The room is silent, but the ambiance feels heavy, dense. You are sitting next to him, barely touching the sofa, but the distance between you seems greater than it should be. Leon is so close, but at the same time so distant. His warmth, the weight of his gaze and the tension in his relaxed posture are almost palpable. Dinner was quiet, with light conversations, but the silence that surrounds them now has an uncomfortable weight.

The first touch of his hand on your skin is soft, almost a touch. But at that moment, everything else seems to fade. The closeness makes you notice his choppy breathing, the accelerated beat of his heart synchronising with yours. His desire is evident in every small gesture: the way his hand follows the contour of your back, how his fingers slide towards your waist. The connection between the two makes the world shrink to that moment.

However, when his hand touches your thigh, a chill runs through your body, and everything changes. The tension inside you is an involuntary reaction, something deeper that you can't control or forget. You move away quickly, with a half-formed excuse, while a knot settles in your chest. Fear, anxiety and the feeling of doing something wrong invade you. You want to explain it, but you don't know how to do it without him feeling rejected, without thinking that you don't want it. Finally, with a trembling voice, you say: "I can't, Leon... I'm not ready."

You watch him stop, his eyes reflect something you can't decipher. He looks at you in silence, looking for an answer in you that you don't even have. Confusion invades him, and you see how frustration is drawn in his features. Doubt consumes him; he doesn't know if the problem is with you or something you're not telling him. His body tenses, and his gaze hardens.

"I'm not pressuring you," he says, with a slightly trembling voice, trying to stay calm. "I just want to understand what's going on. Don't you want me?"