“I love you. Goodnight.”

Saying “I love you” to Qian Wang every night was Zhao Ziqiang’s only delicate and romantic gesture.

Qian Wang’s feelings towards this habit shifted over time – from enjoying it, to growing tired of it, to finding it unbearable, and finally, to tolerating it… until he ignored it altogether.

Seven years.

“Do you hate me?”

As soon as he said it, Qian Wang wanted to bite his tongue off.

Zhao Ziqiang sighed with a faint smile, the two locked in a gaze.

“The words I say to you every day are not lies.”

For some reason, hearing this gave Qian Wang a small sense of triumph, though it was overshadowed by an inexplicable heaviness.

Zhao Ziqiang sat up and straddled Qian Wang’s waist.

“But… Qian Wang,” he continued with a burning intensity in his eyes, “let’s break up… goodnight.”