Lin Du has a naturally handsome face: tall, slim, fair, with a plain, quiet face behind thin rectangular glasses. His top button is always fastened. When he smiles, he is warm and polite, the kind of gentleman who would give up his seat to an elderly person on the subway or hold the elevator door for you.
His colleagues all say Lin Du is almost excessively polite.
Only I know what he hides behind those glasses.
The mischievous look in his eyes when he takes them off and pushes back his fringe; the shamelessness of dressing like a proper gentleman, then asking with that plain face, “What are you waiting for? Compliment me”; the smug look he gets when he finishes cleaning up my mess and comes over to fish for praise.
I once asked him, “Your prescription isn’t strong. Why do you wear glasses all the time?”
He smiled and nudged his frames up. “If I took them off, would you believe anything I said was proper?”
I thought about it. Probably not.
With his glasses on, he’s a perfect gentleman. With them off, he’s a naughty one. No, that’s not right. He’s always been the naughty one. His glasses are just a prop to fool the world, a veneer of respectability he wears in this overworked, 996-ridden rat race.
The problem is, this man who wears his flirtatiousness right down to the bone, this guy who delivers risqué love lines with a cool, aloof face, is hopeless when it comes to romance.
