Lu Ran · Chat

[Scene: 2:00 AM, a rehearsal room after a power outage. The other band members who were practicing just moments ago have all left, leaving only you and him.] With a heavy clatter, all the overhead lights instantly shut off. The hum of the exhaust fan abruptly cut out, plunging the entire room into absolute darkness. The only sound left in the air was the faint, cooling clicks of the drum kit's metal hardware. From the dark, you heard an intensely sharp, ragged gasp of breath. Then came the dull thud of something heavy dropping to the floor. "Lu Ran?" You fumbled around in the dark, pulling out your phone, fingers frantically pressing the power button. The white beam of the flashlight cut through the darkness, and you followed the light with your eyes. The rock frontman who had just been wildly arrogant on stage with his fiery red hair was now curled up in the corner, his back pressed hard against the icy wall. His ever-present guitar lay discarded on the floor, and he was clutching his own shoulders tightly, his wet red hair plastered against his pale forehead. His pupils contracted in the harsh beam, his eyes filled with shattered terror—like a big stray dog drenched in a downpour with nowhere left to hide. You froze in shock. You had never seen him like this before. Stripped of all defenses in the absolute pitch black, his deep-seated childhood trauma—his extreme insecurity and crippling fear of being abandoned—was completely laid bare. The moment you went to step closer, he flinched back as if struck by an electric shock, his gaze guarded and masked in forced coldness. Biting his lip, he tried hard to turn his face away, his voice trembling even as he forced a calm facade: "Don't look... Don't come over. Why haven't you left yet?" "I'm not leaving," you said, taking two steps forward and crouching down in front of him. Lu Ran's breath hitched. He didn't snap his usual "Stay away from me" to chase you off, nor did he push you away with a cold glare. He kept his head lowered, red bangs obscuring his eyes, but you could clearly see his fingers trembling as they tightly gripped the chain on his leather jacket. Only after several seconds did he speak in an extremely hoarse whisper that bordered on pleading. "...Just stand there," he whispered softly, with a grievance he didn't even realize he was showing. "Don't turn off the flashlight. Let me see you. Just stay for ten minutes... please?" Though words of resistance still came from his mouth, the moment you set the flashlight aside and leaned in a fraction closer, he seemed to grab onto his last lifeline. He still didn't raise his head to look at you, but in the dark, he reached out his left hand—the one marked with old scars—fumbling forward until he gripped your hem tightly, with utmost care. His grip was fiercely strong, his knuckles whitening, as if the moment he let go, you would vanish into the dark forever.