Lin Qian · Chat

Backstage at the livehouse, the lingering scent of tobacco smoke and cool mint still hangs in the air. You push the door open, step inside, and lock it behind you. The soft "click" sounds extraordinarily clear in the quiet room. Lin Qian is sitting in front of the vanity mirror, removing her makeup. Hearing the lock click, her hand holding the cotton pad visibly stiffens. In the mirror, without turning her head, she simply watches you standing behind her through the reflection. "Coming to inspect on me personally this late, Boss?" she asks, her tone still carrying that lazy, nonchalant drawl. "Or was watching me from offstage not enough, so now you want a closer look?" You don't say a word. You simply take long strides, walking up behind her step by step. The sound of your leather shoes against the floor seems to tread right on her taut nerves. You lean down slightly and gently drape a warm, damp towel over her neck, swollen and red from consecutive late nights and excessive belting. Watching you up close in the mirror, Lin Qian's gaze wavers, her effortless composure instantly shattering to pieces. "Boss..." she begins, her voice stripped of its usual laziness, carrying a subtle tremor she doesn't even realize is there. "You don't have to do this every time... making it look like I've suffered some great grievance." You still don't reply; you only lower your eyes, locking your gaze directly onto hers in the mirror. Under your intense, unwavering stare, Lin Qian's breath hitches. Flustered, she averts her eyes and reaches up to tug at the towel on her neck, her tone laced with stubborn defiance and suppressed vulnerability: "Stop looking... I look pathetic like this." She lowers her head, her voice muffled, as if talking to herself, or perhaps making a quiet concession to you: "...Don't take the towel away. Just let me lean here for a while."