[185, 205, 246: (*￣￣) Archived.]
Colt returned a smile.
He pulled out the hidden photo again and observed it closely. In the photo, Timothy was holding a cherry between his fingers, looking as if he were about to feed it to someone else. That was why, when Colt lied, he subconsciously chose cherries.
Colt tucked the photo into his notebook, told Birdie not to fly too far away and to stay safe, then packed up the rest of the breakfast for lunch and headed to his early class on a skateboard.
Since Timothy had to work, Colt helped him record a video of the French class.
The French teacher was an elegant old man who always wore a smile, no matter how much the students below were making noise. A few phrases were written on the blackboard, a passage from Verlaine's "Forgotten Aria."
Tears fall in my heart,
Like rain falling on the streets.
That permeates my heart
What kind of melancholy was it?
The students weren't particularly interested in these melancholic love poems, but when the teacher spoke of Verlaine's complicated relationships with his wife and his lover, everyone pricked up their ears, learning how to read and write the French terms for "demonic lover," "tears falling," and "melancholy."
Verlaine had a wife and a same-sex lover; the teacher actually thought this was quite normal, the students seemed to have a very high level of acceptance toward homosexuality. Moreover, Verlaine's lover was a man, a man and a man..
Colt flipped open the notebook, staring blankly at the photograph tucked inside. He reconstructed the scene from the photo in his mind, loading the setting of Wayne Manor and making the people within it come to life.
No, the light source was wrong. Timothy's watch showed 11:00 AM, based on the sun's orbit and the quality of light, it should have been around mid-April, with the rose branches extending from the bottom left in full bloom. But the April sunlight wouldn't be as intense as July's; the Colt in the photo was glowing, as if filtered through a soft-focus lens.
Colt brushed against Timothy's eyes; the photo paper was cool, yet Colt jerked his hand back as if burned, quickly closing the notebook.
Feeling strange, I'd better do a few more problems. If I fill my head with formulas, I won't let my mind wander.
Colt's composure lasted until the afternoon; just as he put down his backpack, he heard the sound of a car engine in the courtyard.
Timothy held a bouquet of violets in one hand and a paper bag in the other, using his shoulder to close the car door.
There was no rain today, the sun even came out a bit in the afternoon. Thin sunlight filtered through the gaps in the oak leaves, dappling Timothy's face. His black suit was just like the one in the photo, his smile was just as bright as the one in the photo.
"Hi, Colt, guess what I brought back." Timothy stuffed the violets into Colt's hands and shook the paper bag in his hands.
It's cherries.
In this world, as long as you have money, you can eat cherries all year round.
Colt held a small bouquet of violets tied with a ribbon; it looked like a bridal bouquet, even the ribbon was white.
He took a step back.
"What's wrong?" Timothy noticed something was off with Colt.
Colt pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "I was wondering if there are any vases at home, if I could use a glass cup to grow flowers."
Timothy seemed to believe him and didn't press further. He brought back more than just cherries; he also brought a box of cookies. "Alfred made these specifically for you, as a thank you for taking care of me."
The cherries were beautiful and tasted delicious; Alfred's cranberry white chocolate muffins were always wonderful.
Colt played a game of ping-pong against Timothy, thanks to his opponent taking it easy on him, he won two out of three games, the messy thoughts in his head vanished along with his sweat.
Photography class covered lighting and atmosphere. I've already finished the history assignment." Colt paused. "The assignment for French class is to write a love poem; I'm not good at that, so I can't help you.
Timothy looked as if he had heard a fairy tale. "You're not good at love poems?"
Of course, I'm a man of science. When it comes to the humanities, I'm only decent at rote memorization. As for writing poetry, I lack emotion, so it's easily identified as an AI work." Colt thought of the love letter from his Patron that had earned him a fortune. "For example, the wild roses blooming at the fingertips, the violets under the moonlight, the twelve shades of light refracted by gemstones..
You can't just identify something as AI because you see long, showy sentences," Timothy said, meeting Colt's eyes, his gaze drifting as he rubbed his chin. "I mean, humans can write sentences like that too.
Colt nodded. "I look forward to your masterpiece."
Timothy headed toward the kitchen. "No problem, I'll handle the French homework myself. What's for dinner tonight?"
His ears seemed a bit red.
Colt wasn't quite sure, thinking it was just because of the recent exercise.
..
Red Robin resumed his night patrols, Tim became even busier.
A month's lease passed, the adjacent Safe House had been fully renovated, with even the lawn and swimming pool completed, the workers had all departed. However, Timothy didn't say he was moving, Colt didn't press him; the two of them tacitly forgot about the matter. When Red Robin was too busy, Colt would help handle some intelligence and information, maintain the uniform and motorcycle, even stuff lollipops into Red Robin's utility belt.
The output of Dream Treasure Chests gradually upgraded, occasionally producing magical items, including positioning watches that were even unaffected by the Ghost field.
And they were watches, one with TD written on the back and the other with KR. Each watch had a tracking needle on its dial that always pointed toward the direction of the other watch, while also displaying the distance.
Colt already had plenty of trinkets on him and didn't mind having one more watch. However, the thought of being tracked anywhere, at any time, while simultaneously being able to track someone else's whereabouts anywhere, at any time, felt strange just thinking about it.
Timothy has been too busy lately, so the archiving of the Dream Treasure Chests has been changed to once a week, leaving Colt with enough time to consider whether or not to tell Timothy about the existence of the tracking watch.
Most of the time, what comes out of the treasure chest are just ordinary items. Today, it was a colorful bird-shaped USB drive and a ten-centimeter-thick catalog.
Timothy had delved deep into the Dream Station and had already mastered the method of bringing his work results from the dream into reality. The company employees looked up to his high efficiency, Lucius gave him massive bonuses, even the finance department was willing to give him a good look at the end of the month.
After coffee, the USB flash drive has become the most frequently appearing common treasure.
Colt stepped out of the door carrying the file catalog and the USB drive, just as the door opposite him opened, Timothy walked out wearing pajamas.
Good morning, Colt." Timothy naturally took the documents, since his hands were full, he chose to kiss Colt's cheek instead of hugging him. "Thank you so much; without you, I wouldn't know how to handle the workload of five people all by myself.
The touch of the lips was fleeting, yet the warmth lingered for a long time.
Colt froze completely, his eyes blank, it took a full half-minute for his voice to finally ring out from the Dream Station's intercom: "I use Dream Station to get rich, not to mail documents to you."
Timothy had already returned to his room, whether he had heard or not, he loudly and confidently made a demand: "Colt, I want to eat three fried eggs."
Colt touched his left cheek, which had been kissed, his mind still stalling. Ghost drifted into the kitchen to make breakfast, when he grabbed the eggs, he really did take one extra.
That was a good morning kiss, wasn't it?
Chapter 36
Does a kiss on the cheek count as a kiss?
Colt scooped the sunny-side-up egg, with its crispy brown edges and runny yolk, onto his plate and rubbed his face.
The strange sensation had not yet dissipated. It wasn't that it was unpleasant; Timothy hadn't had any water this morning, so his lips were somewhat dry and lacked moisture, but they were very soft and even a bit hot.
The time was too short to allow any more sensations to arise.
Colt began frying sausages, once the sausages were done, he fried the steaks. Although he was supposed to eat something light in the morning, at eighteen years old, he woke up with a stomach empty enough to fit a whole cow.
Colt garnished the steak with a few basil leaves and drizzled sauce over the boiled baby cabbage. He didn't have many memories from his previous life, but his innate habits had persisted. Colt liked hot food where he could taste the original flavor of the ingredients, he also liked desserts that weren't too sweet.
Timothy said it was very sophisticated taste.
Breakfast was ready, but Timothy had not come down yet. Usually, Colt would eat first, but today he was waiting at the dining table, pushing the fruit in Birdie's dish around.
Birdie wasn't watching TV; after a month, the bird had grown accustomed to a life without television if there was no exercise.
"Cheep~" Birdie greeted Colt proactively, rubbing its soft little head against Colt's fingers.
Colt looked toward the stairs and quickly leaned down to give Birdie a quick kiss on the head. "Good morning, Robin Bird."
"It's not fair, you didn't say good morning to me." Timothy leaned against the railing and leaped lightly from the second floor.
Colt hurriedly straightened his back, his clumsy hands nearly pressing Birdie into the dish. He turned to look at the elusive Timothy, complaining for the first time that the house's lack of partitions made for poor decor. The space was large enough to skateboard in, but it was so vast that one could see from one end to the other in a single glance, offering no sense of privacy.
"Good morning, Tim," Colt greeted.
The voice conversion program is very stable; regardless of the emotion, as long as the speaking rate is set correctly, the voice will never experience any abnormalities.
Timothy was dressed in a suit. Since it was Saturday, he didn't have school, but he was heading to the company later. He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa, quickly straightened his hanging tie, walked over to Colt's side, leaned down to greet Birdie.
Good morning, Birdie, keep up the good work with your training today." Timothy gave Birdie a good morning kiss on the head, then straightened up and looked at Colt. "Did you forget something?
I have forgotten quite a lot of things, what are you referring to?
Colt met those smiling ice-blue eyes, a burning sensation rose in his face again, especially on his left cheek, oh, his mouth too.
He had just kissed Birdie, too.
Colt didn't dare look at Timothy's face, turning around to sit in his chair to prepare for breakfast.
Timothy wouldn't let him off the hook. Leaning his hands on the dining table, he tapped his own cheek, which was still damp with moisture. "A good morning kiss—why didn't I get one?"
“Our family doesn't have that rule.” Colt followed Timothy's gaze toward Birdie, who was eating as if taking medicine. "Red Robin doesn't count; I'll coax him to eat a bit more."
"Wayne has this rule." Timothy sighed.
He didn't continue to pester him, instead pulling away the chair beside him and preparing to sit down.
Colt grabbed the hem of his clothes.
Timothy looked back.
Colt's moist eyes looked at him through a haze, his gaze drifting, his lips pressed together nervously.
Tim's heart rate quickened, he inexplicably felt nervous as well.
"Well, what I mean is, as a host, I need to make my guests feel at home." Colt's drifting gaze turned firm, the hand gripping Timothy's hem tightened slightly, pulling Timothy into a bend. Colt floated up and quickly brushed his lips against Timothy's right cheek.
Good morning, Tim.
Timothy froze for a moment, his voice hoarse: "Good morning, Colt."
Colt cut his steak seriously with a knife and fork, while Timothy also kept his head down eating his sunny-side-up eggs. Birdie tilted its head to look at this one, then tilted its head to look at that one, feeling that both of their faces today were as good-looking as its feathers.
“Chirp!”
..
Timothy went to work, with one person's heartbeat missing from the house, it became as quiet as a haunted mansion.
Colt spent half an hour exercising with Birdie around Wayne Botanical Garden, then went to the basement to observe the fungi he was growing, helped cage the white mice Joseph had left behind, finished the homework Tony had assigned yesterday. Tony wanted him to design a space mech capable of passing a simulated run within one week.
Finally, he can play with mechs!
Colt didn't look to Batman or Luthor; instead, he insisted on learning from Tony, hoping that one day he could build his own mecha by hand.
It was hard to believe that he had actually made it this far.
Tony's original words were: "Go on, kid, you've evolved from a paramecium into a fish with legs; go ashore. I won't give you a ready-made shell; only the one you design yourself will be the most suitable for you. Next lesson, we'll use the mecha you designed for a simulated operational test."
Colt translated the words as: "Kid, you've already mastered thirty percent of my skills, I've taught you all the knowledge I can. Next is your final exam. If you pass, you can take your suit out there to spend your youth squandering it; if you fail, you're coming back here to keep studying, your homework will be doubled."
Tony is a good person who is stubborn but soft-hearted.