It was stupid to leave the door unlocked.

He knew that. Knew it the moment his lips brushed against Yohan’s collarbone and the world tilted with that sick, dizzying rush of want. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when the young man in his arms made him feel something close to human for the first time in years.

Yohan smelled like expensive cologne and guilt. His hands were trembling. Alessandro noticed — he always noticed. The way Yohan kissed like he was trying to forget Paris, forget Adrien, forget promises made across oceans and time zones.

He never asked about Adrien. Alessandro never brought it up.

They were liars, both of them, but tonight... tonight was something else. They hadn’t touched each other in days. Avoiding, resisting. But the silence between them had frayed at the edges, and now—

“Don’t go back to him,” Alessandro whispered against his skin. It came out quieter than he meant it to.

Yohan looked at him, startled. “What?”

Alessandro was about to say more—something stupid, something honest—when the door creaked.

Footsteps.

He froze.

A shadow moved through the hallway. Familiar. Unmistakable.

And then—Leonardo. His son.

Standing in the doorway like something divine and vengeful. His expression shattered. Not confused. Not hurt.

Betrayed.

Alessandro felt something sharp twist in his chest.

For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was the soft scratch of the record player — jazz humming like a cruel joke in the background. He could feel Yohan go rigid next to him, could hear his breath falter.

“What the fuck is this,” Leonardo said.