He heard this, closed his eyes and rested for a while, wanting to reach for the alarm clock on the bedside to check the time, though most likely, once he got it, he would just throw it out of habit.

However, as soon as he moved his fingers, he felt pain all over his body.

Ethan Young half-opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Henry Howard's side profile. It was a bit cramped for two people to squeeze onto a single bed, so they had to sleep on their sides to make more space.

This person wasn't awake yet, but his sleep was disturbed and restless. The hand draped over his waist unconsciously tightened.

Ethan Young's gaze moved down from his face and landed on the few faint red marks on Henry Howard's neck. Only then did memories of last night slowly return.

He was the one who made those marks.

Ethan Young buried his head in the pillow and closed his eyes again. The scenes from last night replayed in his mind like a movie.

He didn't really care about who was on top or bottom; his nature was cold to begin with. If it weren't for Henry Howard, if it weren't for this person, he probably wouldn't even have such thoughts.

Plus, he drank a lot last night. Although his mind was clear, he still couldn't control himself and was handled by Henry Howard.

When the mad dog started talking about the second topic, Henry Howard finally woke up, scratched his hair, and asked in a low voice, "Morning, what time is it?"

Ethan Young wanted to say, "Don't bother me, look for yourself," but his throat was dry, and what came out was so hoarse it was barely audible.

He paused for a moment, but in the end said nothing, lifted the blanket, and got out of bed, barefoot on the floor. The moment his feet touched the ground, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Henry Howard knew he had been a bit rough last night, but Ethan Young was so tough at first, constantly provoking him on the bed: "Are you up to it or not?"

But when he really got rough, Ethan Young couldn't take it, his whole body tense, enduring and unwillingly begging for mercy.

Thinking of this, Henry Howard sat up halfway and asked, "Still hurts?"

Ethan Young was a bit annoyed.

He bent down and picked up the clothes on the floor one by one. The headache from the hangover and the discomfort all over his body swept over him. "What do you think?"

Henry Howard: "Then next time I—"

"There won't be a next time."

Ethan Young opened the door and said, "Your skills are terrible."

Neither of them had much experience. Henry Howard's movements were clumsy and rough, with no sense of control—there was no talk of skill.

But compared to the physical, it was more of a psychological pleasure.

This person is mine.

Completely, without reservation.

Every part of his body.

Ethan Young originally planned to tidy up and go to the classroom for morning reading, but he overestimated his physical condition.

He slept until noon, and when he woke up, it was already lunchtime.

When Henry Howard came in with lunch, he was still curled up under the blanket.

"Get up and eat something before you sleep again," Henry Howard put the lunch box on the table, then walked to the bed and ruffled his hair, "Be good."

Ethan Young's response was to throw a pillow at him.

""

After throwing it, Ethan Young finally sat up. The blanket slipped to his waist, and the clothes he was wearing were a bit messy, the collar askew.

Henry Howard glanced at him but didn't dare look again.

Ethan Young got out of bed and bent down to take a couple of clean clothes from the wardrobe.

Henry Howard leaned against the bathroom door, listening to the sound of running water inside, chatting idly: "Several people were late this morning. Old Thompson dragged them out into the hallway and questioned them one by one. These brats are all experts at making excuses—"

Several people were late this morning. The few boarders who drank and talked about life on the rooftop last night almost couldn't get out of bed. Six or seven of them stood in a row at the classroom door.

Old Thompson had a good temper, but this was the first time he'd seen so many people late at once: "What's going on with you all? What did you do last night?"

Liam Harris stammered for a long time before saying, "Sorry, teacher, I overslept."

Old Thompson questioned them one by one from the front of the line to the end.

They had to come up with excuses, and they couldn't repeat them. The further down the line, the more their imagination was tested.

In the end, someone even came up with an excuse like their pants suddenly ripping halfway down the hall.

"Teacher, when I got to the bottom of the teaching building, I suddenly heard the sound of fabric tearing from below. At that moment, I felt like time stopped, and my world turned from color to black and white."

Henry Howard imitated it pretty well.

Ethan Young turned off the shower and casually complained, "Is he brain-damaged or what."

The sound of running water in the bathroom gradually faded.

"How are you feeling," Henry Howard said again, "If not, just skip the afternoon too, sleep a bit more, I'll ask Old Thompson for leave for you."

Although he still didn't feel great, it wasn't as bad as Henry Howard was worrying.

Ethan Young put on his clothes, opened the door and said, "I'm not crippled."

"Am I really that bad," Henry Howard stepped aside, still minding the topic from the morning, "You sounded like you were enjoying it."

""

Ethan Young really wanted to say, that was because it fucking hurt.

After eating, seeing it was about time, Ethan Young and Henry Howard headed back to the classroom together. Wanda happened to be walking out and bumped into them.

"Yu-ge, you finally showed up? Shouldn't have bought that booze, I almost couldn't get up this morning. Good thing my roommate kicked me out of bed—"

After saying that, Wanda felt something was off, looked a few more times, and vaguely saw a red mark near Ethan Young's collar.

Ethan Young's skin was already pale, and if you looked closely, you could see faint blue veins under the skin.

That bit of red was especially conspicuous.

"Right," after Ethan Young walked past, Wanda slapped his forehead as he remembered, "Just now Old Thompson came by and asked you to go see him in his office."

Since the start of this semester, Ethan Young had rarely skipped class or gotten into fights, much less trouble than before.

The teachers of various subjects often discussed these two "legendary figures."

"That Henry Howard, did pretty well on last semester's finals," a female teacher said as she finished grading, leaned back in her chair to nap, and muttered, "Old Wu really taught him well. Forty-nine points, that's not bad. I remember he used to always get ten or twenty..."

During lunch break, there weren't many students in the teachers' office, and a few teachers chatted idly.

Old Thompson didn't join in, busy organizing his things, until Ethan Young knocked and came in. Only then did he look up: "Here? Sit."

Ethan Young thought Old Thompson was probably going to talk about him skipping class that morning, and was about to say 'I'll pay attention next time,' when he saw Old Thompson push a thick stack of materials toward him.

On the top A4 sheet, it said: Key Points Summary.

It was all very basic stuff, organized from junior high knowledge points, the first line being "Argumentative Essay Expression Methods," with key points marked in red.

Ethan Young stared at it, momentarily at a loss for words.

"I put these together during the holidays when I had time. They're not perfect yet. You and Henry Howard can look over them together, or make another copy if you want."

Old Thompson unscrewed his thermos and poured out some goji berry tea: "Your problem now is you don't memorize enough. The more you look at and memorize these things, the more you'll know which direction to take when answering questions..."

He said he put them together in his spare time, but it was obvious this stack took a lot of effort.

Then Old Thompson hesitated and said, "With your current grades, the college entrance exam is still a bit risky."

Ethan Young really didn't know what he was talking about: ""

"It's okay if you don't know, but you still have to try the homework I assign," Old Thompson sighed and continued, "And stop reading comic books in class."

Since the start of the semester, Ethan Young hadn't pretended to be a bad student anymore, but still gave off a not-so-serious, future-in-jeopardy vibe.

The difficulty at No. 2 High wasn't enough, and the homework was too easy, so he and Henry Howard rarely did it. Just a glance and they knew the answers, so there was no need to write them down. Rather than waste time on these, it was better to do a few harder problems.

Same with class—he only paid attention when something interesting came up, the rest of the time he was working on his own set of competition problems.

It had only been half a month since the semester started, and there hadn't been any tests yet. For the first time, Ethan Young realized how heavy the "bad student" label was, and how hard it was to shake off.

Ethan Young opened his mouth, wanting to say, Teacher, that's not me, I didn't.

"Right, and this too." Old Thompson took a couple sips of tea, put down his cup, and took a file folder out of the drawer.

Inside were the test papers he and Henry Howard had taken before.