Identity verified—elevator up. Door open, door closed. Henry’s expression had returned to normal; calm and steady, he gently laid Joshua on the bed.
When Joshua’s body touched the soft mattress, he buried his head into the pillow, curling up as he mumbled something unintelligible.
Holding a damp towel in one hand and a set of pajamas in the other, Henry looked at Joshua, curled up like a small cat on the bed. His eyes narrowed slightly before he finally sat by the bedside, lost in silent thought.
Henry snapped out of it when the faint sound of sobbing came from the bed.
When he looked again, Joshua had his face buried in the pillow, brows tightly furrowed, as if trapped in a nightmare too dreadful to escape. His lips trembled with barely audible whimpers, and tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks like pearls slipping from a broken string.
Henry frowned. Instinctively, he gently gathered Joshua into his arms, patting the boy’s trembling back.
Joshua seemed drained, his entire body limp and powerless.
Holding him, Henry realized how small he felt in his arms—small enough that it seemed he could fit Joshua entirely within his chest.
At such close distance, Henry could hear the faint sounds of Joshua’s fear, fragmented and trembling. He frowned again, patting Joshua’s back as he murmured, "It’s all right now. It’s over. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. No one will make you suffer again."
Joshua pressed his face into the crook of Henry’s neck, tears sliding down as he whispered weakly, "Princess..."
Henry froze for a moment. His brows furrowed tighter, a deep crease forming between them.
"I’m not a princess," he said automatically—but the words, once spoken, sounded far too much like something Luther would have said.
"Princess... princess..." Joshua’s voice grew softer and softer until finally, his whole body went limp.
Only then did Henry lay him back down on the bed. He reached for the towel and clothes he’d set aside, but suddenly felt a tug at his shirt.
Joshua was clutching the fabric tightly, refusing to let go. The moment he sensed Henry trying to move away, his brows knitted again in distress.
Ultimately, Henry could only lie beside him, his entire body stiff and straight as a statue.
Yet Joshua still didn’t sleep peacefully. Before long, Henry heard the soft sounds of his sobbing again; his whole body trembled with fear, and even in sleep, he instinctively clung to Henry’s arm.
Henry frowned once more, quickly stopping Joshua from hurting himself. He soon discovered that as long as he gently patted Joshua’s back, the boy would gradually quiet down.
In the end, Henry didn’t even know when he’d fallen asleep—only that he was holding Joshua tightly in his arms when he woke up. Joshua’s head was nestled against his chest, his breathing steady. The corners of his eyes and cheeks were still faintly red, and his hands clutched Henry’s shirt as if unwilling to let go.
Expressionless, Henry reached for the phone on the bedside table and snapped "a few photos"—his movements smooth and practiced, though the tips of his ears glowed red like burning embers.
He lifted his hand slightly, then let it drop again, finally reaching out to ruffle Joshua’s hair twice.
It was unclear how much time had passed before Joshua began to stir. Only then did Henry come back to his senses—he had been staring at Joshua the entire time, utterly oblivious to the passage of time.
When Joshua’s eyes fluttered open, he immediately sensed something was off. This wasn’t his room. The air carried a faint sandalwood scent—calm and quiet. His head throbbed dully, his thoughts muddled. He could only recall that last night... last night—
At that thought, Joshua’s eyes shot wide open. The first thing he saw was a slightly wrinkled shirt front. Looking up, he caught sight of Henry’s sharp jawline—and realized with horror that his hands were still gripping the man’s shirt!
At the exact moment, Henry looked down. Their eyes met—Joshua staring up into that cold, severe face. Those deep black eyes were devoid of expression, faint shadows darkened the skin beneath them, and Henry’s thin lips were pressed into a firm line.
Joshua practically jolted upright in shock—but the moment he moved, a wave of dizziness hit him so hard he couldn’t bear it. His vision swam, and he lost balance before he could steady himself and fell backward!
Startled, Henry lunged forward, barely able to catch the back of Joshua’s head with his hand.
And so, the two of them ended up in quite the scene—Joshua’s legs still half on the bed, his upper body sprawled on the carpet below, arms flung out as if in surrender.
Henry’s knee rested on one of Joshua’s hands, while Henry remained perched on the bed, leaning forward. Their eyes met again from this awkward angle.
The carpet was thick enough that it didn’t hurt, though Joshua’s head still spun a little.
He looked up at Henry—within his dark eyes seemed to swirl two whirlpools. His lips parted slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he whispered, "Th-thank you, Henry."
His voice was a little hoarse. Henry’s ears twitched almost imperceptibly. Without a word, he gripped Joshua’s arm and, with a sudden pull, lifted him effortlessly back onto the bed. The veins on his hands stood out, but he moved with such ease that it was as if Joshua weighed nothing.
Out of habit, Henry’s arms briefly encircled Joshua before he quickly let go, holding the boy by the shoulders as he said thoughtfully, "The change of clothes is on the desk. They’re new—never worn. I’ll go make you some hangover soup."
After saying this with that perfectly stern expression, he turned on his heel and left the room almost immediately.
Joshua stared at the closed door before him and exhaled long. Once the dizziness had passed, he picked up the clothes and headed into the bathroom.
Honestly, getting drunk was never a good idea. "This will be the last time I drink," he muttered.
Nine: [If there’s a next time, wait to be sold off.]
Joshua: "..."
He said nothing, only turned his attention to his side mission panel.
[Side Mission: Henry wants a kiss from you. Give him one.
Status: Completed]
The bathroom is filled with soft mist. Joshua tilted his head back, letting the warm water wash over him. He raised his hands, slicking his damp hair back. In the mirror, he could see his youthful, beautiful face—sharp yet gentle features, a defined jawline leading down to a faintly pronounced Adam’s apple. His frame was slender, but the smooth lines of muscle were clear beneath his skin; faint blue veins surfaced along his arms as he moved.
Nine felt an odd sense of dissonance—Joshua didn’t seem quite like the person he’d thought he was. The feeling was vague, hard to pin down.
Still, one thing he was certain of:
[You’re a walking disaster for both men and women. Absolutely no dating, got it?! No one will ever care about you more than you do yourself—don’t trust anyone, and don’t hand your heart over to anyone else!]
Joshua paused at that, his eyes thoughtful. Then suddenly, he smiled—softly, with an unreadable glint in his gaze that even Nine couldn’t interpret.
"Of course. I know that, Nine. You’re the only one I can trust."
Until the day you get out of my head.
He didn’t say the last part out loud. Instead, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, smiling faintly, almost tenderly.
From Nine’s perspective, it looked like Joshua was smiling directly at him.
Nine immediately raised his voice:
[Of course! As long as you trust me, that’s all that matters!]