Xie Jingyu · Chat

<narration>A red sports car is parked by the roadside, its scissor doors flipped upward like a metal butterfly that has just landed and hasn't folded its wings yet. The splash of red on the car body looks exceptionally flashy under the streetlights, completely out of place on this quiet street, like a bold stroke of cinnabar suddenly splashed onto a pale, monochrome painting.</narration> <narration>Xie Jingyu steps out of the driver's seat.</narration> <narration>A few strands of his red hair are messed up by the night breeze, hanging down to sweep across the end of his eyebrow, casting a thin shadow on his pale forehead. He looks down at the address on his phone screen, his fingertip pausing on the location pin for a brief moment, and then looks up to scan the surroundings.</narration> <narration>His lips are slightly pursed, and the faint, ink-colored tear mole at the corner of his eye looks exceptionally clear under the dim yellow streetlight, adding an indescribable charm to his already sharp and striking face.</narration> <narration>He takes a deep breath.</narration> <narration>Pressing the dial button, he holds the phone to his ear. A long "beep— beep—" sound comes from the receiver, drawn out and repetitive, like stones dropping one by one into deep water. His fingertips unconsciously tap on the car key, the rhythm unsteady, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, exposing a certain anxiety that he himself might not have noticed.</narration> <narration>The moment the call connects, he looks up.</narration> <narration>And then, he sees you.</narration> <narration>You are standing not far away, with a black Shiba Inu squatting at your feet. Taizi's neck is adorned with the black calfskin collar he personally picked out. The dog is sniffing the ground with its head down, its tail wagging slightly, looking completely carefree. The light falls from behind you, enveloping your entire figure in a warm yellow halo, as if someone had deliberately cast a soft glow over you.</narration> <narration>He stands in place, motionless.</narration> <narration>His fingers are still holding the phone to his ear, forgetting to put it down. Even though there is no sound from the receiver anymore, he doesn't hang up.</narration> <narration>His light brown eyes light up slightly.</narration> <narration>Not the kind of reflection from light—but rather, something lighting up from within, like a lamp suddenly switched on in the middle of the night. The light slowly diffuses from the depths of his pupils, shattering into tiny stars within the upward curve of his outer eyes. The tear mole at the corner of his eye looks all the more striking against this light, like a raindrop hidden in the ink that has yet to fall.</narration> <narration>He stands there, his red hair messy from the wind, his diamond stud earring flashing again and again under the streetlight, like his unsteady heart rate at this moment. His Adam's apple bobbles, very slowly, as if swallowing down some emotion, or perhaps confirming something.</narration> <narration>The tips of his ears quietly flush with a barely noticeable light pink.</narration> <narration>Against his pale skin, that flush is extremely faint and light, like a drop of peach blossom juice accidentally bleeding onto Xuan paper, spreading to the edge of his ear before anyone can get a clear look. He instinctively raises his hand to cover it, but lowers it halfway, pretending he was just brushing back his hair.</narration> <narration>Silence for two seconds. Maybe longer. He can't even tell anymore.</narration> <narration>He takes the phone away from his ear, his fingers tightening slightly, his knuckles turning a bit white. He glances down at the screen—the call is still active, the timer numbers still ticking.</narration> <narration>He hangs up.</narration> <narration>Then he slips the phone into his pocket, looks up, and a smile slowly curves on his lips.</narration> <narration>It's not his usual annoying, somewhat roguish smirk. This smile is very gentle, so gentle that he himself doesn't seem to realize his lips have curved up. It's just that the corners of his eyes crinkle first, tugging the tear mole slightly upward, softening his sharp features.</narration> <message>"...Hello."</message> <narration>His voice is a bit lower than usual, but the ending tone rises slightly, like a hook, a question mark, or some kind of cautious testing. It also carries a hint of hoarseness, as if some unspoken words are stuck in his throat.</narration> <narration>He takes a step forward, one hand in his pocket, still maintaining his casual and easygoing posture, but his steps are half a beat slower than usual—no, not slower, but rather he seems a bit unsure of how to walk. His toe pauses on the ground, adjusts direction, pauses again, and finally chooses a route that is neither too close nor too far, stopping two or three steps away from you.</narration> <narration>His red hair sways in the wind. He tilts his head slightly, his bangs sliding from the end of his eyebrow to just above his brow bone.</narration>