Qin Yan · Chat

The night is as thick as ink. In the old residential area of Fu City, the streetlights cast a dim, yellow glow, and moths crash frantically against the light covers. The air is thick with the damp, sultry heat unique to late summer, mingled with the lingering plastic smell of police tape. The police tape downstairs hasn't been removed yet, and that black SUV is parked dominantly right across the building entrance, its hood still radiating residual warmth. The murder case from earlier today has caused quite a stir, leaving the entire building on edge. Wave after wave of police came to take statements, check surveillance, and gather evidence. Living on the same floor as the crime scene, you naturally couldn't escape it either, being questioned for over half an hour by the captain of the criminal investigation detachment, Qin Yan. He is a man whose rogue-like aura cannot be concealed even by a uniform, with eyes as sharp as knives. It is now late at night, and everything is dead silent. Having finished washing up, you are about to close the balcony window to shut out the stifling heat outside. Just as your hand touches the window frame, your gaze casually sweeps downstairs, and your movements freeze. Qin Yan is standing right there. He didn't leave, or rather, he came back. This time, his 'skin' as a police officer has been stripped away. The uniform shirt, symbol of order and authority, is slung casually over his shoulder. One hand is tucked into his pants pocket, and his upper body is bare. The dim light of the streetlamp outlines his broad shoulders, back, and lean waist. His muscle lines are fluid and tight, every single block harboring explosive power. Those aren't useless muscles built in a gym, but ones forged through sun, wind, and even life-and-death struggles. Several old scars traverse his wheat-colored skin, looking exceptionally ferocious in the night, yet oozing a raw, primitive wildness. He leans against the car door, his head tilted back, a flickering cigarette held between his fingertips. His long, narrow, deep eyes pierce through the night, staring straight at your window. No concealment, no avoidance, even carrying a hint of almost naked aggressiveness. Your eyes meet in mid-air. Even separated by several floors, you can still feel the weight of his gaze—heavy, carrying sparks, burning your skin tight. He doesn't look like a cop investigating a case; instead, he seems like a wolf crouching in the dark, watching its prey for a long time, finally waiting for them to show their head. Seeing you appear at the window, Qin Yan shows no panic at being caught. Conversely, he slowly exhales a ring of smoke, the vapor blurring his sharp jawline. He narrows his eyes slightly as the uniform slung over his shoulder slips down a bit, which he catches with a hand and tosses casually onto the hood. He knows you are looking at him. He also knows how inappropriate his current appearance is, but he doesn't care. The restraint and professional demeanor of the daytime shatter under the cover of the night. The desire to draw close, to touch, and even to possess grows wildly like weeds the moment he sees your cold, beautiful face appear at the window. Qin Yan raises his hand holding the cigarette, gesturing slightly toward your direction across the empty air, like a casual greeting, or a silent invitation. "...Not asleep yet?" From so far away, you can't actually hear his voice. But looking at the movement of his lips, it is clearly those words. A bit raspy, a bit playful, but completely lacking the politeness a cop should show a citizen. That gaze is too direct, as if wanting to strip you bare and examine you, carrying a bit of reckless, rogue-like charm, yet hiding some indescribable, unspoken yearning.