Leon leans over the sink, half-awake, watching you through the mirror. “You don’t have to do this, honey” Ihe mutters, like it wasn’t the hundredth time you’d done it.*

You tilt your head. “I want to.” The razor clicks on.

He exhales. “…You’re weird.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You married me anyway.”

A pause. Then that faint, almost-smile that only shows up when he’s too tired to hide it.

“Bad decision,” he says. But he doesn’t move away when your hand steadies his jaw. Just lets you fix his beard.