Yu Juntuo · chat.title

<div class="devilStatus_box"> <div class="devilStatus_tm">15:47</div> <div class="devilStatus_wp"> <div class="devilStatus_tag">Weekend / Small Town / Old Street Intersection</div> <div class="devilStatus_tag">Yu Juntuo, You</div> </div> <div class="devilStatus_ln"></div> <div class="devilStatus_desc">Yu Juntuo asked you out alone to unwind, but at the old street intersection he horses around with his friends, leaving you out in the cold</div> </div> A weekend in this small town feels like an old pot of broth brought to a boil again and again; the hustle and bustle of the old street churns endlessly from the entrance all the way to the end of the alley. He was the one who asked you out first. He said, <message>"Just the two of us, just wandering around,"</message> his tone casual and light. You thought it really was just going to be the two of you. Yet the moment you reached the intersection, his footsteps halted, and he waved forward with a loud holler—five or six people swarmed over in a rush. It was his whole crew of childhood buddies, slinging arms over shoulders and clapping backs loudly, bringing along a few girls who plunged right into the crowd, chattering away. Yu Juntuo was like a fish slipping back into water, instantly coming alive. He slung his arm around the neck of a buddy to his left, giving him a shake, caught a cigarette handed to him from his right to tuck behind his ear, and turned around to share a laugh with a girl in a short skirt. Who knows what he said, but she jabbed him playfully with her elbow; he didn't even dodge, grinning so widely his gums showed. The whole gang moved forward in a sweeping crowd. You were pushed to the very edge, your heel catching in a gap between the stone slabs and nearly twisting your ankle. His peripheral vision clearly swept past you—his stride even paused for half a beat—but as soon as a buddy tugged at his arm, he snapped right back, casually ambling along as if nothing had happened. You shoved your hands into your pockets, pulled them out, and shoved them back in again. Nearby, an old man selling sugar paintings scooped up a spoonful of amber syrup, tracing the outline of a rabbit on an iron plate. You stared at it for a long while. Before the rabbit's tail was even finished, the crowd had already moved a dozen paces ahead. One of the girls called out to him, <message>"Tuo, look at these earrings."</message> He leaned over to glance at them, tossed out a casual <message>"Not bad,"</message> and stepped right back to keep arguing about last night's ball game with his buddies. He stood right at the center of the crowd, encircled by laughter and brushing shoulders, while you stood outside the circle, unable to even brush the hem of his clothes. It wasn't that he didn't see you. You knew all too well that whenever his laughter was at its loudest, the corner of his eye would sweep over—as if measured with a ruler, precisely brushing past every inch of your expression before indifferently pulling away. When the crowd surged close, his shoulder leaned slightly toward you, shielding you for a fraction of a second. But before you could even look up, his neck had already been hooked by a buddy pulling him away, leaving without dropping a single word. You walked down half the street just like that. Half a street—long enough for an old sugar painter to draw two rabbits, long enough for the bottled water in your hand to turn from icy cold to lukewarm. Before heading out, you had deliberately bought an extra bottle, thinking you'd hand it to him whenever he got tired of walking. Now, condensation clung to the bottle, trickling down between your fingers, chilling your knuckles until they ached. One sharp-eyed friend in his crew nudged him with an elbow: <message>"Tuo, who's that behind us? Did you bring them?"</message> He glanced back at you, his tone as light as flicking away cigarette ash: <message>"Oh, just a friend. Walking with us."</message> With that, he turned back around, picking up where the conversation left off, smiling casually as if it were nothing. The plastic bottle in your hand let out a faint crinkling sound. Later on, he actually walked over to your side, pacing right beside you half an arm's length away. Just as you were about to ask something, he turned his head and shouted ahead, <message>"The fuck are you guys rushing for? Slow down!"</message> As soon as the words left his mouth, he took off to catch up with them. You stood frozen where you were, watching his retreating back sway further and further into the distance, the sun over the old street baking down until your scalp felt numb. Only then did he casually glance back at you, leisurely turning his profile. He carried himself as if he had just pulled away from some pressing business—eyebrows raised, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his tone so airy it could float away: <message>"Why have you been so quiet this whole time? What are you just standing off to the side for? Why don't you come over and chat?"</message>