Jisoo awoke slowly, pulled back to reality not by pain, but by the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above. For a long, confusing moment, she didn’t know where she was. The comforting scent of expensive cologne and wool—definitely not that sterile hospital scent—was the first thing she registered.

She was snuggled deep under something heavy and warm.

She opened her eyes properly. She was still on the examination bed in the semi-private recovery room, but the room was dark now, lit only by a slit of window and the faint hospital glow. The warm thing covering her was a familiar charcoal grey wool coat. And Yixing was still standing guard.

He wasn't sitting beside her; he was standing by the window, speaking in a low, muffled voice on the phone, clearly trying not to wake her up.

She shifted slightly, testing her weight, and instantly felt the dull throb in her right ankle. But the searing, paralyzing pain was gone, replaced by a manageable ache. Her movement caught Yixing's attention. He turned, immediately ending the call the moment he realized she was awake.

His expression was a visible storm of conflicted emotions: sadness, concern, and a heavy dose of guilt all mixed together. Jisoo knew instantly that he was completely, absolutely blaming himself for the day’s disaster.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice husky with a mix of exhaustion and relief at seeing her eyes open. He approached the bed. "How do you feel now?"

"It’s just throbbing now, not screaming," she admitted, flexing her toes cautiously. "How long have I been out? It’s dark outside."

Yixing gave her a small, tired smile. "About three or four hours. You needed the rest. You passed out right after the injection." 

He stopped right next to the bed, his posture heavy with fatigue, but his eyes were totally locked on her face. He didn't just look exhausted; he looked genuinely wrecked, his lips pressed into a thin line of self-reproach.

He gently reached for her ankle, which was now wrapped in a supportive compression dressing beneath the blanket. His fingers found the familiar thin chain. He carefully worked the clasp of the rose gold anklet—the one with the moon and stars charms—slipping it off her swollen skin. "It had to come off for the dressing," he murmured, his eyes avoiding hers. He closed his hand around the small chain. "I'll keep this safe for you."

Jisoo just stared at his hand. Her mind, finally clear of pain medication and panic, was now violently revisiting the day's events: the impossibly close box-in position in the elevator, the way he carried her, her face buried against his warm coat, the desperate clutch of his hands during the agonizing injection, and how she'd willingly leaned into his chest for shelter. Now, in the quiet, sterile room, every single one of those boundary breaches felt painfully, unbearably awkward. It was too much intimacy, too fast, all in the name of crisis management. She bit the inside of her cheek, desperately searching for a neutral expression to hide the sudden, massive flood of hyper-awareness.

"Sorry about the chaos," he added simply, his voice low and full of genuine remorse.

"I'm fine, really. It was an accident. Don't blame yourself." She suddenly realized the implication of the time he mentioned. Three or four hours. He had waited that long. 

"Are you sure you don't have someplace else you need to be? It's been hours; you must have other things to do," she asked, the concern for his schedule outweighing her own embarrassment.

Yixing then shook his head, looking mildly annoyed that she was even suggesting he leave, as if there was no other place he needed to be. "I wasn't going to leave you here. I am still responsible for this mess." He paused, looking at her seriously—just as she expected.

"The doctor was clear. It’s a Grade II rupture. You're going to be stuck in a walking boot for at least six weeks, and no putting any weight on that leg for the first two. No more high heels for a while, Jisoo." He pointed to the elegant black heel that had caused her downfall, now sitting forlornly on a nearby counter.

Jisoo winced, not just at the diagnosis, but at the thought of six weeks of immobility. "Six weeks?" she muttered, nearly swearing under her breath. The amount of classwork and obligations she had lined up until the end of the year flashed through her mind.

"Sehun was on the phone earlier," Yixing continued, preempting her protests. "He already knows everything. I also spoke to the faculty dean after the doctor gave the official diagnosis. They gave their immediate approval for an entire week of sick leave. You are officially on medical leave from the lab, effective immediately. The dean didn't ask questions. For your lectures and other commitments, we'll figure out accommodations."

Jisoo stared at him, her momentary pain forgotten, replaced by sharp disbelief. He contacted the Dean? She was a lecturer, not a first-year student needing her hand held. The audacity was astounding—a pure display of Yixing's high-handed, top-down efficiency. She should be furious at the violation of her professional autonomy, but the abrupt logistical mountain he’d just cleared for her instantly smothered the protest in her throat.

"You did all that?" Jisoo asked, her voice slightly awed but carrying a distinct, sharp edge of irritation. "Wow. I guess this is what happens when you skip straight to the CEO level of external intervention. I sincerely hope you didn't tell the Dean my shoe was the culprit."

She quickly dismissed the absurdity of the thought—Yixing was too smooth for that. A wave of unexpected, overwhelming relief suddenly smothered her immediate annoyance. She realized, with a crushing certainty, that she would have been completely paralyzed trying to fight that bureaucratic battle herself in this condition.

"Regardless," she conceded, the sharpness draining out of her voice. "Thank you very much, Yixing. I couldn’t have handled that bureaucracy myself right now."

Yixing smiled, a small, genuine smile that finally eased the guilt from his features. "Don't mention it. Consider it free labor. Besides," he added, his voice dropping into his familiar teasing tone, "I'm just protecting my investment, ensuring my favorite acquaintance gets back to full health."

The joke successfully pierced the heavy atmosphere. Jisoo couldn't help but laugh, a relieved, shaky sound that made her shoulders slump slightly. Yixing was right. She needed the lightness. And she certainly needed the help.

The doctor confirmed that Jisoo did not need to stay overnight. A nurse then efficiently fitted Jisoo with a bulky walking boot—a heavy, certain plastic shell that signaled the start of her six-week sentence.

Yixing swiftly handled the discharge, signed the necessary paperwork, and personally pushed the wheelchair out to the waiting car, ensuring she was comfortable and minimizing any movement on her part.

Sehun was already waiting at Jisoo’s apartment building when they arrived. He stood by the entrance, holding a couple of plastic bags containing takeout containers—a thoughtful dinner considering the half-day spent at the hospital.

Yixing carefully carried Jisoo inside and placed her gently on the couch before Sehun swooped in.

"Thank you, Hyung," Sehun said, his tone genuinely grateful as he clapped Yixing lightly on the shoulder. "I heard the summary from the hospital—you really handled everything well, so thank you for that. I’ll take over from here." He gestured toward the bags. "Join us for dinner, at least. You must be starving."

Yixing’s face showed a flicker of reluctance to leave, but he quickly masked it. He glanced at the bags Sehun had brought. "No need, thank you. I have something waiting at home." He paused. "I need to go, but I'll be back tomorrow morning. I'm bringing breakfast for both of you."

"Ah, no, no," Jisoo immediately dismissed the idea, trying to push herself up despite the pain. She felt a strong rush of irritation at his continued service. "You’ve done so much already, so you’re not running errands for me. Sehun can handle breakfast."

Yixing turned to her, and this time, there was no trace of a joke or a smug look on his face. He was utterly serious. "Jisoo," he said, his eyes meeting hers directly. "You need proper rest, and someone needs to make sure you have the energy to heal. And given that you are now officially my problem, I'm going to make sure that investment pays off. Now let Sehun take care of dinner."

At the words "my problem," Jisoo’s eyes immediately flickered toward Sehun, who was standing nearby with the food bags. Sehun, in turn, slowly raised both eyebrows, catching Jisoo’s gaze with a look that screamed: 'Did you just hear that?'