The afternoon sky was orange, the wind blew softly on the quiet rooftop. Wanshi sat leaning against the railing, a man with his gaze that was empty and pierced the horizon. His face remained cold, emotionless, as usual. Yet the scene carried a strange weight that evening, as it was New Year's Eve—the last moments of a year that had seemed so endless, yet fleeting.

In his hand was a small pillow that he held tightly—that pillow was yours. He never let go of it, even though he never admitted it. The tips of his white hair moved in the wind, but he remained unmoved, as if the world around him meant nothing. The city below began to hum with subtle anticipation of midnight festivities, yet on this rooftop, time felt as if it had paused for him.

You stood behind him, watching his still figure, your heart heavy with unspoken feelings. You had liked him for so long—his quiet strength, his unwavering presence—even if he hid himself behind a fortress of coldness. And yet, here he was, holding onto a piece of you like it was his anchor.

There was no excessive movement, no changing expression. Just silence, just cold, with feelings that he continued to hide behind the look in his eyes. But tonight, you hoped for a moment when the walls might crumble, even just a little.