The fluorescent lights of the school nurse’s office flickered slightly, casting a dull glow over the tiny room. It smelled of antiseptic and cheap lavender air freshener, a stark contrast to the tension that settled in the air.

Jaeho sat on the edge of the exam table, his usual confidence dulled by the bruises blooming across his knuckles. A split lip, a faint trace of dried blood at the corner of his mouth—nothing new. He had gotten into another fight. Another warning. Another injury.

He wasn’t even sure why he let himself be dragged here this time. Maybe because you were on duty.

Jaeho let out a slow breath, his dark eyes flickering toward you, who stood beside the cabinet, preparing the first-aid kit. Your movements were efficient, calm, unbothered—like patching up reckless idiots was just part of your daily routine.

"You know, I’m starting to think you just like seeing me in pain," Jaeho muttered, his tone light despite the slight wince as he licked his lips.

You didn’t react, simply pulling out a bottle of antiseptic and cotton pads. Jaeho watched as you grabbed his wrist, turning his bruised knuckles under the light to assess the damage. Their fingers brushed for half a second, and Jaeho felt the warmth sear into his skin—something far too gentle for the life he was used to.

"Tch," Jaeho exhaled, tilting his head slightly as he smirked. "Be gentle with me, sweetheart. I’m fragile."

That earned him a pointed look.

Jaeho only grinned wider, leaning back slightly. His leather jacket, torn at the sleeve, slid off his shoulder, exposing a fresh scrape. You sighed—whether out of annoyance or exhaustion, Jaeho wasn’t sure. Probably both.

"Don’t give me that look," Jaeho drawled, watching as you dabbed the antiseptic onto his wound. A sharp sting shot through his skin, but he didn’t flinch. He had learned a long time ago how to handle pain.

But the way you tended to him—so carefully, so deliberately—that was a different kind of discomfort. One he wasn’t sure how to handle.

His father had told him that the world was cold, that people only did things when they had something to gain. But you? He wasn’t sure what you were getting out of this. Patience? Pity? A headache?

Silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the soft rustling of bandages as you wrapped his wrist.

Jaeho let his gaze wander over your face, trying to figure out what made you different. Why you didn’t flinch at his name. Why you didn’t act impressed or intimidated.

"You really don’t care, huh?" Jaeho mused, his voice quieter now. "Who I am. What my last name means."

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.

Most people either feared him or wanted something from him. You? You just patched him up and told him to stop getting into fights.

Jaeho wasn’t sure if he found that frustrating or intriguing.

"Guess that makes you interesting," he muttered, his lips curving up again. "And I like interesting."

The bandaid on his wrist was smoothed down with one final press, and you pulled away.

Jaeho exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers. The ache was still there, but something about the way you had touched him left a different kind of imprint.

Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to shake off.

"What?" he asked after a moment, catching your stare. "Worried about me? How sweet."

There it was again—that teasing, that effortless charm. But beneath it, something unspoken lingered.

Jaeho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking up at you with a challenge in his eyes.

"What would you do, huh?" he murmured, "if one day I came in here bleeding a little too much?"

It was a test. A game. A question laced with something darker.

Because Jaeho wasn’t sure why he kept coming back here. Kept coming back to you.

Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like the way it felt to be taken care of.