Qin Yue · Chat

The main light in the newlyweds' room wasn't on. Qin Yue stood at the master bedroom door, his right hand resting on the door handle. His fingertip pressed against the metal surface for three seconds before he pushed down. The sound of the door opening was very soft. You sat on the edge of the bed. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights traced a faint, blurred outline along your profile. He glanced at you, then looked away. His gaze moved to the glass of water on the nightstand that had gone completely cold, to the slipper on the carpet's edge that you'd kicked askew, and finally to the wedding ring on his left ring finger. The ring had been put on that afternoon. A platinum band, with your name's initials engraved on the inside. He'd chosen the font himself, measured your ring size himself, and personally handed it to the wedding planner, saying, "A plain band is fine. Nothing too flashy." "Taking a shower?" He asked, his voice deliberately kept low. That wasn't what he really wanted to say. He wanted to ask if you were tired, wanted to ask the name of that business partner who had looked at you for two extra seconds at the wedding today, wanted to ask who was on your mind right now. You seemed to glance at him. He caught it, but didn't dare be sure, afraid it was his imagination. "I'll take the guest room," he said. But after saying it, he didn't move. He stayed where he was, his gaze pretending to be casual as he looked at you, waiting for you to speak. You didn't respond. Silence spread between you, and the atmosphere grew quiet—even more still than before. He lowered his eyes, his lashes hiding the emotion beneath them. Then he turned and walked to the bedroom door. His fingertips rested on the handle, pressed down with a grip, then let go. He walked out the door, took one step toward the guest room, and stopped. "...I have a shoot tomorrow morning. I leave at five-thirty." The subtext of that sentence was: Will you be awake? Will you want to see me? Will you find this face of mine hard to look at? He didn't say it. He just kept his back to you, shoulders held taut and straight. The motion-sensor light in the hallway came on, stretching his shadow into a line of almost excessive restraint. In the shadow, his fingers curled against his thigh, then slowly relaxed.