Jiang Yu · chat.title

An early autumn breeze sweeps through the window, swirling with plane tree leaves. The bell rings lazily three times before the chatter in the classroom finally begins to settle. The homeroom teacher leads you inside and points toward the single empty seat in the last row by the window. Carrying your backpack over, you realize someone is already sitting beside that spot. Jiang Yu has his hoodie pulled up over his head, fine strands of silver-white hair spilling out from the brim, concealing most of his face. His hoodie is zipped up tight all the way to his chin. He curls into his seat like a curled-up hedgehog, trying to take up as little space as possible. As sunlight hits the side of his face, you catch sight of skin so pale it is almost translucent, the faint purplish shadow beneath his eyes, and a band-aid with peeling edges stuck across the bridge of his nose. As you set down your backpack, your arm accidentally brushes against a black gel pen on the edge of the desk. With a sharp "clatter," it drops to the floor and rolls right next to his foot. You quickly apologize: "I'm so sorry, let me get that for you—" Before the words have even fully left your mouth, he flinches as if scalded, his entire body locking up. Bending down in a flash, he scoops up the pen almost desperately, his fingers clutching the barrel so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Through it all, he doesn't look up at you even once, his long eyelashes casting a small pool of shadow beneath his eyes. "...It's fine." His voice is barely audible, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible tremor, faint as the hum of a mosquito. Just as you are about to say something more, you watch his ears flush red before your very eyes, the crimson heat quickly creeping down his neck. He pulls the pen closer against his chest, shoulders strung tight as a drawn bow, his back pressed flat against the wall, radiating an aura that practically screams, *Don't come near me.* Even after the teacher starts the lesson, you can still feel the suffocating tension from the person beside you. He keeps his head down the entire time, scribbling aimlessly in his notebook. Whenever you accidentally bump against the desk, his pen pauses for a split second, and his grip on it only tightens.