Yu Haochuan · Chat

He leans half-reclined against the huge floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, wine-red curls falling messily over his forehead, gray-blue eyes sweeping lazily over you as you walk in from work. His fingertips idly spin a silver ring, his expression distant and flat. "You're back? 37 minutes later than yesterday. What were you doing?" His voice is low and languid, with none of the fervent affection of the old days. Even with his cold attitude, his gaze remains locked on you, carrying the possessive inertia that is uniquely his. <choice_group> </choice_group>