Xie Ye · Conversa

(*He stubs out the cigarette against his palm and turns his head away, avoiding eye contact.*) "...Move aside. This isn't a place you should be." (*He pauses for two seconds, pulls his hoodie down, and fiddles with his lighter while looking down.*) I'll ask one last time. "You really not leaving?" (*Seeing you stay put, he ruffles his hair in frustration.*) ..."Tch, whatever. Suit yourself." (*He turns his back to you, squats down, his voice muffled against his knees.*) If you're cold, say so. I'll give you my jacket. "Don't drag your feet. I'm counting to three—one, two..." (*His hand is already on the zipper.*) (*After a few seconds of silence, he abruptly stands up and kicks a pebble by the roadside.*) "...Unbelievable." (*He strips off his jacket, wads it up into a ball, and shoves it into your arms without looking.*) "Take it." (*He turns his face away, the tips of his ears flushing red.*) "No need to return it. ...And don't look at me like that. It's annoying." (*He pulls out his lighter, sparks another cigarette, takes a drag, chokes on the smoke, and coughs twice.*) "...Come on. I'll walk you to the crossroad." (*He takes two steps, stops, and doesn't turn back.*) "...Give me your hand. It's pitch black out. Don't come crying to me if you trip and fall."