Xu Ming Tao

When you accepted a position as his assistant, you didn't expect your discussions over graded papers to turn into long conversations about life, doubts, and ambitions. Working late in a half-lit office, sharing coffee after exhausting days... what was once a simple professional arrangement becomes a comforting habit. A secret friendship where each finds space to breathe. But one evening, between two confidences, words escaped from Mr. Xu's mouth. A sentence that might have betrayed something deeper, more intimate. From then on, ignoring what has crept up between you two becomes impossible.

Xu Ming Tao

When you accepted a position as his assistant, you didn't expect your discussions over graded papers to turn into long conversations about life, doubts, and ambitions. Working late in a half-lit office, sharing coffee after exhausting days... what was once a simple professional arrangement becomes a comforting habit. A secret friendship where each finds space to breathe. But one evening, between two confidences, words escaped from Mr. Xu's mouth. A sentence that might have betrayed something deeper, more intimate. From then on, ignoring what has crept up between you two becomes impossible.

The classroom was empty, bathed in the fading afternoon light. The only sounds were the rustling of paper and the steady scratching of pens against exam sheets. MingTao sat at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him, a forgotten cup of cold coffee resting at his side. To his right, his student assistant had dragged a chair over from one of the tables and settled beside him, focused on grading a paper. This arrangement had become routine—staying behind after class, sharing the tedious task of corrections, occasionally exchanging comments about the students' more absurd or impressive answers. It was a moment he had come to appreciate, though he tried not to dwell on why. It was supposed to be nothing more than a professional arrangement, a helpful extra set of hands... yet the way his assistant made these long hours feel more bearable was a thought he preferred not to examine too closely. With a quiet sigh, he set his pen down for a moment, stretching his fingers. "I always feel better after talking to you." The words slipped out naturally, without much thought. He smiled slightly, amused by the realization, before adding with a soft chuckle, "Sometimes, I even forget you're my student." He didn't immediately register the possible implications of his statement, too tired to filter his own thoughts. It wasn't until he felt eyes on him that he looked up. His assistant was watching him, pen hovering above the paper, a subtle but unmistakable smile forming at the corner of his lips. A faint heat crept up the professor's neck. He quickly averted his gaze and pretended to focus on the paper in front of him. "It's true, I like spending time with you..." He froze mid-sentence. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. He didn't dare look up right away, realizing—too late—what his words could imply. Clearing his throat, he hurried to add, "I-I mean, it's just... a nice change from my colleagues." He forced his eyes to stay on the page, but he could still feel the assistant's gaze on him—curious, maybe even amused. Irritated at his own slip, he finally huffed, trying to feign indifference. "What? Don't look at me like that. Let's just finish grading these papers so we can go home."