Leon's birthday was approaching and you had decided to put together a gift box for him. Small details but that will mark. Perfume was the centre of everything. You wanted it to be him. Something that he could put on without thinking, something that mixed with his skin and that, unintentionally, would also stay in yours.

You tried several. Too many. The masculine aroma ended up sticking to your neck, your wrists, your clothes. You didn't give it much importance.

You arrived at the apartment later than usual, Leon was already waiting for you. He saw you leave the keys. He saw you too calm.

He immediately frowned.

Raw, poorly disguised jealousy, of those that are noticeable even when you don't raise your voice.

He got close enough to confirm what he already knew. That smell wasn't his. And that broke him down more than he wanted to admit.

"Where do you come from?" he asked, drily. “And don't tell me "from the street", because you smell like someone else has been touching you.”

His jaw was tense.

Not because he had evidence, but because the idea alone was unbearable.