Bermuda

Hugo’s pupils dilated slightly. The thin lids beneath his pronounced brows twitched.

The change in the color of his cold irises wasn’t solely due to the orange light.

For a moment, it even seemed as if the pitiful rim of his eyes, visible through his fallen golden hair, had turned red.

But there was another reason Hugo couldn’t move. The voice—still rough with hoarseness—opened a crack somewhere deep in his memory.

As the sorrowful sound dispersed through the enclosed space, formless fragments stirred Hugo’s five senses. Soon, they became someone’s voice, wedging itself into his ears. A blurred memory overlapped those shimmering golden eyes.

“Don’t go.”

In that instant, Hugo’s eyes widened.

A bluish vein rose on his straight forehead.

‘What was that?’

He stared intently into the other’s eyes, chasing the afterimage that had flashed through his mind.

That sudden afterimage briefly muddled Hugo’s awareness. And because of it, Leonardo—facing Hugo’s stiffened expression—tensed up as well.

Reaching out had been a simple impulse, but saying “don’t go” aloud had taken real courage.

Of course, he hadn’t meant to pounce like this... Fearing the other might look troubled, Leonardo suddenly grew afraid.

So, when he lowered his head and averted his gaze, his unsteady head bumped against Hugo’s chin and neck.

Feeling the weight, Hugo drew a small breath and looked down at the golden head leaning against his chest.

The hair brushing along his jawline gently tickled his skin. As if telling him not to think of anything else, it shattered his thoughts, and Hugo let the fleeting afterimage slip away.

Instead, his Adam’s apple moved unconsciously. He shifted his arms, adjusting his hold on the man in his grasp, awkwardly suspended.

After a few seconds of not knowing what to do, he straightened and set Leonardo back down on the deck. Of course, he also sat down beside him. His arms wouldn’t leave Leonardo’s shoulders and neck.

If anything, they held with enough force to trap him—leaving no room to escape.

No. In truth, he had lost even the will to try. Such was the power of a beautiful person’s plea.

Hugo’s hand, having lost its sense of self, slowly stroked Leonardo’s back. At that, Leonardo—his forehead buried in Hugo’s shoulder—lifted his head, his face noticeably flushed.

“Are you going?”

Delicate golden lashes trembled. A deep sigh slipped from Hugo.

At his age, he had faced the temptations of attractive people more than once. Yet, in a way that made his once-unblemished record feel meaningless, he felt especially vulnerable to the man before him.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, the fact that he couldn’t push him away proved it wasn’t wrong when the man who smiled so flirtatiously had said Hugo was weak to him.

Whether it was feigned shyness or an innate seductive nature, there was no way to know. Still, Hugo gathered himself and, instead of answering, asked calmly:

“You don’t want me to go?”

“...”

Leonardo couldn’t tell what Hugo meant by it, but he nodded openly. Hugo, his gaze unreadable, asked in a gentle voice:

“Why?”

Leonardo blinked. That wasn’t what he expected.

Why... did that matter? But for people who were nothing to each other, even such justifications mattered.

The sensation that had brushed the back of his hand under the midday sun was so vivid that Leonardo felt he still hadn’t woken from the emotions of that moment. Afraid he might get ahead of himself again, his mind—caught up in the mood—suddenly threw up a defense.

Leonardo slowly let his arm fall from the broad shoulder. Straightening his upper body, he answered hesitantly:

“...I think I’ll have nightmares if I sleep alone.”

Those golden eyes that had glanced up drifted aimlessly over the floor.

“I need someone beside me today. Flynn is somewhere else. So even if it’s you... stay here.”

Hugo watched Leonardo’s reddened earlobes and nape as he spoke. They were too hot in those small places to blame on the light, making it both cute and strangely vexing.

He couldn’t know Leonardo’s true intent, but it was undeniable that this atmosphere was dangerous for anyone with sense. Nightmares? It was something a small child would say. Hugo didn’t believe Leonardo’s answer was sincere.

It was just a plausible excuse—one that shifted responsibility while achieving his goal. And as he tried to hold him back, Hugo, for some reason, didn’t want to give in so easily.

To sway someone far older than you, you should at least show honest feelings.

Hugo asked again, his face blank:

“Then should I call Flynn for you?”

Leonardo jerked his head up.

“...Huh?”

“I’ll call him right away. Go to sleep first.”

Hugo moved as if to leave, offering a solution. Leonardo followed him with an urgent gaze, then furrowed his brow and grabbed Hugo’s forearm.

“No, that’s not it.”

Hugo turned to look at the stubborn man gripping his arm, trying hard to keep his composure.

The untimely staring contest tightened the air between them.

“...”

“...”

After a few seconds, as the other’s silent stare continued, Leonardo slowly loosened his grip.

His hand slid down, barely catching the end of Hugo’s sleeve. With eyes that had gone oddly twisted, Leonardo reproached him as if hurt:

“You’re really too much.”

Hugo looked down at the precarious hold on his sleeve—fleeting as falling raindrops. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a soundless sigh.

‘What am I doing to this kid...’

He regretted his childishly petty behavior.

Leonardo was weak to human bonds and goodwill. It was the warmth a person who’d been ignored craved, and the instinct of someone always trying to protect others. So even if Leonardo sought some strange affection from him, Hugo thought it was more complicated psychology than affection in the literal sense.

A longing for someone in power who could pull him out of the mire—like the only oath he could cling to, to be free in an unfamiliar place.

So, like a passing shower: even if a child, mistaken about his own feelings, reached for affection, Hugo—as an adult—shouldn’t be swept away. Rather, it was the virtue of an elder to be a pillar, keeping distance while helping those clumsy emotions stand upright.

But pushing him to confess his true feelings like this was the worst, even in Hugo’s own opinion. Didn’t Leonardo have a lover in the first place?

If he heard a sincere confession spoken by mistake, what would he do afterward? It would be no /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ different from a scoundrel meddling in someone else’s love. Hugo rubbed his eyes and forehead with his free hand.

‘Haa...’

To be honest, his behavior so far had been far from virtuous. If anything, it felt like he’d fallen back to Leonardo’s age—imperfect and immature, swept along by momentary emotion. He hadn’t been able to view, rationally, the warmth a wounded child craved.

Hugo calmly put his thoughts in order. With age came the advantage of becoming more cautious—even if it also meant becoming more fearful.

He believed that the reason he’d barely held onto this time, too, was what allowed him to remain an adult.

His large hand closed around the remaining edge of his sleeve and pulled it free without hesitation. But at that moment, Leonardo—having lost his hold—blurted out what he’d been holding back.

“I waited for you to come.”

Hugo’s gaze, which had been about to turn away, lingered on him.

“Today, yesterday, and back then too—. I kept waiting.”

His tone was calm, but his breathing trembled faintly. The unsteady rhythm was unmistakable.

It was clearly an impulsive statement, yet at the words “I waited,” Hugo once again couldn’t move, as if bound.

He caught Leonardo’s hand—the one he’d tried to detach—and couldn’t let it go. And it was only natural that Leonardo, unable to contain the swell of emotion, raised his voice in frustration.

“And yet you’re just going to say you’re leaving? That’s not even sincere.”