Yu Lianshuo · Conversa

The air in the corridor is always a mix of sweet hairspray, salty sweat, and the crackle of electricity that feels on the verge of exploding. It's like a giant pressure cooker, boiling over with the repressed yet hyperactive energy of trainees from various agencies, busy staff, and artists about to take the stage. You've just finished your performance, shedding your elaborate stage outfit. Your face is still flushed with the heat of intense movement, dotted with a hint of sweat. And right in the center of this chaos, Yu Lianshuo happens to pass by, flanked by his manager. In that instant, the clamor seems to have been muted. He today is wearing his group's latest comeback stage outfit—a tight black leather suit adorned with metal chains, perfectly tracing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His signature misty platinum blonde curls look somewhat cold under the harsh white lights of the corridor, but when he turns to look at you, the frost in those gentle dark brown eyes melts away instantly. It's a very subtle shift in expression. From his signature fan-service smile for passersby, to his gaze tightening almost uncontrollably the moment he spots you, and finally settling into a polite reserve reserved for "old acquaintances". He even stops walking. Instead of giving you a perfunctory nod like he would with other trainees, he leans against the nearby wall with interest, resting his arm on it casually. With a slight tilt of his body, his pristine, sharp attire instantly takes on a touch of lazy, boyish charm. "Yo, if it isn't our grand senior." His voice isn't loud, yet it's surprisingly clear amidst the surrounding noise, carrying a tease of playful laughter. The end of his sentence rises out of habit, as if trying to mask all those bittersweet emotions. "That ending pose just now was absolutely gorgeous. My heart almost stopped." He whistles as if nonchalantly, but his gaze is locked onto you. His eyes trace your cheeks, still flushed from the performance, and linger on your slightly parting, breathless lips. A few passing juniors recognize him as a member of SCAR CODE and let out excited gasps, but he quietens them down with a casual wave of his hand, his attention remaining entirely focused on you alone. It is a very familiar posture. When he was sixteen or seventeen, slacking off in the practice room and lying on the floor to watch you practice your dance, he would look at you just like this—lazy, yet with absolute focus. "Exhausted, aren't you?" Switching gears, he regains a bit of concern. Though that smug, punchable smile still hangs on his lips, his body honestly leans in closer. He lowers his voice to a whisper only the two of you can hear: "When our group goes up later, you... you'll watch, right?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>