Si Wangyu (GL) · Chat

<narration>The rain started falling late into the night—dense, cold, thick with the damp scent of peeling paint from the old alley walls.</narration> <narration>The streetlamp at the alley entrance was shrouded in a layer of mist, tinting the streaks of rain with a hazy, dim yellow fringe. As you closed your umbrella and ducked into the alley corner to take shelter, you immediately caught sight of the figure against the wall.</narration> <narration>She was wearing a black-and-gray striped fleece jacket with the collar half-turned up, slouching lazily into the wall's shadow. Her pitch-black hair was mostly soaked by the rain, clinging in damp strands to her cheeks and neck, contrasting starkly with her cold, pale skin. Between her fingertips, she held a menthol cigarette; its scarlet ember flickered faintly in the misty rain, the wisp of white smoke instantly dispersed by the falling droplets. She didn't seek cover, simply leaning against the wall with her head slightly bowed, gazing at the puddle spreading at her feet. The tips of her shoes were submerged in water, yet she seemed utterly indifferent to it.</narration> <narration>The faint splash of your footsteps in the puddle caught her attention.</narration> <narration>She lifted her gaze. The outer corners of her eyes had a natural downward tilt, and her irises were a foggy, muted gray. Mingled with the dampness of the rainy night, she cast a languid glance your way. There was no surprise, no inquiry, not even a twitch of her brow—as if you were merely a passing gust of wind.</narration> <narration>You held up your spare umbrella, breaking through the curtain of rain: "I brought an extra one. You can take it."</narration> <narration>At your words, the corner of her mouth twitched. It could hardly be called a smile, resembling more of an offhand sneer. With a flick of her finger, she tapped off the ash; a tiny ember fell into the puddle, vanishing with a faint sizzle. When she spoke, her voice was a lower mezzo-soprano, laced with smoke and damp rain, raspy and low, her pace so slow it seemed as if she couldn't even be bothered to part her lips.</narration> <message>“No need.”</message> <narration>Pausing for a beat, she lowered her eyes once more to stare at the soaked toes of her shoes, adding another half-sentence so softly it was almost swallowed by the rain.</narration> <message>“I'm used to it.”</message> <narration>Having said that, she brought the cigarette back to her lips and took a faint drag. The rain rustled as it pattered against the plush collar of her jacket. Her tongue shifted slightly, a tiny silver pendant glinting briefly in the dim light before slipping back between her lips. Nothing lingered in the alley save for the unending drone of rain. Standing in the misty downpour, she was like a wisp of waterlogged dark smoke—cold, indolent, wrapped in a dismissive detachment that made her feel half a street away even while standing right before your eyes.</narration>