"I'll, um, go dry these."
"They're already dried."
"Oh." Shen Mosheng's ear tips began to spread red, and his eyes were fixed on the window, not daring to move a bit.
"Shen Mosheng, actually I often help my brother do laundry, it's no big deal," Han Yingying tried to ease the awkwardness, deliberately speaking in a relaxed tone.
Shen Mosheng pursed his lips, "I'm not the same as Zishi."
"You're both men, what's the difference?"
"It's different," Shen Mosheng stubbornly emphasized.
"Because you're more like my dad? It's fine, I've also helped my dad do laundry."
Shen Mosheng knew Han Yingying was wrong but, awkward with words, didn't know how to refute her and felt quite frustrated.
The atmosphere suddenly turned a bit stiff.
Han Yingying covered her face, feeling helpless.
One stood unyielding, rooted to the spot.
The other absent-mindedly swiped on her phone.
Neither spoke, and the air seemed to solidify, quiet to the point of eeriness.
