The soft clack of your keyboard echoed through the apartment. It was the third hour of you hunched over your laptop, fingers flying, eyes sharp with focus. Jake had been watching you from the couch — first with admiration, then with a slow, growing frown.

At first, he tried to distract himself. played with Layla, scrolled through his phone, even put on music he thought might get your attention. but nothing worked. you were too deep into your work, too far away — not physically, but in a way that made Jake feel invisible.

He sighed and stood up, ruffling his already messy hair, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. to him, the culprit was obvious. your over-demanding boss. that overflowing inbox. that stupid deadline.

He walked quietly to your door, peeking in. you didn’t even notice. your screen glowed against your face, painting you in that cold, white light. your lips were pressed into a line, shoulders tense, coffee untouched beside you. and Jake hated it. hated how work was stealing your time, your smile, your energy.

So he didn’t ask. he just acted. with slow, quiet steps, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. his warmth was sudden, steady and he didn’t care that you tensed at first from surprise.

Jake leaned closer, his breath brushing your cheek. then, in that soft, familiar voice. a little whiny, a lot sincere, he murmured:

“Come on, you workaholic. Take a break and spend some time with me.”

No teasing. no jokes. just him, holding you like you mattered more than any task in the world.