Compared to Leosli and Clorinde, Leo's situation at home felt a little different.
While preparing dinner in the kitchen, Leo couldn't shake the uneasy atmosphere that lingered after they had returned from the Cime Court. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong.
Although Lady Furina carried on with her usual chatter and laughter, whenever he turned his back to her, it felt as though an invisible dagger were poised between his shoulder blades.
And now, as he cooked, that sensation was sharper than ever.
With his back turned toward Furina, who sat in the living room, Leo felt a fear unlike any other.
When he finally glanced over his shoulder, he saw Furina smiling sweetly, but the look carried a meaning he couldn't quite name.
I must be imagining it. I must!
Turning back to the stove, Leo continued cooking, but the prickling sensation only grew stronger.
Furina, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, fumed quietly. She had noticed Leo glancing her way again, and her expression soured.
How dare you! You're bold enough to flirt with other women in front of me?
Her eyes flicked to the little stool behind Leo, and a mischievous idea formed in her mind.
While Leo fried the meat, he suddenly felt a presence at his back. Startled, he turned—only to find Furina balancing on the stool right behind him, making a ridiculous face at eye level.
The surprise threw him off. Leo instinctively stepped backward, hands flailing—unfortunately landing on the hot frying pan.
A sharp sizzle filled the air.
Leo hissed in pain, pulling his hand back. Furina burst out laughing at his misfortune, clutching her stomach—until she realized the situation was about to get worse.
Trying to steady himself, Leo shifted awkwardly in the cramped space of the kitchen. Pots of sizzling meat and boiling soup surrounded him. The only open space was directly behind Furina, who still teetered precariously on the stool.
Faced with a choice between further burning his hands or colliding with her, Leo chose the latter.
He lunged forward, bracing one arm behind her head and another around her waist to shield her from injury.
But Furina's height, raised by the stool and her slippers, left her almost level with him.
The result: Leo toppled forward, knocking them both to the floor—his lips crashing directly onto hers.
Their eyes flew wide open. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Furina lay pinned beneath him, her head cushioned by his arm and his body pressing her down firmly. The unintentional kiss lingered, their lips warm and impossibly soft against each other's.
What do I do? What do I do? Leo's mind spun in panic, though beneath it, a dangerous happiness bloomed. Lady Furina's lips… they're so soft and sweet…
His senses were overwhelmed—the fragrance of her hair, the warmth of her breath. He didn't even realize what he was thinking.
Beneath him, Furina was in complete disarray.
Again?! How many times has this happened already? Leo, are you addicted to kissing me?
But she couldn't move. Her arms refused to push him away.
Why don't I want to stop? Who's going to save me from this?
Their breaths mingled, hot against each other's skin. And instead of separating, both of them made the same outrageous decision: they closed their eyes, surrendering to the moment.
The kiss stretched on.
Only when the smell of burning meat filled the air did Leo jolt back to his senses.
What am I doing?!
Snapping his eyes open, he hurriedly pulled away, helped Furina upright, and rushed to salvage what was left of the pan.
Behind him, Furina scrambled to the sofa, pressing her hands over her flushed face. She dared a glance at the clock.
Ten minutes? I kissed him for ten whole minutes? This is mortifying. How am I supposed to face him now?
At the stove, Leo looked steady from behind, but his front told a different story. His face was crimson, burning with shame. He lowered his head as he scrubbed the pan, forcing himself to focus on the charred meat.
I don't even know how long we kissed… only that my thoughts were far from proper the whole time.
After cleaning up, Leo fetched fresh ingredients and continued cooking dinner, trying to suppress the chaos in his mind.
On the sofa, Furina cautiously peeked toward the kitchen, her face hot enough to boil water. She sipped a glass of water, willing herself to calm down.
But the memory lingered. Her thoughts ran wild, no matter how hard she tried to look composed.
When Leo finally set the dishes on the table, he dared to speak.
"Lady Furina, dinner is ready."
There was a pause, before Furina responded faintly:
"Oh… I'm coming."
They sat across from each other, eating slowly with heads bowed. The air between them was thick with tension neither dared address.
After dinner, Furina hurried back to her bedroom, locking the door tightly as if to barricade herself against him.
She slid to the floor, buried her face in her knees, and let her blush consume her.
I can't believe it… I actually let him kiss me for so long. Why don't I feel angry? Why do I feel… happy?
In the kitchen, Leo washed dishes, channeling the Cryo energy from his Vision to cool his flushed skin. His mind was equally overheated, messy, and conflicted.
When he finished, he noticed the laundry waiting on the balcony. Normally, he would simply wash and hang it.
But tonight, his thoughts were… different.
He turned on the faucet and stared at Furina's clothes. A dangerous impulse stirred within him.
He picked up her coat, swallowing hard, and glanced around to make sure Furina wasn't about to walk in.
Slowly, he brought the coat closer and inhaled.
Her scent—soft, sweet, uniquely hers—filled his senses.
He let out a shaky breath before tossing it quickly into the basin, trying to steady himself.
But beneath it lay her inner blouse, her trousers…
And her socks.
Why would Lady Furina leave these for me to wash?
His hands trembled as he picked up the blouse. Normally, he would throw everything in at once. But tonight, something had changed.
The shirt edged closer to his face, and his heart pounded.
Why am I acting like such a pervert?
Shuddering, Leo tossed the blouse and trousers into the basin and gulped down fresh air.
Finally, he reached the pair of pristine white socks. They felt impossibly delicate in his hands, torturing him further.
Clenching his eyes shut, Leo scrubbed them faster than ever before—rushing through the task in barely two and a half minutes.
When he opened his eyes, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, hung the socks on the line, and tried to push the troubling thoughts out of his head.