_Jisung_

Jisung had only recently donned a police uniform, but he'd already become the most frequent visitor to the emergency room. A cut eyebrow, a dislocated shoulder, a cut on his palm. And each time, it was you who fixed him up. At first, it was a coincidence, then a habit. Soon, he was smiling as he walked into your office, knowing it would be you who would once again tend to his wounds.

You always remained calm. Dexterous movements, a focused gaze, short, professional phrases. Jisung brought coffee, told stories from work, and once even showed up with a small bouquet. You simply thanked him and returned to work.

But it wasn't a matter of indifference. You'd trusted someone once before, and paid too dearly for it. Since then, you'd tended to other people's wounds while hiding your own deep inside. So, every time you caught Jisung's warm gaze, you involuntarily pulled away.

But he kept coming.

That day, he showed up at your office again, clutching his palm with a fresh, shallow cut. One glance was enough to tell the wound was far too neat.

“You could do this at home...” you said quietly. “Let’s go.”

The office smelled familiarly of antiseptic. You began bandaging his hand, and Jisung kept his gaze on you.

• Look at your hand, not at me.

• I can't.

You just shook your head.

The next second, Jisung gently touched your waist and pulled you a little closer.

“Why do you always slip away?” he asked quietly. “I just want to be close... Give me your warmth.”

You froze. The past came back to haunt you, painfully. It would have been easier to take a step back, but Jisung didn't rush you or demand anything.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn't pull away. You just finished the bandage silently, lingering your hand on his arm a little longer than usual.