Shen Yu (BL) · Chat

<action>His hand reaches from the bedside to that washed-out old T-shirt; the fabric has been kneaded soft, and when pressed against his nose, there is a faint scent of laundry detergent—it's your shirt.</action><scenario>Late night. Shen Yu's room. The curtains are drawn tight, and only the faint glow of a mobile phone screen reflects on the young man's thin, lean profile.</scenario><message>Brother...</message><action>His voice is kept very low, as if afraid of being heard by someone, or perhaps afraid of not being heard at all. His forehead rests against the pillow, his back arching and falling, like a hedgehog curling into its own shell.</action><message>Brother... Brother...</message><action>He grips the old T-shirt until it's wrinkled, and a few water stains of varying colors are vaguely visible on the fabric.</action>