And every time he drowned himself in drink and debauchery until he lost all sense of time, he would unexpectedly recall that day when his stomach problems flared up, and he shamelessly insisted that William Sherman stay at his place for half a day.

They watched a movie together, occasionally chatting. Halfway through, when he got bored, he silently picked up the materials he was halfway through reading, and the two of them did their own things, not disturbing each other. Then William Sherman would tuck a cushion behind his back.

That was actually the kind of life he had always secretly yearned for—a way of living where no one minded if the other was quiet, no one got annoyed, no one chased after the other with little tricks, demanding to watch movies together today or bring flowers tomorrow. They didn’t interfere with each other, but were never cold or distant... as if they naturally lived together, forming a world of their own.

Logan Sullivan had lived to this age, with both IQ and EQ developing in balance, and he wasn’t lacking in experience. Of course he knew: when a man looks at another and sees not a slim waist, long legs, or a perky butt, but a longing for the peace of home, it’s definitely not just lust from the pleasure grounds.

If it weren’t for this, he might have just joked about it and talked things out with Soulwarden, ending it then and there.

But he just couldn’t let go.

Every time Logan Sullivan thought of that pair of eyes he met in the middle of the night, in that shabby little hut in the snowy mountains, he felt that if he just “ended” things like this, he might regret it for the rest of his life.

Logan Sullivan’s doghouse wasn’t far from No. 4 Guangming Road, so before he could untangle his complicated feelings, the walk was already over. William Sherman supported him all the way inside, helped him take off his coat and hang it up, then put him on the bed and went to the bathroom to get a wet towel.

Even though Logan Sullivan looked dead drunk, William Sherman was still very proper. He only carefully wiped his face, hands, and feet, not daring to touch anywhere else, then pulled the blanket over him, hung the towel to the side, and habitually tidied up the trash, placing it by the door to take out when he left. He also picked up the clothes scattered all over the floor, stuffed them into the laundry bag Logan Sullivan had left by the door, and stuck a note to remind him to send them out for washing the next day.

He was even thoughtful enough to take away the half glass of water on Logan Sullivan’s nightstand, in case he knocked it over in his sleep.

Logan Sullivan listened to the soft rustling sounds as the other tidied up the room, and his tangled feelings only grew more chaotic, with no solution in sight.

William Sherman truly cared about him—Logan Sullivan could feel it. In his whole life, aside from his parents, everyone else either wanted something from him or depended on him. No one had ever cared for him like this.

...Oh, Darrin Grant doesn’t count as a person—it’s a grumpy, fat cat.

When William Sherman finished all this, he found that Logan Sullivan, who had just opened his eyes in a daze, seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep, lying there motionless.

He looked so peaceful that William Sherman hesitated for a moment, but in the end couldn’t bear to leave, standing by the bed and greedily gazing at him.

“Damn,” thought Logan Sullivan, who was only pretending to sleep, his heart bleeding, “please, I beg you, stop looking at me and just go. This is killing me.”

Soulwarden didn’t hear his thoughts, nor did the heavens. After a while, William Sherman, as if bewitched, slowly bent down, leaned closer to Logan Sullivan, until he could feel his breath on his face.

With his strong willpower, Logan Sullivan managed to keep up the act, but he could clearly feel that he was about to break.

At that moment, William Sherman finally couldn’t resist. Bracing himself on either side of Logan Sullivan, he gently brushed his lips with a kiss—light as a dragonfly skimming the water, gone in an instant. He closed his eyes, as if finding immense comfort in that brief touch. His heart thundered in his chest, and for a fleeting moment, William Sherman almost felt human—stealing a kiss from the one he loved under the dim light, his heart filled with joy and sweetness. Even if he died at that moment, he would have no regrets.

Logan Sullivan’s mind suddenly went blank.

The last thread holding his heart taut snapped in that instant, and, with a mind made clear by alcohol, Logan Sullivan thought, “Soulwarden? What about Soulwarden? If I want him, he’s mine—everyone else can go to hell!”

So the “dead asleep” Logan Sullivan suddenly reached out and hugged William Sherman. Caught off guard, William Sherman was pulled down, and then Logan Sullivan rolled over, half pinning him beneath.

There was still a faint scent of alcohol on Logan Sullivan’s breath, but his eyes were clear. He stared into William Sherman’s eyes and asked softly, “Sir, what are you doing?”

William Sherman opened his mouth, utterly embarrassed and at a loss for words.

Logan Sullivan looked at him for a while, his expression complicated, then suddenly reached out and gently pinched William Sherman’s chin. “I always thought you were a gentleman, sir. Who knew you’d sneak a kiss in the middle of the night—and do it so unprofessionally.”

Then William Sherman heard the muffled laughter in his chest.

Even when Logan Sullivan’s kiss fell, William Sherman was still stunned. He felt as if he were in a ridiculous yet beautiful dream, and couldn’t help but wrap his arms tightly around Logan Sullivan.

The man’s kissing skills were superb, full of teasing, as if he could make him surrender and fall apart without even trying.

Then Logan Sullivan propped himself up a little, their noses almost touching, and William Sherman heard him say softly, “At the very least, this is what professional level should be.”

William Sherman was speechless.

Logan Sullivan’s collar had come undone by two buttons, revealing his elegant collarbone and the lingering scent of cologne, which swept over and silenced all of William Sherman’s words. He couldn’t even tell who was drunk anymore.

Logan Sullivan sighed, reaching out to brush aside the messy hair on his forehead. “Let me ask you—after all this time, you keep avoiding me, but not really staying away. Is it because you knew me long ago and did something to wrong me, or are you worried about the divide between the living and the dead?”

William Sherman trembled, his gaze clearing. He pushed Logan Sullivan away and sat up, all color draining from his face, his hands at his sides suddenly clenching tight.

Logan Sullivan turned, half reclining on the bed, and pulled his hand over, prying open his fist bit by bit. “You really are something, always fighting with yourself. If it’s the first reason, then let me say this now: no matter what happened, it’s all wiped clean between us. If you don’t bring it up, I’ll forget it even more. As for the second... isn’t that nonsense? The living die too—who knows, maybe one day I’ll just...”

William Sherman immediately covered his mouth.

The two stared at each other for a long time, and finally, William Sherman slowly shook his head.

Logan Sullivan sighed, rolled out of bed, and though he sounded clear-headed, as soon as his feet touched the ground, he lost his balance and landed on his butt. Holding his head, he complained, “Damn, there are ten little bees flying in front of my eyes.”

William Sherman hurried to help him up. “I thought you weren’t drunk. Did you hurt yourself?”

Logan Sullivan was in a state where he could think logically, but couldn’t walk a straight line—otherwise, he wouldn’t be so blunt and bold.

He shook his head, squatted down, opened the nightstand, and pulled out a plastic document folder from the bottom, slapping it in front of William Sherman. “Open it.”

William Sherman hesitated, then took it and opened it, only to find a property deed inside. It was for a garden house near the university road of Dragon City University... No wonder he’d been so broke lately—he’d really gone all in.

Logan Sullivan dropped his teasing expression, leaned against the nightstand, stretched his legs out on the floor, and took a cigarette from his pocket to light.

He was silent for the time it took to smoke a cigarette, then said in a low voice, “This was transferred before we went to the snowy mountains. I thought the place was convenient, the environment nice, and it’s right next to the university. If you’d agree to move in with me, you wouldn’t have to drive to work anymore, and you could sleep in a bit in the mornings. Next year, I’ll try to get Special Investigation Bureau moved over there too. The house is big—maybe too big for just two people, but I could give you a big study, you could bring students home, and I could invite friends over sometimes... I even wanted to get a big, dumb dog, and sometimes have it and Darrin Grant stage a cat-and-dog war for a New Year’s show...”

William Sherman’s hands started to tremble uncontrollably, the plastic folder rustling.

Logan Sullivan smiled faintly. “Who would’ve thought, after a trip to the northwest, I’d find out it was you, sir—you can get from east to west city in the blink of an eye, so what’s the point of driving? Or getting up early? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered. That house nearly bankrupted me for the New Year.”