Xavier returned late at night. He had been drinking and looked disheveled. When he turned on the foyer light and saw me, he froze in place. Gradually, his gaze deepened, and he stared at me without blinking.
I sighed. With him in such a state, it seemed like there wouldn't be any conversation tonight.
"Yvonne," he stumbled towards me, his eyes reddened, his voice trembling. He bent down and hugged me tightly, kissing me passionately. Like before, he liked to use intimate physical contact to confirm my presence.
Outside, the moonlight was bright, and the quiet space was filled only with his heavy breathing and the sound of his kisses. The lingering scent of alcohol seemed to intoxicate me as well.
I let him kiss for a while before slowly pushing him away and coaxing him to sit on the sofa. When I brought out the sobering soup from the kitchen, he still sat there with his head down, motionless.
Only when he saw me did he slowly raise his head, his gaze somewhat vacant. I noticed a ring on his ring finger and asked curiously, "What's this?" We only got a marriage certificate when we got married.
"This is a ring. It lets others know that I'm married when I'm out," he explained. We looked at the ring on his hand together, then he raised his head to look at me again. "Do you like it?"
I nodded. "Oh, it's okay."
He lowered his head and slowly began to take off the ring, then handed it to me. I took it and examined it. The engravings looked like they were made at a street stall. "Okay, you keep it. Drink the sobering soup."
My hand lifted and fell, and Xavier's gaze followed me. The ring slipped into his pocket, and he looked down blankly.
He seemed really drunk, and after a moment, he asked softly, "Don't you want it?"
My heart softened inexplicably. I squatted down, meeting his eyes. "Xavier, who am I?"
He looked at me for a moment, then his lips curled up slowly, and he kissed my eyes softly. "Yvonne."
I opened my phone and pressed the record button. "Do you love Yvonne?"
"Yes."
Good, it's recorded. I put away my phone satisfactorily, then held his face and asked, "Then why are you so indifferent to Yvonne?"
He blinked slowly, as if he didn't understand what I was saying. "Do you know, I was bullied miserably this afternoon, and you were so calm. Why didn't you hold me, kiss me, or comfort me? Don't you like me?"
"I do like you."
The next moment, his eyes dimmed again. "But I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I'm afraid that if you get too easily, you won't cherish it."
He lifted his gaze, his eyes still red, staring at me without blinking, showing an indescribable affection and deep fear.
Through that layer of watery light, I seemed to see the boy who had been left behind in the summer years ago. My heart trembled. I opened my mouth, but didn't know what to say. After a moment, I whispered softly, "I'm not that kind of person."
"Yes, you are."
Even in his drunken state, he didn't forget to refute me. It was evident that my image as a heartless woman who abandons everything had deeply rooted itself in his mind.
But the next moment, he bent down and hugged me again, nuzzling my neck with his hot cheeks affectionately, sincerely and softly saying, "But I love you."
"Even if I know what kind of person you are, I still love you."
Only one lamp was on in the living room, and the moonlight outside spread into the room.
The young man on the sofa, under the influence of alcohol, was confessing his love to his beloved. At this moment, the barren yet sincere heart of his youth finally found a home.
