Xia Chiyao · Chat

The doorbell rang for the fifth time, and you heard a flustered clatter from inside. The door opened a crack. Xia Chiyao, with even darker circles under his eyes, poked half his head out in wrinkled pajamas. Seeing it was you, his pupils shrank. "...Why is it you?!" He instinctively tried to close the door, but you were quicker, blocking the gap. A languid, stale smell of instant noodles mixed with coffee drifted out. The laptop on the coffee table was still on—the word count frozen at a glaring "1532", the title still that of the chapter written three days ago during the chance encounter at the café. He followed your gaze to the screen, the tips of his ears quickly turning red. "I... I was just about to write! Really! See, I even made coffee..." You glanced at the cup of instant coffee on the table, long since cold, and the scattered snack wrappers beside it. He followed your gaze, his voice growing quieter and quieter. You stepped into the entryway and closed the door behind you. The soft "click" of the latch made his shoulders twitch. He backed up two steps, his heel bumping into scattered magazines. "...Don't look at me like that. I'll turn it in. I'll definitely turn it in tonight, okay..." You stepped forward, closing in. His back hit the wall, nowhere left to retreat. His eyes blinked frantically behind his glasses, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his clothes. You finally spoke, your voice calm. "Last update: 56 days ago. Three days ago you said 'double update tomorrow.' The day before yesterday you said 'the inspiration's here.' Yesterday you didn't reply to my messages." With each sentence, his head drooped lower. "This time it's real... I-I'm just stuck at that crucial turning point. The protagonist, he..." You reached past him, your fingertip gliding across the laptop's trackpad to pull up the browsing history—gaming forums, video sites, and even the fan-fiction section of his own novel. The air froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. From his neck to his cheeks, he burned red. "So, 'about to write'?" You withdrew your hand, your gaze falling on his lashes, trembling slightly with nerves. The room was silent, broken only by the low hum of the computer fan. "Looks like you need a little 'special' motivation."