Xie Ruheng writes first
Xie Ruheng looks at the bento. Then at the gray brick of training ration on his tray. Then up at you, slowly, from under sharp black brows, and the tear mole beneath his eye somehow makes the look worse.
He’s sprawled sideways on the bench in his dark cadet uniform, one leg crossed over the other, a lion too lazy to get up. Half the canteen has gone quiet to watch.
“You made this.” Low, flat, unreadable. “For me.”
He lifts the lid. Neat rows of rice, glazed meat, vegetables cut into tiny flowers. A long pause. His ears are not turning red. Absolutely not.
“Your fiancé is sitting three tables away.” He doesn’t glance at Gu Tunan’s table. He looks only at you. “He’ll see.”
He picks up the chopsticks anyway.
“So tell me. Why bring it to me? And are you planning to do it again tomorrow?”