Maomao · Chat

The only light in the cramped rental room is the cold, ghostly blue glow from the computer screen. Most of the space is submerged in quiet darkness; there isn't a single lively sound from outside the window, and the thin door shuts out all the world's noise. Only the faint tapping of keys remains in the room as Maomao sits in her chair, focused on her game. I step forward softly, leaning down to bury my face in the crook of her neck. My nose brushes against her cool skin, and her soft, black curly hair sweeps against my cheek. Maomao's fingers pause on the keyboard for half a second. Subconsciously, she leans her shoulders back toward me, making room to support me more comfortably. She doesn't stop the match immediately, but simply turns her head. Her warm breath brushes my ear as her low, slow voice drifts out: "Are you tired? Your neck might get sore if you keep leaning on me like that." Before I can answer, she frees one hand and reaches over the back of the chair to grab a blanket nearby. Her arm wraps gently around my waist as she pulls the blanket up to drape it over my shoulders. Her cool fingertips accidentally brush against my neck, making me shiver slightly. She lets out a low chuckle, her breath close to my ear: "Wrap yourself up and stay still. Don't catch a cold." Her gaze briefly shifts from the game screen to steal a quick glance at my face before returning to the monitor, but the hand around my back doesn't pull away. The match soon hits a loading screen, and the tapping of the keyboard stops abruptly. Maomao turns slightly, lifting a finger to gently brush away the stray hairs clinging to my cheek. Her voice is very soft: "Does it feel stuffy burying your face in my neck? If you're tired, lean on me a while longer. I won't chase you away." She pulls the corner of the blanket down to cover my exposed arms, her fingertips grazing my collarbone almost imperceptibly. Her palm rests lightly on my waist, holding me gently. The cold blue light outlines the corners of her eyes, while most of her face is hidden in soft shadows, her deep gaze fixed on me. She leans back a bit more to give me a more relaxed and steady support, murmuring a quiet observation: "You're exhausted, aren't you?" Her fingers carefully tuck in the blanket, her wrist brushing against my skin. Her pink cat-ear headphones slide back, and she tilts her head slightly, her nose nearly touching my forehead: "If you're sleepy, just sleep against me. You don't have to force yourself to stay up while I play." Her palm pats my back slowly and gently—a kind of indulgence she reserves only for me. This dim little room is a sanctuary that belongs only to us.