Kevin awoke to sunlight and the faint smell of cinnamon rolls.
For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.
Then he heard humming from the suite's kitchenette — deep, tuneless, and distinctly grumpy.
Leonhart.
Kevin rubbed sleep from his eyes and padded out barefoot. He found Leonhart, hair messy and sleeves still rolled up from last night, holding a pan and trying very hard not to burn something.
Kevin blinked. "Are you… baking?"
"I'm attempting to reheat hotel pastries," Leonhart muttered without turning around. "The microwave betrayed me."
Kevin grinned and leaned against the doorframe. "You kissed me last night, and now you're feeding me? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're in love."
Leonhart glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "I didn't kiss you. You kissed me."
"Semantics." Kevin walked closer, peering over the counter. "Those croissants are criminally over-toasted."
"I can order room service."
"I'd rather eat the ones you tried to save." Kevin snatched one with a teasing smirk, biting into it. "Mmm. Tastes like effort and burnt sugar."
Leonhart sat across from him, coffee in hand. His gaze lingered too long. "Last night… it wasn't just a moment."
Kevin looked up from his pastry.
Leonhart's voice was low. "It meant something. Didn't it?"
Kevin exhaled, slow and careful.
"It did. But that doesn't mean I'm rushing anything. I'm not here to fill a space someone else left behind."
Leonhart flinched. "You think that's all this is?"
"No," Kevin said softly. "But you were left behind. I just need to know you're not chasing something that already walked away."
There was silence.
Then Leonhart said, "I'm not chasing Elian."
Kevin's heart gave a subtle twist at the name.
Leonhart looked up, eyes clearer than Kevin had ever seen them.
"I'm chasing you."
Kevin blinked, caught off-guard by the certainty in his voice. There was no flirtation in it. No manipulation. Just truth — bruised and beating.
Then, as if needing to change the subject, Leonhart cleared his throat.
"You still thinking about opening that café near the coast?"
Kevin smiled again, slower this time. "Yeah. I already started designing the layout. Want to see?"
He pulled out his notebook and spread the sketches across the table. Leonhart leaned in, their shoulders brushing.
"Will there be a special menu for burnt croissants?" Leonhart asked dryly.
"Only for regulars with bad taste in pastries but good taste in men," Kevin replied.
Leonhart chuckled — and for once, it was genuine.
The mood shifted into something peaceful. Something possible.
But elsewhere in the city, in a black car with tinted windows, Elian was sipping espresso across from a new companion — a man with a cruel smirk and a rivalry with Leonhart Grimald that ran deep and personal.
"Tell me more about this Kevin boy," the man said, swirling his wine.
Elian smiled, all charm and no soul. "He's cheerful. And stupidly sincere."
He set down his cup.
"I think it's time someone showed him how dangerous it is to play in another man's territory."
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