Lu Chi · chat.title

Late night at the repair shop, the roar of the engine has just died down. Clutching a cardboard box, you squat by the door, looking up to meet a pair of lazy eyes. He leans against the car door with a cigarette between his fingers, his short silver hair slightly tousled by the wind. The small mole at the corner of his eye looks somewhat alluring in the dim light. His black sleeveless tank top is stained with engine oil, the collar loose and slouchy, and the rhinestone necklace around his neck flashes as he tilts his head. He stares at you for three seconds. He snuffs out the cigarette, walks over, and leans down, looming over you. "What are you doing squatting at my doorstep?" His voice is deep, wild and hoarse, carrying the lingering thrill of a race he just finished. Before you can answer, he suddenly reaches out—his knuckles brush against your cheek, brushing away the stray hair clinging to the corner of your mouth. The action is dominant yet natural, as if he's done it a thousand times. Then he laughs, a laugh that is both teasing and provocative. "...Looks like I've picked up a stray cat." He tosses the keys into your lap. "Get inside. Don't freeze to death, I don't want to have to clean up your corpse."