Leah closed the bedroom door softly behind them.
The familiar room felt suspended in time — the tall windows draped in pale curtains, the polished floor catching the afternoon light, the large bed exactly as it had always been. Nothing had changed.
Except him.
Izana stood just inside the doorway, silent. His red eyes slowly moved across the space — the bookshelf, the fireplace, the framed photographs, the side of the bed that had once been his. His expression softened in a way Leah had rarely seen before.
He took a few slow steps forward.
His fingers brushed lightly over the dresser. Then the edge of the desk. Then the back of the chair near the window. He moved as though reacquainting himself with something fragile, something precious.
"You remember it," Leah said gently, unable to hide her smile.
Izana gave a quiet hum of agreement. "Every detail."
He walked toward the bed and paused, staring at it for a long moment. Leah watched him carefully — not just the way he moved, but how he held himself. There was stiffness there. Control. And beneath it…
Pain.
He shifted slightly.
A faint wince crossed his face.
Leah's smile faded just a little.
"Izana…" she said softly.
He looked at her immediately, and his expression warmed again, as if the discomfort had never existed.
"I'm fine," he said.
She didn't answer that. Instead, she walked toward him slowly and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Sit down," she murmured. "Please."
He hesitated — pride flickering across his face — but then he allowed her to guide him to the edge of the bed. He lowered himself carefully, shoulders tightening briefly as he settled.
Leah knelt in front of him.
Up close, she could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes. The exhaustion. The strain he was trying so hard to hide.
And the red.
She swallowed.
"I've always known your eyes as green," she said quietly, searching his face. "I don't understand…"
Izana looked at her for a long moment.
There was hesitation there.
Not avoidance — but carefulness.
"My original eye color," he began slowly, "was red."
Leah blinked.
"The curse altered it," he continued. "It turned them green. That's the version of me you knew." A faint, almost amused breath left him. "The altered one."
Leah's heart thudded.
"So… this…" She lifted a trembling hand, her fingertips hovering near his cheek. "…this is your real color?"
"Yes."
Silence settled between them.
"You broke it," she whispered.
Izana's jaw tightened slightly.
"Yes."
"How?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He went still.
That hesitation returned — heavier this time.
Leah noticed immediately.
His shoulders had gone rigid. His breathing had shifted.
She exhaled softly and shook her head.
"You don't have to tell me," she said gently. "Not unless you're ready."
His gaze softened at that.
A small smile touched his lips.
"You deserve to know something," he said quietly. "Just not everything yet."
Leah nodded.
"I managed to break the curse," he continued. "It took… time. Effort. And things I had to face alone." His red eyes held hers. "But it's gone."
Gone.
The word felt too simple for something that had shaped their entire lives.
Leah let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"It's really gone?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
Her eyes glistened again.
"You're free," she whispered.
He looked at her as if the word meant more than she understood.
"Free," he repeated quietly.
He shifted slightly on the bed.
And winced again.
Leah saw it clearly this time.
"Izana."
"It's nothing."
She stood slowly and moved closer, sitting beside him now instead of kneeling. Her hand gently found his side — careful, testing.
His muscles tightened under her touch.
"You're not telling me something," she said softly.
He turned his head toward her.
For a moment, she thought he might confess.
Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead — just like he always used to.
"I'm okay," he murmured against her skin. "I just want to be with you right now."
Her heart melted at the familiarity of it.
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his body relaxing just slightly as if the simple act of leaning against her was grounding him.
Leah lifted her hand and cupped his cheek gently.
His skin was warm.
Her thumb stroked along his cheekbone.
Izana's eyes fluttered closed for just a moment.
And then—
He leaned into her touch.
Not subtly.
Not guarded.
He nuzzled faintly against her palm, almost instinctively.
Leah stilled.
That was new.
Izana had always been affectionate — in his own quiet ways. Forehead kisses. Lingering touches. Gentle words spoken in private.
But this…
This was softer.
More open.
More… vulnerable.
She felt it in the way his shoulders eased under her hand. The way he didn't pull away. The way he allowed himself to lean into her.
"I missed you," she whispered.
His arm slowly wrapped around her waist.
"I know," he said softly. "I missed you too."
There was no sharpness in him. No tension coiled beneath the surface like before. Even exhausted, even hurting — he felt calmer.
Different.
Leah brushed her thumb over his cheek again.
He nuzzled into her touch once more.
Her chest tightened.
He's changed, she thought.
But then she quickly dismissed it.
Of course he has. It's been two years. Two years apart. Two years alone.
Anyone would change.
She leaned her forehead gently against his temple.
"You don't have to tell me everything today," she murmured. "We have time."
He gave a faint hum of agreement.
"Time," he repeated quietly.
For a long moment, they just sat there together. No questions. No explanations. Just warmth and closeness and the quiet relief of reunion.
But Leah could still feel it.
The stiffness in his posture.
The way his breathing shifted when he moved.
The faint tension he masked whenever she pressed too close to his side.
She didn't push.
Not today.
Today was about him being home.
She wrapped her arms around him carefully, mindful of where she placed her hands.
"I'm just glad you're here," she whispered.
Izana tightened his hold around her slightly.
"So am I," he said.
And though his voice was steady, there was something beneath it — something deeper, quieter — like a man who had walked through something dark and come back changed.
Leah didn't see all of it yet.
She only saw the man she loved.
The red eyes that were once green.
The gentle warmth in his touch.
The way he rested against her as though she were the only place he could truly breathe.
And for now—
That was enough.