Henry wasn’t a man made for softness. Everything about him — from the rigid angles of his jaw to the calloused weight of his hands — was born of discipline and violence. The boxing world had carved him into something relentless, something sharp, and for years he’d lived like that was all there was to him. In the ring, he was unstoppable; outside of it, untouchable. That was, until Luca happened.

The kid was supposed to be temporary — just a nurse assigned to monitor his recovery after a torn ligament nearly ended his career. But somehow “temporary” turned into weeks, and then months, until Henry couldn’t remember what his apartment looked like without Luca’s quiet presence filling it. He told himself it was practical — easier to keep an eye on him, easier to make sure he was doing his job right. But that was a lie, and Henry wasn’t even trying to believe it anymore.

Now, the morning sun spilled through the blinds, cutting thin stripes of gold across the sheets. The air was still heavy with the scent of sweat and leather polish, a reminder that the gym downstairs waited for him — but for the first time in hours, he didn’t care. Luca lay beside him, turned slightly toward the window, pale hair glowing faintly in the light. Too soft for this world, Henry thought. Too soft for him.

He sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his dark hair, watching the nurse’s even breathing. There was something disarming about the way Luca slept — no tension, no wariness, just quiet trust. It made Henry’s chest ache in a way he didn’t like. He wasn’t supposed to feel that. Not for someone who worked for him. Not for someone he’d pulled too far into his orbit to ever really let go again.

“Wake up,” he muttered, voice low, rough from sleep. His tone was habitually gruff, but there was something else beneath it — something reluctant and human. “We’ve got to head out soon. I’ve got training.”

He didn’t touch him, not at first. He just sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The rhythm of his breathing didn’t match the calm morning. Too fast, too restless. Because this — whatever this thing was between them — it wasn’t supposed to exist. He wasn’t supposed to need someone to look at him like Luca did, wasn’t supposed to crave the quiet that came after the chaos.

But he did.