Are they really that friendly and harmonious?

Ethan Brooks sat there in silent daze.

A hand reached out in front of him.

Long and well-proportioned, with distinct knuckles, pale blue veins visible beneath the cool white skin on the back of the hand.

Fingers tapped on the table: "Snap out of it."

As he tapped, Ethan Brooks faintly caught a scent, and frowned: "Ethan Grant, do you have to be so repressed? Even spraying perfume on your wrist?"

Ethan Grant shot him a sideways glance: "Which nostril of yours smelled that?"

Ethan Brooks replied seriously, "How would I know which nostril smelled it? The two of them are so close together, and they didn’t even report to me."

"……"

Ethan Grant turned his head, looking at him as if he were an idiot.

His eyes were long and narrow, pupils light in color. He wasn’t wearing glasses at the moment, so his gaze was a bit unfocused, carrying an unconscious air of indifferent disdain as he provocatively raised his wrist: "Want to smell again?"

"Sure."

"……"

Ethan Brooks actually grabbed his wrist, lowered his head, leaned in and sniffed twice. Afterward, he raised his eyebrows in confusion: "Weird, how come there’s no scent now?"

His breath, full of youthful heat, fell on the cool skin of the wrist, causing a faint, tingling warmth.

Ethan Grant calmly pulled his hand back: "Because I never sprayed any."

"No, I really smelled it just now." Young Master Brooks felt deeply wronged. "My nose is super sharp. Every time your grandpa has a midnight snack, I can catch him at home. There’s no way I could be mistaken. If you’ve got the guts, let me smell again."

As he spoke, his left hand landed on the back of Ethan Grant's chair. He turned his head, bent down, and leaned toward the back of his neck.

His logic was simple: if you spray perfume on your wrist, you’d definitely spray it on the major arteries too.

But just as the hair on his forehead brushed past Ethan Grant's neck, the chair back under his hand was suddenly pushed backward.

Ethan Grant stood up swiftly and neatly, turned to the side to avoid him, lowered his eyes coldly, and his tone carried a barely noticeable irritation: "Ethan Brooks, do you have any common sense at all?"

Ethan Brooks was stunned for a moment, then realized he’d just been snubbed. Instantly, his Young Master temper flared: "I just want to check if you sprayed perfume, how is that lacking common sense? We’re both guys, what, are you fucking shy?"

Ethan Grant ignored him, snapped his exercise book shut with a "pa", and said calmly, "I’ve finished the last big problem too. You can go now."

And he even dared to kick him out.

Ethan Brooks was so angry he laughed, stood up without another word, and because he moved so abruptly, the chair scraped harshly against the wooden floor, making a sharp, grating sound.

"Like I care!"

With that, he stomped downstairs, and the door slammed shut with a bang.

Ethan Brooks had a big temper, but usually he was pretty mindful of his behavior in front of elders.

Acting like this meant he was really pissed off.

Ethan Grant watched as the orange light in the room across the hall quickly turned on, put down his exercise book, pinched the bridge of his nose, picked up his phone from the table, and opened the pinned chat.

If Ethan Brooks would have been a young master from a wealthy family in ancient times, then Ethan Grant would definitely be the legitimate eldest son of a prime minister’s household—his temper was only bigger, never smaller.

But Ethan Brooks's greatest strength was that he wasn’t afraid of authority. He figured Ethan Grant was just putting on an act, nothing to be scared of, so he was determined to let his Young Master personality run wild.

And for some reason, ever since they were kids, Ethan Grant either couldn’t be bothered to argue with him or for some other reason, always indulged him, which only made his inability to tolerate any grievance even worse.

Luckily, Ethan Brooks's temper came and went quickly. After his shower, it was like nothing had happened.

With one hand rubbing his hair with a towel, and the other pulling out his phone, he was ready to apologize to Grandpa Grant.

He’d left The Grant Family without even saying goodnight to the old man—way too rude.

He opened WeChat, and a familiar profile picture had a red dot in the upper right corner.

The avatar was a field of white, the nickname just a single letter: B.

The last message in the chat was a New Year’s greeting his mom had forced him to send.

There was only one new message: [Don’t go sniffing other people’s glands anymore.]

A droplet of water fell from his hair onto the phone screen with a "plop—".

Ethan Brooks curled his lips—so he really was embarrassed.

Well, it was his own fault for not paying attention in biology and not having differentiated yet, so he was too dense and didn’t know his boundaries. No wonder Young Master Grant got mad.

His fault—he’d have to make it up.

So his fingers moved quickly as he replied.

[It actually smells pretty good, be more confident.]

Even though Ethan Grant wouldn’t admit to spraying perfume, Ethan Brooks was sure he’d smelled it.

It was a crisp, cool scent, like a pine forest in the snow.

It really did smell great.

And in that moment, he’d felt an indescribable comfort in both body and mind, so there was no way he was mistaken.

That repressed guy definitely sprayed perfume.