For a while, I ate in companionable silence, the simple pleasure of the meal and each other's company filling the room. The city outside continues to wake up, the sounds of morning traffic filtering in through the window. But here, at this moment, it feels like the world consists of just the two of us.
After breakfast, I collected the plates, but Leon stopped me. "Let me help," he insisted, sliding out of bed and following me to the kitchen. Together, we washed and dried the dishes, the domestic routine feeling surprisingly intimate.
As we worked side by side, I stole glances at him, feeling a surge of affection. There's a lightness to his movements, a relaxed ease that mirrors my own mood. It's a stark contrast to the usual guarded tension I often sense from him.
With the dishes done,
