The long afternoon was marked by a steady diet of Seolleongtang and doctoral paperwork. Around noon, Sehun’s girlfriend, Soojung, dropped by with a stack of artisanal rice cakes and tea, which Jisoo was immensely grateful for. She immediately texted Yixing to scratch lunch off his CEO-level checklist.

By seven o’clock, Jisoo was restless, so she decided to seek refuge in her small, private library nook.

She carefully maneuvered herself onto a comfortable chair placed next to the guzheng’s ornate wooden stand. Her guzheng rested securely on its dedicated base at the correct height. This setup allowed her to keep her right leg, encased in the heavy walking boot, elevated and straight on a low ottoman stacked with firm cushions—a position mandatory for reducing swelling.

The position was still a little clumsy, but it felt mercifully normal to have the familiar, resonant strings under her fingers. She began her daily practice, the calm sound a temporary distraction from her throbbing ankle and the Yixing situation.

The injury, she mused, was severe enough that she needed to address her 'other' professional life. She thought about contacting the music alliance members to cancel this season's performances. Even a subtle limp, weeks from now, would be too obvious. She didn't want anyone savvy enough to connect the secretive musician Jin Xian with the injured Professor Kim Jisoo.

The deep, low sound of her phone ringing on the desk was jarringly punctual.

Right on the dot of 7:30 PM, the screen flashed:

Zhang Yixing (19.30): Jin Xian, I'm outside.

A small, involuntary smile touched Jisoo's lips. Yixing using her stage name—the only thing that consistently cut through his corporate armor—was surprisingly enduring. It felt momentarily fresh.

She quickly muted the guzheng strings. Her first thought was to grab her crutches and hobble to the door. The crutches were nearby, but using them, along with the heavy walking boot, just for the short distance to the door felt profoundly irritating. Her limited mobility was the central issue, and she truly didn't want to deal with the cumbersome process just to perform basic domestic courtesy.

She quickly typed back, focusing on efficiency, Yixing's own favorite metric:

You (19:31): The code is 1210. You can come straight in next time.

The reply was delayed, only a beat or two, but noticeable enough for Jisoo to sense his mental calculation.

Zhang Yixing (19.31): Are you sure? 

Yixing texted back.

Jisoo rolled her eyes. She knew he was meticulously weighing the risk of intrusion against the value of efficiency. She didn't want the night to start with him overthinking simple domestic logistics.

You (19:32): As long as you text first for confirmation, just use the code.

She heard the familiar magnetic click of the door latch engaging immediately after she sent the message, followed by the sound of the door opening.

"Professor Kim?"

Jisoo almost laughed. He had already upgraded her title from "Jin Xian."

"In the library!" she called back, her voice muffled slightly as she concentrated on peeling a small piece of masking tape from her fingertip after practicing the guzheng.

There was a noticeable pause—a beat long enough for him to set down whatever he was carrying—before she saw him appear in the arched doorway of the library nook.

His appearance was identical to that morning: the immaculate hair, the crisp shirt, the overall look of someone for whom time had simply paused since 7:30 AM. He looked completely unruffled by an entire workday. The only difference was that his shirt sleeves were now rolled neatly to below the elbow.

"I expected you on strict bed rest," he stated, his voice flat.

"And completely miserable?" Jisoo retorted, pulling off the last bit of tape. "I don't do idle. I read all the graduate students' paperwork I could stand. I was practically dying of boredom, so I played."

Yixing took a step forward, his posture immediately shifting into efficient caretaker mode. He held out his arm. "Let's move you to the dining table."

Jisoo hesitated. She could have easily grabbed her crutches and managed the short distance herself, but before she could refuse, Yixing's hand gently, yet firmly, took her elbow. She found herself leaning into his steady, warm guidance, letting him maneuver her across the living room.

She felt a rush of awkwardness. It must have been written all over her face, because as soon as he had settled her into the dining chair opposite him, Yixing offered a quick, knowing half-smile but said nothing, simply pulling out his own chair to sit down.

The silence that followed was heavy, intensified by the knowledge that Sehun wouldn't be breaking the tension. That cousin of hers had texted just an hour ago: a complex case had demanded a full-night paper review, meaning he would be late—very late.

Jisoo swallowed, the easy familiarity she felt with Yixing that morning now completely shattered. Everything Sehun had teased her about—the strategic plays and ulterior motives—came flooding back, making her acutely self-conscious.

She was now alone, at her own dining table, about to have a structured, gourmet dinner with the CEO, who was either acting out of extreme corporate guilt or attempting to optimize their relationship.

The menu tonight was no less luxurious than breakfast. Yixing opened several elegantly stacked containers revealing premium marinated Bulgogi, a colorful array of fresh ssam (lettuce wraps), and a generous portion of glossy, savory Japchae.

Jisoo helped open the containers while Yixing arranged the eating utensils. Unlike the morning, when she had been defensive and witty, tonight she offered no commentary on the meticulous spread. She started eating as soon as Yixing gave a brief nod, indicating they could begin.

Her first bite confirmed the quality; the meat was perfectly tender and the flavors were rich. As she chewed, she caught Yixing’s eyes on her. He wasn't staring intensely, but his gaze was steady, assessing her reaction. Jisoo was the first to look away, instantly focusing on her meal in strained silence.

They remained in that stifling situation for nearly two minutes. The silence felt so thick that Jisoo could hear the soft clink of their silverware against the stoneware and the low hum of the refrigerator.

Finally, Yixing broke the tension. "How is the food?"

Jisoo simply nodded, a slow, confirming gesture that conveyed satisfaction, and continued eating. The silence immediately snapped back into place.

Yixing waited another beat, his patience seemingly running thin with her uncharacteristic quietness. He leaned forward slightly, looking genuinely curious, even slightly amused by her reserved demeanor.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. "Your usual level of conversational sparring is significantly reduced. What's on your mind?"

“Is it that obvious?” Jisoo asked, tilting her head slightly.

Yixing’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes held a definite See-I-told-you-so look. "I believe I'm kind of good at reading people's nonverbal cues. When a witty person suddenly goes silent, it stands out. Your usual defensive posture is missing."

"Right." Jisoo sighed, feeling slightly defeated. "Look, can we just eat first and talk later?"

Yixing, however, gave a silent protest. Instead of reaching for the Bulgogi, he slowly put down his chopsticks, crossed his arms neatly on the table, and gave her his full, undivided attention.

Jisoo knew when she was beaten by clear, unnerving stillness. She let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Fine," she muttered. "I... umm, have a confession to make."

"And what's that about?" Yixing asked, his gaze unwavering.

"It’s about this," Jisoo began, gesturing vaguely between the elaborate meal and the silver thermos resting on the counter. "I think I’m starting to develop a... spoiled-rotten complex. You know? Like, I'm getting too used to being served like this. It feels good, and that's the problem. I'm starting to feel guilty and not entirely sure if this is okay."

Yixing didn't immediately reply. He stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowed, seeming to connect the dots between her current anxiety and Sehun’s earlier teasing. His gaze momentarily darkened with realization.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. He leaned back slightly. "Have I made you uncomfortable? Am I... overstepping my bounds?"

Jisoo immediately felt a pang of guilt for his genuine concern. She shook her head quickly. "No! That's not what I mean. Please, don't think I'm being ungrateful. It's just... I'm really not used to this level of intense, full-service treatment. Not even from Sehun."

She hesitated, trying to find the right words. "You're extremely competent, Yixing. That's clear. But your kind of help—it's so preemptive, so far ahead of the risk—it feels... overwhelming. It makes me feel like I’m in a bubble, and I worry about getting comfortable here."

Yixing was silent again. Then, he let out a short, self-deprecating sigh, a truly rare sound.

"I apologize if I’ve caused you stress," Yixing said sincerely. "Look, this whole taking care of things—handling everything and mapping it out—it’s literally just how I operate. It’s my default setting. I promise it has nothing to do with expecting you to be helpless or anything like that."

He looked directly at her, his serious professionalism returning, but laced with sincerity. "However, I totally get why you’re worried about getting too comfortable with this. If I ever do something that feels like it crosses a line, or if my 'efficiency' is becoming annoying, you have to tell me, Jisoo. You are the only person who gets to define how much help you need here."

"Agreed," Jisoo said, feeling the tension ease slightly. "Then let's define them." She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "But first things first, apology is not accepted because you've done nothing wrong. I just don't want to cause us any misunderstanding."

Yixing’s lips twitched slightly, a brief acknowledgement of her unexpected frankness. "Duly noted," he replied simply.

"It's simple," Jisoo started, channeling his morning project manager vibe. "I really appreciate the help, but we need to keep this strictly functional for my recovery. You’re helping because of some sense of duty to Minseok—a liability, basically. So let’s keep this within scope: logistics, doctor appointments, and getting supplies. No personal errands, no random gifts, and absolutely zero blurring the lines of our established roles."

She looked straight at him, the implied boundary clear: I am not open to anything romantic.

Yixing listened patiently, his face unreadable. He then gave a slow, measured nod, acknowledging every point she made.

"Understood," he confirmed. He paused, then picked up his chopsticks again. "Functional relationship. Defined as: logistics, medical appointments, and supplies."

He then looked at the elaborate Japchae on the table. "Does providing a nutritionally optimized dinner fall under 'necessary supplies' for, you know, tissue repair?" he asked, a subtle, almost invisible glimmer of challenge in his eye.

Jisoo blinked, momentarily thrown off by his precise interpretation. "Yeah, fine. Nutrition counts," she conceded.

Yixing smiled—a real smile this time, brief and dry. "Excellent. Then dinner stays on the schedule." He reached out with his chopsticks and placed a perfect piece of Bulgogi onto her rice. "Consider me your designated 'Recovery Logistics Officer.' Now, regarding your physiotherapy schedule—we need to clear Tuesday afternoons for the next six weeks on your university calendar..."

Jisoo slumped back slightly in her chair. He had completely accepted her boundary yet immediately found the professional loophole to continue his involvement. He had officially filed himself into her life, not as a suitor, but as a mandatory component of her recovery plan.

Functional relationship, my foot, she thought, but she picked up her chopsticks and began to eat. She couldn't deny the meat was perfect.