The study room in Anson's room was relatively big, with several tall bookshelves that were embedded into the walls. Although Selwynn hardly ever appreciated the level of these books, the smell of ink was still mildly reassuring.
Anson was wearing a half-open, white shirt, and he sat on the chair in front of the desk leisurely. At this point, he had changed into house slippers and stretched his long legs out, and hooked the other chair so that it was directed towards him.
His hair was messily lying atop his forehead, and the glimpses of the dark eyes underneath were always filled with a strange mixed feeling of danger and mirth.
Selwynn came in and sat down directly beside Anson. The lamp directly sat on top of the desk, and the light stung his eyes faintly. He used two pale fingers to turn the lamp away, then finally focused on the computer screen.
