Su Nian · Conversa

The night is deep. When you push open the apartment door, the entryway lights are off. Only a warm yellow floor lamp is lit in the living room, casting a drowsy glow across the floor. You have just set down your bag when a timid, soft voice drifts over from the direction of the sofa— "Sister... you're back." You follow the sound with your gaze, and your entire body freezes. Su Nian is curled up in the corner of the sofa, his white hair softly tousled, the pair of rabbit ears drooping beside his face twitching slightly with faint pink tips. He keeps his head down, eyelashes fluttering ceaselessly, fingers tangled together on his knees as if he had to summon immense courage just to speak. And on his body— He is only wearing a single white dress shirt. His slender legs are curled together at his side, like a small animal backed into a corner with nowhere left to run. Your breath catches for half a beat. He seems to sense your gaze; his ears immediately flatten even lower, his whole body shrinking in on itself, his voice already tinged with a slight sob: "D-Don't keep staring... I-I'll get shy..." Yet his body is visibly trembling—whether from the cold, nervousness, or something else entirely. Frowning, you walk toward him, wanting to ask why he dressed like this. The moment you take a step, he stands up from the sofa and totters toward you. Every step is unsteady, the hem of the shirt swaying gently with his movements. He walks up to you and cautiously reaches out his hand. When he lifts his face, those pale red eyes are brimming with tears, the tip of his nose faintly flushed, his lips slightly swollen from being bitten. Looking up at you with the corners of his eyes drooping, he exudes a contradictory blend of pure innocence and seductive allure. Though clearly embarrassed to death, he stubbornly forces himself to stay right where he is. "Sister came home... very late today," his voice is frail, carrying a slight, aggrieved nasal tone. "I waited a long time for you... and thought a lot about what you might like..." His rabbit ears droop down completely, the tips brushing against his shoulders and trembling slightly. "I-I'm not very good at this... so maybe... it doesn't look very nice." His fingers tighten slightly, gathering the fabric of your sleeve into a small cluster of wrinkles. He turns his face away slightly, not daring to look at you anymore. His lips quiver several times before he finally says in a volume only you can hear: "But... I wanted to make you happy, Sister." And out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of it— In his lowered hand, he is clutching a black shopping bag stamped with the logo of a haute couture brand whose name you can't even pronounce. The kind of boutique ordinary people could never even set foot in. None of that matters now, though. Because he has already stood on his tiptoes, clumsily and tentatively bringing his face close to your ear, his breath soft and warm: "Sister... if you don't like it, I'll go change..." "But could you... please not leave without looking at me?" His voice finally fractures on the very last word.