warm light in the mirror
A thin layer of dust covered the studio's glass windows, and the afternoon sunlight slanted in, casting diamond-shaped patches of light on the floor. Lin Wanqing stood before the canvas, brush in hand, the tip hovering in mid-air, but her gaze went beyond the easel and landed on the doorway to the tea room.
Zhong Hua was unscrewing the cap of an iced tea bottle, his thumb pressing against the edge of the cap as he turned it halfway around, the soft "click" sound mingling with the hum of the coffee machine. When he reached out to hand the bottle to A Yu, A Yu had just taken her camera off the tripod, and her action of taking the bottle was as natural as breathing—her fingers gripped the bottle precisely where Zhong Hua had released it.
"Slacking off again." Lin Wanqing withdrew her gaze, the tip of her brush sweeping across the canvas, the indigo paint spreading out indistinct shadows. She heard Ah Yu running over in her slippers, the zipper on her camera bag making a soft clattering sound.
"No, not at all," Ah Yu placed the iced tea on the small table next to the easel. "I just took a few test shots in backlight, and Zhong Hua said the aperture needs to be reduced by two stops." As he spoke, his fingertips unconsciously tapped the bottle, and water droplets on the bottle trickled down between his fingers, leaving a small wet stain on the wooden floor.
Zhong Hua came out of the break room carrying two cups of coffee. As he pushed one of them towards Ah Yu, the handle turned to Ah Yu's preferred angle. "We're going to the old steel factory to film the ruins this afternoon," he said, his gaze lingering on the dusty knees of Ah Yu's jeans. "Remember to wear long pants, so you don't get snagged on the wire again."
Ah Yu tilted her head back and gulped down a mouthful of iced tea, the curve of her Adam's apple noticing Zhong Hua. "Got it," he smacked his lips, then suddenly seemed to remember something, turned and ran towards the equipment cabinet, "The film we shot last time needs to be developed, otherwise we won't make it to the exhibition this weekend."
Zhong Hua watched as Ah Yu slammed open the equipment cabinet door, shook his head helplessly, and bent down to pick up the camera strap that Ah Yu had carelessly tossed on the ground. The strap buckle was loose; it had been caught on a branch when they went to the botanical garden to photograph lotus flowers last week. He took a paperclip out of his pocket, quickly fastened the buckle, and casually hung it on a hook inside the equipment cabinet—a spot Ah Yu could easily reach with her arm out.
Lin Wanqing put down her paintbrush and watched Zhong Hua take the film developing solution out of the cabinet and dilute it with water according to Ah Yu's usual ratio. Sunlight filtered through his hair, casting dappled shadows on his neck, much like the scene in the university library. Back then, Zhong Hua always sat by the window, and Ah Yu would nap at the table next to him. He would move Ah Yu's easel half an inch closer to himself to block the slanting sunlight.
"What are we having for dinner?" Ah Yu peeked out of the darkroom, holding a roll of film, her wisps of hair curling up from the steam of the developing solution.
"Wednesday," Lin Wanqing pointed to the calendar on the wall with her paintbrush, "it's your turn to order takeout."
Ah Yu said "Oh," turned around to find her phone, and as she passed Zhong Hua, her elbow brushed against his waist. The measuring cup in Zhong Hua's hand wobbled, and developer splattered onto the cuff of his white lab coat, the blue-black stain quickly spreading. "Clumsy," he muttered, but his lips didn't curl downwards.
When Ah Yu ordered takeout, Zhong Hua had already put the film into the developing tank. He took off his white coat and draped it over the back of his chair, and saw Ah Yu frowning at her phone screen. "What's wrong?" He walked over, and as soon as his gaze fell on the screen, Ah Yu moved aside, making room for him in her chair.
"I want to eat the tomato and egg stir-fry from that restaurant," Ah Yu poked at her phone screen, "but the note can only have fifty characters, not enough to say no scallions, no garlic, peel the tomatoes, and the eggs have to be overcooked."
Zhong Hua took his phone and his fingers flew across the screen. "I know the boss well," he said, handing the phone back. "Last time I went to film their kitchen, the boss said I could just label it 'same as always' from now on."
Ah Yu looked at the words "same as always" on the screen and suddenly burst out laughing. "You even remember that." When he looked up, the tip of his nose almost touched Zhong Hua's chin. Sunlight squeezed in through the gap in the curtains, gilding his eyelashes with a layer of gold.
Zhong Hua leaned back, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. "Otherwise, you'll start nitpicking again," he said, his gaze falling on the small pocket on the side of Ah Yu's camera bag—a lens cap was sticking out, which Ah Yu had casually stuffed into it last week when shooting the sunset, and it was now stuck in the zipper. He reached out, pulled out the lens cap, and tossed it toward the equipment cabinet. The plastic cap arced through the air, landing right next to Zhong Hua's usual lens.
Ah Yu's eyes lit up. "Great job, Zhong Hua," he said, patting the armrest of his chair as he stood up. "Add an egg tonight."
Lin Wanqing chuckled as she listened, turning the easel to face the two of them. The indigo on the canvas was completely dry; she dipped her brush in titanium white and dotted a few blurry spots of light. "If you two keep going like this," she paused, a drop of white paint falling onto the canvas like a tear that hadn't fully dried, "you'll both eventually grow together."
Ah Yu's face flushed red instantly. She turned around and rummaged through the filters in the equipment cabinet. The clinking of the metal filter cases betrayed her unspoken panic. Zhong Hua, however, seemed not to hear her. He hung the developed film on the clothesline, the clips spaced evenly so that the wind could pass through them.
When the takeout arrived, it had started raining sometime earlier. Ah Yu went downstairs to pick up the food, and when he returned, his hair was dripping wet, but the takeout container in his arms was wrapped tightly. "It's raining so hard," he said, putting the container on the table, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the plastic bag, "I almost got soaked to the bone."
Zhong Hua handed him a towel and casually closed the window halfway. Raindrops tapped against the glass, making a dense, pattering sound, enveloping the studio in a damp, warm atmosphere. Lin Wanqing set out three sets of bowls and chopsticks, watching as Ah Yu opened the box of scrambled eggs with tomatoes, her chopsticks immediately reaching for the thickest piece of egg.
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