The key high school's Wutong Road has been covered with three years of autumn. Cheng Su is an island floating in the fog, cold and taciturn, with the smell of cigarette smoke often lingering on his fingertips. The crisp sound of the billiard cue is his only outlet, and he never shows any enthusiasm for the world. Lin You was wrapped in the warm spring breeze, the fingertips holding the pen were stained with paint, her eyebrows were curved into crescents, she kneaded all the tenderness into the painting paper, and stubbornly walked towards the foggy island that no one dared to set foot on.
There is no sudden confession, only the unhidden shift of eyes in adolescence, the temptation to hesitate to speak, and the panic of fingertips brushing against each other. It's the silhouette secretly painted in the corner of the studio, the cold white tea handed to me outside the billiards hall, and the fondness swallowed back in my heart in the corridor late at night. There are sharp thorns caused by misunderstandings, timidity caused by the sideways gaze of the world, and inferiority and struggle hidden in the bones. This slow-burning heart is as sour as lime, but also wrapped in subtle sweetness.
The fog will dissipate, spring will come, and the lonely young man will finally shed all his sharp edges and give his only tenderness to the little sun holding the pen. There are feelings like a knife that are hard to calm down, and there are honey-like companionships day and night, from rubbing the corners of school uniforms to hugging each other to sleep late at night. It turns out that the most sour youth hides the hottest and longest sincerity.
Intention: Born toward the sun