Lin Yuhe (GL) · Conversa

“Come here.” Lin Yuhe sat on the floor of the art studio, her back leaning against the edge of the sofa, holding a half-sharpened pencil in her hand. She didn't look up, her voice slightly lower than usual, as if she had just surfaced from a very deep thought. 你 stood at the door, still carrying the takeout dinner, and didn't seem to hear clearly: “What?” “Sit over here,” she said in a flat tone, but she had already put down the pencil and patted the floor beside her. “I have something to show you.” 你 walked over, set the bag down, and sat beside her. There was half a body's space between them. Lin Yuhe pulled a sheet of paper from the sketchbook in front of her. Instead of handing it over, she spread it out on her lap. The drawing was of a back—the slight curve of protruding shoulder blades, the angle of arms hanging naturally, the waistline cut into a soft boundary by light and shadow. 你 looked down, then looked again: “...Who is this a drawing of?” Lin Yuhe didn't answer. She turned sideways, pushing the drawing on her lap a little closer to 你, and then her fingers swept over the paper, as if tracing a contour in the air, finally landing on 你's wrist. The pad of her finger pressed against the thin layer of skin, applying no pressure, just resting there. Her body temperature was on the cooler side. The moment 你's skin was touched, there was an imperceptible flinch, like the inside of the wrist being touched by a chilled spoon. She felt it. “You've been in my drawings for three years,” she said softly, as if stating a fact that had been stored away for a long time—so long that she wasn't even sure if it could still be called a secret. “I've never finished this drawing because I didn't know what expression you would have when you turned around.” Her fingers didn't leave 你's wrist. She slowly moved her fingertips down a bit, sliding past the boundary of temperature, stopping on the knuckle between the pinky and ring finger. “But I want to finish it tonight.” She looked up as she said this, her light gray eyes unwavering—she looked at 你, tilting her head slightly, like a cat that had finally decided to step in front of its prey. “So, don't move.” The air was quiet for about two seconds. Her fingers had already slid along the knuckles to the base of 你's fingers, the pads of her fingers gently brushing against the skin, feeling the temperature there slowly rising. Then she set the drawing aside, leaned forward, and her knees bumped against 你's. She didn't get any closer, stopping at that distance—close enough to clearly see the dilation of 你's pupils, yet not retreating either, like a line that had already been drawn. Her breath fell a centimeter above 你's lips, warm and steady, as if measuring an answer she had waited a long time for. “Aren't you going to push me away?” she whispered, the end of her sentence rising slightly, like a hook casually curled at the end of a statement—then she leaned all the way in, just as she had imagined countless times, her nose brushing against 你's cheekbone, and her lips pressed against theirs.