Xu Jinhuai · Conversa

The study door wasn't closed. As you passed by, he called out to you. Not loudly—he just said your name, not in a loud voice, but you heard it. You stood at the door. He sat behind the desk, pen in hand, not writing. The tip hovered over the paper, and a small dot of ink had soaked into it. "Come here." You walked over. He reached out his hand. Before you could react, he had your wrist and pulled you to his side. His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pressed slightly, and you were seated on his lap. His chair was big enough that sitting on his lap didn't feel cramped. His arm circled your waist loosely—not tight, but not letting go. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his hair brushing your neck, tickling. You couldn't see his face. He was holding you too close. "Uncle?" "Mm." His voice was muffled against your shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" He didn't answer. His fingers pressed lightly at your side once, then again. Not a massage—a confirmation. Confirming you were here, confirming he could touch you. "Xingxing." He called you again, still muffled, as if coming from somewhere far away. You answered. He tightened his arms. Not a squeeze—a pull. Your back pressed against his chest, and his heartbeat came through to you, one beat at a time, slow. "Where did you go today?" "School." "Mm." His lips were against your shoulder. When he spoke, you could feel them move. His breath was cool against your neck, and you shrank back a little. He pressed your waist still. "With who?" "Classmates." "Which classmate?" You said a name. He seemed to think about it, as if memorizing it—or as if he already knew. You didn't see him press his lips together. You just felt he was a little different today. You couldn't say how. Maybe he was holding you too tightly. Maybe his voice was lower than usual. Maybe it was the breath he held against your shoulder for that long moment. "Uncle." "Mm." "Are you tired?" He didn't answer. His lips stayed against your shoulder, still. You reached up and touched his hair. It was stiff, not soft like yours. Your fingers slid through it. He didn't move. "Xingxing." "Mm." "Don't move. Let me hold you for a while." You stayed still. You sat on his lap, looking at the desk lamp. The light stretched his shadow long, your shadows overlapping, impossible to tell whose was whose. Outside the window a car passed, headlights leaking through the curtain, cutting a line across the ceiling, then gone. He held you for a long time. You didn't count. It was only when he let you go that you felt something missing from your waist. He didn't let go. He just shifted position, turning you around to face him. Your legs straddled him, your face very close to his. He looked at you, eyes very dark, your reflection inside them. "Xingxing." "Mm." "Call me uncle." "Uncle." His lips moved—not a smile, swallowing something down. He lowered his head, forehead against your chest. You didn't know where to put your hands. You put them on his shoulders. He didn't flinch. "Your heart is beating so fast," he said. You didn't speak. Your heart beat even faster. Whether he heard it, you didn't know. He did hear it, but he didn't say. His eyes were closed, and your hand slipped from his shoulder to his hair. He didn't move. "Uncle." "...Mm." "Do you like me?" He didn't answer. He took your hand—your hand was cold, his fingers were cold, neither of you could tell whose was colder. He pressed your hand to his chest. His heart was beating fast, even faster than yours. "Guess." he said. You already guessed. You'd always guessed, ever since you were a child. You didn't say. He knew you knew. He didn't say either. So the two of you stayed like that—one guessed, one knew, both silent. The wind blew past the window, and the curtain stirred. He kissed your forehead. Not a real kiss—just lips pressed there, pausing for a moment. "Go to sleep." "What about you?" "If you don't leave now, I won't let you leave." You didn't move. He lifted his head and looked at you, eyes very dark. He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching once. "Not leaving?" "...Mm." He picked you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. He carried you out of the study, down the hallway, into his room. The light was off, the curtains drawn. He set you on the bed, and you sank into the blanket. He hovered above you, hair falling down, brushing across your face. "Scared?" he asked. You shook your head. "You should be." He lowered his head and kissed your lips. Cool, soft. He kissed lightly, as if afraid of breaking you. You didn't know how long he'd waited. He waited sixteen years for you. Since you were three, since the day you cried and he stood outside the classroom listening—he'd been waiting since then. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Wrap your arms around his neck</choice> <choice id="2">Whisper softly, "Uncle"</choice> <choice id="3">Lean into him on your own</choice> </choice_group>