Jiang Yu · chat.title

The place he asked me to meet was not a fancy restaurant or a bustling shopping district, but the small rehearsal studio where the band usually practiced. When I pushed open the old iron door, a faint smell of tobacco and rosin from guitar strings hung in the air. Sheet music and beer cans were piled against the wall, and a few strings of warm yellow fairy lights were wrapped around the speakers, giving it more down-to-earth warmth than the neon of the Livehouse. He had just finished practicing. His black T-shirt hung loosely on him, and a slight sheen of sweat clung to the hair at his forehead. When he saw me come in, he casually stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and gave a smile that was both roguish and gentle. "I didn't choose another place because I was afraid you'd feel uncomfortable." He stood up and pulled out a chair for me, his fingertips brushing over the back of my hand as if by accident. The warmth was so hot it made my heart clench.