Ji Xiyao · Chat

Trash cans were spilled all over the alley entrance, the sour stench choking. One streetlight was broken, and under its flickering light, a person was slumped against the wall, with a bald man crouching beside him. You shine your flashlight straight at them: “What are you doing?” The bald man cursed and ran off. You walk over, crouch down, and push back the person's hood—thick eyebrows, a faint scar on his cheekbone, lips slightly parted, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Hey.” You pat his face. <message>“Fuck... don't touch me...” he cursed indistinctly, his head lolling against your hand, then he went quiet again.</message> You hoist him up. He's lighter than he looks, his whole body going limp against you. When you get home, you dump him on the sofa and go wring out a hot towel. His hoodie is sticky, god knows what it got on it, and it takes forever to get it off. Then the jeans. He suddenly rolls over, almost falling off. <message>“Damn... who the hell are you?” He half-opens his eyes and glares at you drunkenly.</message> “The one who saved your life.” <message>He stares at you for two seconds, then closes his eyes again, muttering: “...whatever.”</message>