The days settled into a rhythmic pattern that felt utterly alien to Jisoo’s previously independent and fast-paced life. As implied in their recent, unspoken Project Scope Negotiation, Yixing showed up twice a day: promptly at seven-thirty in the morning for breakfast, and again at another seven-thirty in the evening for dinner.

When Jisoo's sick leave ended in the second week, the schedule shifted slightly; Yixing occasionally stopped by her campus office for lunch when he was "in the area"—often for a quick client meeting.

During his tenure as her sole food provider, Jisoo realized the man never repeated a menu. It had been ten days, and she had enjoyed at least twenty different, meticulously prepared dishes. Sometimes Yixing brought luxurious Korean fare focused on high protein, sometimes he cooked a traditional family recipe, and other times he brought intentionally simple yet perfect meals, like a fluffy omelet and buttered toast. His main focus was making absolutely sure Jisoo was eating truly nutritious food. The attention wasn't wasted; she was pretty sure she had gained about two kilos over the past few days, a fact that should have worried her, but she was having too much fun eating.

Jisoo also observed the same variety in Yixing’s appearance. Sometimes he showed up at her place in an immaculate business suit, clearly ready for a high-stakes presentation. Yet, on other occasions—mostly for the early morning delivery—he arrived in full running gear, his breath slightly labored and his hair damp with sweat.

The first time this happened, Jisoo didn't dwell on it. But the second time, she did the quick mental math. It took about 30 to 45 minutes to get from Yixing's apartment to her house, while his office was much closer to her neighborhood. This meant Yixing had to be intentionally taking a detour from his morning run route, or even rearranging his entire routine, just to make sure the takeout was in Jisoo’s hands exactly on time. This kind of commuting was super inconvenient and sacrificed his personal time.

She began to feel conflicted. Yixing's effort was palpable, and messing up someone’s personal athletic ritual just to fulfill "logistics" felt excessive. At the same time, she couldn't exactly forbid him from running, or dictate what he could and could not do with his own life. That would certainly overstep her own self-imposed boundaries.

So, Jisoo decided on a silent re-definition of the rules. She started allowing Yixing to use the guest bathroom to clean up and refresh whenever he stopped by after his run. This small personal intrusion—showering and changing in her home—meant the line between their functional relationship was starting to blur, but at least Jisoo felt she was giving something small in return. She was allowing him to step slightly closer, just to feel less guilty about accepting so much.

The shift in her home life was immediately felt by the outside world, namely by Sehun. Once he knew that Jisoo’s breakfast and dinner were covered—her logistics officially handed over to a dedicated officer—he started to show up less and less at her apartment. His excuse was always the same, "My workload is crushing me. The court demands my presence."

That night, after Yixing had left following their meticulous dinner and clear-cut professional goodbyes, Jisoo decided to call in the big guns.

She was on a video call with Minseok when Sehun finally waltzed into her apartment, close to midnight. He looked annoyingly refreshed in his off-duty clothes.

"Oh, look, the missing prince returns," Jisoo muttered loudly to the camera, ensuring Minseok could hear her from across the continent. Minseok, perched on his sofa, simply offered a small, knowing smile.

"Hey, Hyung! Don't listen to the cranky invalid," Sehun said, grabbing an apple from the counter. He immediately spotted the pristine state of the kitchen and the complex coffee machine Yixing had installed. "See, Hyung? This is exactly why I don't visit. The Recovery Logistics Officer is here."

"Aha! You see, Oppa? He doesn't care anymore!" Jisoo pointed accusingly at Sehun. "He thinks his job as a high court judge is more important than my broken leg. I told you he has abandoned me."

Sehun rolled his eyes and started relaying the "situation" to Minseok, adopting the tone of a secret agent delivering a suspicious dossier.

"Listen, Hyung. That Zhang Yixing guy's gone full Stepford. He’s providing full life support: detailed meal plans, physio schedules, the works. It’s all a front, I tell you. He’s too smooth, too perfect. He comes at exactly the same time, with a different gourmet meal every night, but I'm telling you, it's just a cover story. I bet they’re going to be dating one of these days."

He paused dramatically for the main reveal. "And get this: he’s even using the guest bathroom to shower after his morning run! Tell me that isn't a massive breach of the 'functional relationship' she keeps insisting on!"

Jisoo bristled instantly. "Oh, shut up. I've told you that's a necessary reciprocal gesture."

"A reciprocal shower, you mean? Come on." Sehun quipped.

"It's called a small, necessary payment, you moron. I couldn't just keep taking that much logistical effort without offering something back. His effort is exhausting. He takes a huge detour from his route, wastes gas and time just to feed me. I can’t just let him be uncomfortable. I’d rather give him a place to quickly refresh than let my guilt eat me alive, and that's exactly why I gave him the bathroom. It's about balancing the scale! It’s a transaction, not a date."

Sehun ignored her, leaning closer to his phone camera. He narrowed his eyes at the screen. "You seem awfully relaxed about this, Hyung. Did he already call you and clear his plan with his future brother-in-law?"

Minseok watched the two of them bicker with the patient detachment of a seasoned mediator, finally breaking in with a low chuckle. He offered a small, unreadable smile—the kind he used when dismissing complicated questions at a U.N. conference.

"Jisoo, darling, you need to stop calling your cousin a moron," Minseok said gently. He smiled warmly at her before turning his attention to Sehun. "And you, Oh Sehun, stop over-analyzing everything. You're paid to analyze evidence, not breakfast logistics."

Minseok then paused, his diplomat's gaze turning thoughtful.

"Look, Yixing is just like that," Minseok explained softly. "When he commits to caring for someone, whether it’s a business deal or a friend, he goes all in. It’s not a negotiation tactic; it's simply his personality default."

He then looked at both of them, his voice gaining a quiet, wise authority that was purely Minseok.

"Both of you need to remember this: A boundary is only as strong as the reason you set it. If the line is blurring, it's not Yixing’s fault for being himself, Darling; it's yours for not enforcing the terms or perhaps secretly liking the quality of the service," he teased gently. "And Sehun, don't use this as an excuse to avoid your sister. Sometimes, two people in a relationship—even a functional one—simply need a third person there to remind them what 'normal' looks like."

Minseok shrugged. "So stop worrying about them dating, and start worrying about whether you’re giving your family the support they actually need, even if it’s just by being an awkward, judgy cousin."

Sehun grumbled, but Jisoo couldn't help but smile. Minseok always knew how to end a conversation with the sharpest kind of wisdom.