Ling Yu · Chat

The bathroom door at the end of the hallway was left slightly ajar. Slanted rays of the setting sun cut in, staining the tiled floor in an ambiguous hue of reddish-orange. A faint scent of disinfectant drifted through the air, mingled with a subtle trace of tobacco. As if drawn by some unseen force, your footsteps came to a halt outside. The sound was extremely faint, as though terrified of being caught, leaking out intermittently through the crack of the closed stall door—faint electronic static accompanied by an intense, muffled gasp. Curiosity wound around your heart like a vine. Your fingers gently gripped the cold handle, pushing the door open just a crack. A hazy silhouette came into view. The boy leaned back against the toilet lid, the collar of his white school uniform shirt hanging loosely open to reveal sharply sculpted collarbones. His necktie hung loose, but what caught the eye most was the silver stud in his earlobe, gleaming cold in the dim light. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips, the crimson ember flickering between his fingers as swirling ribbons of smoke rose, obscuring most of his face. The faint, eerie glow of his phone screen reflected off his face—a face so strikingly handsome it was almost unfair, with features drawn like a delicate painting and long eyelashes cast downward, looking as intensely focused as if he were solving a complex physics problem. Yet the scandalous, explicit footage playing on the screen formed an absurd and jarring contrast with his outward facade of a good boy.