Meng Xin and Bian Ting strolled down the bustling food street outside campus, yet by the time they reached the end, they still hadn’t decided what to eat.
If he were out with just anyone, Meng Xin would have picked a restaurant and sat down within ten minutes.
He knew every eatery around school like the back of his hand—he had never struggled with the question “What should we eat today?”
But eating with Bian Ting was different.
More specifically, eating with his boyfriend was different.
They had just started dating. He had to at least maintain a good image, right?
And so, Meng Xin found himself spiraling into an endless dilemma.
—Hotpot? No way. The smell would linger on their clothes.
—BBQ? Impossible. He’d have to open his mouth way too wide.
—Skewers? Too messy and wild. Not elegant enough.
—Fried chicken? His hands would get greasy, and he’d have to spit out bones. Not classy.
—Soup noodles? The broth might splash everywhere.
—Mixed noodles? Sauce could get on his face. Embarrassing.
—Stir-fried noodles? He’d have to control his slurping noises.
Was there no food in this world that was odor-free, mess-free, bone-free, hands-free, mouth-size-appropriate, and allowed him to remain effortlessly elegant the whole time?!
Sigh.
Meng Xin let out a long sigh.
Humans had fought their way to the top of the food chain, yet they still hadn’t invented a dating-friendly cuisine.
If they kept walking like this, they’d probably loop around the entire street by midnight. Bian Ting didn’t seem to mind, but Meng Xin figured if they kept hesitating, they might never actually get to eat.
So he turned to Bian Ting and said, “Alright, here’s the plan—when we pass the third restaurant from now, we’re going in. No more debating.”
They ended up at a Chinese restaurant as the third option.
The moment Meng Xin stepped inside, he mentally ran through the possible menu items before decisively walking in.
A waiter handed them the menu.
Meng Xin stared at it for a full minute.
The familiar struggle crept up again.
This won’t work. That won’t work. In the end, he looked up and asked, “Do you have fried rice? I’ll have fried rice.”
The waiter: “…Alright.”
Fried rice—carefully chosen as the perfect dating food. Small grains, easy to eat with a spoon, no broth, no bones, and perfect for taking small bites while chewing slowly. The pinnacle of elegance.
The waiter then turned to Bian Ting.
Bian Ting also contemplated for a moment before closing the menu and saying, “Same as him.”
The waiter: “…Alright.”
After taking their order, the waiter walked over to the kitchen and casually chatted with the staff. “Man, those two guys are so tall. They look like they could each finish a whole pot of rice. But guess what? They both just ordered one bowl of egg fried rice each!”
He deliberately lowered his voice, but the restaurant was small. Even though he tried, the conversation still faintly carried outside.
“…”
“…”
Meng Xin and Bian Ting exchanged a glance.
Meng Xin could tell from Bian Ting’s expression that he was about to ask something, so he quickly spoke first, “You eat this little?”
“I’m maintaining a healthy lifestyle,” Bian Ting answered calmly.
Then he threw the question right back. “What about you?”
“…”
Meng Xin stiffly replied, “Same. I’m also… maintaining a healthy lifestyle.”
—
Meng Xin had never eaten so gracefully in his life.
On a normal day, he could finish a small bowl of fried rice in just a few bites. But today, he ate tiny spoonfuls, stretching it out for a whole fifteen minutes without finishing.
Strangely enough, Bian Ting was eating just as slowly.
Between the two of them, they somehow took half an hour to finish a single bowl of fried rice.
Meng Xin kept up his refined act until the very last grain, and only when he was done did Bian Ting set his chopsticks down at the exact same time.
—
Elegance had a price.
On their way back to campus, they passed by the Fourth Canteen.
Meng Xin suddenly couldn’t move forward anymore.
Bian Ting stopped too.
Together, they gazed at the glowing red sign that read “Fourth Canteen,” looking up at it with a reverence akin to paying respects at a shrine.
Bian Ting turned to him and asked, “Xiaoguo Rice Noodles?”
“Yes! Let’s go, let’s go!”
Meng Xin had been waiting for him to say that. Without hesitation, he grabbed Bian Ting’s sleeve and pulled him toward the entrance.
“Auntie, I’ll have the deluxe Xiaoguo Rice Noodles!”
After ordering, he glanced at Bian Ting.
Bian Ting had probably only ordered fried rice earlier because he was trying to keep up appearances. If he was this hungry now, then Bian Ting must be starving too.
So Meng Xin added, “Make that two!”
When the two steaming bowls of rice noodles arrived, Meng Xin was so hungry he practically buried his face in the bowl. He devoured the entire thing at an astonishing speed, completely forgetting to maintain his elegant image.
When he finally looked up, he saw Bian Ting resting his chin on his hand, watching him with an obvious smile in his eyes.
“Still maintaining a healthy lifestyle?” Bian Ting asked.
“…”
Meng Xin retorted slowly, “And you? Weren’t you also… maintaining a healthy lifestyle?”
As soon as he said it, he started laughing—first holding it back, then openly cracking up.
“Oh man… maintaining a healthy lifestyle, huh…”
Bian Ting couldn’t hold it in either and started laughing along with him.
The two of them laughed out loud at their now-empty clay pots. Passersby had no idea what was so funny, but only they knew how unforgettable this meal of Xiaoguo Rice Noodles had been.
It took a while for Meng Xin to finally calm down. He turned to Bian Ting and said, “…Let’s just stop overthinking everything.”
After being roommates for so long, they had seen each other in every possible state. Just now, he had almost starved to death.
“No more pretending from you, and no more pretending from me,” Meng Xin declared. “Let’s just be normal, okay?”
Bian Ting easily agreed. “Okay.”
Meng Xin nodded in satisfaction. “We should be honest about what we’re thinking.” He looked at Bian Ting seriously. “For example, when I dragged you all the way down the street, passing by so many restaurants without going in, what were you thinking at that moment?”
If Bian Ting had just spoken up and gently stopped him, neither of them would have ended up this hungry!
Hearing this, Bian Ting suddenly remembered something.
While Meng Xin had been stressing over what food would allow him to remain elegant, he had been thinking about one thing.
“At the time,” Bian Ting said slowly, “I was thinking—this street is almost at its end, so why hasn’t my boyfriend held my hand yet?”
That street outside campus was long, but Bian Ting hadn’t really noticed how far they had walked.
Instead, he had been inching closer and closer to Meng Xin, subtly moving his hand toward his, waiting for the right moment to hold it.
Unfortunately, Meng Xin had way too many fake-out moves. So many that Bian Ting could never find a good opportunity.
The one time they actually paused in front of a restaurant, Bian Ting carefully reached out, only for Meng Xin to suddenly shake his head, mutter something to himself, and stroll off again.
The closest he had come to success was when he directly grabbed Meng Xin’s hand—only for Meng Xin to point at a nearby restaurant and ask, “Oh, do you want to eat here?”
It was a fried chicken place.
Bian Ting shook his head.
Meng Xin let out a sigh of relief. “Good, good. I don’t really feel like eating fried chicken right now.”
…
Meng Xin had not been expecting that answer at all. He scratched his face awkwardly, his voice quiet. “Y-You were thinking about that?”
He had assumed Bian Ting was just debating food choices, same as him.
“You said we should be honest,” Bian Ting spread his hands, as if saying, I’m just following your rules.
“…Alright, alright. You should’ve told me earlier.” Meng Xin was suddenly feeling shy again, but he still added, “Fine then, I’ll hold your hand later.”
—
What’s so hard about holding hands?
As a strong and capable man, Meng Xin felt he should take the initiative.
After all, couples should hold hands. He had been neglecting this duty.
On the way back to their dorm, Meng Xin subtly shaped his hand like a crab claw, imagining himself as a mechanical claw from a gold-mining game.
Once he had mentally prepared himself, he stretched his hand straight toward Bian Ting.
“Click!” He even added a little sound effect in his head, just to hype himself up.
His hand clamped onto Bian Ting’s wrist just like that.
The sudden and intense pain made Bian Ting instinctively glance over.
“What are you doing?” Meng Xin must have noticed something strange in Bian Ting’s gaze because he awkwardly said, “Aren’t we holding hands? I’m holding your hand now.”
“…Are you nervous?” Bian Ting suddenly asked.
Meng Xin stubbornly shook his head. “No, not at all.”
“But you’re shaking,” Bian Ting pointed out.
Meng Xin hadn’t even realized how much force he was using.
And not just a little—he was gripping so hard that his hands were literally shaking.
He looked down and saw that he had squeezed Bian Ting’s wrist red.
Meng Xin quickly let go. “Sorry, sorry…”
He had almost never held hands with anyone before. The last time was all the way back in kindergarten when they lined up to go home. His teacher had originally paired him with a little girl, but he got so nervous that he gripped her hand too tightly and made her cry. She had immediately run off to report him to his mom.
After that, he was permanently assigned to the front of the line to carry the class flag—never needing to hold hands with anyone again.
Now, history was kind of repeating itself—Bian Ting’s wrist looked like it had just been freed from handcuffs, a bright red ring marking the spot.
“It’s fine.” Bian Ting rotated his wrist a little, then looked down and chuckled.
He had never experienced such… aggressive hand-holding before.
“…You’re not laughing at me, are you?”
“No.”
“I saw you laughing.”
“No, I just have naturally upturned lips.”
“…You’re totally laughing!”
“Fine, fine, I won’t laugh.” Bian Ting raised his hands in surrender before coaxing, “Give me your hand.”
He reached out with his palm open, fingers slightly spread—an invitation.
Meng Xin huffed lightly and lifted his hand, intending to just lightly slap it into Bian Ting’s palm—
But the moment his hand touched Bian Ting’s, Bian Ting’s fingers snapped shut, decisively threading between Meng Xin’s and interlocking their fingers tightly together.
“This is what holding hands really looks like, boyfriend.”
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