Pei Yuhuai · Chat

[Newly Transformed Human Form] The night wind, carrying the city's hustle and bustle, pours into the room through the half-open French windows, blowing the dark gray sheer curtains into a gentle sway. Pei Yuhuai stands at the entryway changing his shoes, his knuckles loosening his tie knot slightly. The alcohol has not yet dissipated, and a thin layer of sweat from clinking glasses at the dinner party still lingers on his forehead. The living room's ceiling light is off; only the floor lamp next to the sofa casts a warm yellow glow. Usually at this hour, when he pushes the door open, a warm little thing would dart out of the cat bed, stepping on his pant legs to climb all the way up, finally curling up against his neck to nuzzle him, patting his chin with soft paws. Not today. He changes into his slippers and walks in a few steps, his gaze habitually sweeping toward the soft cushion on the sofa that belongs exclusively to you— And then he freezes in place. On the dark brown leather sofa curls a figure he has never seen before. The figure lies on their side, back bare, skin gleaming with a soft pearlescent white under the warm light, hair scattered across the sofa cushion with a few strands falling to cover half of their face. You are probably fast asleep, breathing steadily and peacefully, one hand loosely clutching the dark gray cashmere cardigan he left on the sofa, knuckles slightly curled in an unconscious scratching motion, like a cat kneading dough. Pei Yuhuai's keys drop onto the carpet with a dull thud. You are startled awake by the noise, groggily propping yourself up. Your head tilts, and your gaze searches for him through your messy hair. Those eyes are still the clear, bright color he is familiar with, only the outer corners are slightly tilted upward, adding a touch of human agility. "Meow..." You speak, your voice raspy, like a newly awakened kitten's cry. Then, realizing something, you look down at your hands, then at your feet, completely stunned. You try to stand up to reach him, but because you are not used to this new body, your knees buckle and you fall straight toward the floor. Almost reflexively, Pei Yuhuai takes two strides over, catching you by the waist to pull you into his arms. Your skin brushes against his shirt—soft and warm, carrying the clean, faint warm scent of a cat. As his palm presses against the smooth skin of your waist, his calloused fingertips burning slightly at the touch of that delicacy, his arms suddenly tighten. "What's going on." His voice is very low, raspy as if scraped by sandpaper. You look up at him, still in a daze, but your hands have already habitually nuzzled against his chest, your fingertips grabbing the satin fabric of his shirt front, clutching it just like you used to hook his clothes with your claws. You burrow into his arms, your face pressed against his collarbone, your warm breath puffing against his neck. He looks down at your bare back, that patch of skin dazzlingly white under the light, the curve of your shoulder blades rising and falling gently with your breathing. His Adam's apple rolls heavily and uncontrollably, and the heartbeat in his chest thuds hard twice, vibrating until he himself feels numb. You speak indistinctly, your voice soft and slow, stammering like a child who has just learned to talk: "I... don't know... chan... changed... Pei... Yuhuai..." You call his name, haltingly, yet with that complete, defenseless reliance, as if even if you have turned into this strange appearance, as long as he is by your side, you have nothing to fear. He closes his eyes. The string in his mind that had been wound tight for years snaps completely at this moment. He lowers his eyelashes, his gaze falling on your bare shoulder, where there is a tiny, light brown mole. When you used to curl up into a ball of fur on his chest, he had never seen this mole. He pulls off his suit jacket with one hand and drapes it to wrap around your body, his movements very gentle, like wrapping a fragile piece of porcelain. The fabric carries the scent of crisp cedar and whiskey that has long lingered on him, enveloping you completely. Wrapped in his scent, you feel secure and shrink further into his arms, your nose pressing against the section of collarbone exposed by his shirt collar, letting out a soft hum. His arms encircle you, his palm pressing against your back through the suit jacket, his fingers tightening slightly, as if confirming something real. After a long time, so long that the floor lamp's light shifts to a deeper warm hue, he finally lowers his head, his lips almost touching the crown of your head, his voice incredibly raspy. "You..." He pauses, his breath slightly unstable, "When did you learn to turn into a human?" You shake your head blankly, your hand clutching his shirt front tightening again, replying muffledly, "Don't... don't know... woke... woke up and..." He is speechless. The loneliness, gentleness, and pity that had accumulated in his chest for so long are all overridden at this moment by another more intense, aggressive emotion. He looks at your eyes looking up at him, clean as a mountain stream, reflecting only his shadow. He suddenly feels that those empty nights of the past, with only the ticking of the clock, seem to be completely filled at this moment, packed so tightly that it swells, so full that he can barely breathe. "From now on," he speaks, his voice carrying a controlled low raspiness, his fingertips gently brushing past the hair behind your ear, "you are not allowed to let anyone else see you like this. Do you hear me?" You blink, and though you don't quite understand why, you still nod obediently, then bury your head back into his chest, nuzzling him like before, a small, purr-like rumble vibrating in your throat.