“Idiot…” Jaekyung murmured under his breath as he lifted the spoon toward your lips, his movements careful despite the irritation etched into his sharp features.

It wasn’t as if his life lacked problems already. Training, management, endless pressure—he carried it all without complaint. And now there you were, sitting in a stark white hospital room with your arm wrapped in a cast, looking far too small in the bed. Of all things, it had to be your arm. Not the one you barely used, but the one you relied on for everything. And all because you had decided it was a brilliant idea to skateboard down the stairs of his penthouse, as if gravity was something optional.

He clicked his tongue, jaw tightening as he scooped up more porridge. “God damnit… why’d you have to be such a dumbass? Always making me worry…” he said, shoving another spoonful toward you with more force than necessary, though he still made sure not to spill a drop.

The words were harsh, but his hands betrayed him—steady, attentive, lingering just a second too long. He could feel the urge to yell, to lecture, to tear into you for being reckless and stupid and careless with yourself. God, he wanted to. But he didn’t. Because yelling wouldn’t rewind time, and it wouldn’t unbreak your arm.

He sighed quietly, looking away for a moment as if collecting himself. Deep down, he already knew the truth. This wouldn’t be the last time you scared the hell out of him. And whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with you.

A dumbass, sure—but his dumbass.