The production team that was supposed to arrive hadn’t shown up, leaving only him and Logan Brooks in the dorm. In the past two years, time spent alone together like this was almost nonexistent, making things a bit awkward. He stared at the large boxes, as if they were staring right back at him.

“I’ll show you your room.” Henry Foster finally seemed to think of something to say, slipped past him in slippers, and when he reached the door, remembered that Brian Harris usually locked it. He was worried and wanted to try, but to his surprise, it opened.

Did he know Logan Brooks was coming?

“I’m sharing with Mr. Brian?” Logan Brooks stood behind him, carrying a cardboard box into the room.

“Yeah.” Henry Foster stepped aside to let him in. The room was quite spacious; right inside the door was a large worktable with several monitors and a MIDI drum pad on top, and another table to the side held an electronic DJ deck. It was obviously Brian’s room. Sunlight poured in, and the area by the window was empty except for an unmade solid wood bed. Logan Brooks set down the box and ran his hand along the bookshelf that divided the space.

“Who do you live with?” he suddenly asked.

Henry Foster was stunned for two seconds. “Caleb.”

He thought to himself, if Mr. Samuel or Caleb were here, maybe they’d show him around and help him get familiar with the place. But it was just him, and he wasn’t sure what to do—should he give Logan Brooks a tour, quietly help him move his things, or just ignore him and go back to his room?

The last option felt too cold, even if Henry Foster really wanted to do it.

Might as well just do it.

Henry Foster lifted his foot to leave, but Logan Brooks suddenly spoke up.

“I want to see the other rooms.” He took off his jacket and laid it on the empty bed, revealing a soft-looking gray sweater underneath.

Oh well, they were in the same group after all.

“Okay.” Henry Foster responded and turned to walk out. Logan Brooks watched him; his back was wrapped in a snow-white fuzzy sweater, his neck long and slender. Especially from the side and behind, he looked like a lone little swan. It surprised him—maybe because he’d never seen Henry Foster at home before, bare-faced and wrapped in soft clothes, missing that usual unapproachable chill.

“This is Mr. Samuel and Mr. Owen’s room.” Henry Foster opened the door. This room was much more cramped, with a stack of sheet music on the shelf near the door and a guzheng by the window. The captain had chosen the smallest room on purpose, and it was still bunk beds. But Owen Clark liked bunks anyway; he thought the top bunk felt nice and high.

He didn’t know how to introduce it, so he was very quiet. Logan Brooks was led out of the room, given a quick tour of the living room and open kitchen, and Henry Foster said dryly, “That’s about it.”

But Logan Brooks leaned against the kitchen counter. “What about yours?”

Henry Foster blinked slowly, then, as if conceding, turned and led him to his own room.

After all, they were going to live together. If not today, he’d see it tomorrow anyway.

Logan Brooks found it amusing. He’d thought Henry Foster would refuse—he always refused—but now he so easily agreed to let him into his private space. Today’s Henry Foster seemed especially easy to push around.

But the guy in loungewear just opened the door and didn’t even go in himself, standing outside and politely introducing, “This one.”

Logan Brooks wasn’t about to miss a chance to invade his territory. Without a word, he stepped right in, forcing Henry Foster to lose the initiative and follow behind.

The room was even more clearly divided than he’d imagined. A row of wardrobes split the space in two. The area facing the door was filled with all kinds of decorations; the bedding was Minions-themed, and a row of Minions plushies sat on the bed. Caleb Grant was a well-known Minions fanatic.

Logan Brooks walked further in, and the inner area was like another world. It was sparse, with only a built-in light wood bookshelf and desk, two or three light gray low cabinets, and a bed. On the dark blue bed was a quilt folded into a perfect square, everything meticulously tidy.

He searched his mind for adjectives, but realized the best description was simply: it was just like him.

Everything here was so Henry Foster.

“There’s nothing much to see in my room.”

He could sense a hint of self-defense in Henry Foster’s tone. Logan Brooks couldn’t help but smile, walking over to the desk, his gaze caught by a huge Sudoku book on top.

“You like Sudoku?”

Henry Foster walked over, used a pen to mark the unfinished page, and closed the book. “I play it when I’m bored.”

That surprised Logan Brooks a little, but when he looked up, something even more unexpected caught his eye.

“The Unity of Mathematics.” He leaned in closer, carefully reading the books on the shelf.

Not just "The Unity of Mathematics," but also "Lectures on Riemann Surfaces," "Functional Analysis," "Morse Theory," and dozens of other math textbooks.

Actually, Henry Foster’s discomfort had already peaked, but thanks to his delayed emotional response, his tone remained calm. “Obviously, I study mathematics.”

“Right, I almost forgot.” Logan Brooks remembered hearing Caleb Grant and the others joke about it before, saying he had more college homework than he did in high school. He also recalled Henry Foster’s talent for math, though it had only ever shown as the tip of the iceberg in the occasional niche variety show.