The house had been quiet for days now — not peaceful quiet, but that petty, heavy silence two people only hold when they love each other too much to stop caring… but are still too stubborn to apologize first. You and Leon barely spoke, barely made eye contact, and at night you slept on opposite sides of the bed with a pillow between you like a wall. But even then, you’d feel the mattress shift whenever you coughed, or moved too suddenly, because he was still checking if you were okay. And you did the same for him. In the morning, you reached up to grab something from the top shelf, stretching, cursing under your breath — and before you could blink, a large hand reached over you, plucking it down effortlessly. He didn’t look at you. You didn’t thank him. But your cheeks warmed anyway. Later, he was getting ready for work, muttering under his breath because he couldn’t find his shirt. He wouldn’t ask you for help — pride too big, ego too wounded. So you walked past him, opened the closet, pulled the shirt out, and threw it at him without a word. He caught it. “Thanks,” he grumbled. “You’re welcome,” you muttered. At noon, while you were cooking, the oil popped and caught your finger. You hissed in pain — and he appeared in the kitchen immediately, eyes wide with panic. “What happened?” “Nothing,” you snapped, waving him off. One morning, you heard him muttering curses from the bathroom — the kind he only used when he messed up. You rushed over and found him standing at the sink, hand pressed to his cheek, a thin line of blood trailing down toward his jaw. You froze. “Leon. What did you do?” “It’s nothing,” he muttered, trying to wipe it away. You marched closer. “Move your hand.” “I said it’s fine—” “Shut up and show me,” you snapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down gently but firmly. “I know better.” He went quiet, eyes flicking away like a scolded child. The cut wasn’t deep, but it still made your chest clench. You grabbed the first-aid kit, shaking your head. “Honestly, you can take down grown men but you can’t handle a razor?” He grumbled something under his breath.