To his surprise, Edward Harris was smiling. After working together for so long, he had never seen his usually stern, workaholic boss show such an expression—it was as if he had become a completely different person.

“What have you been up to all these years?” Edward Harris asked, sounding relaxed.

Eric Wright's silence felt oppressive. It took him a long time to come back to himself. “…Getting treatment.”

Edward Harris nodded knowingly, staring at his downcast eyes, and asked again, “Are you feeling better now?”

“I’m fine.” Eric Wright replied against his true feelings, turning his face to look out the window at the street again, murmuring, “Much better.”

He looked as if he wanted to get up right away, leave this place, and walk outside.

Edward Harris chuckled softly. Even though he didn’t quite believe it, even though he had already noticed his trembling hands, even though he knew better than anyone that it was a side effect of the medication, he still responded politely, “Really? That’s good.”

No, perhaps now he wasn’t the one who understood best.

Edward Harris couldn’t help but recall how Eric Wright had just been lying on the bed, that voice still echoing in his ears.

Henry Cooper—that was the name he had blurted out.

“Just now, it seemed like you mistook me for someone else.”

His fingers tightened around the rim of the cup, but he kept a smile on his face.

Eric Wright seemed drained, barely able to sit upright. He braced himself on the sofa booth, hardly hearing Edward Harris’s question.

Edward Harris took his silence as reluctance to talk and smiled, “Sorry, am I asking too many questions?”

Eric Wright heard this and shook his head a little slowly.

“It’s just, it’s been so long since we last met. I’m a bit curious,” Edward Harris said.

Eric Wright seemed cold, pulling his coat tighter around himself. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. A few wisps of white steam escaped from his slightly parted lips, like mist veiling his decadent, gloomy, beautiful face.

But at the same time, as he set the coffee cup down, a bit of milk foam clung to his lips, his gaze pure and innocent.

Eric Wright was just such a contradiction.

Edward Harris also took a sip of coffee, shifting his gaze away from him.

He looked out the window. The gray sky seemed as if it might collapse at any moment. The wind was strong, and every passerby kept their worries tightly hidden.

In the silence, Eric Wright finished the remaining half cup of latte. The warmth and caffeine seemed to steady him a little. He looked at Edward Harris, who didn’t seem much changed from six years ago, only living better.

It was still that strikingly handsome face that stood out in a crowd, only now dressed in a luxurious coat unlike before, looking distant and hard to approach.

“Edward Harris.”

Hearing Eric Wright’s voice, Edward Harris seemed a bit dazed. He wasn’t used to being addressed by his full name by this person.

Turning back, Edward Harris gazed at Eric Wright’s pale face and found those misty eyes looking right at him. He couldn’t read the emotion in them—it looked a lot like remorse.

But whether it was remorse or not, Edward Harris no longer wanted to dig deeper. In those few seconds he’d spent looking outside, he’d figured out a lot. He didn’t want to keep overthinking what was in Eric Wright’s heart. He knew his understanding was always wrong—six years ago, and still now.

There was something Eric Wright had been holding back. He’d thought that if he ever saw this person again, nothing else would matter, everything could be left in the past, but this one thing he had to ask.

During the time they’d been sitting here, he’d been struggling. When he finally managed to recover a bit of energy, he mustered the courage to ask.

“You… my letter…”

“I read it.”

Edward Harris didn’t let him finish, answering with a straight mouth, showing a coldness completely different from before, as if something had pierced him.

Eric Wright’s scattered thoughts suddenly made a disjointed connection, taking him back to summer, to the lawnmower in his garden, to the grass being cut down in an instant, leaving only the smell of green.

The broken grass on the ground could only accept its fate, unable to go on.

“I don’t really want to talk about this right now.” Edward Harris’s face returned to its earlier smile.

He changed the subject as if nothing had happened, setting down his cup. “By the way, you used to say you liked Iceland. It’s been so many years—did you ever go?”

The hallucinations from the medication seemed to persist. Eric Wright felt like a stranded fish that had lost its bones—weak and powerless.

He forced a smile for Edward Harris. Suddenly, the coffee he’d just stirred appeared before his eyes. He saw the swirling vortex, spinning, spinning, as if it might swallow him up and bury him the next moment.

“Yeah.”

“Was it beautiful?” Edward Harris looked at him.

Eric Wright nodded a beat late. “Very beautiful.”

“Are you here traveling too?” Edward Harris asked again.

Eric Wright paused. “To attend… here for work.”

As he spoke, he noticed that Edward Harris had kept one hand in his pocket the whole time.

Fortunately, Edward Harris seemed willing to let him off the hook and didn’t press further.

“Yeah,” Edward Harris pulled out that hand, “there’s really nothing in Seattle worth coming all this way to see.”