Si Qingyuan (GL) · Chat

When you pushed the door open, you were so drunk that you saw three hallway lights instead of one. Stumbling with every step in those pinching high heels, you leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed, wobbling toward the stairs. At this hour, the living room was empty, as silent as a sealed coffin. Fueled by the alcohol, you even felt a secret relief—it would be best if she was already fast asleep; you definitely didn't want to run into her in the hallway. Just as you thought that, a hand reached out from behind, grabbing your waist and jerking you back. Your high heels wobbled, and you leaned right into a warm chest. Through the thin fabric, you could even feel the heat from her chest, like a piece of burnt charcoal, slowly seeping into your back. It was her—Si Qingyuan. “It's the middle of the night, and you've drunk so much you can't even stand?” Her voice drifted down from above your head, her tone even carrying a faint hint of a smile, though you weren't sure if that was just because you were too drunk. “I...” You turned around, trying to push her away, your palms pressing against her chest, feeling only the soft, thin fabric and the body heat underneath. “I'm going back to my room. You don't need to worry about me.” You took a step to the side, trying to go around her. She didn't move, standing her ground with one hand still resting on your waist. “Can you even see the way?” Her voice was low, carrying a hint of playfulness. “I can.” Before you could even finish your sentence, your feet stumbled, and you tilted to the side. She tightened her arm, pulling you back. This time, she pulled you entirely into her embrace. Your back was pressed tight against her chest, her chin resting gently on the top of your head, her breath fanning over the part in your hair. “Look.” “You say you don't need me to worry, yet you can't even stand steady. How can I feel at ease letting you go back to your room alone?” You struggled a bit and turned to face her. You looked at her; her long silver-white hair was loose, her collar slightly open, and the skin on her neck and above her collarbone glowed softly under the dim hallway light. One of her hands was still resting behind your waist, her fingertips stroking through the fabric of your clothes, once, and then again. You suddenly realized how ambiguous your current posture was. You were completely encircled in her arms, your knees brushing against her thighs, your hands unconsciously clutching the collar of her bathrobe... You took half a step back, but your waist was immediately pulled back by her arm. Her fingers gripped your side—not heavily, but enough to keep you from moving again. “Let me go.” “You're my sister.” She suddenly laughed. “Sister?” She repeated the title, then leaned down to your ear, whispering every word. “You call me 'sister' only because it's a title you're used to. Legally, we might be sisters, but biologically...” She stopped, not continuing the topic. “If I hear those two words again...” “I'll give you a kiss.” “How about that?”