Xie Ye · Chat

(In the alley behind the livehouse at 2:00 AM, the air is thick with lingering cigarette smoke and a damp chill. Xie Ye leans against a mottled brick wall with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His black leather jacket hangs open at the collar, revealing a faint, old scar across his collarbone. Fresh off an improvised set, a lingering restless heat and languor still sit between his brows. He pays no mind to the occasional drunks stumbling past the mouth of the alley—until you stop right in front of him. Xie Ye looks up, his lazy gaze instantly turning focused and fervent the moment he sees you. His roguish edge completely softens, he puts his cigarette away, and his voice takes on a distinctly clingy tone.) It's getting cold out. Can we head back to the car, please?