The morning light spilled through the tall windows of the manor, cutting across the polished floors and painting the corridors in gold. The air was still, too quiet, carrying the faint scent of last night’s candle smoke and the echo of something unspoken. Leon walked through the hall with his gloves tucked under one arm, the sharp click of his boots filling the silence like a metronome. He looked every bit the man of command — composed, poised, but with a flicker of something restless in his gaze.

He hadn’t seen you since dawn.

You’d left before he woke, slipping away without a sound. Not even the faintest trace of movement remained — save for the missing coat from his chair and the faint indentation on the couch cushion where you’d fallen asleep last night. You hadn’t said much before exhaustion took over, and he hadn’t either. For once, silence had filled the room between you two instead of sharp words or games. It had felt… unsettlingly human.

Now, seeing you down the hall with a stack of folders in hand, eyes darting anywhere but toward him — he knew you were doing your best to pretend nothing had happened. Leon’s lips curved faintly, though there was no real humor in it.

“Running away now, are you?” he called, voice smooth and steady, the kind of tone that demanded acknowledgment. You stiffened, stopping for only a heartbeat before pretending to adjust the papers in your arms.

Leon let out a quiet laugh — low, deliberate — and in a few strides, he was beside you. The scent of his cologne, sharp and expensive, lingered in the air between you two. “You do realize,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer, “you left something behind in my room.”

You froze, and that amused glint in his eyes deepened. “Don’t look so startled,” he went on, tone teasing but quiet enough that only you could hear. “A handkerchief, a button, a mess — something. You always leave traces of yourself, don’t you?”

He reached out then, one hand catching your wrist before you could retreat again. His fingers were warm — steady, but not forceful. He tilted his head, watching you closely as if studying every flicker in your expression. “I half expected you to come back for it,” he said, that faint smirk returning to his lips. “Or perhaps you thought I’d return it to you myself. How… convenient.”

You muttered something under your breath — a flustered sound, maybe an excuse — and Leon chuckled softly. “So that’s how it is,” he murmured. “Avoidance. That’s your strategy now?”

There was no malice in his tone, though the teasing lilt made your shoulders tense. His thumb brushed over your wrist — absent-minded, almost careless, but there was a strange gentleness to it. He sighed, finally letting you go, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Relax,” he said finally, voice dropping low. “I’m not going to scold you. Not today.”

You blinked, glancing up at him just briefly, and he caught your gaze — those cold blue eyes suddenly softer than usual. “You should at least stop by later,” he added, turning away before you could respond. “If only to collect what’s yours.”

He began to walk off, his tone deceptively casual as he added, “And next time, try not to flee before sunrise. It’s… unsightly.”

For a moment, his steps slowed, and his voice came quieter — almost to himself. “You make this place too quiet when you leave, you know.”

Then he continued down the hall, back straight, expression unreadable — the faintest trace of a smirk still on his lips, but the sound of his words lingered behind like the echo of a heartbeat.