Work Text:
Sitting in the fading sunlight and fresh sea air suits Leone marvelously on a day like today. The kind of day that should have been peaceful but instead was spent bouncing around in his own head. Miserable and unable to distract himself.
Not that he hasn’t tried to distract himself, but he never did have much luck with that – a fact that hasn’t changed over the past several years. No matter how much healing he’s supposedly done.
It’s disheartening, to still spend days stuck in this funk, unable to banish it completely. He can’t do anything except ride it out when it comes. To sit outside and hope that tomorrow his thoughts will be kinder to him, because he can’t whip them into shape today no matter how hard he tries.
The ache isn’t as prominent, at least. He doesn’t feel overwhelmed, only bogged down, which is a plus. And he knows it’ll end, that he’ll be alright. The other side is impossible to see but he knows it exists because he’s been there, he can get there again, he’s better and this is just a typical stumble.
This weight in his chest is one he can bear until it lightens. These cycling thoughts will spin away to the farthest corners again.
Everything will pass.
This is not a setback. It’s not. He’s not relapsing – he won’t –
Breathing deep, Leone rests his head against the railing of their porch steps. His back is already pressed to the topmost post, where he sits at the beginning of the stairs, but the further he tips his head, the more directly he can stare at that fading blue sky.
There’s the sound of waves in the background. A pleasant breeze to play with his hair. It would be a nice day for a walk down the beach, he’d thought, but this is as far as he got after stepping outside.
He doesn’t really remember how long ago that was. Moping around outside instead of inside has to count for something, right? That fresh air trick works the same whether you’re moving or not, he’s pretty sure. And he got sunshine. Double the self-care, or coping mechanisms, or whatever.
While he’s listing points in his favor, he’s only gotten lost in depressing memories twice today. A new record for bad days – and if he focuses on that for too long, he’ll ruin it, so he better –
“Leone…”
His name is accompanied by gentle fingers in his hair, brushing it back from his face and tucking it behind his ear in a gesture that’s comforting for more than just its familiarity. He blinks up at the sky, and then his gaze slips sideways, and there’s Bruno. Dressed casual. Home early from errands.
That’s another thing that makes breakdowns easier to get through these days. Bruno is here and Leone gets to wake up to him every single morning.
The mere sight of him is enough to send affection flooding Leone’s chest. It pushes against the weight there, engulfing and surrounding it. For whatever that’s worth – this different, fonder sort of ache that has Leone tipping his head into Bruno’s hand.
He could fall asleep like this, out here with Bruno and the sky and the sand as his only company. It would be as simple as closing his eyes…
“Bad day?” Bruno guesses, his voice a gentle murmur. Soft and supportive like the best mattress Leone’s ever slept on (which is, consequently, also Bruno).
Leone nuzzles into the palm that’s cupping his cheek, now – Bruno must’ve knelt down. “Mhm.”
The soft lips that land on Leone’s forehead only confirm the kneeling theory. Bruno kisses at the corner of Leone’s eye, next, and then the sharpest part of his cheekbone. “You could’ve called me,” he says in that same gentle tone.
“Knew you’d be back,” Leone mumbles amidst a content sigh. Because Bruno said he would be, this morning before he left. A day of errands, and then meeting Giorno for dinner, then home. (Leone was invited to tag along, of course, but declined for several obvious reasons.) “I was fine. You’re early anyway.” And Leone is so, so grateful for that, leaning more against Bruno than the porch railing now.
A hum of acknowledgement from Bruno. “You seemed tired when I left; I wanted to get home to you.” Leone’s heart still flips at such a sentiment, after all this time (if a handful of years qualifies as ‘all this time’). “Giorno and I rescheduled dinner.”
Leone cracks one eye open, considering Bruno’s handsome face in the dipping sunlight. The blue of his eyes puts the sky to shame. He shoves at the still-small voice in his head that tells him he doesn’t deserve those eyes, or the man attached to them. “You cancelled on the don of Passione?”
“Rescheduled.” That warm, barely-there uptick at the corner of Bruno’s mouth soothes another crack in Leone’s heart. Those lips find his cheek again. Something else his brain tries to tell him is undeserved. “I rescheduled with the don of Passione.”
“Brave man,” Leone says. He has to close his eyes again before that smile charms him to blindness.
“Anything for you.”
The simple fact that that’s not a joke – it isn’t even said with anything near a lighthearted tone – has Leone ready to cry behind his eyelids. When he’s in this fragile state, it really doesn’t take much, and, god, he really, really doesn’t deserve –
Leone takes a deep breath, lets it out to the feel of Bruno’s thumb brushing against his cheek.
An arm wraps around Leone’s front in half of a hug, and he clutches at that jacket sleeve with both hands as Bruno kisses his face with intent. “Come inside, my love,” that gentle voice says. “It’s getting cold.”
Yes, god yes, Leone will follow the security of Bruno’s presence anywhere. His eyes flutter open, and again he’s greeted by the sight of Bruno against an endless sky. Leone’s tired, devastated heart soaks up any and all offered comfort in that gaze and the closeness of Bruno. Some of it is swallowed by the weight in his chest, but there seems to be an endless supply right now, so that’s okay.
One last kiss to his forehead, and then Bruno starts to coax Leone to his feet. He offers his hands and Leone takes hold of them, swaying a bit once he’s up. Turns out sitting around in one position for a long stretch of time makes you stiff. Who knew.
Leone’s gaze lands on the sky and the ocean, rather than on Bruno, and for a moment he’s caught up in the view. It’ll be sunset, soon, a splash of yellow just starting to appear at the edge of the sky.
With Bruno’s hands in his, he realizes that ah, yeah, he was getting a little cold. Their warmth seeps into his palms, and he squeezes them before Bruno drops one to lead him inside. The temperature in their house is cozier than on the porch, too, wrapping around him and drawing him in.
“Do you want to take a bath?” Bruno asks.
That’s a polite way for him to bring up the fact that Leone’s hair is a filthy nest and he didn’t so much as put deodorant on or change clothes upon getting out of bed this morning. He should’ve tried to, he knows.
It takes a few seconds for Leone to wrap his uncooperative head around a selfish request and spit it out. “…With you?”
Bruno lifts the hand still holding Leone’s, bringing rough knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. “Of course,” he murmurs, leading the way to the bathroom.
Their bathtub is a humble size, but it can hold them both. They’ve shared it before. Leone’s legs don’t fit in it unfurled – even without Bruno there he can’t stretch out fully. Not even Bruno can. Somehow that makes it all the cozier, whenever they climb in together – though it’s not the best for actual washing, but. Comfort overrules that, on a day like today.
Dropping Leone’s hand, Bruno turns to face him. It’s only when two warm hands cup Leone’s jaw that he realizes he’s been staring at the bathtub for who-knows-how-long. Which is downright stupid of him.
“You can go ahead and get in,” Bruno says, his thumbs brushing Leone’s cheeks. “I’ll be right back.”
Before he goes, he kisses Leone –
And Leone sinks into it. Gentle pressure against his lips guides him down, leaning on those hands at his face and that mouth on his own. The kiss lingers, Bruno pulling back slow. Leone doesn’t want to break contact, too ready to collapse inside all that is Bruno and forget the world.
But then Bruno is walking away, and Leone is kicking himself for the stupid way loneliness prods at him.
He shoves it aside with a vengeance. Bruno will be back. He always comes back. If Leone hasn’t driven him away in the past five odd years, reluctance to part from a kiss isn’t going to be what finally loses him.
Rational thoughts, please. Leone needs to pull it the fuck together.
Unfortunately, Bruno’s presence is not a magic cure-all, no matter how much it feels like one sometimes.
Giving himself his thousandth mental shakedown of the day, Leone snaps out of whatever weird not-quite-trance his thoughts dragged him into. He bends to turn the faucet and start the water running, waiting for it to turn acceptably hot before he stoppers the drain.
Next is the project of peeling himself out of the pajamas he’s been wrapped in for hours. Long sleeve shirt then sweatpants then underwear hit the floor, and he toes the whole pile off to the side.
The tub isn’t full yet, but he sits in it anyway. If he doesn’t he’ll start to shiver, standing around naked – or he’ll sit on the lip and stare at the motion of the water until it overflows. Both are things he’s done before. The second option more than once. By sitting inside the tub, with the water, he can both stare at it and pay attention to when it’s acceptably full.
Which doesn’t really make sense, but there’s no use trying to question his brain. All he can do is go along with what works.
What works feels especially functional as Bruno returns. He’s casually almost-nude, which instantly becomes the new focus of Leone’s sticky attention.
A pair of lineless skin-toned panties are all that’s left of the day’s outfit, but Bruno’s carrying more clothes with him, sets them aside for later. And then he gets to all the little things that Leone forgot, like grabbing a washcloth, readying a towel, and gathering the shampoo and conditioner from the shower…
He comes to a stop at the side of the bathtub, settling washcloth and hair products on the lip. He smells nice, standing this close. A combination of soft-comforting-home-Bruno scents that grounds Leone.
Coming back to himself, Leone manages to turn off the tub’s water in the nick of time – seems like Bruno wasn’t really helping after all. Oh well. What’s one more (actually pleasant) distraction?
One of Bruno’s hands reaches out for Leone’s hair again. Fingers catch on a tangle as they stroke down the length of it. “Wet your hair?”
Right, that would be a much more productive thing to do than sitting here contemplating the dips and swirls of that lacey tattoo that twists the length of Bruno’s torso, down his thighs and arms a ways, too, now. The style suits him. Black ink against tanned skin.
…Here Leone goes. Getting distracted again. If it’ll help his head stay on straight, he’ll gladly submerge it in water. Bending his knees and tipping backward, he holds his breath and shuts his eyes as he thoroughly drenches himself all in one go. Scrubs his fingers along his scalp for good measure.
When he sits back up he feels like a drowned rat, wiping water away from his face. At least he forewent makeup today, one perk of being depressive on your day off.
Bruno is waiting, shampoo already pooled in his palm – and that sad, desolate part of Leone wants to protest. To push that hand away and go back underwater for an indefinite period of time. But his reasonable side leans dramatically into the touch when Bruno’s hands find his hair.
The noise Leone makes is involuntary as talented fingers scrub his greasy roots to a lather. Blunted fingernails scrape along his scalp with satisfying scratching motions, front to back, down the sides and at the base of his skull. All of it is washed with thorough care.
And Bruno is so close, bent over Leone.
It’s ridiculous how nice this feels. Bruno’s talented fingers tangling in his hair is one of Leone’s favorite sensations. He’ll take any context. Washing, comforting run-throughs, tugging during sex –
Leone’s eyes fall closed with the dual purpose of avoiding shampoo and basking better in the feel of Bruno washing his hair. God, fuck, again he could fall asleep to those gentle ministrations. To the presence of Bruno and a blanket-like atmosphere.
“Want me to rinse you?” Bruno asks when Leone’s hair is finally clean.
Leone grunts out a negative, sparing a quick glance to Bruno before he scrunches up his legs again and dips himself back. Rubs all residual suds out of his hair to disperse in the water.
The first thing he sees upon sitting up again is Bruno slipping off his panties. Sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them, kicking them aside. Then he braces a hand against Leone while climbing into the tub behind him.
To give Bruno more space to sit on his knees, Leone scoots forward a bit. He can hear Bruno slathering both hands with thick conditioner, and then they grasp the ends of long white hair – savoring it, working the conditioner through and coaxing out tangles.
Smooth knees nudge at Leone’s hips as Bruno slips closer, altering the angle of his hands. Sinking back against him would be divine, but it would also mean giving up the way those fingers are now combing through Leone’s hair.
So instead, he snatches the washcloth off the lip of the tub and figures he better make himself useful. Dunking the rag much like he dunked himself, he casts around for some kind of soap to use –
But Bruno’s thought ahead about this, too. He makes a soft noise, and one of his hands leaves Leone’s hair for a moment to grab something that was already sitting on the back corner of the tub. Some kind of purple body wash that smells like lavender and vanilla…a gentle sleepy scent…
Alright. Sure. Leone’s already feeling relaxed as all hell, why not go all the way? He accepts the body wash, and sets about lathering his washcloth with it.
Bruno is apparently content to run his fingers endlessly through Leone’s hair, which is an absolutely wonderful choice that will put Leone to sleep if he isn’t careful. Maybe even if he is careful.
To keep himself awake, Leone starts in on washing his body, scrubbing his across chest and down his arms and everywhere else that isn’t submerged. He lifts his knees above the water just to wash them – there’s a bruise on one of them that he doesn’t remember getting – and stretches his legs out one at a time to wash down to his feet.
“It’s going to be a beautiful sunset tonight,” Bruno remarks, hands still working the length of Leone’s hair. They run through smoothly now, all knots long gone, leaving behind strands softened by conditioner.
Grunting, Leone lowers his clean right leg back into the water for rinsing, and then lifts his left out to be washed. “How do you know that?”
“Experience,” is Bruno’s cryptic reason.
…They have a west-facing bedroom window, come to think of it. One that gives them a view of the sunset. Probably even while they’re lying curled together in bed. “Do you want to watch it?” Leone asks, softly.
Bruno gathers all of Leone’s hair into one hand, and leans over his shoulder to drop a kiss onto a damp cheek. It lingers in a way that allows Leone to memorize the pillow-soft quality of Bruno’s mouth.
“From bed?”
All of a sudden, that’s the most important goal Leone has in this world. “Yeah,” he breathes, and sinks back against Bruno at last, with suds on his chest and static in his head and the slippery tug of his hair through Bruno’s fingers.
“That sounds romantic.”
Of course it does. Bruno is a sucker for romantic things, and he’s rubbing off on Leone. It’s terrible, how mushy-soft Leone’s heart is these days.
There’s no better balm for a bad day, though, than to indulge his mushy-soft heart. So romance it is. Every last cozy trademark of it.
“We should get out and dry off, if we don’t want to miss it,” Bruno says, between kisses to Leone’s cheek and temple and jaw. And he’s right – the sunlight flooding in from outside is going all tilted and bright gold as the bathroom dims, because neither of them turned on any lights.
Much as Leone craves the sensation of cozying up to Bruno in bed, there’s an undeniable comfort in staying right the fuck here, skin-on-skin. So much so that Leone almost opens his mouth and protests that he’s not done, or they’re not done. But Bruno showered this morning, and all Leone has to do is finish washing and rinse. Not to mention that the water is cooling.
“You’ll have to get off of me, if you want me to finish up,” Leone mutters in the end. Because Bruno is still kissing him. Full lips gentle along the side of Leone’s face – which is – god –
The quiet laugh this gets out of Bruno is enough to shatter whatever remains of Leone’s composure.
He’s fragile, today. His darkened mind and the weight in his chest want Bruno. They reach for him with such reluctant arms and Leone won’t let himself beat them back anymore. Not after all this time. He hates how this is still a struggle he’s stuck with.
Bruno probably reads something on Leone’s expression. Or he can just tell, somehow. The next noise he makes is a comforting hum, and the next words he speaks are, “I’ll be right here.”
Fuck.
His kindness is making everything worse, as ever. It hurts in the best way, how he’s always been willing to spoil Leone with care that he’s never really fully deserved and still doesn’t even now –
Biting his tongue against those thoughts that wrap tight around his brain, Leone manages a nod.
And then Bruno leaves him, standing up out of the water and stepping free of the bathtub.
While Bruno searches for that towel he got out earlier, Leone kneels in the tub to get everything else he missed – and then it’s time to submerge again. Rinsing completely, he runs his own fingers through his hair, pleased with how smooth they glide. A combination of the conditioner and Bruno’s attentive nature.
The second he’s clean, Leone stands up. Squeezes as much excess water out of his hair as he can, and then unplugs the drain with his toes.
Bruno is waiting right there with a towel, because of course he is. Leone lets himself stumble out of the tub and into waiting arms that wrap him in the world’s fluffiest towel along with more of that attentive care.
Clutching the ends of the towel in his hands, Leone steps forward to hug Bruno. They can share it like this.
Bruno hugs him back, arms winding around Leone’s waist – he’s still naked, and Leone is definitely getting him more wet than he is drying either of them off – but it’s fine.
(No, it’s not fine, it’s not fair, and Leone shouldn’t be –)
He squeezes Bruno tight, and Bruno squeezes him right back. Shoves his face into Leone’s chest and plants more kisses there. So Leone kisses his forehead in return, nosing aside his bangs.
“I love you,” he mumbles, and it doesn’t taste rotten on his tongue.
Bruno pulls back, then. Only far enough so that Leone immediately starts to drown in those vibrant blue pools he’s got for eyes. They seem extra lethal today. “I love you, too.”
It’s said with such conviction and purpose that not even Leone’s shitty brain can refute it.
That urge to bury himself in Bruno is still there, though, so he does. Pulls the towel tighter around them both and nudges his face into the crook of Bruno’s neck, breathing him in and relishing in this closeness. Skin contact and comfort. Those hands at his back kneading tired muscle.
Fully burying himself is impossible, but he gives it his best shot. Finagling his legs to better align them with Bruno’s, his eyes shut as he presses his face against dampening skin.
“We should get dressed,” Bruno suggests after a moment, his fingers rubbing up and down Leone’s spine.
Leone gives a halfhearted shake of his head, shoving his mouth to the spot where Bruno’s shoulder meets his neck. “S’fine,” he mumbles, emphasizing his point with a kiss.
“We’ll get cold.”
“I won’t,” Leone argues, clinging ever tighter to Bruno. “Not with you.” He means that. He could never be anything resembling cold with Bruno around – not in any sense of the word. His heart keeps him plenty warm, so long as Bruno is near.
“Mm.” One of Bruno’s hands slips out from under the towel around Leone’s shoulders, and moves up to a rub at a spot on the back of his neck, beneath his hair. And Bruno nuzzles him, too. “I won’t with you, either.”
Oh good, so there’s no reason to get dressed. They can stand here and melt together while Leone’s mind goes blissfully blank of anything painful because he has Bruno in his arms and in his heart and –
Is this pathetic? Leone can’t tell.
“Come on, my love,” Bruno coaxes, both hands landing gentle on Leone’s hips to ease him back.
With maybe some reluctance, Leone allows himself to be coaxed. Digs out of the comfort of Bruno and stands on his own two legs. He’s still got the towel around his shoulders, and he should use it to dry the rest of him now that Bruno isn’t serving as his personal heater anymore.
As he works, Bruno skirts around behind him, picking up a comb on the way. Its destination is Leone’s hair, and it feels so good that he pauses in drying off just to enjoy the sensation of slow strokes banishing any tangles that reappeared between conditioning and now.
“Do you want me to blow dry it for you?”
That would be beyond nice, but when Leone thinks about the waiting sunset and the concept of watching it curled up in bed with Bruno, the scales of appeal tip. “Not this time.”
“All right.” The comb is swapped for the towel that Leone still has frozen at his waist, and Bruno finishes drying his legs for him. He squeezes residual wetness from long white hair, too, and then the towel is discarded atop their pre-established laundry pile.
Getting dressed in fresh pajamas comes next. Their comfiest clothes have become interchangeable over the years, so Leone isn’t too picky about which half is his.
Bruno, though, has apparently chosen special, because he plucks the topmost outfit off of the pile and passes it over. Leone’s favorite pants and their most comfortable shared t-shirt – even the underwear is the nicest Leone owns.
God, Leone loves Bruno. This is the only thing in his stupid greedy head and foolish mushy heart as he gets dressed.
“I’ll clean up in here later,” Bruno promises when they’re done. His shirt is too big on him – it was originally one of Leone’s, probably – and his hand is brushing along Leone’s jaw, again.
And Leone trails after him like a puppy, out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
The sloppily-made bed that Leone tumbled out of in a haze this morning has never looked so inviting. He’s done his level best to avoid collapsing back into it all day, because his head is always the cruelest to him when he has nothing to distract it.
But now that Bruno’s here, pulling aside the covers, Leone feels more than safe enough to collapse.
He lies down on his side, facing their window. The sun’s started to sink in earnest, pouring orange-gold light into the room, coating everything in additional warmth – including Bruno. Leone watches him until he disappears, slipping into bed behind Leone.
It’s less about seeing Bruno, then, and more about feeling him. Leone’s eyes actually dip closed for a moment at the way Bruno sidles up against him. Pressing close and wrapping an arm snug over Leone’s ribs as he settles in a tiny bit farther up the bed and propped so he can see the sunset, too.
…And probably also so that he can avoid Leone’s wet hair, which makes this a little bit uncomfortable. That’s easily sidelined. He’s got Bruno flush against him beneath the covers, dropping a kiss into the aforementioned wet hair and holding him close, one hand splayed toward his chest – how can he focus on anything else?
All those old and familiar aches are distant, but Leone’s still glad to have no reason to lift his head from this pillow.
“Oh,” Bruno mumbles after a moment. He props himself higher on an elbow or maybe a hand, and leans forward over Leone, searching his face. “Did you eat, today?”
The question sends affection swirling through Leone’s stomach, and it takes him a second to try and remember if that’s the only thing in there or not. It isn’t, for once. “I did,” he promises those earnest blue eyes. He remembers leftovers straight from the fridge and water.
Better than his old depression diet which had consisted of much more liquid…
(Today, he’d paced in front of their liquor cupboard, but hadn’t opened it. Just kicked himself back and forth for an uncountable stretch of time.)
“Good.” Bruno kisses Leone’s cheek and then his shoulder before settling back down again.
The implication that Bruno would’ve left the comfort of their bed to bring Leone some semblance of dinner is – it sends Leone’s heart into a fuss – his head along with it – because he doesn’t – this isn’t –
He takes a deep breath. Focuses on Bruno’s hand resting against his chest. The warmth that spreads as Bruno brushes his thumb back and forth is like a physical manifestation of the sun’s fading rays. In front of them, the sky goes all cotton candy and purple, clouds spreading thin and orange at the edge of the horizon.
It’s beautiful, just like Bruno’s experience predicted.
The vibrant colors turn muted, slowly. Softening and dimming darker a little at a time as stars sparkle to life. They’re faint, but Leone is concentrating, counting them.
Even the sun’s glare off the water dulls. It only glints now where it blinded before.
And all the while, Bruno remains a steady presence at Leone’s back. A heartbeat is tangible just above Leone’s shoulder blades, and when Bruno breathes a content sigh they’re momentarily pressed even closer together.
Once in a while, another soft kiss falls into Leone’s hair, and he deflates that much more each time, pillows and blankets and Bruno ushering him toward peace.
Leone convinces one of his hands to move, pressing his palm over Bruno’s on his chest. The back of Bruno’s hand is warm and smooth, fading golden light against tanned skin –
Which Leone rather suddenly wants to see.
Leaning his head back and half-rolling against Bruno, Leone watches him. The setting sun adds a warmer tint to his hair, and it makes him glow, almost; Leone is as enraptured as ever at the sight of him. He’s prettier and brighter than any sunset. Warmer and more captivating, too. A perfect safe place to get lost in, unlike the hollow cold of Leone’s head.
Pillow-soft lips take advantage of his new position to kiss his forehead, and Leone lets out a quiet noise of contentment.
“I thought you wanted to watch the sunset,” Bruno murmurs, his mouth upturned at one corner.
“I am.” Leone just so happens to be watching it reflected in Bruno’s eyes and glowing off of his skin. Which is an alarmingly cheesy thought, but it’s better than the miserable parade that’s been plaguing Leone all day so far, so he’ll take it.
That tiny smile on Bruno’s face ticks a hair wider, and Leone is emboldened. He chases the sunset, so to speak, leaning up to press his mouth against that smile.
Bruno kisses him back. Because he’s divine like that. Fingers brushing Leone’s wet hair back and lips gentle against a chapped pair. A careful hand tips his face some, just so Bruno can kiss at his cheek afterward.
Every touch sets off tender sparks that work to draw Leone in closer. Forget the sunset, all he wants is – fuck – all he wants is Bruno.
He rolls over the rest of the way, squirming around in Bruno’s encircling arms until he’s facing that comfort. Deserved or not he dives right into it, falling eager against Bruno’s chest.
Here, he can hide from the world. Pretend all of it doesn’t exist for as long as he needs. Warm hands and fading sunrays on his back are all that exist, interrupted only by the way his wet hair clings. But Bruno soon takes care of even that, lifting and gathering long white hair and spreading it on the pillow behind Leone. The spot he’s lying in is already cold and damp from it, but he doesn’t mind. Because Bruno is here.
And he’s holding Leone. Keeping him close with both arms and tolerating a sharp nose being shoved at his collarbone while Leone settles.
“Tired, my love?” Bruno murmurs, though he must know that the answer is a resounding yes.
God, that ‘my love’ always kills Leone. Sets his tired heart skipping, which somehow doesn’t interfere with his impossibly relaxed state. “Mh,” he mutters, because this is the first time his mind has quieted enough to let him rest since before the earliest hours this morning, and all he wants is to stay here forever and ever and then beyond that.
Bruno gives him permission to do so with a quiet, “Sleep, then.” His hands and mouth and body are all soft-warm where they cradle Leone. “I’ll be right here with you.”