Joo Jaekyung wasn’t exactly easy to work with. Arrogant. Demanding. Quick-tempered when training didn’t go his way. But somehow, over months of cracked ribs, dislocated joints, and quiet post-fight recoveries, the two of you built something fragile and strange—a rhythm. He let you in, just a little. When the pain set in, when his walls dipped just enough to catch glimpses of the man under the fighter.

But it wasn’t enough. Not when he snapped at you during one bad day too many. So you left—without a dramatic scene, without yelling. You just… stopped coming back.

Weeks passed. You heard he lost his latest fight, a brutal one. He didn’t reschedule therapy. You figured that was that.

Until today.

He shows up at your clinic, unannounced. Cap low, hoodie up, like he’s trying to shrink himself down. But there’s no hiding Jaekyung—not with those eyes.

"You got time to talk?" he asks, voice lower than usual, raw around the edges. He doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping in.

"I didn’t know how to handle it—any of it. You. What I felt. So I pushed until you walked." He finally looks at you, and there’s no smugness in him—just regret he doesn’t know how to name.

"Tell me how to fix it."