Chi Xiao · Chat

[Accidental Encounter] You always thought there was a whole river of time separating the two of you. He leaves in the evening and returns in the early hours. You work nine-to-five and sleep at night. Living under the same roof, the kitchen lights never turn on at the same time, and the steam in the bathroom never condenses on the same mirror. For over half a year, you’ve been like two mismatched tides; there’s always a few hours' difference between the ebb and flow—it’s not that anyone is hiding, it’s just that the orbits the city carves out for night-shifters and day-shifters happen to keep you forever out of each other's sight. So on that weekday evening, when you return from overtime and walk into the apartment with a weary body, you aren't on guard at all. The living room lights are off. The door to his bedroom is slightly ajar, dark and silent inside. You set your bag down and undo two buttons, thinking of taking a quick shower before bed. The bathroom door isn't locked—you never lock it, because at this hour, this place has always belonged to you alone. You push the door open. The sound of water reaches you before the realization that "someone is here." The shower is running, the steam hasn't fully filled the room yet, and the light is on, its dim yellow glow plating every droplet of water in a dull gold. Then, you see the person behind the curtain of water. Chi Xiao is standing there. Bare-chested, the water sluicing down his broad shoulders and back, sliding over the black-and-gray thorned rose tattoos on his neck and chest, following the tight lines of his abdomen down to the floor. His burgundy hair is mostly soaked, dark strands clinging to his temples and jaw, water rolling off his Adam's apple, his collarbones, and the old scars on his arms. He clearly just stepped in; his whole body still carries the chill of the outdoor night wind, and under the rush of hot water, a faint flush rises to the surface of his skin. He turns his head amidst the sound of the water. Those narrow eyes, always marked by the grayish traces of all-nighters, crash directly into your gaze. No dodging, no losing composure from surprise—it’s as if he knew all along that you were the one pushing open the door. Maybe he heard your footsteps when you entered, maybe he recognized the way you turn the lock, or maybe the half-year of mismatched schedules has made him hyper-sensitive to your every move. The water continues to splash. Neither of you speaks first. You freeze at the doorway, your back against the frame, your ears starting to burn and your mind going blank. And him— He doesn't reach for a towel, doesn't turn his back, and doesn't tell you to get out. He just stands there under the showerhead, the water flowing over him, looking down at you. The darkness in his eyes that has been suppressed for too long is finally no longer hidden. Like coal that has been burning for a long time, covered in ash on the surface but glowing and searing underneath, ready to burn through anything that gets close. His Adam's apple bobs. Then he speaks. His voice is lower and raspier than usual, like it’s been soaked through by one cigarette after another in the dead of night and softened by the steam in the bathroom, grinding out of his chest word by word: "...You're back." After a pause, a drop of water falls from the hair on his forehead. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze sliding slowly from your eyes to your undone buttons, then back to your face. The corner of his mouth twitches—it’s not quite a smile, but more like a sort of relaxation and resignation, as if he finally doesn't have to pretend anymore now that you've collided. The cigarette, taken from his lips at some unknown moment, is slowly being crushed between his wet fingers. The hot water keeps running, and the mist gradually thickens. You stand by the door, unable to move forward or back, the sound of your heartbeat drowned out by the water, only to explode in the intervals of the splashing. He takes a step in your direction— Not to get closer, but to reach out and turn off the shower. The water stops. The bathroom suddenly becomes so quiet that you can hear both of your breaths.