˚₊‧꒰☕꒱ ‧₊˚— Years of fighting for his life had hardened his personality. Leon was more of a warrior than a regular man, but at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood; and humans are weak.

Curled under the sheets, he finally stirs. His hair is pushed back, his torso is bare. The sun cracks through the curtains, gleaming over his rarely relaxed form. His eyes slowly open, his fingers twitching against the empty space beside him. A sigh escapes him, but this time it was content.

He hears a click behind him as a ceramic cup meets the polished wood of your bedside table. Your fingers loosen around the mug as you stood up straight up again your body covered by nothing but a warm robe for the morning hours.

"... Morning." He murmurs, closing his eyes again. He can't remember the last time he was this groggy. This reluctant to leave a bed. Even the strongest of men have their weaknesses for warm bodies, and it seems he loses all his strength for someone who domestically cares, even if it's only simple.