It rained the way New York rarely does — not the polite drizzle of passing storms, but the kind of downpour that turns the skyline silver and hushes the whole world.
Aria stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse, barefoot, wrapped in one of Leon's button-downs, watching the streaks blur the city lights.
Behind her, soft jazz played low. The scent of dinner still lingered in the air. And somewhere in the kitchen, Leon cursed quietly when he dropped a spoon.
She smiled.
He was making dessert.
Or trying to.
"You'll burn the sugar if you keep stirring like that," she called over her shoulder.
"I'm not stirring," he grumbled.
She turned.
He was absolutely stirring.
"Step aside, Castellan. I'm saving your crème brûlée from an early death."
"You're not even supposed to stir crème brûlée—"
"Exactly."
They didn't end up with dessert.
They ended up in a messy kitchen, laughing breathlessly, flour on Leon's shirt and streaked across Aria's cheek.
And when she leaned against the counter, panting from a fit of laughter, Leon looked at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
Not because she was beautiful.
Not because she was his.
But because he couldn't believe this life belonged to him.
"Stay there," he said softly.
Aria tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because I want to remember you exactly like this."
She blinked.
Something caught in her throat.
Not because it was a line — but because it wasn't.
He meant it.
Every word.
They ended up on the couch again.
A blanket draped over their legs.
The storm still whispering against the windows.
Aria lay curled into his side, heart too full, chest too tight.
And before she could talk herself out of it...
Before the fear could rise...
Before she could wonder if saying it would tip the balance...
She just said it.
Quietly.
Honestly.
"I love you."
Leon stilled.
Not tense.
Not cold.
Just stunned.
Like he didn't expect to hear it.
Not yet.
Not from her.
Not first.
Aria waited.
The silence stretched.
And then he pulled her tighter against him.
Pressed a kiss into her hair.
"Say it again," he whispered.
She turned her face toward his chest.
Smiled.
"I love you."
"God," he breathed, voice cracking. "You just keep saying it like it's easy."
"It is easy. With you, it is."
He closed his eyes.
Arms wrapping around her like a man trying to hold on to something more than a moment.
"I've never had anyone say it first."
She tilted her head up.
"You have now."
They didn't make love that night.
They held love.
Let it seep into the quiet places.
Leon didn't say the words back.
Not yet.
But Aria didn't need him to.
Because the way he looked at her — the way his voice softened, the way his hand found hers beneath the blanket — all of it already said:
I love you too.I just need to believe it won't vanish when I do.