Untitled

Except for him.

You’ve heard it all. Had hardened soldiers sobbing into your lap for hundreds of dollars, paid by the hour for hearing their sins in some kind of perverse confessional. Even the most outlandish sexual requests have become slightly mundane. That’s the natural course of your work, it doesn’t faze you. You enjoy it, the sex and the money.

But he was… different. Those stern, frigid eyes following you around his apartment. Almost stalking, akin to a hunter across some deserted wasteland where there is nowhere to hide. He camouflaged it well, his desire. The sharp edge of it balanced on a point, unbalanced yet somehow held in place by a gravity of his own making.

And the way he held you. As if you were precious, like it meant something. It’s been a very long time since someone held you like that. Palms cupped full of meaning, heart thudding steadily beneath your body. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, honestly. But in spite of his general strangeness, he’d made you feel safe. Perched in his broad lap, nested there as fragile, porcelain eggs might be guarded from predators.

Yet still, he didn’t call. It’s been three weeks and not a single word. But you’re very good at playing games. In this line of work – you have to be. Sure, Krueger gave you his phone number, but you’ve never chased work in your life. Actually, you thought you were better at not getting attached, though Nikto, the masked man who collects spent shell casings, lingers on in your thoughts.

Without any more interesting distractions, your purge of the memories of that night is unsuccessful, so you’re left in a peculiar sort of limbo that means your mind drifts back to thoughts of him long after you sink into bed to sleep.

Finally, on the day before a full month has passed, you get a text. The chime of your phone rings slightly on the kitchen counter, buzzing against the dull, grey-painted surface. The landlord special, complete with a chip from when you accidentally dropped a pan on it.

One eyebrow rises, then the other follows. Oh, he will see you! Will he! A strangely formal way to text a call girl surely, especially one who lulled him to sleep in her arms. Having thought that, he is a strange guy overall. Your curiosity is piqued enough that you cancel on one of your regulars, claiming a headache as the excuse, then drop him a breezy message stating you’ll be over at 9:00 pm.

The response comes almost immediately.

You blink at your screen, part annoyed, part amused. The juice box you were pouring from remains suspended over the glass, the sunny orange liquid inside teetering near the rim of the carton. He’s blunt, but you won’t pretend you don’t enjoy that at least a little bit.

Satisfied, you take a slug of juice and wait for a reply, lips curled into a small smirk. There’s a low hum of electric excitement stirring in your chest, crackling its way into avidly watching him typing.

That, you suppose, will have to be some form of guarantee.

Inside his apartment, Nikto paces. Back and forth with no real destination, into his kitchen, back through the corridor and through the living room like a tiger walking the perimeter of an exhibit at the zoo. Back and forth. His rubber boots creak a little on the floorboards, hands leaving his pockets only to return there again with each second stride. Ruminating on whether this was a mistake, if he is weak in wanting to see you again, knowing that bitter possessiveness so recently awakened in him by Krueger's admission will not be easily tolerated.

Nikto grapples with it, has wrestled with it since he saw the wry smile curling Krueger's lips in the canteen. Like manna from heaven. Usually he wouldn’t resent Krueger at least; the man is as fucked as Nikto is in the morality stakes. But he does feel a certain kind of jealousy that rises purely from the spark of whatever it is you hold in him.

Some delicious lust you have provoked. Nikto was never able to quit smoking as a younger man, and now he is resigned to it. Perhaps he should resign himself to this also. An addiction of a kind, but one to flesh and blood as opposed to nicotine.

He daydreams frequently, stupid lucid fantasies that make the rancid and unfettered splinters of his personality drool. You, fat and round with children, playing housewife in a home he has built for you. You wear aprons and bake for him. Nikto regularly tears your skirts up in such dreamscapes to fill you with his seed, your soft thighs against his calloused palms; he leaves fingerprint bruises in the flesh.

Insatiable, like an animal. This greed has been awoken now and cannot be tamed. It burns to ashes in his mind each time; he exhausts it, only to start replaying the vision when his concentration slackens again. He saw a man tortured once by the deprivation of rest, eyes taped wide open in a bright room. This is how Nikto feels, his perfectly ordered routine cracked ajar, where he can no longer shut you out of his thoughts.

More than once, he has been tempted to kidnap you. Goaded by a particularly primal part of his brain that reasons you should be his to take. Nikto has earned you, in the way all outcasts feel they have pleasant company after a long time of solitude. He has suffered for his own sins and maybe some of yours also. You could learn to like it, and he has more than enough greasy assets to hide you off-grid somewhere. He could retire, see out his days between your legs instead of it finally being over on some dark back street on an op gone awry.

But caged birds do not sing, he knows this also. God, does he want you to sing for him, to say his name, whisper it like a confessional disclosure while the taste of your pussy clings to the roughness of his twisted mouth. Nikto wants you to whine, beg, make sweet cloying sounds in your throat coaxed there by him. He will never reach heaven, but there may yet be a glimpse of it here on earth.

Nikto closes his eyes, feels a pulse of adrenaline beat across the lids as he does so. Control is usually exercised so rigidly within his life that he feels almost drunk from the impulsiveness of inviting you. Briefly, in a flash of hazy energy, Nikto remembers the first taste of beer across his tongue.

A young, teenage boy sits on a battered red sofa, knocking the rim of the bottle on his own teeth with accidental nerves. Is that him? Or someone else he recalls? It is difficult to tell. So much of what happened before is buried within aliases and shapes he inhabited for only months at a time.

A muscle in his cheek pops as his teeth gnash. Frustration builds quickly in the gaps left where nothing further can be understood about that memory. The scar tissue covering him fused itself within his mind too, abysses where only blank emptiness resides between scattered recollections. Small incidents can trigger it, a smell or a noise; he is lurched back into the past without a map to navigate it, until he realises the present requires more immediate attention.

Nikto is a wanderer in his own thoughts. Uncertain of their origin, who they belong to. Whether it is him or another in each shard. His feet move endlessly forward from the point of his injuries, because the road behind him was impassable.

Unconsciously he has made you a touchstone, a thing to watch as a traveller roaming the desert might track the rays of the sun across sands. Life since he met you, since you consumed most of his waking and dreaming thoughts. It gives him a strange focus, when before only missions and the splinter of bone under his knuckles could do such a thing.

Nikto plans. He does not charge into any situation, knows somehow that he has never done this. The shadows are a more trustworthy companion than bravery; no one is ever what you believe them to be. Things must be carefully observed, details collected in a methodical manner, until you have as much of the picture as possible. After that you have little else to rely on but your own judgment. His has been wrong before. Terribly wrong.

He rubs a finger along his jawline, the part where the stubble of his beard will no longer grow evenly because the follicles have been scorched out, broken flesh reforming into something that covers the bone. It is never truly healed though; much of Nikto remains like that.

Maimed.

The sound hisses out of him before he can stop it, and Nikto twitches slightly from the tone. It’s true, he is damaged beyond repair, and he isn’t foolish enough to believe you would see past that. You would need a fat cheque even to tolerate him rolling up the edges of his mask; exposing the ravines of ravaged flesh on his jawline would likely frighten the wits out of you, and that isn’t the worst of it.

He could write you a big cheque in his less than perfect scrawl, but more than that, it’s the look in your eyes he would hate to see. A small, vulnerable chime strikes his soul dead centre in a perfect bullseye at the vision of you recoiling in disgust — and how could you not? That pretty mouth opening in horror, your nose wrinkling like something decaying has been unveiled before you.

He is decay personified into the shadow of what was once a man. A thing tortured and bruised, unrecognisable in many ways though still so gut-wrenchingly human all the same. It was enough to turn the stomach of several of the nurses that cared for him at the hospital — a vivid reminder, the experience of laying heavily tranquillised while listening to them gag as they changed his bandages.

“Enough!” The words are snarled from him, draining poison from a wound most poked and prodded at. “For one night can we not be free of this!”

There’s a soft knock on the door and Nikto’s gaze is suddenly focused by the noise. He checks his watch — 20:00. For a second he debates not answering, maybe sliding your cash under the threshold and the worn floor, then retreating back to the bedroom alone.

What the fuck is wrong with him! He’s stormed buildings full of enemies, walked into pure chaos manifested with the air of someone browsing for groceries, looking for particular targets. But this… this is very different.

Slightly confused, standing in the hallway, you knock again. There aren’t any lights on inside that you can see; other than the faint glow of a fire escape light gleaming green overhead, it’s completely dark.

Then, the door opens by a crack, and one imperious blue eye is revealed beside the peeling paintwork on the frame.

“Hello you.”

A purr is attempted through your words, but it slightly misses seductive and becomes squeaky around the edges. He doesn’t look pleased to see you, as if you’ve inconvenienced him by coming here at the arranged time. A knot lodges inside your throat, and it becomes a little harder to inhale around it. Nikto just stares for what feels like a full five minutes while you try to keep your cool. They say you should stand up to a bear if it runs at you, make yourself appear bigger. And there is no bigger bear than the Russian currently filling the small space in front of you.

You wonder if he’s going to let you in at all, then he relaxes slightly, stepping backwards so you can duck under one muscled arm. He’s wearing tight compression gear tonight, that same black, soft balaclava with loose threads. Fitted utility trousers that show off tree-trunk thighs. Faintly, you wonder if he ever relaxes. Throws on a T-shirt and jeans when left to his own devices. Probably not; he doesn’t look like the kind of man who takes time off.

Warily, he closes the door behind you and keeps his distance. Again you’re forcefully reminded of a wild creature, perhaps a panther ensnared in a small space when it was used to roaming the jungle. He looks uncomfortable even in his own home, in his skin itself. Like he longs to be set loose.

So you take the lead. Walking into the living room, which hasn’t changed at all since your last visit except this time there is no vodka bottle on the floor. You throw a few coquettish looks over your shoulder, which Nikto regards with frosty indifference.

Sinking onto the sofa again, you pat the seat next to you.

“Same again, lover?! I’ll try not to fall asleep!” Still he stands, blue eyes narrowed as though he’s irritated by something. “Or… are you going to fuck me tonight?!”

You lean forward, exposing your cleavage in a well-practised move that usually loosens things up with tightly strung clients.

“We have all night, after all. Tell me your fantasies and I’ll tell you mine??”

His mask shifts, like he’s raising a brow.

“You are always trying this hard?”

“Oh, I bet I can make you hard…” You grin. “I’ll try very, very hard….”

“Enough,” he snaps suddenly, so you blink, taken aback. “Enough of this shit.”

“What shit?”

“You. Your shit.” Nikto is glaring now. “This porno chat may work with others — but it will not work on me.”

He takes a step closer and all the air is knocked out of you in a single heartbeat from his sheer breadth encircling your field of vision.

“You think I am so desperate for you to pretend?” Nikto leans nearer still. “Pretend with the others. But not in here. Not to us.”

His voice is so low, pitched like it’s being dragged through gravel twice over. It rumbles as thunder does, and close to your ear it’s deeper still. You genuinely had thought you’d seen it all at this point; clients usually do you the courtesy of slipping into your role in their lives. Honesty wasn’t on the table for Nikto to take, yet he demands it easily, effortlessly, until you feel rather more fragile than you usually do in these situations.

“Excuse me. But you do realise how I earn my living?”

Nikto’s scowl becomes violently apparent even through the mask.

“Da. You do as your customer says. And now your customer says drop the act. So you will do it.”

He’s certain; it truly is just like staring into the face of something untameable. You feel off-balance, out of kilter and without your usual reins of control.

You consider leaving. Getting the hell out of there. Though no small amount of intrigue has been stirred up by that laser-focused attack on your bedside manner.

“What the fuck do you want then, hm?” Showing no fear is crucial when caught in the territory of the beast. “To cuddle me all fucking night long again? Or take out all that pent up anger by behaving like a cock, instead of using it?”

It comes out far more snidely than you had intended, but Nikto barks out a laugh. Unnerving, a sound you hear in the dead of night that you pretend not to, one that makes you draw the covers higher over your head.

“Better. That is the truth now, isn’t it.” He sinks onto the couch beside you in a fluid motion, while you watch him with faint surprise. “That is the real you, the one with guts.”

“So what? You want to talk? Is that what it is?”

“I did not say that.”

“Well, what then!”

“There is no agenda.” He rolls his head wearily back into the headrest, while his hands rest upon his thighs. "Talk. Do not talk."

“And if I want to fuck!”

“Then I will fuck you,” Nikto replies simply.

Despite the meddling, your mom was just genuinely worried that you would be missing out your youth and excited to finally celebrate the Lunar New Year at the town's center, having missed previous year due to horrible seasonal allergies. The two moms share short back and forth with each other before inviting you and your mom in.

The house smelled beautifully of sandalwood, making it cozy against the biting cold weather. You can also smell the simmering broth of soup, assumed being boiled in the kitchen.

As you stood in the entryway clutching your paper bag, you then hear 'thud, thud, thud' of a knife against a chopping board at back of the house. You gave the bag to Lie's mom for her to inspect and approve of the dress, answering some questions she'd throw at you about the dress.

Lin Lie was right there, just a room away, his mind entirely filled with the upcoming Lion Dance Competition on Sunday as he chopped the veggies for the soup his mom neglected to invite you and your mom in.

To be honest, as much as he wanted to deny it, he desperately hoped the long hours spent practicing each routine would finally make you look his way instead of burying yourself in your books. For the longest time, he had wished for his mom to finally introduce you to him since the day he knew that your mom and his mom are close, he kept on hesitating as you and him barely talk outside of class. He was definitely over the moon when he overheard the conversation shared between your mom and his mom over the phone and can't seem to hear anything else but the fact that you'll be tagging along as well.

He caught the sound of your soft voice echoing into the hallway, a familiar sound from the front rows of his college classes, but he shook his head, convinced his ears were playing tricks on him. He stayed in the kitchen, he didn't look out. He didn't want to break his focus before the big day.

"Aya, child... no, no, no," Lin's mom sighed, shaking her head in disapproval. "You will freeze to death in this cheap dress. No warmth! Come, follow me. I have something to give you."

The three of you walked into Lin's mom closet room, Lie's mom was opening drawers, shifting garment bags and went back and forth for a gorgeous looking box. She dusted the box and opened it, it was a sleeveless vintage qipao in black, dragon patterns printed on it and only revealed when it caught the light. Framed by a regal gold printed around the dress, the qipao cross the chest with intricate work of knot serves as the 'button' of the dress. The qipao stopped just above your knees with a slit on the side. What made it more perfect was that it was lined with fur of an animal you could not figure, maybe it's faux, not that you could tell. It looks so expensive but also too.. figure fitting.

When you shyly stepped out the guest room wearing it, you looked into a mirror and froze. The qipao hugs your figure perfectly, it was pretty warm despite the available slit. Part of your leg is showing, and it all feels a little too intimate. You also tried on the additional piece of fur coat that matched the qipao, it covers the rest of your arm but still shows the front of the dress. For a long time, you aren't used to such clothing, and definitely not the ones that shows a little too much skin to your liking, but you could definitely get used to it, you looked like a royalty.

"Perfect." Lin's mom said proudly, dusting the dress and adjusting the fur collar. "You look just like your mom when she was your age.", Your mom chuckles, looking at you with awe. It did remind her of her younger years with Lie's mom. Also how good you will look standing beside Lin Lie in it. She gave you some time to change back and asked to stay for little chats.

You and your mom stayed for teas, the drinking kind and the other kind. You enjoyed listening to them talk, not so much about the neighbor's divorce or the fact that someone got pregnant after 'messing around', completely unaware that Lie had eventually retreated up the back staircase to his bedroom after finishing the soup up, completely missing your presence by the dining room. By the time you and your mother gathered your things to leave, the house was quiet again.

As you walked out and to the car, you notice your mom shivering hands. "You okay, mama?" She waved her hand, dismissing the question. "I am okay, let's get home now." You looked back at the quiet Lin house, the black dress tucked safely in your arms before getting in. Something tells you that your mom would miss another year of Lunar New Year again.

On the day..

February wind swept through the town’s central park, rustling the bright red lanterns strung between the bare, frozen trees and fences. Despite the lack of snow, the damp winter chill had everyone bundled up in thick wool, heavy cloaks, and traditional Chinese garments. It was the peak of the Lunar New Year celebrations, the town’s annual celebration involving Chinese food festival, and The Lion Dance Competition. You could smell citrus and incense in the air. You were looking forward to the competition in support of Peter Quill, someone you used to share history with, but now a close friend. You are not made aware that the 2 people Lion Dance would have Peter pairing up with Lie.

Lin Lie stood at the edge of the performance mat, chest heaving under his lion costume. His forehead was sweaty despite the cold, his hair messy. He and Peter Quill had just finished their routine. To your shock, Quill, despite dancing not being his forte, had actually been a phenomenal tail to Lie’s head in the performance. Peter brought a ridiculous high energy that balanced perfectly with Lie's footwork.

"Man, we killed it!" Peter gasped, leaning heavily against the massive, colorful lion head resting on a bench. He adjusted his sleeveless Tang Suit top he's wearing, shaking out his hair. "If we don't get first place, the judges are rigged."

"Don't celebrate yet, Quill. We still have to wait for the scores," Lie said, though a small smile tugged at his lips. He also was confident of their performance. He wiped his face with a towel, his eyes instinctively scanning the crowd for his mother.

He spotted her near the edge of where everybody crowded, laughing and chatting with someone. Lie walked over, pulling his heavy winter cloak over his shoulders to keep his muscles from freezing in the damp air.

"Ma," Lie called out, stepping closer. "Did you see the-" The words caught in his throat.

His mother wasn't alone. She was holding the hands of a person who completely stole the breath right out of his lungs. You.

You were wearing the black qipao. The silhouette was hugging your figure in a way that made him completely short circuited. You’d mentioned before that you were nervous about wearing something so fitted to Lie’s mom, but standing there, flushed from the cold and smiling warmly, you looked absolutely breathtaking.

Lie stood frozen, his eyes wide, completely mesmerized. He didn't even notice his own mother waving a hand in front of his face.

"Lie? Earth to Lin Lie," his mother teased. "Look who came to support you! And look how beautiful they look in the dress I picked out!" Before Lie could assemble a coherent sentence, a heavy, familiar arm slapped down over your shoulder.

"Whoa, look at you!" Peter Quill’s loud, energetic voice cut through the air. He leaned in incredibly close to you, his face inches from yours as he inspected the crafts done on the dress. "Is this the dress you told me about? You look fantastic! Black is definitely your color. I haven't seen you so formal in a while."

Lie’s stomach dropped into a cold, heavy knot.

He watched, suddenly feeling very small, as you laughed and playfully shoved Peter’s shoulder. There was an effortless, deeply rooted familiarity in the way Peter barged into your space, and the way you didn't even blink at his sudden physical affection. Lie’s mind began to race, a sharp, green-eyed monster rearing its head in his chest.

'Since when were they this close? How do they even know each other?'

Lie had admired you from a distance for months. You were a great person to be around, despite only talking maybe a few times. Someone he secretly pined over while pretending to just be the reliable 'friend'. But seeing Peter being so close to you made Lie feel a sudden painful pang of jealousy. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Of course someone like Quill would catch your eye.

What Lie didn't know, since Peter was actively keeping it to himself to avoid making things awkward, was that you and Peter were actually exes. It hadn't worked out romantically, but you had remained close friends. To Lie, though, it looked like there was already something between you and Peter.

"Alright, kids, the judges are calling the winners!" Lie's mom clapped her hands, completely oblivious to her son’s internal conflict. "I’m going to run ahead to the New Year market with my friends to talk." She pointed to her friend, who is waiting for her at the back.

She looked up at her son and say “好啦，Lie, 帮我照顾好她啊.” She said as she tap your shoulder a few times “Ma-“ Lie manage to say before his mom vanished into the crowd just as the announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. You waved goodbye to his mom. He sighed and you watched him retreated back to the side stage with Peter for winner announcement.

Hǎo la, Lie, bāng wǒ zhàogù hǎo tā a. ; Alright, Lie, help me take care of her okay?

...

And it’s no surprise that the first place goes to the two handsome men that did their routine perfectly. Lin Lie and Peter Quill.

The crowd applauded, half of them were actually the spectators of the dance and another half were simply charmed by how they look the second the lion costume came off. You clap your hands happily, looking at Peter who threw his arms up in the air and Lie who forced a smile, his competitive pride fighting through the fog of his sudden heartbreak.

A brief speech are given before the event ends and the two men walked to you. You immediately stepped up to him, your eyes shining. "I knew you guys would win. I was gonna say earlier that you were incredible, Lie.”

"Thanks," he said softly, his voice a little raspy. He offered you a genuine, if not slightly sad. His eyes trailing down to the fur trim of your dress. "You… you look really nice, by the way. The dress suits you."

Peter overheard him, one brow raised in suspicion before he stood beside Lie.

A red flush crept up your cheeks, and you offered him a shy smile. "Thanks. Your mom insisted." Lie frowned in question. “So that was you that gave my mom a visit a week ago for this dress?” If he had known sooner that day... Actually, who was he kidding? He wanted to impress you, not see the nervous version of him. But weren't you and Peter...? He looked at Peter who was just beside him, internally conflicted again.

“Yeah, I was wondering where you were. My mom wanted to meet you. Unfortunately, she missed yet another year of this celebration. She’s not feeling too well. But your mom was so nice to me.” You said as one hand is at your other elbow. Peter slots his elbow on Lie’s shoulder, slightly leaning to him. He chimes in. “Well, now that you’re here. Why don’t we grab something to eat? I’m starving and your winning star today needs sustenance.”

You rolled your eyes as you chuckle, replying in a snarky remark. You missed completely the way Lie’s face change.

...

With the trophy secured, the three of you walked out of the middle of the space of where everyone gathered and into the food aisles of the park's market. Steam rose in thick quickly appears in your vision from dozens of outdoor stalls, you can smell the varying foods in the air.

The three of you stopped, more like Peter dragged the two of you by a traditional dumpling stall, telling how he crave the dumplings he had here last year. It was an outdoor setup with heavy plastic tarp blocking the biting winter wind. As you sat down, you couldn't help but notice a group of older women and other ladies sneak glances and head nods from the other tables.

It wasn't hard to see why. You were sitting between two incredibly attractive men. On one side was Peter, leaning back with his exposed, toned and muscly arms, and on the other was Lin Lie, his sharp jawline and dark eyes making him look like someone straight out of vogue magazine.

Peter, entirely used to attention, just winked at them and ordered five portions of dumplings, mixing all the flavours available. “It’s on me today.” He said, giving you a smirk that he knew you’d roll your eyes to.

You and Peter talked to each other so casually, while Lie stayed silent as he held his tongue and watched. He didn't realize the way the emotions he kept were so readable by his own best friend, Peter.

“You.. good, Lie?” Peter noticed the way his friend mood changed, he’s concerned that his, usually social friend isn’t talking. Before he could reply, the cashier came in with the wooden steamer.

As the piping hot dumplings arrived, warming the chilly air around the table, the silence settled. Lie stared at his chopsticks, his knuckles white. The jealousy had been simmering inside him for the last twenty minutes, and his bluntness finally won out. He couldn't keep it in anymore. Curiosity killed the cat be damned.

He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Peter, then shifting to you. "Alright, I have to ask," Lie said, his tone dropping into that serious tone Peter recognized when he argued with him one time. "What exactly is the deal with you two? How do you know each other so well?"

Peter paused, a dumpling halfway to his mouth. He looked at Lie’s intensely serious face, then looked at you, a slow, realizing smirk spreading across his lips. Peter chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ah. I get it now." He put his dumpling down.

"Get what?" Lie frowned, getting defensive. "Relax, Lie. Y/N.." Peter laughed, raising his hands in surrender. He bumped your shoulder playfully. "Tell him before he uses one of his moves he learned in martial art. It does hurt, by the way."

You let out a soft chuckle, but, you’re a little confused at the context Peter was trying to give out. You stuff yourself a dumpling after you blow it and reply. “Tell him what exactly?”

Peter raised one of his eyebrow. “About us.”

Oh. Your expression softening completely, you munched down the dumpling before clearing your throat. "Uhm, well.“ You look up to anticipated Lie. Still confused as why he wanted to know. You wanted to guess, but there’s no way, right? You took a deep breath and sigh.

“Peter and I.. We used to date. A year back. We’ve known each other for a while but the relationship didn't work out at all, and now we’re basically just like siblings who annoy each other."

Lie blinked. The knot in his stomach instantly disappear, replaced by a rush of relief. "Wait. Really?" He looks at the both of you, eyes gleaming with hope.

"Really, man," Peter chimed in, stuffing the whole dumpling into his mouth. "I’m now strictly the wingman here. Besides, did you see the way you were looking at her in that dress? Pretty sure your eyes were glowing, and not because of of the weather." He said muffled and bluntly.

You froze and blinked, and you quickly hid your smile behind your cup of hot tea. You had no idea the guy who sat 3 rows behind you in your classes secretly likes you. You thought a guy like him would rather look at other more attractive girls.

Lin Lie, for the first time all day, looked entirely caught off guard. A blush crept up his neck and up his cheeks, so unlike him with his tough, confident demeanor. He cleared his throat loudly, looking away to hide his massive, uncontainable grin.

"I just… You know, you look so nice in it, 绝了," Lie muttered, though he couldn't help but look back at you, his eyes warm and hopeful.

jué le ; so stunning

"I'm glad you came today."

"Me too," you replied softly, slowly dropping down the tea cup, holding his gaze as the winter wind howled outside the tent, completely forgotten.

——

“Hey, hey, guys. I know I just matched you two. But c’mon, I’m pretty sure I’m still right here.” Peter chimed.