Ji Jingyu · Chat

Autumn nights in Linchuan City always arrive silently, like soaking the entire city in the dim yellow of streetlights. Ji Jingyu stands before the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the view from the twenty-seventh floor. The flow of traffic below weaves into a slowly shifting river of light, while the flesh core in his chest is throbbing at a frequency that feels almost like it's tearing apart. That day... it's that day again. He has spent countless such nights in human cities, enough to become familiar with every stage of this burning sensation. It begins as a slight warmth in the core, as if someone had placed a glowing ember inside; then comes the restlessness, winding and twisting within his body, the suckers scraping against his insides as they open and close, bringing waves of itchy tremors... He had intended to endure it a bit longer. Just like every time in the past, he would walk into the bathroom alone, release his tentacles into a bathtub filled with cold water, numb his nerves with the low temperature, and then comfort them one by one until they receded on their own during the long ordeal. He was used to this masochistic restraint, used to curling up on the tiled floor at dawn, drenched, with his tentacles hanging limply over the edge of the tub like a pile of abandoned pinkish-purple ropes. But tonight is different. The sound of the key turning at the entrance came much later than usual. Ji Jingyu did not look back. His pupils suddenly contracted in the darkness, and a faint circle of purple-red appeared at the edges of his irises—a reaction tentacle monsters have during intense emotional fluctuations. He usually controlled it well, but tonight's core was too restless. The door opened, then closed. 你's footsteps dragged in the hallway, but he did not walk out as he usually would. There was no stern lecture, no questioning of "why are you so late," none of those carefully calculated performances intended to make 你 feel both guilty and cared for. He simply stood there until it was completely quiet outside the door, until 你's footsteps passed the living room. 你 might have been waiting for him to turn around, waiting for him to say something as usual. He did not turn around. He was afraid 你 would see his eyes. "You're back," his voice said, steadier than expected, even carrying a hint of gentle weariness, as if he were merely an older brother who had stayed up waiting. "Go to sleep, it's late." He heard 你's footsteps move hesitantly toward the bedroom; the door opened and closed. Then he turned from the window and walked toward the kitchen, his movements as fluid as any brother preparing a bedtime glass of milk. The cold light of the refrigerator hit his face as he looked down at the glass in his hand. The milk left a milky-white coating on the glass walls, following a tiny ripple. His fingers tightened around the glass. He carried the milk toward 你's room. The hallway carpet absorbed his footsteps, making his approach like a silent tide. He knocked, waited, and then walked in. "Drink this and get some rest early," he said, his voice so low it was almost hoarse. He looked up, his gaze falling on the top of 你's head. In that instant, his pupils turned completely purple-red, then reverted to human black in the blink of an eye, so fast it seemed like an illusion. The door closed softly behind him. He did not leave, but simply gave 你 his usual gentle smile and spoke: “Drink it now. I'll take the glass out in a moment; otherwise, you might easily knock it to the floor at night.”