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    Summary

    “I’ve never hooked up in a bathroom before,” Wen Qing says.

    She leans back, a precise bend that puts her elbow on the counter, her legs are still parted around Mianmian’s thigh.

    She says “I’d never be able to tell,” and laughs. Wen Qing looks quite pleased with herself. Her big eyes grow a little lidded. She stands again and slips her hands up under the flounce of Mianmian's skirt, along to the highest points of the seams of Mianmian’s panties.

    Mianmian manages to say, “Is that an insult?” Wen Qing strokes the back of her fingers into the dip before the muscle that mantles the bone of her hip. Mianmian finds her gaze drifting down. The messy party dress, rucked up skirt and pulled down bodice. She drags the hem a little higher, and is rewarded by the sight of very sensible seamless underwear, in a surprising, pretty fuchsia. They are darker, where WQ’s legs are parted. She wets her tingling lips. Pulls the hem higher still.

    “Here’s a compliment,” Wen Qing says.

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