CHAPTER 101: REMEMBERING A PART OF THE PAST

It was Joshua who was clearly trapped in a nightmare—yet Henry was the one who awoke.

He walked over to Joshua’s bed and found him curled up in his blanket, trembling uncontrollably. Soft, broken sobs escaped his lips—small, desperate sounds, as though he were drowning in a nightmare he could never wake from.

In the darkness, a strange light flickered in Henry’s eyes.

He was Henry... and yet somehow, not Henry.

He bent down and gently pulled the blanket aside—sure enough, Joshua’s pillow was soaked with tears.

A pang of sorrow stirred in Henry’s chest as he gathered Joshua into his arms, his embrace so light it was as though he were holding a fragile flower.

"You’ve already faced them, Joshua. It’s over now, Joshua."

As if sensing something, Joshua’s trembling hand clutched tightly at Henry’s sleeve—grasping for that final thread of hope.

Henry held him close, soothing his frail back until the darkness surrounding them no longer felt so terrifying.

As long as they stayed together, there would be no more nightmares. It was how it was meant to be.

Joshua had endured far too much to be tormented by anything else.

The next morning.

Luther appeared looking completely drained of life, with dark circles heavy beneath his eyes.

He swore he was fine! But the truth was, he’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to sleep a wink!

Just the thought of someone else sharing a room with Joshua made him feel as though his position as "best friend" was under serious threat!

So he got up early for a surprise inspection!

But as soon as he stepped out of his room, he saw Henry calmly cleaning the table. The remnants of last night’s party had already been tidied up completely.

"You cleaned all that up by yourself?" Luther asked in disbelief, then quickly added, "Next time, I’ll do it."

Henry simply nodded without saying a word, not paying much mind to it.

Luther strode into Joshua’s room right after.

"Shuaa, this won’t do! Even if we’re on break, you can’t just sleep in like this. Up! Time for some exercise!"

As he spoke, he reached into the blanket and gave Joshua’s cheek a gentle pinch.

Joshua mumbled incoherently, catching Luther’s hand as his eyelids fluttered open.

His eyes were sore and oddly pained—so much so that tears almost immediately welled up.

He felt feverish, his breath hot and labored—it was unbearable.

Luther noticed it too; Joshua’s skin was unusually warm, and when the tears began to fall, panic seized him.

He hurriedly placed a hand on Joshua’s forehead—it was burning hot to the touch.

Not as bad as last time, but still clearly not mild.

"You seriously only took one sip of alcohol, Joshua," Luther muttered, guilt creeping into his tone for having indulged him the night before.

Joshua shook his head weakly, trying to say it wasn’t because of the alcohol, but his voice came out hoarse.

"I’ll get some warm water," Luther said quickly—and dashed out of the room.

The others were already awake. Seeing Luther’s anxious expression, Justin couldn’t help but ask, "What’s wrong with Joshua?"

"He’s got a fever. Right—check the medicine cabinet to see if there’s any fever medicine," Luther said hurriedly. After all, Joshua would definitely refuse to go to the hospital.

Justin quickly went to look for it, while Luther rushed off to fetch some warm water. Leonard got up at once and went to check on Joshua.

He found Joshua sitting dazedly on the bed, his eyes unfocused, staring into nothingness. Tears streamed down his cheeks in an endless flow, dripping onto the sheets, soaking them through—like a string of pearls that had snapped, impossible to stop.

Leonard reached out and gently ruffled Joshua’s hair, speaking softly, "Even with a fever, you’re still crying this much. Guess Luther wasn’t wrong calling you a crybaby."

Joshua didn’t respond. By then, Luther and Justin had returned with the warm water and medicine.

When Luther saw Joshua’s tears still falling nonstop, he frowned and shot a look at Leonard. "What did you do to him?"

Leonard scowled. "Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of villain. Of all people, Joshua’s the last person I’d bully!"

Luther didn’t argue. He held out the medicine and the water, speaking gently, "Take this, Joshua. You’ll feel better after."

Joshua didn’t say a word. Something felt off, and Luther could sense it too. "Joshua? Joshua, can you hear me?" he asked softly while wiping away Joshua’s tears.

Just then, the door opened, and Henry walked in.

Joshua looked up at him and mumbled, "Brother... Henry..."

As he spoke, he lifted his trembling hands toward Henry, as if asking to be held.

Before Henry could react, Luther snapped, "He called you!"

Frustration flared in Luther’s chest—though he couldn’t even tell why it irritated him so much.

Henry didn’t say anything; he simply stepped forward and pulled Joshua into his arms.

Joshua buried his face against Henry’s chest and suddenly broke into sobs. "They’re really gone, Henry... they’re all gone—sob sob—they don’t need me anymore... hic... I only have you..."

Henry looked up at the others and said in a low voice, "All of you, leave the room for now."

"Hey—" Luther started to protest, but Henry cut him off. "I’m just fulfilling my duty as the leader. Leave the water and medicine here."

The others had no choice but to obey.

Justin paced restlessly outside, Leonard’s face dark with frustration. Eventually, Leonard kicked the door in irritation and stormed off.

A long while later, Henry finally stepped out. He quietly closed the door behind him, and when he turned around, Luther and Justin were both staring at him intently.

Henry’s expression remained calm as he said slowly, "Joshua took the medicine and fell asleep."

Luther, less restrained, asked bluntly, "What exactly is your relationship with Joshua?"

Henry frowned, and just when Luther and Justin thought he might reveal something shocking, he only shook his head and said, "I don’t know either."

Even if he tried to explain it, they would only think he’d gone mad.

That he’d been chasing after a figure from his dreams all this time—abandoning everything, acting purely on instinct—just for the chance to meet that person.

And that person turned out to be Joshua.

No matter how one put it, it sounded like the feeble excuse of a lunatic.

Henry dreamed too—he dreamed often.

Each dream seemed to continue where the last one had left off, forming a single, endless thread.

But every time he woke, he couldn’t remember a thing.

He knew with certainty that the day he tore through the mist obscuring those dreams, he would finally understand what his genuine connection to Joshua was.

By late afternoon, Leonard came strolling back from outside, holding a bouquet of Tweedia in his hand.

The delicate blue blossoms gleamed under the light, like tiny stars scattered across the sky.

He glanced at the others and asked, "Where’s Joshua?"

Justin replied, "His fever’s gone down, but he hasn’t woken up yet."

"Lazy sleeper," Leonard muttered, then carried the bouquet into the room.

There wasn’t a single vase inside.

He clicked his tongue in mild annoyance—just then, Joshua, who had been lying asleep on the bed, suddenly stirred.

Leonard saw his eyelids twitch, then slowly flutter open.

Joshua felt disoriented, unsure what day it was.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes aching faintly.

And then—suddenly—a face appeared within his line of sight.

A head of red hair swayed gently.

Leonard smirked, revealing his sharp canines. Mischievous as a fox, he looked every bit the troublemaker he was.

"Sleepyhead. You know, dough rises if you leave it long enough—but you just shrink, Joshua."

With that, he brought the bouquet closer, letting it sway before Joshua’s eyes.

"I bought you flowers—Tweedia, your favorite. Time to get up."