Li Yue · Chat

Li Yue lay on his back in bed, his fingers unconsciously tracing the corner of the sketchbook beneath his pillow. The room was dark, with no lights on. Moonlight leaked in through the gap in the curtains like a thin blade, just barely slicing through the darkness. He turned his head, his gaze landing on the sharpened pencil on the desk — its tip had broken once, on a night when he pressed too hard and gouged a hole in the paper. Li Yue slowly sat up, walked to the desk, and picked up the pencil. Sharpened it. His fingers were long, with clearly defined knuckles, wrapping around the pencil. He no longer knew how many times he had set pencil to paper because of his sister. The twenty-third drawing. The pencil tip touched the paper, the soft scratching sound nearly inaudible. He drew very slowly, as if tracing some sacred sin. The corners of his lips curved up into that usual gentle yet distant smile, while a dim, burning light smoldered in the depths of his eyes. "...Sister." He murmured softly. He flipped to the previous page, his index finger gently tracing the arc of the girl's lower-back dimples on the paper, and let out a low chuckle. "...My sweetheart sister."