of the support staff.
While everyone else laughed, drank, and enjoyed the show, though, she spotted one person looking down at the ground. What, bored? Maomao wondered. He was a young man dressed in fine silk; he rested a small cup of wine on one knee, sipping from it occasionally. A gray gloom clung to him. They’re going to think I’m not doing my job, thought Maomao, who had a way of turning serious about anything she happened to be doing. She grabbed a good, full bottle of wine and sat down beside the melancholy young man. His sleek, dark bangs hid much of his face. For the life of her, she couldn’t see his expression.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
Maomao was puzzled: his voice was oddly familiar. Her hand moved almost before she could think; any thought of propriety or politeness had vanished from her mind. Careful not to touch the young man’s cheek, she lifted his hair.