Routines in Gunmetal Grey
6:00 AM.
The rooftop was soaked in a faint blue fog, the kind that clung to skin and made your breath curl like ghosts.
Nox moved in silence, bootfalls soft despite the weight of his gear. Leo was already up there, stretching his arms back lazily with a yawn.
"Morning," Leo muttered.
Nox threw him a sweat towel. "You're late."
They started with footwork drills. Leo didn't complain anymore. He moved cleaner now—punches controlled, legs steady. Still not perfect, but Nox didn't have to break his form every five minutes anymore.
When they finished, both drenched in sweat and panting, Leo collapsed on the roof tiles with a groan.
"Who knew your version of therapy was attempted homicide," he wheezed.
Nox sat beside him, lit a cigarette, and offered it without a word.
They shared the silence, smoke twisting into the sky.
8:00 AM – Breakfast
Leo diced vegetables in the kitchen while Nox poached eggs with surgical precision. The table had two cups—black coffee for Nox, milk tea for Leo. Buttered toast, avocado, protein omelet.
Nothing fancy. But always balanced. Precise.
"You reorganized the spice rack again?" Leo raised an eyebrow.
"You don't need chili powder in your cereal."
"...It happened once."
9:30 AM – Classes
The sculpture lab reeked of clay and caffeine. Their second semester project: collaborative human forms with psychological symbolism. Leo was sculpting a shattered torso held together with rusted chains. Nox? He was molding a veiled figure with knives in its spine, blood pouring from the eyes but smiling.
The professor gave them space.
No one questioned Nox anymore. Not when he sat silently beside Leo, clay-stained gloves, mask in place, hands working like an artist possessed.
"Dude's terrifying," one student whispered.
Leo leaned over with a sly grin. "They don't even know the silent masked guy has a set of tragic bl novel romance stories ."
Nox elbowed him in the ribs. Leo laughed.
2:00 PM – Lunch
Cold soba noodles. Teriyaki chicken bento. Shared pickled radish.
They sat beneath a sakura tree on campus, Nox's head tilted back, eyes half-lidded behind the mask.
Leo looked around the courtyard and sighed. "Ash passed by earlier."
"You flinched?"
Leo smirked. "Didn't even blink."
Nox said nothing. But he handed Leo his strawberry mochi.
Leo blinked. "...You giving me sugar?"
"Balance your salt levels. You were sweating like a pig earlier."
5:00 PM – Dorm Routine
Nox cleaned weapons like a man polishing sacred relics. Five sniper rifles, each laid on a soft mat, lined up like sleeping infants.
Leo peeked over his shoulder from the couch.
"Let me guess," he said, pointing. "That one's the shy killer?"
Nox didn't look up.
"Barrett M82A1. Anti-material rifle. Long-range suppression. Flattens reinforced vehicles."
Leo pointed to the next.
"CheyTac M200 Intervention. Designed for mountainous sniping. Titanium bolt. Silent like death."
"The small one?"
"Blaser R93 Tactical 2. Lightweight. Close-quarter urban sniping."
"And this flashy one?"
"DSR-Precision DSR-1. German engineering. Carbon-fiber components. Deadly and quiet."
Leo stared at the last, meanest-looking piece. "And the beast?"
Nox finally paused to glance up, eyes narrowing like a warning.
"That's Malakim. Custom build. .408 caliber. Recoil stabilizer. No serial number."
"Malakim?"
"Angel of Death."
Leo nodded, strangely reverent. "Cool."
Meanwhile, Leo was arranging Nox's medical emergency kit. Antiseptics, adrenaline injectors, stitch thread, painkillers, gauze rolls, gloves, scalpels.
Everything had a place. Everything was labeled.
This was trust—one stitched wound at a time.
8:00 PM – Dinner and Chill
Dinner was quiet. Teriyaki rice bowls. Miso soup. Steamed buns with beef stuffing.
Leo flopped onto the couch and flicked on the TV. Some black-and-white thriller. Classic gunfire and trench coats.
Nox joined him minutes later, hair damp from the shower, mask off, hoodie draped lazily. He had a faint scratch across his jaw—probably from training—but didn't mention it.
They smoked in tandem, passing the ashtray without speaking.
Leo chuckled mid-film. "You know, if the other mafia heirs saw you like this—snuggled into a couch in bunny slippers—they'd cry blood."
Nox took a long drag. "That's the point."
11:45 PM – Lights Out
Leo closed the emergency med kit, gave it a last glance, and set it on the shelf.
Nox was still checking the rifle cases, sliding a cloth across Malakim like he was tucking in a child.
Leo scratched the back of his neck, hesitating. "You coming to sleep or marrying that rifle tonight?"
Nox finally shut the case. "It's cleaner than you."
They brushed teeth side by side. Mask off. Mirror fogged.
When Leo turned in bed, Nox was already sitting by the window, watching the city.
Just watching.
Leo muttered sleepily, "You know… it's weird."
"What?"
"I don't think I've felt this calm… since I was five."
Silence.
Then:
"That's because you finally stopped lying to yourself."
Leo chuckled. "That… and you make the best miso soup in all of Sector V."
Nox didn't smile.
But he didn't deny it.
End of Chapter 58