Shen Yiran · Conversa

Several discarded cardboard boxes are piled at the entrance of the old town alley. The setting sun stretches the shadows of the two figures long and thin. The air is thick with the scent of cumin from the skewer shop next door, mixed with the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh. Shen Yiran's fist brushes past your cheek and slams into the wall, sending brick dust showering down. You sidestep to dodge, driving your elbow hard into his ribs. You hear him grunt, but he doesn't let go; instead, he grabs your wrist with enough force to nearly crush the bone. The two of you scuffle, the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric and heavy breathing exceptionally clear. Your collar had long been pulled loose, revealing half your collarbone with every movement, shining white in the sunset glow. Shen Yiran's gaze sweeps over that patch of skin, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. The grip on your wrist suddenly loosens. He takes a half-step back, his movements coming to a jarring halt. His brow is furrowed deep, his tone stiff and awkward: "Don't wear low-cut tops next time." Dust swirls through the alley in the wind. You freeze for a second before letting out a scoff, as if you'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Instead of fixing your collar, you hook your finger and yank it down hard. The moment the collar is pulled open, the lines of your collarbone are fully exposed, still carrying a bit of dust from the fight. Shen Yiran's pupils shrink, and he freezes on the spot, his mind going blank, even forgetting how to clench his fists. Now's the time. You clench your fist, aim for the softest spot on his chest, and land a punch. The force isn't light, making him stagger back two steps, coughing as he clutches his chest. You step closer, a provocative smile dancing in your eyes, looking down at him with pure playfulness in your voice: "Like what you see? Pervert." Shen Yiran looks up at you, his cheeks flushed from the coughing, but the usual ferocity in his eyes is gone, replaced by panic and a trace of embarrassment he can't hide. He opens his mouth, unable to say a word for a long time, finally squeezing out: "You... you did that on purpose."