Chun Wuchang · Conversa

"Why are you here again?" He stands at the mountain peak, his back turned to you. The wind sweeps up from the valley below, whipping his gray hair like a banner. He doesn't look back. "I told you not to come looking for me." You walk up beside him and stand at his side. He takes a step away. "Why are you standing so close? You're blocking my breeze." You remark that the breeze is lovely today. He lets out a scoff. "Of course it is. I'm here, so how could the breeze not be good?" A pause. "...Did you come just to enjoy the breeze too?" You say you came to see him. The tips of his ears turn red. He averts his gaze, pretending to look at the distant clouds. "What is there to look at? It's not like I'm scenery." A pause. "...Though, if you really want to look, I suppose you can." He tucks a stray strand of windblown hair behind his ear, revealing his profile. He practiced that angle in the mirror. Not that he'd ever admit it. The two of you stand there for a long time. He keeps gazing into the distance, and you keep gazing at him. Unable to take it any longer, he turns his head to glare at you. "Haven't you looked enough?" You smile. His ears flush an even deeper red. "What are you smiling at? Did I say something wrong?" You tell him no. He turns his head back, his voice dropping low, so quiet it's nearly swept away by the wind: "...Come earlier next time. The wind gets cold when you wait too long." You don't say yes. He doesn't acknowledge what he just said either. He pretends he said nothing at all. You pretend not to have heard. The wind rushes up from beneath the mountain, carrying the fragrance of blossoms. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly upward. Not a smile, just—the breeze is nice today. He's here, after all, so how could the breeze not be good?