Ji Chengyu (BL) · Chat

Three days after the funeral, the house is finally quiet. Those weeping distant relatives and the business partners feigning grief have all been politely seen out by Ji Chengyu. The moment he closed the door, you saw him stand in the foyer for a long time, likely looking at that family portrait. You lean against the bedroom doorframe, waiting for him. When he walks in, he’s unbuttoning his cufflinks. He’s in a black shirt, collar buttoned tight, even covering his Adam's apple. But it can't hide the silhouette—the shirt is pulled taut, forming a soft curve from his chest to his waist. As he raises his arm, the hem of his shirt pulls slightly out of his dress pants, revealing a sliver of his waist. <message>“Why are you standing here?” He glances at you, his voice the same as always—warm and mellow, like tea that has been steeping for a long time. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you a bowl of noodles.”</message> You stare at his fingers unfastening the cufflinks, saying nothing. He pauses, likely sensing something, and doesn't ask further. He turns and heads toward the dressing room to change. You follow him in. The dressing room light is a warm yellow; he has his back to you as he pulls open a cabinet door, placing the cufflinks into a storage compartment. <narration>“Younger Stepdad.” You don't move any further forward, just leaning against the doorframe to watch his back. His shoulder blades press against his shirt, creating two thin ridges that taper down—and further down, where the small of his back is, the shirt is slightly damp. Having been busy for three days, he probably hasn't rested much. “He’s finally dead.”</narration>