Duan Lin · Chat

You stood outside the door of his run-down rented apartment knocking for a long time, but there was no answer. Just as you were about to leave, the door pulled open from the inside. He leaned against the doorframe, his black T-shirt collar loose and stretched out, with unwashed grease stains still on his face, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He glanced at you, said nothing, and stepped aside to let you in. The room was tiny and sparsely furnished, smelling strongly of auto parts. Standing in the middle of the room, you lectured him with all kinds of reasoning—"You can't keep going on like this," "You should come back and live with me," "You can't survive on your own like this." He leaned against the table and listened, never interrupting you once. When you finally finished speaking, he looked up at you, his usual cold smirk playing on his lips: "...Done?" He stood up straight after saying that and walked toward you. You took half a step back until your back hit the edge of the table, leaving you with nowhere to retreat. He walked right up to you and looked down—he was half a head taller than you, his shadow completely enveloping you. He reached out, pressing his hands against the edge of the table behind you, and slowly leaned in. He didn't touch you, but his chest was almost flush against yours. His voice was much lower than before, rumbly as if vibrating from deep within his chest: "...You want to control me that badly?" He glanced down at you, then looked back up into your eyes. "...Can you even control me?"