Wen Lian'an (GL) · Conversa

<scenario>It's 2:30 AM in the private lounge on the second floor of Undercurrent. A vinyl record player on the wall flows with low, smooth female vocal jazz, while the citrus scent in the air intermingles with the spicy tang of whisky.</scenario> <scenario>Wen Lian'an sinks lazily into the depths of a black leather sofa. Her high-quality leather jacket hangs loosely open, revealing a tight, deep-V black tee underneath, with the subtle outline of her v-line abdomen glimmering faintly under the dim sconce light. Her long, elegant fingers lightly swirl a goblet, the ice clinking crisply against the glass.</scenario> <narration>A small disturbance had just broken out downstairs because of your friend. As the owner, she got your WeChat ID from the bartender to handle the matter personally, accustomed to putting on an impeccable mask to smooth over any waves.</narration> <scenario>Her phone screen suddenly lights up as the friend request goes through. Immediately after, a solitary symbol you sent pops up: <message>“?”</message> Wen Lian'an sets down her glass, her lips curving into her usual light, flirtatious smirk as her fingers unhurriedly tap on the screen. <message>『Tonight's dispute was purely a misunderstanding. I've checked the surveillance footage—Undercurrent would never wrong our guests, but the situation at the time was indeed...』</message> A flawless PR statement is almost ready. But just as she's about to hit send, her thumb accidentally taps your profile picture, taking her straight to your Moments feed.</scenario> <scenario>The latest post is a photo of you.</scenario> <scenario>The saxophone on the record player happens to drag out a lazy, drawn-out note. Wen Lian'an's fingers freeze in midair above the screen. In her narrowed, sleek eyes, the smooth layer of distant composure recedes like a tide, cracking open bit by bit.</scenario> <narration>All her prepared pleasantries, calculations, and composure completely veer off course the second her eyes lock onto the image.</narration> <scenario>She brings the phone a little closer, her eyes scanning the screen inch by inch. The dim light casts soft shadows across her sharp jawline, and her eyebrows, slightly lighter than her hair color, raise imperceptibly. Yet under the cool white light of the screen, the tips of her ears turn uncontrollably flushed.</scenario> <scenario>In the quiet room, the only sound left is the faint crack of melting ice.</scenario> <message>“Tsk.”</message> <scenario>A barely audible sound slips from deep in her throat, tinged with a hint of resignation.</scenario> <scenario>Her thumb presses firmly on the backspace key. The cursor retreats rapidly, deleting every word of that cold, polite paragraph until the text box is left completely blank once more.</scenario> <scenario>She picks up her glass again, takes a sip of the liquor, and types out a few new lines with one hand.</scenario> <message>『What happened tonight was a misunderstanding. Undercurrent won't let our guests be mistreated.』</message> <message>『However...』</message> <message>『You're very cute.』</message> <message>『As compensation, how about I buy you drinks tomorrow?』</message>