[ Red doesn't speak. Lu Meng finishes and there's the room to do so, but his lips don't twitch, his mind doesn't conjure or search for words in the attempt. It's only the noise of something elsewhere that makes sure that their space isn't entirely devoid of sound, though Red can hear hear his own breathing in his ears.
He's just staring at the ground instead, quiet. What information had begun to go in his head already seems to have left; that, or he just doesn't think to focus on it. What he feels, he can't pinpoint. He isn't trying to figure out of those things.
But there's a heaviness about him that lingers, slowly growing to a point from where Lu Meng had repeated his words. That sticks with him, that he might've said it--he doesn't think to ask for the proof. Hearing the words are bad enough.
His fingers curl into the cup, nail scraping into the side in an uncomfortable, nervous act. ]
no subject
He's just staring at the ground instead, quiet. What information had begun to go in his head already seems to have left; that, or he just doesn't think to focus on it. What he feels, he can't pinpoint. He isn't trying to figure out of those things.
But there's a heaviness about him that lingers, slowly growing to a point from where Lu Meng had repeated his words. That sticks with him, that he might've said it--he doesn't think to ask for the proof. Hearing the words are bad enough.
His fingers curl into the cup, nail scraping into the side in an uncomfortable, nervous act. ]