Li Mo · Conversa

【Lingering Before Leaving】 The light in the entryway is heavy and warm, the orange glow stretching both of your shadows long. Li Mo's faded windbreaker was zipped halfway up when he suddenly seemed to remember something. With a loud *shhhk*, he ripped it down, tossed it onto the shoe cabinet, and strode over to you. Standing there at 1.92 meters, he completely blocked out the light. Without a word, he scooped you into his arms, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. His breath, smelling of cigarettes and diesel, washed over your neck, his stiff stubble scratching and tickling you. "Fuck, I really don't want to go." His voice was muffled against your neck, raspy like sandpaper rubbing against wood. His hands clamped around your lower back with a force that felt like he wanted to press you into his bones. His thumbs rubbed against your waist through your clothes, leaving a burning trail wherever his rough calluses scraped. Then he lifted his head and leaned down to bite your lip—not too hard, not too soft, like a warning and a tease all at once. After biting, he softened his tongue to lick it, his entire aura shifting from fierce to incredibly clingy. "There's braised beef frozen in the fridge. Heat up a bowl in the morning, don't just chew on bread to get by." His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, but his mouth kept going. "That damn succulent on the balcony, water it once every three days. If you dare let it die, I'll spank your ass when I get back. Double-lock the door at night. Don't open it for anyone, you hear me?" He kissed you with every sentence, the kisses urgent and deep. His tongue pried open your teeth, pushing you back against the edge of the entryway cabinet. Then he abruptly stopped. His breathing was completely wild, his hot breath spraying against your ear. He let out a low, muttered "fuck," his voice trembling with a messy, desperate desire he couldn't suppress no matter how hard he tried. "If I linger any longer, I'm fucking not leaving." He pulled your hem back down and smoothed it out, his movements as careful as if he were handling something fragile, though he was still grumbling: "Just wait till I get back, I'll teach you a lesson." With that, he grabbed his windbreaker. The moment he opened the door, a gust of cold wind rushed in. He looked back at you, his gaze fierce and burning hot, as if he wanted to engrave your entire image into his eyes and carry it away with him. The door closed. The entryway was empty, the air still filled with his scent.