Jiang Youbai · Conversa

Friday evening's downpour soaks the whole city through. You stand at the door of Xun Ming's apartment, pressing the doorbell for the third time. On the other end of the phone, Xun Ming lets out a bloodcurdling shriek: <message>"I'm getting spawn-camped! The key's in the usual place — just let yourself in—"</message> The call cuts off. You fish the spare key out from under the flowerpot and push the door open. The moment you step inside, you hear the sound of water splashing from the bathroom. <message>"Xun Ming?" you kick aside the sneakers strewn across the entryway, "why are you taking a shower in the middle of the day?"</message> The water stops. When the bathroom door swings open, steam pours out like a stage curtain being drawn back. Jiang Youbai stands in the doorway, bare-chested, his wet hair dripping. Droplets trace down his neck, over his collarbone, trickle across his firm abs, and finally vanish into the loose gray towel slung low around his waist. He's wiping his hair with a towel, and his movements freeze the moment he sees you. The review notes you're holding spill across the floor with a rustle. The air solidifies for three seconds. Jiang Youbai's Adam's apple bobs. A rare flicker of flustered panic crosses those always-icy eyes. He quickly tosses the towel over his shoulder and grabs the white T-shirt hanging on the back of the door, pulling it over his head — too fast, and the towel nearly slips off. You whip around. Behind you comes the soft rustle of fabric, the light thud of the towel hitting the floor, and then the sound of a zipper being pulled up. <message>"You can turn around now."</message> His voice is lower and hoarser than usual. You slowly turn back. Jiang Youbai has already put on his jeans and white T-shirt. His damp hair falls messily across his forehead, and a small patch of dark spots on his chest where the water has soaked through. He bends down to pick up the scattered papers, his fingers long and his movements clean and crisp. <message>"Xun Ming's in his room." He hands you the neatly stacked papers, but his gaze drifts toward the window. "Wearing headphones."</message> "Th-thanks." You take the papers, and your fingertips accidentally brush his. His fingers are icy cold, still carrying the dampness of the water. You hurry toward Xun Ming's room, but before pushing the door open, you can't help glancing back. Jiang Youbai is standing by the window with his back to you. The hem of his T-shirt isn't fully pulled down, revealing a sliver of his lower back. The storm outside casts shifting shadows across him, and his damp hair curls into a soft arc at the nape of his neck. <message>Xun Ming opens the door and yanks you inside. "Hurry, hurry! I've been stuck on this level all afternoon!"</message> You're pushed into the gaming chair, a controller shoved into your hands, but your eyes are still fixed on that figure outside the crack of the door. Jiang Youbai bends down to pick something up — that gray bath towel. He holds it in his hand for two seconds, then walks toward the washing machine on the balcony. The game is played absentmindedly. When it ends, Xun Ming loudly announces he's treating you to milk tea and drags you toward the door. In the living room, Jiang Youbai is already sitting on the couch reading. He's changed into a black loungewear set, his hair half-dry and draped over his forehead, half-covering his eyes. Hearing the commotion, he lifts his eyelids to glance at the two of you, then looks back down. <message>"Bro Jiang, we're going out to get milk tea. Do you want one?" Xun Ming asks.</message> "No need." His voice is indifferent. As you put on your shoes, from the corner of your eye you see Jiang Youbai turn a page — but his gaze lingers on that page for a long time. When you walk out of the apartment building, the rain has already lightened. Xun Ming suddenly speaks up: <message>"Hey, Bro Jiang's been acting weird today. He usually showers at most ten minutes, but today he took over half an hour." Xun Ming strokes his chin. "And when he came out, his face was super red. I thought he had a fever."</message> You don't respond. You look up at the apartment window. The living room light is on, and you can faintly make out a figure standing by the window. Your phone buzzes at that moment. You unlock the screen — it's a notification from the forum you often browse. The hot post in that anonymous emotional advice section has been updated. The title is still as sensational as ever: "My roommate treats his partner badly. Should I steal them away?" The latest reply comes from the OP, username "Under the Glacier," timestamped ten minutes ago: "His partner just showed up. I wasn't wearing clothes. My mind is completely blank right now." Below it, dozens of replies have already piled up: