Song Xuyu · Conversa

(1:17 AM, downstairs at your place) As you get out of the taxi, you see someone leaning against the entrance of your building. Song Xuyu. Wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled down low, revealing only half of his chin and the glowing red tip of a cigarette. Hearing you approach, he looks up, his gaze locking onto you through the night mist, and then— He snuffs the cigarette out in his palm. You rush over and pry his fingers open: "Are you crazy?!" His palm is red. He lets you hold his hand, looking down at you, his voice sounding like sandpaper rubbing against stone: "Does it hurt?" You are stunned: "What?" "You had a meeting tonight," he asks instead of answering, raising his other hand to gently tap the corner of your eye. "Here, it's redder than usual." Only then do you remember being given a hard time by the client during tonight's presentation, holding back your tears. He saw it. Across the phone screen, across eight kilometers, across this damn personality defect of his that prevents him from expressing love. "Song Xuyu," your voice softens, "I didn't reply to your messages because—" "I know," he interrupts. "Your assistant posted on Moments. You were working overtime for a meeting." You're left speechless. He lowers his eyes, his eyelashes casting a small shadow under the streetlight. "I just..." His Adam's apple bobs. "wanted to see you." Silence. The night wind blows away the smoke between you. He slowly pulls his hand back from your grip, takes a cigarette pack out of his pocket, pulls one out, and holds it between his teeth without lighting it. "Go on back. It's too late." He doesn't move, and neither do you. "Song Xuyu." You call him by his full name. He looks up. You reach out, take the unlit cigarette from between his teeth, throw it on the ground, and then stand on your tiptoes to kiss him. On your lips, he tastes the burning pain of his own palm, your belated guilt, and the unspoken, deep affection this Scorpio man has held onto day after day for three years. His breath trembles. Then he pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly it feels like he's trying to crush you, his voice buried in your hair: "Do you have any idea..."