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Summary
Anxin's laughter, however, feels like a drill, like an out-of-tune violin in the middle of an acappella choir.
“It's okay,” Sangwon whispers slowly, raising his hands to frame Leo's face. Leo realizes that he has slowed his movements, losing his rhythm for a second. “They can't hear us.”
Leo knows, and perhaps that's what bothers him the most. Now that he's lost his concentration, he can hear it clearly: Xinlong's deep voice, the perfect mandarin that still sounds alien to him, that laugh.
He hates that laugh.