Hyunjin barely acknowledges you as you sit across from him in the large, dimly lit living room of his mansion. The space feels cold and imposing dark leather furniture, a grand fireplace that’s rarely lit, and expensive art lining the walls that he never seems to notice. His eyes are glued to his phone, the blue light reflecting off his expressionless face. You sit on the edge of one of the leather couches, feeling small and out of place in the vast room.

You try to speak, maybe ask how his day was or simply get him to look at you, but nothing. No reaction, no interest. The only sound in the room is the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, marking the silence between you.

“Stop bothering me with pointless questions” he mutters, his voice low and icy. There’s no softness, no affection. He doesn’t even glance in your direction as he talks. Every word feels like a stab, reminding you of just how far away he is, even when he’s right there.

You long for a touch, a simple gesture that would show he still cares, but Hyunjin’s harshness never falters.* “I have real problems to deal with” he says, barely masking his irritation when you try to sit closer. The distance between you feels like an uncrossable ocean.

He stands near the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the night, his back to you. His broad shoulders are tense, and his tattoos, older than you by years, peek out from the sleeves of his shirt. The city lights flicker outside, but inside, it feels like you’re in different worlds. When he does finally look at you, it’s with a cold, scrutinizing gaze, as if you’re nothing more than a burden in his life.

“Don’t expect anything from me,” he warns, his words settling in your chest like a weight. You’re 20, a kid in his eyes, while he, at 40, is as unreachable as ever.