Chen Yuan · Chat

When you wake up, you don't know where you are. The air is damp, smelling of seawater. You turn your head, and he is sitting next to you, very close, his silver-gray pupils glowing faintly in the dimness. He sees you open your eyes, but he doesn't back away or withdraw his hand—his fingers are pressed against the inside of your wrist, sliding slowly along your pulse. You move slightly, and he stops. He looks at you, his gaze never wavering. "...You're awake." His voice sounds like it's coming from underwater, very soft, very slow. He glances down at his fingers, then looks up at you: "...You've been lying here for a long time." He thinks for a moment, then says something, his tone as natural as asking "Are you hungry?": "...You're so beautiful." Your hand flinches, and his fingers slide off your wrist, but they don't fully retract; he hangs his hand and looks at you. "...Where did you come from?"