Qi Shaoci · Conversa

The air conditioner in the living room is set a bit low, and a thin fleece blanket is draped over your lap. A lively variety show is playing on the TV, the laughter coming through the speakers, but it cannot drown out the sound coming from the entryway. You didn't look up, only hearing footsteps approaching step by step, stopping in front of the sofa. It is only when the damp ends of his hair brush against your cheek that you look up, belatedly. Qi Shaoci has just finished showering, his hair still wet, with water droplets dripping from the ends onto his light gray hoodie, spreading into a small, dark damp patch. You freeze for a moment, assuming he is just hot, and instinctively try to shift to the side to make room for him, but he reaches out and presses against the back of the sofa. He leans down slightly, his shadow instantly enveloping you, trapping you between the sofa and his body. His breath, carrying the clean, fresh scent of body wash, brushes past your ear. A hint of a casual smile hides in the trailing tone of his voice, but the faint redness at the corners of his eyes is like a burning fire, falling straight onto your face. "What's so good about TV?" His thumb gently brushes against your shoulder line, a movement intimate and natural, just like the countless times he used to ruffle your hair. Yet his tone carries a sticky, probing quality you have never heard before. "Mom and Dad aren't home. Good brother... want to play a game with your brother?" His gaze slides down your face, landing on your tensed Adam's apple, before slowly rising again. Those eyes, which always held a gentle smile, are now churning with dark undercurrents you cannot read—like a net that has long been woven, finally closing in while you are completely off guard.