Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Fuegoleon closed the apartment door with a soft click, careful not to wake the little storm sleeping inside. Sabina had finally drifted off after a full hour of running through the small living room, shouting about dragons, knights, and some sort of imaginary war she had invented. The apartment was silent now, save for the low hum of the refrigerator, and for a fleeting second, he almost felt guilty for enjoying the quiet.

Sabina was… spirited. That was what people said when they wanted to be polite. Wild was the better word. She had more energy than seemed humanly possible for a six-year-old. She would climb the furniture, topple lamps, throw her toy soldiers in the air like confetti, and somehow, despite all the chaos, Fuegoleon could never truly scold her. Every time he tried, she’d look at him with her big, defiant eyes, lips trembling like she was preparing for battle, and then unleash a tantrum that could wake the entire building.

The neighbours complained, of course. There had been two separate knocks this week already, first from the elderly lady downstairs, then from the man across the hall who claimed he worked night shifts. Fuegoleon had stood there with his usual apologetic smile, promising he’d keep her quiet. He tried. He really did.

And now he was letting her take a day off from school.

He ran a hand down his face, sighing at his own weakness. She wasn’t sick not really. She had just cried about not wanting to go, claimed her teacher was “mean” and her classmates “boring.” He’d caved. Again. He wasn’t proud of himself. Sabina was already behind on her studies, and the teachers made sure to remind him of that during every parent-teacher meeting.

Fuegoleon stepped into the hallway. It was early morning, the building still smelled faintly of brewed coffee and detergent from someone’s freshly washed laundry. He turned to glance at the door just to his right, the one belonging to Nozel.

Nozel was a mystery to him, though not for lack of trying to understand the man. They had been neighbours for almost a year now, and Fuegoleon had learned a few things about him: he was a Harvard Law student, he lived alone, and he seemed permanently exhausted. His life appeared to be an endless cycle of leaving early, coming back late, and carrying an armful of casebooks that looked heavy enough to break a person’s spine.

Fuegoleon had never seen him smile.

The man carried himself like he was constantly balancing on the edge of something sharp, aloof, polished, distant. When they passed in the hall, Fuegoleon would nod politely, and Nozel would barely acknowledge him with the faintest tilt of his chin before heading toward the stairs. Today was no different.

Fuegoleon nodded. Nozel swept past him in his usual pristine suit, silver hair pulled back perfectly, dark circles under his eyes betraying just how little sleep he’d gotten. He didn’t even glance up.

Fuegoleon leaned against the railing and watched him descend the stairs, lips quirking in a faint smile. No matter how rude or cold Nozel might seem, Fuegoleon couldn’t bring himself to dislike the guy. Something about the man’s sharpness seemed to hide a bone-deep weariness. He wasn’t unfriendly, Fuegoleon thought. Just… tired.

An idea struck him then, so suddenly it nearly made him laugh.

What if he asked Nozel to tutor Sabina?

Nozel was brilliant, anyone who made it to Harvard Law had to be and Sabina desperately needed someone to keep her on track. It wasn’t that Fuegoleon didn’t try, but between his job, cooking, cleaning, and surviving the daily whirlwind that was his daughter, he just didn’t have the energy or the patience to sit down with her over math homework for an hour every evening.

Nozel might refuse, of course. He probably would. But maybe… maybe he wouldn’t.

Fuegoleon straightened, suddenly eager to ask before he lost his nerve, but by the time he reached the top of the stairs, Nozel was already gone. The faint echo of his footsteps had disappeared below, and Fuegoleon was left standing in the quiet hallway with his question unsaid.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Another time, then,” he murmured to himself before heading downstairs and went to his office.

-------------

Fuegoleon unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, loosening the collar of his work shirt. The faint sound of cartoons filled the living room. Sabina was sprawled across the couch, chin propped up on her palms, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, Sab,” Fuegoleon called softly, holding up two convenience-store bento boxes. “Brought dinner.”

Sabina’s head snapped up, and she grinned before bouncing to the table. Fuegoleon set the food down, exhaustion settling in his shoulders like a weight. It was nearly eight in the evening. His company had kept him for overtime again, and the thought of cooking had been unbearable.

They ate together in silence for a few minutes, Sabina occasionally giggling at something funny on the TV. Once she finished, she hopped off the chair and went right back to her spot on the couch, already absorbed in the show again.

“Sabina,” Fuegoleon said after a moment, leaning against the table, “did you do your homework?”

She wrinkled her nose, shook her head, and rolled onto her back dramatically. “I don’t wanna.”

Fuegoleon sighed. He was too tired to fight her tonight. “It’s fine,” he said, though the words tasted like guilt in his mouth.

Her pout transformed into a grin. “You’re the best dad!” she chirped before turning back to the TV.

Fuegoleon glanced at the clock on the wall, 8:47 p.m. His gaze drifted to the apartment door, his thoughts circling back to the idea that had been nagging him all day.

Would it be weird to approach his neighbour this late?

Probably.

Would Nozel Silva slam the door in his face?

Also possible.

But if he didn’t ask now, he might never get the courage to ask at all.

He ruffled Sabina’s hair on his way to the door. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

She nodded absently, her attention fully captured by the cartoon.

Fuegoleon stepped into the dim hallway and knocked on Nozel’s door. Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

He turned to leave, already feeling foolish for disturbing the man, when the door opened with a soft creak.

Nozel stood there, looking like someone who had been dragged out of a rare moment of peace. His silver hair was slightly messy, his button-down shirt hung loose at the collar, and he was wearing shorts, a sight that almost looked out of character for him. His sharp, pale eyes blinked at Fuegoleon, narrowing slightly, though his voice when he spoke was polite enough.

“Do you need something?”

Fuegoleon nodded quickly. “Yes. I… I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Nozel raised an eyebrow, one hand still on the doorframe. He made no move to invite him in. “Go ahead,” he said, tone clipped but not hostile.

Fuegoleon swallowed, feeling suddenly awkward standing in the hallway like a solicitor. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to… teach my daughter. She’s six. She’s been struggling a lot in school and…”

Nozel’s eyes narrowed further. “Why can’t you teach her?”

Fuegoleon blinked, caught off guard by the blunt question. The rumours about Nozel being cold and standoffish floated back into his mind, but he brushed them aside. Nozel didn’t look cruel… just very, very tired.

“I work long hours,” Fuegoleon admitted, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes I don’t even get home until late, like today. She’s already falling behind, and she refuses to go to school half the time. I just… I think she needs someone who can sit with her and guide her.”

He hesitated, then added quickly, “I’m willing to pay you.”

Nozel tilted his head slightly. “How much?”

Fuegoleon hesitated. “Whatever you think is fair.”

Nozel looked at him for a long moment, then said flatly, “A hundred dollars a month.”

Fuegoleon’s eyebrows shot up. For tutoring a six-year-old? But he bit back the protest before it could leave his mouth. For Sabina, he would pay.

“Alright,” he said finally.

Nozel considered him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Seventy.”

Fuegoleon blinked. “What?”

“That’s what I want,” Nozel said simply, as though that settled it.

Fuegoleon nodded, still processing the fact that he had just negotiated with a man who hadn’t even invited him inside.

“Good,” Nozel said, and before Fuegoleon could say anything else, the door closed with a decisive click.

Fuegoleon stood there for several seconds, stunned.

What had just happened?

Fuegoleon hesitated in the hallway for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked again.

This time the door opened much faster, and Nozel looked far less patient. His pale brows furrowed as his cool eyes met Fuegoleon’s.

“What now?” Nozel asked, voice sharp enough to cut.

Fuegoleon held up both hands a little, feeling like a man about to negotiate with an eagle. “Sorry, I just… wanted to ask when you’d be able to start. I need to know so I can arrange things for Sabina.”

Nozel regarded him in silence for a long, uncomfortable second, then asked, “What time are you usually home?”

Fuegoleon blinked. “Um… around five or six, depending on work.”

“Then six-thirty,” Nozel said, his tone final. “One hour. If she doesn’t finish her work in that time, I might consider extending the session but no guarantees.”

Fuegoleon nodded quickly. “That sounds reasonable.”

Nozel gave a short nod back and, without another word, shut the door again firmly, but not quite as sharp as before.

Fuegoleon stood there for a moment, staring at the door as though it might open again.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all.

He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a breath before heading back to his own apartment. This was going to be awkward for him, for Sabina, probably for Nozel too. But at least it was settled.

Inside, Sabina was still glued to the cartoon channel, giggling at whatever was happening on screen. Fuegoleon sat down beside her, the weight of the conversation sitting oddly heavy in his chest.

Tomorrow, Sabina would have a tutor. And tomorrow, Fuegoleon would find out if Nozel was as terrifying as the building’s gossip made him sound or if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the perfectly combed hair and distant stares.

The next morning, Sabina refused to go to school again.

Fuegoleon stood in the doorway of her room, staring at the stubborn little figure sitting cross-legged on the bed with her arms folded. He didn’t even have the energy to argue today.

“Fine,” he muttered, defeated.

By the time he got home from work surprisingly early, at 5:18 p.m. Sabina was waiting at the door. She threw her arms around his waist as soon as he stepped inside, grinning up at him.

“You’re home early!” she said, her voice bright with delight.

Fuegoleon smiled tiredly, setting down his briefcase. “Yeah, today wasn’t too bad. Have you eaten?”

Sabina nodded quickly, then added, “But I’m still hungry.”

He chuckled. “Give me a little time to rest, okay? I’ll cook something.”

She nodded and skipped back to her room, humming some nonsense tune under her breath. Fuegoleon took a quick shower, changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and went to the kitchen. He didn’t have the energy for anything complicated, so he made eggs and bacon Sabina’s favorite combination.

“Dinner!” he called.

She came running, climbed into her chair, and chattered nonstop about a castle she’d drawn that day with dragons, a secret dungeon, and a princess who lived alone because she was “too cool for everyone else.” Fuegoleon listened, smiling faintly, nodding at the right moments, even as fatigue tugged at him.

Afterward, Sabina bounced back to the living room to watch TV, leaving Fuegoleon to clear the table.

At 6:20 p.m., the doorbell rang.

Fuegoleon wiped his hands on a dish towel and opened the door. Nozel stood there silver hair perfectly tied back despite the faint shadows under his eyes, a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked tired, but that was his usual state.

“Evening,” Fuegoleon said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Nozel entered with a short nod. Fuegoleon called down the hallway, “Sabina, come here. Your tutor’s here.”

Sabina appeared a moment later barefoot, holding a stuffed toy by one arm. Her curious expression shifted instantly to a glare when she saw Nozel.

“This is Mr. Nozel,” Fuegoleon began. “He’s going to help you with your schoolwork—”

Before he could finish, Sabina grabbed the nearest glass of water from the table and threw it onto the floor, where it splashed loudly against the tiles.

“Sabina!” Fuegoleon groaned, already reaching for the mess to clean it up.

But before he could move, Nozel raised a hand, stopping him.

The air in the room seemed to sharpen. Nozel turned his cold eyes toward the six-year-old, who stared back at him defiantly.

“What’s your name?” he asked, voice calm but edged.

“Sabina,” she said, chin tilted proudly.

Nozel gave a single nod, then glanced down at the spreading puddle on the floor.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Clean it up,” Nozel said, his voice dropping lower, sharper.

Sabina blinked. “No.”

Fuegoleon opened his mouth to smooth things over, but Nozel didn’t even look at him.

“What are you waiting for?” he said, his tone cutting through the room like a whip. “Get the mop.”

Sabina’s lip curled in defiance. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Nozel’s mouth curved into a dangerous little smirk. He reached out, caught Fuegoleon lightly by the arm, and said in a mock-serious tone, “Alright then. I’ll just take your dad with me. Say goodbye, you won’t be seeing him again.”

Sabina’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t!”

Nozel tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “Try me.”

Sabina hesitated for exactly three seconds before bolting to the bathroom. She returned with the mop and began furiously wiping the floor, glancing at Nozel as though to make sure he was watching.

When the puddle was gone, she planted the mop against the wall and glared at him. “There. Now give me back my dad.”

Nozel released Fuegoleon’s arm with a slight nod, his expression softening by the smallest degree.

“Good,” he said simply. Then, as though nothing had happened, he crouched slightly so he was at eye level with her. “I’m Nozel. I’ll be your tutor. Nice to meet you.”

Sabina blinked, as if not quite sure what to make of him now.

Fuegoleon, meanwhile, stood frozen, questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.
Nozel sat on the couch with the kind of posture that looked too perfect for someone who looked tired. His bag was beside him, zipped, probably he came here straight from university.

Fuegoleon hovered in the kitchen, rinsing dishes that didn’t really need rinsing, because he felt like he had to be doing something. Nozel wasn’t just a neighbour now, he was here for Sabina. A guest. That meant hospitality, even if he wasn’t sure what counted as “hospitable” for a man like Nozel.

Nozel glanced at the little stack of books and copies on the coffee table, Sabina’s schoolwork spilling over in messy, crayon-marked pages. He picked them up one by one, scanning them carefully math exercises, reading assignments, spelling tests with several red marks. His pale eyes moved quickly over each page before he set them down in a precise pile.

Then he turned to Sabina, who sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch, hugging a pillow as though preparing for battle.

“How far do you know your counting?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.

“Can you read?” he tried again. “Write? Do you understand what your teacher teaches you in class?”

Sabina stared at him, unblinking, lips pressed in a stubborn line.

Nozel exhaled slowly, like someone summoning patience. Then, without looking away from her, he called over his shoulder.

“Mr. Vermillion,” he said evenly, “I’m sorry. But you won’t be able to see your daughter again.”

Fuegoleon straightened from the sink, alarm flashing across his face. “What?”

Nozel rolled his neck, his silver hair glinting in the dim apartment light, and stood. “I’ll just take you with me,” he said to Fuegoleon in a tone that was almost casual. “If your daughter doesn’t want to cooperate, I’ll keep you for myself. You won’t be coming back.”

Sabina’s head shot up, her pillow tumbling to the floor. She jumped to her feet on the couch, glaring at him with all the ferocity of a cornered kitten.

“You will not take my dad!” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Nozel arched an eyebrow at her, completely unfazed by her defiance. Then, with a swiftness that startled even Fuegoleon, he stepped forward, scooped Sabina up under her arms, and deposited her on top of the cabinet in the living room.

Sabina yelped as she landed, scrambling to balance herself. She wasn’t hurt, but the cabinet was just high enough that she couldn’t easily jump down. She stared down at Nozel, her bravado cracking.

Nozel folded his arms and looked up at her, his tone suddenly sharper. “Now. Can you count? Can you read? Can you write?”

Her lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. She sniffled once before mumbling, “Yes…”

“Nozel,” Fuegoleon started, stepping forward, but Nozel held up a hand to silence him without even turning around.
“Answer properly,” he said to Sabina. “How far can you count?”

“U-Until one hundred,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.” Nozel’s voice was firm but no longer sharp. “And you can read?”

“Yes,” she said again, tears spilling over.

“And write?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied, Nozel stepped closer, lifted her down from the cabinet with surprising gentleness, and set her on her feet. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled a small candy from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Sabina blinked down at it, then back up at him.

“Next time,” Nozel said quietly, crouching to her level, “answer when I ask you something. You don’t want to end up back there, do you?”

Sabina shook her head quickly.

“Good girl,” Nozel said, brushing the tear off her cheek with his thumb. His tone softened, almost warm as he added, “Now go get your pencil.”

Sabina nodded and ran off to her room, clutching the candy like it was a treasure.

Fuegoleon stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, trying to process what had just happened.

“You—” he started, but stopped, at a loss for words.
Nozel was already sitting back on the couch, arranging her books in the order he wanted. “She’s not scared,” he said simply, as if reading Fuegoleon’s mind. “She just needed to know I wasn’t joking.”

Fuegoleon pressed a hand to his face. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified. Maybe both.

Sabina returned with her pencil and copy, plopping herself on the couch beside Nozel. He opened one of her notebooks, scanned the pages, and froze.

This… this was supposed to be writing?

Her letters were uneven, some backwards, some so poorly formed they looked more like shapes than words. Nozel closed the notebook slowly, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled through his nose like someone about to deliver a verdict.

“Write,” he said, passing her a blank page.

Sabina looked at him, then at the paper. “What?”

“Anything,” Nozel said. “Write what you know.” He needed to see her writing with his own eyes.

She scribbled something quickly. When she handed it back, it was worse than he expected riddled with spelling mistakes, shaky lines, and random capital letters.

Nozel dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes briefly. The sound of his quiet sigh made Sabina glance at him nervously. For the first time since he’d arrived, she looked almost small, insecure.

Nozel shut the copybook with a soft thump and handed her a new sheet. “Counting. Write one to a hundred.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, crossing her arms.

Nozel’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t raise his voice often, but this time his tone cracked like a whip.

“Mr. Vermillion!” he called sharply toward the kitchen.

Fuegoleon looked up from where he was setting out some tea, startled. “Yes?”

Sabina flinched and immediately grabbed her pencil. “Fine! I’ll do it!” she said quickly, bending over the paper.

Nozel didn’t even glance at her as she began writing. He knew better than to observe children as they panicked when watched too closely. Instead, he leafed through the rest of her books, scanning past reading assignments, half-completed math problems, and several pages filled with random doodles. As a law student, all this was useless.

By the time she finished, she pushed the sheet toward him proudly. Nozel scanned it, frowning when he spotted the missing numbers: 32, 57, 66, 84, and 99.

“Count out loud,” he ordered, handing the sheet back.

Sabina started counting, hesitating when she reached the first missing number then corrected herself without him having to say anything. Nozel watched her closely, noting how quickly she adjusted once she realized the mistake.

She wasn’t completely behind. Just spoiled. And maybe a little slow for her age, but not beyond fixing.

When she finally finished and looked up at him, her face was bright, certain that this time she’d done it right.

“Good,” Nozel said simply, which seemed to make her beam even wider.

Then he wrote out the letters she’d written wrong earlier C, J, S, Z each one printed in his precise, elegant handwriting.

“Copy them,” he instructed.

Sabina nodded and carefully rewrote each letter, correcting her strokes. When she finished, he handed her notebook back. She looked at her own writing, frowned at the mistakes she saw now that he’d pointed them out, and without him saying a word grabbed a new page and rewrote everything.

Nozel said nothing, simply observing as she worked. When she finished the second version, she grinned proudly and handed it over.

This time, every letter was perfect.

Nozel nodded in approval, though his expression remained as composed as ever. “Better.”

Sabina’s grin widened at the rare praise.

But then came the real battle, spelling.

Nozel considered making her go through an entire list of words but decided against it. They had made enough progress for one day.

“Homework,” he said instead. “Will you do what I give you tomorrow?”

Sabina wrinkled her nose. “No.”

Nozel’s smirk was subtle but unmistakable as he turned toward the kitchen where Fuegoleon was just bringing out a plate of snacks. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow.

Sabina immediately blurted, “Yes! I’ll do it!”

“Good girl,” Nozel said, allowing himself the faintest of smiles as he took one of the biscuits from the plate Fuegoleon set down.

Fuegoleon blinked, looking between the two of them.

Sabina was smiling, clutching her corrected sheet like a trophy, and Nozel though still sharp as ever looked entirely calm.

Fuegoleon wasn’t sure what had just happened, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this arrangement would work.

Nozel ended the session within 40 minutes. He left to his apartment.

Sabina sulked all evening after her first lesson. When Fuegoleon finally came to sit with her, she crossed her arms and complained loudly, “Papa, he’s so rude! He doesn’t smile at all and he made me write again and again. And if i didn’t answer, he would take you away!”

Fuegoleon hid a small smile behind his cup of tea. “He’s trying to teach you, Sabina.”

“He’s mean,” she insisted.

She picked up a glass from the table and made a half-hearted motion to throw it. Fuegoleon’s hand shot out, steady but firm, catching her wrist before she could act.

“Sabina.”

She froze, pouting, then slowly put the glass back down. Her voice was quieter when she asked, “Why do you always clean my mess?”

“Because I love you,” Fuegoleon said simply.

She stared at him for a long moment, then asked in a whisper, “So… my tutor doesn’t love me? Because he makes me clean it myself.”

That one stopped Fuegoleon. He hesitated, unsure how to answer without undermining Nozel’s authority.

“Nozel doesn’t know you yet,” he said finally. “He’s a stranger still. He just wants to teach you right from wrong.”

Sabina considered that and gave a small, reluctant nod, though her little frown stayed.

--------------

The next few sessions went better. Sabina complained less and even seemed excited to show Nozel her work sometimes. Sabina didn't argue and started to attend school regularly.

But one morning, a week later, Fuegoleon found himself unusually tense. He had a late shift and wouldn’t return home until after seven maybe closer to eight. That meant Nozel would be alone in the house with his daughter from six to seven, maybe even longer.

He trusted Nozel enough to let him teach Sabina, but…

Fuegoleon was a father.

The thought of leaving his daughter with a man who was still practically a stranger left a strange ache in his chest.

He left work early and all but rushed home, heart thudding.

When he stepped inside, he didn’t find Sabina crying or upset instead, she was sitting comfortably at the table, happily eating a plate of fried rice.

“You don’t know how to cook,” he said, confused.

Sabina looked up at him cheerfully. “Tutor made it! He left some for you too!”

Fuegoleon blinked. “He… cooked?”

“Yes!” she said, already digging back into her plate. “It's so good than the lunch box you bring from stores!”

The smell was warm and inviting, and Fuegoleon realized with a pang of guilt that he’d completely forgotten to buy dinner tonight. Nozel hadn’t just fed Sabina, he’d thought about him, too.

Fuegoleon felt a wave of shame wash over him. He’d spent the whole evening worrying about whether he could trust the man, and here Nozel was, quietly making sure his daughter didn’t go hungry.

They sat together at the table as Fuegoleon began eating. Sabina grinned suddenly and shoved a paper toward him.

“Look!” she said proudly.

It was an essay titled My Dad. The spelling wasn’t perfect, but the improvement in her handwriting was obvious smooth, clean letters lined the page, neat enough to bring an unexpected smile to Fuegoleon’s face.

“This is wonderful, Sabina,” he said, ruffling her hair. “You’ve gotten so much better.”

She beamed at the praise.

Fuegoleon asked, “So… how was your day with Nozel?”

Sabina’s face twisted into a half-scowl. “I threw a glass at him!” she announced dramatically.

Fuegoleon nearly dropped his fork. “You what?”

“Because he was angry at me for not doing homework!” she said indignantly. “He made me clean it up. And I told him you would never do that. And he said—”

She widened her eyes, lowering her voice for dramatic effect, “—that he wasn’t my dad. And if I behaved like this, ghosts would come and eat me!”

Fuegoleon choked on his rice, coughing hard. “He said what?”

“Yes!” Sabina said seriously, nodding so hard her hair bounced. “I will never make a mess again, what if the ghost comes here and eats us.”

Fuegoleon put a hand over his face, shaking his head between coughs.

Of course Sabina believed him, she was just a child.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but laugh softly, imagining Nozel’s calm, perfectly serious expression as he told his daughter a ghost story just to scare her into behaving.

Maybe… maybe Nozel wasn’t just strict. Maybe he cared enough to want her to do better.

Fuegoleon smiled, glancing at Sabina as she hummed happily and finished her rice.

“Alright,” he said softly, more to himself than to her. “Maybe this was the right choice after all.”

---------------

Weeks passed quietly, with Sabina’s lessons becoming a regular part of their routine. Fuegoleon noticed changes here and there neater handwriting on the fridge notes she sometimes left for him, better pronunciation when she read aloud, and even a little more discipline in the way she tidied her toys.

Still, when the school sent notice about the upcoming parent-teacher meeting, Fuegoleon braced himself. He’d been to enough meetings to know what to expect a teacher’s tired voice politely explaining that his daughter was bright but unruly, that she distracted other kids, that her work was below standard.

He adjusted his tie nervously that morning and took Sabina’s hand as they entered the school. Sabina, of course, didn’t seem nervous at all. She hummed as they waited, swinging her legs from the bench in the hallway until their turn came.

Inside the classroom, Fuegoleon sat across from the teacher, preparing for the usual criticisms.

Instead, the teacher smiled. “Mr. Vermillion, I wanted to tell you Sabina has shown a lot of improvement this term.”

Fuegoleon blinked. “…Improvement?”

“Yes,” the teacher said warmly. “Her grades are getting better, still a little below average, but much more consistent. She’s also started participating in class. And during sports, she’s been active and enthusiastic. Whatever you’re doing at home, it’s working.”

Fuegoleon stared for a moment, completely thrown off. He had expected to apologize for Sabina’s behavior not to be thanked for it.

“That’s… good to hear,” he said slowly, turning to look at Sabina, who was rocking her legs in the air and grinning like she already knew she had done well.

After thanking the teacher and stepping out of the school, Fuegoleon crouched slightly so he was at Sabina’s eye level. “So… what have you been doing when I’m not home?”

Sabina shrugged innocently. “I go out to the park next to our apartment sometimes.”

Fuegoleon felt his heart sink. “By yourself?”

“Yes,” she said cheerfully, as though it were no big deal.

He opened his mouth to scold her then stopped himself. She was smiling so brightly, proud of her freedom, and clearly she hadn’t been reckless enough to get into serious trouble.

“Alright,” he said finally, “but you must be careful. Stay where other kids are, and come back before it gets dark.”

Sabina nodded, then added, “One time I got hurt when you weren’t home. I went to Tutor.”

Fuegoleon blinked. “You went to Nozel?”

“Yes,” she said, scrunching her nose a little. “He scolded me first. Said I shouldn’t be out after six. But then he cleaned my knee and put medicine.”

Fuegoleon felt an odd twist in his chest part guilt, part relief. He hadn’t been there, but Nozel had stepped in, taken care of her.

Sabina, of course, quickly shifted into complaining. “But Papa, he’s so annoying! He makes me sit for hours and write things. And he doesn’t let me play until I finish everything. He even says I have to do four hours of study after school! Four!”

Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow. “And you listen?”

Sabina nodded grumpily. “Yes, because if I don’t, he just sits there and waits and says he’s not leaving until I finish.”

Fuegoleon had to hold back a laugh.

Sabina crossed her arms. “But after that, he tells me to go play. And he says I must participate in school activities. He even said I should run in sports day.”

Fuegoleon smiled softly as they made their way back home. Sabina’s complaints were strangely filled with pride as though she wanted him to know how serious Nozel was about her progress, even if she pretended to dislike it.

When they reached their apartment, Sabina skipped ahead, knocking on Nozel’s door eagerly.

There was no answer.

She pouted and knocked again. Still nothing.

Fuegoleon rested a hand on her head. “He’s probably at university,” he said gently. “It’s still early.”

Sabina crossed her arms, sulking. “But I wanted to tell him I did good!”

Fuegoleon smiled at that a small, amused smile.

Weeks ago, she would have run the other way at the thought of facing her tutor. Now, she was upset that she couldn’t share her little victory with him.

As they went inside, Fuegoleon glanced once more at Nozel’s door, thinking about everything he had just heard the scolding, the patched injury, the discipline, the cooking.

Perhaps his first impression had been wrong. Nozel might not just be her tutor. Slowly, he was becoming part of their little world.

--------------------

Nozel didn’t come for three days.

At first, Fuegoleon thought it was just the usual fatigue of a law student perhaps exams or projects kept him busy. But by the third day, he found himself stepping into the role Nozel had been filling.

He sat with Sabina at the table in the evening, going through her books. He had always helped her when he could, but now he saw just how much work Nozel had been making her do every day.

Four pages of writing. Counting practice. Reading drills. Spelling corrections.

Fuegoleon blinked at the sheer volume of it. It was a little too much for a six-year-old, wasn’t it? And yet, when Sabina wrote for him, her letters were neat, evenly spaced. She read aloud without stumbling, her voice steady.

She had improved more than he had realized.

“Where’s Tutor?” Sabina asked suddenly, chin propped on her hand.

Fuegoleon smiled faintly. “He’s probably busy. Law school keeps him occupied.”

Sabina pouted and muttered, “I miss his cooking.”

Fuegoleon paused mid-page, turning to look at her. “…His cooking?”

Sabina nodded. “Yes. When you’re at work, I’m alone from lunch till you come home. I used to make noodles or just eat snacks.”

Fuegoleon frowned slightly, a pang of guilt settling in his chest.

“But then one day, Tutor noticed,” she continued, her expression caught between annoyance and pride. “He scolded me for eating just that and taught me how to make rice.”

Fuegoleon raised his brows. “He… taught you to cook?”

“Only rice!” Sabina said quickly, waving her hands. “He said I could put vegetables or spices on top if I wanted. Sometimes he even cooks and gives me some of his food.”

Her little nose wrinkled. “But he always scolds me first. Always! Like, why do you always sit on the counter, don’t touch the pan like that, wash your hands, Sabina. So boring.”

Fuegoleon chuckled softly but it wasn’t pure amusement.

There was a tugging feeling in his chest as he watched her rant about Nozel. For all her complaints, she wasn’t angry. In fact, she seemed strangely… fond of him.

When she was done talking, Fuegoleon reached out and ruffled her hair, smiling though his heart was heavy.

“I see,” he said softly.

The truth stung, that his six-year-old was learning basic cooking skills from the neighbor because he was gone all day. That she had started to depend on someone else for comfort and discipline in the hours he couldn’t be there.

And it wasn’t Nozel’s fault. It wasn’t even Sabina’s fault.

It was his divorce.

It was the court case that had dragged on for months, draining him. The judge who had sided with his wife despite her walking away, leaving Sabina with him. The cruel irony that he was paying child support to a woman who didn’t even want their child.

His savings were gone. His nights were spent working overtime. His weekends eaten by paperwork and side jobs.

And yet, he was still losing pieces of Sabina’s childhood moments he could never get back.

Fuegoleon swallowed, forcing a smile and patting Sabina’s head gently. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart.”

She smiled, then returned to her writing as if nothing had happened.

Fuegoleon sat back, watching her for a moment, his chest tight.

Nozel was strict, sometimes harsh, and more than a little intimidating but perhaps he was exactly what Sabina needed right now.

And perhaps… exactly what Fuegoleon needed too.

-----------------

When Nozel finally returned after a whole week, Fuegoleon almost didn’t know what to say.

He opened the door and tried not to look too relieved. “Welcome back.”

Nozel inclined his head slightly, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. “Apologies for missing the sessions. I had back-to-back lectures and a research paper that needed finishing.”

Fuegoleon nodded. “It’s alright. Sabina and I managed.”

Nozel stepped inside, setting his bag near the couch. Before Fuegoleon could say anything else, Sabina came running from her room.

“Tutor!” she squealed.

But her socks slid on the floor, and she lost her footing, landing hard on her knees.

Fuegoleon flinched, half-rising to go to her, but Sabina popped back up with surprising speed. Nozel crouched slightly, ruffling her hair with a hand as if to say, good recovery.

Fuegoleon paused, noticing how steady Sabina looked now no crying, no dramatics, just brushing herself off and running to fetch her books.

The lesson was brief that evening, mostly reviewing what Fuegoleon had gone over with her during the week. Once Sabina had finished and run to her room again, Nozel closed her copybook with a decisive snap.

“Mr. Vermillion,” Nozel said, looking at Fuegoleon with that sharp, assessing gaze that always made him feel like he was under cross-examination. “Sit down.”

Fuegoleon hesitated, then obeyed, sitting across from him.

Nozel folded his arms. “I wanted to raise a few concerns. Sabina has mentioned going out after six, and that she’s been eating packet food and instant noodles most afternoons.”

Fuegoleon winced. “…Yes. I’m aware. My work schedule—”

Nozel cut him off gently but firmly. “I understand you work long hours. That’s why I’m asking if you need more help with her. She is underweight for her age and small for a six-year-old. If you don’t correct her diet now, it will affect her growth.”

Fuegoleon’s throat tightened. “…I know. And I appreciate everything you’ve done. Truly.”

Nozel’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment but in thought.

“I… can’t pay you more, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Fuegoleon said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t ask for more money,” Nozel replied flatly, shaking his head.

Fuegoleon blinked, then let out a quiet breath. “Then… thank you. You’re doing more than I could have expected from a neighbor. From anyone.”

Nozel’s lips curved not into a smile, but into something almost like one. A faint, scoffing exhale.

“She’s spoiled,” Nozel said bluntly.

Fuegoleon’s head jerked up. “…What?”

“I’m not blaming you entirely,” Nozel said, his tone calm but unflinching. “But you don’t scold her. You let her throw tantrums. You let her make messes and you clean them yourself. That is why she behaves the way she does.”

Fuegoleon flinched slightly at the words, guilt washing over him because he knew Nozel was right.

“She loves you,” Nozel continued, softer now. “And that’s good. Keep it that way. Spoil her if you must. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t become aggressive or arrogant. I’ll correct what needs correcting.”

Fuegoleon stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “…Alright.”

Something in his chest loosened at those words.

Nozel wasn’t just teaching her letters and numbers anymore. He was shaping her, helping her grow into someone stronger, more disciplined.

Fuegoleon felt both gratitude and a strange, quiet ache.

“You’re filling a space in her life that I… can’t,” he admitted quietly.

Nozel’s gaze softened, just barely, before he looked away. “…am I?”

Fuegoleon smiled faintly and nodded, feeling for the first time in a long while like someone was on his side.

Fuegoleon was clearing the table of Sabina’s books when Nozel spoke up suddenly.

“There’s something else,” he said, tone matter-of-fact.

Fuegoleon glanced up, a little wary. “Something else?”

“The rent is going to increase next month,” Nozel said bluntly.

Fuegoleon froze for a second, then nodded. “Yes, I got the notice too.”

Nozel’s shoulders rose and fell in a quiet sigh. “Then let’s share an apartment.”

Fuegoleon blinked, stunned. “…What?”

Nozel looked at him as though this were the most practical, obvious solution in the world. “I won’t ask for tutoring fees anymore. The rent for a shared two-bedroom apartment would be about $500 per adult and with a child additional 100$. If you stay where you are, it’s $900 for you alone next month. With a child, they’ve marked it at $1,000.”

He paused, letting that sink in before adding simply, “So. Win-win. What do you say?”

Fuegoleon stood there for a moment, gripping the edge of the table.

The offer made perfect financial sense. He would save $300 a month, more if he counted the $70 Nozel was charging for Sabina’s lessons. And a two-bedroom apartment would be bigger than the cramped space they currently lived in. Sabina would have a room of her own.

But the idea of living with Nozel of letting him into their private space made Fuegoleon hesitate.

Yes, he trusted Nozel with Sabina’s education. Yes, Sabina adored him in her own loud, bratty way.

But he didn’t know Nozel. Not really. Not beyond the strict tutor who made Sabina clean up her spills, cook, and write her alphabet correctly.

Fuegoleon rubbed the back of his neck, deep in thought.

“Nozel…” he began carefully. “I— I’ll need some time to think about it.”

Nozel nodded once, unbothered. “Take your time. If you don’t accept, I’ll make other arrangements.”

And just like that, he stood, collected his bag, and left the apartment.

Fuegoleon stared at the closed door for a long moment, still turning the idea over in his mind.

Sabina came skipping into the room a moment later, carrying her stuffed rabbit. “Where’s Tutor?”

“He went home,” Fuegoleon said softly, still distracted.

Sabina pouted. “He didn’t say bye to me.”

Fuegoleon forced a smile and ruffled her hair. “Maybe next time.”

But his mind was still replaying Nozel’s offer.

Sharing an apartment with Nozel, that was no small decision.

And yet… could it be exactly what they all needed?

--------------------

Fuegoleon had the rare luxury of a day off, and he decided to spend it keeping an eye on Sabina’s routine something he hadn’t been able to do much of lately.

He started in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the both of them. Sabina sat at the table, swinging her legs as she watched him, and he asked casually, “So… what do you do when I’m not here?”

Her big eyes blinked innocently. “Rice,” she said simply, as though that answered everything.

Fuegoleon paused mid-motion, staring at her.

She nodded enthusiastically. “The one Nozel taught me.”

Fuegoleon dropped his spatula onto the counter. Of course… he thought, half amused, half exasperated.

He shook his head with a quiet smile, letting the thought pass, and finished breakfast. Once they had eaten, he decided to take Sabina to school himself.

After dropping her off, he went back home and immediately set to work on the apartment. It had been cluttered too many old things taking up space. He threw out what was unnecessary, rearranged the furniture, and cleaned until the rooms felt lighter, brighter, ready for change.

By the time he went to pick Sabina up, the house already felt different.

On the way home, he glanced down at his daughter swinging his hand lightly as she skipped along beside him. “So… how do you get home after school?” he asked.

Sabina shrugged nonchalantly. “Alone,” she replied.

Fuegoleon squeezed her hand gently, studying her little face. “And what do you do during the day?”

Sabina’s eyes brightened. She launched into a long explanation, full of pride and innocence. “I do almost everything alone! Sometimes Nozel helps me. I play when I get home because he says I can’t go outside after six. Sometimes he walks me home if his university ends early. He doesn’t let me eat fast food.”

Fuegoleon felt his chest tighten slightly. He had known Nozel was strict, but hearing it from Sabina’s perspective as her protector, as someone she trusted hit differently.

Sabina’s excitement grew as she added another detail. “And he keeps his key hidden around a corner,” she said, pointing vaguely. “I pick it up and go inside his apartment. I eat whatever he makes when he leaves because he has an oven and he taught me how to use it.”

Fuegoleon blinked, incredulous. He trusts a stranger’s child…my child…. with his apartment key?

Sabina frowned suddenly, folding her arms. “But he’s so strict when he teaches me to use the oven! Always says, ‘Don’t touch that, Don't press that, careful!’”

Fuegoleon barely registered her words at this point. His mind was racing. Nozel cooked extra for her, he trusted Sabina to enter his apartment alone, he taught her to use an oven a stranger’s child so that she could have warm meals…

Fuegoleon’s chest tightened as realization settled in. He had worried, yes, but here was someone who was not only helping his daughter grow, but doing so with responsibility, care, and trust.

He smiled faintly to himself, a decision forming quietly, firmly in his mind.

Sure, he thought. Nozel will live with us.

It wasn’t just about saving money anymore. It was about giving Sabina stability, trust, and guidance things Fuegoleon couldn’t always provide on his own. And if that meant sharing their home with Nozel… then so be it.

He glanced down at Sabina, who was chattering away about the last lesson she had with Nozel, completely unaware of the weight of his thoughts.

Fuegoleon ruffled her hair, smiling softly. “Alright, Sabina. Let’s go home. We’ve got some planning to do.”

Sabina grinned, tugging his hand along, oblivious to the silent promise her father had just made.

Fuegoleon waited by the door, glancing at the clock again. He knew Nozel usually returned around three or four. When he saw Nozel’s familiar figure approach, he hurriedly opened the door just in time.

“Good afternoon, Nozel,” he greeted, trying to keep his voice steady.

Nozel gave a small nod, looking tired but alert. “Afternoon. Something on your mind?”

Fuegoleon hesitated, then stepped aside to let Nozel in. “I… wanted to talk about something. Is it alright if we discuss it now?”

Nozel shrugged, voice calm. “Sure. What is it?”

Fuegoleon took a deep breath. “I was wondering… would it be alright if you moved in with us?”

Nozel blinked in surprise. “You’re… considering my suggestion?”

“Yes,” Fuegoleon said, nodding. “Our current apartment is a one-bedroom, cramped for Sabina and me. The apartment you suggested… two bedrooms, enough space for two adults and a child. And financially, it makes sense.”

Nozel’s expression softened, only slightly, but enough for Fuegoleon to notice. “I’m glad you’ve considered it.”

They talked through the logistics, the layout, and the schedule. By the time the conversation ended, Fuegoleon felt a strange relief. Having Nozel in their lives officially, permanently would make things smoother for Sabina and give him a sense of support he hadn’t realized he needed.

Before they could settle, the front door burst open again. Sabina ran in, crying, clinging to Fuegoleon. Behind her, a woman held a small boy, face twisted in anger and smugness.

“She pushed my son! She pushed him!” the woman screamed, her voice high-pitched and sharp. “Your child is so violent. I should sue you and her for this behaviour!”

Sabina sniffled. “He was bullying me! He grabbed my hand!”

Fuegoleon’s heart sank. He opened his mouth to apologize immediately, ready to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry, we—”

But before he could finish, Nozel groaned audibly and stepped forward, his expression deadly calm. “Enough.”

The woman whirled on him. “And you are? You can’t just—”

Nozel ignored her rant. His gaze was sharp, cold, and fixed on her. “Show me your son’s injuries,” he said quietly, deliberately.

The woman’s smugness faltered as she glanced at her child. The boy was fine. No scratches, no bruises. Meanwhile, Sabina had a faint scar on her hand from the altercation.

Nozel’s voice dropped lower, firm and unyielding. “If you insist on suing, we’ll go to court. If you win, I will apologize and compensate you. If you refuse… the penalty fee is one million dollars.”

The woman froze. “You can’t—”

“I can,” Nozel interrupted smoothly, lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You’ve caused mental stress to three people. And the only one injured wasn’t your son. If this case goes to court and you lose, you will pay for the treatment of those affected by your false accusations.”

The woman’s face went pale. She muttered something incoherent before running away, tugging her son along. “Apologize to her!” she hissed over her shoulder.

Sabina looked up at Nozel, wide-eyed and stunned. Fuegoleon exhaled slowly, relief washing over him.

Nozel crouched slightly, ruffling Sabina’s hair with a faint smirk. “Next time, don’t let anyone bully you. And if anyone tries to make a scene, tell me first.”

Fuegoleon’s mind was still reeling from the intensity of the confrontation. He glanced at Nozel with a mixture of gratitude and awe. How does he do that? he wondered silently.

Sabina sniffled but smiled faintly, leaning against Fuegoleon. “Thank you, Tutor,” she whispered.

Nozel’s smirk deepened. “Good. That’s settled.”

-------------------

It took a whole week for them to shift to the new apartment. The process, which could have been costly and stressful, was surprisingly smooth thanks almost entirely to Nozel.

Fuegoleon quickly discovered a fun fact: the owner of the building was actually an uncle of Nozel’s friend. That connection proved invaluable. The extra fees that usually would have been charged for bringing a child were waived entirely. The rent for each adult dropped from $500 to $400.

Nozel handled all the paperwork, agreements, and official procedures himself. Fuegoleon watched in quiet admiration as Nozel navigated through forms, signatures, and clauses with ease. This guy really is good at handling official stuff, he thought, realizing just how handy having Nozel around could be.

Finally, everything was settled. They had two bedrooms: one for Nozel, and one for Fuegoleon and Sabina. The new place already felt larger and more organized than their old apartment.

Next came the question of furniture. Fuegoleon and Nozel went through the items they had brought from their old apartments. Some pieces were simply taking up space and had to go. Nozel didn’t even have a television, only a laptop. Fuegoleon’s old television, which was slightly bigger than a standard model, was kept.

They agreed to sell both refrigerators and purchase a bigger one. Fuegoleon’s was second-hand, while Nozel’s was small, the type you would see in a hotel room. Investing in a bigger one would make life easier for all three of them, even if it meant spending a little more upfront.

For most of the other furniture, they decided to keep Fuegoleon’s pieces. His furniture was larger and more practical, Nozel never needed extra space, so there was no reason to replace it.

Through it all, Sabina was bouncing around the apartment, her small hands running along the walls, inspecting the corners of her new room. “It’s so big!” she exclaimed, practically twirling in delight. Her new room was almost twice the size of the one they had left behind.

Fuegoleon smiled at her enthusiasm. Seeing her happy and comfortable in their new home made the entire exhausting process worth it.

Nozel, meanwhile, leaned against a doorway, quietly observing the chaos or what he called “organized chaos” with a faint smirk. Though he rarely showed emotion, even he seemed to approve of the final arrangement.

For the first time in weeks, Fuegoleon felt a sense of calm. Everything was in place, and somehow, with Nozel in the picture, the transition didn’t feel nearly as daunting as he had feared.

Sabina, meanwhile, was already planning how she would arrange her toys and books in her new space. Fuegoleon watched her, feeling a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been missing, a feeling of home, of stability, and of the quiet, steady presence of someone he could trust.

Fuegoleon was still unpacking some boxes when Nozel handed him an envelope. He raised an eyebrow as he took it.

Inside was a cheque for almost $1,600.

“I… what’s this?” Fuegoleon asked, blinking.

Nozel leaned against the wall casually, expression unreadable. “That’s what I got from selling all the crap we didn’t need. All that old furniture.”

Fuegoleon paused, a little taken aback. He had never heard Nozel speak so casually even bluntly about money or “crap.”

“…And you’re giving this to me?” Fuegoleon asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “It’s your money. Most of it came from your furniture.”

Nozel shrugged, almost lazily. “I’m not good with money. You’ll have to be the man of this house and handle finances of me too. I can’t. I’m terrible at it.”

Fuegoleon opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Nozel continued before he could.

“It’s your part of the responsibility. Consider this as my share of the rent for the next four months. Since you’re paying and managing the adult stuff, it balances out.”

Fuegoleon shook his head. “Nozel… I can’t accept this. I can handle my responsibilities, but this…–this is yours too. You should manage your own rent.”

Nozel’s expression remained calm, almost teasingly smug. “I already told you, I’m terrible with money. If you want that cheque gone in a few weeks because I mishandled it, then sure, I can handle my responsibility. But if you want stability… you take it.”

Fuegoleon exhaled deeply, a mixture of frustration and quiet admiration building inside him. He realized Nozel wasn’t being lazy, he was being honest. He knew his own limits, and he trusted Fuegoleon to manage the practical side of things.

Finally, Fuegoleon placed the cheque in a drawer. “Alright,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’ll take it. But I’m done worrying about your finances after this.”

Nozel’s lips twitched into a faint, rare smile. It wasn’t smug, nor playful, but a quiet acknowledgment.

“Good,” Nozel said simply, turning and walking toward his room.

A small smile tugged at Fuegoleon’s lips. He shook his head faintly, amused at himself. This man… he’s impossible. Almost without thinking, Fuegoleon asked, “How old are you, anyway?”

Nozel didn’t look up. “Nineteen. I’ll turn twenty this December.” His tone was casual, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Fuegoleon blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. Nineteen?

His eyes widened despite himself, and for a moment he could only stare at Nozel’s back. He had been so sure Nozel was at least twenty-one, maybe twenty-two.

Nozel glanced over his shoulder, silver eyes catching the flicker of surprise on Fuegoleon’s face. A faint smirk curved his lips. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

Fuegoleon let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “No, I really didn’t.”

-----------------

The next morning, Fuegoleon left the apartment without a trace of guilt. He knew Nozel would be leaving for his university around seven, which meant he could drop Sabina off at school without any issues. The only lingering concern was picking her up afterward Nozel’s university ended around two, while Sabina’s school let out at one. Still, Fuegoleon decided it was manageable, they would figure something out.

When he returned home later in the afternoon, Sabina came running toward him, her small feet padding across the floor. “Daddy!” she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the kitchen.

The smell hit him before he saw what was cooking rich, savory, and absolutely mouthwatering. Nozel was at the stove, flipping something with a careful precision that immediately drew Fuegoleon’s attention.

“Sit down,” Sabina instructed, pulling him toward a chair at the table.

Fuegoleon obeyed, glancing at the sizzling food in awe. Nozel turned, his sharp eyes locking onto him immediately.

“Did you wash your hands?” Nozel asked, voice flat but edged with authority.

Fuegoleon shook his head instinctively and rose from his chair. “Ah, right, of course,” he muttered. He motioned to Sabina, who hadn’t moved.

Nozel widened his eyes, his expression sharp. “You too, Sabina!”

Sabina’s eyes flickered nervously as she shook her head. “I… I’ll go with daddy!” she said quickly.

“No!” Nozel barked, voice carrying across the kitchen. “You both need to take a bath first!”

Sabina’s face scrunched in frustration. “You’re scary!” she complained, glaring at her tutor.

Fuegoleon laughed, ruffling her hair. “He’s scary, yes, but he’s right. Come on, let’s go.”

After a quick bath, the two returned to the living room. Nozel had served three plates neatly arranged on the table. On each plate sat a perfectly cooked steak, glistening with olive oil and herbs.

Fuegoleon’s eyes widened in surprise, he knew this was premium steak, no less. “Where did you get the steak from?” he asked, astonished.

Nozel shrugged casually. “Discount,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow. “Really? From a discount? I remember you saying you’re terrible with money.”

Nozel pressed his lips together, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “…Twenty percent off,” he admitted finally, in that blunt, deadpan way that somehow made it sound like a feat.

Sabina clapped her small hands excitedly. “It smells so good! Can we eat now?”

Fuegoleon chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think so,” he said, settling into his chair.

Nozel, ignoring their chatter, took a seat across from them, eyes scanning their plates with quiet satisfaction. Despite his stern demeanor, there was a faint softness in the way he observed them, a subtle care that Fuegoleon couldn’t help but notice.

As they began to eat, the apartment was filled with the comforting sound of their small family, settling into a new routine that, thanks to Nozel, already felt like home.

Fuegoleon leaned back in his chair, watching Nozel methodically tidy the kitchen after breakfast. A moment of quiet settled between them, the kind that made Fuegoleon curious about the man who had become such a fixture in their lives.

“I… never asked about your family,” Fuegoleon said cautiously, not wanting to overstep.

Nozel’s hands paused mid-motion. He looked at Fuegoleon, expression unreadable. After a moment, he spoke, voice low. “I ran away.”

Fuegoleon blinked, startled. “Ran away?”

“Yes,” Nozel said simply. “My parents… they refused to let me accept my scholarship and wouldn’t pay the remaining tuition fees. So I left home and never looked back.”

Fuegoleon’s mind raced. He imagined Nozel in a grand house, pristine and imposing, parents of influence and authority hovering over him. And there was Nozel, a young man with his own dreams, the scholarship in hand, pleading for autonomy, only to be denied. Fuegoleon could almost see him, packing a small bag quietly in the night, slipping away while the house slept, the weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders.

Nozel continued, voice softer now, almost reflective. “My mother is a CEO, my father a doctor. They have money, but they wanted me to join the family business. I refused. I wanted to study law. I thought they would agree I had a scholarship but they didn’t. So I left. Never looked back.”

Fuegoleon’s heart ached at the thought. He knew that feeling the suffocating weight of expectation. He thought of himself before everything fell apart, the life of comfort, the luxury, the sense that the world was at his fingertips. Married, successful, wealthy, with plans for the future, and then… losing it all.

Nozel looked at Sabina, who had been quietly watching, and gave her a serious glance. “Never stop her from doing everything she wants,” he said, “but stop her if she does something wrong.”

Before Fuegoleon could respond, Sabina, ever spirited, pinched him playfully. Nozel’s eyes narrowed, and in a swift motion, he pinched her back. She squealed, almost crying, and Nozel’s voice softened.

“See?” he said, his gaze steady. “I felt the pain too. Never pinch anyone.”

Fuegoleon watched the interaction, silently admiring the subtle way Nozel taught lessons without hurting her, balancing firmness with understanding.

Then, Nozel turned back to him. “What about her mother?” he asked, voice quiet, almost cautious. “I… apologize if she’s gone.”

Fuegoleon sent Sabina back to her room with a gentle pat on the head, waiting until her footsteps faded before turning back to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, shoulders slumping as if the weight of years had suddenly returned all at once.

“She left…,” he said quietly, almost like a confession. His fingers drummed once against the counter before stilling. “I was rich once. Married my girlfriend, had Sabina. We were happy, or I thought we were.” His jaw clenched. “Then she sued me. Took everything, every penny, every asset. Even demanded child support, though Sabina stayed with me.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “My parents abandoned me, too. I chose her over them years ago. They stripped me of my legacy out of spite. She could have taken that too, but couldn't.”

Nozel’s eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “And the court allowed it?”

Fuegoleon gave a weak, almost bitter smile. “She brought her lawyer and the judge with her… using my own money against me. I lost everything. Changed the city. Started over from nothing.”

Nozel considered this, then finally suggested, “I could take your case after I finish university.”

Fuegoleon shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “No… it’s fine. Money doesn’t matter now. I’ve learned how important it is to have a normal life. I was… a spoiled kid too. I didn’t understand what mattered until I lost it all.”

Fuegoleon’s mind wandered, imagining Nozel’s life before he left the suffocating opulence, the constant pressure to conform, the suffocating expectation to inherit a business he didn’t want. The long, silent dinners, the sharp words behind closed doors, the silent judgment in every glance. Fuegoleon could picture Nozel sneaking out of that world, alone, determined, carrying only his scholarship and a stubborn will.

And then he thought of his own fall, the sudden, jarring collapse of everything he had taken for granted: wealth, influence, a partner, the life he had meticulously built. How different it felt to start over with nothing, to realize that comfort was temporary and love and trust were what truly mattered.

Nozel studied him quietly, expression unreadable, his gaze steady but thoughtful. He remained silent, perhaps imagining the life Fuegoleon had lost, or reflecting on the similarities between their pasts two men forced to carve their own paths, away from the expectations of others.

Fuegoleon met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. In that quiet moment, he realized that despite their differences, they shared a rare kind of freedom: the freedom to build a life on their own terms, no matter how hard it had been to get there.

---------------------

The next day followed the now-familiar routine. Fuegoleon left for work, knowing Nozel would take care of dropping Sabina at school. When Sabina returned home in the afternoon, Fuegoleon noticed something new.

Nozel had insisted on arranging a school bus for her. The fee increased by $40 a month, but Fuegoleon agreed without hesitation. With the rent now so manageable, thanks to their shared apartment arrangement, he could afford these little extras. The long-standing problem of getting Sabina home safely had finally been solved.

Fuegoleon sank into the domestic rhythm of his life, a quiet, fulfilling routine that almost made him forget the chaos of his past. He remembered the life he once dreamed of: a child of his own, a girlfriend waiting at home… but now, instead of Jasmine, it was Nozel. Nozel cooked, cleaned, and taught Sabina, while Fuegoleon felt like his only contribution was his 9-to-5 job. Yet Nozel never complained. Whenever he asked for something “Clean this,” “Arrange that” Fuegoleon did it silently, without argument. It was a system that worked, and strangely, he felt content.

Almost a month later, Nozel handed Fuegoleon a stack of pay cheques. Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow. “Wait… why are you giving these to me? I already have your share of the rent for four months.”

Nozel shrugged, expression nonchalant. “I told you. I’m terrible with money. I need someone to manage it. And remember, you’re the man of this house.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes widened as he looked at the amounts: three cheques of $200, six cheques of $100. How could Nozel, who seemed so put-together, be struggling this much? He’d known Nozel had money problems, like he did, but this? This was on another level.

“How did you even get all this?” Fuegoleon asked, incredulous.

Nozel replied simply, “As a law student, I take a lot of internships. I also work at a café part-time.”

Fuegoleon’s mind flashed back. He remembered seeing Nozel leave the apartment at 10:30 p.m., returning at almost 6 a.m. He had assumed Nozel was like other university students, out partying, clubbing, living the typical young adult life. But this? Nozel wasn’t wasting his nights, he was working tirelessly.

Then Nozel casually added, “…Also, that steak from a few weeks ago? It wasn’t on discount. I just… craved it. Spent my entire one cheque on premium steak.” he admitted.

Fuegoleon choked on air. He almost shouted, a mix of disbelief and exasperation rising in his chest. “You… you spent an entire cheque on one steak?!”

Nozel blinked several times, as if confused by Fuegoleon’s reaction. “I… don’t know. I just wanted it,” he said, deadpan.

Fuegoleon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright. From now on, I’ll handle buying groceries. You… just focus on everything else.”

Nozel smirked faintly, but said nothing. He already knew, of course, that Fuegoleon would do it without argument, just as he had with everything else in their domestic life.

Fuegoleon leaned back, glancing at Sabina who was quietly coloring at the table. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that, strange as it was, this little arrangement their odd little family was working. Nozel was exhausting, reckless with money, and infuriatingly blunt, but he was reliable where it mattered. And that was worth more than any cheque or steak ever could be.

-----------------

Sunday afternoon, It was rare that Nozel leaned back on the couch, eyes glued to One Piece playing on Fuegoleon’s television, while Fuegoleon sorted through the financial mess that had landed in his lap.

“I shut my bank account,” Nozel said casually, without looking up. “Personal reasons. You’ll have to take care of my money in your account.”

Fuegoleon didn’t argue. He didn’t even hesitate. Somehow, this was just another normal part of his life now.

He picked up his phone and opened his PayPal, entering his pin. His eyes widened as he stared at the balance: over $2,000. His own pay cheques hadn’t even been deposited yet. All of it every cent was Nozel’s money, most of it coming from the cheque Nozel had given him as four months’ rent in advance. And on the table in front of him were new cheques from Nozel again. And he didn't even deposited the previous ones.

How much does this man even earn? Fuegoleon thought.

His mind spun. Managing Nozel’s money meant handling everything tuition fees, rent, food, miscellaneous expenses… the responsibility felt heavier than his own finances.

He glanced at Nozel, still absorbed in the anime, and realized he had to sort it out. “Okay… first, your tuition fees,” Fuegoleon began cautiously.

Nozel paused the episode and replied casually, “$600 per month.”

Fuegoleon blinked. “That’s… less than I expected.”

“No,” Nozel said, “that’s after a 75% scholarship.”

Fuegoleon frowned. “But… why don’t you stay in the dorm? Harvard provides housing for scholarship students.”

Nozel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a trace of annoyance flickering across his face. “My family would find me there. They know I go to that university. That’s why I live far from campus, in an apartment like this. My mother would never believe I live somewhere like this,” he scoffed, resuming the episode.

Fuegoleon leaned back, his mind racing. Of course. That’s why he shut his bank account so his family couldn’t track him. Makes sense now…

He started doing the calculations in his head. Tuition: $600. Traveling expenses, at most $100. Food and other miscellaneous apartment expenses: $300. That’s about $1,000 a month, excluding rent. Nozel makes roughly $1,000 in two weeks… minimum $1,500 a month. And yet, he still struggles to manage it. Fuegoleon shook his head, marveling at the paradox.

He cleared his throat. “Can I ask something personal?”

Nozel nodded, barely glancing from the screen.

“How much do you make… with your internships and the café?” Fuegoleon asked.

Nozel hummed. “Roughly $2,000.”

Two thousand dollars?! Fuegoleon’s brain almost short-circuited. A law student… managing all this… on $2,000 a month?

He had to know more. “How… how?” he asked.

Nozel explained, casually as if this were mundane. “The café doesn’t pay much only $500. The cases I take each month are around 15–20. Professors help me get clients, each paying at least $70. My biggest case was $400.”

Fuegoleon’s mind raced as he did the math. It was impressive, but volatile.

Nozel continued, “My income’s unstable. I’m not a proper lawyer yet, and law students don’t get paid enough for consistent work. That’s why I need someone to manage my money.”

Fuegoleon finally understood. No matter how brilliant, how disciplined Nozel was with his studies or life in general, he couldn’t handle the unpredictability of his finances. Paychecks were irregular, expenses constant, and every decision required careful planning. Fuegoleon realized that his role wasn’t just as a roommate or a friend to Nozel, he had become a vital part of Nozel’s life, keeping the practical side running smoothly.

He leaned back in his chair, a mixture of awe and amusement in his expression. This man, so prodigious, yet so completely helpless when it comes to money… and somehow, I’m in charge of it all.

Nozel, oblivious to the storm of thoughts beside him, munched on a snack, eyes glued to the screen, perfectly content in his own chaotic way.

Fuegoleon smiled faintly. Well… someone has to be the adult, I suppose.

--------------------

Another evening crept toward night, and the tension of month-end finances weighed heavily on Fuegoleon’s mind. Expenses always seemed to peak around this time. His hand worked automatically as he prepared food, letting his thoughts spiral. His own pay cheques amounted to roughly $3,200. It wasn’t much, just a standard office salary but it was enough to keep them afloat. Sabina’s costs were manageable, around $1,000 at most, and the mandatory child support ate up another $320. Adding the rent of $400, Fuegoleon realized his total monthly expenses around $1,200. Not much room for savings, but certainly better than before.

Nozel’s expenses, surprisingly, weren’t as outrageous as Fuegoleon had feared. Even after trying to curb Nozel’s occasional indulgences, he still spent around $1,300 a month including rent. Fuegoleon did a quick mental calculation: the $2,200 Nozel had given him this month, excluding the $1,600 he’d already paid in advance for rent, made things feel almost manageable. Fuegoleon gave Nozel allowance for travelling expenses and the college fee was paid through fuegoleon’s account.

Fuegoleon glanced around the apartment. Nozel maintained the house decently, though it was obvious he was perpetually tired. The law student barely slept, four hours a day, if he was lucky: two hours after returning from university, two after his café shift, and perhaps a little extra rest on weekends. Fuegoleon had memorized Nozel’s schedule, observing just how packed his life was.

After university and client meetings, Nozel would spend six hours studying at home. Then he’d teach Sabina, usually for an hour. He squeezed in whatever household tasks were necessary, cooked, cleaned, and traveled between jobs, all while keeping up with his studies. Fuegoleon shook his head, marveling at the sheer stamina required.

Fuegoleon himself was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when he heard Nozel murmuring over his notebook, laptop balanced on his knees, a half-empty cup of coffee steaming beside him. “Hotpot tomorrow?” Nozel asked, eyes hopeful, scribbling extra notes.

Fuegoleon shook his head. “No. We don’t have the ingredients, and the fridge is already full. I’m not spending extra money unnecessarily.”

Nozel rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further. Fuegoleon, thinking of the physical toll, added, “You should quit the café job.”

Nozel blinked, confused. “Why?”

“You’re exhausted,” Fuegoleon said, trying to keep his voice calm. “It’s too much. You barely sleep.”

“I’m used to it,” Nozel replied simply, without a hint of complaint. “The café atmosphere is comfortable. I can focus there too.”

Fuegoleon calculated silently. Five hours at the café, six hours studying at home. Nozel study for eleven hours a day, four hours of sleep, one hour teaching Sabina, at least three hours of commuting… and that left barely any time for meals, errands, or just breathing. And yet, Nozel managed. Somehow, he thrived amidst exhaustion, like a machine that refused to break down.

Fuegoleon shook his head. This man, Nozel Silva… terrible with money, but time? He manages it flawlessly.

The thought lingered as he chopped vegetables for dinner, the scent of garlic and oil filling the kitchen. Fuegoleon couldn’t help but marvel at the life they were all carving together, the little routines, the shared responsibilities, the trust. And through it all, Nozel moved like a whirlwind of efficiency and discipline, every second accounted for, every task executed a stark contrast to the man who could barely manage his cheques.

Fuegoleon sighed, stirring the pot. If he can manage time like this, I guess I can manage his money…

Even as the domestic rhythm wrapped around them, Fuegoleon realized that their lives were more intertwined than ever. It wasn’t just about rent or groceries anymore, it was about trust, support, and the quiet acknowledgment that they were, in their own strange way, a family.

-------------------

Another month passed.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the apartment bathed in soft sunlight. Nozel sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, scribbling notes into a thick notebook. Fuegoleon had just accepted another stack of cheques from him $1,300 earned in barely three weeks. The sums made Fuegoleon swallow hard. Nozel’s income was far more unpredictable than he had realized.

Sabina sat on the floor, watching Nozel study with intense focus. The sight was almost mesmerizing, her tutor completely absorbed in his work. Inspired, she mimicked him, pulling out her own notebook and attempting to concentrate… for about thirty minutes. Then, with the boundless energy of a six-year-old, she darted outside to play, leaving Fuegoleon smiling and shaking his head.

Nozel, however, did not flinch. His silence was a warning. Anyone daring to disturb him during study time would learn the hard way, a stormy exit from the apartment or retreat to his room, leaving the household tense and apologetic. Both Sabina and Fuegoleon had learned this lesson early on.

Fuegoleon scrolled through his phone, pretending to focus on something important, when he heard the sharp click of Nozel’s tongue.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously.

Nozel didn’t look up immediately. Most of the time, he would simply ignore the question. But today, he spoke, voice low and controlled. “That professor… wants to give me a case. It’s not up to my standards, though the client is willing to pay up to $1,000.”

Fuegoleon furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with it?”

Nozel’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a fraud case. The client committed the fraud, but the victim… the one who got conned… signed an agreement that legally favors the client. It’s already theirs. Technically, the case is unwinnable. But I could still take it. I have the ability to argue it in court, and I might win.”

Fuegoleon leaned back, unsure what to say. “So… what are you thinking?”

Nozel let out a sharp breath, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’m thinking about declining it. I don’t want my skills wasted on something that’s morally wrong. I could take it and earn the money, sure, but…” He paused, eyes narrowing on the screen, “…I’m not willing to compromise just for a cheque. I don’t need that kind of income if it comes at the cost of my principles.”

Fuegoleon swallowed. He had never seen Nozel so conflicted. Usually, the man seemed unshakable precise, disciplined, and unfazed by the chaos of life. But here, the exhaustion, the moral dilemma, and the weight of responsibility were all clear. Fuegoleon could feel the tension in the room, heavy and uncompromising, like a storm brewing just beyond the window.

Sabina’s laughter floated in from the balcony, a sharp reminder of the innocence and normalcy they were trying to maintain amidst the pressures of adult life. Fuegoleon looked at Nozel, realizing just how much his roommate and Sabina’s tutor carried on his shoulders talent, discipline, and now ethical responsibility all while barely sleeping and constantly juggling money, school, and life.

Fuegoleon felt a quiet admiration wash over him. And somewhere deep down, he also felt a twinge of guilt: Nozel bore so much, yet he and Sabina relied on him daily. Could he, Fuegoleon, do anything to ease even a fraction of this burden?

Nozel clicked his tongue again, almost impatiently, and resumed typing. Fuegoleon looked down at the cheques in his hand, silent, wondering if anyone else could truly manage such a life and if anyone else would do it with the same relentless determination.

Nozel leaned back slightly on the couch, a rare flicker of frustration crossing his usually composed features. “I declined the case,” he stated bluntly, eyes fixed on the screen as if the decision was both simple and burdensome at once.

Fuegoleon nodded slowly, careful not to push further. “Money tight?” Nozel’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, sharp and calculating.

Fuegoleon shook his head. “No… no. It’s tight, but not for you. The previous money you gave me is still there, plus the additional $1,300 you just handed over.”

For a moment, Nozel pressed his lips together, his fingers running through his hair in that habitual way he did when stressed or deep in thought. Fuegoleon watched him, quietly deciding not to press further. He knew better than to pry when Nozel was in this state any additional question could push him over the edge.

Then, in one swift motion, Nozel partially slammed his notes on the table. The sudden sound startled Sabina, who had just peeked in from the balcony, but she wisely decided not to disturb him. Fuegoleon flinched slightly but remained calm, understanding that this was just Nozel’s way of venting the tension he carried inside.

Fuegoleon let the moment pass in silence, thinking to himself how extraordinary it was that Nozel could carry such a load law school, tutoring, work, household management and still maintain his integrity. Most people would have taken the easy money, regardless of morality. But not Nozel. Not him.

He quietly returned to his phone, pretending to scroll while keeping a watchful eye on his roommate. Nozel, after a few moments, exhaled sharply and went back to scribbling notes, the tension easing just enough that Fuegoleon could sense the calm returning.

And Fuegoleon thought, silently: This man… handles more than I ever imagined. And yet, somehow, he still manages to care for Sabina and this household. How can anyone live like this?

The apartment returned to its quiet rhythm, the faint clatter of utensils from the kitchen, Sabina’s occasional laughter in the background, and Nozel’s focused scribbling forming a rhythm that was somehow comforting a domestic storm of discipline, chaos, and unspoken care.

----------------------

Another month passed, and Fuegoleon could admit it, he liked this life better with Nozel around.

Yes, the man was constantly overworked, half-running on caffeine and willpower, but Fuegoleon felt a strange sense of security knowing that when he wasn’t at home, Sabina wasn’t alone either.

Even when Nozel disappeared for twelve or fourteen hours at a time for university work, he always came back, always sat down with Sabina, always brought the apartment back to life.

That day, there was a knock at the door.

Nozel was pacing the living room, a law book in his hand, frustration written all over his face. At the sound of the knock, he froze mid-step, visibly annoyed, and was clearly preparing to yell at whoever dared disturb him.

Fuegoleon noticed the shift in his energy immediately.
“I’ll get it,” Fuegoleon offered.

Nozel exhaled, almost relieved, and sank into the couch, shoulders tense.

Fuegoleon opened the door and instantly felt his body go rigid.

The woman standing there was striking.
Long silver hair that shimmered like moonlight, pale skin, a posture that radiated both wealth and authority and the same sharp features as Nozel, though softened into something coldly elegant.

She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Good evening,” she said. Her voice was calm, smooth….too smooth. “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions.”

Before Fuegoleon could reply, he sensed Nozel’s presence or rather, his absence from view. The young man had slipped out of sight, pressed flat against the wall beside the doorframe like a soldier avoiding enemy fire. His breathing was so quiet it was almost unnoticeable.

Fuegoleon hesitated. Everything about the woman’s aura screamed danger, and the fine hairs on his arms stood up.

“I am Acier Silva,” she continued, “Nozel Silva’s mother.”

There it was. The confirmation. She was Nozel's mother.

She stepped slightly closer, just enough to make Fuegoleon tense. “He is my son. I know he is far away from home… but I want to meet him. Just once.”

Fuegoleon’s first instinct was to shut the door. His second was to lie.

Acier, still smiling, reached into her bag and pulled out a folded document. She handed it to him.

It was a copy of the apartment agreement, the very one Nozel had handled. Fuegoleon’s eyes skimmed the page, and his stomach dropped.

The name written there was his. The signature was his. Except… it wasn’t.

“That is my son’s handwriting,” Acier said softly, her gaze locking on Fuegoleon like a hawk’s. “I can recognize it anywhere.”

Fuegoleon forced a neutral expression. “Yes… I approached a law student. His name was Nozel. He handled the work for me. That’s all.”

Acier tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Why a two-bedroom apartment?”

“My daughter,” Fuegoleon replied simply, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway.

As if on cue, Sabina peeked out, clutching a drawing she had been eager to show her father. She stopped when she saw the stranger, her excitement faltering.

Acier’s smile softened but it still didn’t quite feel real. “Lovely child,” she said. “Where did you meet my son?”

Fuegoleon lied again, keeping his tone casual. “At a café called… Riverton. He was there, we got talking, and I hired him to help with paperwork.”

Acier stared at him for a long moment, then smiled once more. “I see. Thank you for your time.”

And just like that, she turned and left, her heels clicking against the hallway floor until the sound disappeared entirely.

Fuegoleon shut the door quickly, locking it.

Nozel emerged from his hiding spot almost immediately, his face pale, his usually sharp composure cracked with visible panic.

His breathing was shallow, his fingers clenching at the hem of his shirt.

“How… how did she find me?” Nozel muttered, almost to himself, pacing now like a caged animal.

Fuegoleon watched him silently, realizing for the first time just how deep Nozel’s fear of his family truly ran. This wasn’t mere defiance…. this was terror.

Fuegoleon still had the copy of the apartment agreement in his hand. The house was quiet… too quiet except for the faint sound of Nozel’s uneven breathing.

Fuegoleon turned to him, holding the paper up.
“You signed this,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Not me.”

Nozel snatched the document from his hand so quickly that the paper almost tore. His eyes darted over the text, scanning every line with sharp precision until they landed on the signature. His lips pressed into a thin, pale line.

“Fuegoleon Vermillion,” he read aloud, his tone clipped, almost bitter. Then he turned to Fuegoleon, his eyes strangely intense. “Does this —” he pointed to the signature sharply “—look like my handwriting to you?”

Fuegoleon hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I’ve seen your writing before. You write in cursive. This is… blocky, neat nothing like yours.”

Nozel’s jaw tightened. Without warning, he slammed the paper flat against the wall hard enough to make Sabina’s bedroom door rattle. His breathing grew ragged.

Fuegoleon stepped closer carefully, hands raised in a subtle gesture of calm. “Nozel. Stop. This won’t help.”

But Nozel wasn’t listening not fully. He stood there, shoulders tense, chest heaving, one hand clutching his shirt, the other tangled in his own hair, gripping so hard it looked painful.

“She recognized it,” Nozel muttered, almost in disbelief. “Of course she did. Of course she would. She’ll come back. She’ll come back and ask more questions… my number, my schedule, anything she can use to drag me back.”

His voice was rising with each word, the panic starting to show through his usual control.

Fuegoleon tried again, this time more firmly. “Nozel. Breathe.”

Nozel’s fingers were still knotted in his hair, pulling so hard that Fuegoleon half-feared he’d rip strands out. His knuckles had gone white from the force.

“She can’t track me with just a signature,” Nozel said suddenly, louder this time, as if trying to convince himself. “She can’t. A fake name, a fake signature. that’s nothing. That’s nothing!”

Fuegoleon, standing just a few feet away now, could see how badly his hands trembled. He had never seen Nozel lose his composure like this.

“She won’t leave you alone,” Nozel added, his voice dropping to something quiet and strained. “You don’t know her. She’ll be back. She’ll smile, she’ll act polite, but she won’t stop until she gets what she wants.”

Fuegoleon felt a chill go through him at the certainty in Nozel’s tone. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, studying the younger man.

Nozel’s breathing finally slowed a fraction. He closed his eyes and forced a deep breath, lowering the paper. His grip loosened slightly, though his shoulders were still tight.

Fuegoleon thought to himself, How can someone track a person down from a fake signature? Is that even possible? Or is it just Nozel’s paranoia?

But looking at him now, Fuegoleon wasn’t so sure it was paranoia.

Nozel folded the paper once, twice then crushed it in his fist until it was a wrinkled ball. “I have to be careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to Fuegoleon.

Nozel had cursed under his breath, stormed into his room, and slammed the door so hard the sound echoed through the apartment. Fuegoleon stood there for a moment, staring at the locked door, wondering if he should knock but decided to leave him alone.

A few minutes later, a knock came at the main door.

Fuegoleon exhaled sharply, thinking it must be the neighbor or a delivery. He opened the door.

And froze.

Acier Silva stood there again.

Her silver hair gleamed under the dim hallway light, her posture perfectly composed, and her expression polite yet sharp. Something about her presence made Fuegoleon’s shoulders tighten.

“Mr. Vermillion,” she said smoothly, “I must apologize for disturbing you again.”

Fuegoleon forced himself to keep his tone level. “Mrs. Silva,” he replied, stepping slightly into the doorway. “This should be the last time you come here. You’re trespassing, and I have a daughter at home. This isn’t appropriate.”

Acier’s smile didn’t falter, but it didn’t soften either. Her eyes studied him, like she was measuring every word, every twitch of his expression.

“I only have one question,” she said lightly. “How do you communicate with my son?”

Fuegoleon’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, but he forced himself to appear relaxed.
“He came to a café where I was working on renewing my apartment agreement,” Fuegoleon lied smoothly. “I saw his Harvard Law ID card, and I asked him to help me. He corrected my agreement within a few hours, and that was it.”

Acier tilted her head. “No way to contact him? No number, no email?”

Fuegoleon shook his head. “I didn’t ask. He was busy, and I was grateful he even agreed to look at the document.”

For a moment, the hallway was silent. Her eyes lingered on him longer than felt comfortable, sharp and calculating as though she could peel the truth out of him if she stared long enough.

Finally, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, elegant card. She held it between two fingers.

“If you ever see him again,” she said, her tone soft but carrying weight, “please contact me.”

Fuegoleon accepted the card with a polite nod, forcing a small, diplomatic smile.
“I will,” he lied gently.

Acier returned the smile the kind that didn’t reach her eyes then turned and walked away down the hall.

Fuegoleon closed the door carefully, leaning his back against it for a moment as he let out a slow breath. The apartment was quiet except for the faint creak of Nozel’s floorboards behind the closed door of his room.

Maybe he was right, Fuegoleon thought grimly. She doesn’t seem like someone who’ll just let this go.

Fuegoleon stared at the card on the table for a long time after Acier left. He turned it between his fingers, her voice echoes in his mind.

If you ever see him again… contact me.

He could almost hear the edge in her voice.

Fuegoleon’s gaze drifted toward Nozel’s door. He remembered the way Nozel had nearly ripped his own hair out, the way his breathing had gone sharp when he even suspected she might find him.

Slowly, Fuegoleon stood, walked over to the trash bin, and dropped the card inside.
He wouldn’t tell him. Not tonight. Not while Nozel was already on edge.

It was already 10:30 p.m. and the apartment was unusually quiet. Normally, by now, Nozel would have left for his night shift at the café, slipping into his shoes without a word. But the door to his room hadn’t opened once since evening.

Fuegoleon hesitated outside for a moment before knocking softly.

For a long stretch of seconds, there was nothing.

Then, at last, the door creaked open.

Nozel stood there. His usually sharp silver hair was slightly disheveled, his posture slouched. His eyes were rimmed red, and his expression… empty.

Fuegoleon felt something tighten in his chest. Was he crying…?

“You should eat something,” Fuegoleon said gently.

Nozel shook his head, clearly ready to close the door again, but Fuegoleon pressed his hand against it, stopping him.

“You need to eat,” Fuegoleon repeated, a little firmer this time.

Nozel finally looked up at him, and the defeated expression on his face made Fuegoleon’s resolve harden.

“Fine,” Nozel said quietly after a moment.

Fuegoleon nodded once and stepped back, letting him come out. The sound of Sabina’s soft breathing carried faintly from the bedroom she’d already been asleep.

In the kitchen, Fuegoleon reheated the leftover rice and vegetables, plating them with quiet care. Nozel sat silently at the table, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.

Fuegoleon set the plate in front of him and sat down across from him.
“Eat,” he said simply.

Nozel obeyed without a word, slowly, mechanically. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable just heavy. Fuegoleon didn’t ask what was wrong. Not yet.

When Nozel finally finished, he pushed the plate forward, staring at it for a moment before letting out a slow breath.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Fuegoleon only nodded, standing to clear the plate.

“Go get some sleep,” Fuegoleon said quietly. “You’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

Nozel gave him a tired glance, hesitated, then stood up and walked back to his room without arguing.

Fuegoleon stood in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the closed door again, wondering just what kind of weight Nozel was carrying and why it had to make him look so heartbreakingly young tonight.

--------------------

Nozel had already left when Fuegoleon woke up the next morning.

The apartment smelled faintly of toasted bread and eggs a simple breakfast waiting for them on the counter. Next to the plate was a small sticky note, Nozel’s sharp cursive scrawled across it:

‘Sorry for last night.’

Fuegoleon stood there for a moment, holding the note between his fingers, before setting it back down with a sigh.

He couldn’t help worrying. Nozel rarely apologized. If he had written it down and then left early, it meant he hadn’t wanted to face them. It meant he had probably gone to university with that same storm still raging in his chest, maybe even in fear.

Sabina padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

“Where’s Nozel?” she asked sleepily.

“In the university,” Fuegoleon answered gently.

She hummed softly and went to sit at the table. Fuegoleon smiled faintly, serving her breakfast.

By afternoon, after dropping Sabina to school and spending a long day at the office, Fuegoleon finally returned home tired, but with that small knot of worry still lodged in his chest.

When he opened the door, he found them both sitting at the table. Sabina was bent over her notebook, writing carefully. Nozel sat across from her, a book propped open in one hand as he quietly read.

Fuegoleon paused in the doorway.

Normally, Nozel never studied during Sabina’s lesson time. He gave her his full, razor-sharp attention correcting every letter, every number, patient but precise. Seeing him so distracted was… wrong.

But Fuegoleon said nothing. He just walked past them, quietly going to take his bath.

When he came back, Sabina’s lesson was ending. She ran off to put away her books, leaving the two men alone in the living room.

“Nozel,” Fuegoleon said softly, leaning against the wall.

Nozel glanced at him, brows lifting slightly.

“You okay?” Fuegoleon asked.

Nozel nodded, his expression perfectly calm too calm.

But Fuegoleon could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set too tightly, the faint tremor in the fingers that turned his page. This wasn’t study stress. This was something heavier, sharper the same fear that had made him grip his own hair last night.

Fuegoleon didn’t push further. He just nodded once, as if accepting the answer, and went to prepare tea.

But all the while, he kept glancing at Nozel, wondering how long it would take before that calm mask finally cracked.