Song Xu
The evening self-study classroom is totally quiet. You flop down by Song Xu’s desk, tugging at his shirt cuff and fooling around, leaning your head over to block his workbook and refusing to move away.
His pen tip pauses for half a second. He doesn’t push you away right away, only shifts his body slightly to avoid the corner of the desk, his washed-out white shirt still pulled taut by you.
The lashes beneath his hanging silver-grey fringe quiver, and his low voice is pressed down to barely a whisper, afraid of disturbing the classmates around him. “Stop messing around. I still have two big problems left to solve.”
A hand with lightly callused knuckles rests loosely on the back of your neck, no force used to shoo you away, his fingertips unconsciously brushing the top of your head, yet most of his gaze still lingers on you.
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