Hugo finished his meal swiftly and stood up, disappearing into the night as if something required his immediate attention. Not long after he left, the other members also began wrapping up their meals and clearing the area with practiced speed.
Flynn, as always attentive, said he’d take care of both Hugo’s utensils and Leonardo’s, and carried them away without waiting for a response. Thanks to that, Leonardo—suddenly unburdened and with time on his hands—returned to the tent first. Once inside, he dug through his artifact.
Everything inside was crammed together in no particular order, making it difficult to find anything specific, but eventually he managed to pull out the communication magic tool and took it in hand.
He rose from his seat immediately, pacing as ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ he tried to connect with someone—somewhere. But as expected, being in a remote mountainous region where mana transmission was unstable, the tool remained completely unresponsive. No flicker, no signal.
Leonardo pressed it again. Then again, harder. Finally, he bit his lip in frustration and shoved the tool back into the artifact’s depths.
Letting out a quiet breath, he reached into the container from earlier, unwrapped the high-calorie energy bar, and bit off a chunk. His fingers moved automatically, unbuttoning the top of his mage robe one by one. But midway through the motion, he paused.
Underneath—revealed almost by accident—was the standard black military T-shirt. The kind he hadn’t even realized he’d put on beneath the robe, out of long habit.
Fingering the black choker circling his neck, he stood still for a moment, debating whether or not to take the top off entirely. The bottom layers were already a lost cause—dust-covered and wrinkled—but even so, he didn’t feel like sleeping in something he’d fought monsters in.
A few seconds later, he quietly unfastened the rest.
Well, it doesn’t really matter.
He roughly tossed the mage robe over the head of the bed and began spreading out the sleeping bag over the field mattress. All things considered, the sleeping setup wasn’t bad. Pretty decent, in fact.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, energy bar in hand, chewing mindlessly. Then, after a few moments, his lips parted in a soft, surprised murmur:
“...Wow. This is actually really good.”
It was clearly a component of the standard combat rations—but the chocolate didn’t taste cheap. There was a richness to it, a depth that suggested quality cocoa. He took another bite. And another. Then, unable to stop, shoved the rest of the bar into his mouth.
The result: his sharp cheeks puffed out absurdly, like a chipmunk mid-hoard. But since no one else was there to see, he didn’t care in the slightest.
Still in that state, he munched noisily, chewing on the thick bar while licking the slightly melted chocolate from his fingers. If he had known that Agrizendro would lift the tent flap and walk in at that exact moment—he absolutely would not have done that.
“...”
Leonardo froze the moment their eyes met.
His hand dropped slowly, thumb still wet, and he stiffly lowered it to his lap. Then, suppressing the instinct to spit everything out on the spot, he swallowed the wad of chocolate as quickly as possible to try and reduce his comically bloated cheeks.
A long, awkward silence followed.
Hugo, saying nothing, stood there watching him. Then, without a word, turned and walked out of the tent.
Leonardo’s eyes widened.
What the—? Why is he leaving? Did he see something he shouldn’t have?
While Leonardo sat there blinking in confusion, Hugo reappeared. He lifted the tent flap once again and stepped inside—this time walking directly up to Leonardo and stopping in front of him.
In his large hand, he held several small rectangular bars.
Five, to be exact. All of them the exact same chocolate-flavored energy bar Leonardo had just devoured. Judging by the crumpled wrappers on the side table, Hugo had pieced things together.
Leonardo stared up at him, blankly.
Hugo extended the bars a little closer.
“Take them.”
Leonardo blinked, cleared his throat in mild embarrassment, and reached out to accept the offering—though he still feigned nonchalance.
“These? What for? You want me to eat them?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, I don’t need this many...”
He said it, but his hands had already accepted every last bar.
Watching Leonardo take them without hesitation, Hugo gave a small, incredulous chuckle and returned to his side of the tent.
****
The camp was quiet.
Most were fast asleep by now. Every so often, the howl of monsters echoed faintly from the mountain depths, or the soft footsteps of patrol shifts and night watchmen passed by—but overall, the base camp had sunk into stillness.
Inside the tent, the darkness wasn’t absolute. Several small lamps glowed faintly, casting a dim light that allowed Leonardo’s eyes to see everything clearly. He could even tell, from where he lay, how Agrizendro was sleeping.
Leonardo sat up in silence.
It wasn’t that he needed less sleep than others. Far from it. But ever since long ago—whenever he found himself in uncertain places, near monsters or in enemy territory—he could never fully sleep unless someone he trusted was nearby.
Tonight was no different.
He had closed his eyes and tried to rest, but it hadn’t taken. Eventually, he gave up and quietly sat upright.
Running a hand through his hair, he reached for the cigarette pack he’d taken out earlier, fumbling for it on the side table. Then he slid his feet into the shoes beneath the bed, stood, and began walking—soundlessly—toward Hugo’s side of the tent.
In contrast to his own chaotic half—where a mage robe hung haphazardly and chocolate bar wrappers littered the table—Agrizendro’s corner was impeccable. Clothes folded in neat piles. Every item arranged just so.
And on the bed, lying perfectly still, Hugo.
On his back, face upward, eyes closed.
Even in sleep, he seemed composed.
Leonardo stood in front of him and watched for a moment. Then, on impulse, slowly raised his hand and waved it just above Hugo’s face.
If he was like Leonardo—hyper-aware even in rest—he would surely flinch. Wake. React. But nothing. The man’s breathing was quiet and regular, and there was no twitch or shift of expression. He seemed to be in deep sleep.
Satisfied, Leonardo bent down slightly and peered at his face.
As he leaned in, a clean, heavy scent of male sweat and earth and something metallic hit his nose. It was sharp and grounding—unmistakably Hugo.
Damn. He really is handsome.
The lamplight painted delicate shadows across Hugo’s features. A strong jawline, sharp brows, a nose that looked carved. The kind of face you'd see on a statue of a long-dead general, weathered but striking.
And although the bed was the same size as Leonardo’s, it looked much smaller now—completely filled by Hugo’s long limbs and broad frame.
Leonardo eventually straightened again and looked down at him with a strange expression.
If only he weren’t so cold all the time... He’d be completely my type.
He caught himself mid-thought and let out a small, involuntary laugh.
Then he turned, light on his feet, and crept toward the tent entrance. Hugo, from the looks of it, was dead asleep. If Leonardo went out just for a quick smoke and came back, he’d never even know.
At the entrance, Leonardo slowly lifted the flap and peeked outside.
Sure enough, a sentry was passing by right at that moment.
He let the canvas fall back into place and waited.
If the sentry spotted him sneaking out, they’d probably raise the alarm and cause a scene—as if someone were trying to desert in the middle of the night.
He waited patiently, ears tuned.
Before long, the sentry passed the tent and headed down toward the row of member quarters. Leonardo peeked again. The coast was clear.
He began slipping through the entrance.
And in that moment—
A heavy, unmistakable scent brushed past his nose.
The same scent he had smelled just minutes ago.
And then, from right above his head, a voice—deep, low, and laced with chill—cut through the dark.
"Where are you trying to go?"
