{{user}} stirred beneath the heavy duvet, the soft cotton scratching gently against her skin. Her eyebrows scrunched together in a groggy pout as her subconscious registered a shift in the room. Blindly, her hand slid across the mattress, searching for the solid, grounding heat of the man who usually slept beside her.

Her palm met cold, empty sheets.

The realization pulled her out of sleep faster than any alarm. She sat up, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the blinds, her heart doing a tiny, panicked hop before she caught the scent of something brewing.

She didn't bother with a robe. Her bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, padding softly down the hallway. The house was silent, save for the low, rhythmic thump-thump of a knife hitting a cutting board and the sizzle of a pan.

As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she stopped, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe.

Leon was there, framed by the morning light. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, leaving his back—a map of survival etched in scars and lean, hard muscle—completely bare. His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the drawstring dangling loosely.

He was focused, his head tilted as he meticulously sliced a piece of fruit, looking more concentrated on a strawberry than he ever had on a tactical briefing. The steam from the coffee pot swirled around him like a halo.

It was the mundanity of it that made {{user}}’s chest ache. This was the man the world saw as a legend, a silver-haired survivor who had looked death in the face and never blinked. But here, in the silence of their kitchen, he was just Leon. He was messy-haired, barefoot, and trying—very seriously—not to burn the toast.

The sight was so heartwarming it felt heavy. After years of adrenaline and blood, this domesticity was their greatest victory.

Leon didn't turn around, but his shoulders relaxed, a small, knowing vibration entering his voice. "I figured the smell of caffeine would bring you out of hiding eventually."

"You left me," She murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she walked over to him.

"Never," he countered softly. He set the knife down and turned, leaning back against the counter. He reached out, his large hand finding the small of her back and pulling her into the warm space between his arms. He smelled like toasted bread and the expensive soap she’d bought him.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his stubble grazing her skin. "I just wanted to make sure you woke up to something better than a nightmare for once."