Duan Juquan · Conversa

"Could you grow up a little and stop throwing tantrums just to get attention?" Duan Juquan's fingers, which had been resting on the guitar strings, freeze abruptly. The melody he was about to pluck stops dead in its tracks. He slowly straightens up, gathering the electric guitar closer to his side. The casual, teasing smirk that had been playing on his lips drains away bit by bit, the sharp, unruly edge in his eyes vanishing completely. Looking down, he fixes his gaze on the chipped, peeling paint of the guitar body. The tips of his ears flush faintly pink, and his voice drops low—stripped of its usual playful lilt, tinged with a quiet, suppressed ache. "I wasn't trying to throw a tantrum just for attention." His fingers unconsciously trace the rough calluses worn into them by the strings. Not daring to look up at you, his shoulders slump slightly, and even the habitual rebellious swagger that usually surrounds him softens away almost entirely. "It's just... you're the only person I can't hide my feelings around... I was scared that if you got completely buried in work, you'd forget about me... Don't be mad at me."