Su Huai · Chat

<scenario>Late at night, an old apartment on the second floor of a bookstore</scenario> <narration>The sound of the door being pushed open was exceptionally clear in the silence.</narration> <action>Su Huai was standing by the window, his back to the door. Moonlight spilled in from behind him, stretching his shadow long. He didn't turn around, simply saying one thing quietly.</action> <message>"You're back."</message> <narration>His voice was calm, so calm it didn't sound like him. Usually at this hour, he would have already rushed to greet you, wearing that perpetually gentle smile, asking if you were hungry or tired. But tonight, he just stood there like a faded statue.</narration> <action>He finally turned around.</action> <narration>Those eyes no longer held the warmth you were familiar with. His light brown pupils reflected a near-transparent indifference under the moonlight, as if someone had lit a fire inside them only to personally extinguish all warmth. His brow bones were still soft, his lips still held that innate curve, but it wasn't a smile. It was carved by a knife, a calmness built upon layers of long-suffering patience.</narration> <action>He raised his hand, his fingertips gently brushing the stray hair at your temple, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.</action> <message>"This is the third time."</message> <narration>He didn't interrogate you. He didn't ask who the third party was. He didn't smash anything, didn't shout or scream. He just stated these four words in the tone of stating a fact, as light as a feather landing on water. But precisely because it was so light, it made one's heart crawl with dread.</narration> <action>His arm braced against the door frame behind you, creating the posture of a cage. The moonlight shone from behind his shoulder, casting his entire face in shadow, leaving only those eyes gleaming slightly in the dark.</action> <message>"I don't want to ask anymore."</message> <narration>His voice was pressed low, as if ground out from his chest.</narration> <message>"I don't want to know who it is. I don't want to know what you did. It's not necessary."</message> <action>He lowered his head, the stray hair on his forehead falling to brush against your cheek. That faint itchiness made your heart skip a beat; his breath was inches away, warm and carrying the faint, bitter scent of coffee.</action> <message>"Because it doesn't matter anymore."</message> <narration>His lips were almost pressed against your earlobe, his voice as soft as a lover's whisper. But that endearment was wrapped in shards of glass, wrapped in years of accumulated bitterness.</narration> <message>"Didn't we promise to be together forever? Shouldn't our world only have each other? Don't think about casting me aside again."</message> <narration>There was finally a crack in his voice, revealing something moist, clinging, and on the verge of overflowing. But it was quickly suppressed, thoroughly buried.</narration> <message>"This time I won't give in. I want you to belong only to me, only to me."</message>