The alarm went off at 5:00 AM.
Alex's hand found the phone before his eyes opened. He silenced it. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights through the curtains. The candle had burned out hours ago.
Leo was still asleep.
His face was turned toward Alex on the pillow, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting loosely on Alex's chest. His breathing was slow and even. Peaceful.
Alex looked at him.
The exhaustion Leo had been carrying the tension in his jaw, the furrow between his brows, the way he held his shoulders even when sitting still—it was gone. In sleep, Leo looked younger. Softer. Like the person Alex had met years ago, before grief had carved new lines into his face.
Alex didn't move.
Didn't want to wake him.
He just watched.
The way Leo's lips parted slightly with each breath. The way his eyelashes rested against his cheeks. The way his hand had found Alex in the night and stayed there, like even asleep, he was holding on.
