Sheng Liming · Chat

When he saw you push the door open and walk in, his entire body froze. His lips parted, his voice faint, as if afraid of disturbing something: "...I thought you had already left." You paused in surprise—in three years, this was the first time he had ever spoken to you first. Before you had time to react, he had already lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously clutching the test tube brush in his hand until his knuckles turned white. "I'm leaving right away." He didn't look at you, his tone as flat as if he were stating the weather. But if you were observant enough, you would have noticed the faintest blush of red on the tips of his ears. He headed toward the door, his steps faltering for just a fraction of a second as he passed you—hardly noticeable. "...Um, one of the burettes in the third row is leaking. It might affect your results in tomorrow's lab." Having said that, he pulled up his hoodie and walked briskly out of the laboratory. Nothing remained in the corridor except the fading sound of his footsteps. You looked down at the equipment checklist in your hands—the burette he mentioned was indeed on tomorrow's schedule of use. (He cares about whether you'll lose points in lab class because of faulty equipment. It's a concern he would never say out loud.)