Bermuda

Hugo grabbed the handles of the doors lining the corridor and shook them several times just as Leonardo had done. If there was no sign of opening after two pushes, he immediately moved to the next door. This was already the third failure. It would have been reasonable to give up, but he devised another method.

Bang—!

He tore the handle out by force and kicked the door without hesitation.

The door with its lock ripped out fluttered dangerously before crashing into the opposite wall. As the noise echoed through the corridor, the wandering murmurs fell silent. Hugo paid no attention.

After a quick glance to both sides, he shoved Leonardo inside and stepped into the room himself.

Click — cut off from the outside, Leonardo leaned his back against the inner side of the door. Hugo placed one hand on the interlocked frame while the other still held the warmth of the other man.

The crumpled handle fell onto the dark wooden floor and rolled weakly. Trapped between the door and the man, Leonardo became acutely aware of whether the fingers tangled with his were trembling.

But being close enough that their breaths brushed blew all stray thoughts away. He only couldn’t tell why his heart pounded — the aftermath of escape, or this person.

Where the handle had been torn out, a hole smaller than a fist formed. Faint light entered through it; everything else was darkness.

The illegally entered room was silent. Only irregular low breaths brushed intermittently. Thus the situation of being alone with the man he had long imagined felt uncomfortably heightened, like an illicit tryst.

Blocked by broad shoulders, captivated by sharp eyes, he had no leeway to examine the interior. It wasn’t large anyway, but it didn’t matter. At this moment the world contained only the gap between them.

As senses sharpened in the dark and began to explore each other, the hand on the frame descended and brushed beneath golden eyelashes.

“...Ah.”

A reflexive sound slipped from between Leonardo’s teeth. His eyelids trembled finely at the touch, tickling the fingers. A faint pleasure spread along reddened eyes, though Hugo could not see it. Even so, Hugo was seized by a strange sense of familiarity. Perhaps that was why he rubbed at tears that had not formed and frowned uncharacteristically.

As if to confirm, he seized the end of the cloth covering the face and pulled somewhat roughly. The soft fabric slid easily down golden hair.

The oversized cap dropped to the floor. The mask hooked over the nose was pulled down with a finger. At the hurried yet careful touch against his nose bridge, Leonardo’s skin tingled into an ache.

He felt strangely as if clothes were being removed, yet did not stop him. As he became free from the veil covering him, he merely raised his head and looked up.

“.......”

It was Leonardo who was out of breath, yet the sigh came from Hugo. The tension in his brow eased, then bluish veins surfaced.

A clear, beautiful face that darkness and fabric could not hide. Light from the waist level spread across it, forming a faint outline. The two golden eyes within faced him wholly.

His Adam’s apple rose and fell, and Hugo narrowed his eyes while composing the most indifferent voice he could.

"I found you."

For a moment Leonardo’s spine chilled — not only because of the muffled tone contrary to intent. Perhaps the afterimage of that day, or praise and elation toward the man who had found him again.

He felt pulses beating at every joint of their linked hands. At their ends tangled past longing and anguish that sought each other.

Before he could gauge intent, it was transparently obvious they felt the same. A laugh slipped from Leonardo — closer to a soft snort, yet enough to loosen the taut atmosphere.

Like warm afternoon sunlight melting even the person facing him. The blue eyes reflected it and shone in an unusual hue.

Brushing away the black veil blocking his view, Hugo rubbed Leonardo’s cheek slowly with a deep touch. The skin caught in his large hand was moist and warm. When it felt slightly hotter than he remembered, he grasped the golden hair touching his index finger and twisted as if interrogating.

"Is this because of your promise with me?"

Leonardo’s spine trembled at the whisper. Was this also the compound’s effect? Just the voice closer made his nerves stir and his lower abdomen tighten unpleasantly.

They had only collided less than three minutes ago. Troubled by his overly sensitive reactions, Leonardo pressed his back despite nowhere to retreat.

He raised his brows as if relaxed — asking what he meant — yet soon understood himself.

“Ah.”

Before parting with this man, he had made a promise: not to use the forbidden magic in front of him.

The air of that time brushed his mind like an afterimage.

So I can recognize you.

The lips of the man who once assumed a sweet future drew his gaze again today.

Was the gold that kept its color a mark of him? Eyes pretending abstinence and fingers tormenting hair persistently asked.

Leonardo did not answer immediately. Instead he recalled months of covering his face with mask and hat, trying to refrain from “that magic.”

Honestly, situations that nearly became troublesome were not few. Like today.

If he had lived as someone else wandering the world like before, the chances of being tailed and the risk of silencing someone would have dropped sharply. Yet even knowing forces watched him, he convinced himself it was to prevent variables during the match and ultimately participated in the League in his true appearance.

It was a compound desire — wanting to step forward as himself and savor the freedom the man gave.

Could he be sure the promise with this man was not at the base of all those choices?

Leonardo’s heart shook its head.

That was also why he openly used the alias “Lion.”

The troubled golden eyes dropped downward. After considering how to answer, he raised his hand and traced up the other’s arm. Passing broad shoulders, the back of his hand brushed a firm jaw, then slid to the heated nape as before.

No one in the world would imagine the back of this cold man’s neck was actually this hot.

Believing it a secret known only to him, he smiled softly and asked gently.

"Then what?"

Strength slowly entered Hugo’s closed lips. The intention in the languid caress was evident.

He was surely the one caught in the trap he had set — yet it felt as though he himself was dragged along while trying to find gold in muddy water. He had no intention of resisting.

Hugo mocked his foolishness from hours earlier when he wondered what face to show and what greeting to give upon meeting Leonardo again. Even the finest verse from any poet would have been useless. Ridiculously, he could think of nothing now.

Instead of answering, he changed the posture of the hand caressing Leonardo’s cheek. The grip restraining himself yielded to the prying desire and pressed soft lips.

As if remembering what had been carefully taught, the reddened lips responded and parted slightly — soon buried without a trace by the approaching man’s affection.

"I definitely heard it from this side."

Three reporters wandering nearby ran over at the sound of something breaking. They stood in the middle of the corridor looking around.

There was no one and no open door. But such a loud sound meant someone had been nearby. Having run from both ends and met in the middle, they knew they hadn’t passed anyone.

So they assumed the target was hiding somewhere in this corridor.

"Did he go inside somewhere?"

"Try opening «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» them."

The three scattered in different directions and pushed and pulled the aligned handles.

Only the scraping sound of metal locks echoed. The search continued about a minute.

Thinking it another failure, one scratched his head and moved —

“Huh?”

Near the corridor’s end, a particularly suspicious door appeared. Only that door lacked a handle. The reporter who first found it pressed his lips and slowly approached as if bewitched.

He glanced around, wanting the exclusive scoop despite arriving together.

Kneeling, he peered into the empty handle hole.

Did someone break in? After checking elsewhere, only this door lacked a handle. He pressed one eye to the hole. The interior was dark, yet faint movement seemed inside.

“...?”

He pressed his ear next while tracing dents in the surface. Irregular vibrations occurred, as if something kept pushing the door.

Is someone there?

The indoor air was extremely dry, yet humid heat flowed from inside. Occasionally cloth rustled. Someone was certainly inside — but it might be operations staff, so he hesitated.

Of course he had no idea what anyone would be doing here without lights.

Lacking certainty, the reporter instinctively pulled out the portable recorder he always carried. After turning it on, he carefully tried to slide it through the empty handle hole...