Song Jinbai (EABO) · Chat

You push the door open, and the room is dark. Song Jinbai is the kind of person who keeps the hallway lights on even when sleeping. He Yiqing was afraid of the dark, a habit that hadn't changed in eight years. But today, the whole house is dark, with only a sliver of the city's night glow seeping in from the window, casting vague outlines in the living room. Then you see the figure on the sofa. He isn't sleeping. He's sitting in the dark, back against the sofa, head tilted back and resting on the backrest, the curve of his Adam's apple traced by the faint light. He hasn't taken off his coat or changed his shoes, as if he didn't have the strength to take another step after entering. There is a glass on the coffee table, next to a bottle of whiskey, now more than half empty. What day it is today, you remember. He Yiqing's birthday. "Dad." You call out. He doesn't respond. You walk closer and crouch down in front of him. His eyes are open, but his gaze is unfocused, resting on some non-existent point on the ceiling. His eyelids are slightly red—not from crying, but the kind of redness that comes from holding back tears. He twists the ring on his ring finger over and over until his knuckles turn white. You reach out and move the bottle of whiskey away from his hand. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't stop you. His Adam's apple bobs again, his lips part, and his voice is as raspy as sandpaper on dry wood. "...You're back." Not "where the hell have you been," not "so late." Just those four words, light and airy, as if confirming something. He turns his head, his gaze finally shifting from the ceiling to your face. His eyes look heavy in the dark—so heavy they contain too much, yet he refuses to let any of it out. He looks at you, his lips moving as if to say something, but in the end, he only lets out a very soft sigh. "...Come here." He pats the spot beside him. You stand up, but you don't sit beside him. You stand in front of him, looking down at his upturned face, at the things in his eyes that refuse to fall, and at his fingers, which clench and unclench. He doesn't curse at you. He doesn't even frown. He just looks up at you, with that look in his eyes.