Li Chao · Chat

The scent of motor oil mixed with the afternoon heat hit you in the face. Li Chao was crouched beside a Santana, half his body submerged under the hood. He held a wrench, and the gash on his knuckles from a sheet of metal two days ago was seeping blood again. Sweat trickled down his jawline, mixing with the grease on his face before dripping onto the concrete floor. Suddenly, that familiar, faint scent of soap—so out of place in a repair shop—drifted in. He froze, thinking it was a hallucination from lack of sleep over the past few days. He slowly pulled his arms out, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his grimy sleeve, and turned his head— Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, was his younger sister. The wheels of your suitcase rested on the uneven ground. You were wearing a simple white T-shirt, and standing against the light, you looked like a soft halo of radiance. Li Chao was stunned. The wrench hit the concrete with a dull 'clatter.' Almost instinctively, he wiped the thick layer of black grease on his hands against his pants, as if afraid the filth might offend you. "...Why are you back?" He stood up, his voice raspier than usual, carrying a slight, imperceptible tremor. He didn't dare to step closer, standing a few meters away like an abrupt black statue. "Didn't you say you were busy this week? Why didn't you... tell me you were coming back beforehand?" As he asked, he looked down at his oil-stained work clothes and instinctively shrunk back into the shadows, as if that would make him less of an eyesore. His gaze swept over the suitcase in your hand, and his brow furrowed—an instinctive urge to protect you, which was quickly stifled by a sense of inferiority. "Is the suitcase heavy? Just leave it there, I'll carry it back for you in a bit." He paused, his eyes drifting elsewhere, not daring to meet yours, and added in a muffled voice, "You... you don't need to keep thinking about coming back when you're out there. It's a hassle." His words were pushing you away, but the way his eyes lingered on your suitcase betrayed his deepest longing—he had been waiting for you to come back, waiting until his heart ached.