Wen Yanyu startled and hurriedly raised his arm to wipe the tears off the man's face, explaining in a fluster, "I was joking. Why are you crying? Oh, don't, don't cry. It's okay, I..."
Before he could finish, Fu Hanchuan caught his hand and pressed him tightly into his arms.
Their tightly clasped hands trembled nonstop.
Tears kept falling onto the fabric at his shoulder, slowly soaking through, searing hot.
Fu Hanchuan buried his face in his shoulder without a word, only gasping for breath as his suppressed anguish gathered into tears that streamed uncontrollably down his face.
The heavy breathing by his ear grew deeper, gradually turning into sniffles, sobs, and choked cries.
Those uncertain words became the last straw.
He was willing to make that choice for his lover, but he was only an ordinary person, and faced with the unknown of death, he still inevitably felt afraid.
Faced with the impending loss of the happiness he had finally obtained, he inevitably felt unwilling to let go.
He and Fu Zhiyan were one person. Their thoughts had been shared at that moment, and they had both tried to convince themselves that even after they left, someone would take good care of Yanyan. With thirty years to live and his family by his side, Yanyan would be happy.
But the sight of him so terribly weak and miserable with illness had personally shattered that self-deception, leaving them unable to help feeling fear and worry.
Apart from them, was there really anyone who could always stay beside their lover? Would anyone truly be able to love him wholeheartedly again?
After he was gone.
Would Yanyan truly be happy?
As partners, they knew each other best. He knew Wen Yanyu's personality, and he knew what had kept him going until now.