In truth, Wen Shaoyu went nowhere; after watching him go upstairs, he parked the car and got out.
The night wind was biting cold, and Wen Shaoyu leaned against the car door, looking up at the window upstairs that emitted a dim light, quietly smoking an entire cigarette.
The moonlight was gloomy, the surroundings were completely silent, and vaguely only a tiny scarlet glow could be seen, flickering on and off.
Seven minutes and six seconds-this was the longest cigarette he had ever smoked. The burned-out butt was tossed to the ground, and Wen Shaoyu strode forward and pushed open the unit door.
The red wine bottle dropped silently onto the carpet, rolling all the way under the table with a rumbling sound. The small amount of wine left inside spilled out in a small trace, vivid red and glaring.
His emptied hand was wedged tightly by someone, their fingers interlocked and pressed against the top of his head.
In the quiet room, the air was filled with the heat of intersecting breaths.
Zheng Yan Che tilted his head back to pull away a distance, his breathing unstable: "Didn't you have things to do?"
"Yeah." Wen Shaoyu gave a light chuckle, his deep eyes brimming with surging emotion: "Damn. Do you count as important business?"
Zheng Yan Che did not know when his psychological endurance had become so strong; it was clearly unprintable vulgarity, yet his fingers went limp and weak, and his eyes shimmered with watery light.
The floor heating was warm, and their overlapping bodies felt even more scalding, making the tip of his heart tremble.
The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling window had not yet been drawn, and in a daze, Zheng Yan Che felt incomparably grateful that his home was on the top floor and that there