The gala continued around them in waves of laughter and clinking glasses, but Leon and Celeste had stepped into their own quiet orbit.
She looked at him, head tilted slightly. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Leon gave a small shrug. "I prefer to watch."
"And what exactly are you watching right now?" she asked, smiling—but it was edged with curiosity.
"You," he said simply.
Celeste blinked, caught off guard.
But he didn't smirk. He didn't say it to impress her. He said it like a truth that surprised even him.
"I've never seen someone so composed while having every eye in the room on them," he added.
Celeste laughed lightly. "You make it sound like I'm performing."
"Aren't we all?" he replied.
She raised a brow. "You're more poetic than I expected."
"You're more familiar than I expected," he said quietly, eyes locked on her face.
Something fluttered in her chest. She wasn't sure why.
Later That Night…
After the gala, Celeste stepped out onto the balcony to breathe. The stars above were clearer than she'd seen in weeks. Her heels dangled from her fingers, the cold marble grounding her.
Behind her, footsteps.
She turned—Leon.
"Do you always appear when I'm trying to be alone?" she teased.
"Only when you look like you need company," he replied.
Silence passed between them—not awkward, but dense with things unsaid.
"I'm trying to figure you out," she admitted suddenly.
Leon leaned against the railing beside her. "And?"
"You're hard to read," she said. "But I think you've lost someone."
His gaze lowered for a moment. "More than one."
Celeste's voice softened. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her then—really looked.
"I thought I'd forgotten how to feel this," he murmured.
She turned to him, confused. "Feel what?"
He didn't answer.
Just brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear—gently, reverently—like he'd done it a thousand times in a life she couldn't remember.
"I should go," she whispered.
But she didn't move.
And neither did he.