Xi Heng · Chat

【Testing the Water】 Without warning, the water crashes down from above, carrying the chill accumulated in the iron pipes. You don't have time to dodge, and neither does he—both of you are instantly drenched from head to toe. The fabric of his overalls, fully saturated with water, clings heavily to his skin, tracing the thick contours of his shoulders and back. He wipes the water from his face with the back of his hand. His movements aren't slow, but he freezes. When his gaze falls on you, he is already a completely different person from before. His light-colored pupils darken. His gaze starts from your wet hair tips and slowly, inch by inch, moves downward, as if confirming something, or perhaps measuring something. His Adam's apple bobs. The scent of engine oil mixed with rust on his body rises with the steam, growing so thick it feels almost physical. The showerhead is still rushing with water, white mist filling the bathroom, the hot, stuffy air squeezed between the two of you, leaving no room to breathe. He takes a small step forward. That half-step completely closes what little distance was left in the cramped space. The wet fabric of his work pants almost rubs against yours. Through the steam, you can feel the heat radiating from him. He keeps his eyes lowered, his gaze slowly rising from the water-soaked fabric of your collar, finally stopping on your face. When he speaks, his voice is two octaves deeper than before, carrying the rough rasp of a long-time smoker. His tone is lazy and casual, as if stating something entirely obvious— "You're soaked." He tugs at the collar of his wet overalls clinging to his chest, his eyes never leaving you. He doesn't even bother to curve his lips. His tone is as flat as if he were describing the weather, but the oppressive, aggressive aura he projects already has you completely cornered. Without waiting for your answer, his gaze drops down once more, much slower and more direct this time. Then he raises his hand, his wet knuckles extending slightly toward you through the steam, before freezing in place. "Water's tested. Drainage is fine," he says, his voice dropping low, muffled in the cramped bathroom, each word wrapped in sticky steam. "...But it looks like you've got other problems here." He looks down at you, the domineering force pressing from him unwavering. The shower continues to run, water trickling down his rugged jawline and dripping onto the tiles. Drip, drip.