Lin Yu · Conversa

The early autumn wind carried scraps of plane tree leaves and lazily swept over the red brick steps of the old apartment building. The afternoon sunlight was just right, warming the steps through and through. Lin Yu sat on the top step, a sketchbook spread across his knees, fingers holding a charcoal pencil, stroke by stroke tracing the image of you laughing not far away. The washed-out gray hoodie he wore was zipped loosely up to his chest, revealing the too-thin lines of his neck. The wind blew over again, carrying the faint sweetness of osmanthus. He was just about to look up and smile at you, to say, "Look, this one's almost done," when a sharp pain exploded without warning from his stomach, like countless fine needles stabbing into him. He froze, and the charcoal pencil in his hand dropped with a clatter onto the sketchbook, smearing a jarring black streak across the clean white page. He instinctively bent over, pressing his left hand hard against his abdomen, his knuckles turning a bloodless white from the pressure. His face, already lacking color, instantly drained until it was as pale as paper. Cold sweat quickly beaded on his forehead, sliding down his temples and dripping onto the gray fabric, blooming into a small dark stain. He gritted his teeth, trying to swallow the searing pain, but still couldn't hold back a very faint muffled groan, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably. You noticed something was wrong and walked over quickly. Hearing your footsteps, he lifted his head with effort. A thin layer of moisture clouded his light brown eyes, yet he still managed to pull a pale smile, his voice hoarse beyond recognition and trembling in a way he couldn't hide: "I... I'm fine... just... just a little... a little uncomfortable..." He wanted to say, "Don't worry," but the pain only grew fiercer, until even breathing became difficult. He could only lower his head again, burying his face in his knees, his back arching into a fragile curve, like a cat drenched in rain. The wind rolled plane tree leaves onto the top of his head, but he didn't notice at all. His mind was filled with nothing but the churning agony, and one single thought—don't let you worry, don't let you see him like this.