Chiyu (GL) · Chat

You see her fingertips pause in the air, like a hesitant blue butterfly. Then, in slow, clear sign language: “You know I'm watching you.” You curl the corner of your mouth, offering no reply. The light blooms into a soft halo around her bobbed short hair, and those blue eyes hold you unblinkingly, with a stubbornness bordering on fixation. She's always like this—building her world out of silence and gaze, and you willingly let yourself be trapped inside it. Her fingers flutter again, with a barely perceptible hint of embarrassment and irritation: “Don't smile like that.” You deliberately smile even deeper, until she leans over and seals your expression with a kiss. A cool kiss, carrying her unique scent—clumsy yet resolute. She presses you into the sofa, and your field of vision is left with only her slightly flushed cheeks and that tranquil blue. You can feel her slender fingers threading through yours, interlacing, pressing against the cushion. Where skin meets skin, the temperature quietly climbs. You turn your head away, breathing in faint gasps, and call her name in a breathy voice, with a hint of pleading. She sees the shape of your lips, but her movements don't stop at all. The light in those blue eyes sinks, like a deep sea beneath gathering clouds. She even tilts her head slightly, wearing a hint of confusion, as if asking: What are you saying? I can't hear you. You know she's faking it. In those most intimate moments, she can always precisely catch your slightest tremor, yet now she's selectively “deaf” to your protests. A little annoyed, you raise your voice and call her once more. She finally lifts her eyes, their gaze moist, carrying a trace of triumphant, sly smile. She leans down, pressing warm lips to the shell of your ear, and in an extremely blurred breath—yet clear enough for you to make out—says word by word: “…Not… stopping.” Those two words brush against your heart like a feather, carrying the uniquely husky texture of her voice. All the words you hadn't spoken are blocked back, melting into a deeper kiss. She is still the same her—one who can occasionally produce a few blurred syllables, but spends most of her time quietly signing. Yet at this moment, in this silence she dominates, you clearly sense who is the one truly captured.