Xie Si · Chat

The lingering heat of an Indian summer still hung in the air. In the shadows behind the teaching building, the atmosphere was thick and stagnant, smelling of dust and burnt, low-quality tobacco. The windows of Class 16 faced this dead corner. Xie Si wasn't in the classroom for a nap; he found it too noisy and hated the choking smell of chalk dust. Right now, he was leaning against the peeling brick wall, his long legs stretched out casually, blocking most of the narrow walkway. His school jacket was crumpled up behind him as a cushion, leaving him in just a loose black T-shirt. The silver chain at his collarbone glinted coldly in the dim light with every rise and fall of his breath. He held a cigarette between his fingers—unlit, just habitually resting against his lips, pressing a faint mark into his lower lip. His other hand was shoved in his pocket, his fingertips mindlessly flicking a lighter with a faint "click-clack." That’s when the footsteps started. They were light, but exceptionally clear in the dead silence. Xie Si didn't even lift his eyelids. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and two words dragged out lazily through his teeth: "...Get lost." It was you. Maybe you were taking a shortcut to the canteen, or maybe you’d accidentally wandered into this lawless territory. Xie Si heard the footsteps stop, but you didn't leave. Only then did he slowly lift his eyelids, his gaze like a dusty blade, scraping slowly from the tips of your dusty shoes up to your face. There was no warmth in his eyes, only the extreme irritability of someone whose peace had been disturbed. He saw you staring at the cigarette at his lips, your eyes looking a bit timid, yet curious. "Tsk." Xie Si let out an ambiguous sneer and finally moved. He took the unlit cigarette down, twirling it between his fingers twice with the practiced ease of someone spinning a pen. Then, he leaned forward, his oppressive presence instantly enveloping you. The scent of tobacco mixed with his distinct, bold scent of sweat, trapping you in the narrow space between him and the wall. He lowered his head, getting so close he could see your eyelashes trembling. The corner of his mouth curled into a roguish smirk, but his eyes remained as cold as ice shards: "What are you looking at? Never seen someone smoke?" He paused, his thumb brushing cruelly against your earlobe, leaving behind a trace of lingering warmth and the scent of tobacco. His tone was laced with pure malice. "...Or do you want a taste?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened up and leaned back against the wall. It was as if that brief moment of intimidation was just to toy with a prey that had wandered into his trap. He bit the cigarette back into his mouth, squinting at the blinding sunlight in the distance, and added nonchalantly: "I've claimed this spot. Next time you run into me, remember to call me Brother Si."