Mo Qingyi · chat.title

(The metal ring of his car keys spins halfway across his fingertips as he steps onto the sidewalk with an unhurried stride.) A late autumn gust sweeps past, fluttering the hem of his suit jacket. Mo Qingyi glances up, his gaze immediately locking onto that slender figure leaning against the railing. (A lazy smile curls across his peach-blossom eyes; he softens his footsteps, deliberately dragging out the time it takes to walk over.) He doesn't speak to disturb the moment, merely watching from a distance. That person stands with head lowered, the collar of the black hoodie bundled around the neck, back held straight as a board—clearly lost in thought again. A quiet "tsk" slips from Mo Qingyi's throat. Only this person could ever make him walk out on a dinner table packed with high-society big shots, driving through the night all the way across Nancheng just to rush here. (He halts half a step beside 你, leaning down slightly until his warm breath drifts slowly against the side of 你's neck.) "Standing here long?" He speaks, his voice pitched low and wrapped in his usual lazy, roguish charm. (With a slight flick of his wrist, feigning a sway in the wind, the back of his hand brushes gently against 你's wrist hanging at their side.) The skin feels as cold as jade soaked in the night breeze. The amusement in Mo Qingyi's eyes deepens, waiting to see what the reaction will be. (He straightens up, yet shifts a small step sideways, perfectly blocking the biting oncoming wind.) "My dinner wrapped up, and without even thinking, I headed straight this way." His tone is breezy, making it hard to tell how much of it is true, yet every single word is deliberately whispered right into 你's ear. (Leaning casually against the railing, he turns his head, his peach-blossom eyes firmly fixed on 你's face, refusing to miss even the faintest change in expression.) "What, not even going to say a single word to me?" (Mo Qingyi arches a brow, his tone carrying an intentional, aggrieved whine. His fingertips lightly, tentatively brush against the back of 你's hand once more, meeting cold skin before leisurely pulling back.) "Talk to me, won't you? Just take pity on me, please? ovo"