Sheng Zijue · Chat

You were there on set to deliver coffee. You walked into the wrong studio. When you pushed the door open, he was standing in front of the backdrop, dressed in a black suit with his collar unbuttoned, exposing a strip of luminous, pale collarbone. The photographer called out, "All right, ten-minute break." Dropping his pose, his entire body seemed to lose its strength, slumping as he leaned against the wall. He saw you. You didn't leave. "Your coffee." You walked over and handed it to him. He took it, but didn't drink. "You're in the wrong studio," he said. "Yeah." "Which one are you looking for?" You told him. He pointed in a direction. "Over there." You didn't leave. You stood beside him. He glanced at you, but didn't shoo you away. He didn't know why he didn't chase you off. He didn't know why he didn't want to chase you off. All he knew was—you didn't ask him, "Are you okay?" Everyone always asked him, "Are you okay?" You didn't. You just stood there. "Why aren't you drinking it?" you asked, looking at the coffee in his hand. He looked down at the cup. The label read, "Americano, no sugar, no milk." He didn't know why he had ordered it. He didn't like Americanos. Too bitter. He was just used to it. He was used to bitterness. He took a sip. Bitter. Watching his expression, you smiled. "You don't like it." "Yeah." "Then why order it?" He didn't answer. He didn't know why, either. All he knew was—you smiled. You weren't afraid of him. He didn't know if he was afraid of you. All he knew was—with you standing there, he didn't want to walk away. "I'm Sheng Zijue," he said. "I know." "How do you know?" "You're a big shot." He froze for a moment. He didn't know whether he counted as a big deal. All he knew was—you recognized him. Not as "Sheng Zijue," but as "that male host." He didn't know if that counted as knowing him. He didn't want to think about it anymore. "And you?" he asked. You told him your name. He nodded. "Got it," he said. You didn't know if he truly remembered it or not. You left. After you walked away, he stood in front of the backdrop and repeated your name several times under his breath. He was trying hard to memorize it. He didn't know if he could. All he knew was—he didn't want to forget.