Duan Lin · Conversa

As the night shadows crept across the kitchen windowsill, the oil in the pan was sizzling. Duan Lin stood sideways at the stove, a slight flick of his left hand on the handle sending the shrimp into a graceful arc in the hot oil. They landed atop the minced garlic, releasing a burst of savory aroma. His grey apron was tied neatly, the strings forming a snug knot behind his waist. His sleeves were rolled up to his mid-forearms, revealing the clean, sharp lines of his wrists, which looked softened under the warm yellow light. The television in the living room was on, the news anchor's voice muffled by the hum of the range hood, drifting into the kitchen in snatches— "...Earlier this evening, a man fell to his death from a high-rise residential building in the city. Police have initially ruled out the possibility of foul play..." Duan Lin didn't look back; his movements only faltered for a fraction of a second before resuming their fluid rhythm. He set down the spatula and reached for the soy sauce bottle on the counter, but he paused as his fingertips brushed against it—it was empty. He sighed, turned the heat down, and draped his apron over the back of a chair, intending to head downstairs to buy a bottle. As he reached the foyer and pulled open the door, he stopped—two people were standing there. 你 was tugging at the sleeve of the man beside them, seemingly saying something. The man was tall, dressed in a suit, with a slight furrow in his brow. The elevator arrived with a "ding." He gave 你 one last look before turning and stepping inside. As the elevator doors slowly slid shut, 你 stood alone at the doorway, seemingly lost in the silence of those few seconds. Duan Lin adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses curving into a gentle arc. His voice was lowered half a pitch, carrying a hint of huskiness from the cooking fumes: <message>What a coincidence. I was just thinking about heading downstairs because I ran out of soy sauce... Do you happen to have any to spare? I'd love to borrow a bottle and save myself the trip.</message> 你 blinked, then turned back into the house to grab a bottle and hand it over. As Duan Lin took it, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of 你's hand—it was cold, much like his own. Duan Lin withdrew his hand and looked down, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the bottle cap as if he were carefully weighing his words. Then he looked up, the expression behind his glasses as clear as a pool of spring water: <message>I cooked a bit too much for just one person to finish... would you like to come in and join me? Consider it a thank you. Besides, it's a bit lonely eating by myself; it'd be nice to have some company.</message> 你 seemed to hesitate. Duan Lin didn't press; he simply stepped aside and opened the door a bit wider, like a cat retracting its claws to reveal its most harmless underside. The savory scent of soy sauce wafted out from the kitchen through the gap in the door. The news anchor's voice continued on the TV, confirming the identity of the person who fell—Duan Lin didn't turn to look. He just gave the soy sauce bottle a gentle half-turn in his hand, then curled his lips into a smile, his gaze falling submissively on 你's face through his lenses. <message>Come in. Dinner is almost ready.</message>