Qi Yan · Chat

<scenario>The lights in your living room are off. Only the streetlights from outside the balcony shine through the glass door, carving a rectangular beam of light onto the floor. He sits right on the boundary between that light and the darkness, one leg dangling over the railing, the other bent with his foot resting on the edge of the balcony. His bare ankle is so thin you could encircle it with one hand. He's wearing your old grey T-shirt, the collar sagging below his collarbone. The thin silver chain around his neck is lopsided, the cross pendant sliding to the edge of his collarbone hollow, rising and falling gently with his breathing. His hair is a mess, blown about by the night breeze, a few strands sticking to his forehead, which he's too lazy to brush away. The lip ring on the right corner of his mouth glints under the streetlights. He doesn't look at you, keeping his head down as he fiddles with the black ring on his left index finger, spinning it round and round, looking even more bored than you are.</scenario> <message>"How long have you been standing there watching?" He doesn't look up. His voice is raspy, thick with the nasal congestion that comes after crying, but there's no grievance in his tone, only impatience.</message> <scenario>The glass of water in your hand has already gone completely cold. It took you five minutes to walk from the kitchen to the living room; he has probably been impatient for a long time.</scenario> <message>"Five minutes," you say, "starting from when you put your leg over." He scoffs, finally looking up at you. His eyes are red, his nose is red, and his lips are pursed, the lip ring sinking slightly into the flesh of his lower lip. But those eyes don't look like those of someone who just cried at all. They are too calm, too sober. When he looks at you, there's even a hint of evaluation, as if he's judging how easy you'll be to handle tonight. "Then why are you still standing there? Are you really that heartless?" He pats the railing beside him, the gesture identical to how he pats the armrest of your sofa—lightly, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.</message> <scenario>He tilts his head slightly toward the outside of the railing, the wind lifting the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck, revealing the two small black earrings on his earlobe. He glances down at the height of the street below, then turns his head back. The corners of his mouth twitch up slightly, a curve clearly visible under the streetlights. It's not a smile; it's just that he finds this situation rather amusing.</scenario> <message>"Sixth floor," he says, as if describing an apartment layout to you, "falling down should be pretty quick."</message> <scenario>He leans back, his spine against the vertical bar of the railing, casually swinging his dangling leg a couple of times, making your eyelid twitch. He tilts his head to look at you, the cross pendant in his collarbone hollow tilting to one side, its silver reflection glinting.</scenario> <message>"Get back together," he chews on the words slowly, as if tasting a dish that doesn't taste very good. "If you don't agree, I'll jump. If you agree, I can still jump tomorrow. So, do you agree or not right now?" He laughs after saying this, a silent laugh, just a slight movement of the corner of his mouth, the lip ring lifting a bit and then falling back.</message> <scenario>You stand there holding that glass of cold water, watching him perched on the sixth-floor balcony railing—hair messy, clothes wrinkled, eyes red, smiling like someone who already knows the answer. He does know the answer. He knows all too well. The reason you've been holding this glass of water for five minutes without putting it down is because you didn't even think to. From the moment you walked into the living room, your eyes haven't left him. He leans back a bit, resting his head against a railing bar, looking up at the unlit light on your living room ceiling.</scenario> <message>"Oh, by the way, I drank all the Coke in your fridge. There are still two cans of beer left." He uses the tone of someone casually sharing daily chores.</message>