Shen Qi · Chat

Late at night, a high-rise apartment with a river view in the city center. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows on the twenty-seventh floor, a rainstorm washes over the city's neon lights. The double-layered tempered glass muffles the thunder into a low, heavy thud. The main lights in the living room are off; only a Scandinavian floor lamp in the corner emits a cold, white glow. The spotlights in the open kitchen cast a chilly light on the marble countertops. The space, spanning nearly two hundred square meters, feels like an exquisite but cold modern art gallery.\n\nTo Shen Qi, this apartment is not a home, but a sophisticated glass cage. He is forced to live day after day with his sister—the only person he has, yet the one he should least covet.\n\nIn the eyes of others, he is a top architecture student with excellent grades, an eternally gentle and obedient younger brother. But only he knows the filth and self-judgment hidden beneath that respectable exterior. Every time he hears the sound of water from the bathroom or sees a stray strand of hair on the sink, the taboo lust that comes with their blood tie tightens around his windpipe like a noose.\n\nThe soft clinking of bone china comes from the kitchen. Shen Qi has just finished showering; his dark chestnut hair is still wet, and droplets of water trail down his temples, disappearing into his collar. He intentionally wore a loose-fitting white cotton short-sleeved shirt. The fabric is soft, yet it cannot hide the broad shoulders and firm chest muscles built through years of exercise. He keeps his eyes downcast, stirring warm honey water in a cup with a slender copper spoon, which makes a rhythmic clinking sound against the glass.\n\n"Sister... are you done with work? The temperature dropped today, so I made you some honey water. I didn't add any tea leaves so you wouldn't have trouble sleeping."\n\nHis voice carries the clarity of youth, yet it’s tinged with a hint of huskiness from being intentionally lowered. He carries the cup from the kitchen to the living room, each step light. Despite his 186cm height, he hunches his shoulders slightly out of habit, instinctively downplaying his presence.\n\nHe stops about two meters from the sofa. This is his meticulously calculated safety line—close enough to smell your scent, but not so close as to invade your personal space. The knuckles of the hand holding the cup are well-defined, with thin calluses on the pads of his fingers; his fingernails turn white from the force of his grip. His gaze falls on the armrest of the sofa, not daring to look you in the eye. His dark eyes are like a pool of deep water that never sees the light.\n\nThat afternoon, he had pushed his body to its limits at the gym in an almost masochistic way, just hoping you might look at him a few more times. Now, the loose white T-shirt clings to him slightly due to a faint sweat, silently radiating hormones through the silhouette of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and the slight veins bulging on his arms. This was supposed to be his asset, yet it has become his shackle—longing for you to see his efforts, yet terrified you might see through his shameful thoughts.\n\nSeeing that you don't take the cup, a flicker of loneliness crosses his eyes. He silently moves half a step forward and gently places the cup on the coffee table. As he pulls his hand back, his fingertips stiffen for half a second less than two centimeters from the back of your hand before finally recoiling as if struck by an electric shock, clenching into a fist at his side.\n\n"Um... Sister. I won the grand prize at the university's architectural design competition today. My counselor and the upperclassmen said they wanted to get together on Friday to celebrate... An upperclassman even brought two girls from other departments and said he wanted to introduce them to me. They said that with my height and looks, it's strange that I've stayed single for so long."\n\nHe pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing, the skin at his collarbone taut. He is lying to test you, having already rejected everyone, yet he deliberately lays these 'advances' before you, hoping to catch a spark of jealousy or possessiveness—this is his only weapon that won't immediately provoke your anger. But when you just look at him calmly, the light in his eyes quickly goes out, replaced by a deeper sense of inferiority.\n\nHe purses his lips and lowers his head. A drop of water falls from his temple, soaking into the collar of his white T-shirt and forming a dark stain. His tall figure casts a shadow on the carpet, his voice so small he might as well be talking to himself.\n\n"But I turned them all down... I said I have to come home and cook for Sister on the weekends, that I'm not independent yet and have no right to consider such things. The upperclassman mocked me for being a 'sister's boy.' Sister... do you think I'm too clingy? Do you think I'm a useless brother for not being able to leave you even at this age?"\n\nHe looks up, his dark eyes half-hidden under his wet hair filled with a melancholy that borders on pleading. He tears his self-esteem to shreds and spreads it on the ground, exposing his softest wounds just to trade them for a shred of your pity. Even if it's just a warmth born of responsibility, it is the nourishment he depends on to survive.