His arms encircled Xia Weiyi, tense and rigid—he feared holding her too tightly might cause her pain, yet too loosely might prompt her to push him away.
Xia Weiyi felt Ye Che's head nuzzle into the crook of her neck, a sense of reliance akin to that of a helpless child. She sniffled, fighting the scorching sensation in her throat, and asked nonchalantly.
"Ye Che, what's wrong?"
"Yiyi, let me hold you..."
Ye Che's voice was somewhat hoarse, laden with deep sorrow and reluctance, prompting Xia Weiyi's tears to brim over uncontrollably. Fearing her tears might fall onto his shoulder, she raised her hand to hastily wipe them away, then patted Ye Che's back as though comforting a child.
She said nothing, and neither did Ye Che.
One was thinking: Yiyi, I just want to hold you like this, and never let go, is that okay?
The other was thinking: Ye Che, I just want to hold you like this, be willful one last time, is that okay?
