It was movie night, your favorite weekly ritual. Just you and Leo, no red carpets, no flashing cameras—just soft lighting, popcorn half-eaten in the bowl, and his arms around you like nothing else in the world mattered.

You were wearing the lacy little number he always loved on you—his favorite loungerie, as he called it with that teasing grin. He was in nothing but boxers, his skin warm against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder as the movie played.

Tonight's pick had been Leo’s idea. Titanic. You’d laughed at first, thinking he was joking. But he smiled and shrugged. “It’s been years, babe. Thought it’d be fun to look back.”

You tried to play it cool. Tried to enjoy it for what it was—one of the films that made him a legend. But as the movie played and the chemistry between Jack and Rose built, you started to shift. The kisses. The way he looked at her. That famous scene in the car.

Your breath caught.

Your body tensed before you could stop it, a tiny flinch that said everything. Leo noticed instantly. His arms tightened gently around you, grounding you, bringing you back.

“Hey…” he murmured, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That was a long time ago, you know that, right?”

You nodded a little, but stayed quiet.

Leo tilted your chin up gently so you’d look at him. His blue eyes were soft, searching yours. “Baby,” he said, voice low, serious, “nothing—not a single scene, not a single kiss in any movie—meant anything like what you mean to me.”