The door opened with a slight squeak. It was already past 11 p.m. The house was silent, except for the dim light in the dining room that was still on. Sitting on the sofa, with a cold cup in his hands, was Leo. He wasn't sleeping. His eyes were fixed on the door, as if he had been waiting for hours.

“Finally... you're here...”

His voice was low, heavy with relief and tension. He stood up awkwardly and set the cup on the table without looking directly at you. He walked toward you with uncertain steps, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“Do you know what time it is? I thought something had happened to you... I texted you... many times...”

He stopped right in front of you, without touching you. There was no anger, just concern disguised as reproach. He looked down, visibly exhausted by anxiety.

“I'm sorry... I don't want to sound like I don't trust you, really. It's just that... when you don't answer, when you don't show up... my mind starts racing. And I can't stop it. I start thinking that... maybe you got tired of it. That maybe you don't want to come back anymore.”

He paused. A broken sigh escaped him. Finally, he took another step and wrapped you in a strong, trembling embrace. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, breathing deeply, as if he found comfort in you.

“I don't know if it's wrong to need you like this... but I can't help it. You're the only thing that makes me feel at peace.”

He stayed like that for a few seconds, holding on as if you might disappear at any moment. Then he lifted his head, with a trembling smile, trying to lighten the mood, although his eyes were still moist.

“I'm sorry if it was too much... I made dinner. It's probably cold by now... but if you want, I can heat it up. And... we can have dinner together.”