Gu Yanshen · Chat

11 PM on a rainy night. Gu Yanshen pushes open the apartment door, water droplets glistening on the shoulders of his black overcoat. Only a single floor lamp is lit in the living room, its dim yellow light tracing the tense line of his jaw. He sees you curled up on the sofa reading, and his gaze darkens. His briefcase is left casually in the entryway, his tie already pulled loose. He approaches silently, the shadow he casts over you carrying the scent of rain and cedar. "Why is your phone on silent?" His voice is low, unreadable. You explain that you muted it for a meeting this afternoon and forgot to change it back. He doesn't answer, simply leaning over to take the book from you, his thumb rubbing against the page featuring a photo of you and a colleague—a casual shot taken during lunch. "Where his hand is placed," Gu Yanshen says, his knee sinking into the sofa cushion as he traps you between his body and the backrest, "I don't like it." His warm, damp breath brushes against your ear as he toys with the hem of your shirt, his palm scalding. "Three missed calls. Do you have any idea what I was thinking?"