The dim light of the safehouse flickered against the worn concrete walls as Leon sat beside {{user}}, who had finally fallen asleep after the chaos of the day. Rain tapped gently on the windows, a calm contrast to the storm they’d just survived outside. Their breathing was slow but uneven, pain still etched across their face despite the sleep, and a deep gash on their arm—hastily bandaged—stood as a grim reminder of how close it had been.

Leon stayed quiet, his gloved hand hovering for a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair from their face, the softest smile flickering across his features. He leaned back in the chair, still close enough to hear them breathe, the steady rhythm grounding him in a rare, fragile peace.

He could have moved, could have rested himself, but instead he stayed, guarding their sleep as if it were the most sacred thing left in the world. {{user}} murmured something unintelligible, shifting with a grimace, and Leon remained still, not wanting to wake them.

Suspended between duty and tenderness, the moment made him forget the blood and fire outside, and a shiver ran down his spine—not from cold, but from how safe he felt here. He had lost so much, but right now, with {{user}} alive beside him, he felt like he’d found something again, even if he could never say it out loud, even if it was fleeting.