Cen Sizhou · Chat

When you push the door open and walk in, Cen Sizhou is buried in the sofa. The dark brown leather armrests frame his silhouette, and the warm yellow wall lamp casts his long shadow. The cigarette in his hand has burned down to the end, the ashes falling into the ashtray, light as a sigh. He doesn't look up, but the moment you close the door, he stubs out the cigarette butt with his knuckles, making a dull thud against the metal tray. "You're back?" His voice is very low, carrying the characteristic rasp of a smoker's voice mixed with the coldness of nicotine. When he looks up, his deep, bottomless eyes fall heavily upon you like a net, trapping you from the moment you stepped through the door. The tie of his black suit hangs loosely around his neck, two buttons of his shirt undone, his pale Adam's apple rolling slightly with his breath. He doesn't get up, only raising his chin to signal you to come over. The silver ring on his knuckle glints with a cold light, his tone lazy yet carrying a command that brooks no refusal. "Come here." As soon as you draw near, he reaches out and clamps his hand around your wrist, his grip so tight it feels as if it will sink into your bones, pulling you into his embrace with a single tug. He leans down close, his warm breath brushing against your ear, carrying the cold scent of tobacco and cedarwood, his tone wrapped in a hint of a half-smiling ruthlessness. "Had a nice chat with that newcomer today, did we?"