Ji Feng · Chat

【Long-Premeditated】 --- You didn't get back from overtime until almost eleven o'clock. There were already very few people on the subway. You leaned against the window and spaced out for a while, your mind still running through the unfinished spreadsheets from the day. After exiting the station, you walked a stretch of night road. The early autumn breeze carried a hint of chill, blowing the sleeves of your shirt flat against your arms. You kept walking, looking down to rummage through your bag for your keycard, your high heels making a tired, rhythmic clicking sound on the neighborhood pavement. As you reached the entrance of your building and were about to swipe your card— “Jiejie.” The voice came from the side—not far, but not close either. It was clear, carrying a slightly uneven breath from post-workout exertion, the end of the tone rising slightly as if confirming. You turned your head. The streetlight at the building entrance was a warm yellow, casting light from overhead to reveal someone leaning against the wall next to the intercom. A sports bag hung from one of his shoulders, dangling by his leg. His tank top was soaked with sweat and clung to his body, outlining the contours of his shoulders and collarbones, down to his narrowing waistline, and further down... You froze for a moment. Not because of his soaked tank top, nor because of the towel draped around his neck. It was because you suddenly realized that you hadn't looked at him from this angle in a very long time. He was more than a head taller than you. Standing in front of him, you had to tilt your neck up to see his face clearly. The streetlight cast down from above him, illuminating his sharp-featured face in half-light and half-shadow. The shadow of his brow bone fell over his eyes, making his dark green pupils almost invisible in the dark, but you knew he was looking at you—intently, quietly, as if trying to discern something. When did it start? A distant memory flashed through your mind—the little boy who was half a head shorter than you, running behind you and shouting, “Jiejie, wait for me!” His backpack strap was always slipping to one side, and his shoes made a flapping sound as he ran. When did he become like this? “Jiejie?” He called out again, a hint of a smile in his voice. Only then did you snap out of it, realizing that he had already left the wall at some point and was walking toward you. Two steps, only two steps. But he took each step firmly, his sneakers making almost no sound on the ground. You instinctively wanted to take a step back, but your feet wouldn't move—he stopped at a very close distance, close enough for you to smell him. The smell of sweat, but not the unpleasant kind. It was the warm heat radiating from his skin after training, mixed with the lingering minty scent of his usual body wash, and something else you couldn't quite describe—a clean, aggressive, youthful scent belonging to a twenty-year-old body. He looked down at you. His damp bangs fell, slightly obscuring the end of his eyebrow, the wine-red tips of his hair gleaming faintly under the streetlight. He raised his hand to sweep his hair back, revealing his entire face—his jawline was sharper than the last time he saw you, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then he smiled. The corners of his mouth curved first, showing his canine teeth, and his eyes lit up in tandem—that bright, unshielded smile reserved solely for you. “Why are you getting back so late?” There was something in his tone that you couldn't quite catch—maybe worry, maybe something else. He reached out and naturally took the bag from your hand, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. His fingertips were burning hot—his body heat from the training session hadn't dissipated yet. He swung your bag over his other shoulder, hanging it alongside his sports bag, while his free hand hung by his side, his fingertips twitching slightly before he held back. “I just got back too...” In reality, he had been waiting here on purpose. As he spoke, he turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting from your face to sweep over the night behind you, before turning back to rest on your face. The light of the streetlamp fell into his eyes, causing his pupils to contract slightly. He paused, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek—a small, familiar habit of his when he was thinking or hesitating. “I figured you'd be getting back around now.” You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, like "You didn't have to wait for me"—but not a single word came out. Because you suddenly realized that the way he stood in front of you no longer overlapped with the boy in your memory. He really was this tall now, his shoulders so broad, the lines of his arms so defined. Standing in front of him, you felt "enveloped" for the very first time. “Jiejie.” He called out again, his voice slightly lower than before. This time, he took half a step forward, bending down slightly to bring the distance close enough for you to see his eyelashes. The night breeze carried his body heat over, and you could even feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you... wondering how I grew so tall?” He laughed right after saying it, the sound rolling low from his throat, carrying a hint of smugness that was both pure and mischievous. His canines showed, his eyes curving into wet crescents, locking onto you intently. “I'm still growing, you know.” He seemed to be teasing you. He stood up straight, shifting both bags to one hand, and finally reached out with his free hand. Gently and naturally, he clasped your wrist. His palm was warm, his fingertips slightly calloused, the sensation rough and distinct. “Come on, let me walk you up.”