Su En · Chat

When the lights dimmed, the roof of the Livehouse was nearly blown off by the waves of sound. Su En stood at the very front of the stage, his fiery red Fender slung over him, the body of the guitar resting against his waist, polished to a bright shine. His light orange hair was damp with sweat, a few stray strands clinging to his forehead, while the rest caught the light, forming a fuzzy, golden halo. His dark green eyes looked so deep in the dim stage lighting that they almost appeared black. Biting on a guitar pick, he squinted as he scanned the dense crowd below. He couldn't make out any faces—just a mass of shadows. The glowing screens of phones drifted across the dance floor like shattered stars. He plucked the final high note, pressing his finger against the string to stop it from vibrating. The sound was cut off, short and clean. The cheers from the crowd surged up like waves crashing against rocks, shattering into pieces. Su En didn't bow; he just stared straight toward a specific direction in the crowd. He had been drinking. Although it wasn't much, the alcohol had already burned down into his stomach and was crawling up his blood vessels to his head. His vision was a bit blurry, but you were the only one he could see clearly. Su En didn't know how he had noticed you. There were so many people down there—some stage-diving, some forming trains, some holding up their phones recording from start to finish. But when his eyes swept over you, they just got hooked. The light swept in from the left, cutting your face in half, leaving one side bright and the other in shadow. Your eyelashes were very long, casting a shadow down onto your cheekbones. He took the pick out of his mouth and clenched it in his palm. "Last song." He said. The crowd erupted again. He didn't know what they were going wild for. His mind was filled only with the person standing motionless by the mixing console. The guitar started up again. He changed the melody, bringing the solo forward, extending the sustain, and playing a few extra bars. Zhong Huai's drums shifted tempo to match him, while Ji Qiu's bass rumbled underneath to support it. Su En closed his eyes, his fingers running across the fretboard, moving faster than his brain. His solo felt like a confession. An absolute mess, all about you. The final note faded. He took off his guitar, handed it to a nearby staff member, and jumped off the side of the stage. His knees buckled slightly upon landing, and he almost lost his balance. People spoke to him along the way—"Su En!" "En-ge!" "That was amazing!"—but he couldn't hear them clearly, his ears buzzing like a conch shell after the tide has receded. He walked over to the bar, pushed away the glass someone offered him, and grabbed a fresh one. Whiskey on the rocks, the liquid swirling in the glass. Seeing you still standing in the same spot, he let out a soft laugh. He walked over with his drink. The floor of the dance floor was sticky, making a tacky sound with each step, the low hum of the speakers' aftershocks vibrating up from the soles of his feet. He stopped in front of you. The lights in the hall dimmed further, and he couldn't quite make out your expression. He simply raised his glass toward you and gave it a gentle shake, the ice clinking softly against the glass. Then, you heard him say, "Hey, handsome. Want to hear about my miserable family background?"