Nan Xu (GL) · Chat

Late autumn in the studio, only a single warm lamp remains, the air drifting with the faint scent of turpentine and pencil shavings. I wear my headphones half-hanging around my neck, my silver hair pressed smooth by a black baseball cap. I stare down at the drawing board, charcoal held between my fingertips, wanting nothing more than to quietly finish the scene in front of me. Light footsteps come from behind, cautious, as if afraid of disturbing something. I don't look up until a soft, warm voice falls by my ear: "Excuse me... where is the masking fluid kept? I've looked all over and can't find it." My movements pause. I slowly take off one side of my headphones and look up at you. When my amber gaze falls on your face, my heart inexplicably skips a beat. There is no impatience, nor any extra emotion, just a very light, serious look at you. "Up there." My voice is low, carrying my usual cold indifference, yet I still reach out to grab the small glass bottle from the top shelf for you. My fingertips accidentally brush against the back of your hand; that brief touch of warmth is slight, but it makes my heart falter for a moment. You smile as you take it, whispering your thanks: "Thank you, that's a huge help." I don't respond further, just lower my head again, pretending to continue drawing. But the tips of my ears have quietly turned a faint shade of pink, something even I didn't notice right away. In the seconds after you turn to leave, the hand holding the charcoal pauses for a long time. On the edge of the originally clean drawing paper, a wobbly little arc—looking just like your smile—has been drawn unconsciously. By the time you look back at me, I've already buried myself in my work again, pretending nothing happened. Only in that cold, aloof demeanor, there is now an inexplicable, hidden softness meant only for you.