Chapter Text
It's been a year since Heathcliff's met Hong Lu and had him as a roommate.
He's not that bad. He does his part of the chores (albeit clumsily, but better than nothing,) and is oddly thoughtful in his own way, doing things that you don't ask him to do.
Heathcliff's observed a few attributes of his that may or may not affect his final verdict, however.
Hong Lu likes routines. Heathcliff does, too, and doesn't everyone? He thinks this rich lass's routine is weird, though, because who in their right mind orders chicken nuggets at the same time every day with not a single variation in the sauce or number for months?
("Why don't you try another sauce this time?"
"I don't like it..."
"Have you even tried 'em yet?"
"Not really...")
He doubts he missed a day— Heathcliff knows he didn't except for the days they'd ran out of stock and the lad somehow keeps getting them even on days where the cramming gets too much.
("Oh, hi, Heathcliff! Welcome home!"
He used to get bothered by Hong Lu saying such domestic words, but it wound up becoming part of his routine, ironically.
"You're eatin' those things again."
"Mm."
The dining table was littered with folders and papers.
"Oh, I'm sorry," He stands up, gathering them in his hands and arranging them, "I'll clean this up."
"Nah, it's fine, 'm already full so I won't eat anyways."
He's just there every time he comes back from class— sitting on the dining table... shoving a fork into the chicken nuggets and taking small bites as he works.
("I don't think 've ever seen you eat with your hands before..."
The lad cuts his burger into pieces to eat, uses a fork to eat goddamn friends fries and shoves potsto chips in his mouth whenever he eats anything else than chicken nuggets using spoons.
"Well..."
...it takes him hours to finish a whole box.
Why?
Again, he doesn't know why.
He doesn't think he wants to know why.