FENG LANG
His hands clutched the cushions of the sofa like they were his lifeline. Although he wasn't paying attention to it—I was sure of that—his eyes stayed fixed on the TV screen. He was paler than usual, and more fidgety.
But at least, there were no broken mirrors. I knew something was not right.
"No work today?" I asked.
His forehead creased as his face twitched every now and then. Surely, he was not aware of that.
"Mmm," he answered to my surprise. I hadn't expected him to, given his recent irritable tendencies.
Yichen not going to work. Was the world ending tomorrow? His test lab was practically his whole identity.
"Is there any reason?"
Ever so slowly, he twisted until our eyes met. I frowned. Had he even slept? The bags under his eyes were unnatural, especially for a C Gen like himself. I opened my mouth to say something about it, but— "Don't you have somewhere to be?" He snapped, then went back to staring at the TV like he wasn't the one who just spoke.
