Thanks, [ he whispers again when Yingxing says something about saving him the trouble, half for something to say and half because holding the book like this he can see his own wristband and he's started to notice the depth of the mess in which he's landed himself. This is bad, this is so, so bad...

Looking up—

looking up doesn't help. Now he's gazing right up into a fond expression worn in lavender eyes, the space between them far too little for comfort, and... and...

He clears his throat, looks around—is there an escape route? Something?—before Yingxing's words have him looking back up, forcing a smile and nodding. ]

It's... small. Quiet, here. That's usually why I come. There are a lot of good books, and the cafe is a good place for study. But I... [ Another shake of his head. ] What are you doing here? It might be quiet, but you still had to get here somehow...