Leon stood in the hallway, the scent of a finished cigarette clinging to his dark shirt.

He'd showered twice, but his skin still felt like it was humming with a low-frequency static.

Inside the master bedroom, Lucien was sprawled out, a pale arm draped over Coco's scruffy back.

The "chicken feather" was snoring, tucked against Lucien's stomach.

Leon didn't hesitate.

He plucked the puppy up by the scruff, ignoring the confused blink of dark bead eyes.

"Go sleep in your own bed," Leon whispered, dumping the dog into the plush basket in the living room.

Coco did a drowsy circle and collapsed back into a dream.

Leon slid under the duvet, pulling the warm, soft weight of Lucien against his chest.

Lucien shifted, his cheek rubbing against Leon's pec as he found his familiar notch.

Leon inhaled, long and slow.

Now he could breathe.

"We can't leave him alone," Lucien pouted the next morning—clutching Coco like a shield.

Leon's expression flattened, the look he gave opponents in the final round.

"So the dog stays, and I go alone?" Leon asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"I didn't say that."

"Coco is going to Joey's," Leon commanded, plucking the dog from Lucien's arms.

"Joey is staying behind this time. He'll handle it."

The jet climbed over the clouds, leaving New York behind.

Lucien was out before the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign flickered off.

Leon draped a cashmere blanket over him, watching the way Lucien's lashes cast long shadows over his pale cheeks.

Leon pulled out his phone, snapping four photos in rapid succession.

He scrolled through them, ignoring the grainy lighting and the fact that Lucien's mouth was slightly open.

He looked like a masterpiece.

Leon hit 'Set as Wallpaper', a private prize for his own eyes.

Lucien woke up ten minutes before touchdown, his face creased from the blanket.

"Where's Coco?" he murmured, eyes unfocused.

Leon's jaw tightened. "Think about me for once."

The club manager met them at the gate, his eyes lingering too long on Lucien's surgical mask and messy hair.

Leon stepped between them, a silent, lethal wall of muscle.

"The restaurant is booked," the manager stuttered, leading them to a black sedan.

"Five stars," the manager promised, as they sat down to a plate of foam and micro-greens.

The server explained the 'story' of the dish in rapid-fire English.

Lucien looked at the expensive, artistic smear of food and felt his stomach turn.

He took one bite, his face twisting at the clash of truffle oil and seaweed.

He dropped his fork, the metal clanking against the china.

Leon caught his eye, nodding once.

Leon waved off the manager's offer for a ride back.

He hailed a taxi, tucking Lucien inside and heading for the hotel suite.

"There's a kitchen," Leon noted, unzipping his jacket as they entered the penthouse.

"Go find a movie. I'm feeding you properly."

"You've been traveling all day," Lucien protested, his face heating up.

"Keeping you fed is my job," Leon countered, pinching the soft flesh of Lucien's cheek.

Lucien curled up on the sofa with the tablet, searching for something French.

Leon's phone buzzed on the island, a notification from the manager.

Lucien picked it up, the screen jumping to life.

He nearly dropped the device.

"Leon! What is this?!"

Leon looked up from the cutting board. "You. You're cute."

"Cute?! This is a death angle! My face is deformed!"

Leon stepped closer, pressing a quick, floury kiss to Lucien's temple.

"Everything about you is perfect."

Lucien shoved the phone at him. "Delete it. Now."

Leon just smirked, checking a message about the after-match party.

"There will be boxers there tonight," Leon noted, his hand settling low on Lucien's hip.

"Don't start a new list," Lucien hissed. "I deleted your file."

Leon laughed, a low, rough sound.

"It's called a backup, baby."

The music vibrated in Lucien's teeth. He watched a girl in a sequined dress dance on a speaker and wondered if Americans ever slept.

Leon guided him through the sweaty crowd toward a secluded booth in the corner. His hand remained firm on Lucien's lower back.

A server brought two glasses of whiskey. Leon pushed them aside and signaled for a glass of orange juice instead.

Lucien pouted. I look like a toddler. But he took the juice. He knew his limits—one real drink and he'd be the one on the table.

A guy leaned into the booth and whispered something to Leon. Leon's jaw tightened. He slammed his glass onto the table with a sharp clack.

"Is he a piece of gum? I can't shake him," Leon growled. "Tell him to get lost."

Lucien leaned in, curious. "Who?".

Leon's expression softened as he looked at Lucien. "My cousin, Bert. He heard I was competing and followed me here. He's annoying."

Bert treated Leon like a god, likely because Leon was the only Bolton brave enough to trade a suit for boxing gloves.

Leon rubbed Lucien's hair. "Want to do something?".

"You guys play," Lucien said, biting his straw. "I'm going to grab some air."

Leon reached for his hand instantly. "I'll go with you."

Lucien stood up, puffing out his chest to look brave. "No. Stay here. Listen to me for once."

Leon let out a short, surprised laugh. "Fine. Take my phone. Call me if anyone breathes on you."

Lucien slipped out the back door. The air was cool and smelled of chlorine. A massive pool sat in the center of the patio.

He walked toward the edge to take a photo. Suddenly, a body broke the surface. A wave of water soaked Lucien's shoes.

Lucien hissed, shaking his damp feet. The guy in the water froze, staring at him.

"I know you," the guy said, climbing out. "You're Leon's boyfriend."

Lucien blinked. "Bert?".

Bert beamed, shaking water from his hair like a golden retriever. "He told you about me? What'd he say?".

Lucien sighed. "Nothing good. I'd stop asking if I were you."

Bert laughed, unbothered. "Standard Leon. He likes suppressive education. He thinks it makes me 'stronger'."

Lucien watched him with a mix of pity and amusement. The kid is delusional.

"How do you know who I am?" Lucien asked.

"The finals," Bert said, grinning. "I saw Leon pick you up after the show. You guys were... intense."

Lucien's face flared red. He thought back to that backstage kiss and felt his ears burn.

He straightened his collar, adopting a regal "brother-in-law" stance. "Adult business, Bert. Don't pry."

Lucien sat on the edge of a lounge chair, swinging his legs. He felt mischievous.

"It's a long story," Lucien whispered, beckoning Bert closer. "The dominant athlete and the runaway bride... or groom."

He spun a wild tale of secret pregnancies and three-year-old computer genius sons. Bert's jaw hit the concrete.

"Wait. Oriental men... you can actually get pregnant?" Bert's eyes were the size of dinner plates.

Lucien didn't blink. "Don't focus on the biology, Bert. Focus on the narrative arc."

"And my nephew is a hacker?".

"He's at home," Lucien said, standing up before he lost his composure. "He needs his downtime. I have to go."

Lucien didn't wait for a reply. He sprinted back into the bar, his legs moving like he was back on the track.

He burst through the crowd and ran straight into a solid wall of muscle. Leon's arms clamped around him instantly.

"What happened?" Leon asked, scanning the door for a threat.

Lucien buried his face in Leon's chest, hiding his grin. "Just air. Can we go back to the hotel? Now?"

Leon didn't ask twice. He pulled Lucien close and marched toward the exit, casting one last warning glare at the shadows.