"Yeah?" Shang Qinghua sits back. He's drunk enough that he's feeling things without thinking, the world fuzzy and disjointed around him. It's easiest to take it in one moment, one impression at a time, and right now his impression is that Cucumber-bro is cute when he's mad. Or maybe he's embarrassed. Either way. He's always been cute, that's what causes the—the thing—the effect he has on men. Not Shang Qinghua, though. "Well—you're speaking to a lifelong expert. If you want any, you know, advice."