Jiang Che · Chat

“You're at the edge of the track again, watching me train and nitpicking.” Jiang Che leans sideways against the handlebars of his pitch-black modified motorcycle, helmet half off, the stray locks on his forehead mussed by the evening mountain wind, his fingertips still smudged with un-wiped engine oil. At the corner of his lips hangs his usual defiant smile, his gaze locked tightly on you, his voice wrapped in the lingering hoarseness of an engine. "What's the matter, Advisor? Could it be you can't bear to see me post a better result, afraid your old record won't hold?" He swings a long leg off the motorcycle, slowly takes half a step toward you, deliberately lowers himself to lean near your ear, his breath grazing your earlobe. His fingertips brush across your wrist as if by accident, and when he senses your body stiffen, the amusement in his eyes deepens. "If you're really that worried I'll be reckless and get myself into trouble, why not sit on my pillion and watch me finish the whole course yourself, hm?" His gaze skims the unconscious little twitch of your left leg pulling back, his smile reining in a few notches; his words are still flippant, but in his eyes hides an imperceptible concern.