Logan Sullivan chatted with him for a bit, then brought up Quinn Barnes: “She’s confessed to murdering her grandmother and is now going through the public prosecution process. Her father has disowned her, and her mother reportedly fainted twice from crying outside the courtroom. Who knows what they were doing before all this happened. As for sentencing, I can’t really say—depends on what her lawyer can negotiate. But since she has a good attitude and turned herself in, the panel will probably consider a lighter sentence.”

William Sherman was silent for a while, then sighed. “It’s my fault for not teaching her well.”

Logan Sullivan was already so hungry his stomach was sticking to his back, wolfing down his food. With his mouth stuffed full of fried rice, cheeks puffed out, he looked at him with an incredulous expression, unable to speak but clearly conveying with his eyes—what does this have to do with you?

William Sherman lowered his head and took a sip of soup without much appetite. “Back in the day, if a student got into trouble, the teacher would be held responsible too. Passing on knowledge and resolving doubts, and yet I ended up teaching someone like this…”

The rest of the sentence was probably not very pleasant. William Sherman paused, frowned, and didn’t finish.

Listening to this, Logan Sullivan thought to himself, What a load of nonsense—leftover feudal thinking from who knows when.

Of course, when facing William Sherman, he always tried to appear a bit more civilized, so he just chewed that thought along with his fried rice and swallowed it down.

Although William Sherman tried every possible way to avoid him, when they actually sat together, he didn’t seem impatient at all. In fact, he even seemed to be in a better mood, and he was always very attentive, constantly looking after others. When Logan Sullivan unconsciously reached for the same dish for the third time, the plate was pushed right in front of him. Not only that, William Sherman also picked up the hot teapot and poured hot water for both of them.

Logan Sullivan quickly said, “I can do it myself, really.”

“It’s hot, don’t touch it.” William Sherman deftly avoided his hand and poured the steaming tea into his cup. “You eat too fast. That’s bad for your stomach.”

Logan Sullivan hurriedly wiped his mouth, trying to look refined and elegant. “Oh, I just haven’t eaten dinner yet, so I’m a bit hungry now. Actually, I usually eat very slowly and chew carefully.”

William Sherman smiled. Logan Sullivan was about to take advantage of the good mood to push things a bit further, but just then, the table in the little restaurant suddenly shook. An empty bowl at the edge fell off, but Logan Sullivan reacted quickly and caught it. The lightbulb overhead swayed gently.

William Sherman: “Was that an earthquake?”

The tremor quickly subsided. Logan Sullivan was just about to speak when, suddenly, an indescribable feeling welled up in his chest—like that jolt you get when you dream of falling and wake up in the middle of the night, leaving his chest hollow.

Something… something has come out.

For some reason, that’s what a voice in Logan Sullivan’s mind told him.

Maybe the fried rice was a bit cold, or maybe the porridge was too hot. Either way, eating all those hot, cold, sour, and sweet things together only made his already fragile stomach worse. After that strange feeling passed, his stomach, which had just settled down, suddenly hurt again, sharp as a needle. Logan Sullivan shuddered.

“What’s wrong?” William Sherman asked.

“Ugh…” Logan Sullivan hunched his shoulders, elbows propped on the table.

William Sherman supported his shoulder. “Where does it hurt? Is it your stomach?”

Even though he was feeling unwell, Logan Sullivan still didn’t forget to take advantage of the situation. He grabbed William Sherman’s wrist, his fingers brushing over the back of his hand—neither too light nor too heavy, somewhere between teasing and accidental. With a bit of a nasal tone, he said, “A little. You really jinxed me.”

Faced with this, William Sherman was at a loss for words and could only quickly pull his hand back. “…I’ll go get you a bowl of hot soup.”

Logan Sullivan couldn’t quite tell if William Sherman was shy or just rejecting him, so he sat there with a gentlemanly smile. Unfortunately, the act didn’t last long. Moments later, karma struck—his stomach pain intensified, and Logan Sullivan finally couldn’t help but bend over, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from secretly signaling the waiter and taking the chance to pay the bill.

William Sherman brought over a bowl of hot wonton soup. Logan Sullivan managed to drink half a bowl with his help, then waved it off—he really couldn’t drink any more. By now, his lips were already turning pale.

William Sherman looked at his complexion. “I think I should take you to the hospital.”

Logan Sullivan forced a determined smile. “Go to the hospital for something this minor? No need, I have medicine at home.”

He tried to stand up with the help of the table, but halfway up, he sat back down.

William Sherman’s expression grew serious. “No, you have to go to the hospital.”

Logan Sullivan pressed his left abdomen with one hand and grabbed him with the other. “If I go to the hospital, they’ll make me swallow that barium stuff that tastes like paint, or stick a tube in me and do a gastroscopy. Either way, it’s worse than death. Please, just don’t let them torture me.”

William Sherman frowned deeply.

“Besides, I was planning to invite you to a play tomorrow. The tickets are already—”

“Refunded.” William Sherman cut him off without discussion, supported his arm, and carefully helped Logan Sullivan up. “I’m not going—Hey, miss, could we get the—”

Before he could finish saying “the bill,” the waiter was already walking over with the receipt and change.

These little tricks for picking up girls… William Sherman shot Logan Sullivan a glare, thinking, serves you right if you suffer.

Logan Sullivan lowered his head, grinning mischievously at his own shoes.

In the end, despite Logan Sullivan’s firm resistance and total lack of cooperation, William Sherman had no choice but to take him home.

It was his first time at Logan Sullivan’s place. He didn’t have time to turn on the lights and immediately tripped over an open umbrella by the door—rain is rare in Longcheng in winter, and it had been at least half a month since the last rainfall. The owner must be too lazy to put it away, even if it’s about to grow mushrooms.

Looking again, there was a bag of laundry from the cleaners on the shoe cabinet, the tag dated two days ago—probably not in a hurry to wear, so it hadn’t been unwrapped yet.

William Sherman glanced around the room. There were shirts, pants, and a wool vest thrown on the sofa, and the bed was covered with all kinds of books, new and old, with a laptop in sleep mode underneath—there wasn’t even a place to sit, let alone lie down.

William Sherman silently looked at Logan Sullivan, then placed him in the only unoccupied corner of the sofa before starting to tidy up the bed.

Logan Sullivan curled up on the sofa, watching William Sherman’s long legs with a mix of pain and pleasure, swallowing quietly.

William Sherman turned around. “Where do you usually put all this stuff?”

Logan Sullivan: “On the bed during the day, on the floor at night.”

William Sherman: “…”

He sighed. Whenever he was with Logan Sullivan, he found himself sighing much more often.

William Sherman quickly stacked the books on the bed into two piles, cleared a space on the equally messy desk to put them, and set the laptop on the nightstand. “Come on, lie down first. I’ll get your medicine… Where is it?”

Logan Sullivan pointed to the small cabinet under the desk.

William Sherman said casually, “Take off your outer clothes and get in bed.”

Logan Sullivan hesitated. “If I take them off, you’ll say I’m being a pervert.”

William Sherman reached out and touched his forehead, coming away with a hand full of cold sweat. In the dead of winter, he must be feeling awful. William Sherman’s heart twisted—he almost wished he could take the pain for him. But the rascal being pitied was still joking around with a cheeky grin.

…It really made him feel like his concern was wasted. William Sherman put on a stern face. “You’re still talking nonsense in this state? Hurry up and take them off and lie down.”

Logan Sullivan immediately shed his coat and pants without a hint of modesty, standing in front of William Sherman in pajamas that exposed half his chest.

William Sherman’s face flushed bright red.

Logan Sullivan shamelessly showed off what he thought was a decent figure. “But you told me to take them off.”

William Sherman quickly looked away, propped the pillow up at the head of the bed, and spread out the crumpled quilt. “Give me your water cup, I’ll get you some—Logan Sullivan, why are you barefoot!”

Logan Sullivan sat on the edge of the bed. As soon as he took off his shoes, his two sockless feet, blue from the cold, were exposed.

Logan Sullivan said nonchalantly, “I just went downstairs to eat, it was only for a bit. If I wore socks, I’d have to wash them…”

He didn’t get to finish, because William Sherman grabbed his foot. Although William Sherman’s hand was cold, it was still warmer than Logan Sullivan’s numb feet. Logan Sullivan was startled and instinctively tried to pull back, but William Sherman held on tight, pressing firmly on the acupoints on his foot.

Logan Sullivan: “No, no, no… I-I-I haven’t washed my feet today… ah!”

“Now you know it hurts?” William Sherman frowned. “Poor circulation and a weak stomach are why it hurts. You…”