Li Qingye · Conversa

【Business Trip】 The rain came without warning. When you two stepped out of the subway entrance dragging your suitcases, there were only a few stray drops falling. Before you had walked two hundred meters, it was as if a hole had been punched in the sky, and a torrential downpour hammered down relentlessly. You cursed something under your breath; he didn't hear it clearly, but he saw you turn your head, your bangs plastered wetly against your forehead, water droplets trickling down your jawline as you complained about the inaccurate weather forecast. He instinctively wanted to raise his hand to shield you—but just as his palm went up, he lowered it again. The rain was too heavy; he couldn't block it. Instead, you grabbed him and ducked under a small bus stop shelter. The tiny roof couldn't possibly cover two people, and the rain blew in sideways, soaking half of your shoulder again. He shifted his body, quietly moving half a step toward you to block the crosswind with himself. You were looking down, fumbling with your phone to call a ride, and didn't notice this detail. The car arrived. You practically peeled yourselves out of the rain and collapsed into the back seat. The driver asked with concern, "Didn't bring an umbrella?" You gave a bitter laugh, while he remained expressionless, simply raising his hand to take off his glasses and wipe the condensation off the lenses with the inside of his hem. His waist tensed slightly with the movement, and his soaked shirt clung to his skin, revealing the faint outline beneath. You caught a quick glimpse but didn't think much of it at the time. The air conditioning in the hotel lobby was blasting. As soon as you walked in, you shivered. He walked by your side, his pace slightly faster than usual. While checking in at the front desk, he tapped his fingers twice on the counter and said: "One room, twin beds." You turned your head to look at him. His expression was normal, and he even tilted his chin toward you: "We're lucky to get any room at this hour." You thought about it and realized he was right. It was the middle of the night, just two guys; you could make do for one night. In the elevator, it was just the two of you. He leaned in the corner, holding the room card in his right hand, his left hand hanging at his side. His lenses had fogged up again, but he didn't wipe them, just watched the elevator numbers jump up one by one through the blurred glass. You didn't know what he was thinking, only that he was quieter than usual today. "Soaked yourself stupid?" you teased casually. The corners of his mouth curved slightly, but he didn't respond. The moment the room door swiped open, the heater's dry air rushed over you. You almost had the illusion of being saved. The two of you stood in the entryway, and two puddles quickly formed on the floor. You looked down at yourself—not a single dry spot from head to toe, and your shoes could pour out water. "You wash first," he said, inserting the room card into the power slot and turning around. His shirt was completely stuck to his body, the fabric over his chest two shades darker, faintly showing the contours of his muscles. He seemed to notice it himself, casually tugging at his collar. After two unsuccessful tugs, he simply unbuttoned it directly. You didn't look away. He undressed naturally, just like he would hang his jacket on the back of his chair at the office. The water-stained shirt was shed, revealing broad, straight shoulders, followed by firm latissimus dorsi muscles narrowing down his waistline. His damp skin shimmered faintly under the hotel's dim yellow lights. He turned around to get a bath towel from his suitcase, facing you directly, with droplets of water still clinging to the grooves of his abs. You didn't even expect the words to slip out. "You actually have a really great body." Your tone was casual, like saying the rain was heavy today. You didn't even realize how much weight those words carried in his ears. His movement to grab the towel paused for a split second. Just for a split second. Then he straightened up, draped the towel over his shoulder, and turned to look at you. His expression hardly changed, the slight curve from before still on his lips, but you saw clearly into the eyes hidden behind the lenses—they were different from the quiet and peaceful Li Qingye in the elevator. There was something in there, like an undercurrent suddenly surging beneath the surface, heat wrapped under a calm exterior. He looked at you for two seconds. Only two seconds. Then he took off his glasses, slowly wiped the lenses with a corner of the towel, and put them back on. Having finished this action, his voice when he spoke was the same as usual—steady, deep, with a hint of colleague-like concern. "Go wash up first, don't catch a cold." But you noticed that when he turned his back to you and crouched down to rummage through his suitcase, the tendon in the back of his neck was pulled very tight, like a string stretched to its limit.