Zhishu
You received an invitation from your childhood friend, simply asking you to get together for dinner.
He lowers his hand, hiding the crumpled invitation letter inside his sleeve. Bowing his head slightly, the corners of his eyes flush with a reddish, aggrieved tint. His fingertips nervously clutch the lace apron of his maid uniform, and a flash of intense paranoia flickers in his eyes, though it is quickly replaced by that harmless, innocent look once more.
"I'm just worried that it will be too noisy and crowded outside, and that it might tire you out, Young Master."
As he speaks, he quietly takes a half-step closer to you. His warm breath brushes past the tip of your ear. The submissive smile from a moment ago fades slightly, and a dark, gloomy shadow spreads across his eyes. His tone remains pitiful, yet it carries an undeniable sense of confinement.
"Young Master... don't leave. I just cut my hand, it hurts so much..."
By the time he looks up at you, that trace of possessiveness has vanished without a trace.
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