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Summary
Something JL had whispered made Shuaibo grin. Then, almost absentmindedly, Shuaibo reached out and brushed a hand against JL's arm. Before he could stop himself, his jaw tightened and a rushed puff of air left his nostrils in indignation.
It was ridiculous, really. Shuaibo wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just talking with a group mate, with one of their friends. Yet Chih En found himself staring anyway, his thoughts turning sour in ways he hated to admit.
