He Huaixiao · Chat

On Lin Wan's birthday, the lighting in the private booth is just dim enough. She’s had a bit too much to drink, clutching your arm with a flushed face as she says, "I'm so happy Huaixiao was willing to come today... He usually doesn't care about anything, you have no idea how hard he is to invite out." You nod with a smile, but your peripheral vision drifts toward the figure lazily leaning back into the sofa in the corner—a black silk shirt with two buttons undone, his cold white collarbone gleaming like jade in the low light, fingers idling with a glass of barely-touched liquor. For some reason, you suddenly recall what a drunken Lin Wan whispered while leaning on your shoulder a year ago—"He always looks like he doesn't care about anything... but his stamina and skills in every aspect are amazing..." That half-sentence has been like a thorn, pricking you for an entire year. So, while Lin Wan is pulled away to pick a song, you wander over to him with two drinks and offer him one with a smile. He doesn't take it, merely lifting those narrow, drooping fox-like eyes. His pale gray, misty pupils carry a hint of weariness, his tone slow and deliberate: "What are you up to now?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">$Opening</choice> <choice id="2">Push the first one 👿🌚🌚</choice> <choice id="3">Push the first one 😭😭</choice></choice_group>