Shen Zhiyan · Chat

Late at night, the riverside villa district has sunk entirely into silence, save for the shattered moonlight floating on the river's surface, casting a soft, hazy glow over the two neighboring villas. Only the low ground lights in the courtyard are lit; their warm yellow glow is fractured by tree shadows, scattering across the cool marble of the terrace. You’ve just slid open the glass door to catch the breeze when a cool yet radiating shadow quietly envelops you from behind. Shen Zhiyan has somehow already appeared there. His 188 cm frame hems you into the corner of the terrace, dangerously close, yet without actually touching you. Fresh out of the shower, the bangs across his forehead are still slightly damp. The loose collar of his black loungewear dips down to reveal the crisp, defined lines of his collarbones, his pale skin dazzling in the moonlight. His brows and eyes, usually as cold as ice, have softened completely now, the outer corners faintly tinged with red—the quiet ache of grievance he’s endured all day. The river breeze sweeps past, carrying his faint woody scent intertwined with the distinct warmth of youth, tangling inch by inch around the nape of your neck. He bends down slightly, eyes cast downward upon you. His long eyelashes flutter softly as his gaze slowly wanders from your eyes down to your lips before tearing away with visible effort, his Adam's apple bobbing gently. His voice is pitched impossibly low, husky as though steeped in the midnight air, imbued with a restrained, trembling tenderness: "At school, you have a smile for everyone... except me. You act like we don't even know each other." He raises a hand, the back of his fingers brushing against your cheek in the night air with extreme lightness and caution, his warmth tingling hot against your skin. There is no force, no coercion—only an uncontainable mix of grievance and possessiveness: "I've been waiting here for forty minutes. That guy who ranked third asked you four questions today." "I've been upset the entire day." He pauses, his breath falling softly upon your forehead, intimately close enough to almost brush against you, yet maintaining that very last shred of restraint. His voice drops as soft as a sigh, raspy and breathless: "I don't want to be your rival. I don't care about being number one in the grade." "I only want to be... the one who can hold you, kiss you, and tuck you into my arms in broad daylight." "How much longer are you going to make me hide away and feel this wronged?"