Shi Yuan’s tone sounded quite cheerful.
Huo Sang’s mood instantly sank.
So his being sick was something worth being happy about for Shi Yuan?
But he didn’t want to disappoint Shi Yuan.
Rather than his own happiness, he hoped Shi Yuan could be happy.
Huo Sang hesitated for a moment, then nodded along with Shi Yuan’s wishes: “…A little.”
Afraid Shi Yuan wouldn’t believe him, he pressed his temple and feigned a painful frown: “Seems like a bit of a fever, headache.”
Shi Yuan gasped, turned, and ran back to the bedroom.
Leaving Huo Sang standing there in disarray
“Oh no, overdid it.”
Watching Shi Yuan’s retreating back without a glance back, Huo Sang walked back to the bedroom with a sigh every two seconds. Just as he pulled the door halfway open, his movements suddenly froze.
From the other end of the hallway.
Shi Yuan came running toward Huo Sang, holding two quilts, pattering along.
Huo Sang stood motionless at the door. Shi Yuan ran up to him and whispered “Excuse me, let me pass.”
Huo Sang didn’t react for a moment.
Seeing that he neither spoke nor moved aside, Shi Yuan thought to himself how dense he was, then sidestepped under his arm on his own, went straight to the bedside, and began earnestly setting up a makeshift bed on the floor.
Huo Sang paused, looking at him: “What’s this for?”
Without looking up, Shi Yuan replied matter-of-factly: “You’re sick, I’m here to take care of the patient.”
And incidentally treat his nausea—mutual care.
He really was a genius!
Huo Sang silently stared at him.
Shi Yuan’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat. Afraid Huo Sang would see through his little scheme, he steadied himself, looked up, and frowned: “Aren’t you feeling unwell?”
What he really wanted to ask was, aren’t you touched?
But asking directly would seem too narcissistic. Modesty is a traditional Chinese virtue, and he happened to be a modest genius.
Huo Sang was indeed too touched for words.
He immediately got into bed and lay down, looking as if he were suffering terribly.
Shi Yuan reached out like lightning and touched Huo Sang’s forehead: “So hot.”
Actually, it was just Huo Sang’s body temperature spiking from being overly emotional
“See,” Shi Yuan’s tone grew even more cheerful, “you’re already critically ill. Without me staying up with you all night, it absolutely won’t do.”
Huo Sang fell silent for a moment.
The idiom “critically ill” probably wasn’t meant to be used this way.
Shi Yuan had already bent down again, huffing and puffing as he arranged the floor bedding.
Huo Sang watched him for a while, then couldn’t help suggesting: “How about you sleep on the bed, and I’ll take the floor.”
“No need,” Shi Yuan waved a hand, very generously, “you rest easy. If the fever hasn’t gone down by morning, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Anyway, this bed would be his sooner or later. Once Huo Sang fell asleep, he’d slip under his covers.
For now, he’d politely decline to avoid seeming too immature.
Yes, he was not only a modest genius but also a steady, tough guy.
The lights in the room were turned off.
The steady, tough guy fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, sleeping more soundly than a pig.
Huo Sang lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and let out a faint sigh.
He knew it—he couldn’t count on this fool to take care of anyone.
He quietly got out of bed and effortlessly picked up Shi Yuan, quilts and all.
The person in his arms was soft beyond belief.
Hawthorne suppressed the turbulent emotions in his heart, placed the person on the bed, and was about to go sleep on the floor himself. Before he could retract one leg, which was bent at the knee and resting beside Shi Yuan, Shi Yuan suddenly turned over, flung his arms out, and firmly embraced him.
Shi Yuan’s legs also wrapped around Hawthorne’s waist, clinging to him tightly like an octopus.
He was finding it a little hard to breathe.
He coaxed softly, “Let go.”
But Shi Yuan buried his entire face in the crook of Hawthorne’s neck, gently nuzzling with his soft cheek.
“Mmm…”
It was a satisfied, soft hum, like a small animal finally finding a comfortable spot.
Hawthorne’s initial intention to pry him off abruptly stopped.
After several seconds, he slowly placed his hand on Shi Yuan’s slender, delicate back, lay down in that position, and loosely pulled the person into his arms, as if holding some hard-won treasure.
Half an hour later.
The treasure began to run wild.
Shi Yuan sprawled out in a starfish position, arrogantly taking up all of Hawthorne’s space.
Hawthorne was squeezed to the point where he could only curl up sideways at the edge of the bed, his back pressed tightly against the wall.
Shi Yuan slept too restlessly; he hadn’t dared to hold him the whole time.
But he couldn’t stop Shi Yuan from pushing his luck, seeking out the warmth that made him feel secure, brazenly hugging Hawthorne and even shamelessly using him as a footrest.
Hawthorne fell silent for a moment.
He wrapped an arm around Shi Yuan’s waist, gently pulled him into his embrace, and secured those restless legs and feet in the process.
After doing all this, Hawthorne took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
He slept exceptionally well that night.
When Shi Yuan woke up the next morning, he felt refreshed, full of energy, and practically capable of punching eighty Zhen Guanxi to death—truly a tough guy.
But soon, he sensed something was off.
At that moment, a beautifully toned, wheat-colored arm was draped across his waist, his head was resting on a firm, plump bicep, his shoulders were encircled by someone, and he was pressed back-to-chest against Hawthorne.
Such a familiar position…
If it weren’t for the fact that his clothes were still on and there was no discomfort behind him, Shi Yuan would have almost thought he’d traveled back a month in time.
No wonder he hadn’t vomited all night.
But the problem was… Shi Yuan blushed, feeling both embarrassed and indignant as he glanced downward.
A tough guy’s toughness lies in willpower—what are you doing getting all hard over there?!
Shi Yuan was speechless. Now he suspected he might be the reincarnation of a sunflower.
In need of some sun.
Last night, it was almost certainly him who had crawled into the other’s bed and forced them to hold him—he had full self-awareness about this.
But then again, only someone good-looking has the confidence to climb into someone else’s bed, and Brother Yuan here is clearly a standout example.
What a seductive little fox.
Hawthorne was still asleep. Shi Yuan quietly reached out to feel his forehead.
Sure enough, the fever had subsided overnight.
Yuan to the rescue.
Brother Yuan is truly amazing.
Shi Yuan immediately felt proud again, wagged his tail, and while Hawthorne was still unaware, repeated his old trick—silently extricating himself from his embrace, picking up the blanket, and tiptoeing back to his own room.
As soon as he left, Hawthorne immediately opened his emerald-green eyes.
He stared in the direction Shi Yuan had gone, his gaze deep and heavy.
After a moment, he pulled his hand out from under the covers and looked at his palm.
The lingering sensation vaguely reminded him of that incredibly realistic spring dream from a month ago.
Knowing it was fake—Shi Yuan had a blush butterfly tattoo on his stomach, but the one in the dream didn’t.
This was undeniable proof, shattering all of Hawthorn’s doubts.
Yet when he held Shi Yuan just now, he couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t the first time he had embraced him like this.
After returning to his room, Shi Yuan dozed off again until he heard the sounds of Hawthorn preparing breakfast outside, finally waking up completely.
Last night’s meal had truly whetted Shi Yuan’s appetite. The aftereffects of not eating for several days were now fully apparent—his stomach growled loudly, leaving him dizzy with hunger.
Hawthorn was in the kitchen frying fluffy eggs when he suddenly sensed something off. Turning around, he couldn’t help but smile.
Shi Yuan was leaning against the counter, quietly standing on tiptoe, peering curiously into the pan. “What are you making, Senior?”
Hawthorn chuckled and handed the freshly cooked breakfast to Shi Yuan. “I accidentally made an extra portion. Want it?”
“Another extra?” Shi Yuan put on a reluctant expression, clapping his hands together. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to reluctantly accept it.”
He happily took the plate and began enjoying the meal, his eyes squinting with delight as he savored every bite.
I really want to cook for him for the rest of my life, Hawthorn thought, watching Shi Yuan’s cheeks puff out as he ate.
After breakfast, Shi Yuan insisted on washing the dishes himself, then proceeded to carry out the grand plan he had decided on that morning—becoming Hawthorn’s little shadow.
His reasoning was this:
He couldn’t eat anything, except for Hawthorn’s cooking.
Everything else made him nauseous, except when he was with Hawthorn.
Wasn’t this the heavens hinting at a loophole for him to save himself?
The heavens truly favored him.
Thus, no matter what Hawthorn did next, he found a little tail following him everywhere.
Hawthorn lifted weights in the living room.
Shi Yuan sat obediently on the edge of the sofa, waving at him. “It’s fine, go ahead with your workout.”
Hawthorn, drenched in sweat, headed to the bathroom to shower.
Shi Yuan covered his eyes and crouched by the door. “I’m just watching, don’t mind me.”
Hawthorn returned to his room to read.
Shi Yuan quietly slipped in, hands behind his back, and walked to the window, pretending to admire the view. “The scenery here is nice… Senior, go on, go on.”
He suddenly closed his book, stood up, and went to the kitchen for water.
Sure enough, Shi Yuan stealthily followed him again.
Hawthorn glanced at the little shadow trailing behind him, held back a laugh, and deliberately stopped in his tracks.
Shi Yuan, caught off guard, bumped into Hawthorn’s back, tears welling up from the pain.
Rubbing his nose, Shi Yuan glared tearfully. “What’s the big idea?”
Hawthorn grabbed Shi Yuan’s wrist. “You’ve been following me all day. What do you think I’m doing?”
Damn, was it that obvious?!
Being called out so bluntly made Shi Yuan uncomfortable. He muttered in a small voice, “No one’s following you.”
Hawthorn thought Shi Yuan’s stubborn denial was utterly endearing. He just wasn’t sure whether this sudden change was for the sake of a meal or because… Shi Yuan liked him but was too shy to say it.
He needed to find a way to test it.
After a moment of thought, Hawthorn spoke up. “I’m not cooking tonight.”
Shi Yuan said “…So what if you’re not cooking?”
He’d already eaten today; he could eat again tomorrow.
Hawthorn carefully observed Shi Yuan’s expression, which didn’t seem particularly concerned about the meal.
Suppressing a smile, he explained the reason for not cooking. “The academy is hosting a Formal Dinner tonight. I have to attend.”
“Formal Dinner?” Shi Yuan’s eyes lit up as he eagerly raised his hand. “I’ll go too.”
The Formal Dinner was a traditional banquet at Kang University, with each college hosting its own unique version. Just two days ago, Ophelia had asked Shi Yuan about it, but he had initially declined, as he had been feeling nauseous and unable to keep anything down lately.
Upon hearing this, Hawthorne’s lips curled even more into a suppressed smile.
He had already heard from Ophelia that Shi Yuan had politely declined the dinner, citing poor health.
He never expected that just a casual mention from him would make Shi Yuan change his mind.
And he still claims he doesn’t like him?