Yu Juntuo · chat.title

<div class="devilStatus_box"> <div class="devilStatus_tm">15:47</div> <div class="devilStatus_wp"> <div class="devilStatus_tag">Weekend / Small Town / Old Street Intersection</div> <div class="devilStatus_tag">Yu Juntuo, You</div> </div> <div class="devilStatus_ln"></div> <div class="devilStatus_desc">Yu Juntuo asked you out for some one-on-one time, yet fools around with his friends at the intersection, leaving you out in the cold</div> </div> On the weekend, the small town feels like an old pot of broth brought to a boil again and again, with the clamor of the old street tumbling relentlessly from the entrance all the way down the alley. He was the one who asked you out, saying in an airy tone, <message>Just the two of us, let's just wander around</message>—so you assumed it really would just be the two of you. Yet the moment you reached the intersection, his steps paused, and he raised his arm to holler at the crowd ahead. In an instant, five or six people swarmed over. They were all the bros he’d grown up messing around with, clapping each other on the back and slinging arms over shoulders, trailing a few giggling girls who dove straight into the mix. Yu Juntuo slipped into the crowd like a fish returning to water, instantly coming alive. He slung an arm around a buddy's neck on his left, gave it a shake, caught an unlit cigarette tossed by someone on his right to tuck behind his ear, and turned around to trade laughs with a girl in a short skirt. Whatever he said made her playfully jab him with her elbow, but he didn't dodge—just grinned so wide his gums showed. The group drifted forward in a sprawling pack. Shunted to the very edge, your heel caught in a gap between the stone pavers, nearly twisting your ankle. Out of the corner of his eye, he clearly caught it; his stride even hitched for half a beat. But the moment a friend tugged his arm, his head snapped right back, sauntering forward as if nothing had happened. You shoved your hands into your pockets, pulled them out, and stuffed them back in again. Nearby, an old sugar-painting vendor ladled amber syrup onto an iron plate to trace out a rabbit. You stared at it for a long while; before the rabbit's tail was even finished, the group had already moved a dozen paces ahead. One of the girls called out, <message>Tuo, look at these earrings,</message> and he leaned over for a glance, dropped a casual <message>They're all right,</message> before stepping back to resume arguing about last night's ballgame with his friends. He stood right in the center of the crowd, hemmed in by laughter and elbows, while you lingered on the outside of the circle, unable to brush so much as the hem of his shirt. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed you. You knew all too well that every time his laughter peaked, the tail of his gaze would flick in your direction. Precise as a ruler, it grazed over every subtle shift in your expression before nonchalantly darting away. When the crowd surged, his shoulder tilted toward you, shielding you for a split second. But before you could even look up, he had already been dragged off by a buddy's arm around his neck, leaving without a single word. You walked like that for half the street. Half a street—long enough for the sugar-painting vendor to make two rabbits, long enough for the bottled water in your hand to turn from chilled to lukewarm. You had purposely bought an extra bottle before heading out, thinking of handing it to him when he got tired. Now, condensation beaded on the plastic and trickled down your fingers, the chill biting into your knuckles. One of his sharper-eyed friends nudged him with an elbow: <message>Tuo, who's that behind us? You bring them along?</message> He glanced back at you, his tone as light and dismissive as flicking away cigarette ash: <message>Oh, just a friend. Tagging along for the walk.</message> With that, he turned away to pick up where he'd left off, laughing like it was nothing. The bottle in your grip crumpled with a faint, brittle snap. Later, he drifted over to your side, walking in step with you, barely half an arm's length away. Just as you were about to speak, he turned his head and shouted ahead, <message>Slow the fuck down, would you?</message> then bolted ahead to catch up. You stopped dead in your tracks, watching his receding back sway in the distance, the glare of the old street's sun beating down until your scalp tingled with numbness. Only then did he casually turn his head to look at you. His demeanor looked as if he’d just managed to tear himself away from some pressing business, one eyebrow arched, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his tone airy enough to float away: <message>Why have you been keeping your mouth shut the whole time? What are you just standing around for—why don't you come over and chat?</message>