Meng Xin gripped the balcony railing and glanced down, unimpressed. “What’s the big deal? Can’t brothers hold hands?”
“Would brothers hold hands like that?” Huang Wenjie stopped mid-bite, staring. “And in a place full of couples?”
“Maybe they’re just really close friends,” Meng Xin reasoned. “Or actual brothers.”
“They don’t even look alike…”
“They’re gay.”
A calm voice cut through their discussion from behind, delivering the final verdict.
Meng Xin turned around in surprise — it was Bian Ting who had spoken.
“Huh?”
Meng Xin squinted down at the couple below again.
That glance changed everything — the couple had kissed.
“T-They kissed?” Huang Wenjie gawked, shocked. “There’s no way to explain that one — that’s definitely ‘kissing brothers.’”
“Whoa, there are actually gay people at school?” Gao Yinghang had somehow joined the spectacle. “That’s wild.”
“Good thing none of us are gay, that’d be way too…” Huang Wenjie struggled to find the words and eventually blurted, “World-shattering.”
As a self-proclaimed “triple straight” guy — morally upright, honest, and, well, straight — Meng Xin had never really encountered gay people before.
The closest he’d gotten was joking around with friends and saying stuff like, “Dude, you’re so gay.”
And now, this.
Honestly, his first reaction matched Gao Yinghang’s exactly:
“Whoa, there are actually gay people at school?”
Meng Xin zoned out, staring blankly into space, lost in thought for a full minute.
“So what if there are gay people? It’s not like it lowers your GPA.”
“But it doesn’t boost your GPA either?”
“Wait, dating girls doesn’t boost your GPA either?”
“Whatever, it’s none of my business as long as they’re happy.”
His thoughts spiraled around until, somehow, they landed on Bian Ting.
—“How did Bian Ting know they were gay?”
He’d only glanced at them for a second!
Meng Xin shook off his scattered thoughts and turned to Bian Ting, eyes full of curiosity.
“Bian Ting, how did you know they were gay?”
Bian Ting replied flatly, “You can just tell.”
Meng Xin pressed on, “How can you tell? That’s so impressive.”
Bian Ting only said three words: “It’s a feeling.”
Meng Xin wasn’t satisfied. “What kind of feeling?”
“Intuition.”
“Oh…” Meng Xin nodded, pretending to understand.
Bian Ting thought the topic was finally over, but a few seconds later, Meng Xin piped up again:
“Like how I can tell who someone is just by their scent? A special ability?”
This was, in fact, one of Meng Xin’s weird talents. Back in high school, when people accidentally swapped identical uniforms, he could sniff them and tell who they belonged to — though this only worked with people he knew.
Bian Ting had witnessed this firsthand.
During their freshman year, when Bian Ting returned to the dorm one night, Meng Xin had suddenly leaned in, nose practically against his neck, and sniffed.
“Bian Ting, you smell different. Did you change body wash?”
Bian Ting’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
A hand waved in front of his face.
“Bian Ting, what are you thinking about?” Meng Xin asked.
“Nothing. What did you just say?”
“Oh, I asked if this was your special ability.”
“Probably not,” Bian Ting said. “You just know when you’ve seen it before.”
Meng Xin, ever the curious puppy, tilted his head. “Have you seen it before?”
“Yeah.” Bian Ting paused, then asked, “Why are you asking so much? Are you interested in gay people?”
“No,” Meng Xin said, shaking his head. “I’ve just never seen one before. I’m curious.”
Bian Ting: “…”
Bian Ting stared at him, his expression unreadable. “You’ve seen one now.”
“Oh, true.” Meng Xin let out an “Ah!” of realization. “But it’s so dark — I didn’t get a good look.”
Bian Ting had no words. After a moment, he muttered, “…Maybe next time.”
Meng Xin still felt a little regretful. “I might not get another chance to see one next time.”
He genuinely had never seen a gay couple before — if he’d known, he would’ve taken a better look.
“…You will,” Bian Ting replied.
“Someone hasn’t never seen a gay person. He just doesn’t know there’s one right next to him.”
“No wonder he thought my special collection was a sports magazine,” Zhang Yiming lamented, clutching his chest. “That was a ‘Zhang Yiming Premium Selection’! And he didn’t even flinch. Absolutely zero romantic awareness — it’s tragic.”
Zhang Yiming and Bian Ting were in line at the fourth cafeteria, waiting to grab lunch. It was peak mealtime, and the line was long, so they passed the time gossiping about “someone.”
“Bian Ting, this is like playing on nightmare difficulty,” Zhang Yiming said, patting Bian Ting’s shoulder with a sigh. “Honestly, maybe just let it go.”
“I can’t,” Bian Ting replied.
“Figured.” Zhang Yiming shrugged, then sighed again. “Falling for a straight guy? Nine times out of ten, that’s a dead end.”
“…”
“It’s fine,” Bian Ting said, surprisingly calm. “It doesn’t have to go anywhere.”
Zhang Yiming gave him a thumbs-up. “Respect.”
He craned his neck to check the line — there were still several people ahead of them.
“This line is endless,” Zhang Yiming groaned. “Do you have to eat this mini hot pot noodle?”
Bian Ting, unfazed, said, “Probably ten more minutes. You can grab something else.”
Zhang Yiming, now fueled by defiance, said, “No way. I have to try this guy’s favorite food. I need to know if there’s Chinese medicine in it or something.”
He burst out laughing again. “Maybe that’s why he’s so unbelievably straight. Hahahaha!”
At first, Bian Ting didn’t have a habit of bringing food for Meng Xin.
Bian Ting was naturally distant, not close to anyone, and even after over a week of school, he mostly kept to himself.
He wasn’t particularly close to Meng Xin either.
That day, Meng Xin had back-to-back lectures from 8 AM to noon. He’d skipped breakfast, and by 11, he was starving.
He slumped over his desk, stomach growling, and on a whim, decided to bother Bian Ting.
Meng Xin: [Bian Ting, are you free? If you are, could you please bring me some food? I’m gonna die of hunger, wuwuwu.]
He immediately regretted sending the message. They were just dormmates, not that close.
Wasn’t this way too random?
Just as he was debating whether to unsend it, Bian Ting’s reply popped up.
Bian Ting: [What do you want to eat?]
From that moment on, Meng Xin was convinced that Bian Ting was a classic cold-on-the-outside, warm-on-the-inside angel of a human.
Meng Xin, overjoyed, replied: [I’m not picky! Whatever you eat, I’ll eat! Thank you, Bian Ting! You’re the absolute BEST!!!]
When Bian Ting came back with food, Meng Xin looked at him like he was a saint bathed in holy light.
He carefully took the meal from Bian Ting’s hands, eyes lighting up when he saw what was inside.
“This is amazing, Bian Ting! I love this!”
Meng Xin was easy to please and even easier to feed. In his world, food only had three categories: edible, delicious, and even more delicious.
At that moment, Bian Ting thought:
This is someone who’s really easy to make happy.
And every time, Meng Xin’s words were sweeter than honey. He would praise Bian Ting to the skies, calling him a living saint, showering him with over-the-top compliments without ever feeling like he’d gone too far.
Bian Ting couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d been praised for — he only remembered that Meng Xin’s smile was really, really nice.
After that, Bian Ting brought food for him a few more times. No matter what he brought, Meng Xin always finished it all.
But there was still a subtle difference between “edible” and “delicious.”
Bian Ting didn’t know why he noticed, but when Meng Xin ate something he really liked, he smiled even brighter.
Just like now.
Bian Ting placed the packaged mini hot pot noodles on Meng Xin’s desk.
Meng Xin opened it and immediately lit up. “Wow, mini hot pot noodles!”
His eyes curved into crescents, and his sharp little canine teeth peeked out — his smile was almost dazzling.
“You’re the best, Bian Ting!”
Even though it had been two months since the first time Bian Ting brought him mini hot pot noodles, Meng Xin still got this excited every time.
He really is so easy to make happy, Bian Ting thought.
