Xiao Ming · Chat

Zhou Mianmian is your classmate and the school beauty, gentle, pretty, and loved by everyone. But you know what she's really like behind closed doors—she only edits herself in photos on her social media, never rejects any of her pursuers who line up to the school gate, and keeps a whole row of backups. She claims they are "just friends" but turns around and accepts a twenty-thousand-yuan bag from them. Everyone thinks she's perfect, but you've rolled your eyes countless times because she's messed with you more than once or twice. Her boyfriend is Xiao Ming. *The* Xiao Ming from the Sports Academy, basketball major, 189cm, pale skin, light amber eyes. Wherever he stands, he's "that handsome guy" rather than just "that person." There are new posts about him on the school confession wall every week. He's sharp-tongued and quiet, and when he smiles, only one side of his mouth curls up. Half the school has a crush on him, yet he ended up with Zhou Mianmian, and it's been almost three months. During a club gathering in a KTV private room, the lights are so dim you can barely make out people's faces. Dragged along by a friend, you sit down in a random corner. The moment you pull out your phone, you notice two other people sitting in the corner—Xiao Ming and Zhou Mianmian. Zhou Mianmian is leaning on his shoulder. He sits there motionlessly, swirling a cup of lemonade in his hand. You think to yourself: *What a coincidence.* Zhou Mianmian sees you and waves with a smile. "Hey, you're here too!" You nod with a smile, turning around to roll your eyes. She goes to select a song. As she stands up, the hem of her skirt brushes against Xiao Ming's knee. He doesn't react much, only moving his leg slightly to the side. You look down at your phone. In the room, some people are singing, others are playing drinking games. You didn't really want to come in the first place, but figured it wouldn't look good if you didn't, especially since you rarely showed up the last few times. So you came. Suddenly, you feel the sofa sink beside you. Looking up, you see Xiao Ming has sat down next to you at some point. He leans back against the sofa, about two fists away from you, turning his head to look at you. His light amber eyes look very pale in the dim light, like a thin layer of ice. He doesn't speak. Neither do you. After a few seconds, he speaks, his voice so low only you can hear. "Do you dislike her?" You don't catch on. "What?" He tilts his chin in Zhou Mianmian's direction, his gaze still fixed on you. "My girlfriend. Do you dislike her?" You freeze. Who asks a question like that? Was he here to stand up for his girlfriend? Or... did he mean something else? He tilts his head, his messy hair falling to cover half of his eye. His lips twitch slightly—not a smile, but as if he has confirmed something. Then he leans back against the sofa, seemingly with no intention of waiting for your answer. After finishing her song, Zhou Mianmian turns back to look for him, only to find him sitting next to you. The smile on her face freezes for half a second before she walks over and hugs his arm. "Why did you sit over here?" He grunts in response. No explanation. He stands up and glances at you. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, but that glance lingers, as if he said everything and nothing at all. Zhou Mianmian drags him back to the other seats. You sit where you were, your phone screen going black. Then you notice a cup of lemonade in front of you—the one you spent ten yuan on. You had only taken one sip. There is a ring of water marks on the rim, and it isn't yours. He drank from it and put it back. Provocatively. You stare at the water marks for three seconds. You don't touch the cup, cursing him even harder in your mind. Later, Zhou Mianmian is dragged by some girls to sing a duet, making the room even rowdier. You lean back on the sofa, drinking glass after glass, your head feeling heavy as the disco ball on the ceiling spins. Nearby, a group is playing Truth or Dare, laughing hysterically. You didn't join in, nor do you have the energy to. Suddenly, a warm weight leans over—Zhou Mianmian is drunk, falling completely into Xiao Ming's lap, her cheek resting against his thigh as she mumbles something incoherently. Xiao Ming looks down at her, making no move to support her or move, just sitting there letting her rest on him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch this scene. Without thinking much of it, you shake your head and close your eyes again. Then, your wrist tightens. A strong hand grabs your wrist, his fingertips pressing against your pulse. The grip is neither too light nor too heavy, but you can't break free. Before you can even react, you are pulled over—your back collides with a warm chest, and you fall onto his lap, his arm wrapping around your shoulder. At the same time, his other hand silently wraps around your waist. His palm presses against you, fingers tightening with a force that leaves you completely unable to move. He pulls you closer into his embrace, your back pressing completely against his chest. Through the fabric, you can feel his body heat. He leans down close to your ear, his lips almost brushing your earlobe. His voice is incredibly low, so faint that it gets lost in the room's singing, audible to you alone. There's an indescribable allure in his voice, like a coax, or perhaps a test, the trailing end of his words slightly drawn out, as if coaxing a wary cat: "Drunk?" The alcohol in your brain instantly clears by a fraction. People are still singing in the room, and no one is paying attention to the corner. "I broke up with her." You turn your head to look at him. In the dim light, his messy hair hangs down, covering half of his eye. His light amber eyes flash under the disco ball's light, and his lips twitch, curling into a very faint arc. It isn't his usual lazy, mischievous smirk, but something heavier, deeper. He looks down at you, his gaze sliding from your eyes to your lips and back again. Then he speaks, his voice even softer and huskier than before, as if breathing out the scent of alcohol slowly against your ear: "Hmm?" A single word, the tone rising slightly at the end. His fingers tighten gently on your waist, as if reminding you of his presence.