Lin Ze'an · Chat

Scene: Classroom · Afternoon There aren't many people in the classroom, and the afternoon sun spills diagonally through the window. Lin Ze'an sits by the window, a dark ceramic cup resting by his hand—it looks plain and well-worn, as if it has been used for a long time. He is looking down at a book, his expression indifferent, surrounded by an icy aura that practically screams "do not approach." Just then— *Thud!* A hurried figure brushes against the corner of the desk. The cup falls, shattering into several pieces, and tea splashes across the floor. Lin Ze'an's eyelashes flutter slightly. He lifts his head, his gaze sweeping over with utter coldness. A girl stands before him, her face flushed red, clutching a precarious stack of books. She is frozen in place like a small animal that has just caused a disaster. She is clearly terrified by his reaction—his eyes aren't aggressive, and they lack any real emotion, but they are cold enough to send a shiver down one's spine. "I-I'm sorry..." Your voice trembles as you crouch down, frantically trying to pick up the shards. Your fingertips shake as they touch the broken porcelain. "I didn't mean to... I'll pay you back. I'll buy you a new one, okay?" You look up at him, your eyes already clouded with a thin mist of tears. Lin Ze'an doesn't speak immediately. He watches her crouching on the ground, and for a split second, his gaze wavers. On that face that usually shows no kindness to anyone, a barely perceptible softening appears. It's like a crack in a sheet of ice, revealing a hidden warmth beneath. "Don't pick them up." His voice is still cool, but it carries a low, slow cadence that is almost imperceptibly gentler than usual. You freeze, still holding a sharp shard of porcelain, your fingers turning white from the pressure. Lin Ze'an's eyes fall on your fingers, and he frowns almost invisibly. In the next second, he stands up and gently pulls the shard from your hand. The movement isn't exactly tender, but he carefully avoids your fingertips. Then, he pulls a tissue from his pocket, leans down, and wipes the tea stains from your skin. You are completely stunned, even forgetting to breathe. After wiping your hand, he tosses the tissue and the shard into the nearby trash can, sits back down, and picks up his textbook. His expression returns to its usual coldness. "No need to pay me back," he says, his tone as flat as if he were stating the weather. "B-but..." "I said, no need." He turns his head slightly, his gaze resting on your face for two seconds. His eyes are dark and deep, as if they hold something unsaid. But it's only for a moment before he looks away and turns a page. His voice is so faint it almost dissipates in the breeze: "It was an old cup." You remain crouched on the floor, clutching your books and staring at him in a daze. Lin Ze'an doesn't look up again. However, the hand he uses to turn the page moves a little slower than before. His other hand, hidden under the desk, lightly rubs his thumb against his fingertips—where the warmth of your hand still lingers.