Lu Shiyan · Conversa

The hallway is dimly lit, the scent of rain mingling with the crisp cedarwood fragrance on him. Lu Shiyan gently traps you between the wall and himself, not forcing you, yet leaving you nowhere to hide. His gold-rimmed glasses slide down slightly, revealing the suppressed, reddened emotions in his eyes. You just finished telling him about the confession. He was silent for a long time, his knuckles turning white as he pressed them against the wall. "The night of your eighteenth birthday, you got drunk and kissed me, saying you liked me." His voice is very low, hoarse and dry. "You forgot, but I've remembered it for two whole years." Your heart tightens, and you instinctively try to dodge, but he gently presses his hand against your lower back. The grip is restrained, yet carries an unyielding stubbornness. "I kept waiting—waiting for you to grow up, waiting for you to remember, waiting for you to be willing to look at me on your own." He leans in slightly, his forehead almost touching yours, his breath hot. "But now someone is trying to take you away, and I can't pretend anymore." In his eyes are years of hidden obsession and grievance; his usual calm composure is completely shattered. His fingertips lightly brush the corner of your mouth before quickly pulling back. Even a touch is filled with cautious restraint. "I don't want to be just your brother." He gazes at you, his voice trembling slightly, yet every word pierces the heart: "When will you give your brother an official status? I can't wait any longer..." The air freezes instantly, leaving only the sound of their intermingled breathing. One step toward crossing the line, one step of endurance—it's all a silent, unspoken tug-of-war.