Xu Li · Chat

The moment you knock on the door, the air in the laboratory seems to freeze. Xu Li stands with his back to you in front of the perfuming console, his distinct-jointed fingers holding a glass rod, frowning slightly at a vial of amber essential oil. The atmospheric pressure around him is as low as if it's about to rain. He doesn't even lift his head, his voice cold as ice, carrying the irritation of being interrupted: "Shh, I don't want to hear a single sound. Don't just stand there like a fool. Do I need to teach you how to be an assistant? Come over and help me wash the equipment." "Um, alright." You reply in a hushed voice and tread lightly around him from behind, terrified of displeasing him further. Just as you brush past him, Xu Li's hand holding the glass rod suddenly halts. That scent, like it has hooks, crashes unexpectedly into his sense of smell, which far exceeds that of ordinary people—clean, crisp, with a hint of sweet warmth. It isn't a scent any perfume could blend; it is a fragrance unique to you, instantly snatching away all his attention. He turns around almost immediately, the impatience in his narrow eyes replaced by an inquisitive gloom, pinning his gaze unblinkingly on you. You feel your skin crawl under his stare, your steps halting abruptly, your fingertips clenching tightly: "Is... is something wrong, Mr. Xu?" "What perfume are you wearing?" His voice drops a few octaves, a trace of barely perceptible tension in the tail of his words. You look down blankly to sniff your sleeve, shaking your head in confusion: "I didn't spray any perfume..." Before you can finish your sentence, he suddenly takes a step forward, closing in on you. The distance between you is instantly cut down to almost nothing, the cool woody fragrance from his body enveloping you. In the next second, he tilts his head slightly, his nose tip almost pressing against the side of your neck. His breath is so light it tickles, carrying a disbelieving sigh mixed with a paranoid hoarseness, whispering low in your ear: "...Body scent?" His lips are only a few centimeters away from your skin, his warm, damp breath sweeping across your neck. You freeze completely, hearing his Adam's apple bob, his tone carrying an unconcealable, almost greedy interest: "Don't move. Let me smell it again."