The constant awareness of her presence was unsettling. She filled his thoughts completely. Finally, he picked up his phone and clicked on her WeChat profile. Her avatar was a Totoro holding an umbrella in the rain, a screenshot from a Miyazaki film. Her WeChat name was Xiao Xian.

He’d looked at her profile countless times but had never initiated contact. He was usually so at ease with people, conversations flowing naturally. But with her, even a glance felt… different. He couldn't pinpoint his fear. Perhaps it was her aura of inaccessibility, leaving him fumbling for a foothold. After all, before her, girls had always pursued him.

Lost in a jumble of thoughts, he finally opened their chat window and typed:

-Did you get home?
-It seems to have gotten dark very quickly. I'm sorry, I should have walked you back.

He waited, anxiety gnawing at him. When no reply came, he tossed his phone onto the bed, went downstairs, and wandered aimlessly. The housekeeper was preparing dinner. The living room felt vast and silent. He opened the refrigerator, then closed it without taking anything. Spotting a bowl of fruit, he popped two grapes into his mouth.

He carried the fruit bowl upstairs. Back in his room, the first thing he did was grab his phone, hoping for a message.

…Nothing.

He felt like he was fracturing, hollowed out, desperate to run to her apartment building and wait for her. He remembered the route from the day he’d walked her home… but showing up like that would make him seem like a stalker.

What if she hadn't replied because that thug had harassed her again? Or had something happened on her way back?

He tormented himself with endless possibilities. Finally, he tossed his phone aside, rummaged through his closet for a shirt, and prepared to have the family driver take him to her.

Just as he was about to leave, his phone finally buzzed.

With a speed honed from years of athleticism, he lunged for the device, flipped onto the bed, and eagerly read the message. It was her.

-I'm home. I was making dinner.
-You didn't need to walk me back. Thank you, Class President.

Two polite, formal replies that pushed him a million miles away. All the wind left his sails. He threw his phone onto the bed and lay down.

He remembered the flush in her cheeks from their afternoon workout, and the way his body had reacted.

He wanted sex.

He imagined his c0ck pressing against her, slowly pushing its way inside…

Zhou Ye covered his face with his arm. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the images in his mind growing increasingly explicit.

He lowered his arm and looked down at himself. The outline of his erection strained against his athletic shorts.

He pulled down his shorts. His hard c0ck sprang free, pressing against his stomach. He stroked it a few times. Each time he pulled away, it snapped back, rigid as a steel rod.

He hated this feeling, this loss of control over his body and emotions. They seemed to have a mind of their own.

He craved release.

That night, he went for a long run, followed by a half-hour of weightlifting at the gym. Exhausted, he lay in bed, still unable to sleep, her indifferent face haunting his thoughts.

He felt pathetic. He hadn't been that into her, but her lack of response had ignited something obsessive.

He shoved a pillow under his hips, stripped naked, and, in a push-up position, began grinding his burning c0ck against it, imagining her beneath him, her sex being ravaged.

In the darkness, he heard his own panting breaths, the private, desperate sounds of a rutting animal. He despised himself, yet the throbbing hardness between his legs was unbearable. He knelt there, humping the pillow for what felt like an eternity, sweat dripping from his forehead.

As he neared his climax, he threw the pillow to the floor and began stroking his engorged c0ck with a frantic hand.

He gasped as he came, his semen coating his palm and dripping onto his stomach.

He lay there, catching his breath. Then, he reached out and switched on the bedside lamp, wiping himself clean with a few tissues.

He picked up his phone and looked at her chat window again. Screw it, he thought. He couldn’t be the only one suffering.

Close to eleven o'clock, his voice still hoarse from his orgasm, he sent her a voice message.

"It's okay. I'll walk you back tomorrow after practice."

As he spoke, he found himself stroking his hardening c0ck again.

He realized he’d let go of something, understood the source of his afternoon anxiety.

He wanted to hold her, kiss her, fvck her recklessly in an empty classroom, take her v1rginity, make her cry, be her boyfriend, make her love him…

Yet, they'd barely spoken. He’d only observed her from afar, silently, intently.

He felt like a creep.