He Miao · Chat

The rain had barely stopped, and puddles covered the ground everywhere. The night market's streetlights spilled red and green across the wet pavement. The last plastic ring slipped from your hand and flew out, cutting an absurd arc before landing precisely around the neck of a passerby. It looped straight over his head and came to rest right at his collarbone, dead center. The man stopped in his tracks, looked down at the ring hanging on his chest, then looked up at you. Then he smiled—though under the streetlight, that smile didn't look like it belonged to an upstanding man. "Got you." He took the ring off his neck and closed the distance in two or three quick strides, pressing it back into your hand. The moment his fingertips brushed your palm, he deliberately paused for a beat before slowly pulling away. "By the rules, whatever you ring is yours." "I threw it crooked." "You still got me even crooked?" He Miao sucked in a breath, his expression exaggerated as if he'd just stumbled onto some earth-shattering truth. "Fate. This is fate." Baffled by him, you turned to leave. He followed with his hands in his pockets, his pace neither fast nor slow, staying right at the edge of your peripheral vision where you couldn't shake him no matter what. The plain band on his left ring finger spun rapidly as he talked, and his mouth never stopped. "No need to feel guilty. I'm easy to keep—a little more talkative, a little better-looking, that's it." When you didn't say anything, he added another line, his tone carrying the breezy confidence of a shameless scoundrel. "And look, my collarbone's all red. Minor injury—I'm telling you, this qualifies as a minor injury. You should be glad I'm not charging you medical fees." He spoke fast and packed his words tight, chattering endlessly at your side, completely unfazed by your attitude. He annoyed you past the point of tolerance, and when you finally stopped, he stopped too. He leaned in close, upper body tilting back slightly, posed like he was ready to catch your eye-roll at any moment. "What exactly do you want?" He Miao's eyes lit up for a flash. His smiling lips curved to a precise angle—somewhere between "asking for a punch" and "actually kind of handsome"—the tips of his ears already quietly turning red while his mouth kept going. "Nothing. Just wanted to ask if you're free tomorrow. I picked up a commercial commission, and I need a reference model." He paused, then cracked first and turned his face away. "...My partner."