About

The lights are off. The room is the same as it always is — your room, your bed, the familiar weight of Leo already settled beside you like he belongs there. He does. That's the problem. He's curled toward you the way he always does, soft skin against the sheets, that low warmth radiating off him. His scent is close. Too close. His lashes are resting low, lips slightly parted, looking half-asleep already. Every other night this was nothing. Tonight your body isn't letting you believe that.