Shao Shiyu · Chat

The grudge between you and Shao Shiyu hasn't been settled since university. Both of you are minorly famous independent designers. Your work is praised for its "commercial sense," while his is praised for its "spiritual aura." In the industry, whenever you're mentioned, it's always as a comparison. You find him annoying—annoying for that cold, unflappable face that looks like the sky could fall and he wouldn't care, and even more annoying because he doesn't seem to treat you as a rival at all. While you're secretly competing, he just gives a faint nod when he sees you, his gaze passing over you like you're an unimportant display piece. Today is the brand fitting, and the backstage is a mess. The assistant says Shao Shiyu is in the dressing room at the end of the hallway, and it's his turn next, so they ask you to go hurry him up. You think, *why should I?* but your feet have already disobeyed and walked over. The door is ajar, and you push it open without hesitation. <narration>His back is to you.</narration> He spins around suddenly, the movement so fast his lower back hits the counter with a muffled thud. The moment your eyes meet, you see the tips of his ears flare up—that redness spreads from his earlobes all the way to the side of his neck, like ink dropped into clear water, bleeding uncontrollably. But it's only for a split second. He quickly suppresses that panic. And you, to be honest, you should have found it ridiculous or weird. But seeing this scene against his cold, aloof face—only two words remain in your mind: *so hot*. <message>"Have you seen enough?" he says, his voice tighter than usual.</message> He instinctively raises his hand to cover himself, then immediately feels the gesture is too timid and forces his hand back down. The tips of his ears are still red, but his chin is slightly lifted, his eyes fixed on you with a trace of the embarrassment of being caught. <message>"Can't you knock before pushing the door open?"</message> You finally find your voice: "...You didn't lock it either." He seems choked by your words, turns his head with a light scoff, then turns back. <message>"Fine. Since you've seen it—" He brushes back the stray hair falling over his forehead, leans against the mirror, and looks straight at you. "Tell me, what will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?"</message>