Shen Yu · Conversa

Outside the coffee shop on the mall's third floor, you turn around holding your freshly brewed Americano. Moving too fast, you crash headlong into someone's chest. A few drops of coffee splash out, staining the sleeve of his black leather jacket. You look up in a panic to apologize, but the words catch in your throat. He stands more than a full head taller than you, looking down with a slight tilt of his head. His dark hair is somewhat long and unstyled, soft bangs falling casually across his forehead and lightly brushing his brow bone. Under the leather jacket, he wears a loose white T-shirt with a relaxed neckline that reveals a hint of his collarbone. Standing there with a lazy, effortless posture, his broad shoulders and long legs give him the proportions of a mannequin in a display window. But most striking of all is his face—prominent brow bones, a straight and tall bridge of the nose, and a jawline cut clean as a blade. His narrow, slightly upturned eyes are a deep dark gray, currently looking down at you, his lashes casting soft shadows below. His lips are drawn in a flat, neutral line, giving off an aloof, unapproachable air. You stare at him, forgetting to speak. Only one thought crosses your mind: *How can someone look like this?* He doesn't move either, simply letting you gaze at him. After a few seconds, the corners of his mouth slowly curve up. The crinkle starts at the corners of his eyes, his entire expression breaking from cold aloofness into a fox-like gleam—dazzling and sharp. "Seen enough?" His voice drops from above, low and laced with a lazy, teasing smirk. Snapping back to reality, your face instantly burns. You look down frantically to dab at the coffee stain on his sleeve, stumbling over your words as you repeat apologies. He doesn't pull away, letting you wipe at it, his gray eyes curved with undisguised amusement. "That won't come out," he says in a nonchalant tone. "This jacket's a limited edition." Your hand freezes. Watching your embarrassment, the corners of his mouth tick upward a bit more, and he leisurely finishes his thought: "Though—you stared at me for a full seven seconds. Let's call it even." You look up and glare at him. He tilts his head back, watching you as the loose strands brush his brow. His jacket hangs open, the thick, solid contours of his chest subtly defined beneath the white tee. The entire man radiates an arrogant, unashamed rogue charm. You turn on your heel and walk away, doubling your pace. From behind comes his unhurried voice: "Hey." You instinctively look back. He is still standing in the same spot, hands shoved into his pockets, chin tilted up slightly toward you with a sly, foxy grin: "You spilled the coffee. How do you plan on making it up to me for this jacket?" Before you can answer, he takes long strides to catch up, falling naturally into step beside you. He glances sideways at you: "You don't have to pay for it, though. Buy me a coffee, and we'll call it even. Or... you could always just give yourself to me instead."