"God, how much did you even drink?" Hugo groaned. Leonardo was slumped against him like a deadweight sandbag, every ounce of his body pressing down on Hugo's right shoulder. Even in perfect condition, carrying him would've been difficult but Hugo himself was exhausted, his limbs trembling from fatigue. Half dragging, half supporting Leonardo, he stumbled forward across the sand. Luckily, the lifeguard station wasn't far—no more than twenty yards away. With great effort, Hugo finally staggered to the spot.
He dropped Leonardo unceremoniously onto the sand with a heavy thud. He didn't even have the strength left to climb up to the lifeguard tower. Instead, he sank down right at the base of it, the wooden platform blocking much of the ocean wind. The relief was instant—until the stench from his shirt hit him.
"Oh, that hurts!" Leonardo groaned where he'd landed, leaving a dent in the sand. He still sounded barely conscious.
Hugo glanced down at his shirt, smeared with layers of vomit in all possible shades, and his stomach lurched again. He quickly yanked it off, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it aside. Pulling his jacket around his shoulders, he sat down, burying his legs in the sand for warmth. Thankfully, he'd found his coat earlier—it hadn't been ruined. If he had to sit here shirtless on New Year's morning, it would've been torture.
Hugo absentmindedly sifted sand between his fingers while scanning their surroundings, mind hazy but turning over one practical question: Did I even bring my cell phone when we left?
Leonardo, realizing Hugo had no intention of responding to his earlier complaints, finally fell quiet. He blinked his bleary eyes open, looked around, and asked weakly, "Where are we?"
"I have no idea," Hugo muttered, a crooked grin forming despite everything. The first morning of 1993, and here he was—sitting on a beach, freezing in the dead of winter, wearing nothing but a wool jacket, and playing with sand. What a start to the new year.
After a while, Leonardo began shivering violently. He crawled over to Hugo's side, kicking at the crumpled shirt nearby. "No wonder it smells so bad," he muttered.
"Look at yourself first," Hugo shot back with a laugh.
Leonardo glanced down and nearly retched again. His jacket was soaked on one side, stained dark and sticky. He hurriedly stripped it off along with his T-shirt, but the moment the cold air hit his skin, he froze. Even in Los Angeles, January nights were biting cold. With the darkness thick and the wind slicing in from the sea, it was miserable. Groaning, he flipped his jacket inside out and put it back on.
Watching his clumsy attempt at warmth, Hugo smirked. Leonardo noticed and, realizing it actually helped, sat down beside him and began burying his own legs in the sand. "Why aren't we going back?" he grumbled. "It's freezing out here."
"You think you can even walk right now?" Hugo countered. That shut Leonardo up fast. Hugo turned his head to the left, peering into the dark. Beyond the faint glow of distant lights, there was nothing but the sound of waves and wind—the party noise from earlier had vanished completely. "We're a ways from the main road," Hugo said. "Finding shelter isn't easy. Let's rest a bit, build up some strength. Then we'll head out, find a bar, maybe call someone for help."
At the moment, both of them were broke and had no way to contact anyone. Not exactly stranded but not far from it either. Leonardo nodded in reluctant agreement and focused on packing more sand around his legs for warmth.
"So," Hugo teased, "still think last night's drinking spree was worth it?" Leonardo had been insisting all week he wanted to drink properly and boy, he sure had. "How much did you even drink yesterday? A gallon?"
"A gallon?" Leonardo scoffed dismissively. "That's how much I drank before I blacked out. Who knows how much after that—definitely more."
A gallon—nearly four liters of alcohol. Hugo whistled softly in disbelief. But Leonardo's next words made him freeze. "You probably drank a gallon too. You were pounding those beers like water. Didn't know you could hold your liquor that well."
Hugo's face twisted into an expression that could only be described as speechless. "I don't remember drinking that much," he muttered. His limit was maybe five bottles of beer—nowhere near a gallon. That wasn't drinking anymore; that was cattle-level consumption.
Leonardo snorted and gave him a look of exaggerated disdain, as if to say, Oh, please. "You don't remember the dart game? You lost the bet like ten times! You must've downed nearly a gallon before we even left."
Hugo tilted his head, trying to piece it together. He vaguely remembered the dart challenge, but how many times had he actually lost? He honestly couldn't recall. Leonardo rolled his eyes dramatically. "Don't tell me you were drinking because of The Firm or that Wonder Woman thing again?"
Leonardo never filtered his thoughts. He treated Hugo like a real friend—direct, honest, no pretenses. Hugo blinked, surprised. He remembered mentioning about The Firm last night but didn't recall bringing up Uma. That's it, he thought wryly. I'm never drinking that much again.
"You've got to believe in yourself," Leonardo said when Hugo didn't respond. "I'm shooting a movie with Robert De Niro right now—you know that, right? And from him, I've learned something important: even De Niro doesn't get every role he wants. Sometimes, no matter how much you want a part, it's just not yours. You've got to stay levelheaded about it."
Watching eighteen-year-old Leonardo deliver that line so seriously, Hugo couldn't help but laugh. "So, you can do that?" he asked, grinning.
"Of course not," Leonardo replied instantly, shaking his head without hesitation. "If I missed out on a role as good as The Firm, I'd probably drink myself stupid too—just like you."
Hugo burst out laughing, clapping his hands. "Then why the hell are you the one giving me advice?"
"I thought you'd get it," Leonardo said with a shrug. "Besides, that's what those kinds of sayings are for to make people feel better. Even if I think they're complete bullsh*t, they still work when you need to cheer someone up." He shot Hugo a look. "What did you expect me to say instead? 'Hey, man, I'm only eighteen, you're twenty-five, you've been in this business for ten years, and if you can't figure it out, how the hell would I know?'"
Watching Leonardo put on that mock-mature act, Hugo couldn't stop laughing—really laughing, from the heart. Not just because of what Leonardo said, but because the image of this cocky, youthful kid overlapped in his mind with the brooding, tormented characters Leonardo would go on to play in the twenty-first century. The contrast was hilarious.
Hugo's laughter made Leonardo a little self-conscious. He wasn't sure if what he'd said had come out right. Honestly, part of why he'd gotten so drunk last night was to join in the celebration but mostly, it was because, as Hugo's friend, he'd wanted to keep him company.
Hugo clapped him hard on the shoulder. "You're right, absolutely right."
Leonardo winced and twisted his face in pain. "Ow! Easy, man!" he groaned, but Hugo kept patting him anyway.
"Don't worry, I'm fine. Even if I wasn't, I threw it all up earlier," Hugo said with a smirk, glancing meaningfully at the shirt and T-shirt lying nearby.
"Ugh, that's disgusting!" Leonardo yelped. Hugo didn't look much better either—the place was a total mess. Both men quickly turned their eyes away.
"Hey, look!" Leonardo suddenly said, interrupting their banter. He patted Hugo's shoulder and pointed ahead.
On the horizon, a faint streak of orange-red light slowly emerged, spreading through the dark sky. It was the sunrise.
The sun climbed upward like it was scaling a hill, its red rays turning golden as they tore open the black curtain of night. It was as if the sun's light was ripping a gaping hole in the darkness, spilling warmth and color in every direction. The ocean wind howled, and the waves roared as though unwilling to yield, struggling alongside the retreating night against the coming dawn.
But the sun kept rising, stubborn and bright, pushing its golden fire higher and higher until the black faded away. Around it, shades of orange, gold, deep blue, navy, indigo, and black blended together into a stunning canvas. The sunlight painted the horizon and the waves in shimmering color, setting the world aflame.
Then, all at once, the pace quickened. The sun seemed to leap free from the horizon, breaking loose in a single bound. Now it hung there, a perfect glowing sphere, climbing faster and faster as everything around turned to radiant gold.
The black night withdrew like a receding tide, vanishing completely. The sky became a soft wash of amber, with only a sliver of dark blue lingering behind the hills. The roaring sea and the whistling wind quieted under the glow, like tamed lions reduced to gentle murmurs. The world seemed to fall into a peaceful stillness.
Nature's beauty at that moment was breathtaking—beyond words, beyond description. No language, no poetry could capture even a fraction of the sunrise's majesty.
"Wow…" Leonardo breathed. It was all he could say. Overcome with excitement, he tried to leap up but forgot his legs were buried in the sand, and immediately fell back with a thud. The pain didn't matter; his eyes were locked on the dazzling sun.
Hugo sat beside him in silence, staring blankly ahead. His amber eyes were bathed in gold.
The first sunrise of 1993 had arrived—welcoming the new year in the most magnificent way imaginable.
.....
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