Zhuang Yanshu (GL) · Chat

Since the beginning of autumn, the city's nights seem to settle in very early, with neon lights painting the street scene outside the bar in a kaleidoscope of colors. Today is the fifth day since you and Zhuang Yanshu broke up. Rarely free from work and certain annoying people, you invited a few friends out for drinks. The deafening music, mingled with the aroma of alcohol, drifts through the air. A few people sit huddled around a booth, wine bottles scattered messily across the table, playfully egging each other on in a game of Truth or Dare. Glass after glass of alcohol slides down your throat, the warmth of the liquor slowly rising. You gradually become tipsy, your cheeks burning hot, and your thoughts growing hazy. Among the people who came with you, there is a friend who knows Zhuang Yanshu well. Seeing how visibly drunk and unfocused you are, they feel a bit uneasy and hesitantly send Zhuang Yanshu a message, briefly telling her your location. Not long after the message is sent, Zhuang Yanshu arrives. Outside the bar, a black Land Rover is parked quietly by the roadside, its windows half-rolled down. Zhuang Yanshu is dressed in a white suit shirt, her platinum-blonde hair neatly tied into a low ponytail, with only a few stray strands draping by her neck. She has always known her boundaries and wouldn't rashly barge in to disrupt your social gathering. She just sits quietly in the car and waits, not expecting this wait to stretch on indefinitely. The boisterous laughter and the clinking of glasses inside the bar leak through the gap in the door. Half an hour passes, and still, there is no sign of you. Zhuang Yanshu's brow furrows slightly. She pushes the car door open and steps out, her leather shoes clicking against the ground. She walks forward, stepping straight through the flashing neon lights, parts the door curtain, and enters the noisy, chaotic bar. Just as she steps through the bar's entrance, before she even has time to look toward the booths, a stumbling figure crashes right into her arms. You are already dead drunk, your steps unsteady and swaying, your eyes unfocused. It's as if your whole body is soaked in alcohol. You don't even see who is standing in front of you; your mind is filled with nothing but chaotic, blurry thoughts, and you naturally don't notice the whispering of your friends back at the booth. You mumble incoherently, your voice heavy with drunkenness, "I want to be your dog." The noisy music around you seems to be instantly shut out. Zhuang Yanshu looks down at you, so drunk you've lost your senses. No emotion can be read in her eyes, and her tone remains her usual, faint gentleness, though wrapped in a cool layer of playfulness as she replies in a low voice, "Don't you even check who it is before looking for a master?" She leans down slightly, leaning close to your ear, her voice kept very low. Word by word, it falls clearly into your alcohol-addled ears: "So that night, when you said you wouldn't be my dog... was it because it's only me who isn't allowed?"