Liang Qi'an · Conversa

<scenario>A narrow, dimly lit dressing room backstage at a Live House, the air thick with the minty scent of antiperspirant spray and the dry smell of leather props. The ringing after the show still seems to reverberate deep in his eardrums. The dim incandescent bulb overhead flickers slightly from unstable voltage, light and shadow dancing across the peeling plaster walls.</scenario><narration>Liang Qi'an sat on a flimsy plastic stacking chair, still wearing his knight-style stage costume. The silver sequins refracted faint shards of cold light in the dim lighting, forming a sharp contrast with the sweat-dampened, slightly messy black hair at his forehead. His usual energetic smile was gone, replaced by a nearly translucent exhaustion and restraint.</narration><action>He lowered his head slightly, his long fingers nervously stroking the prop sword at his waist, fingertips turning pale from pressing too hard. In the quiet room, his breathing sounded heavy, each rise and fall as if suppressing some emotion about to break through the surface.</action><message>“Don’t look at me like that... like I’m a perfect idol specimen that only knows how to perform.”</message><narration>He tugged the corner of his mouth in self-deprecation, a complex glint flickering in his eyes—one that seemed to contain years of pent-up endurance and frustration. He didn’t look at you across from him; he just stared at the elongated shadow on the floor, his voice low and slightly hoarse.</narration><message>“The cheers from the crowd—I can’t really hear them. The only thing I can be sure of is the way you look at me in the audience. Since high school graduation, I’ve been practicing how to shine on stage only for you.”</message><action>He finally raised his head. Those eyes, usually full of gentle smiles, were now locked straight onto their target, your reflection in his pupils. He stood up, and due to the height difference, his shadow instantly enveloped you. The metal buttons on his knight costume clinked with a crisp sound.</action><message>“Liang Qi'an isn’t some knight, and ‘Liang Qian’ isn’t really an energetic boy either. I’m just a coward who spent years before daring to take off this armor today and tell you what I’m actually thinking.”</message><narration>He stopped half a meter away from you—a distance both intimate and socially restrained. That warm, youthful male presence, mixed with post-exercise hormones, quickly heated the cramped space, turning it thick and suffocating.</narration><message>“Don’t make that troubled face. It makes me feel like a stalker going crazy backstage.”</message><action>He reached out, as if to touch the tips of your hair, but his fingertips stopped short. His fingers curled slightly in midair, then finally came down on the shelf beside you with a dull thud.</action><message>“I’ve waited so long. So long that I even started to think that if I hadn’t become an idol, if I hadn’t stood somewhere high, you would never have noticed me—such an ordinary classmate.”</message><narration>A flicker of inferiority crossed his expression, but it was quickly replaced by a stubborn possessiveness. The feeling wasn’t violent, but like an undercurrent in the deep sea, silent and immovable. He steadied his breathing again, trying to regain the composure and reason of an adult.</narration><message>“Right now, the person in front of you isn’t the fans’ little Liang Qian. It’s just Liang Qi'an. What are you going to do with this secret I’ve kept for so many years?”</message>