A brief silence followed Leonardo’s words.
Hugo looked at the curve of his lips, then shifted his gaze to his eyes. The golden eyes, peeking through slightly curved lashes, were seductive—but playful. Meeting those eyes, Hugo paused, debating what to do with this disobedient man.
Leonardo’s smile deepened slightly when he saw Hugo’s stiff expression. What he’d truly wanted was to catch that frozen man flustered, the one who had pursued him so persistently. Though he knew that was impossible, seeing Hugo’s rigid face was satisfying enough.
But what Hugo did next wiped the smile off his face.
He stepped closer, bent one knee, and sat down.
Leonardo stared at him, the smirk gone.
Hugo, still wearing that calm, cold look, slowly reached out and touched Leonardo’s damp cheek.
...What?
As the large, cool hand cupped his face, Leonardo faltered. This was the last thing he’d expected.
Hugo’s eyes calmly traced the finely sculpted features—his eyes, nose, mouth—and his thumb gently brushed over the spot where a shard of ice had once cut Leonardo’s skin.
Leonardo glanced at the hand resting on his cheek, then looked away, trying to mask his surprise as he searched Hugo’s expression.
Their eyes met. After a moment, Hugo’s hand stilled—then his face began to close the distance between them.
Leonardo stared up at him, momentarily dazed by the strange atmosphere. Then, with a faint, bitter laugh in his mind, he thought:
So, in the end, he’s no different...
Smack!
The hand that had just been caressing his cheek suddenly flicked his forehead.
"Ah!"
A short yelp echoed through the cave. Leonardo hunched over, pain exploding across his brow. It was just a flick, but it felt like his skull had cracked open.
He clutched his forehead with both hands, frowning in agony, and shot a resentful glare at Hugo.
"Why the hell did you hit me!"
A red mark bloomed in the center of his pale forehead. Hugo reached out again, maybe to soothe it, but Leonardo swatted his hand away and backed off.
Hugo let out a short laugh at his reaction. Straightening his leg, he rose to his feet and said to the glaring man below, amusement still in his voice:
"That’s for being cheeky."
Leonardo looked up at him as if he’d misheard. It wasn’t something he’d expect to hear from the noble Duke.
Especially when his forehead still throbbed like it had been bashed with a hammer—and the man responsible seemed thoroughly entertained.
Just as Leonardo was scowling at the grin on Hugo’s face, that grin faded, returning to its usual cold edge.
"It’s punishment for leaving without reporting."
"..."
"I let you have your moment. Now come out."
Leonardo sighed in disbelief and rubbed his aching forehead. It somehow hurt more now than when it happened.
Annoyed, he flicked water toward Hugo—but the splash hit an invisible wall and dropped harmlessly to the ground, even though Hugo hadn’t raised a visible barrier.
Leonardo frowned harder. Hugo simply shook his head and turned to walk away.
Then the water surrounding Leonardo’s body began to stir—twisting around his arms and legs like living threads, dragging him upright.
He was forced to his feet, completely caught off guard. He tried to shake the streams off, but they slid right through his limbs without resistance and scattered, rejoining the puddle with a splash—mockingly.
From ahead, Hugo could hear the sounds of water sloshing and irritated muttering.
Eventually, there was the whoosh of warm air behind him, the rustle of clothes hastily thrown on. Hugo stopped and waited.
Leonardo reappeared, now fully dressed, running his hand through his golden hair—once soaked, now sleek and luminous. He strode past Hugo with heavy, deliberate steps.
The man who usually moved without a sound now stomped like an angry child. Hugo let out a soft, incredulous laugh and followed.
By the time they returned to the cave’s entrance, the night watchman who had been dozing earlier was now wide awake, rigid and alert at his post.
Leonardo seemed ready to return to his tent without protest, and Hugo also turned to go—until Leonardo stopped, rummaged briefly inside, and reemerged.
In his hand: a cigarette pack. Hugo’s eyes narrowed.
Unfazed, Leonardo shook the pack in front of him with that same brazen face and stepped out into the open. After feeling the wind’s direction, he walked a good distance away so the smoke wouldn’t drift toward the cave.
Soon he sat on a low, flat rock, pulled out a cigarette, placed the filter between his lips, and reached to light it—
Then paused, frowning when Hugo appeared once more.
"You followed me again? Still think I’ll run?"
Even though his voice was tinged with annoyance, Hugo stood silently nearby, at a fixed distance.
Seeing that he had no intention of leaving, Leonardo let out a sigh and pushed the cigarette back into the pack. Hugo asked,
"Weren’t you going to smoke? Why stop?"
"You’re not a smoker, are you?"
Hugo’s brow twitched slightly. He had been smoking just fine yesterday—so this sudden change in behavior was unexpected.
"You can smoke," Hugo said, puzzled. "As long as you promise to finish and go back inside."
But Leonardo didn’t light up again. Instead, he shifted, crossed one leg over the other, rested an elbow on his knee, and propped his chin in his palm—staring at Hugo.
"I just want to get some air before going in. I can’t sleep right now."
At his defiant words, Hugo’s eyes darkened.
The mood around the infamous Kazad clearly soured, but Leonardo didn’t seem fazed. Somehow, he had developed the odd belief that Hugo would go easy on him—no matter what.
Despite sneaking out and breaking protocol, Hugo had let it go with just a flick to the forehead. But Leonardo figured that if he tried it again, next time definitely wouldn’t end so lightly...
Just as Leonardo suspected, Hugo didn’t try to drag him back. Instead, he sighed quietly.
"We’ll be marching once the sun rises. You should sleep soon. It looked like you barely slept last night too."
Leonardo blinked. His face tensed slightly.
"...You knew? That I wasn’t sleeping?"
Hugo didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
Leonardo asked again, doubt creeping into his voice—wondering if the anxious suspicion in his chest had been right.
"When did you wake up yesterday?"
Hugo didn’t reply immediately. He stepped closer.
Leonardo instinctively leaned back a little, maybe still haunted by the flick.
Noticing, Hugo bent slightly at the waist and waved his hand in front of Leonardo’s face.
"Right around here."
The hand hovered briefly in front of his eyes before pulling away.
Leonardo felt the blood rush to his ears.
So... he’d been awake the entire time?
Remembering how he had stared at Hugo, thinking him asleep—how he’d assessed his face, his hands, his expressions—Leonardo quickly looked away, flustered.
Face stiff with embarrassment, he mumbled,
"Why... did you pretend to be asleep?"
Hugo gave a quiet chuckle.
"I figured you had voyeuristic tendencies. Thought I’d pretend not to notice."
"...What?"
Leonardo froze in horror. Then, after a beat, glared at him in disbelief.
But Hugo only looked down at him with that same casual air—tossing his own words back at him.
Leonardo’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
For someone who didn’t look the type, Agrizendro had a surprising talent for teasing—with that poker face of his, no less.
He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t cold either. Not easy, not soft—but not unkind.
Feeling awkward, Leonardo dropped his gaze. Eyes darted here and there, searching for an escape route from the conversation—until something caught his eye.
Hugo’s hand flashed in the corner of his vision—the opposite one from earlier.
It was also the hand that had seemed strange—because, unlike usual, it wasn’t gloved.
Leonardo stared. Hugo’s fingers curled slightly, as if he sensed the gaze. Their eyes met.
Then Leonardo stood, turned, and walked toward the cave.
Hugo made to follow, but Leonardo raised a hand.
"Wait here. I’ll be right back."
He hesitated, then added clearly:
"I’m not running."
He teleported to the cave entrance and slipped inside. Hugo just stared after him in silence.
After a moment, Leonardo returned—with something in his hand. Without a word, he grabbed Hugo’s arm and led ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) him back to the rock.
Pulled by the surprising strength, Hugo ended up seated on Leonardo’s right.
Leonardo held out his hand.
"Give me your left hand."
Hugo glanced down at it. He already knew why.
Under Leonardo’s unwavering stare, he gave in and extended it.
Leonardo took the hand and examined it.
A wide band covered the palm. Leonardo, without asking, peeled it off—and his face twisted the moment the burn mark underneath was revealed.
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
"..."
"You grabbed my wrist that morning, didn’t you? That’s when it happened."
The burn had been treated with healing magic, but still left a reddish mark—it hadn’t healed properly.
The wound had come from when Hugo stopped Leonardo’s unstable surge of power by grabbing his wrist. The heat had scorched him before he could call up cold energy for protection.
Being a wound left by Leonardo Blaine, no ordinary healing spell would fix it.
But Hugo had kept it hidden. He hadn’t wanted Leonardo—already shaken by the incident—to feel worse.
Leonardo stared at him, frustration written on his face. Then, without a word, he pulled Hugo’s hand onto his thigh and opened the lid of the container he’d brought.
It was flat, round, about the size of his palm—inside was a white, slightly runny cream with a strong medicinal scent.
A burn ointment.
Leonardo scooped up a generous amount with two fingers and gently spread it across Hugo’s palm.
Hugo sat quietly, watching the side of his face. Leonardo’s brows were furrowed in concentration, but his touch was careful—as if afraid to hurt him.
Cool relief spread over the burn. The stinging faded.
But the warmth of Leonardo’s fingers, lingering on his skin, felt strangely hot.
As an ice mage, Hugo had never liked heat.
But somehow, this unfamiliar warmth that moved across his cold palm... didn’t feel so bad.
And as he quietly stared at Leonardo’s focused face, he thought—
Maybe it never had.
