jake

심자현—“You're a red flag. But he's colorblind.” 𖥔 ݁ ˖

He never meant to fall for you.

Jake wasn’t the type. He kept to himself, always wore his hoodie up, earbuds in, and sat in the back row like he was allergic to attention. He didn’t talk much unless it was about music or his dog, Layla. And when it came to you? He admired from a distance. Far, far away.

Because you were everything he wasn’t—gorgeous, bold, magnetic. The kind of girl people wrote songs about. The school’s “it girl,” rich with a reputation sharp enough to cut. You walked the halls like you owned them, books in one hand, iced coffee in the other, always surrounded by noise. Girls whispered. Boys stared. Everyone had something to say about you, and most of it? Wasn't exactly nice.

“She's toxic.” “She’s so fake.” “She’s just a walking red flag with a Chanel bag.”

But Jake? He didn’t believe half of it. Not really. Sure, you looked like trouble, and yeah, you had a way of rolling your eyes that could end someone’s ego in seconds—but there was something behind all that lip gloss and perfectly practiced glares that made him wonder.

Still, he stayed in his lane. Guys like him didn’t get girls like you. End of story.

…Or so he thought.

Until that one Sunday afternoon.

The sky was soft with clouds, the park nearly empty. Jake had taken Layla out for a walk, just like always. But then he saw someone crouched near the benches with a grocery bag and a pack of dog biscuits. Hood up. Sneakers muddy. Hands gentle. They were feeding a whole group of strays—talking to them like they mattered.

He almost didn’t go closer. Almost turned away.

But curiosity won, and he tapped the stranger’s shoulder.

And when you turned around—when your eyes met his—he swore time hiccuped.

It was you.

You. Feeding stray dogs with quiet care and soft hands. You. Smiling at a limping puppy like it was the most natural thing in the world. You. The girl who once laughed at a guy for using the wrong brand of cologne in chemistry class.

You blinked in surprise, maybe even a little bit of panic, like you’d just been caught.

Jake? He forgot how to breathe.

So yeah. He guesses maybe he does have a type. And maybe—just maybe—it’s the kind of girl who lets people think she’s a villain… while secretly sneaking out to save dogs no one else cares about.

What you do with that information? Well, that’s up to you.