Chapter 10: Your Tea Is Cold

Han's flat was ten minutes from the hospital, on the third floor of an old staff block.

At nine o'clock Tong Yu stood outside the door with nothing in his hands.

He had rehearsed three speeches on the stairs and forgotten all of them.

The door opened before he knocked.

Han stood there in his shirtsleeves with his glasses off and his hair damp.

Behind him a lamp was lit in a bare room.

It held one chair, one table, a shelf of journals and a narrow bed made with a hospital corner.

"You are on time," said Han.

"I'm always on time. It's my only vice."

"Come in."

On the table sat a cup of tea.

Tong Yu crossed the room and picked it up and touched the side.

"Your tea is cold, Director," he said.

"I made it at eight." Han's mouth twitched. "I was ready at a quarter to."

"You were ready at a quarter to?"

"I have been standing in this room for an hour, Tong Yu. I have moved the chair twice."

Tong Yu put the cup down and began to laugh.

Han came across the floor and stopped in front of him, so close that the laughing went out of both of them.

It was past nine. The pill had worn off, and Han's right hand hung at his side, and it shook.

"I will not be good at this," said Han.

"Neither will I."

"I would like you to know that I have read a great deal."

"I've read a great deal too," said Tong Yu, and heard his voice crack. "There were diagrams. I'm told they're not much use."

"I have never done this," said Han. "Any of it. There has been no one."

"There's been no one for me either. I was busy reading your papers."

"That is a terrible reason," said Han.

"It's the only one I've got."

Han bent his head and kissed him.

It was easier than the stairwell and the office. It was slow, and unhurried, and it asked nothing but time.

When it ended, Tong Yu found that his hands had gone to the front of Han's shirt.

They were working at the buttons without any instruction from him.

"Wait," said Han. "My hand."

"What about it?"

"It will not stay still. I do not want it to frighten you."

Tong Yu took the right hand in both of his and turned it over.

He pressed his mouth to the palm, to the center of it where the tremor ran, and felt it jump against his lips.

"It doesn't frighten me," he said. "I want you to use it."

Han made a low sound.

"All of it. I'm not asking you to hold it still. Use it."

He took the hand and laid it against his own chest, over the shirt, over his heartbeat, and held it there.

Han's other hand came up to his face. His thumb traced the line of his jaw, and for a while he only looked.

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