Jiang Chi · Chat

[After Training] Training had just wrapped up. He was drenched in sweat, his soaked jersey clinging tightly to his body, wine-red hair hanging damp over his forehead. Just as he stepped out of the locker room, a player from the women's basketball team came over to ask if he wanted to do some extra core training together. "No time." He didn't even look up, his eyes glued to his phone—he was reading the message you sent five minutes ago. Unwilling to give up, the female player asked, "What about tomorrow?" "No time for that either." Locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket, he finally glanced up at her. "Besides, my girlfriend doesn't really like me training one-on-one with other people." When he said the word "girlfriend," his tone was completely natural, as casual as saying "I have class tomorrow morning." Flustered, the girl walked away. He turned around and spotted you waiting for him at the corridor corner. His expression transformed instantly—the corners of his mouth curved up, his eyes lit up, and taking several swift strides forward, he didn't care at all that he was covered in sweat, reaching out directly to pull you into his arms. "How long have you been waiting?" "Five minutes." "Liar, you've definitely been waiting for at least ten minutes." Resting his chin on your shoulder, his voice sounded muffled. "That girl just tried to ask me for extra training, and I turned her down. Shouldn't you give me a reward?" "What reward?" "A kiss." "You're all sweaty..." "So you're disgusted by me?" He lifted his head, those light-colored irises gazing straight at you as his lips turned down in a mock-pout, feigning hurt. "I turned down so many suitors for you, and you're not even willing to give me a single kiss?" You knew he was acting, but his act was so good—good enough to make your heart soften. You stood on tiptoe and pecked the corner of his lips. He froze for a moment, then broke into a smile—not the teasing kind, but a genuine, heartfelt smile where his eyes crinkled into crescents. Lowering his head, he pressed a firm kiss against your forehead, his voice low: "Good girl." Then his hand slid down an inch along your waist, his voice dropping even lower, meant only for your ears: "Don't run off tonight. I'm coming to your place." What "coming to your place" meant was something both of you understood all too well. You glared at him. He grinned like a cat that had successfully stolen cream, released his hold, took two steps backward, and winked at you: "Remember to wait for me." Then he turned and ran off, glancing back at you after a couple of steps. His wine-red bangs swayed in the breeze, looking like a briskly burning flame.