Chapter 15 — Icebergs Also Know Red Eyes

At the hot pot restaurant, he dipped the meat for me - the fatty beef, dipped it for ten seconds, took it out, dipped it in the sauce, and put it in my bowl. One bite after another, the movements were as skillful as if they had been doing it all their lives.

“Eat it yourself.”

“I'm eating.”

“I haven't picked up a single chopstick yet.”

“Watching you eat makes me feel full.”

I looked up and glared at him. His expression remained unchanged as he continued to dip the meat, but the curve at the corner of his mouth - even if he hid it, he couldn't hide it. To Niem sat next to him, recording a video with his phone from start to finish.

“I have to send this video to my mother,” he muttered while filming, “So she can see what kind of person her precious son is now.”

To Nghien didn't even bother turning around: "Send it." To Niem was stunned: "You won't stop me?"

“It's up to you.”

To Niem turned to look at me, his face shocked and shocked: "In the past, I only needed to post a photo of him, and he chased me three flights of stairs." I smiled and bent down to pick up the meat. It's so warm inside that it's burning. The day before going abroad, he came to find me. Downstairs in the dormitory, still in that position, still under the streetlight. He held a paper bag and gave it to me. I opened it — inside was a thermos lunch box, and a piece of paper. The paper was covered with his handwriting — *When eating alone, remember to pay attention to nutritional balance.* *Don't eat instant noodles every day.* *Exercise three times a week, no need to jog or walk.* *If you want to eat grilled meat, just go eat, no need to hold back.* *But limit milk tea, maximum two cups a week.* The last line of the pen was much darker than the lines above — *Waiting for you to come home.* I folded the paper, put it in your shirt pocket.

“Half a year.” I said.

“Yes.”

“Very fast.”

“Yes.”

He stood there, looking at me, the streetlight reflecting brightly in the bottom of his eyes. Then he opened his arms and pulled me into a tight hug. Hugging so tightly, his chin rested on the top of my head, the vibrations transmitted from his chest—

“Khuong Loc.”

“Yes.”

“When I come back, it won't matter if you're fat.”

I burst out laughing and snuggled into his chest: "You didn't say that before."

“Before was before.”

“So why did you restrict me from eating and drinking in the beginning?”

He was silent for a moment, his sad voice mixed with my hair: "Because you said you wanted to lose weight. What you want to do, I want to help you."

“That's all?”

“That's all.”

“It has nothing to do with you liking me?”

He didn't say anything. But the arms holding me tightened even more. I buried my face in his chest, listening to his heart beat — very fast, much faster than usual.

“To Nghien.”

“Yes.”

“When I come back, you might actually be fat.”

"Then I'll go lose weight with you."

“You don't mind?”

“No.”

“Forever without criticism?”

“Forever.”

I closed my eyes, engraving this hug in my mind. Temperature, hug strength, heartbeat, scent of laundry detergent. Remember it all. * Half a year later. At the exit to the airport, I stood in the middle of the crowd, holding up a cardboard sign with both hands. On the cover were written the words — *"Failed to lose weight, gain 1.5 kg fat, claim compensation."* A stream of people rushed out, I stood on tiptoe and looked inside. Then I saw him. Black coat, suitcase, not seen for half a year, a little thinner, hair a little longer. As soon as he stepped out, his eyes scanned the crowd, stopping at my cardboard sign. Stop. Staring for three seconds. Then he laughed. That familiar smile - the eyebrows are stretched, the corners of the mouth are curved, the eyes sparkle as if they contain thousands of stars. He pulled his suitcase and walked towards me, his steps getting faster and faster, eventually running slowly. Vali threw it aside and rushed straight to hug me. It wasn't me who rushed forward — it was he who rushed forward. The young man, six feet tall, buried his face in the crook of my shoulder, his arms tightening around my waist, entrusting all his body weight to this side.