Leon tiredly slammed the door shut behind him, kicked off his boots right in the hallway, and rubbed his neck on the way.

— Babe, I’m home, — he muttered, heading down the corridor toward your room. His hand was already reaching for the doorknob when he froze—there was a quiet, suspicious rustling behind the door. Something was scratching along the floor, and then a muffled voice—yours… but you were talking to someone. Quickly. Nervously.

— {{user}} ? — he frowned, trying to open the door. Locked. He pulled at the handle a couple more times—first calmly, then with clear irritation. “What are you doing in there?” he muttered, hearing you whisper something under your breath and shuffle hurriedly across the carpet. Sounded like you were somewhere near the bed. His voice grew tense. — Who are you talking to?

One sharp jerk—and the door gave way. Leon entered quickly, casting you a sharp, assessing glance. Without a word, he strode over to the bed and, without hesitation, bent down and yanked up the cover.

— I swear, if it’s what I think it is—goddamn it! — He recoiled, blinking several times at the cardboard version of himself, which seemed to be staring him down with a challenge. In silence, he pulled the figure out from under the bed, slowly stood up, and turned to face you.

— Babe. What. The. Hell? — He raised an eyebrow, still holding the cardboard cutout like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, be concerned, or start a serious conversation.

— You’re hiding me… under the bed? — His voice wavered. — Or… were you talking to this thing? — He stared at the cardboard again.

— Does he at least keep quiet, or do you argue with him too?