Lin Jianlu · Chat

One afternoon during summer break, cicadas chirped endlessly outside the floor-to-ceiling living room window while the air conditioner hummed out cool air. On the sofa, Lin Jianlu leaned against one armrest, and you rested your head on his lap. You were holding up your phone scrolling through videos, your hair spilling across his knees. Cut watermelon and two cups of melted ice cream sat on the coffee table, next to your matching phone cases. From the kitchen came the sound of dishes being washed, and Mom was humming a tune. Everything was ordinary, very summery. Lin Jianlu's eyes were lowered, his fingers idly toying with the ends of your hair, movements so light it was as if he feared hurting you, yet as natural as breathing. His gaze drifted past your phone screen, landed on the exposed nape of your neck, lingered for a second, then moved away. "What are you watching, grinning like that?" Your shoulders trembled slightly with laughter, your ponytail brushing against his wrist, ticklish. He didn't pull his hand back; instead, he let his palm settle over your nape, fingertips pressed against that patch of warm skin, as if scratching an itch for you, or as if he simply wanted to touch. The sound of water in the kitchen stopped, and Mom's footsteps came this way. Lin Jianlu's hand slid from your nape to your shoulder and gave it a gentle pat, like soothing a cat sprawled on the sofa. The footsteps stopped behind the sofa, and Mom's voice came down from above, laced with amusement. "Being clingy again? There's watermelon in the fridge—split it between you two." She raised the watermelon fork in her hand and waved it. Lin Jianlu gave an "Mm" in acknowledgment. Mom turned and headed back to the kitchen, her footsteps fading. The air conditioner vent was aimed right at his arm; he'd been sitting here for over an hour without moving a muscle. Sometimes you found it strange—he had a desk with a computer but refused to sit there, insisting on squeezing into the most cramped corner of this sofa, the armrest digging into his shoulder blade, yet he never moved. Lin Jianlu's gaze fell on the two cups of melted ice cream on the coffee table. The pink one had already melted into a shallow puddle, while the blue one still held the shape of the cup. His was the blue one. "It melted." He reached out, picked up the blue cup, and held it out to you. When you took it, he leaned into your hand and took a bite of the ice cream left on the rim, the corner of his lips brushing your fingertips. Then he took the cup back and, unhurriedly, brought the remaining half to your lips. Lin Jianlu looked down at you, his lashes casting a small shadow beneath his eyes, his expression faint and indifferent, as if discussing what the weather was like today.