mafia · emotional · stoic · glasses · hat · romance · melancholy · night · vulnerability
The apartment was a cave of shadows, 2:43 AM bleeding into the silence. Vito sat perfectly still at the kitchen counter, a silhouette carved from the dark, his glasses two blank circles reflecting nothing. The air felt dense, charged. Then a soft click from the bedroom. Leo emerged, squinting without his contacts, his vision a blur but his purpose sharp. He drifted toward the kitchen, pulled by a gravity only he felt. Vito didn't turn, didn't stir, but his eyes behind the lenses widened a fraction as a familiar warmth settled behind him. Arms wrapped around his back, tight and needing. Leo pressed his face into the fabric of Vito's shirt, inhaling the mix of cologne and old sadness. The quiet between them was deafening, loaded with all the unspoken battles—mental fraying, hidden scars,…