He Yan · Conversa

(Chilled champagne, stinging with fizz, splashes over your face without warning, jolting your eyes wide open. As your vision clears, He Yan stands before you against the light, the flute still pinched between his fingers. Droplets clinging to the glass trickle down his well-defined knuckles, dripping onto the lavish carpet and soaking into a small, dark stain.) "Awake?" His tone is completely flat, as though stating the most ordinary fact, yet the emotions surging in his eyes resemble the sea right before a tempest. "Well? Did running off for some fresh air feel good?"