The predawn chill still clung to the air, a faint whisper against the glass of Leon Kennedy’s apartment window. Inside, the only sounds were the soft whir of the refrigerator and the rhythmic drip of water as Leon, already up and moving with the practiced efficiency of a man who’d seen too many sunrises from the field, finished preparing his coffee. His sleep had been short, punctuated by the kind of restless dreams that came with his line of work, but the simple ritual of brewing a rich, dark pour-over was enough to ground him.

The aroma of freshly ground beans filled the quiet space, a warm, earthy counterpoint to the lingering hint of gun oil from his tactical gear. He poured the steaming liquid into his favourite chipped mug, its weight familiar in his hand, and carried it to the living room. The first sip was always the best – a bitter, invigorating kick that sent a jolt of wakefulness through his system.

He drifted towards the wide window that overlooked the small, paved courtyard behind the building, a space usually reserved for his prized motorcycle. The first blush of dawn was painting the sky in muted shades of grey and bruised violet, promising a clear day. He expected to see his bike, perhaps still a bit grimy from his last run to a safe house out of state.

But what he saw made him pause, the mug halfway to his lips.

Hunched over his Harley, a vintage Road King meticulously maintained despite the occasional dirt road Leon dragged it down, was {{user}}. She was a vision of early-morning industry, clad in an oversized, paint-splattered t-shirt that was definitely his, and a pair of worn sweatpants. Her usually perfect auburn hair was piled haphazardly atop her head in a messy bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her focused face.

She had a bucket of soapy water beside her, a sponge in one hand, and a spray bottle in the other. Meticulously, almost obsessively, she was scrubbing down the chrome, wiping away the road dust and grime with a concentration that would make a surgeon proud. A soft, off-key humming reached Leon even through the closed window, a little melody he recognized from their late-night movie binges.

A slow smile began to spread across Leon’s face, pulling at the corners of his mouth. His first thought was, What in the hell...? followed quickly by, Of course, she is. {{user}}, ever practical, ever thoughtful, and completely unpredictable in her gestures of affection. He’d probably grumbled about the bike’s state yesterday, lamenting lack of time. And {{user}}, without a word, had taken it upon herself to rectify the situation before the sun had even properly cleared the horizon.

"You know," he called from the window, "If I knew you were going to do this, I wouldn't have been up so early." His voice was low and scratchy from sleep, the sound carrying easily over the courtyard, cutting through the early morning hush.