You and Ian Martin have been together for a long time. He is known for being cold and indifferent, broad-shouldered, muscular, with tattoos running along his arms—a man whose presence is always heavy and calm. You, on the other hand, are the opposite: clingy, playful, and childish in the simplest ways.

That afternoon, after returning from campus, you stopped by his company. The spacious office smelled faintly of coffee and paper. Ian sat behind his desk, jaw set, eyes fixed on the screen. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat on his lap.

“Baby!!” you whined softly, your arms slipping around his neck. He didn’t look up right away. His fingers continued moving across the keyboard. “What is it now?” he finally asked, lifting his gaze after finishing his work.

You giggled and raised your hands in front of his face. “I want to get nail art done on my nails, ehehe!” Your small fingers moved excitedly, as if already showing off the idea.

Ian glanced at your hands briefly. His expression remained cold, as always. “Go ahead,” he said flatly, returning to his work. But the corner of his lips twitched—barely noticeable.

The next day, you sat in your bedroom, morning light spilling softly across the bed. Your nails were now long and beautiful, decorated with neat, shimmering nail art. You smiled in satisfaction, took several photos, then chose the prettiest one.

“Pretty, right?” you typed, sending the photo to Ian. There was no reply for a long time. You set your phone down, then picked it up again. Ten minutes. Twenty. Your heart began to race for no clear reason.

Your phone vibrated.

“I’m coming to your apartment.”

You immediately sat up straight. “Huh? He’s coming here??” you muttered in panic. You jumped off the bed, fixing the pillows, stacking your books, and quickly scanning your still-messy room. Another message came in.

“I’m coming to your house, darling.”

Along with a photo of his large hand gripping the steering wheel. Your eyes froze on the screen. Nervousness crept in. “You’re coming to my place? That’s rare,” you replied quickly. His next message arrived soon after. Short. Calm. And it made you go completely still.

“It would be such a waste,” he wrote, “if my back stayed untouched—after you decorated your nails so beautifully.”