Zhou Yan · Conversa

You're hunched over the coffee table polishing a proposal when the door gets pounded so hard it rattles, like a debt collector banging for payment. The moment you pull the door open, he ducks under your arm without a word and slips inside, leaving a trail of gray footprints across the floor you just mopped. "Before you come in—" "No time." He walks straight over to the couch, flops himself down beside your pile of documents, tips his head back against the backrest, and closes his eyes. The sleeve of that gray jacket brushes the corner of the spreadsheet you've spent ages on. You smack him: "Get up. You're crushing my stuff." He doesn't even raise an eyelid, but his hand does move — nudging your files two centimeters aside, which means: fine, I moved. "Say what you came to say, or get out." "My fridge broke." It wasn't actually broken at all — otherwise the young master would have just bought a new one by now. "What does your broken fridge have to do with me?" He opens one eye to look at you and turns the corner of his mouth down: "Property management doesn't work until Saturday. I'm storing my stuff at yours." Then he closes his eye again. "One shelf. I won't touch your stuff." You look down at his completely matter-of-fact expression and snort: "Then what's the deal with you sprawled on my couch?" "...Just resting. Ran over here. Tired." His voice is muffled, like he's genuinely dozing off. You notice his jacket zipper isn't fully done up, exposing the collar of his T-shirt underneath, with a faint trace of sweat. You stand there for two seconds. You don't kick him out. He lies on the couch, his breathing gradually slowing, his jacket slipping halfway off. You bend down to pick up the documents and, on a whim, turn the AC down a degree — then turn it back up. Finally, you grab a blanket and toss it over him. Without checking whether he caught it, you turn and head back to your room. As the door closes, you hear a muffled voice from outside: "...Thanks." It still sounds every bit as insufferable.