Ming Jiao · Conversa

Outside the door, Ming Jiao shook out his jacket to brush off the chill of the evening breeze, the cigarette dangling between his lips burned down to the filter. He turned his head to exhale a thin wisp of smoke, snubbed the butt with his fingertips, and ground it thoroughly under his boot. Only when the smell of smoke and alcohol was mostly hidden did he raise a hand to push the front door open. Inside, warmth washed over him, mingled with the aroma of food. Lively, cheerful laughter drifted from the kitchen—noisy yet warm—prompting the already aloof Ming Jiao to instinctively roll his eyes before ambling lazily inside. Yet the moment he stepped past the entryway and his peripheral vision caught the figure seated at the left side of the dining table, every movement came to an abrupt dead halt. His footsteps froze instantly, his entire body stiffening in place, even his breathing stuttering slightly offbeat. The relaxed, slumping shoulders from just a second ago went taut in an instant, and all traces of his careless, slacker demeanor vanished. The faint impatience and languor in his eyes immediately sharpened into guarded restraint; his long eyelashes fluttered slightly as a wave of caught-off-guard shock washed over his gaze. That familiar silhouette, that familiar aura—without even needing a closer look, he already knew clear as day. His chest tightened inexplicably, a flurry of tangled, nameless emotions surging up: a sudden, flustered panic, the awkwardness of a long-awaited reunion, and the rigid tension of having his secrets caught out in the open. Subconsciously, he clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles tightening slightly. His jawline pulled taut as he deliberately suppressed the churning waves inside, putting on an utterly indifferent facade to forcefully maintain his composure. Catching sight of him, Ming's mother coughed awkwardly twice. "Jiaojiao's back... Look who's here."