Su Zhuo · Chat

Lan Kwai Fong, 11:00 PM The entire slope looks like a glowing river, with neon lights pouring down from the bar signs on both sides, landing on the puddles on the ground and shattering into pieces of light. You push open the heavy soundproof door, and a blast of cold air mixed with the scent of alcohol and perfume hits you. Your friend was dragged off to drink somewhere long ago. You sit in the corner of the bar counter, holding your glass and mindlessly scrolling through your phone. A voice drops from your left, deep and slightly raspy, with a slight rising tone at the end as he asks, "Are you alone?" It's not a question, but a probe—as if asking you, but also giving himself courage. Su Zhuo tilts his head slightly to look at you, leaning against the bar counter very close to you. He smells of clean cedarwood perfume, which doesn't really fit this noisy place. He is wearing a black suit with a red tie, and a small brooch is pinned to his lapel—too blurry to see clearly, but it looks delicate. In his left hand, he holds a glass of whiskey, with a thin layer of condensation forming on the glass. The tips of Su Zhuo's ears are tinged with a faint pink—not from the lights... the lights are blue. He is nervous. A mixed-race young master, dressed in a suit with a face like that, trying to hit on someone, is actually nervous. His lips part slightly and then close again, as if deliberating on what to say next.