The medication had given her the deepest sleep she’d had in a while, but Jisoo was a natural light sleeper. Even the soft thud of the door closing wasn't enough to pull her out, the subsequent clatter of keys and the thump-thump of Sehun's early morning run routine was.

She blinked, wincing as the dull throb in her right ankle announced its presence. She grabbed her phone: 7:25 AM.

"Sehun!" she called out, her voice raspy.

A moment later, Sehun appeared, sweat glistening on his temples, a bottle of Gatorade in his hand. "Morning, Wounded Pet. You look less dead."

"Charming. Help me up," Jisoo muttered. "I need to brush my teeth before Yixing arrives and judges my hygiene."

Sehun carefully helped her slide to the edge of the bed and steady herself on her crutches. The simple act of traversing the hallway to the bathroom felt like traversing the Great Wall.

As she was meticulously brushing her teeth, she heard the apartment buzzer sound, followed by the familiar sound of the door latch opening.

"Morning, Hyung. You're punctual," she heard Sehun’s low voice in the living room. "Did you bring a schedule?"

Jisoo paused her rinsing, annoyed. The nerve of that man. Punctual indeed.

She heard Yixing’s voice next, muffled but recognizable. "Where is she?"

"In the bathroom, trying to regain her dignity," Sehun replied, followed by a slight chuckle.

Jisoo finished quickly, leaning heavily on the crutches. She emerged from the bathroom, leaning on the wall for a moment to catch her breath. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants—definitely not the aesthetic consultant look.

She maneuvered herself into the living area. Yixing was standing by her small dining table, setting down a bag and specialized containers. He was dressed in immaculate business casual attire, looking refreshed and annoyingly professional.

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, good. The CEO has arrived to inspect his investment," she quipped, her eyes holding genuine surprise and a slight flush of embarrassment at being caught looking so disheveled.

Yixing ignored the quip entirely, his expression serious. "Did you get to sleep?"

"Yes, after the designated caretaker put me to sleep," she said, nodding towards Sehun. "But I didn't expect you to actually show up this early."

"I told you I would," Yixing reminded her, his tone flat. He took in the sight of her struggling slightly with the crutches and the large bag of medical supplies resting next to the table.

"Don't move too much," he ordered, pointing to the dining chair closest to the counter. "Sit. You need protein."

Jisoo carefully lowered herself onto the chair, watching him as he started meticulously unpacking the food. Instead of basic takeout containers, Yixing produced this ridiculously elegant, heated lunch box set, a covered bowl of rice, and several small containers of side dishes.

He then reached into the bag and pulled out a large, gleaming silver thermos.

The rich, savory aroma of nourishing broth instantly filled the apartment.

"Wow," Jisoo stated flatly, crossing her arms over her hoodie. "You came prepared. I thought you were just going to drop a protein bar and leave. Is this your standard operating procedure for a crisis?"

Sehun chuckled from the counter, prompting a slight, rare crack in Yixing’s serious demeanor. Yixing actually let out a small, quiet laugh before regaining his composure. "It's just about optimal performance standards," he said, pushing the plate toward her. "My efficiency demands your full recovery. I brought Seolleongtang (bone marrow soup). It’s what you need right now; great for tissue repair. Finish the whole thing."

Sehun, now sipping the premium coffee Yixing had brought, leaned against the kitchen counter with undisguised amusement. "You see it, don't you, Jis? This is why I call him your nursemaid. He's better organized than my personal assistant."

Yixing didn't react with a word, only a brief, almost imperceptible lift of one corner of his mouth—a silent signal that he was totally fine with the title, as long as he got the results he wanted.

He then shifted his attention entirely back to Jisoo, his expression turning purely professional. "So, I took the liberty of speaking with your doctor this morning," Yixing stated, pulling a small notebook from his inner coat pocket. "Look, with an injury like that, you're going to need physioright after the boot comes off—which is roughly week six. I've already shortlisted some good specialists. We just need to sync up those appointments with your teaching schedule."

Jisoo stared at the notebook, the sight of Yixing treating her ankle injury like a project schedule utterly overwhelming. 

She had always prided herself on being fiercely independent, only relying on Sehun, which felt less like an inconvenience and more like a family duty due to their history. This level of meticulously planned, totally unsolicited care from Yixing was foreign—it felt kind of intrusive, honestly—yet it was undeniably helpful.

She looked down at the perfectly prepared breakfast, the soup already steaming away, then back up at Yixing’s intense, serious expression. This kind of focused, practical care was absolutely unheard of in her entire experience.

She didn't know whether to roll her eyes at his bossiness or feel deeply touched by the sheer effort he had put in.

"This is ridiculous," she mumbled, picking up her fork. "You really didn't need to do this."

Yixing didn't argue the point. He simply looked at the heavy silver thermos, then back at her injured ankle.

"I did," he replied, his voice firm, leaving no room for negotiation. "Now eat. I need to brief Sehun on the discharge instructions and medication schedule before I leave."

Jisoo sighed, defeated not by pain, but by his unwavering efficiency. She dipped her spoon into the Seolleongtang. The broth was rich, savory, and surprisingly soothing.

"Fine," she muttered, taking a large, grateful sip. "But I’m coordinating the specialists, not you."

Yixing nodded curtly, accepting the compromise. "Agreed. Sehun, a word."

Sehun immediately put down his coffee and followed Yixing to the far end of the kitchen, their voices dropping into low, serious tones—a total contrast to their usual playful banter.

Jisoo watched them for a moment, the two men—a cousin and her oldest friend, the other a near-stranger acquaintance who happened to be her brother's old friend—discussing her medical care like co-managers of a distressed asset. It was unsettling, absurd, and yet, she couldn't deny the sudden, immense relief of not having to manage this burden alone. She decided to focus on the soup instead.

After five minutes, Yixing finished. He gave Sehun a final, terse instruction, clapped him lightly on the shoulder—a gesture of mutual professionalism—and turned back to Jisoo.

"I have to leave now. I have a remote meeting," Yixing stated, his expression softening slightly as he saw she was actually eating. "I will text you the contact information for the medical specialists and the proposed schedule. Your priority is rest and nutrition. No reading papers until tomorrow afternoon."

"Understood, Project Manager," Jisoo shot back dryly, but the sarcasm lacked bite. She genuinely felt better than she had in days.

Yixing gave her a ghost of a smile. "Good. And I’ll be back tonight around seven-thirty with dinner." He nodded once, a quick, professional goodbye, and headed straight for the door.

The apartment felt instantly quieter and emptier the moment he was gone.

Sehun waited until the sound of the lift closing echoed up the hallway before spinning around, his eyes alight with conspiracy.

"Okay," Sehun started, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. "Forget the timeline. That guy just served us a five-star medical intervention, debriefed me like his second-in-command, and promised dinner. Jisoo, that is not a duty. That is a strategic play. That guy is courting you."

Jisoo immediately groaned and stabbed a piece of radish from the banchan with her chopstick. "Oh, here we go again."

"No, seriously!" Sehun pushed off the counter, waving a hand dramatically. "Name one person, outside of your immediate family, who would shortlist physiotherapists for you? He’s not managing his guilt, he’s creating an excuse for six weeks of non-stop visits."

Jisoo rolled her eyes, pushing the bowl of rice closer to the soup. "You are being ridiculous. It's the Minseok factor, Sehun. Always the Minseok factor. It's a debt, not a date. It’s a liability he is managing, and the simplest way to manage it is total, overwhelming efficiency."

"The liability ended when he signed the discharge papers, Professor," Sehun countered, leaning down to meet her eye level with a smirk. "He is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. He delegates liabilities. He doesn't personally cook the bone marrow soup and promise home visits. That is pure ulterior motive, wrapped in highly efficient corporate packaging."

"I'm saying his sense of duty is non-negotiable, just like his dinner delivery," Jisoo shot back, her voice firm. "I'm telling you again now. Stop trying to turn my injury into a declaration of love and pour me some water, Caretaker."

Sehun straightened up, the smirk softening into a thoughtful expression. "A declaration of love wrapped in spreadsheets. Got it. I’ll make a note of the methodology. But let me be clear: I am on security detail tonight. If he tries to optimize your dating schedule, he answers to me."

"Just pour the water," Jisoo mumbled, finally giving in to the savory warmth of the Seolleongtang.

Sehun finished the last of his coffee, collected the elaborate lunch box set, and tucked them neatly into Yixing's specialized bag.

"Alright, Professor," Sehun announced, grabbing his jacket and briefcase. "I need to run, or Justice Won will accuse me of neglecting my actual duties. My job is slightly more important than managing your caloric intake."

He approached her chair. "Don't answer the door unless it's the dinner CEO. Call me if you need anything, but frankly, I think you're covered for the next twelve hours." He gave her a playful salute. "See you soon."

Once the front door clicked shut, leaving Jisoo utterly alone with her soup and the heavy silence, she allowed herself to breathe. The relief of being served such a complete meal was quickly replaced by an insidious, familiar panic.

She finished the soup—the broth was undeniably restorative—but Sehun's words kept echoing in the empty space: "... a declaration of love wrapped in spreadsheets."

Jisoo had been single for years. The slow erosion of her romantic sense, compounded by the ugly end of her last relationship with Yeongwoo (and the fallout of his cheating), had made her agonizingly slow to pick up any romantic signal. Yet, the small, quiet part of her female intuition was now working overtime, fueled by Sehun’s persistent teasing.

She looked at the elegant silver thermos. He doesn't personally cook them bone marrow soup.

Yixing was undeniably reliable, trustworthy, and competent—all traits she totally valued in her brother's oldest friend. But this whole unprecedented level of bossiness and meticulous, long-term care was exactly why she felt so conflicted. His initiatives weren't just helpful; they were like mitigating a project risk way ahead of schedule, operating on a level of efficiency she didn't expect from anyone, not even Sehun.

She had always been handling her own affairs. She enjoyed the service, the princess-like treatment, but a small, protective voice warned her not to get used to it. What if she misinterpreted his "duty," grew dependent on his support, only for him to declare the "project" complete?

She viewed Yixing as a trusted extension of her family—Minseok's loyal shadow. She trusted him, but she wasn't sure if she could give away something more than trust in him—i.e., her heart, not after what happened. The dinner tonight—seven-thirty—could not just be dinner. She needed to establish boundaries and discuss his motives before his efficiency created a dependency she couldn't break.