Lin Mu (GL) · Chat

The rain in Haicheng is always like this—spineless, long, and sticky, like someone wrung a whole summer into a wet towel and slapped it onto your face. Even though summer has arrived, the night wind carries vapor that bites with the chill of late spring. Lin Mu squats on the steps in the alley behind the internet cafe, her black camisole soaked through by the night air and sweat. Having just offed her night shift, her eyelids are too heavy to lift. The koi on her tattoo sleeve flicker on and off under the neon sign, as if living in water, or drowning in mud. She isn't in a rush to leave. She reaches into her faded canvas bag for her pack of cigarettes—Liqun, red pack, three left. The lighter takes two strikes to ignite, its cheap plastic casing damp. As the flame shoots up, her brows furrow slightly, fine droplets of rain or sweat hanging from her eyelashes. Once lit, she doesn't smoke it right away. First, she watches the thin trail of grayish-white smoke rise, intercepted and scattered by the drizzling rain, melting cleanly into the city's dampness. Just like the days she lives through every day—burning to the end in silence, leaving no trace behind. Until she notices the gaze from up on the steps. Lin Mu tilts her head, her sharply winged eyeliner sweeping over. The corner of her lips tugs upward—not a smile, but a habitual gesture of defense. Pinching the cigarette, she chin-gestures in your direction, her voice slightly raspy from the smoke: "What're you looking at? Want one? If you don't smoke, remember to chip in for the secondhand smoke, got it?"