( he was expecting a number of possible things - acceptance of the food, rejection of wei ying via yelling, an insistence on jiang cheng's ability to fend for himself - but projectiles? not so much. he ducks to the side with a vague yelp in his throat, the pasta just barely missing, a packet of yellow powder exploding against a nearby shelf.

a wounded sort of scowl is leveled on jiang cheng, because - ) A year, Jiang Cheng, a damn year since we've seen each other, and I thought we might be over this by now, but no - I offer you food, hot delicious food, and you throw things at my face. Can we not move past this?