Chapter 68： (1/2)

At the moment when the idea of ​​deceiving came out, his forehead was stinging like a needle—memory opened the flood gate, and a large number of blurry and broken fragments poured out, one frame after another, before him, as dense as Turbulence swallowed up his breathing.

Their first time was on a summer night with heavy rain.

June, or July.

He was soaked from head to toe that day, even worse than a displaced wild dog. He fumbled to He An, **** open the thin iron door with one fist.

He An saw him, bewildered and surprised, and hurriedly welcomed him into the room, and moved out of the only chair to invite him to sit. Fearing that he might catch cold, he said he was going to get him a towel to dry his body, but the moment he turned around, he was slammed into the wall.

Then the thrill came so crazy.

The world is simple, but it is also fiery, and it is constantly flowing. It is a force that is stronger than the ground and penetrates into Zheng Feiyan's nerves, as if the body in the arms is not the other, it is the pleasure itself. The bitter rain fell on He's neck and back, dripping down, wet the skin.

Two pieces of butterfly bone were stretched like a bow in front of his eyes, thin, white and trembling.

A thunder exploded outside the window, and the sky shattered a tragic lightning, reflecting Omega's struggle against the wall, like a butterfly fleeing in a storm.

Later, in autumn and winter, he became a frequent visitor here.

Those regulars in old taverns always like to go to the door and buy a glass of drunkenness when they do not like their hearts, drink a bit of staleness, talk nonsense, and continue to go back to their unpleasant days, but this glass of wine by Zheng Feiyan is different. He always walked into the door in a dizzy manner, pressing He An to vent his arrogance, throwing away all the frustration and memories, and then regaining his soberness in pursuit of his career.

He An has no complaints, just like a flower rooted in a nursery, waiting for him day after day.

Sorrow for him and wither for him.

When he was looking for a spouse, he was not very conscious and didn't like to talk, but He An liked to chat with him. After taking a shower afterwards, I would always twist a hot towel by myself, and while he was wiping his body, he would meditate softly.

Occasionally, He An would bring a newly purchased business magazine to the page with Zheng Fei's exclusive interview, boasting that his photos were taken well and the questions were answered beautifully. Or I brought a collection of poems and said that I read a favorite poem yesterday, there are tired birds, there are water shores, tired birds roam the shore, and they happen to match their names, and then smile and say, "You see, you are tired birds , I'm on the water, you ... are destined to come and rest with me. "

The slight smile, the taste of happiness hidden in the eyes, was full, only willing to reveal the three-point intensity.

When the snow turned into a warm spring season, He An had a stomachache, his abdomen was painful, and his pale face vomited darkly.

He thought that vomiting was because he had a child. He didn't care about going to the hospital. He lay alone at home, endured the most painful pain, and even gave a glimmer of extravagant hope.

When Zheng Fei came here, He An was lying beside him, weakly huddled together, and stretched out his hand, holding his fingers lightly as if tentative.