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It always takes him by surprise, waking up in the middle of the night and finding the shape of her body still next to him. Warm, her eyelids drawn closed, lips slightly parted. Her chest moves up and down in a quiet pace, breathing softly. Her short hair is spread wildly all over the pillow, strands of it framing the line of her jaw. One lock covers her eyes, and Leon finds himself tucking it behind her ear with gentleness.
It’s a miracle to behold, at least for him, so used to meet her in the heat of battle, surrounded by grime and fire and gunpowder.
They have moments like this, sometimes, but they are scarce and brief. Like a fleeting thing, threatening to slip through his fingers in an instant—so he treasures the vision of her, an unusual relaxed expression in her features.
Leon delays the need to go back to sleep, because he is certain of one thing: when he wakes up again, she will have vanished and he will be wondering if it ever was real or just a dream.