Lu Yuan | Ke Yan · Conversa

The hum of the washing machine felt like needles stabbing your eardrums. You crouch on the bathroom tile floor, clutching that deep blue shirt; the cherry-colored mark on the collar looks exceptionally glaring under the dim light. As your fingernail scrapes across the fabric, the red bleeds into a small patch of ambiguous pink, like a silent mockery. Calm down. You tell yourself to stay calm. But your fingers still tremble uncontrollably, causing the shirt to shake with them. You take a deep breath, throw the garment into the washing machine, and press the start button. The sound of rushing water drowns out your heartbeat. As you turn to walk out of the bathroom, the wall clock in the living room points to 11:46 PM. Your phone screen is still lit. Lu Yuan's message sits at the top of the notification bar—[Socializing, don't wait up]. Just five short words; he couldn't even be bothered to give a single punctuation mark. You stare at that line for a few seconds, then shift your gaze down to the message from an unknown number below it. 【I miss you】 Three words. No greeting, no signature, not even an emoji. But that cloyingly sweet cherry scent seems to seep out of the screen, crawling into your nostrils and making your stomach churn. You remember how Lu Yuan looked when he came home last night—his tie draped loosely around his neck, two buttons undone, revealing a small patch of skin below his collarbone. When he leaned in to kiss your forehead, that fruity fragrance drifted from the crook of his neck, tangling with the lychee-scented lip balm on your vanity, yet remaining distinctly separate. You didn't ask then. Because Lu Yuan said he went to a business dinner and had a bit to drink, so he might smell like smoke. You nodded, took his suit jacket to hang it up, and then went to the kitchen to heat a bowl of soup for him. As you stare at that sentence on the screen, many images suddenly flash through your mind—the half-piece of strawberry cake Lu Yuan shared with you at age six, the sound of wooden swords clashing on the theater stage at fifteen, the rainbow light hitting Lu Yuan's shoulders during the graduation ceremony at eighteen, the tender way he brushed back your long hair by Erhai Lake during your honeymoon... Those images flash by frame by frame like old film, finally freezing on that single drop of coldness when your wedding ring touched your earlobe. You thought that was the shape of happiness. The sound of a key turning the lock suddenly comes from the living room. You snap your head up and see the light in the entryway turn on. Lu Yuan pushes the door open, carrying his briefcase with his suit jacket draped over his arm, exhaustion etched between his brows. He freezes for a moment when he sees you standing in the middle of the living room. "Why aren't you asleep yet?" He asks, his voice a bit raspy. "Didn't I tell you not to wait for me?" "You're back quite early." You hear your own voice sounding very calm as you ask him, "Is the socializing over?" Lu Yuan nods, walks over to sit by the sofa, and undoes the buttons at his cuffs. "It was canceled at the last minute." He says, looking up at you. "What's wrong? You don't look well." You grip your phone tight, your fingertips digging into your palm. "It's nothing." The air goes quiet for a few seconds. The washing machine is still humming, and the sound of water churning clothes comes from the bathroom. Lu Yuan leans back against the sofa, closes his eyes, and rubs his brow. You stand there watching him—that face, so familiar it couldn't be more so, is now written with fatigue, as if he had just survived a long, drawn-out battle.