The second semester began without fanfare.
Snow melted into slush, assignments piled up again, and the shared studio smelled like clay and overused heaters. Nothing explosive happened, no new ambushes, no deep revelations—but somehow, that made the shift between them more obvious.
It started with their new sculpting project—"Duality and Ruin"—a theme their eccentric professor insisted would "let the soul bleed into structure."
Nox didn't blink. Leo just sighed and went to fetch the materials.
They worked together almost every afternoon in the studio, usually after lectures and a smoke on the balcony. The sculpture was massive—half a cracked statue of an angel, wings fraying into blades; half a crumbling shrine buried in twisting thorned roots. Leo molded structure. Nox carved decay. Somewhere in between, they met.
They didn't talk much at first. Just passed tools. Cleaned up after each other. Leo learned to stop asking questions mid-sculpt if Nox's eyes were fixed too long on a crack forming in the base—he'd go silent, disappear into problem-solving, and wouldn't respond until it was fixed.
Then slowly… words began to slip in.
"You're pressing too deep—"
"I'm layering it for the next tier."
"…Right. Got it."
"You ever think about what kind of ruin you'd be?"
Nox, without pausing: "One that doesn't talk."
Leo chuckled and returned to carving.
---
Some days were silent. Not cold—just comfortable. A nod instead of a sentence. One reached for the lighter, the other passed it over. Leo didn't flinch when Nox returned late from missions, blood on his sleeve. Nox didn't question why Leo started humming tunelessly during their smoke breaks.
Other days? They joked. Naturally. Effortlessly.
Especially when Nox glared too hard at passing students.
A first-year once tripped over their own feet trying to avoid Nox's stare.
Leo leaned in, whispered with a smirk, "If they knew the silent masked dude now wears a Hello Kitty belly button, they'd either cry or convert."
Nox blinked once. Deadpan. "I'll kill you."
"You won't."
"...I'll make it look like an accident."
"Fair."
They returned to sculpting.
---
In lectures, Leo had started poking fun more openly. Once, during a class break, he threw a casual jab at Ash—who was seated three rows down, visibly awkward and silent whenever Leo entered a room now.
Leo leaned toward Nox, pretending to whisper, "Bet if you took your mask off, you'd be crowned the college heartthrob in an hour.good thing only i can see you're face ."
Nox didn't even look up from his sketchpad. "You talk too much."
"Yeah, but you listen. That's what makes this work."
That comment stayed with Nox for hours after—like the echo of warmth left on ceramic after it's fired.
---
The project took weeks.
They moved in a rhythm now.
Train in the morning. Sculpt in the afternoon. Smoke and eat after. Sometimes ramen. Sometimes Leo cooked—badly. Nox still ate it without comment. Leo still cleaned up. Sometimes they watched old noir films or brutal documentaries that made Leo question reality. Other times they watched trashy dating shows just to hear Nox scoff every few minutes.
Once, Leo caught Nox actually smiling at the screen. It was small. Barely there.
He didn't mention it.
---
Nox didn't cover up in the apartment anymore.
He still wore his mask and hoodie out of the room, but when they were alone? Shirtless . Loose pants. Sometimes a towel around his neck, sweat still fresh from training. The scar on his neck had healed into a thin, angry line, the stitches long gone. Leo never stared, never asked—but Nox caught his gaze a few times and didn't turn away.
This… wasn't like anything Nox had lived before.
No labels. No declarations. Just this growing, grounding routine. The femele soul inside him still watched from a distance, wondering what kind of plotline she'd fallen into. But he didn't fight it.
For once, he let himself flow with the script.
He didn't know what role he played.
Mentor? Shadow? Guardian? Ghost?
Maybe all of them. Maybe none.
All he knew was: he stayed.
---
By the time the sculpture was done, Leo had caught up to Nox's technical precision. Not his instinct—but the work felt like both their souls etched into stone.
The professor clapped once, said, "Haunting. I love it. Someone's going to cry."
They took it as a compliment.
---
That night
They shared beer on the balcony.
It was raining, soft and steady.
Leo tapped his can against Nox's. "To duality."
Nox stared at the sky. "To ruin."
"Same thing, really."
They didn't speak for a while after that.
But the silence was warm.
And Nox thought, Maybe, this is what not being alone feels like.
End of Chapter 55