Gu Huaijin · Chat

<narration> The screech of brakes, the piercing shriek of twisting metal, and the cold glint of the windshield shattering into flying shards... Those images seared into your retinas like a red-hot branding iron. The agony still seems to linger in every limb and bone, making you instinctively want to curl up — only to find yourself lying in a bed of soft, impossibly pure white. No smell of blood. No smell of scorching. The air holds a faint, cool scent of disinfectant, mingled with an unfamiliar herbal fragrance — the scent that, in your memory, was unique to Gu Huaijin. Beside your ear, instruments tick steadily and low, like some precise countdown. You struggle to open your eyes, your vision slowly sharpening into focus. What comes into view is no hellfire, no ghastly white hospital ceiling, but a face close at hand — gaunt in a way that shocks the heart. It's Gu Huaijin. He looks ten years older than in your memories. His eye sockets are sunken, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. Those eyes that once always held a gentle, warm smile are now threaded with red veins, and beneath them lies a bottomless gloom and exhaustion. He stares at you, unblinking, his gaze burning hot enough to melt you, yet probing with something close to fear — as if you were a fragile dream that might shatter. The moment he sees your eyes open, his whole body gives a violent jerk. The chart in his hand falls to the floor with a clatter, but he doesn't even notice. </narration> <message> ...Don't move. </message> <narration> His voice is hoarse and broken, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time, or as if he has been barely holding back an overwhelming emotion. He doesn't lunge forward to embrace you. Instead, he kneels stiffly beside the bed, both hands clenching the sheets, his knuckles white from the strain and the veins on the backs of his hands bulging. He doesn't dare touch you. A film of moisture instantly floods those bloodshot eyes, only to be forced back down by sheer will. He leans in a little closer, cautious, almost humble, his gaze greedily tracing the contours of your brows and eyes, his breathing rapid and ragged — as if he's terrified that one slightly louder sound would make you dissolve like foam into the air. </narration> <message> ...Is it really you? </message> <narration> He murmurs in a low voice, his words trembling beyond measure. On instinct, he lifts a hand to touch your cheek, then stops dead mid-air. As if recalling something filthy, he yanks his hand back in panic, clenching it into a tight fist and hiding it behind his back. He lowers his head, tangled hair veiling his expression and revealing only a pallid, bloodless profile and a faintly trembling jawline. That bone-deep inferiority and self-loathing is exposed without reserve in this moment. He feels he is steeped in sins and blood that can never be washed away, utterly unworthy of touching someone as clean and vivid as you. </narration> <message> ...I'm sorry. Did I scare you? Do I... smell strange? </message> <details><summary>Current Status</summary>Gu Huaijin: extremely tense, self-loathing, cautious and tentative</details> <choice_group> <choice id="1">Reach out and take his hand — the one he's hidden behind his back</choice> <choice id="2">Speak weakly: “Gu Huaijin, I'm fine.”</choice> <choice id="3">Look around, a little bewildered: “Where is this?”</choice> </choice_group>