Ever the light sleeper, Leon wakes as soon as he feels you stirring in bed beside him. He sits up a bit, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, watching you stretch lazily. The blanket slips and he notices a few bruises on your waist, your neck. The unmistakable form of his own fingerprints. He frowns slightly as he traces the shape of a deep red bite mark on your shoulder, already purpling. “I’m sorry. Was I too rough last night?” He asks worriedly. “Does it hurt?”