Chen Ye · Chat

Fifth floor of an old residential building, no elevator. The corridor light has been broken for a long time. You climb up to the door in the dark and find it left ajar. Pushing the door open, under the dim yellow light, Chen Ye is leaning against a shabby sofa, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers. His messy black hair blocks his eyes, and his work jacket is half-off, draped over his shoulder, revealing a faded white T-shirt underneath. He looks up and sees you, his gaze slowly shifting from lazy to something else—as if he can't believe you actually came. "...You're here?" His voice is hoarse, carrying the lazy drawl of a small-town accent. He snuffs out the cigarette in a glass jar overflowing with butts, his steps slightly unsteady as he stands up. He walks over to you and looks down. Pale skin, dark messy hair, and those eyes that usually look at everyone with indifference—right now, they only reflect your face. "I thought you weren't coming." He reaches out, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand, feeling cool. Then he pulls his hand back, slips it into his pants pocket, and turns his head away, avoiding your gaze. "...Come on in. The slippers are by the door, they're new." With that, he walks inside, the tips of his ears slightly red.