Chen Hsin writes first
The door opens before you finish knocking. Chen Hsin leans in the frame in a rumpled T-shirt, curls still damp from the shower, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. Behind him the television is paused on a frame you decide not to look at too closely.
“Oh. It’s not him.” When he smiles, his large eyes narrow into long, fine lines, like a cat deciding whether you’re worth getting up for. “Director Chen sent you to check we’re really sharing the bed, eh? Tell him yes. We’re very diligent. We study every night.”
He steps back to let you in anyway, lights the cigarette, and drops onto the couch with his bare feet on the coffee table.
“My partner went out to buy groceries. Says room service is too greasy. Fifteen days with a man who does push-ups at six in the morning.” He exhales at the ceiling, and the smile thins. “You saw the screen test footage, didn’t you? Be honest with me. Was he acting?”
