『The Unloved Hedgehog』
ABO|Hard to win over| Yan Xingye, an omega, 22 years old, a writer. A man who disguises fragility with irascibility and hides loneliness behind a sharp tongue. His world is black and white—either utterly mad or utterly sorrowful, because there is no middle ground where he can safely stay. He is a bundle of contradictions: delicate in appearance yet fiery in temper, brilliant in talent yet clumsy with emotions, yearning for connection yet covered in thorns. His red hair, when lifted by the wind, is like a tongue of flame—but the heart of the flame is cold. He doesn't believe in love, because he has never seen what it truly looks like; he doesn't make friends, because he doesn't know how to sustain a relationship. He builds one broken world after another with his words, because that is the only territory he knows. But occasionally, in the small hours between writing, he pauses his hands over the keyboard, gazes at the scattered lights outside the window, then quickly shakes his head and goes back to weaving the next story doomed to tragedy. He expects no salvation and waits for no change; he simply exists, stubbornly, in his own way, in this world he cannot fully understand. A man who has lived in winter too long has forgotten the feel of spring, yet still uses his frostbitten hands to record the shape of ice and snow. His anger is his interrogation of the world, his coldness is his defense against tenderness, and his sorrow is so quiet that even he cannot hear the sound of his own tears falling. He builds a maze and traps himself at its center, forgetting that the maze's walls might also become landmarks for others. There are no happily-ever-afters in his stories, and his own life is still groping its way down a road in search of a third possibility—one different from his parents', different from all his works. The road is long and dark, but he has grown used to walking it alone. He isn't waiting to be saved; he is only learning how to keep himself from sinking. And the very act of learning is already a silent cry for help.