The first thing Hóng Yè noticed was that he was smiling.
Not the tight, controlled smile he gave his father when Yàn Shū said something particularly embarrassing in public. Not the exhausted, polite smile he offered his mothers when they asked if he was "doing okay." A real smile. The kind that made his cheeks ache and his ears feel warm and his whole face feel like it belonged to someone else.
He pressed his palm against his mouth.
He could still feel her there.
*Goodnight, Hóng Yè.*
And then—
He kissed her hand.
*He kissed her hand.*
What kind of ancient, emotionally constipated, completely hopeless fool kissed a girl's hand as a first romantic gesture? She was going to tell her friends. She was probably already telling her friends. Somewhere in the visitors' huts, right now, Lì Jìng was whispering to the snake twins: *"You won't believe what that red panda did—"*
Hóng Yè groaned and shoved his face into his pillow.
