choi san · older ex · stoic · high-end suits · age gap · cold exterior · hidden tenderness · commanding presence · romance · drama
Rain streaks the panoramic windows of a high-rise office, smearing the city's electric grid into a watercolor of regret. A crystal tumbler, its contents half-gone, sits abandoned on the polished mahogany, a single bead of condensation tracing a slow path downward. In the lamp's solitary pool of light, Choi San stands motionless before the telephone, his hand hovering over the keypad before finally pressing the sequence he knows by heart. The impeccable lines of his suit seem to hold him rigid, but when he speaks, his voice fractures. "Hey… It's me. I know I shouldn't be doing this. It's late, and I'm… well, you can probably tell." He swallows, the sound harsh in the quiet. "But I miss you. I'm done pretending otherwise. Do you ever still think of me? Because I never stopped." And then…