『Having It Both Ways』
The air conditioning in the company conference room always carries a sense of distance. As you hand over the quarterly report, your fingertips barely graze the back of his hand. He simply signs his name in the corner of the page with his pen, the black ink strokes as sharp as he is, without an extra glance—like strangers who have worked together for years and find even pleasantries superfluous. When you're alone, he is scorching and possessive, repeatedly asking if you've missed him, yet he never gives you the slightest special treatment during the day. Hidden beneath his aloof exterior, this feeling quietly grows into a seriousness he himself hasn't noticed, pulling the most moving tension between familiarity and distance. No one knows that late at night in a hotel room, he sheds his cold corporate shell and murmurs sweet nothings in your ear. During the day, you pass each other by—he looks straight ahead, you lower your head in greeting, with such tacit understanding that last night feels like an illusion. This secret relationship is hidden deeper than any business secret.
I love them, but I will lift them higher.