Aria never thought silence could be this loud — or this comforting.
Not the kind of silence that felt cold or awkward. This was different. This was the soft hush of late morning sun filtering through sheer curtains, the sound of bare feet brushing against wood floors, and the faint, familiar rustling of someone making coffee in the next room.
It was the sound of peace. Of home.
Their home.
She smiled into the pillow before slowly rolling onto her side. The sheet slid over her bare skin, and she could still feel the delicious ache of last night's slow, wordless worship in every part of her. No longer new, yet still impossibly consuming. Somehow, even better.
The ring on her finger felt weightless now.
"Awake?"
Leon's voice drifted from the doorway. When she turned, he was already leaning against the frame, two mugs in hand. His white shirt clung to his chest — one of her oversized sleep shirts, really — and his eyes warmed the moment they found her.
"I was enjoying the silence," she said with a soft smile. "And the view."
He crossed the room, handing her the mug. Black coffee. No sugar. Just the way she liked it — not because it was her favorite, but because he always made it perfectly.
"Your view's improved significantly since marrying me," he said, brushing a kiss to her temple before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Aria laughed. "You sound so smug."
Leon only shrugged. "Married men have earned the right to be."
She sipped her coffee and leaned into him. "It's strange."
"What is?"
"This. All of it. Waking up without needing to go anywhere. No rush, no meetings, no press, no cameras. Just… us."
Leon didn't respond immediately. He reached out instead, tugging the sheet higher over her shoulder and stroking her hair.
"I needed this," he murmured. "Not the world's version of a honeymoon. Not some luxury island or a week of pretending everything is perfect. Just this. You. Home."
Aria leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. "We could make pancakes."
He hummed. "We could also stay in bed all day."
She smiled. "Tempting."
But as the morning slipped into afternoon, their honeymoon-at-home became a series of quiet joys — shared showers that lasted longer than necessary, cooking in nothing but shirts and boxers, laughing over burnt pancakes and feeding each other strawberries.
It was real.
It was imperfect.
And it was, for once, theirs.
Later that night, lying in bed beneath the hum of city lights, Aria traced circles on Leon's chest. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, anchoring her even in sleep. But she wasn't tired.
She was… content. But also waiting.
"What comes next?" she whispered.
Leon's fingers paused their motion in her hair. "Next?"
"I don't know. The world? Expectations? Babies? Careers? I feel like there's this invisible clock ticking again."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted to look at her fully, brushing her cheek with his thumb.
"We don't owe anyone a timeline," he said. "We wake up. We live. We figure it out one day at a time. That's all I want with you, Aria. No pressure. Just us."
She looked into his eyes — those clear, unwavering eyes that had once terrified her with how easily they saw through her. Now, they just made her feel safe.
"What if… what if I'm not ready?" she asked, quieter now.
"Then we wait," he said simply. "You'll never have to do anything alone. Not ever again."
Her throat tightened. She kissed him, slow and grateful, anchoring herself to that promise.
They didn't speak again that night.
They didn't need to.