It was like watching a novel unfold in slow motion.
Nox knew the beats already. She'd read this arc before—too many times,. Leo, cracked open by the weight of an illusion he'd mistaken for love. A dream made of borrowed warmth, easily undone by the harsh light of truth.
Leo had begun to fade.
It wasn't sudden. It never was.
It started with the way he stopped filling space. The way his words shrank, tone muted, jokes swallowed before they reached his lips. Nox noticed the shift in how he moved through the world—not broken, not mourning. Just... stripped of something. A directionless sinking. The quiet, exhausting kind.
But Nox didn't interfere.
He just observed—from the couch, from the window, from across the dining table where they now shared late meals without fanfare. Ash was gone. And with him, all the forced brightness that once defined Leo's days.
For two months, Leo didn't try to fill the silence anymore.
And for the first time, Nox didn't bother hiding.
He walked around the apartment without the hoodie. The masks were folded in drawers now, untouched. His scars were visible. The old wound on his neck still red in some parts, stitched into the pale skin like an unspoken oath. He left the towel on the floor if he felt like it. Cooked shirtless on lazy mornings. Leo never stared.
That first week, it had felt awkward—exposing himself like this to someone who had only known masks and shadows. But Leo didn't comment. He didn't flinch.
Maybe that's what made Nox stay.
They shared quiet lunches. Smoked on the balcony under low, cloud-heavy skies. Watched crappy TV shows when neither of them could sleep. Leo would pass him the remote like a ritual, and Nox would grumble about poor writing while still letting it play in the background. They didn't speak much, but silence filled the space like music.
Routine.
Not friendship. Not anything that needed defining.
Just… being.
Tonight was no different.
The fight earlier had been minor—a quick job, a message sent to someone who'd failed to pay his dues. Nox took a shallow stab to the ribs, patched it in the bathroom. The light buzzed overhead as he sat on the sink counter, tap running low. Gauze, antiseptic, and that faint copper scent that clung to his skin no matter how many times he scrubbed.
The door creaked open.
Leo entered with a towel around his neck, damp from the rain. He didn't flinch at the blood. Not anymore.
Nox didn't look up.
He continued dabbing the wound, eyes half-lidded, calm.
Leo moved closer and stood beside him, eyes flicking to the old scar on Nox's neck—the one from the ambush months ago. The one he never asked about again.
"You didn't have to do that," Leo said softly, voice low, steady. "Back then."
Nox didn't respond.
Leo let the silence stretch a little, then exhaled.
"But I get it now. Even if you didn't admit it, you all… you all were protecting that stupid little idea I had. Of being normal. Having friends. A crush. A dorm-life."
He looked down at the white tile beneath their feet.
"Ash running away wasn't... what I expected. If it had been real, what I thought I felt—he wouldn't have disappeared. Wouldn't have changed majors. Wouldn't be pretending we never existed."
Nox still didn't speak.
He finished wrapping the bandage neatly, tore the tape, and stood. The clean scent of antiseptic clung to the room, mixing with the rain on Leo's jacket.
Then Nox reached into the cabinet and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
He held one out.
Leo blinked at it, startled—but took it.
They didn't light them right away. Just held them. Like a seal. Like something meant.
Nox finally broke the quiet.
"Let's go," he said, already walking toward the door. "We've got that assignment to finish."
Leo nodded. Quietly tucked the cigarette behind his ear. And followed.
Later that night, back on the rooftop
The rain had passed. The sky was low and bruised, stars hiding behind the city haze. Leo sat beside Nox on the edge, legs dangling over the void, steam rising from the noodle cups between them.
Nox smoked.
Leo didn't light his.
He just sat there, arms wrapped around one knee, watching the smoke coil into the sky.
They still didn't talk about it.
Not the scar. Not Ash. Not the confusion that lingered like a ghost.
But for the first time, Leo leaned his shoulder just barely against Nox's.
And Nox didn't move away.
He wasn't Phantom here. Wasn't the assassin, the myth, the masked shadow. Here, he was just Nox—bruised and bandaged, hair tied up sloppily, wearing one of Leo's oversized shirts and mismatched socks. And Leo wasn't the heir of anything. Just a kid who fell for a dream and woke up with blood on his hands.
They ate together in silence.
And it was enough.
End of chapter 53