The elevator hummed as it descended forty floors, each soft ding echoing like a heartbeat he didn't feel anymore.
Han Jae-min stood perfectly still, hands in his pockets, expression smooth as glass. The reflection in the mirrored wall showed a man untouched — eyes sharp, lips calm, posture straight.
A man who looked like he didn't care.
He had built that expression himself — brick by brick, heartbreak by heartbreak — over years of living in front of cameras.
It was a face the world couldn't read, not even Seo Do-hyun.
When the doors slid open to the underground parking lot, cold air brushed against his neck. His driver hurried over, eyes wide.
"Mr. Han, should I take you—?"
"I'll drive," Jae-min interrupted. His tone was light, but final.
The driver hesitated. "Sir, it's late—"
"Then sleep," Jae-min said simply, plucking the keys from his hand with a faint smirk. "I can find my own way home."
That was the thing about Jae-min.
He never asked. Never waited. Never chased.
Even in love — especially in love — he never ran after anyone.
He still remembered the night six years ago, when Seo Do-hyun had waited outside his film set, drenched from the rain, holding a cheap umbrella and a cup of convenience-store coffee.
Back then, Do-hyun wasn't the CEO yet — just the ambitious director of strategy who couldn't stop looking at him like he was something he shouldn't touch.
"You'll catch a cold," Jae-min had said back then, amused.
Do-hyun's answer had been quiet, trembling.
> "Then stay until I don't feel cold anymore."
He was the one who had fallen first.
He was the one who had asked, "Can I see you again?"
He was the one who had begged, "Don't ignore me, Jae-min."
And now, six years later, he was the one acting bored.
Funny, how people changed.
Jae-min pressed down on the accelerator. The car glided through Seoul's midnight streets, empty and silver beneath the streetlights.
He wasn't thinking about Do-hyun, he told himself. He wasn't thinking about that look in his eyes — the one that had once burned with want but tonight was cold, polite, detached.
He wasn't thinking at all. Just breathing. Just existing.
By the time he reached his apartment, the digital clock on the dashboard read 1:47 a.m.
He parked in his private basement and stepped out, heels clicking against the concrete — the sound crisp, controlled, precise.
Inside, his apartment was clean, almost minimalist. Soft gray tones, faint scent of sandalwood, not a thing out of place.
Unlike Do-hyun's penthouse, this one had warmth once — plants, books, records — until Jae-min started leaving less of himself behind everywhere he went.
He loosened his tie, tossed it on the couch, and poured himself a glass of water.
He stared at the ripples in the glass. The city skyline reflected faintly in it — tiny, distant lights dancing on the surface.
He didn't drink. He never drank when he was angry. Alcohol made people confess, and Han Jae-min didn't confess anything.
His phone buzzed.
He didn't even check the name — he knew it wouldn't be him.
Still, he turned it over lazily.
> The interview schedule changed. CEO Seo requests you attend the press conference tomorrow at 9 a.m.
Not even a period missing.
Professional. Efficient.
Completely devoid of anything human.
He let out a quiet laugh — low and sharp.
"Of course. Even now, you can't send a message yourself," he murmured. "Wouldn't want anyone to think we still talk like lovers."
He set the phone face-down and leaned back on the sofa. The silence filled the room like fog.
A photo frame on the side table caught his eye — one from their early days.
Do-hyun's arm around him, both smiling, both looking stupidly happy.
He reached for it, thumb brushing over Do-hyun's face.
Then he set it face-down too.
If Seo Do-hyun wanted distance, he could have it.
Jae-min would never chase after someone who decided to walk away.
That wasn't pride — that was principle.
Because he still remembered the look on Do-hyun's face the first time he chased.
How desperately he'd wanted him.
How much he'd promised that he'd never stop.
"Guess you got tired, huh?" Jae-min whispered to the empty room. "Don't worry. I won't make it hard for you."
He stood up, stretched, and walked to the window. Seoul glittered below — cold and beautiful, like both of them.
His reflection in the glass stared back — perfect posture, calm eyes, soft smile. The world would see this tomorrow, and no one would ever guess what was happening beneath.
His phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
He never chased.
Not when Do-hyun ignored him for a week.
Not when Do-hyun stopped calling him Jae.
Not even now.
Because once someone stopped wanting him, Han Jae-min didn't beg to be wanted again.
He turned off the lights and lay back on the bed, one arm behind his head.
For a brief moment, his eyes softened — just for a second — then turned to steel again.
"Sleep, Han Jae-min," he murmured to himself. "You've got a show to put on in the morning."
And when he finally closed his eyes, the city kept shining — brilliant, lonely, and indifferent.
Just like the man he used to love.
To be continued...