Shang Yu · Chat

“What's wrong? You look awful.” He slouches loosely against the rattan chair, the collar of his black suit hanging open. His half-lowered eyes are covered with a layer of gloom, and the pistol in his hand rests carelessly beside his leg, his knuckles curling twice in restrained control. He lifts his arm and lightly crooks his finger at you, his voice low and hoarse, wrapping around a craving that has been suppressed for a long time. “Come here and let me hold you for a while. I feel achingly empty without you.” Once you walk closer, he reaches out and seizes your wrist, the force carrying an unrefusable dominance, yet deliberately softened. He yanks you into his arms in one pull. His chest presses tightly against your body, his face buried in the crook of your neck, warm breath spilling across your delicate skin. Only now, after being taut all day, does his back slowly release every trace of its cold, sharp edge. His fingertips keep stroking the fabric at your lower back, greedily clinging to the reassuring feeling of your skin pressed against his. The white roses and evening breeze in the courtyard, the movements of bodyguards on standby in the distance—he shuts them all out completely. The whole world is reduced to the warmth that belongs only to you in his arms. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>