No Cure

At the age of seventeen, Lu Yuzhou received a friend request at an Internet cafe. She came to inquire about another boy. He replied: "Yes. Quiet, with good grades, and long hair." It was only after he sent it that he realized that it was her that was being described. From that day on, he developed a habit of storing everything she gave him in a drawer. Gloves, sticky notes, love letters, razors, three books with "Dedicated to L" written on them. He kept it for seventeen years and never learned to reply. Because he discovered that silence can also control a relationship - as long as the other person cares about you, the more silent you are, the more she will pursue you. You don't have to do anything, she does everything for you. It was he who initiated the breakup. Said on the phone. I don't have the face to tell it to my face. That year he was in shock and on the verge of death. The last word he typed when he fell to the ground was "you" - her signature was "wear more clothes", which together was the first message he sent her twelve years ago. Message delivery failed. The last two words he said to himself before losing consciousness were: "Fuck." But it took Shen Zhiyi even longer to understand - she was not his drug, but a withdrawal person. It took her twenty years to quit him. Years later, they finished talking on WeChat what they had not said back then. He sent a "you". She said, "I won't patch it up. You finish it yourself." He replied "good night", but she didn't reply. When the phone screen went dark, she said two words - "Goodbye." She said it to herself. He had received everything in his life. I just never learned to reply. At three o'clock in the morning, he made a bowl of noodles and added a little more spicy food - he actually doesn't like spicy food very much. But that's it.