The loosely closed eyelids trembled faintly as they felt his breath. Neither of them failed to notice that this tiny tremor, tickling against his firm lower lip, meant agitation.
Maybe because of that, Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut instead. He didn’t want the other to see his true feelings.
However, the lowered blue eyes studied his demeanor for a moment before pressing to his lips again.
Following the wet contours, leaving a hot trail over the golden eyes, they eventually reached the lids. After smudging the tear tracks, they slowly slid down the smooth cheekbone to cheeks that still hadn’t lost their baby fat.
The large hand applied gentle pressure to the palm cupping his cheek. Hugo knew it himself. This was a little too intense to be mere sympathy or pity. It was an atmosphere that could turn dangerous if he wasn’t careful, and at that moment, Hugo remembered his duty and slightly drew back.
The golden eyelashes that had been pointing down slowly rose. Seeing those moist eyes in broad daylight made him feel like the villain of the century.
‘Or maybe I really am a villain.’
Rubbing the lingering sensation on his lower lip, Hugo put on the most expressionless face he could manage. He tried hard to erase the precariousness imprinted on his sensitive skin. He sometimes doted on his young nieces and nephews who visited the mansion, but even then, he never went this far.
Despite the many problems still unresolved, personal emotions had made him ignore procedure entirely. The scent of sunlight filling the room dulled his mind. Hugo briefly turned his head and rubbed his face, unsure what expression he was wearing.
Soon, donning the mask of a kind adult, he asked gently, as if speaking to a child.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
It was certainly an ordinary question to ask in the current situation. However, Leonardo’s relaxed brows twitched at the words.
In contrast, his bright yellow eyes didn’t move an inch. Rather, that contrast made Hugo realize a chilling aura was spreading around Leonardo.
“Nightmare?”
The way he asked it back wasn’t just hard—it was sharp. Maybe his voice was hoarse, maybe not, but it certainly wasn’t a welcome response.
“A nightmare, you say?”
Leonardo snorted and asked again. The corners of his mouth lifted as if twisting, but his eyes weren’t smiling at all. Hugo sensed something was wrong.
At that moment, Leonardo suddenly sprang up.
Not knowing where he meant to go, he staggered out of bed and walked barefoot, as if performing acrobatics.
“Wait, Leo—”
Hugo, rising in a fluster, grabbed his forearm. Leonardo tried to shake him off, but then, as if struck by dizziness, his upper body lost balance and pitched forward.
“Ugh—”
Fortunately, he didn’t fall; Hugo caught his waist in time. But as soon as Leonardo regained his balance, he grabbed Hugo’s shoulders and shoved him away hard. All the while, he kept his head bowed so low it looked like his neck might snap, staring at their tangled feet. With wet bangs veiling his face, Hugo couldn’t see what expression he wore.
“Leonardo, calm down and talk to me. Let’s go back to the bed. You shouldn’t be up yet.”
“No, no...”
The low mutter through bitten lips clearly didn’t sound like he was in good shape. Hugo considered forcing an embrace and carrying him, but fearing it might backfire, he first tilted his head to try to see Leonardo’s complexion.
At that moment, Leonardo abruptly lifted his head.
“It’s not a nightmare.”
“...What?”
“I said it’s not a nightmare. It’s reality.”
He opened his eyes wide and said something incomprehensible, and Hugo could only answer with a bewildered question. Leonardo’s eyes lost their light again and shook. As Hugo fell silent under the rising anxiety, Leonardo spoke again.
“Do you know Majes?”
It was a name Hugo was hearing for the first time. Before he could even shape the question in his mind, Leonardo continued.
“Majes Pollenor. Southern Deparnel Plains, Rockpesha Plateau. Member of the First Selected Unit for the patrol operation to blockade the Third Strategic Point of the Turandos Army.”
He recited the personal information of some soldier Hugo didn’t know. But the pronunciation was fast and precise, as if he were reading straight off a page.
“April 13, 993. Majes Pollenor, Vigo Raven, Karen Alistair, Leonardo Blaine. The above four persons received permission for outing. Hereby reporting. Thank you for your hard work.”
Even more than Leonardo trying to choke himself, this was what chilled Hugo. The way he muttered with that dazed face gave the impression he was seeing something else entirely while standing in the same room. Then, suddenly, Leonardo let go of Hugo’s shoulders and leaned against the wall.
Dragging his feet, he reached the sofa in the middle of the room.
He sat with his thighs half-perched on the armrest, staring blankly into space.
“The guys said let’s go to the village in Celeston. It’s surrounded by the western Black Forest, and it’s the only place that sells proper cigarettes.”
This time, his tone changed again.
“I suggested we have a drink too, but that idiot Majes said he was going to buy a new jumper when he got his paycheck this time. That bastard was secretly pretty into clothes. Despite wearing nothing but uniforms seven days a week.”
It was a flat, light tone, like he was telling an old story to a friend. But his expression wasn’t. As if holding resentment down, the veins in his neck stood out, and his jaw and lips trembled.
Even as he rambled, he spoke without hesitation, as if tracing a memory too vivid to be shaken off.
“He said he was going to save money, he fucking backed out, so Vigo and I forced him into it. Then on the way to the village, an old woman. She said she’d hurt her leg, asked us to help her. Hic, fuck, her accent was clearly Turandosian, fuck—. Why didn’t we stupidly notice that. Ugh, we should’ve recognized it from the moment she called out to us, not knowing how scary the imperial army was.”
The sobs he swallowed between words showed how deep he was in it. Hugo instinctively understood: Leonardo was talking about his own past. 993 was a full six years ago. Mid-teens at most—still too young to be a soldier.
“Karen said it was strange to have civilians near the demarcation line, said we should just go, but that idiot Majes said it reminded him of his dead mother, so he carried her, hic—”
“...”
“The old woman’s body had dozens of booby traps embedded in it! Majes was blown to pieces along with that bitch! Damn it, Majes’s head flew off while his limbs were dismembered—. Blood and guts burst out, have you ever heard the sound of vocal cords tearing? That fucking sound, the sound of dying alive!”
Leonardo shouted, clawing at his own hair with both hands.
“That guy’s arm fell on my face, and I held it in my hand, afraid I might lose it! How could he wear the new jumper without an arm? How, how could he without a head and now without an arm—”
His face flushed red in an instant, tears spilling in beads bigger than pearls. But this time, Hugo couldn’t comfort him. He couldn’t ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ say anything.
“Gergan attrition defense line, yeah, fuck, then too. Then those idiots were having sex at the guard post and Jane got pregnant. They were ordered to return to the main camp, but they said they’d be forcibly discharged, their families would look down on them, so they asked us to hide them.
“The bastard father ran off to another unit, and we moved Jane to the rear unit where she held out for five months, but she couldn’t eat well so her belly didn’t show much. The fool. But of all times, when they rushed in from the western ravine and we were retreating, why did she have to step on a landmine—.
“Her lower body was already half blown off but she said to me, Blaine, please save my baby, Blaine! Please take out our baby before I die!
“She asked me for help, but a five-month-old baby, fuck, how could I take that out—!”
The words, heard through the wailing, lodged in Hugo’s ear like thorns. He could only stand still, as if the tragedy were playing out right in front of him.
“How could I cut open a comrade’s belly when I’ve only cut open monster bastards? Ha, what if I cut the baby too while doing that? The blade would be rusty and cause gangrene—if I kill my comrade with my own hands and can’t even save the baby—, ...Ugh—”
At that moment, Leonardo—who had hurriedly covered his mouth—sprang up from the sofa. His damp soles leapt over the rug and hit the marble with thud, thud, thud. Running like he was about to fall, he wrenched open the bathroom door and plunged his head into the sink.
It happened so suddenly Hugo didn’t have time to react.
A sound like an animal’s panting echoed in the quiet room.
“Leo...”
The frail body buried in the dark, without even turning on the lights, convulsed hard through the abdomen. Hugo approached as if drawn in. Then, deliberately not turning on the lights, he gently patted Leonardo’s back.
Leonardo kept vomiting up gastric juices, unaware—or uncaring—that the capillaries around his eyes might burst, turning them bloodshot. Since he hadn’t eaten much, there was nothing else to come up.
But even so, he kept emptying his tormented insides, shoulders heaving. As if trying to shake off the aura of death inside him, he gasped for life, as he always had.
