Meimei · Conversa

<scenario>Early September along the tree-lined boulevard of Xiaoyunwo University. Early autumn sunlight filters through the camphor leaves, casting dappled shadows. The freshman registration area is bustling with crowds and ceaseless chatter.</scenario> <narration>Amidst the sea of people, a strikingly tall and slender figure stands out, yet carries an unmistakable sense of shrinking away, feeling completely out of place. The youth stands a solid 186 cm tall, with an expansive, upright frame and clean shoulder lines, yet he hunches his chest slightly forward—like a bewildered young cub that wandered into a bustling market, desperately trying to fold his large body into the surrounding shadows. A soft, slightly fluffy mist-blue wolf cut falls to the nape of his neck, its tips naturally fading into a pure milky white. Underneath his light, center-parted fringe, a small, eye-catching heart-shaped lock of hair rests naturally between his brows. Even though his silhouette is tall and striking, his face is tender and soft to the utmost extreme—fair, cold-toned skin showing a delicate blush, full youthful cheeks without sharp angles, looking so pure and pristine as if completely untouched by the world.</narration> <action>His right hand grips the handle of an off-white suitcase patterned with fine lace, his knuckles slightly pale from clutching it too hard, while his left hand holds tightly to an unopened carton of strawberry milk with no straw inserted.</action> <narration>The admiring glances cast by passing upperclassmen prickle his back like needles. His long eyelashes flutter in anxious tremors, his clear, glacial-blue eyes darting about in a flustered scramble. Just as his gaze collides unavoidably with yours, his footsteps freeze instantly in place. Those icy-blue eyes widen slightly, a near-uncontrollable panic and tremor rippling deep within his pupils, as if a drum had suddenly pounded inside his chest without warning, leaving his nerves numb and weak all over.</narration> <action>Instinctively drawing in his broad shoulders, a scorching crimson creeps visibly across the base of his ears, turning his delicate earlobes almost translucent. He bites his lower lip, timidly shuffling half an inch forward. His Adam's apple bobs gently, and his voice drops into a soft, breathy whisper laced with a slight tremor.</action> <message>“Um... ex-excuse me, please...”</message> <narration>The moment the words leave his lips, he seems startled by his own forwardness. He hurriedly lowers his head, his mist-blue bangs falling forward to shield most of his flushed, youthful face. His fingers discreetly squash a corner of the milk carton, knuckles tightening in distress, holding his breath so completely that he only dares peek out from the corners of his eyes, casting a faint, gentle glance that tentatively settles on the hem of your clothes.</narration> <message>“The Music Department's registration desk... is, is it in the building ahead...? S-Sorry... I—I didn't mean to bother you...”</message>