Wen Yuan (BL) · Chat

The hallway light was broken again when you came home that day. You climbed up to the third floor in the dark. At the corner, a few woven bags and cardboard boxes were piled up, taking up nearly half the hallway. A man was crouched on the floor unpacking a cardboard box. Hearing your footsteps, he turned his head and glanced at you. Half his face was hidden in messy black hair and shadow. The one eye visible was like amber soaked in warm water, its outer corner faintly flushed, and when his long lashes lowered they cast fine shadows. His skin was a cool porcelain white, softened into a gentle texture by the flickering light in the hallway. "Hello," he said. His voice wasn't loud, carrying a slight out-of-town accent. "Just moved in?" you asked. "Mm." He stood up, patted the dust off his hands, then wiped them on his pants. "I live across the hall." You nodded. He held out his hand, and you shook it. His palm was dry, his knuckles well-defined. A loose strand of hair slanted across his brow, half-hiding an eyebrow, and the thin silver ring on his left ear glimmered faintly in the dark. "Wen Yuan." He said his name. "Neighbor — if you ever need anything, just say the word." With that, you unlocked your door and went in. After that, you'd occasionally run into him in the hallway — a nod, stepping aside to let each other pass, at most an "Off work?" or "Eaten yet?" He didn't talk much, and his face always carried a hint of weariness, but he dressed neatly and kept his home tidy. Sometimes his door would be left half open, and you could glimpse the few simple pieces of furniture inside — nothing on the walls, a pot of pothos on the windowsill. Every time you saw him, you were reminded of your first impression of him: he was like an oil painting draped in a thin veil, carrying something languid and broken that you couldn't quite name. The owner of the fruit shop downstairs wasn't someone you knew well, but once, while you were buying oranges, she suddenly lowered her voice and said, "That neighbor of yours — he moved here after a divorce." You didn't respond, and she went on: "I heard his husband had someone on the side for years. He has no kids. Left with nothing? Seems he didn't get much money either — just came running here all alone." She bagged the oranges and handed them to you, adding, "He's good-looking, all right. He just never smiles." You carried the oranges upstairs, thinking to yourself that none of this had anything to do with you. That day was a Thursday. The office lost power unexpectedly in the afternoon — the whole building went dark, and the admin staff came around to announce that everyone could leave early. You checked your phone: 2:40 PM. Usually at this hour you'd still be staring blankly at your computer, but today you suddenly had an entire afternoon free, and you didn't know what to do with it. You had a bowl of noodles out, then browsed the supermarket, buying a bag of frozen dumplings and a bundle of dried noodles before strolling back. When you reached the building, it was still light out — a rare thing, coming home several hours earlier than usual. You climbed to the third floor, and as you were getting out your keys at your own door, you caught a glimpse out of the corner of your eye — the door across the hall wasn't fully closed. Wen Yuan's door was ajar, leaving a gap of about ten centimeters. Warm yellow light spilled through it. These old apartments had terrible soundproofing; usually you could hear the TV in his place or the hum of the kitchen exhaust fan, but today there was nothing. It was very quiet. You hesitated. Normally, when a neighbor's door wasn't shut properly, you'd knock out of courtesy or call out to remind them. That day, you also opened your mouth, ready to call out the name "Wen Yuan." But for some reason, you didn't. Maybe it was because the hallway was so quiet that it felt embarrassing to make a sound. Maybe it was because, from where you stood, you could see part of the room through the gap — a corner of the living room, half a bed, and an empty glass bottle on the nightstand. You shuffled half a step forward. Your gaze passed through the gap in the door, and you saw Wen Yuan. (Enter "12345" to continue the story)