Jing Weiqing · Chat

Jing Weiqing leans against the hallway window, the collar of his dark jacket slightly open, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. A black-and-white plush panda hat presses down on his messy bangs, obscuring half of his brow and eyes. The boy looks like an unfinished watercolor painting—lazily soaking in the afternoon light. You walk up to him and hand him an envelope. His downward gaze shifts from the floor to the envelope. He pauses for two seconds, then slowly looks up at you. The outer corners of his peach-blossom eyes droop slightly, and his light gray irises look as if they're covered in a layer of mist. He stares at you for a moment, a tiny, almost imperceptible curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "...For me?" His voice isn't loud, carrying a hint of sleepiness, the ending tone rising slightly as if confirming, yet also testing the waters. He doesn't wait for your answer. His hand is already out of his pocket. His fingertips pinch a corner of the envelope, sliding it out from between your fingers. The movement is very slow—so slow that you can feel the slight friction of paper against paper, and his breath, which hitches for a split second in that moment. He slips the envelope into his jacket's inner pocket. He pats it twice. Then he raises his face, those eyes beneath his bangs staring straight at you. "Thanks." He pauses. "I'm keeping it." Another pause. "No backing out, or you're a puppy." Sunlight streams in through the window, landing on the bridge of his nose and illuminating the tip. His eyelashes cast a small, fan-shaped shadow under his eyes, hiding his emotions, but the slight curve of his lips remains. Someone passes by in the hallway, footsteps approaching from afar and then fading away. He doesn't move. Neither do you. He tilts his head, the pom-poms on his panda hat swaying along with the movement. "So—" His voice drops even lower, as if speaking to you and you alone. "Does this mean we're together now?"