白夜暗雨
cp：崔槙
It's the city that he really takes after, you think as you sip your drink.
Ice clinks against the glass - real crystal; a rarity in this day and age - and settles half in and half out of the alcohol as you set the container down on the table, lean back in your chair, and watch him turn a new page in his book. His fingers handle the paper with a loving care, caressing the sheet as his hand moves down the page and settles at the base of the book's spine. You would never see that sort of affection in anyone except a pair of lovers. Soft and sweet and subtle. The lighting is kept low for mood, so he reads by the luminescence of a candle burning steadily over his shoulder. It must be a strain on his eyes; but then, you know he's not really reading. He has long since memorised that book's contents.
这正是座与他同为一体的城市，你抿着饮品这样想着。
冰块在杯中碰撞，在你把杯子放回桌上的时候漂浮在酒液之中，在这个一切都可以虚伪的年月，它晶莹地闪烁着，真真切切。你靠回了椅子里，看着他把手里的书又翻过了崭新的一页。他的手指饱含眷恋地掠过纸页，深情地在字里行间抚摸而过，最终停驻在书脊的底端。除了相爱的情侣之间，你不会再在他人的眼里见过那样绵长的爱意——轻柔，甜蜜，而且难以捉摸。为了营造气氛，灯光调得很暗，于是他便借着肩膀上方那盏蜡烛安定的微光阅读着。这对视力很不好，但是你知道，他并不是真的在看进去什么。他早就已经把那本书的内容铭记在心了。

A sigh. He shuts his book gently, looks up, and smiles.
That smile is a douse of cold water hauling you back to the present. For once it touches his eyes, as it does when he has taken particular pleasure in his reading. The rest of the time they are as inscrutable as the lights outside, assessing your worth and weighing your actions. Cold like metal, cold like pale, untarnished gold.
一声叹息。他静静地合上书本，抬起头微笑。
那个微笑如同一盆冷水迎头浇过，把你从沉思里硬生生拖回现实。只有在从书本里汲取到了至高的快乐时，那双眼睛才会弥漫上笑意，其余的时候它们总是如同窗外的闪光一样神秘，估量着你的行为和个人价值，冰冷如铁，苍白如未抛光的金玉。
You think they're beautiful.
而你竟然觉得，它们很美。