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The apartment was quiet in a way Leon knew all too well. This kind of silence had nothing to do with peace. It was like a breath held after something violent, like the moment after a gunshot when the echo hasn’t died yet. Leon closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. He slipped off his shoes by the wall, a motion honed by years of habit. He hung his jacket on the hook, but he didn’t set his weapon down until a moment later, when he was sure his fingers had stopped shaking. Not from the cold. From what the mission had left under his skin.
The light in the living room was off. The only illumination came from the moon, spilling through the large window and pooling across the floor in a milky streak. Leon took two steps forward, and only then did he see her.
Claire was sleeping in the bedroom.
She was still dressed, curled slightly on her side, her head sunk into the pillow as if she’d collapsed there without even pulling the covers properly over herself. One leg was bent, the other stretched out, like she’d fallen asleep mid-movement. Her hair was spread messily across the pillow in a way so natural that Leon forgot how to breathe for a moment.
He stopped.
His body reacted faster than his thoughts. His shoulders tensed, his step stalled, and his heart struck once, harder than necessary. In a single second, every scenario he never wanted to know flashed through his mind. Checking her breathing. Signs of movement. An instinct that never slept.
Only when he saw the faint rise and fall of her chest did he allow himself to exhale.
She was safe.
The realization hit him suddenly, heavy and soft at the same time. Like something that should have brought relief, but instead exposed the exhaustion he’d kept at bay all day. Leon stood there for another moment, unmoving, as if he were afraid that the mere fact of his presence might disturb this fragile image. Claire looked different when she slept. Quieter. Without the vigilance that usually lived in her even when she laughed. Without readiness to fight.
A half-drunk cup of tea sat on the nightstand. Beside it, her phone lay abandoned, screen dark. A blanket was folded carelessly at the foot of the bed, as if she’d meant to pull it up but sleep had won first.
Leon moved closer slowly, almost soundlessly. He placed each step with care, counting breaths, as if he were on a mission, only now the stake wasn’t his life, but her sleep. The moonlight traced the contour of her face, the soft shadow of her lashes on her cheek, the faint crease between her brows that didn’t disappear even in sleep. A mark of tension that couldn’t simply be erased.
He stopped at the side of the bed and just looked at her.
He thought about how long she must have waited. About how she probably tried to read, or watch something mindless to pass the time. How she told herself she wouldn’t fall asleep because she wanted to see him, to ask if everything was okay, to make sure he’d come back. And then exhaustion did what it always did.
He felt the familiar pinch in his chest. It wasn’t guilt in its pure form. More something in between. The awareness that no matter how hard he tried to protect her, she was always part of the same reality. Always waiting.
He reached for the blanket gently.
The fabric was soft, smelled of laundry detergent and something else that he associated only with this place. With home, though the word still felt foreign to him. He unfolded the blanket slowly, careful not to jostle the bed. He covered Claire from the shoulders down, leaving her hands visible. One of them was loosely clenched, as if even in sleep she was holding on to something invisible.
He hesitated for a moment, then very carefully adjusted the blanket at her neck. His fingers brushed her skin. Warm. Alive.
He froze.
Claire stirred faintly, let out a quiet sigh, but didn’t wake. Her face softened for a fraction of a second, as if there were something familiar and safe in that touch. Leon withdrew his hand, his heart beating faster now, but not from panic. More from something he couldn’t name without feeling irritated at himself.
He didn’t say anything. Not even under his breath. He knew that if he tried, his voice might betray him.
Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed.
He kept his back straight, hands resting loosely on his thighs. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was close, but not close enough to wake her. That he could stay.
From here, he saw her differently. The blanket rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her breathing was calm, deeper than when she tried to sleep after nightmares. Leon counted a few cycles before the tension in his shoulders slowly began to ease. His own breathing finally evened out.
The mission was still in him. Images that returned like unwanted flashes. Red emergency lights. A scream cut off too abruptly. The smell of burning. Usually, after coming home, he didn’t allow himself to stop. A shower. A change of clothes. A routine meant to wash away everything that couldn’t be said out loud.
Now he sat still and let it all be there, without letting it dominate.
He looked at her face again. At the way the moon drew soft lines along her cheek. He thought about all the moments he’d seen her exhausted, hurt, angry at the world and at herself. About how rarely she allowed herself to be weak. And how now, unknowingly, she’d given him something she’d never ask for.
Trust.
Leon rested his head lightly against the headboard. He closed his eyes for a moment, just for a second, but he didn’t fall asleep. He wouldn’t allow himself to. His hand rested on the mattress, his fingers almost touching hers. Almost.
He thought about how absurd it all was. A world in which they’d survived things impossible to describe, and yet the most real, most grounding moments looked exactly like this. Silence. Moonlight. A bed in a quiet apartment.
After some time, Claire stirred again. This time her brows knit slightly, her breathing quickened. Leon opened his eyes instantly, all of his attention snapping back to her. He knew this moment. That brief point where a dream could turn the wrong way.
“Hey.” he said softly, barely audible, more to her than to the world. “I’m here.”
He didn’t know if she heard him. Maybe it was only for him. Claire sighed, her shoulders relaxed, and her face smoothed back into calm. Leon let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
They stayed like that for a long time. Minutes stretched into something that didn’t need a name. Leon didn’t check the time. He didn’t think about tomorrow. The only thing that mattered was that she was here, that she was breathing, that he could keep watch.
At some point, Claire opened her eyes.
Not abruptly. Without panic. Just slowly, like someone returning to the world and needing a moment to recognize it. Her gaze was hazy with sleep, but when it focused on Leon sitting at the edge of the bed, something in her shifted.
“Leon?” she asked quietly, her voice still rough.
He straightened immediately, but didn’t pull away.
“Hey.” he replied just as softly. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I think… I would’ve woken up anyway.” she murmured. “What time is it?”
“Late.” he said evasively. “I got back not long ago.”
Her eyes moved over him carefully, as if even half-asleep she was running a quick scan. Looking for injuries, signs of exhaustion, answers she hadn’t asked yet.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I am.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other in silence. Claire shifted slightly, adjusted the blanket on her shoulders, and only then seemed to realize that he’d covered her. Her gaze softened.
“Thanks.” she said simply.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
She smiled faintly.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Silence fell again, but it was different now. Less fragile. Claire stretched lightly, then glanced at the space beside her on the bed.
“You can…” she began, then stopped, as if she’d changed her mind.
Leon didn’t let her finish. He stood slowly and sat down beside her, leaving only the smallest space, as he always did. Claire leaned back against the pillows, and after a moment, completely naturally, her arm brushed his.
He didn’t move away.
They sat there together, in a silence they both knew and accepted. The moon still shone through the window, and the world outside that apartment might as well not have existed at all.