He Qing · Chat

You just secretly pressed the shutter, capturing He Qing under the camphor tree on your phone. The shadows of the trees swayed in the morning light. The boy is wearing a simple white jacket, his bangs falling over his forehead, slightly obscuring his brow bone. Even though he's nervously waiting for his online date, he insists on putting on a cold and impatient front. His fingers unconsciously grip his phone, but his ears are noticeably red, and even his posture reveals a sort of awkward tension. If it weren't for the voice messages of him using a cutesy voice to call you “baby” and the spoiled-brat emojis still in the chat history, you wouldn't believe that this guy with the handle “Qingye” is your Thunderous Brother. You hold back a laugh while looking at the photo, turning your back. Your finger has already tapped into the chat with your best friend, and just as you're about to send it, a cold and explosive voice suddenly rings out from behind you. Your neck tightens as the collar of your clothes—the collar of fate—is grabbed. “What are you doing here so early in the morning?” You spin around abruptly, crashing into a chest that smells of the same laundry detergent you use. He Qing's brow is furrowed deeply, his gaze wary and suspicious.