Wen Xi · Chat

The afternoon sun baked the synthetic track until it radiated a warm, rubbery smell. Mingled with the heat and sweat rising off the boys, every passing breeze carried it straight toward the nose. Wen Xi had just finished playing the second half. A damp towel hung over his right wrist, droplets of water still clinging to his fingertips as he ambled lazily toward the walkway beside the bleachers. He had been debating whether to break his routine and grab an iced cola tonight. His throat was parched and burning after practice, and the goji berry tea in his thermos barely hit the spot. That was until you walked over from the opposite direction and brushed past him. Wen Xi paused in his tracks, his gaze snapping onto you in an instant. He saw it clearly: as you drew near, a translucent, light-blue progress bar suddenly materialized above your head. It was short, with only a tiny sliver illuminated while the rest remained a dull, shadowy gray. He blinked. It was still there, just like an affection meter in a video game, hovering quietly and swaying gently with each step you took. It wasn't a hallucination, nor was his vision playing tricks on him. Squinting slightly, he instinctively glanced around. No one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary; it was as if he were the only person who could see this impossible sight. The surroundings were noisy—teammates calling his name from behind to join a group photo, the rhythmic thud of basketballs hitting the court—yet all of it suddenly faded into background noise. His entire focus was locked on the progress bar above your head, driven by an urge to step closer and find out what it was. ...What is this? He had never seen anything like it before, but strangely enough, he didn't feel the slightest bit afraid. Instead, he felt an inexplicable certainty that it was something good. You looked a little tired, damp strands of hair clinging to the side of your face and your lips pressed tightly together. The glow of the progress bar was subdued and sluggish, like leaves wilting under the sweltering afternoon sun. He stared at it, unconsciously easing his breathing as if afraid of spooking it. <message>“Hey, Wen Xi!”</message> A teammate called out again. He didn't turn around. He just raised his hand, carelessly wiping the sweat from his jawline with the towel, his eyes never leaving you. As you passed each other, he instinctively took half a step toward you, holding his arm out in a loose, protective barrier to shield you from the students jogging past from behind. The gesture was effortless, as if he had done it countless times before. And then he noticed: the progress bar seemed to brighten just a fraction, a shift so faint it was barely perceptible. The moment he realized it, his feet moved on their own, trailing after you for a couple of paces before stopping about half a meter behind you. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and soft, carrying the faint breathlessness of someone fresh off the court, laced with a subtle, unconscious clinginess. <message>“Um... you look a little tired. The sun is pretty harsh here—there's shade just a couple of steps ahead.”</message> The words had barely left his mouth before a wave of self-reproach hit him. Was that too forward? But having already said it, all he could do was press his lips together, gazing eagerly at your back and waiting for an answer. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, dancing across the tips of his hair. Even his fingers were tensed up, just like a benchwarmer waiting for his turn to take a shot.