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At school, lunchtime had never been anything special for Gao Tu. His lunchbox menu was always the same, repeating endlessly: a portion of cold rice with a simple fried egg and a few boiled vegetables, or sometimes a thin sandwich with only pickled cucumber and a single leaf of lettuce. Simple, practical, and of course, cheap. Gao Tu never complained—as long as his stomach was filled and he had enough strength to get through the day, that was already more than enough for him.
But without him realizing it, a pair of eyes had been watching this routine for the past few days. Shen Wenlang never said a word—it wasn’t his style to interfere. Yet every time he saw Gao Tu open that modest lunchbox, something stirred uncomfortably inside his chest. A strange unease he couldn’t quite name, as if that sight was… unsettling.
That day, the bell signaling break had just rung. The classroom buzzed with the noise of chairs scraping and students running out, but Gao Tu remained seated at his desk. He pulled his lunchbox from his bag, his hand just brushing the plastic spoon when a tall shadow loomed over him.
THUMP!—a paper bag landed on his desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch.
“Take it. I bought too much food.” Shen Wenlang’s voice was flat, but the way he set the bag down was firm, almost commanding rather than offering.
Gao Tu blinked up, confused. “Huh?”
“I’m full already. You finish the rest.” The words were short, leaving no room for protest. Without waiting for a reply, Shen Wenlang dropped into the seat across from him, leaning back lazily against the wall. His legs crossed, eyes shutting as though the world no longer mattered to him. Gao Tu couldn’t tell whether he had really fallen asleep or was just pretending.
His wide eyes drifted back to the paper bag. Hesitantly, his fingers reached for it, as if touching something foreign that didn’t belong to him. Curiosity, however, soon outweighed his hesitation. Carefully, he drew out a lunchbox, opened the lid—and froze.
The moment the lid lifted, a wave of fragrance spilled out, soft and warm, filling the air around him. The savory aroma of thick broth still faintly steamed, as if it had just left the pan.
Inside were pieces of meat glistening under a glossy sauce, thick and tender, their edges seared golden brown. Each cut released a rich, meaty fragrance, calling to his tongue to taste. The portion was generous—far more than the small rice and vegetables Gao Tu had brought. It was as if someone had chosen this hearty meal deliberately.
Not a trace suggested it had been touched. The rice was warm, grains intact and neat. The vegetables looked fresh, their colors bright as though just added in. The slices of meat were arranged perfectly atop, as though placed to entice the eye. It was too neat, too untouched—impossible to be someone’s leftovers.
Gao Tu’s heart sank heavily. Something pressed against his chest from within, tightening his breath. He… really bought this for me?
A faint smile crept to his lips, unbidden yet warm, mingled with sudden embarrassment. He quickly ducked his head, letting his fringe fall forward to hide the storm of feelings he couldn’t control.
A soft heat crept up his cheeks, spreading quickly to his ears. For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed, like a small light flaring to life in the dark. But he forced himself to blink it away, dimming it down, masking his face with neutrality. As if nothing had happened. As if his chest wasn’t thrumming wildly from a single thought.
Carefully, Gao Tu picked up his chopsticks, choosing a piece of meat that shone with sauce, and brought it to his lips. The moment his tongue met the tender texture, the flavor burst—warm, soft, perfectly seasoned, every bite soaked in rich savor. Entirely unlike his usual cold rice with a thin fried egg sprinkled only with soy sauce and a dash of salt.
Delicious.
Almost too delicious.
He chewed slowly, savoring the taste as if wanting to trap it on his tongue longer. His own lunchbox, once enough to fill him, now sat pushed to the corner of the desk. He told himself he would eat it later—if it was still edible—while continuing with Shen Wenlang’s food.
Gao Tu tried to keep composed, eating with steady movements, as if unhurried. Yet deep inside, a fierce urge swelled—an almost unbearable desire to devour it all at once. Each bite felt like an unexpected gift, too precious to waste. And so, with effort, he held himself back.
He didn’t notice that from behind his seemingly closed lids, Shen Wenlang had cracked open one eye, peeking. The usually cold, sharp gaze softened, resting on the sight before him: Gao Tu eating earnestly, yet still striving to appear polite.
A faint curve touched the corner of Shen Wenlang’s lips. Something warm flickered in his chest.
Deep down, he knew—today, with nothing more than a single lunchbox, Gao Tu already looked so happy. And strangely, that happiness filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction.
Satisfied, because for the first time, he could see Gao Tu eat without restraint, without hiding his hunger.
Satisfied, because he knew it was thanks to him. That satisfaction even fanned a quiet fire in his ego, as though he wanted the world to know—only he, Shen Wenlang, could make Gao Tu like this.
But he quickly shut his eyes again, resuming his act of sleep. As though nothing had happened.
Minutes later, in the quiet classroom, a small voice slipped into his ears. A whisper, yet somehow ringing clear.
“Thank you… for the meal.”
The words were so soft, as if Gao Tu feared disturbing anyone. But beneath that fragile whisper lay something heavy—genuine gratitude, warm and impossible to conceal.
Shen Wenlang didn’t move, still lounging lazily in his seat. But inside, his heart thundered. As if the world itself was praising him in a language only he could understand. His chest swelled, filled with a warmth that spread into pride.
He didn’t need to answer. It was enough to let that faint smile linger, hidden beneath his feigned slumber. In silence, Shen Wenlang savored the warmth longer than he should have.