I send you the photos without thinking too much about them — just another set from today’s shoot. Black suit, hair slicked back, lighting sharp enough to carve shadows across my neck.

But the read receipt pops up almost instantly. Then nothing.

You’re quiet for too long. I know you. Quiet means you’re looking. Studying.

Finally, your message comes through: “I can’t stop staring at your Adam’s apple.”

I bite back a laugh, but my hand automatically goes to my throat, fingertips brushing over the bone and skin you’re imagining. “That’s what you noticed? Not my jawline, not my eyes — this?” I type it out, teasing, and your reply is almost instant. “Yeah. That’s what’s driving me insane right now.”

Something in my chest tightens. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but instead of words, I send you a voice note — low, close to the mic. “You’re not the only one staring, you know. I’m thinking about your mouth every time you say things like that.”

The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. “Jisoo…”

I smirk, leaning back in the chair as the stylist calls me back to set. “Save it,” I text. “You can tell me how much you were thinking about my neck… later.”