Nox's routine didn't change.
He still woke up at 5 a.m., trained until sweat rolled down his spine and soaked into the mat. He still ate like a soldier—quick, efficient, high-protein meals with the occasional stolen sweet thing when he thought no one was watching. Still disappeared three nights a week after midnight, returning with bloodied knuckles and cigarette burns across his collarbone. Still patched himself up in silence, like pain was as natural to him as breathing.
But now… there was Leo.
An added variable. An echo that didn't disrupt the order of things but settled into it.
Leo begged—quietly, persistently, with a look in his eyes that Nox didn't have the heart to refuse. And so, against his better judgment, Nox started training him.
It began with stance. Footwork. How to throw a punch that actually landed. Leo was shit at first—too soft, too emotional, too aware. But Nox was patient. He never praised, never encouraged, but didn't stop either. That was its own answer.
Breakfasts became a shared ritual—eggs, rice, bitter coffee, no conversation unless necessary. Leo learned quickly that Nox wasn't a morning person, and Nox, for all his bluntness, always made sure there was an extra boiled egg and Leo's weird favorite fruit drink on the table.
Smoke sessions were silent. The balcony felt less like a warzone and more like a pause button now. They didn't talk much there either, just passed each other lighters, shared the wind, watched the city spin beneath them.
And nights…
Nox still left.
Mask on. Hoodie up. The sound of the door clicking shut was part of Leo's nightly routine now.
He'd stay behind, in the quiet of their dorm room. Sometimes reading. Sometimes watching trashy old horror movies Nox would've mocked. Occasionally, the guards would message him with brief updates—No injuries. Safe. Target down. Just enough to let him sleep.
He didn't worry, not really. Not anymore.
Because Nox always came back.
Sometimes bleeding. Sometimes stone-faced. But always him.
Leo would leave a clean towel on the bathroom sink. Never said a word about it, and Nox never asked. That was just… how it was now.
And lectures were strange now. Not for what changed, but for what didn't.
Ash was still there.
They shared some classes. Sometimes passed in the hallway.
Leo felt nothing.
No sting. No ache. No bittersweet nostalgia. Just... quiet.
Ash didn't look at him. And Leo didn't need him to.
That illusion had died with the blood on the rooftop. And when Leo glanced across the room to see Nox sketching something violent and surreal on his tablet—hair tied messily, violet eyes half-lidded with sleep—he thought: He gets it now.
It was never about Ash.
It was about needing something to cling to when his life felt like it was falling apart. Ash was warm, kind, soft-edged in a way Leo wasn't allowed to be. That wasn't love. That was drowning and grabbing the closest surface.
Now, he could breathe.
One quiet Thursday night
Leo was curled on the couch, wearing Nox's oversized black hoodie, the sleeves covering his hands. An old kung-fu flick played on the screen. He didn't even notice when Nox returned until the door closed with that soft finality.
No mask.
No hoodie.
Just Nox in a black tank top, gloves still on, his neck glistening with rain and sweat. His jaw was bruised. A cut split the edge of his lip. He toed off his boots and padded into the bathroom without a word.
Leo didn't move.
He didn't need to.
This was normal now.
By the time Nox came out, half-bandaged, hair wet and tied into a bun, Leo had set a new cup of instant noodles on the table.
Beef flavor. Nox's favorite.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
They sat on the floor, cross-legged, eating in silence as the movie played. Nox passed Leo a smoke without asking. Leo accepted. The lighter clicked once.
This was it.
No confessions. No apologies. No longing.
Just… routine.
And somehow, that made it feel more real than anything Leo had ever known.
End of Chapter 54