[Xiao Xingchen looks down at the empty place, and after a moment, he slips his hand behind the back of the skirt to keep it flat before he seats himself next to Xue Yang.
He half-expects to be pulled into his lap, perhaps as a repeat of the last time they met in here. That part doesn't really trouble him; it doesn't mean anything at this point, and Xue Yang can't make him be an active participant in such an act. That's all that matters and all he cares to prove to the man. Hands on his own lap, he sits as still as a doll.
It should be easy enough to clear his mind of all worldly matters as he sits there, but... he wonders how the cake tastes. How did it turn out, and if it's any different because it's made by him, or if it'd be like any sweet Xue Yang would consume without a thought.]
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He half-expects to be pulled into his lap, perhaps as a repeat of the last time they met in here. That part doesn't really trouble him; it doesn't mean anything at this point, and Xue Yang can't make him be an active participant in such an act. That's all that matters and all he cares to prove to the man. Hands on his own lap, he sits as still as a doll.
It should be easy enough to clear his mind of all worldly matters as he sits there, but... he wonders how the cake tastes. How did it turn out, and if it's any different because it's made by him, or if it'd be like any sweet Xue Yang would consume without a thought.]