in.

And the sobs crashed over you like a tidal wave.

You slammed the door shut behind you and collapsed against it, sliding down until you were curled up on the cold floor. Your chest convulsed with every breath you couldn’t quite take. Hands shook as you clutched at your shirt, your stomach, your throat—anywhere that ached.

Your brain kept spinning, spinning.

Chul-soon was a psych major.

Of course that’s what triggered it. That stupid word. That one stupid class.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was guilt.

It was panic.

It was the way Jake had looked at you like he was trying to understand—and you ran.

“He was just trying to help,” you muttered to yourself, the words fractured between sobs. “He didn’t even do anything wrong.”

You pressed your palms to your eyes. Tried to rub away the sting. The tears. The memory.

You’re always doing this.

Running away.

Screwing things up.

Making everything awkward.

You hated how easily the spiral came. How loud your mind got when you felt like you’d messed up something small.

But it didn’t feel small.

It felt like proof.

Proof that you didn’t belong here. That you weren’t ready for this. That you were still stuck in a relationship that ended the moment Chul-soon died, and yet somehow hadn’t left you at all.

Eventually—somehow—the sobs dulled. The shaking slowed. You didn’t know how long you sat there, blinking up at the ceiling, chest still sore from crying.

You got up eventually. Splashed cold water on your face in the tiny bathroom. Did your night routine in slow, deliberate motions. Toothbrush. Face wash. Hair tied back.

You drank from the same bottle of water you’d been nursing all day, ignoring the ache in your stomach. There were still only two protein bars in your bag, and only thirty dollars to your name. So tonight, water would have to be enough again.

You looked over at your bed. The one you barely slept in. The one that never felt quite yours.

You didn’t want to check your phone. But you did.

And there it was.

A new email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Checking in

Hi, this is Jake Sim—your assigned orientation partner (or at least, I think I still am after today).

I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I’m really sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier or said anything wrong.

If you’re still open to it, I can meet you tomorrow around 7 a.m. to help you find your classes before my own at 8. No pressure, of course—totally up to you.

Jake

You stared at the message, lips parted slightly.

He was apologizing?

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. You had.

And still, your eyes welled again.

You should’ve responded. Should’ve typed back something simple—an apology, at least. A thank you. But your fingers never moved. Because even though you knew he meant well, and even though a part of you genuinely felt sorry, another part of you still twisted everything into guilt. Into shame. Into something ugly and undeserving.

So, you did what you always did.

You blamed yourself. And then you shut down.

You closed the email. You didn’t reply. You told yourself you’d respond later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. Ghosting him felt easier than facing the weight in your chest, the echo of Chul-soon’s voice asking how you could move on so quickly. How you could look at another guy—even platonically—and not feel like a traitor.

Maybe if you shut your eyes—and your whole world—you wouldn’t feel like you were betraying him.

Maybe then, you could pretend you were still his.

Still enough.

You curled into your bed, pulled the blanket over your head, and forced yourself not to care.

Not about the email.

Not about Chul-soon.

Not about the fact that you had no idea where your first class was tomorrow…

…or that your assigned orientation partner might very well be in it, too.

—-

taglist: @ikonsiconic @hvseunq143 @invsomnixa1 @wwwtxao @addictedtohobi i @kristynaaah @zyvlxqht

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jakesaverse · 6 months ago

Text

EXHIBIT A: HEARTBREAK | JAKE SIM (01) ON HOLD

—————————————————————————————

synopsis: a high-profile case pulls you back to Korea, forcing you to confront the past you’ve spent two years avoiding—including the man who once shut you out. With old wounds reopening and a career-defining opportunity on the line, you must decide whether to keep hiding in the background or finally take center stage.

pairings: jake x reader; jay x reader (??) ; a couple of strangers

genre: friends to lovers ; exes to possible lovers; angsttttt; fluff ; slow burn (sorry); swearing; lots of falling outs

warnings/notes: Hi there! Thanks for giving this story a chance! This is sort of an introduction before the chaos hits. There’s not much to warn about this chapter except mentions of friendship dynamics and favoritism 😑.

DISCLAIMER: I obviously have no idea how everything works in a legal setting so please don’t say I’m writing it completely wrong (I know). This just pure fiction 😅

————————————————————————————-

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the haze of sleep. Groggily, you fumbled around your nightstand before finally grabbing it and bringing it to your ear.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Jay’s amused voice greeted you.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you squinted at the clock. Your heart dropped.

“Jay” you hissed, already throwing off your blanket. “Why are you calling me?!”

“Because I knew you’d sleep through your alarm,” he replied smoothly. “Mock trial’s in less than an hour, Y/N. You’re welcome.”

Your brain barely had time to process the words before pure panic set in.

“Oh my god—Jay, why didn’t you call me earlier?!”

Jay’s laugh was lighthearted but entirely unhelpful. “Because this is funnier.”

You hung up on him.

Still tangled in your sheets, you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom. Toothbrush in one hand, blazer in the other, you moved as quickly as humanly possible, mentally cursing yourself for staying up so late preparing for today.

At least—at least—you had laid out your clothes last night. One less thing to worry about.

Not even five minutes later, you were already sprinting out of your apartment, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Jay’s car idling by the curb. He leaned against the driver’s side, arms crossed over his chest, grinning as if this was the most entertaining thing he had ever seen.

“Did you drive here?” you asked, still slightly breathless.

“Figured you’d need a ride,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Hurry up. We’re gonna be late.”

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you slid into the seat, tossing your bag at your feet as you fasten your seatbelt.

Jay barely gave you a second before glancing over, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Might want to fix yourself before Jungwon sees you.”

You shot him a glare through the mirror as you attempted to tame your hair. “I hate you.”

Jay laughed as he pulled onto the main road. “No, you don’t.”

—————————————————————————————

The car ride was quiet at first, both of you too focused on the day ahead. You flipped through the case file, double-checking every detail, making sure there weren’t any loose ends.

Then, something caught your eye.

“Wait—Jay, this doesn’t line up,” you said, tapping a page.

Jay glanced over, his brows furrowing. “What doesn’t?”

You pointed. “The witness testimony. The defense claimed their client was at work during the time of the incident, but the timestamp on their own document says otherwise. This completely undercuts their alibi.”

Jay blinked.

Then he grinned. “Nice catch, Y/N. You just made my job ten times easier.”

You shrugged, but inside, you felt the tiniest bit of pride.

Jay continued driving, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped against the wheel—a nervous tic you had never really seen from him before.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jay exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Yeah. Just—” He hesitated, which was also unusual. “I don’t know. I guess I feel weirdly… off today.”

That made you pause. Jay was always confident. Always sure of himself. Seeing him like this was…new.

“Jay, you’re gonna do great,” you said, nudging him slightly. “You always do.”

He gave you a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But something in his voice told you that, for once, he needed reassurance.

—————————————————————————————

The air in the conference room was thick with anticipation. Even though this was just a mock trial, the weight of it felt real. The associates who had gathered to observe were seated in rows behind you, whispering among themselves as Jungwon settled into his seat at the head of the room.

Jungwon adjusted his suit jacket and cleared his throat, his expression cool and unreadable. “Court is now in session,” he announced, his voice carrying easily over the low murmur of the room. “This is a mock trial, but I expect the same level of professionalism and diligence as if we were in a real courtroom. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?”

Jay rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket in one smooth motion. He was composed, radiating confidence like he had done this a thousand times before which, technically, he had.

“Ready, Your Honor,” he said, sending Jungwon a playful smirk.

Jungwon merely raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.” Then, he turned his attention to the opposing counsel, Takahiro, who straightened his tie before nodding stiffly.

Jay glanced at you, and you gave him a subtle nod in return. You had already gone over the case files with him, making sure he was fully prepared. But still, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of nerves as you held the documents in your hands.

This wasn’t your moment to speak, but it was your job to make sure everything went perfectly.

Jungwon gestured for Jay to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—” Jay started, his voice smooth and commanding as he began his opening statement. He moved fluidly, walking a few steps before turning back toward the table, his eyes flicking toward the associates in the room who were playing the role of the jury.

The case was centered around a high-profile contract dispute, something that, in reality, could make or break a firm’s reputation. Jay laid out the facts with precision, his argument strong and calculated.

But Takahiro was just as sharp.

The moment Jay finished his introduction, Takahiro pushed to his feet with an easy smirk.

“Objection, Your Honor,” he drawled, casting a look toward Jungwon. “Counsel is making sweeping statements without citing any direct evidence.”

Jay barely blinked. “Your Honor, I’m merely setting the stage. The evidence will speak for itself when the time comes.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly. “Sustained. Stick to the facts, Mr. Park.”

You watched Jay’s jaw tighten briefly before he gave Jungwon a curt nod. “Of course, Your Honor.”

Takahiro shot you a glance as he sat back down, his smirk never fading. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was enjoying this way too much.

The mock trial continued, the back-and-forth between Jay and Takahiro growing more intense. Jay was handling it well, countering every argument with his usual wit and confidence. But as you flipped through the case files once more, your eyes caught on something from earlier.

A discrepancy.

A mistake in the opposing counsel’s documents.

Your breath hitched. It was small, but significant, something that could unravel their entire argument.

Heart pounding, you leaned closer to Jay and slid the document from earlier towards him, discreetly tapping the section in question.

Jay’s eyes flicked to the page, scanning it quickly. Then, a slow, almost imperceptible grin spread across his lips.

He turned back toward the front of the room. “Your Honor, if I may redirect your attention to Exhibit C,” Jay said smoothly, lifting the document. “There appears to be an inconsistency in the opposing counsel’s timeline.”

Takahiro’s smirk faltered.

You could practically hear the breath he sucked in through his teeth as Jay continued.

“If we follow their claim, their client would have needed to be in two places at once.” Jay paused, letting the weight of the statement settle in the room. “Now, unless they have evidence proving their client is capable of bending time and space, I’d say this argument falls apart.”

A few chuckles echoed from the observing associates. Even Jungwon let out a small, amused exhale before composing himself.

Takahiro scrambled to counter, but the damage was already done. You could see it in his clenched jaw, the slight twitch of his fingers as he shuffled through his own notes.

Jay turned to you, tapping the document once in silent appreciation. You gave him the smallest nod back, a flicker of satisfaction swelling in your chest.

Jungwon straightened, glancing between both sides before speaking. “Given the circumstances, I believe we have our decision.” His gaze landed on Takahiro. “The defense has failed to provide a strong enough argument. The plaintiffs win this round.”

A rush of relief washed over you as the room filled with murmurs. Jay let out a breath and rolled his shoulders back, looking pleased.

But Takahiro?

He was already watching you.

And you knew—this wasn’t over.

—————————————————————————————

After the mock trial wrapped up, you expected Jungwon to call it a day, maybe give a quick rundown of what went well and what needed improvement before dismissing everyone. But instead, he remained standing at the front of the conference room, scanning the room with that composed, calculating expression that made you nervous for what was to come.

Jay shot you a knowing glance, sensing something was coming. You leaned slightly toward him, speaking under your breath. “He’s got that face on.”

Jay smirked but kept his voice low. “Yeah, this is definitely about to turn into something bigger.”

Jungwon’s voice finally cut through the murmur of the room. “Good job today, everyone. Some of you handled the pressure well. Some of you—” his eyes briefly flickered to the opposing counsel, who was still fuming from the trial’s outcome— “not so much. But that’s why we practice.”

Takahiro let out a small, disgruntled scoff, his frustration clearly simmering, but you chose to ignore him, focusing on Jungwon.

“Now, let’s talk about what’s next,” Jungwon continued, his tone becoming more serious. “We’ve got a real case—a high-stakes one—and it requires a very specific, carefully selected team. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been deciding who’s best suited for this, and after today’s mock trial, I’m confident in my choice.”

The room went silent. The tension was palpable. You felt your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the news.

Jungwon’s gaze swept over the room before landing directly on you and Jay. “I’ll be leading a small team for this, and the two people who will be taking the lead under my supervision are Jay and Y/N.”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, the murmurs started.

Takahiro scoffed again, this time louder. “Of course,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

You ignored him, keeping your focus on Jungwon, who was still as calm as ever.

Jay, sitting next to you, exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. “Well, guess we’re going to Korea.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach—not from nerves about the case, but from what Korea meant. From what Jake meant. Your chest tightened, but you held it in.

Jungwon wasn’t finished. His tone remained steady, but there was an underlying sharpness. “Before anyone asks—no, this wasn’t favoritism. The decision was based on skill, performance, and how you handled yourselves today. It’s clear to me who is the most capable, and I don’t make these choices lightly.”

Takahiro’s face twisted, but he didn’t dare speak up. He simply clenched his jaw and stared at the table.

“However,” Jungwon added, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this isn’t set in stone. Things can change. Roles can shift depending on how well everyone performs from here on out. If anyone doesn’t meet expectations, if there are any issues, I won’t hesitate to pull you from the team or reassign your role in the case. This is a high-pressure situation, and I need the best from everyone involved.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Jungwon’s words settling over everyone. No one dared speak, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort.

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly processing what Jungwon had said, but stayed silent.

You, on the other hand, felt a slight unease twist in your stomach. The uncertainty was there, if something went wrong, the roles could change at any moment. It wasn’t just about winning the case anymore. It was about proving yourself every step of the way.

Jungwon continued, his voice unwavering. “This will be a huge case—international, high-profile. We’ll be handling corporate giants, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. But, and this is important,” he emphasized, “this will be under Hastings’ orders. So, even though you two,” he gestured to you and Jay, “will be in the spotlight, don’t expect this to be a clear-cut win. Hastings will undermine everything he can, and we’ll have to fight harder than we’ve ever had to. Understand?”

Jay exhaled, his lips pressing together in frustration at the mention of Hastings, but he didn’t say anything.

Seojin, who had been quietly observing, couldn’t hold back her thoughts. “Of course,” she said in a mocking tone, her voice carrying across the room. “Jay and Y/N, always the favorites.”

Her words felt like an unwanted sting, and it wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. She leaned back in her chair, a smug look on her face, clearly enjoying the tension.

You shot her a glance but didn’t respond. Jay looked at you, a flicker of discomfort in his expression, but he kept his voice low. “They’re always going to think that. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Seems like you two always get the high-profile cases,” Minseok added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s new?”

Seojin chuckled softly, the sound almost too sweet to be sincere. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough for you and Jay to hear. “Guess it’s nice being the boss’s pets, huh?”

The quiet jab didn’t escape you, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Jay’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral when he spoke next, his voice soft but clear enough for Seojin to hear. “People are always going to talk, Seojin. It’s how you handle it that matters.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of frustration. “We’ve worked just as hard as anyone else here,” you murmured under your breath, “and none of this was handed to us.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Seojin replied, her voice almost too sweet, “but the higher you climb, the harder it is to stay on top.”

Her words were like a cold jab, and you could feel the eyes of the room lingering on you. It wasn’t the first time they’d questioned your worth, but this time it felt different.

Jungwon didn’t acknowledge the whispers. His eyes scanned the room one more time, a small shift in his posture signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, as I said, everyone here will play a part. You all have a role to play, even if you’re not on the ground with us. Everyone will be involved in strategy, intel, resources. The case is bigger than just the people in Korea. But, make no mistake this is a performance-based team. I expect nothing less than excellence from everyone.”

He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment. “And remember, things can change. No one’s role is guaranteed. If you want to stay on this team, if you want to be a part of this case, you have to prove yourself every day.”

The room was quiet, everyone now fully aware of the stakes. You felt the weight of Jungwon’s words, a quiet determination settling inside you. There was no turning back now.

Jay leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper, “We’ve got this. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

You nodded, but a part of you couldn’t shake the tension. “We’ll see. Let’s just get through it.”

Seojin’s faint chuckle echoed in the background, but you ignored it. This was bigger than anything she could say. You had a case to win.

—————————————————————————————

The moment you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Jay followed close behind, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, while Jungwon entered last, his expression as calm and composed as ever. But underneath that cool exterior, you could sense something—a subtle tension that had been lingering ever since the meeting wrapped up.

You and Jay exchanged a glance, both of you picking up on it. You weren’t blind. The whispers from the room had followed you all the way here. Takahiro’s barely concealed grumbles, Seojin’s sharp comments, and the undercurrent of discontent from everyone who hadn’t been selected for the Korea case—it was all still fresh in the air.

And then it happened.

Jay let out a small snort, the tension finally breaking, and you couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter.

The sound of your laughter echoed through the apartment, and Jay joined in, both of you completely unable to stop. For a moment, the weight of the day, of the whispers, the resentment, and everything else, seemed to vanish.

“Did you see his face?” you wheezed, clutching your stomach as you leaned into Jay, who was just as gone as you were. “He looked like—like someone just told him his entire career was a lie!”

Jay, barely able to catch his breath between laughs, gasped out, “I thought— I thought he was gonna combust right then and there!”

Jungwon, who had been standing silently in the kitchen unpacking takeout, shook his head as he set down the bags. His voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it. “You two are children,” he muttered.

That only made you and Jay laugh harder, the sound filling the space between you.

Jay wiped his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear. “No, but seriously, you—” he pointed at you, his voice cracking with laughter— “I swear I’ve never seen someone ruin another person’s entire day with just a few words. The way you slid that document to me like some secret weapon? Flawless.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small sense of pride flickered in your chest. “It was nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Just doing my job.”

Jungwon scoffed, finally giving in and taking a seat across from you. “If that’s what ‘just doing your job’ looks like, then I need more people like you at this firm.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “But seriously, Takahiro won’t forget this.”

Jay clicked his tongue, his grin widening. “Good. Maybe next time he’ll check his own damn evidence before trying to play dirty.”

You let out a content sigh, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering but now settling into something lighter. Being here, laughing like this, felt like the right antidote to the stress of the day.

Jungwon eyed the two of you, arms crossed. “By the way, you do realize we can’t exactly be seen eating out together, right?” His tone was casual, but there was that underlying reminder: public appearances mattered. “You know, considering… well, everything.”

You nodded, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Hence why my lovely home is your dining hall for the night.”

Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping the table. “Wouldn’t want the firm to think Jungwon has favorites.”

Jungwon shot him a pointed look, and for a split second, you could swear there was a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “You are my favorites. That’s the problem.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, and the weight of his words settled in, unspoken but clear. No one at the firm knew how long you three had known each other. No one knew about the group you used to be a part of—before you moved to Japan, before you became a paralegal at one of the most prestigious firms in the city. A group that, at one point, included Jake.

Your smile faltered for just a second, the memory creeping in before you could stop it. You quickly shook it off, determined not to let it ruin the moment.

Jay noticed the shift immediately, his expression softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t pry he just reached over and stole one of your fries.

You blinked at him. “Excuse you?”

Jay popped the fry into his mouth without a care. “I’m comforting you. You’re welcome.”

Jungwon sighed, shaking his head as he opened his own food. “Unbelievable.”

But you didn’t let the weight of your thoughts drag you down. Not now. Not here. Right now, it was just you, Jay, and Jungwon in this moment, and that was enough.

For now.

—————————————————————————————

The sound of clinking dishes echoed through the apartment as Jay scrubbed away at the stack of plates. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and mild confusion.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jay,” you said with a chuckle. “I was going to clean them later.”

Jay shot you an exaggerated look. “Later? You’re just trying to pull that trick on me again. And here I am, stuck doing your dishes again.”

You smirked. “Maybe I’ll just leave them for you from now on. I’m sure you don’t mind. You’re always here anyway.”

Jay paused, hands stilling on the dishes as he looked at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’m starting to think I should just make a permanent spot here. Might as well bring my stuff, since I’m basically living here at this point.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Yeah, because it’s totally not weird to have your friend live here just because he eats all your food.”

Jay grinned back, completely unphased. “Hey, I cook too. It’s practically an arrangement. I bring the cooking skills, you bring the taste testing. A fair deal, if you ask me.”

Before you could respond, Jungwon entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “What’s this I’m hearing about Jay moving in?” he asked, crossing his arms with a smirk.

You looked at Jay, who shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m already here half the time. Might as well make it official.”

You shot Jungwon a teasing look. “Maybe you should think about moving in too. You know, join the official team here.”

Jungwon chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, thanks. I have enough of my own responsibilities, you know? But you two really make it sound like an actual living arrangement.”

Jay waved his hand dramatically. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Plus, it’s always nice having company after a long day. You should join us more often.”

You snorted, laughing at how easily Jay slipped into his usual charm. “Yeah, you’re so busy with all your important cases, Jungwon. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be here, hanging out and eating takeout.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, you guys seem to have your routine. But if I did move in, I’d probably have to take over the cooking. Jay would just end up burning everything.”

Jay threw him a playful glare. “Not true! My stir-fry is legendary, thank you very much.”

You snickered. “The same stir-fry that almost set off the smoke alarm?”

“I’m proud of that,” Jay said with a grin, clearly unbothered. “It’s called adding flavor to the process.”

Jungwon leaned against the counter with a chuckle. “You two are ridiculous.”

You looked between them, feeling the familiar ease of this banter. “Well, if Jay ever does end up moving in, I’m going to need a second fridge just for all the food he’s stealing.”

Jay shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll just bring my own fridge then. But it’ll be half mine, right?”

You both laughed, the playful mood lightening the air. Even Jungwon’s smile lingered a little longer than usual.

But then Jungwon, with a more thoughtful look, glanced between the two of you. “But seriously… I can’t remember the last time we all hung out like this, without worrying about something else. Seems like you two have this whole… routine now. Guess I miss that. Just… a bigger group, not as much on our plates.”

Jay didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you’re always invited, Jungwon. You know that. We just don’t want to drag you away from all your important work.”

Jungwon sighed softly, leaning back slightly. “I know. But I don’t know… there’s something nice about just being able to kick back, no responsibilities. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “You? Wanting to kick back? Since when?”

Jungwon’s smile was wistful as he shrugged. “I used to… a long time ago. Before everything got so complicated.”

Jay turned his attention back to drying the dishes, a little softer now. “I get it. We all do. But hey, you’re always welcome to join us anytime. We could use your sarcasm at the dinner table.”

You grinned, flicking Jay lightly on the shoulder. “And by using your sarcasm, he means he needs someone to compete with him in that department.”

Jungwon laughed lightly, his usual composure slipping just a bit. “Right, I’d be a perfect fit then.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the three of you as Jay finished drying the last plate. You leaned against the counter, watching them both. This—these small, fleeting moments of ease—was the kind of thing you all needed more of. Even if it was just the two of them sneaking into your kitchen and arguing over who made the best stir-fry. It was enough.

—————————————————————————————

After a while, the conversation slowly died down, the kitchen quiet except for the faint sounds of utensils clinking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You leaned against the counter, feeling that familiar sense of distance between you and the others, the kind you hadn’t noticed until now. It wasn’t just the space between you and Jay or Jungwon—it was the way things had changed. You hadn’t really spent time like this in a while, without distractions, without the weight of everything else hanging over you.

You hesitated, trying to push the feeling of loneliness away, but it was hard to ignore. “Hey… you guys wanna sleep over tonight?”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “A sleepover? What, you’re tired of your own company?”

You chuckled, but there was a subtle nervousness behind the smile. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kinda distant lately. Like, we’ve all been so busy and it’s been a while since we just hung out. So, I thought… why not?”

Jungwon’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and to your surprise, he didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I’d like that. I miss this. I miss you guys.” His voice was a little quieter than usual, the weight of his words hitting you in a way you weren’t expecting.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden openness from him. “Really? You’re up for it?”

Jungwon gave you a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. It’s been too long. I think we could all use some time to just… be.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “I’ll admit, I’ve missed these kinds of nights. Just hanging out, no work or anything else to worry about.”

You smiled, relieved by their response. It felt good to know that even if things had been complicated lately, they were still willing to share this space with you.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are up for it,” you said with a grin. “But fair warning—if you’re staying over, I do have extra pajamas you can wear.” You paused before continuing, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “They’re… well, they’re Jake’s. I never threw his stuff out.”

There was a brief moment of silence as both Jay and Jungwon exchanged a confused look. “Jake’s stuff?” Jay repeated, eyebrow raised. “Like, Jake Jake?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice light despite the unexpected tension that filled the air for just a second. “Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t really bring myself to throw out his stuff after he left. Don’t judge, okay? I was feeling sentimental.”

Jungwon chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “I mean, we all have our things we hold onto, right? It’s no big deal.”

Jay, surprisingly, didn’t press further either, just letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t judge. I’m still wearing the same hoodie I’ve had since… forever.”

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders at their nonjudgmental responses. They didn’t push you for more, just moved on like it was nothing. The space between the three of you felt comfortable again.

“Well, anyway,” you said, trying to change the subject, “I’ll go grab the pajamas. You two figure out who’s sleeping where. I’m not fighting over the couch this time.”

Jungwon smiled, his usual calm demeanor back. “Deal. But if I end up on the floor, I’m blaming you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in.

Maybe things weren’t how they used to be, but for now, with Jay and Jungwon there, it was like you had found your way back to something that resembled normal.

Or that was until your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your daydreaming. Glancing down at the notification, you saw the familiar name flash across the screen: Heeseung.

A sharp pang of discomfort hit you. The subject line read: Wedding Invitation – Heeseung & Hana. You felt your stomach churn, and for a moment, you thought about ignoring it. But curiosity and maybe a little bit of the old, unresolved pain made you click.

The message was brief, almost to the point of being impersonal.

Please feel free to bring a plus one. No hard feelings about the guest list, but I’ve had to limit the invitations.

You stared at the words, the meaning behind them settling into your bones like cold stone. You weren’t expecting to be invited, but somehow, it still stung. The lack of warmth, the formality, the clear divide between what once was and what now felt so distant—it all came rushing back.

————————————————————————————-

Thanks for reading till the end ☺️ feel free to lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

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