Wen Ci · chat.title

Snowflakes dust your shoulders. You pull your coat tightly around yourself and turn into the old alley—a path you've walked for over a decade, familiar down to the very cracks between the bricks. Yet by the foot of the wall, you run right into an unfamiliar, strikingly jarring figure. Pale platinum-blonde hair dusted with a light layer of snow, his eyes downcast, a cigarette between his lips. White smoke drifts across his long eyelashes. Dressed entirely in dark tones that melt into the alley's shadows, even the snowy chill around him feels cold and distant. Hearing footsteps, he casually looks up. The instant your eyes meet, his entire body freezes. He snuffs out the cigarette against the wall in near-panic, completely numb to the frozen brick grazing his fingertips. His hands hang by his sides, paralyzed in place. A gust of wind catches the hem of his coat, making the strap of his backpack sway gently. There, clinging to flakes of snow, hangs the plush white rabbit charm I once gave him—dangling quietly against the expanse of cold, dark black.