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spencerreidenjoyer · 10 months ago

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we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is.

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum.

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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chogiwow · 4 months ago

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the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part one)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k

warnings: slowburn, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: dividing this into 2-3 parts bc tumblr fuck you and your 1000 blocks limit

one.

you are not supposed to be here.

you have zero qualifications in astrophysics, no background in quantum mechanics, and absolutely no business being inside one of the country’s top space research facilities.

but you’re just a desperate graduate looking for a job.

when you applied for an assistant role at a science institute – thinking it would involve scheduling meetings, filing paperwork, maybe even making coffee – you did not expect to end up working under a literal genius.

seriously, you thought you’d be running small errands. and here’s the thing. you’re good at what you do, you’re good at the whole administerial part of the job. you’re needed to print copies of the meeting notes? done. you need to coordinate with the finance department because sunghoon somehow submitted last year’s budget instead of the current one? you already emailed them. jay forgot about an important board meeting? no, he didn’t. because you added three reminders to his calendar and physically dragged him out of the lab when he tried to pretend he had “urgent research” to finish.

you keep this place functioning, to whatever extent you can. you are efficient. you are essential. you are the one making sure the right documents reach the right people in the chaos that is everyday and the coffee machine’s up and functioning.

but the moment anyone in the lab starts talking about science stuff? you might as well be a hamster in a quantum mechanics lecture.

seriously. it’s like your brain just taps out.

you’ve been working here for months, and you still don’t know what these people actually do. you know it involves space and big words and a lot of coffee-fueled all-nighters. but the second someone starts explaining their research, it’s like you’re staring into the abyss.

you’re basically surrounded by insufferable nerds who talk about wormholes and black hole singularities like they’re discussing the weather. it’s like walking into a foreign country where the language is pure equations.

the worst part?

not all of them are entirely insufferable. some are just too passionate for their own good, their conversations looping endlessly in circles you can’t follow. if anything, you’re the fish out of water here.

take jay, for example. he’s not that bad. in fact, he’s one of those hot nerds who knows he’s hot – but doesn’t flaunt it. sure, he runs a hand through his hair a little too often when you’re around, throws you that lopsided smile when you hand out research papers you don’t understand, and occasionally offers you free coffee when you pass by his workstation.

but he’s also the guy with an endless arsenal of space puns and the world’s worst pick-up lines.

so yeah, not entirely insufferable.

sunghoon is more moody, more reserved, always hyper-focused on his work. he doesn’t bother with small talk, barely acknowledges your presence unless necessary, and when he does, it’s usually with a furrowed brow and a clipped “can you move?” when you accidentally block the whiteboard. he’s a bit of a jerk in your opinion, but jay seems to swear by him, assuring you that his friends have been literal losers since university, never even having dated anyone at all and that he just needs time to warm up to someone. you believe him because it's believable.

but leading this entire team of genius lunatics?

dr. jake sim.

jake sim is brilliant. annoyingly brilliant. the youngest astrophysicist to be leading major research on gravitational waves and exoplanets. the golden boy of the lab. the guy who talks about space-time distortions the way normal people talk about the weather.

jake sim is also hot – surprise (not really). he completes the trio of jay and sunghoon – the hot trio of the lab. everyone knows it. every assistant and secretary in the building has fun batting their eyes and twirling their hair at them. but while jay flirts back and sunghoon ignores it, jake… doesn’t even notice.

jake has a quiet, brooding edge to him. he always wears his glasses – except when he slides them off to rub a tired hand over his stupidly handsome face, his black hair somehow fluffy yet perfectly in place. you’ve often found yourself staring, wondering what kind of haircare routine produces that level of effortless perfection. (“papaya extract shampoo,” jay tells you later.)

even when he’s frowning, he looks like a lost puppy. he’s not intimidating per se, he’s just … not a very socially apt person you’ve met. and that’s saying something because the first month you joined, sunghoon avoided you like the plague. you thought you had done something to offend him but turns out, as jay informed you later, sunghoon’s just very awkward around new people.

jake sim is a genius. a literal, world-altering, lab-coated prodigy whose brain works at speeds the average person can’t even comprehend.

he is also, unfortunately, a menace to basic workplace efficiency. you’ve learned this the hard way.

because for all his brilliance, jake has zero awareness of his surroundings. he’ll abandon pens in entirely different departments, walk off mid-sentence because he’s already three equations ahead in his mind, and somehow exist in a state of constant near-calamity – like a human science experiment teetering on the edge of disaster.

which is where you come in.

you, the assistant who keeps his world running. the one who reminds him to eat. the one who nudges a coffee into his hands before he even realizes he needs it. the one who subtly rearranges his misplaced files, retrieves his lost stationery, and – on more than one occasion – has saved his life by yanking him out of the way of an incoming cart of hazardous materials.

you do all of this seamlessly. efficiently. and completely unnoticed.

because jake sim doesn’t know your name. not really.

you’re just the person who hands him reports and dodges his absentminded shoulder bumps in the hallway. the one he thanks without looking up, too engrossed in his work to register you as anything more than background noise.

which brings you to now.

standing outside his office, gripping a file filled with research you don’t understand, mentally preparing yourself to not make a fool of yourself this time.

you take a breath. knock. no answer.

you knock again. still nothing.

maybe he’s not here? maybe you can just leave the file on his desk and escape unnoticed—

the door suddenly swings open. and you immediately take a step back, startled.

jake blinks down at you, clearly pulled out of deep thought, his glasses slightly askew, lab coat unbuttoned.

he doesn’t say anything. just stares.

and for the first time, you’re really seeing him up close.

his sharp features. the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw from too many sleepless nights. the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.

yeah, this man has no business being this attractive.

you open your mouth, but words fail you.

jake glances at the file in your hands. then back at you.

“are you lost?”

what.

“no,” you say, straightening. “i—i work here.”

jake frowns, clearly trying to recall if he’s ever seen you before. he has not.

“…right.” his gaze flicks down to your name tag. “y/n.”

holy shit, it’s at this moment that you realise, this man has no idea who you are. he doesn’t know who his assistant is.

regardless, you nod, offering the file like it’s a peace offering. “dr. lee said to give this to you.”

jake takes the file from you, barely glancing at it before flipping through the pages. silence. you shift awkwardly, waiting for him to acknowledge your existence beyond just your name tag.

“this is wrong.”

…excuse me?

you blink. “what?”

jake flips the file around, showing you a page filled with numbers and diagrams that might as well be ancient hieroglyphics to you. “these calculations. they don’t match the expected parameters.”

your brain short-circuits. “uh… okay.”

jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “did dr. lee give this to you?”

“yes.”

“did you change anything?”

you gape at him. “do i look like i know how to change a single digit in that mess?”

jake finally looks at you properly, as if realizing you are, in fact, the last person who would alter high-level astrophysics data. then, to your absolute horror, he scoffs. somehow, that’s more insulting to you, the fact that he’s just now realising that you’re an assistant and not a fellow colleague or intern or junior. really, it was just a sign of realisation, but why did it piss you off?

“fair point.”

he steps back, gesturing for you to come in. “i need to cross-check this. you might as well wait.”

before you can protest, he’s already walked back to his desk, completely expecting you to follow.

here’s another thing about you. you’re efficient, yes. you keep the schedules running like a well-oiled machine. you manage people, deadlines, and occasional office chaos with ease. you have your occasional run-ins with the high tech coffee machine, but you compensate with the packets of instant mixes. you clock in and out of work on time, you don’t butt your nose where you’re not required. you sit quietly in those boring meetings, stifling your yawns but its not like many people notice you anyway. you are definitely efficient at what you do.

but you’re also... clumsy.

not in a way that actively disrupts work (you swear). just in a way that has you constantly bumping into desks, tripping over air, and somehow finding new, creative ways to spill coffee on yourself. you blame it on your flat feet – probably. but the truth is, you’ve simply made peace with your gravitational challenges.

it’s something that has plagued you since an early age where you’d be slipping off swing sets or bumping into tables or accidentally rubbing the eraser too hard across your notebook page, causing it to rip right through the middle. but it's alright, it’s not a life threatening… disorder, you’d suppose.

and for the most part, no one notices.

except that one time jay did when you tripped over a computer wire. he snickered so loud, half the office turned to stare at him. you ran away in a blushing mess before he could turn it into a full roast session.

you're standing in jake sim’s office with the hesitation of someone who just walked into an active minefield. but it’s always this way when you need to go into his office.

his office is… exactly the way you had seen it in your initial days of work.

not in the normal executive kind of way – no sleek, intimidating decor, no minimalist furniture that screams i’m too rich to function. no, jake’s office is chaos disguised as a workspace.

the walls are lined with whiteboards covered in scribbled equations – formulas, diagrams, and the kind of notes that make your brain hurt just looking at them. books are stacked in precarious towers, some open, some closed, all of them filled with words and symbols that might as well be hieroglyphics. a crumpled hoodie is draped over the back of his chair, and an abandoned coffee cup sits dangerously close to the edge of his desk, a faint ring staining the surface underneath.

there’s a rhythm to the disorder, though – like his mind works too fast for his space to keep up. you’ve known jake to be someone who knows exactly what he is doing and you have no doubt this is all just an organised mess to him. he’d probably be able to tell you in alphabetical order where all his things were. you knew the moment you saw him maneuvering himself through this trash pile of a room with the ease of a cat, that he knew exactly where everything was.

but you did your part as a good assistant and helped clean up his desk once in a while. nothing much, just stacking the reports in different piles, labelled ‘to be read’ or ‘needs review’ with coloured sticky notes for his sake, making sure his pen stand has a decent amount of working pens and sharpened pencils, bookmarking pages of books he left open on his table and stacking them in another corner of the desk, making sure the dust is cleaned off and no stains of coffee cups remain on his workspace.

it smells faintly of coffee, whiteboard markers, and something else – something subtly clean, like fresh laundry, though you doubt he even has time for things like that.

and in the middle of it all is jake sim himself, hunched over his desk, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he scans a file with sharp, calculating eyes. he absently pushes his glasses back up, muttering something under his breath.

you catch the words “data inconsistencies.”

you have no idea what’s wrong with the numbers on the page, but based on his frown, they seem to have personally offended him.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to focus on the dim office lighting casting soft shadows over his face.

which, objectively speaking, is unfairly attractive.

in that disheveled genius way – like he hasn’t slept in days but could still win a magazine cover shoot by accident.

not that you care. obviously. you’re just here to do your job. your very normal, very non-physics-related job.

and then, in true you fashion – disaster strikes.

it happens fast. one second, you’re standing still, being the picture of professionalism. the next, your foot catches on something – probably your own dignity – and suddenly, the ground is rushing up to meet you at an alarming speed.

you don’t even have time to process your impending doom before a firm hand catches your wrist, steadying you just before you faceplant into the floor.

for a brief, shocking moment, you’re pressed against jake sim’s side, gripping his arm as if your life depends on it.

because it does.

you look up – eyes wide, breath caught – and find him staring down at you, completely unfazed, those damn glasses of his slightly crooked over his nose bridge. his grip is steady, warm, but impersonal – like he just reacted on instinct before immediately moving on.

and then — "dark matter interactions shouldn’t be this inconsistent," he mutters, releasing you as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience.

you just nearly wiped out in his office, and he’s already back to contemplating the mysteries of the universe?!

you gape at him as he casually flips a page, frowning at the numbers again, like he hadn’t just saved you from a mild concussion.

"uh—thanks?" you manage, still trying to steady your heartbeat.

jake hums in response, not even looking up. "watch your step next time."

unbelievable. it’s official.

this man has zero self-awareness.

two.

jake swears on his life he had kept the papers on the ‘dark energy survey’ report on his desk last night before he left.

yet, as he stands in his office now, staring at the very-much-empty surface where they should be, his jaw tightens.

he exhales through his nose. okay. no need to panic. maybe they got buried under the mess.

he starts shifting through the stacks of books and scattered notes, moving one pile to another area of controlled chaos. but the more he looks, the more it becomes evident – those papers are gone.

and he needs them. now.

biting his cheeks, he squats on the floor, peering under his desk but nothing. not the report he was looking for. maybe he kept it somewhere else, somewhere away from the mess on his desk just to be sure that they were in a more accessible place. but where? there’s not a single nook and cranny in his room that could possibly meet that standard, it’s all just piles of papers and charts and books.

his desk drawer?

a quick survey of that yields nothing but two dried up pens, some loose sheets he had scribbled rough calculations on and an empty paper cup.

fuck, where the hell did he put that report?

with a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his already-messy hair, striding across to the middle of his room and casting a wary glance all around. a muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares at the scattered disaster zone that is his office.

he has checked everywhere – under the desk, between stacks of papers, in his desk drawer (twice), even inside an old laptop case for some godforsaken reason.

nothing.

this doesn’t make sense. he left it right here – unless he didn’t.

he presses his palms against the desk, eyes squeezing shut for a second. he’s tired. maybe he just—

"are you okay, or are you plotting an intergalactic war?"

jake's head snaps up.

you stand at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows quirked in amusement. you’re holding a different set of documents, clearly in the middle of your usual rounds, but now you’re just watching him suffer.

"i’m fine," he says flatly.

"uh-huh. that’s why you look like you want to launch yourself into a black hole."

jake pinches the bridge of his nose. "i lost something." he’s seen you before, weren’t you the person from yesterday? the one who tripped over air?

you hum, stepping inside. "what?"

“the dark energy survey report.”

at that, you pause. a flicker of something crosses your face, like you’re remembering something.

jake notices. “what?”

“nothing,” you say automatically. then, a second later, “wait. you’re sure you left it on your desk?”

“yes.”

“you’re sure sure?”

jake glares. “i don’t say things i’m not sure about.”

you give him a look, like you find that highly debatable, but instead of arguing, you shift the documents in your hands and tilt your head in thought.

"because," you start, "i came in yesterday to drop off a memo from dr. lee, and i remember seeing your desk. it was already a disaster zone, but i don’t think that report was there."

jake frowns. "that’s impossible. i was working on it last night—"

and then it clicks.

his expression shifts, frustration turning into something more like realization.

“oh,” he says.

“oh?” you echo.

jake straightens, rubbing his jaw. he had been talking to jay and sunghoon about data discrepancies in the report yesterday. they had moved to the adjacent lab to compare notes on a new simulation model—

shit.

"i think i left it in lab c," jake sighs, already making a beeline for the door. "i took it with me while discussing—"

"—dark matter inconsistencies, right?" you finish dryly, following him out.

jake doesn’t acknowledge that. but you’re right.

as jake strides toward lab c with you trailing behind him, you take a moment to process the absurdity of this situation.

you are an administrative assistant. your job is to schedule meetings, file reports, and occasionally wrestle the coffee machine into submission.

yet, here you are, following the lab's star astrophysicist on a quest for lost paperwork like you’re in some sort of intergalactic treasure hunt.

lab c is as chaotic as you expect it to be. desks cluttered with scattered notes, half-drunk coffee cups balancing precariously on top of stacks of journals, whiteboards filled with scribbles that look more like encrypted messages from an alien race than anything remotely comprehensible.

jake wastes no time. he scans the room, eyes sharp, movements precise. you, on the other hand, stand uselessly by the door, because let’s be honest – you wouldn’t even know what the report looks like if it smacked you in the face.

he mutters under his breath as he sifts through a pile of books, pushing aside a crumpled hoodie and a few loose sheets. “it should be here…”

“you know, for a genius, you’re pretty bad at keeping track of your own stuff.”

jake shoots you a look. “i have a system.”

you snort. “a system of losing things?”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response. instead, he bends down, checking under a table. you take this as an opportunity to glance around the lab, pretending like you’re helping even though you don’t know what you’re looking for.

then you spot it. a thick, spiral-bound stack of papers shoved to the very edge of a side desk, partially covered by a takeout container.

“uh… dr. sim?”

“what?” he asks, voice distracted as he pulls open a drawer.

you point. “is that it?”

jake follows your gaze, and for a second, he just stares.

then, with a slow exhale, he walks over, picks up the report, and flips through the pages.

“…yeah.” he sighs, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “this is it.”

you cross your arms, grinning. “you’re welcome.”

he glances at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “you didn’t actually do anything.”

“excuse me? i found it.”

jake shakes his head, turning his attention back to the report. “if you weren’t distracting me, i would’ve found it faster.”

your mouth falls open. “oh, i’m sorry – who was about to tear his entire office apart thinking it had magically disappeared?”

jake ignores you, already skimming through the contents like the numbers and graphs hold the secrets of the universe.

you roll your eyes. this man is impossible.

and it's a fact you make known very clearly when you’re in the break room, muttering under your breath about how a simple thanks would have sufficed, but no, jake sim is a dumbass with his head up his–

“woah, woah y/n, you know you don’t really mean that,” jay interrupts your rant with a smile that shows that he’s clearly enjoying this, “what did the man ever do to you?”

what did he do to you?

“well for one, he didn’t even know i existed until yesterday–”

“give him a break, he’d probably forget his own name with all the things that go around in that brain of his.”

“–and then he scoffed at me when he realised i’m just an assistant–”

“i don’t think he meant any offense.”

“and then today, he didn’t remember me of course and when i helped him find that damn report he didn’t even thank me!”

jay lets out a small laugh. “he was probably just too relieved that he found it. he’s been stressing over that for a while.”

you squint at him. “what are you, his boyfriend?”

your pout is completely involuntary, but jay, the traitor, just smirks knowingly.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly holding back laughter. “not yet. but hey, if he keeps ignoring you like this, i might have a chance.”

you groan, dramatically flopping onto one of the break room chairs. “i swear i’m going to lose my mind!”

jay snickers, settling into the chair across from you. “you’re being a little dramatic.”

“oh, am i?” you lean forward, eyes narrowing. “because i don’t think i am. i think this is a completely rational response to being treated like a piece of office furniture.”

jay bites back a smile. “so you’re saying jake treats you like… a chair?”

“no! worse! at least a chair gets sat on – it has a purpose!” you throw your hands up. “i’m like… i’m like an extra paperclip. you know? just there, completely overlooked, until one day he might need me for something and then immediately forgets i exist again.”

jay blinks. “that is… oddly specific.”

“because it’s true!” you shoot up from your seat, now fully committed to the metaphor.

jay opens his mouth, but you’re already spiraling.

“three months – that’s how long i’ve been working here as his assistant, but he didn’t even know my name!” you don’t why it bothers you, you didn’t expect everyone to know your name here, but that damn jake sim just… got on your nerves for some reason.

“last week, when he bumped into me in the hallway. i swear, jay, i could have been a ghost. no ‘excuse me,’ no ‘oh, my bad,’ nothing! i could’ve been a gust of wind for all he cared.” you throw up air quotes. “just a mild inconvenience in his trajectory.”

jay hums. “maybe he just didn’t see you—”

“i was wearing a bright red sweater, jay.”

jay coughs to hide a laugh. “okay, fair.”

“oh, and this morning? i held the elevator door open for him. you know what he did? he walked in, pulled out his phone, and scrolled on it the entire time like i was the automatic door button.” you gasp. “oh my god, i’m not even a paperclip. i’m a goddamn elevator button – just pressed when needed and ignored otherwise.”

at this, jay actually doubles over laughing, wiping at his eyes. “y/n, i’m begging you, please breathe.”

you exhale sharply, arms crossed, foot tapping against the floor. “i refuse.”

jay grins. “so you’re telling me you’re this upset because he, what, didn’t grovel at your feet for holding a door open?”

you scoff. “i’m not asking for groveling! i’m asking for basic human decency! a thank you! a nod! a brief moment of eye contact! something to prove that i’m not just an inanimate object in his world! to at least memorize his own goddamn assistant’s name!”

jay leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “so basically… you want him to notice you.”

you freeze.

jay’s smirk deepens. “ohhh.”

“no.” you point a warning finger at him. “don’t even go there.”

“but we’re already here.” he has a shit eating grin on his face which you want to slap off, “why is this bothering you so much? i swear i can’t remember you being this antsy when sunghoon avoided you in your first month.”

you scoff at that, a dry laugh following.

why? because you’re his goddamn assistant, not sunghoon’s.

“okay, what about last month? he walked into the office looking like a lost child because he forgot his laptop charger. guess who lent him one?”

jay winces. “you?”

“yes! and do you know what he said to me? ‘oh, you have one? cool, thanks, man.’ ” you pause, scowling. “man, jay. man.”

jay laughs. “okay, that’s a little rough.”

“i’m not done.” you hold up a finger, eyes ablaze. “lunch break. he was on the phone, right? kept checking his watch like he was late for something, totally zoned out. he dropped his damn wallet right in front of my salad.”

jay whistles. “and let me guess…?”

“i picked it up, ran down four flights of stairs because the elevator was taking too long, found him outside, and handed it to him before he even realized it was gone.” you cross your arms. “do you think he looked at me? do you think he was even the slightest bit aware that he nearly walked into financial ruin?”

jay grins. “what did he say?”

you deepen your voice in the best jake impression you can manage. “‘oh, sick, thanks, dude.’ ” you slap your hands on the table. “dude.”

jay is fully laughing now, shaking his head. “wow. okay. that is… a lot.”

“right?” you throw yourself back into the chair, hands dramatically covering your face. “i’m literally the human equivalent of an undo button. always there, fixing things, never noticed. just a—”

“a paperclip?”

“exactly!”

jay smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “you could just stop helping him, you know.”

you scoff. “and let him walk around with a dead laptop, no lunch money, and a general lack of survival skills? please. he’d die within the week.”

jay snickers. “so you want to help him?”

“no, i just…” you hesitate, glaring at the table. “it’s not fair that he gets to be so careless and people like me have to pick up after him.”

jay tilts his head. “people like you?”

“people who actually pay attention,” you mutter, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “it’s so easy for him, you know? he gets to waltz through life, forgetting names, misplacing things, just… assuming everything will work out for him. and the worst part? he’s right. because someone like me is always there to make sure it does.”

jay watches you quietly for a second. “y/n…”

you shake your head, standing up and grabbing your coffee. “whatever. it’s fine. it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.” you glance at jay. “and no, before you say it, it’s not because i want him to notice me. it’s just…” you sigh. “it’d be nice to feel like i exist.”

jay gives you a knowing look but doesn’t push further. “well. if it makes you feel better, i notice you.”

you snort. “wow. how reassuring.”

but even as you joke, there’s a tiny, sinking feeling in your chest.

because deep down, you know – jake sim will never notice you the way you want him to.

okay, now that shouldn't be a problem. because the way you put it, anyone would conclude you have a thing for him, but that’s not it. because you don’t mention to jay how when you were just a week into the new job, you had spilled coffee all over yourself, and jake sim had been the one to hand you the spare hoodie in his arm.

it had smelled like laundry detergent and something vaguely citrusy. clean. warm.

you don’t tell jay how, back then, you had hesitated before taking it, surprised that the lab’s most brilliant astrophysicist had even noticed your minor catastrophe.

“here,” he had said, casual, like it was nothing. like it was just a reflex.

and maybe it had been.

because when you had stammered out a “thank you,” jake had already turned away, scrolling through his phone.

like you weren’t even there.

like handing a coffee-stained assistant his hoodie was just another thing on his long list of unconscious habits – like losing reports, misplacing wallets, or forgetting names.

just another thing he would never think about again.

and you? you had worn that hoodie for the rest of the day. then, after work, you had folded it neatly, walked up to him in the break room, and said, “hey, thanks again for this.”

and he had blinked at you. blinked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“oh,” he had said after a beat, glancing at the hoodie in your hands. “right. cool.”

that was the first time you had felt it – the quiet, sinking realization that in jake sim’s world, you were just… background noise.

that was three months ago.

now, you’re still here, still stuck in the same loop, orbiting his chaotic existence like some unnoticed planetary body, pulled in by the sheer force of his gravitational field but never quite seen.

and it’s exhausting.

you sigh, dragging a hand down your face. jay is still watching you, amused but not unkind. “are you done spiraling?”

you groan. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you glare. “no, but i might start.”

jay snickers, pushing his coffee toward you like some sort of peace offering. “here. take a sip before you actually implode.”

you roll your eyes but take it anyway, muttering under your breath.

jay grins. “so, what’s the plan?”

you blink. “plan?”

“yeah.” he leans back, crossing his arms. “clearly, you’re at your limit. are you going to keep playing office paperclip, or are you finally going to make jake sim realize you exist?”

you scoff, your eyes narrowing. “and why would i need to do that?”

jay hums, tilting his head like he’s studying you under a microscope. “y’know… i think this might be deeper than just wanting to be ‘noticed.’”

you narrow your eyes. “the hell does that mean?”

he taps his chin. “i mean, it’s kinda funny, isn’t it? how personally you take this?”

you scoff. “i do not take it personally.”

jay gives you a look. “right. which is why you’re two seconds away from stabbing a straw through that coffee cup.”

you immediately release your grip, only to cross your arms instead. “i just think it’s rude, that’s all. i do so much for him, and he doesn’t even know my name? it’s basic decency.”

jay nods, way too agreeable. “mhm. basic decency. has nothing to do with, say… i don’t know… a deep-seated need for validation?”

your jaw drops. “excuse me?”

“or,” he continues, as if he didn’t just hit you with psychological warfare over morning coffee, “maybe even something more?”

you blink. “more?”

jay grins like he’s just won the lottery. “yeah. like romantic feelings.”

you almost choke. “i—what—no—”

jay shrugs. “i mean, it would explain a lot.”

“oh, shut up.”

“i’m serious! if this were just about office politics, you’d be annoyed for, like, a day. maybe a week. but this?” he gestures vaguely at your entire existence. “this is an obsession.”

you point a finger at him. “i hate you.”

he smirks. “no, you don’t.”

you take a deep breath, trying not to lose your mind. “for the last time, jay, i do not like jake sim.”

jay leans forward, smirking. “then prove it.”

you blink. “what?”

“prove it,” he repeats. “if this really isn’t about your feelings, then let’s run an experiment. let’s make jake see you.”

of course the scientist proposes an experiment; you roll your eyes. “that doesn’t prove anything.”

“it proves everything,” he counters. “because if you really don’t care, then it shouldn’t matter how he reacts.” he tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “right?”

you hesitate.

jay takes that as his victory. “great! i’ll draft a game plan.”

“wait—”

too late. jay is already pulling out his phone, typing something with way too much enthusiasm.

you exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. this is a terrible idea.

but the thing is… you do want jake to see you. even if it’s just to prove – to yourself – that you don’t care.

right?

three.

you know, you don’t think you entirely mind that jake doesn’t know your name yet. you don’t think you would have cared so much. but then, once in a while, you’d catch him having lunch with jay and sunghoon and actually laughing – an act that makes him look younger than he is – a charming smile settling on his lips or chatting with a fellow colleague who he calls by their last name and it makes you realise that you’re probably not as important to him as these people are.

like, come on, he brushes shoulders with the top scientists of your country while you’re here, sitting behind a reception desk, manning phone calls and printing reports. of course he doesn’t care about you or your existence as a whole. but then it’s small things he does like thanking you absentmindedly when you hand him a report, not even sparing you a glance as he flips through the pages.

or humming under his breath when he passes by your desk, like he’s so comfortable in the space that he doesn’t even realize you’re there, like you’re just part of the background noise.

it’s never outright cruel. never intentional.

it’s just that jake sim, in all his effortless brilliance, has never had to make space for people like you.

and why would he? you’re not on his level. you never have been. you bet if you disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t even notice.

the world would keep spinning, jake sim would keep working, and someone else would take over the dull, insignificant tasks you do every day. your existence in his orbit is incidental – a means to an end, a faceless cog in the well-oiled machine of his career.

and yet, you notice him. even when you don’t mean to. even when you don’t want to.

you notice the way his sleeves are always rolled up to his elbows, his watch gleaming against his skin. the way his brows pinch together when he’s deep in thought, or how his hair falls into his eyes when he’s exhausted, too overworked to care.

you notice the way he speaks – smooth, confident, magnetic – and how everyone around him seems to hang onto every word like it’s gospel.

you notice the way he never fumbles. never hesitates. never second-guesses himself.

because that’s just the kind of person jake sim is.

and you – you are just the kind of person who will never be enough to matter to someone like him. but then he does things that make you doubt your reservations about him.

like, there was the elevator incident.

you were balancing a precarious stack of documents when you rushed to catch the closing doors, only to wince when they slid shut right before you got there. you sighed, shifting your grip on the papers, when you suddenly heard a soft ding – the doors sliding back open.

jake was inside, one hand on the door button, barely sparing you a glance as he scrolled through something on his phone.

you stepped in, mumbling a quiet, “thanks.”

he hummed in response. nothing more. no conversation. no recognition. just the soft whirring of the elevator and the occasional sound of him scrolling.

it was so small. so insignificant.

but you still felt yourself standing just a little straighter, just a little warmer, for the rest of the day.

and then, there was the pen.

you weren’t even sure when it started, but at some point, you began keeping track.

jake had this habit – whenever he borrowed a pen, he never returned it to the original spot. he didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it, always too focused on whatever was in front of him to realize he’d left the pen somewhere completely different.

so, naturally, you started leaving extras.

just subtle little things – placing an extra pen near his usual meeting spots, sliding one closer to him during group discussions when you were pretending to sort paperwork nearby. you never expected him to notice. you weren’t even sure why you did it.

until one afternoon, when you sat at your desk, rummaging through your drawers, only to realize you’d somehow misplaced your pen. you sighed, about to get up for a new one, when something was set down beside your elbow.

a pen.

you looked up, startled.

jake was already walking away. didn’t even spare you a glance, his attention on the tablet in his hands.

you stared after him, the pen warm from his hold, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.

it was probably nothing. probably just a reflex.

but you still use that pen for the next two weeks straight.

then there was the tripping incident.

now, it’s established that you can be clumsy, not dramatically so – no full-on disaster movie falls – but you do have a tendency to bump into things. desks, chairs, open cabinet doors that definitely weren’t open when you last checked.

and, of course, corners. corners were your worst enemy.

one day, you were hurrying through the hallway, files stacked high in your arms, when – bam. your hip slammed into the sharp edge of a desk, hard enough to make you wince. the papers wobbled dangerously in your grip, and you cursed under your breath, already anticipating the bruise that was definitely going to form.

you didn’t think anyone noticed.

but the next morning, when you walked into the office, there was a strip of foam padding stuck neatly along the desk corner.

your brows furrowed.

it was subtle – so subtle that if you weren’t you, if you weren’t someone with a running list of all the places in this office that had betrayed you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

but you did.

and later that day, when you caught jake in the break room, he was patting the foam as if ensuring it was stuck on there properly, absentmindedly nodding to himself as if he had confirmed what he was inspecting, then promptly left without sparing you a second glance.

you didn’t say anything.

didn’t bring it up.

but as you passed by the desk, running your fingers over the softened edge, something in your chest ached. just a little.

so jake sim did notice you – but not as an individual, just someone he thought might be having a hard time and because he is kind, he did what he could. it didn’t matter who the recipient of his good intentions was.

hence, you do what a good assistant does. because at the end of the day, you’ve seen jake work – you’ve seen the passion he pours into it.

so if he forgets to eat, you quietly step away from your desk, heat up the extra sandwich you packed for him from the cafeteria, and place it on his cluttered desk, clearing a small space first. a gentle knock on the wood to get his attention, a silent reminder to eat.

if he’s scribbling on the backs of old reports, running low on notebooks and clean sheets, you take a trip down to inventory, restocking his supplies, stacking them neatly within reach.

if his desk is drowning in coffee cups and crumpled post-its, you quietly dispose of the trash, leaving only the essentials behind – his laptop, his research papers, the single pen he never seems to lose (because you always make sure it’s there).

if he forgets where he placed his whiteboard markers, you don’t say anything – you just pull a fresh set from your drawer and slide them onto his desk before he even notices they were missing.

you’ve just been there, silently observing and noting things – like the way his brows knit together in deep concentration, or how he absently chews on the cap of his pen when he’s stuck on a problem. how he spaces out sometimes, staring at the whiteboard like it holds the answers to the universe itself, only to snap back to reality when you clear your throat to get his attention.

you know that he prefers black coffee in the morning but switches to tea in the late afternoon. that he always loses his glasses, only to find them perched on top of his head. that he hums under his breath when he’s deep in thought, a quiet melody that never quite forms into a song.

you notice everything, because that’s just what a good assistant does.

and that, apparently, is a problem. or so jay states. hence, the first step in jay’s ‘game plan’? make jake feel your absence.

“you’re too available,” jay had said, stirring his coffee with a smug little smirk. “jake doesn’t notice you because you make his life too easy. you’re like air – essential but invisible. so what happens when air gets sucked out of a room?”

“…people die?”

jay gave you a flat look. “no, they panic.”

and so, the plan began.

it’s such a tiny step, but it bothers you nonetheless because not only would this be disrupting jake’s routine, it’d be disrupting your perfect track record of a ‘good’ assistant.

but jay somehow manages to convince you. and you like the utter fool you are, give in, because hey… maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to disprove jay’s theory of your alleged feelings for jake. the need for validation? yeah, we’ll talk about that later.

today is the day you start, and you start small. it’s the little changes that usually go unnoticed.

you don’t remind jake about his 10 am meeting.

it’s a minor detail, barely even a test, because technically speaking, it’s not your job to remind him – it’s just something you’ve always done, anticipating his tendencies to get lost in his work. normally, you’d give him a heads-up around 9:50 am, watching as he’d nod absentmindedly, only to scramble up five minutes later when he finally processed your words.

today? radio silence.

at 10:07 am, sunghoon enters the meeting and frowns.

“where’s jake?” he turns to jay. his friend shrugs but hides the smile behind his cup of coffee.

meanwhile you’re glancing sneakily at jake’s door, slightly ajar and you can see him engrossed in something. your eyes glance at the time; 10:07 am. fuck, what if actually forgets he has a meeting? should you do something? is this going too far?

but you don’t have to worry because a few minutes later, there’s a thud, followed by a rushed shit, and then, a disheveled jake sim barrels past your desk, tablet clutched to his chest, hair a little messy from how he clearly just ran a hand through it in frustration.

his eyes flicker to you – just for a second. you’ve already gone back to pretending to be very busy typing nonsense into an email draft.

it works. he huffs under his breath and rushes to the meeting.

okay you should feel awful, but then you catch the tail end of jake’s coat disappearing behind the lift door and you can’t help the snicker that leaves your lips. surely, nothing could go wrong, right?

there’s one person who seems to be enjoying this more than you though: jay is having the time of his life.

like, actually. he hasn't had this much fun since the last office christmas party, when someone spiked the punch and sunghoon tried to fight the vending machine.

because watching jake sim fall apart over the smallest inconveniences? absolutely hilarious.

the moment you agreed to his plan, jay knew it would be gold. but even he underestimated just how much of jake’s daily functioning depended on you. it’s like watching a toddler suddenly realize their velcro shoes don’t tie themselves.

jake doesn’t realize something is wrong at first.

he barely makes it to his chair before the department head gives him a pointed look.

“you’re late.”

“i—uh—” jake swallows, trying to catch his breath. his tablet is still locked, his notes are disorganized, and when he flips open the file he brought, it’s yesterday’s report.

shit.

“right. sorry.” he forces a sheepish smile, scrambling to pull up the right document. across the table, jay lazily spins a pen between his fingers, watching with barely concealed amusement.

jake barely registers it – he’s too busy trying to recover. it’s fine. he’s got this.

except… something about this morning feels off.

and not in the way most of his chaotic mornings do. he just doesn’t know why. he just assumes his morning is…off. which, fine, it happens. he’s had late nights before, maybe he’s just tired.

jay had told you this would work.

in fact, he was so confident in his plan that he even grabbed a front-row seat to witness the destruction firsthand (he was already attending this meeting, but the man likes to gloat sometimes.)

and man – jake does not disappoint.

from the moment the meeting starts, jay knows this is going to be good.

jake looks off. nothing too obvious – just little things, things that someone like jay (who has spent years around him) can pick up on. the slight furrow of his brow. the way he keeps adjusting his notes, like something feels wrong but he can’t quite place why.

and then – the moment of realization.

jay almost chokes on his coffee when jake subtly pats his pockets, confusion flickering across his face.

oh, here we go.

he watches, barely holding in his laughter, as jake double checks – where, usually, there would be a pen. his pen. the one that miraculously appears every time he loses it, as if the universe itself conspires to keep him functional.

except today?

the universe (or rather, you) has left him to suffer.

jake blinks. blinks again. then, with the air of a man experiencing an existential crisis, slowly reaches for sunghoon’s pen instead.

sunghoon, understandably, looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

jay snickers and grabs his phone.

jay park [10:14 am]: what did u doooo jay park [10:14 am]: he looks like a lost puppy rn lmfao jay park [10:15 am]: deadass just patted his pockets like he was expecting something to magically appear there??

he glances up again, and – oh god, jake’s still buffering. he’s not even listening anymore, just staring at the table like it personally offended him.

all this over a pen? damn, maybe you were underestimating yourself, jay thinks, because there is no way you were just a paperclip, not if jake’s been this dependent on you.

jay is loving this.

four.

jake doesn’t notice things. not in the way people expect him to.

he notices equations. the subtle patterns in star systems. the way gravitational forces interact in ways most people don’t care to understand. his mind is built for that – patterns, logic, science.

but people? not so much.

back in university, he was dubbed a genius. a prodigy in astrophysics. someone who could map out entire celestial mechanics in his head but would somehow still forget his own birthday if no one reminded him.

the way jake relies on logic, structure, and predictability – because it’s safe. because he understands it. because people? people don’t make sense. they’re inconsistent. they leave. they change their minds. they say one thing and mean another.

but science? science is constant. a star will always burn out the same way under the same conditions. a planet will always follow its orbit. gravity will always exist.

as a kid, he preferred numbers over words, equations over feelings. when the other kids ran around the playground, playing tag or arguing over who was “it,” jake was perfectly content with his space books, tracing the orbits of planets with his fingers, memorizing the speed of light just because he could.

he learned early on that he wasn’t good at reading between the lines. that when someone said ‘i’m fine’, they didn’t always mean it. that people expected you to just know when they needed something, when they wanted comfort, when they wanted you.

jake never knew. so he stopped trying.

science was easier. there was no guesswork, no hidden meanings. an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. simple. predictable. the universe followed rules, and if jake studied hard enough, he could understand them. he could map them out, make sense of them, never be caught off guard.

but people? people made no sense at all.

and maybe that’s why, when he gets to work and sees that his desk is missing something so stupidly small – a cup of coffee, nothing more – he feels a flicker of something he doesn’t like.

a glitch in the system.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. it’s coffee. he can make it himself. he’s a grown adult with multiple degrees. a missing cup of caffeine should not throw him off.

and yet. jake stares at the empty space on his desk.

a week ago, he wouldn’t have noticed. wouldn’t have even thought about it. he never questioned why it was there in the first place, never thought twice about the sticky notes, the extra set of markers that magically appeared when he misplaced his own, the last-minute reminders that kept his schedule from turning into chaos.

he never questioned it. and that, apparently, was the problem.

because for the first time, he has to ask. and he really, really doesn’t want to.

jake debates it, which is insane. why is he overthinking this? it’s a simple request. a normal interaction. but something about it feels… weird. off-balance.

because asking means acknowledging. and acknowledging means admitting that he noticed.

his eye twitches. and after five full minutes of warring with himself, of sneaking glances at you like some kind of cornered animal, he finally forces himself to get up. jake clears his throat as he approaches your desk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he doesn’t understand why this feels so monumental – why his stomach is twisting over something as simple as coffee.

you’re typing away, entirely focused, but the moment he gets close, you pause, sensing his presence.

your head tilts up, meeting his gaze with that same neutral, professional expression. “need something?”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. shifts on his feet.

this should not be hard. he’s faced oral examinations with award-winning physicists grilling him on quantum mechanics. he’s derived entire theorems on celestial dynamics with nothing but a whiteboard and a bad marker.

"hey," he starts, voice coming out a little too stiff, a little too rehearsed.

you hum, still typing. "what’s up?"

jake exhales. this is ridiculous. just say it.

"i was wondering," he begins, slow and deliberate, "if you could maybe—"

he pauses. rethinks. he doesn’t need coffee. he’s perfectly capable of getting it himself. this is a completely unnecessary conversation. maybe he should just—

you finally glance up, raising a brow. "if i could maybe…?"

jake swallows. why is your stare so expectant? god, this is awful.

he squares his shoulders. "if you could maybe—uh—get me a coffee?"

and you? you don’t even react. no smirk. no teasing. no indication that you know this is sending his pride into a tailspin.

“oh,” you say simply. “sure.”

and then – you go right back to typing.

jake waits. waits.

…that’s it? no acknowledgment?

he stares, baffled, as you finish whatever you’re working on before standing, grabbing your phone like this is just another task.

“i’ll be back in a few minutes.”

jake watches you walk away, his brain short-circuiting. he stares.

something in his brain glitches. for a moment, he just stands there, stuck in some kind of existential paradox.

this isn’t how he thought this would go.

not that he’d planned it out – he’s not that irrational – but he was at least expecting… something. a pointed look. a smug remark. some kind of acknowledgement that this was a thing.

because it was, right?

but you just – left. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

jake blinks, still rooted to the spot. his fingers twitch at his sides, his mind racing through a series of half-formed thoughts, none of which are useful.

this should be a relief. no teasing. no drawn-out conversation. no questioning. just a simple "sure" and the problem is solved.

so why does he feel weirdly unsatisfied?

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before dragging himself back to his desk.

fine. whatever. he got what he wanted. he’ll just sit down, work, and forget this happened.

simple. logical – except it’s not.

because now – now he’s waiting.

not actively, of course. he’s working. or at least, he’s trying to work. but for some godforsaken reason, his mind keeps drifting to the sound of approaching footsteps, to the faintest movements in his periphery.

it’s ridiculous. he knows that. he’s not that dependent on routine. it’s just coffee.

when you finally return, setting the cup down on his desk with a quiet thud, he doesn’t mean to react.

but his head snaps up immediately, eyes locking onto the cup before flickering to you, his brain processing entirely too fast for his own good.

same lid. same brand. same order.

how the hell—

"you got the right one," he blurts before he can stop himself.

you blink at him, expression unreadable. "yeah. that’s the one you always drink."

jake stares.

you say it so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

like it’s just fact. like he’s the one being weird.

and maybe he is, because something about that – about the casual certainty in your voice – makes his chest feel tight in a way he doesn’t understand.

"right," he mutters, looking away. "of course."

you don’t say anything. just nod, turning back toward your desk.

jake watches you go, fingers wrapping around the cup, the warmth grounding him.

he doesn’t know why this feels significant. but somehow, it does.

you, on the other hand, mask your smile behind your hand, making sure you don’t spare him a glance as you take your seat again, eyes focusing on your screen, but you’re secretly enjoying your little victory.

and maybe your little win seemingly makes your happiness evident because jay seems to have caught on to your little smile and quiet humming as you load more paper into the printer later on.

“what’s got you humming?”

you blink at jay, feigning innocence. "huh?"

jay narrows his eyes like a detective who knows exactly when the suspect is lying. "you’re humming. and smiling. while printing documents. no one’s ever been this happy about office supplies."

you shrug, deliberately casual. "maybe i just like my job."

"oh, sure. and i’m the next ceo of nasa," jay scoffs, crossing his arms. "no, you’re definitely smiling about something else. spill."

you roll your eyes but can’t stop the small grin from creeping back onto your lips. "it’s nothing. just… a small win."

jay’s gaze sharpens with intrigue. "a small win? against who?"

you pause, realizing that if you say it out loud, it becomes real. but you can’t help it – you’re feeling a little smug. "jake."

jay’s eyebrows shoot up so fast you half expect them to launch into orbit. "oh? oh? do tell."

you bite your lip, pretending to be focused on aligning the printer paper. "i think he finally noticed."

jay leans in, practically vibrating with excitement. "noticed what? that you exist? that you’re cute? that you’re literally the only reason he functions? because if so, then this is big news—"

you wave a hand, shushing him. "not that dramatic. just… the coffee. he asked me for it today. like, actually asked."

jay goes still, then blinks. "no."

"yes."

"no." jay looks personally offended that he wasn’t there to witness it. "you’re telling me jake sim – the human calculator who forgets basic human needs – actually acknowledged the loss of his coffee?"

"and that i was the one providing it," you add, feeling very pleased with yourself.

jay lets out a low whistle. "damn. that’s practically a confession in jake language."

you chuckle. "i know, right? and the best part? he was so awkward about it. like, visibly struggling to form a coherent request. it was beautiful."

jay looks like a proud parent. "i knew my plan would work."

you snort. "you had a plan?"

"of course! i told you, jake needs to experience loss to appreciate things. he’s like a tragic space hero who doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone. but now? now he’s thinking about it. which means he’s thinking about you."

you roll your eyes. "don’t be ridiculous. it was just coffee."

jay gives you a look. "uh-huh. and yet, you’re humming like a disney princess who just got her magical moment."

you huff, turning back to the printer, but the warmth in your chest remains. you won’t admit it to jay, but it does feel like a small win. because for once, jake noticed something about you. and even if it was just coffee, it was your coffee. your absence. your presence. you.

the thought makes your stomach flutter a little, but before you can dwell on it, the door swings open.

and, of course, in perfect comedic timing, jake himself walks in.

you and jay freeze.

jake pauses mid-step, eyes flicking between the two of you, and immediately, you feel caught. not that you were doing anything wrong, but the way jay is grinning like a devil on your shoulder and the way you definitely look suspicious does not help your case.

jake frowns slightly. "am i interrupting something?"

"no," you and jay say in unison – too quickly, too forcefully.

jake’s frown deepens. "…right."

jay, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirks. "hey, jake, buddy, pal. how was the coffee this morning?"

your soul leaves your body.

jake blinks, caught off guard. "what?"

jay nods toward you. "the coffee. did it taste better? sweeter, maybe? like the hard-earned fruits of personal growth?"

you shoot jay a look that could incinerate a small planet, but he just grins wider.

jake, meanwhile, looks completely baffled. "it… tasted the same?"

jay sighs dramatically. "ugh, you’re hopeless."

jake looks at you now, confusion clear in his expression. "what’s going on?"

you scramble for an escape. "nothing. jay’s just being weird. as usual."

jake’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push further. instead, he just shakes his head, muttering something about how he "doesn’t have time for whatever this is." then, to your surprise, his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer before he turns and leaves.

as soon as the door clicks shut, jay explodes.

"did you see that? he lingered! that was a lingering glance!"

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "jay. stop."

"oh, no, no, no. this is happening. i can feel it. the great jake sim has been rattled."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "don’t you have that meeting with kang soon? are you sure you should be dawdling?"

jay waves a dismissive hand. “pfft. kang can wait. this is much more important.”

you roll your eyes, shoving a stack of papers into his hands. “go. before he chews you out again.”

jay huffs but takes the papers anyway. “fine. but mark my words – this is just the beginning.”

you snort. “of what?”

jay grins, backing toward the door. “of jake sim’s inevitable downfall.”

before you can throw something at him, he slips out of the room with a dramatic twirl, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

you exhale. jay is ridiculous. insufferable. an agent of chaos in the worst way.

but still… your fingers drum against your desk.

jake had lingered. just for a second. just long enough to make you wonder.

you shake your head, clearing the thought. it’s nothing. probably just your imagination.

probably.

five.

jake never really thought about his assistant.

sure, he knew you existed in the same way he knew his office had walls or that gravity kept him tethered to earth. a presence. a constant. background noise.

his research came first. always. anything outside of equations and astrophysics was just static.

which is why, when his inbox suddenly becomes a nightmare of unread emails, cluttered with everything from seminar invites to missed project deadlines, he stares at the screen in horror.

since when did his inbox look like this?

he scrolls. and scrolls. and scrolls.

the last time he checked, his emails were organized. neat little folders, color-coded labels – everything in its place. now, it’s chaos. absolute chaos.

his brows furrow in mild horror and yet again, he gets this feeling, like the earth’s off its axis, like his curated life is suddenly off kilter.

he looks up, and across the room, eyes peeking through his door that is kept ajar. you sit there today, in a navy blue sweater, your hair pushed back neatly, your glasses reflecting the glare off your screen you’re currently frowning at.

was this also something you used to do for him? or did his inbox suddenly decide to get a mind of its own and go batshit crazy on him? no, that doesn’t make sense, unless he was hacked which would definitely be a cause of national concern to a certain extent—

he jolts in his seat, a gasp leaving his lips as you suddenly move away from your desk, standing up with a stack of papers. he positively feels his heart skipping a beat as he realises you’re walking to his door.

sure enough, there’s a knock a second later and if you notice the way his voice cracks when he tells you to come in, you don’t comment on it. instead, you look at him like you meant business.

oh god, you didn’t notice him looking at you, right? technically he wasn’t really staring more so than contemplating—

“dr. sim, the finance department dropped a reminder to submit your financial budget, here’s the budget form,” you hand him the stack of papers you had been carrying, “i’ve filled out the general stuff, you just need to put in the project details and all the technical stuff.”

he flips through the pages and sure enough, you’ve filled in the general details like you mentioned in your neat handwriting. the letters sit right on top of the blank lines and he recognises your penmanship right away. he’s never noticed before, but you do have a nice handwriting.

“oh and about your emails, there seems to be some sort of technical error. i noticed that some of your filters were disabled and the auto-sorting wasn’t functioning properly. it must’ve reset or something when the system updated last week.”

jake blinks at you. “wait. filters?”

you tilt your head. “yeah? you know, the ones that sort your emails automatically? important updates, admin notices, junk mail, things like that?”

jake stares. “i… had those?”

you pause, narrowing your eyes slightly. “yes. you did. i set them up for you.”

“oh.” a beat of silence. jake shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, exhale sharply, planting your hands on your hips. here he was, a grown ass man, unaware of his own email settings. but what’s more infuriating to you right now is the way he’s clearly looking at the mess of his inbox with the expression of a child faced with university level physics.

and it's really unfair because your brain actually has the audacity to chant a small ‘cute’ inside your head.

no. no. absolutely not.

you refuse to acknowledge whatever strange, fleeting thought just ran through your brain.

because jake sim is not cute. he’s frustrating. he’s a genius, sure, but in a hopelessly oblivious kind of way. the somehow-can-manage-quantum-equations-but-not-his-own-inbox kind of way. the so deep in his own head that he barely notices when you’re cleaning up the mess he leaves behind, kind of way.

except… he’s noticing now.

you clear your throat, shoving away any ridiculous thoughts. “right. anyway, i can help reset everything, but you’ll need to go through some of these emails yourself. some require your direct response.”

jake tears his eyes away from his screen, blinking at you. “wait, so my emails weren’t always like this?”

you give him a look. the kind that says, oh, you poor, oblivious man.

“no, dr. sim,” you say, tone patient but mildly exasperated. “i used to sort them out for you.”

jake stares. “you did?”

you nod. “yeah. you know, filtering out spam, organizing your schedule, responding to minor inquiries.” all the things that apparently, no one else on this team can do without suffering a minor breakdown.

jake opens his mouth, then closes it. then it opens again. his head tilts slightly. “wait. you did all of that?”

you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “dr. sim,” you say, very slowly, “what did you think i was doing all this time?”

jake, to his credit, looks vaguely sheepish. “i don’t know. admin stuff?”

you exhale, looking up at the ceiling like you’re asking the universe for patience.

“your inbox has over five hundred unread emails.”

he visibly recoils. “five hundred?”

“yes. and you have three missed deadlines.”

jake stares, running a hand down his face. “oh my god. i’m going to get fired.”

you shrug. “probably not, but kang will definitely strangle you.”

you take one look at the mild look of panic settling on his face, the ways his lips part open and his eyes fixate upon you like he’s constipated all of a sudden, and you realise that you’re going to have to save him again. so much for making yourself scarce.

“well,” you sigh, dropping your hands, “i can go through it and fix the filters again, but you should probably clear things out manually first. you have a lot of backlog.”

jake slumps back in his chair, groaning. “i don’t have time for this.”

“tough luck. you’re the one who ignored your emails for a week.”

jake groans again, scrubbing a hand over his face. his hair is slightly disheveled now, strands falling over his forehead. you refuse to acknowledge the way your fingers twitch with the urge to push them back. nope. absolutely not.

instead, you cross your arms and tilt your head. "look, dr. sim, i can reset everything, but you need to at least check the important ones. you know, like the ones from kang before he marches in here and reconsiders your employment."

jake peeks at you through his fingers, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like i should’ve never updated the system.

you sigh. "i'll go through them with you."

his hands drop, eyes snapping to yours. "you will?"

damn it. the hope in his voice makes something in your stomach twist. this isn’t supposed to happen. you’re supposed to be pulling away, making yourself scarce, not signing yourself up to hold his hand through his self-inflicted disaster.

but you sigh again, already regretting it. "yes, but only for today."

jake beams. actually beams. like you've just told him you're personally funding his next research project.

and oh, that is dangerous.

because the realization sneaks up on you, quiet but insidious: he looks really good when he smiles like that.

your brain promptly malfunctions.

jake, oblivious as always, is already turning his chair to face his computer. "okay, okay. what do we start with?"

you stare for a second too long before shaking yourself out of it.

get it together.

right. his emails. that's what you should be focusing on. not the fact that your stupid heart is doing something stupid again.

so you square your shoulders, push away the ridiculous heat rising to your cheeks, and step closer to his desk – because unfortunately, you are nothing if not professional.

even when your chest feels like it’s betraying you.

by the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow into the office, you realize with a dull sense of horror that you are still here.

still here. still working.

because, of course, jake spent the entire day buried in his research, completely unaware of the absolute mess waiting for him in his inbox. and now, after work hours, you’re forced to stay behind, sorting through the wreckage.

you shoot a glare at the oblivious man, who is hunched over his desk, frowning at his screen as if he’s personally uncovering the secrets of the universe. his sleeves are rolled up, glasses slightly askew, completely absorbed in his work.

annoying. but also, kind of impressive.

you clear your throat, rapping your knuckles on his door. “dr. sim, did you know that your inbox is starting to resemble a warzone?”

jake barely looks up. “mhm.”

“there are emails in here from last year.”

he finally blinks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “wait. what?”

you deadpan. “last. year.”

jake stares. “that’s not possible.”

“would you like to see the one from july 2024? it’s an invitation to a seminar. that already happened. that you missed.”

a horrified silence settles between you. jake leans forward, mouth slightly open, and for a second, you think he might actually pass out. “holy shit.”

you snort, shaking your head. then, sighing, you gesture toward his screen. “okay, come on, let’s start deleting the ones that don’t matter. at this rate, your inbox might actually implode.”

jake groans again but does as you say, clicking through emails with the enthusiasm of someone undergoing dental surgery.

an hour later, the two of you are still sitting in his office. you’re perched on the chair across from him, legs crossed as you scroll through his inbox, muttering complaints every now and then (why do you have thirty unread emails from the astronomy board? what is so ‘urgent’ about a faculty brunch?).

jake, on the other hand, is desperately trying to keep up, deleting and archiving whatever you tell him to. he’s drowning in emails and vaguely wondering if he should just… never check his inbox again.

the sky outside has darkened, streaks of orange and pink melting into deep blue. the office feels different at this hour – quieter, softer. there’s a warmth from the sunset filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.

you’ve never been alone with jake like this before.

not that it matters. because all you’re doing is working. but still.

you steal a quick glance at him.

he’s different when he’s not hyper-focused on research. a little less untouchable, a little more human. his brows are furrowed as he reads through an email, one hand resting on his chin. his glasses have slipped down again, and without thinking, he pushes them back up with his knuckle.

you look away.

get a grip.

meanwhile, jake is having a bit of a crisis.

because, apparently, you’ve always been this efficient.

like, okay, he knew you were capable. obviously. you’ve been his assistant for months. but watching you now, the way you go through emails like a machine, fingers flying across the keyboard, perfectly organized with your neat little color-coded tabs—

he’s a little bit in awe. and maybe a tiny bit alarmed.

because how the hell did he not realize before that you basically ran his life for him?

the sun is starting to dip, casting a golden hue through the blinds, stretching long shadows over his desk. jake leans back, rubbing his eyes, only to glance at you and—

he sees you. for the first time in three months, he’s actually looking at you.

your sweater hangs slightly off one shoulder, the shirt underneath only slightly wrinkled, your hair a little messier than it was earlier, strands falling out of place.

and you look… exhausted.

not in the dramatic, world-weary way that some of his colleagues do after pulling all-nighters, but in a quieter, more subtle way – like you’ve been running on autopilot for so long that you don’t even notice it anymore.

jake frowns. has it always been like this? have you always been like this?

his gaze flickers back to your screen, where you’re still typing away, making quick work of the disaster that is his inbox. there’s a slight crease between your brows, your lips pressed together in quiet concentration. you’re meticulous, efficient – almost too efficient, and that thought unsettles him in a way he can’t quite explain.

“you should go home,” he says before he even thinks about it.

you glance up, startled. “what?”

“you’ve been here all day,” he says, shifting in his seat. “it’s late.”

you blink at him, then glance at the clock on the corner of your screen. the numbers glow back at you – 7:47 pm.

“oh,” you murmur, tilting your head. “i guess it is.”

jake waits for you to start packing up, but instead, you just roll your shoulders back, crack your knuckles, and go right back to typing.

he stares. “did you – did you not hear me?”

you don’t even look up. “i heard you.”

“then why are you still working?”

you pause at that, finally looking at him. there’s something almost amused in your expression, like really? you’re questioning my work habits?

“i still have emails to sort through,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

jake presses his lips together. right. of course. because of course you wouldn’t just drop everything and leave, because if you did, then who would make sure his inbox didn’t look like a post-apocalyptic wasteland?

and that thought sits a little too heavily in his chest. it's just that, he doesn’t get it.

he clears his throat, looking away. “still. you don’t have to do it all tonight.”

you shrug. “it’s fine. i don’t mind.”

for some reason, that irritates him more than it should.

jake doesn’t understand why. it’s not like you’re doing anything out of the ordinary. from what he can deduce from your conversation earlier this morning, you’ve always been the one keeping things together, making sure nothing slips through the cracks. that’s your job.

you could probably come back tomorrow and sort through the remaining emails. it’s not like they’re going anywhere.

but for the first time, he wonders – do you ever get tired of it?

his fingers drum against his desk. the golden light from the window glows softer now, settling into deep orange hues. the air between you is quiet, save for the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant hum of the office beyond his door.

and then, without thinking, he says, “i didn’t realize you did all this.”

you pause mid-keystroke, glancing at him. “did all what?”

“this.” he gestures vaguely to his laptop, to the neatly categorized folders, to the once-chaotic inbox now halfway tamed under your careful hands. “you keep everything running. i didn’t realize how much you—” he stops himself, brows furrowing slightly. “—how much you do.”

you blink at him. and for the first time all day, you seem caught off guard.

then, a slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “oh, dr. sim,” you say lightly, tilting your head, “have you been taking me for granted all this time?”

jake bristles, straightening. “that’s not what i meant.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “relax, i’m kidding.”

but something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist.

because maybe you are joking. maybe you don’t actually care that he’s never paid much attention before.

but he cares. and that realization unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

you turn your attention towards the screen again, biting your lip as you skim through his emails, occasionally frowning like you’re personally offended by his disorganization.

jake watches you for another moment before looking away, tapping his fingers against the desk.

his chest feels… weird. like the earth’s still off its axis. like something’s shifted in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

and for the first time, jake wonders if maybe – just maybe – it has something to do with you.

six.

the only times jake has thanked you have been in passing. like when you hand him a report, his fingers brushing against yours but his gaze still focused on his screen. a clipped "thanks" thrown out as he scrolls through equations and research notes. thoughtless, automatic, routine.

so you don’t expect it this time around.

you don’t think much of it at first.

jake walks in, looking as harried as ever, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside, one hand holding his laptop, the other gripping his usual coffee. business as usual.

except — there’s a cup of coffee in his hand. no scratch that, there’s two cups of coffee in his hands.

he stops in front of your desk, looking mildly uncomfortable, like he’s second-guessing his own existence. and then, without a word, he sets the second cup in front of you.

you blink. “uh. what’s this?”

jake clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “coffee.”

“no, i know it’s coffee, dr. sim.” you stare at the cup suspiciously. “why is it on my desk?”

he looks at you like you just asked him to solve a quantum mechanics equation without a calculator. “because… i got it for you?”

you squint. “why?”

jake pauses. his jaw tightens. then, with the energy of a man barely holding onto his dignity, he mutters, “because you – helped. with the emails.”

you swear to god, it physically pains him to say it. but holy shit, because not only did the jake sim get his own coffee today, he got one for you – his assistant, for the first time in three months.

you decide to let him off the hook. for now. “well. thanks,” you say, taking a sip, trying not to let the heat rising to your cheeks show.

jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like no worries, before retreating to his office.

you watch him go, mildly amused.

“oh-ho-ho, what do we have here?”

you don’t even flinch as jay suddenly appears beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s about to make an investigation.

you sip your coffee. “don’t start.”

jay ignores you. “jake sim. buying coffee. for someone else. this is history in the making.”

you sigh. “jay.”

he leans in dramatically. “do you know how many years i’ve known that man? years, y/n. and not once has he ever walked into a room and thought, ‘huh. let me get someone coffee.’”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not that deep.”

jay gasps. “oh, but it is.” he lowers his voice, like he’s about to tell you a government secret. “listen. the man barely remembers to eat unless someone reminds him. and suddenly he’s bringing you coffee?”

you pause. jay grins, catching the flicker of hesitation on your face. “see? see? something’s happening in that stiff little brain of his.”

you shake your head. “he’s just… acknowledging that i exist. that’s all.”

jay snorts. “oh, my sweet summer child.” he takes a slow sip of his own coffee, eyes twinkling. “first, it’s coffee. next thing you know, he’s showing up at your desk randomly with some dumb excuse just to talk to you.”

you raise a brow. “that’s oddly specific.”

jay grins. “call it experience.”

you roll your eyes, but as you glance toward jake’s office, where he’s staring at his screen, brow furrowed in concentration…and you wonder.

just a little. because hope would be something too dangerous in this situation. you’re still just his assistant, and this is a one time thing because you helped him last night. so you don’t hope. not yet.

and maybe it's a good thing too.

it starts with a joke.

well, technically, it starts with jay’s complete inability to keep his workspace from looking like an archaeological dig site.

you’re standing by his desk, watching as he fumbles through the mess that is his workspace. papers are stacked in precarious towers, there’s a half-eaten granola bar that has somehow been buried under a pile of sticky notes. a coffee cup with a lipstick stain, even though jay does not wear lipstick.

“you live like this?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you survey the mess.

jay, utterly unbothered, leans back in his chair. “organized chaos.” why does everybody around here insist on working in conditions not far from that of a pigsty?

you shake your head, crossing your arms. “you know nasa once had to recalibrate an entire spacecraft because someone forgot to convert metric to imperial?”

jay snorts. “imagine being that guy.”

“i’d simply launch myself into the sun,” you deadpan.

jay cackles. “real talk, though, you think the sun would just vaporize you instantly, or would you have, like, a second of awareness?”

you hum, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, but if i ever get fired, i might test it out.”

“technically—”

you blink as a third voice enters the conversation.

jake stands a few feet away, arms crossed, brow furrowed like you just presented an incorrect equation.

you were not expecting him to be here.

“uh—” you freeze, awkwardly shifting. jay’s eyes gleam with amusement.

jake clears his throat. “technically, you wouldn’t be able to launch yourself into the sun.”

silence.

“…what?” you blink, trying to process what is happening.

jake continues, oblivious to your slowly dawning horror. “you’d just end up orbiting around it. earth is already moving at about 30 kilometers per second, so unless you counteract that velocity exactly, you’d just—” he gestures vaguely. “miss.”

you stare. jay lets out a low, entertained whistle.

your face burns. “i—” you struggle to find words, feeling an overwhelming mix of why is he like this and oh my god he really just did that.

your fingers twitch against your arms. you open your mouth. then close it. then open it again—

nope. nothing. no words. just the slow, creeping realization that this guy has actually just fact-checked your joke.

it wasn’t even a good joke.

your face heats. “wow,” you mutter, focusing very hard on the floor. “thanks for the physics lesson.”

jake nods, completely oblivious to the fact that you are currently plotting your own orbital escape.

jay presses his lips together, struggling.

you let out a breath, shaking your head. “anyway. i have work to do.”

and then you walk out. not in a dramatic, stormy way – but in a stiff, awkward, nope, i’m out kind of way.

jake watches you go, confused. “what’s with her?”

jay grins, leaning back in his chair. “dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake doesn’t get the joke. nor does his oblivious ass understand why his assistant is suddenly treating him like an afterthought?

of course this buffoon doesn’t understand. all he’s thinking of is last night and the way you had tiredly bid him goodnight before parting ways in front of the building, your figure growing smaller by the second. his offer to drop you to the nearest bus stand dying on his lips the further you walked away.

and this was a pivotal moment for him because jake? he doesn’t offer rides to people.

in fact, he doesn’t even think to do things like that – until last night, when he’d spent an extra two seconds debating whether he should insist, before realizing that no, that would be weird.

so instead, he had done something else.

this morning, after getting his usual coffee, he’d bought yours too. granted, he didn’t know your order, but he’s sure he’s seen you around with a cup of your own around the office, still he doesn’t really know your order. so he gets you a sweeter variation, a stark contrast to his bitter drink, because in his mind, he’s thinking about this in a logical way.

and you had accepted it, for that matter, sipping on the drink like you actually enjoyed it. so he had been right, you did like sweet drinks. noted. noted?

regardless you had reacted, albeit subtly. a blink. a pause. a slightly surprised but polite, “thanks.”

jake had left it at that, feeling oddly accomplished.

and now? now you’re walking away from him like he’s some malfunctioning algorithm, and it’s annoying.

he frowns, turning to jay, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “seriously. did i do something?”

jay hums, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake stares. “you already said that.”

jay just snickers. “yeah. and i’ll keep saying it until you get the joke.”

jake does not, in fact, get the joke.

but for some reason, he wants to. and this realisation is soon going to turn into something that’s going to keep bothering him till he’s forced to actually take note of it.

it happens at precisely 12:48 pm.

jake glances up from his screen when you hover by his desk, clipboard in hand.

“i’m taking an extended lunch today.”

his fingers pause over his keyboard. “…extended?”

you nod. “yeah, probably won’t be back for another hour and a half.”

jake blinks. “that’s… longer than usual.”

“yeah,” you say easily. “something came up. but don’t worry, you don’t have anything scheduled and i’ve completed the reports on my end, so it’s not going to affect work.”

jake doesn’t know why that information bothers him, but it does. his brows furrow slightly. “okay.”

you nod once, then turn to leave.

jake stares at the empty space you just occupied, something tugging at his brain.

why did that exchange feel weird? no, not weird, just… different. off.

his fingers hover over his keyboard, but he doesn’t start typing.

jake doesn’t even realize something is wrong until his stomach twists uncomfortably.

he frowns, checking the time. 2:13 pm. lunch had passed. and he hadn’t eaten.

he blinks at his screen, but the numbers on it blur. his focus has shifted, derailed by something he never thought would be an issue. food.

it’s not like he forgot to eat. okay – maybe he technically did, but that’s beside the point. the real issue here is that he never needed to remember, because you always reminded him.

or, if you noticed he was too caught up in work, you’d just… bring something back for him. something simple, easy to eat at his desk – half the time, he didn’t even ask, and yet there it was. a sandwich. a salad. once, a soup that he never even mentioned liking, but somehow you had known he was in the mood for something warm.

it had become routine.

no, actually, it had become a given. and today? today, you walked in, set your bag down, checked your emails – like normal – but you didn’t say anything.

didn’t ask if he ate. didn’t bring anything back. didn’t even look at him properly before sitting down to do your own thing.

nothing.

jake’s fingers twitch over his desk. his jaw tightens slightly. something about this whole situation sits wrong.

because this isn’t normal.

this morning, he even bought you coffee. he didn’t know your exact order, but he had put in effort. that meant something, right? even if you didn’t react much when he placed it on your desk, he thought – hoped – it at least counted for something.

so why does it feel like it didn’t? and why does that bother him?

he does something drastic. he actually walks up to your desk – the second time already this week – and clears his throat.

“hey um…” a small glance at your id card dangling around your neck, and he feels insanely embarrassed because wow, how the hell does he not remember your name, “y/n?”

you’re not going to lie, you totally saw him stumble right now, and it doesn’t help that he’s looking at you with those big brown eyes again, his hand shoved inside his coat pocket, the other rubbing the back of his head. no! you should be upset at him right now, not fawn over his boyish charms!

you glance up, fingers pausing over your keyboard. “yeah?”

jake hesitates.

he doesn’t actually know what he wants to say. he just knows he wants you to look at him a little less indifferently.

“i…” his voice catches slightly. he clears his throat. “can you, um. get me something to eat?”

your expression flickers – just for a second. not enough for jake to read properly, but enough that it feels like you’re choosing your words before speaking.

then, finally, you ask, “what do you want?”

jake pauses.

because – what do you mean, what does he want?

you always just know. you’ve been working together long enough that you order for him without asking. that’s part of why he never bothers remembering himself – he doesn’t have to.

this is new. this is wrong.

“uh…” jake stalls, grip tightening slightly on his pen. “the usual?”

you blink at him, unimpressed. “what’s the usual?”

jake freezes.

oh. oh, no. what is the usual?

his mind scrambles for an answer, rifling through vague memories of you setting food on his desk, but the details blur together. sometimes it was a sandwich. sometimes something with rice. one time, there was pasta. but were those his actual usuals, or just random things you decided to get him?

did he even have a usual?

jake, for the first time today, has to confront a horrifying fact: he has never actually learned what he eats for lunch.

because you always handled it.

and now you’re sitting there, staring at him, waiting for an answer – an answer he doesn’t have – and suddenly, jake feels something unfamiliar coil in his chest: panic.

he’s never been in this situation before. he’s used to having control, to knowing exactly what he wants and when he wants it. yet, somehow, in this one specific instance – a completely mundane scenario involving food, of all things – he’s at a total loss.

how had he not noticed this before? how had he gone this long without realizing he didn’t actually know what he ate every day? how had he become so reliant on—

jake blinks. his own thoughts slam into him like a freight train. because that’s exactly what’s wrong, isn’t it?

he’s used to you. your reminders. your routines. the way you anticipated things before he even noticed them himself.

and for the first time, it feels like you’re deliberately withholding that from him.

why?

jake swallows, forcing himself to think logically. there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. maybe you were too busy to stop and get him something. maybe you had your own things to deal with today. maybe you just forgot.

but then again – you never forgot.

so what changed?

seven.

it was jay’s idea really.

the whole pulling away subtly but not-so-subtly thing. the make-him-notice-you’re-missing plan. and it was working.

you knew it was working because the moment you walked out of jake’s office after that awkward exchange, you felt his stare linger. the hesitation in his voice, the way his fingers twitched slightly when you asked what he wanted – like the concept of having to ask you for something was completely foreign to him.

that was a win, right? so why did it feel so…

you press your lips together, stirring your drink absently. across from you, jay chews on a fry, watching you with far too much amusement for someone who wasn’t the one actively carrying out this ridiculous scheme.

“you look like you’re thinking too hard,” he comments, popping another fry into his mouth. “which is kinda concerning, considering all you’re doing is eating a sandwich.”

you glare at him. “shut up.”

jay snorts, leaning back against the booth. “what’s got you so conflicted? it’s working, isn’t it?”

you don’t answer right away. because, yes – it is working. you can tell by the way jake hesitated before asking you to get him something to eat, by the way he actually looked at you instead of just expecting you to handle things like always. you made him notice the absence.

“…it feels kinda dumb,” you admit finally, picking at your sandwich. “i mean—think about it. it’s lunch. it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”

jay raises a brow. “you say that, but let me remind you of something. he didn’t know what his usual order was.”

you groan, rubbing a hand over your face. “don’t remind me.”

“no, no, let’s actually sit with that for a second,” jay continues, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “the guy has had you getting his meals for months and never thought to ask what he was eating. that’s not normal, dude.”

“i know,” you mutter.

“so what’s the problem?”

you sigh, rolling your cup between your palms.

“the problem is that it shouldn’t take something like this for him to notice me.” the words feel heavy in your mouth. “it’s stupid, isn’t it? i shouldn’t have to pull away for him to realize how much i do for him. like, why does it have to be some big, strategic thing? shouldn’t he just… care?”

jay quiets at that. for all his jokes and teasing, he’s not oblivious – not like jake.

after a moment, he leans forward, propping his arms on the table. “you’re right,” he says, voice softer than before. “he should care. he should’ve noticed a long time ago.”

your stomach twists.

“but,” jay continues, tapping a finger against his drink, “that doesn’t mean this isn’t necessary. i know it sucks, but think about it – would jake have ever thought about this on his own? would he have ever realized how much he relies on you if you hadn’t started stepping back?”

you hate that the answer is obvious.

“…no,” you mutter.

jay nods. “exactly. he’s used to things just… happening. you’ve made his life so easy that he doesn’t even have to think about it.” he smirks slightly. “and now? now he has to think about it. because it’s not just about lunch. it’s about you.”

you stare at him, fingers tightening around your drink.

you sigh, pressing the rim of your cup to your lips but not drinking. the ice clinks softly inside, melting into the coffee, much like your resolve seems to be melting into uncertainty.

“has he always been like this?” you ask quietly.

jay raises a brow. “like what?”

“with his assistants,” you clarify, glancing at him. “has he always been like… this?” you don’t say oblivious or careless, but jay understands anyway.

he studies you for a moment, his usually amused gaze flickering with something more serious. “i don’t know all the details, if i’m being honest. i never really paid attention to his working relationships.”

you press your lips together, turning your cup in your hands. “but you knew there were others before me.”

jay exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he admits. “there were others. none of them stuck around for too long, though.”

that makes your stomach twist.

“why not?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jay hesitates. not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because the answer isn’t his to give.

“jake’s not an easy person to work for,” he finally says, choosing his words carefully. “he’s particular about things, but not in a way that makes sense to most people. he’s not demanding in the usual way – he doesn’t expect people to read his mind, but at the same time… he does. he assumes things will get done. not because he asks, but because that’s how it’s always been for him. he doesn’t really think about the ‘who’ behind it all.”

you swallow hard.

“and the others?”

jay shakes his head. “they got frustrated. some quit because they felt unappreciated, others just decided it wasn’t worth it. no hard feelings, no big fights. just… people coming and going. but you?” he tilts his head at you. “you stuck around.”

you let out a small, humorless laugh. “it’s only been three months, maybe i’ll quit too.”

you won’t. for reasons more than one, the first being that you have student loans to pay. the second…maybe that’s a thought better left for later.

“maybe,” jay says, but his tone isn’t teasing. it’s contemplative. “or maybe you’re different.”

you look up at him then, brows furrowed. “different how?”

jay leans back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “you actually care about him.”

the words sit heavy between you.

of course you care. that was never the question. the question was whether or not he cared. whether he even saw you as a person rather than just another name in a long list of people who handled things for him.

you exhale slowly, staring down at the condensation forming on your cup. “that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

jay tilts his head. “what is?”

“that i care about someone who barely notices me.”

there’s no pity in jay’s gaze. no smugness, either. just quiet understanding.

“it’s not stupid,” he says. “but it is a little sad.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. “why do you think he’s like that?”

jay exhales through his nose. “i think jake has spent so long expecting people to leave that he doesn’t think much about why they stay. or if they do, it’s just a matter of when they’ll go. he doesn’t attach himself to people easily. i don’t know why, exactly, but i have my guesses.”

you nod, understanding that there’s a past here that isn’t yours to pry into. it doesn’t quench your curiosity though, because what really made jake into this oblivious, unintentionally selfish person? you haven’t known him long, but you’ve seen enough.

how he declines invitations to after work hangouts, how he’s never lurking at other people’s desks, cooping himself up in the confines of his own room, doing his own work. how he barely ever leaves that room unless absolutely necessary. it’s just work, work, work for him.

jay watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “let me ask you something now.”

you blink. “okay?”

he gestures toward you. “why do you look up to him so much?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out.

because the truth is, you do look up to jake. or at least, you used to. maybe, in some ways, you still do.

he’s brilliant, that much is undeniable. he makes decisions with sharp precision, moves through life with a confidence that is enviable. he commands a room without even realizing it, and people naturally gravitate toward him.

and maybe that was part of the reason why you held on for so long. because you wanted to believe that he was someone worth believing in. worth staying for.

but what happens when the person you admire the most doesn’t even see you?

you lower your gaze. “i don’t know.”

jay hums, as if he expected that answer.

“well, maybe it’s time he starts looking up to you,” he says.

the thought sends a strange feeling through your chest.

because what if, after all this time, it wasn’t about you chasing after jake’s attention? what if it was about him realizing that you were someone worth keeping up with?

you exhale, setting your cup down with a quiet clink. “so, what now?”

jay grins, the mischief returning to his eyes. “phase two, obviously.”

you shake your head, laughing under your breath. “you’re ridiculous.”

“trust me, jake’s already starting to notice you y/n,” jay says, taking a sip of his drink. “so? you in?”

you glance down at your phone, at the list of unread emails waiting for you. and you think about jake – his hesitation earlier, the way he had to actually ask you about lunch. how for the first time, he seemed to realize that you weren’t just an extension of his routine.

deep down, you hope he’s right.

and it’s already started – jake is thinking about it. about you.

you just don’t know it yet.

jake had been off all day, and he knew it.

it had started with lunch. or rather, the strange lack of it – the missing familiarity, the offhanded nature of it, the unsettling realization that it hadn’t been waiting for him like usual. and then when you did get him something, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right either. not that he could even say what ‘right’ was anymore. that part gnawed at him the most.

he had spent the better half of the afternoon distracted, shuffling between meetings and emails while the thought sat at the back of his head, growing heavier by the hour. it wasn’t about the food. it was never just about the food.

he leaned back in his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

why was this bothering him so much?

his usual? what even was his usual? how long had he stopped deciding that for himself? at what point had he gotten so used to you taking care of it that he didn’t even remember?

the realization was suffocating.

jake had never considered himself someone who relied on others – not in any way that mattered. he was independent, capable, and self-sufficient. at least, that’s what he had always told himself. but today proved otherwise.

somewhere along the way, he had gotten used to your quiet presence. the way you smoothed things over without him having to ask. the way you knew things before he did, handled them before they became problems, and – somewhere in the middle of all that – became something constant.

and now, the moment that balance wavered, he felt like he was losing his footing.

the evening dragged on, the weight of the day pressing against his temples as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen. he should go home. but even the idea of leaving felt exhausting.

then his phone rang.

jake glanced at the caller id. mom.

he hesitated for a second before answering. “hey.”

“jakey,” his mother’s voice was warm but laced with something tired. “i was just checking in. it’s been a while.”

he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah, sorry. work’s been crazy.”

there was a pause. a small one, but enough for jake to feel the unspoken words on the other end. he knew that pause.

“you’ve been eating, right?” she asked. “you sound off.”

jake nearly laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. his grip on the phone tightened.

“i’m fine.”

“jake.”

he clenched his jaw. the weight in his chest grew heavier.

how was it that this one conversation, this one question, managed to make everything worse? it wasn’t like he had told her anything. it wasn’t like she knew that something as stupid as lunch had been haunting him all day, or that he was suddenly questioning things he had never thought twice about before.

he exhaled sharply. “mom, i said i’m fine.”

another silence. then, softer, “you always say that.”

jake shut his eyes.

for a second, he was six years old again, sitting at the kitchen table, picking at his food while his mother sat across from him, pretending like everything was fine. like they weren’t waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

he barely remembered his father’s face, but he remembered the absence. the lingering silence. the way his mother never cried in front of him, but he knew she wanted to.

“people leave sometimes, jakey,” she had told him once. “even when they don’t mean to.”

jake had spent his whole life pretending that it didn't affect him. that it didn’t shape the way he saw the world, the way he kept people at arm’s length. that it didn’t make him hyper-aware of who stayed and who didn’t.

but now, sitting in his empty office, with the remnants of an unremarkable lunch sitting in the trash, he was starting to think it had affected him more than he ever wanted to admit.

“jake?” his mother’s voice pulled him back.

he swallowed. “yeah, i’m here.”

“i won’t push,” she said gently. “but you know you can talk to me, right?”

he let out a breath. “i know.”

a few more words were exchanged, mostly her telling him to take care of himself before she hung up. jake set his phone down on his desk and stared at it for a long moment.

he didn’t know what was worse – the fact that he felt like he was spiraling over something so insignificant, or the fact that it didn’t feel insignificant at all.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his hands.

what the hell is wrong with me?

eight.

jake is not in a good mood this morning.

it’s evident in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his morning greeting to you sounds even more clipped and indifferent than usual and it’s apparent in the way he slams his door shut behind him.

you’ve seen him like this before – just once – in an intense mood all day, brooding over a particularly complicated issue at work. so you ignore the slight pang in your chest when he barely looks at you before shutting himself off in his room.

you give him space.

you go about your work, responding to emails, organizing the files on his desk, and making sure everything is in order for the meetings he has later. but throughout the day, you can’t help but glance toward his closed office door. there’s a stiffness in your posture whenever you walk past it, an awareness that you’re treading around a storm, waiting for it to pass.

it doesn’t.

by lunchtime, you hesitate before grabbing your own food. jake still hasn’t come out of his office, and you know him well enough to know he probably hasn’t eaten. the memory of the previous day – his offhanded question about lunch, the way he seemed oddly thrown off by you not bringing it – lingers in your mind. maybe that’s all it is, you reason. he just needs to eat.

so you order his usual, the one you’ve memorized without thinking. but when you place it on his desk, he barely glances at it.

“not hungry,” he mutters.

that’s it. no thank you, no acknowledgement. just a dismissal.

it stings more than it should. you don’t push him, simply nodding before stepping back. but something about the way his shoulders are tense, his fingers gripping a pen too tightly, makes you hesitate.

“are you okay?”

it’s a simple question, but it’s a mistake.

jake looks up at you then, and for the first time all day, he really looks at you. his expression is unreadable, his gaze sharp in a way that feels like a blade pressing into something delicate.

and then he scoffs.

“you don’t have to do that.”

your fingers curl around the tray you had got his food in. they clutch at the edges of the plastic, digging into your skin, imprinting a mark physically much like the way jake’s next words do in your chest.

you blink. “do what?”

“act like you care.”

the words hit like a slap. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jake doesn’t stop there. “i don’t need you to hover. i don’t need your pity. i don’t need—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “just stop.”

you freeze. there’s something deeply frustrating about this moment – because you don’t understand, because you don’t know what’s going on in his head, because you’re just trying to help. but jake is looking at you like your presence alone is suffocating him, like you’re an inconvenience, like he wants to push you as far away as possible.

pity? he thinks you’re pitying him? is your gaze so misconstrued that he’s actually letting himself believe that someone like you could pity him?

but whatever it is that jake wants, it works.

you don’t say anything. you don’t argue, don’t snap back, don’t ask why he’s being an asshole for no reason. because really, what would be the point? you can’t help him, not with whatever impossible problem he’s been staring at all day. you’re not a genius like him, not someone who understands physics or engineering or whatever the hell he’s stressing over.

you’re just his assistant.

you nod once and leave the room, ignoring the way your stomach twists uncomfortably.

the afternoon drags on. you’re quieter than usual, working diligently and keeping to yourself. jake doesn’t seem to notice. or if he does, he doesn’t care.

jay drops by at some point, leaning against your desk with a knowing look. “he’s in a mood today.”

you exhale through your nose. “i noticed.”

jay tilts his head. “you good?”

“i’m fine.” it’s the easy answer, the one that doesn’t require unpacking anything. you don’t want to talk about how frustrating it is, how useless you feel, how much it actually bothers you when you know it shouldn’t.

jay doesn’t press, but he gives you a small nod of understanding before heading to jake’s office. you hear them talking – jay’s voice lighthearted, trying to ease whatever storm jake is caught in. but jake’s replies are short, clipped, his irritation barely restrained. eventually, jay gives up.

by the time evening rolls around, the tension hasn’t lifted.

you’re finishing up paperwork when you hear jake’s office chair scrape against the floor. a moment later, he steps out, his phone pressed to his ear. you don’t look up, but you can hear the strain in his voice, the way it’s unusually tense.

“no, mom, i told you—” a pause. “i don’t know. i haven’t thought about it.”

your pen stills against the paper.

jake exhales sharply. “because i don’t have time for this.” his voice drops lower, something more raw seeping into the cracks. “it doesn’t matter. he made his choice.”

silence.

and then, a barely audible, “i don’t care.”

your chest tightens.

you glance up, just for a second, but the look on jake’s face is unreadable. he’s standing rigid, shoulders tense, his grip on his phone almost painful. whatever his mother is saying, it’s digging under his skin, unearthing something you can’t begin to understand.

you don’t look away fast enough.

jake notices. his eyes flick to yours, and for a split second, something flickers there – something vulnerable, something tired. but then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

he turns on his heel and walks out.

you don’t follow.

jake is still in a bad mood when jay finds him.

he doesn’t know why he agreed to go out for drinks. maybe it was the way jay had looked at him after stopping by the office earlier, or maybe it was the unbearable silence of his apartment that he didn’t want to sit in alone. either way, now he’s here, sitting across from jay and sunghoon at some bar downtown, nursing a whiskey he’s barely taken a sip from.

he’s been fidgeting with his glass for the past fifteen minutes, watching the condensation trail down the sides, listening to jay and sunghoon talk about something he’s barely paying attention to. their voices sound distant, like they’re underwater, and everything around him feels just slightly off-kilter, like he’s caught in a strange in-between where he can’t fully ground himself. he feels like an outsider looking in on his own life, watching himself sit here, going through the motions.

jay nudges him. “you good?”

jake blinks. “yeah.”

sunghoon snorts. “you look like you’re about to throw yourself off a bridge.”

he rolls his eyes, but it’s weak. he takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the burn. “just tired.”

jay doesn’t buy it. “it’s work, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose. that’s the thing—it’s not just work.

it’s the way his day has felt completely off-kilter since this morning. no scratch that, it's been this way this entire week.

it’s the way he couldn’t focus, no matter how hard he tried, the way his own office felt too cold, too empty. it’s the way his lunch tasted like cardboard, even though you had gotten it for him like you always did. the way you had placed it on his desk so carefully, so deliberately, and yet it had felt… wrong. bland. like something was missing, and he couldn’t figure out what.

it’s the way he had snapped at you.

his grip tightens around his glass. he hadn’t meant to. he had been frustrated, overwhelmed, his thoughts eating him alive, and you had just – been there. and he had let his irritation get the best of him. he doesn’t even remember what he said exactly, just the way your face had shifted, the way something in your expression had dimmed before you had looked away and left him alone.

had he hurt you? the thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“i don’t know, man.” he leans back, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “people are so fucking unpredictable.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “where’s this coming from?”

jake shakes his head. “just—” he exhales. “you think you know someone, you think they’re a certain way, and then suddenly… they’re not. and you don’t know when it happened, or why, or if it was always going to happen and you were just too blind to see it coming.”

there’s a brief pause. then sunghoon says, “sounds like someone’s got abandonment issues.”

jake scoffs. “that’s not what i—” he stops himself. clenches his jaw. takes another sip of his drink. it burns down his throat, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts spiraling in his head.

jay is watching him carefully. “you want to talk about it?”

jake doesn’t answer immediately. he should say no. he should shut it down, brush it off, make some joke and move on. but something about tonight, about the weight pressing down on his chest, makes him want to keep talking. so he does.

“my dad left when i was six.”

it’s abrupt. unprompted. but neither jay nor sunghoon say anything, just let him speak.

“one day he was there, the next he wasn’t. no warning. no explanation.” he exhales, shaking his head. “i remember my mom sat me down and told me he wasn’t coming back, and i didn’t get it at first. i thought—maybe he was just on a long trip. maybe he’d call. maybe—”

he swallows hard. “but he never did.”

the words hang heavy in the air. he doesn’t know why he’s saying this. he doesn’t talk about his dad, ever. but something about tonight makes it easier. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the lingering feeling of wrongness from earlier today. maybe it’s the way your face had fallen when he snapped at you. maybe it’s the way his chest has felt empty since then.

jay sighs. “that’s rough, man.”

and jay means it. because in all the years that he’s known jake, he’s never told them up front of his issues. sure, they’ve picked up some hints of it, how he barely talks about his family, how there used to be a picture frame in their old dorm room with only him and his mom, how he sparingly mentioned his family and even then, not a word about his father.

they had wondered, but never pried. some things are better left alone unless ready to be tackled.

sunghoon, uncharacteristically serious, says, “that’s why you’re like this, huh?”

jake frowns. “like what?”

sunghoon shrugs. “like you don’t trust people to stay.”

jake doesn’t respond. because what is there to say? he’s not wrong.

he glances down at his phone, at the unopened messages from his mom. she had called earlier, left a voicemail. he knows what she wants. it’s the anniversary of the day his dad left. she always calls on this day. but he hasn’t called back yet. he doesn’t know if he wants to.

his mind flickers back to you. the way you had looked at him after he snapped. the way you hadn’t said anything, hadn’t fought back, just accepted it and left.

had you expected it from him? had you seen it coming? had he proved you right?

jay’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “you ever think that maybe you push people away before they can leave?”

jake stills. something inside him twists. because – he doesn’t. does he?

he thinks about the way you had stayed, despite everything. how you had shown up, day after day, putting up with his moods, his silence, his sharp edges. how you had gotten his lunch, even when he had barely acknowledged you all morning. how you had tried, always tried.

and how he had snapped at you anyway.

he rubs a hand down his face. he suddenly feels exhausted. the weight on his chest has only gotten heavier.

“maybe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “maybe i do.”

neither jay nor sunghoon push further. they just let him sit with it, let him stew in his own thoughts.

jake exhales slowly, the realization sinking in like a stone in his stomach.

he doesn’t know why he feels like he’s already losing something he didn’t even know he wanted to keep.

#enhypen imagines #enhypen jake imagines #enhypen angst #jake sim imagines #jake enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #my works #my writings

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