The international terminal at 6:00 AM was a purgatory of fluorescent lights and squeaking luggage wheels. Damon walked through the sliding glass doors of customs, feeling like he had been run over by a truck. The red-eye from London had been turbulent, and he hadn't slept a wink, his mind too busy replaying the video call on a loop.
He adjusted his grip on his carry-on, scanning the small crowd of chauffeurs holding placards and sleepy relatives waiting for loved ones.
He expected to see Leo standing by the barrier, maybe waving enthusiastically.
Instead, he found him leaning against a concrete pillar near the exit, looking like a model who had wandered off a set.
Leo was wearing a fitted turtleneck in a soft oatmeal color and dark trousers that Damon recognized—they were the ones from the suit Leo had bought for the interview. He held two cups of coffee in a cardboard carrier.
When Leo saw him, he didn't wave. He pushed off the pillar and walked straight toward Damon, his gaze locking onto him with a laser-like intensity that cut through the exhaustion fog.
"You look terrible," Leo said softly, stopping just inches away.
Damon let out a dry, tired laugh. "Good morning to you too, Leo."
"I mean it," Leo murmured. He reached out, his fingers brushing the dark circles under Damon's eyes. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"
Damon flinched, not from the touch, but from the accuracy. "Plane was bumpy."
"Liar," Leo whispered.
He stepped back, handing Damon one of the cups. "Black roast. Two sugars. Hazelnut."
Damon took the cup. The warmth seeped into his freezing hands. "Thank you. Did you drive the Mercedes?"
"Yeah. It's at the curb. I told the traffic cop I was waiting for a VIP so he wouldn't ticket me." Leo grinned, the "White Lotus" mask slipping back into place. "Come on. Let's get you home."
They walked to the car in silence. The morning air was crisp and cold. Leo took Damon's bag, refusing to let him carry it despite Damon's protests.
"I'm the intern," Leo teased, popping the trunk. "Carrying the boss's luggage is part of the job description."
Once they were on the highway, the dynamic shifted. The cabin of the Mercedes was quiet, sealed off from the rush hour traffic. Leo drove with a surprising confidence, his hands relaxed on the wheel.
Damon sat in the passenger seat—a rare position for him. He sipped his coffee, watching Leo's profile.
"Did Helen get back late?" Damon asked, testing the waters.
"Around one," Leo said, keeping his eyes on the road. "She was tipsy. Went straight to bed. She didn't check the... other side of the bed."
Damon choked on his coffee. He wiped his mouth, glaring at the boy. "Leo."
"I washed the sheets," Leo added casually. "This morning. Before I left. So she won't smell you. Or me."
"You washed the sheets at 4:00 AM?"
"I couldn't sleep either," Leo admitted. He glanced over at Damon, his expression vulnerable. "I was too excited."
"Excited about what?"
"You coming home."
Damon looked away, staring out the window at the grey blur of the Jersey Turnpike. The confession was simple, honest, and devastating.
"I missed the house," Damon deflected weakly.
"The house missed you," Leo countered. He reached over the center console. His hand landed on Damon's thigh.
Damon stiffened. He should move it. He should tell him to keep both hands on the wheel.
But he was so tired. And the hand felt so warm.
"Leo, drive the car," Damon murmured, no heat in his voice.
"I am driving," Leo said. He didn't move his hand. Instead, he squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing circles against the fabric of Damon's travel slacks. "Just relax, Damon. Close your eyes. I've got you."
Damon sighed, his head falling back against the headrest. The vibration of the car, the caffeine hitting his system, and the rhythmic motion of Leo's thumb on his leg created a lullaby he couldn't resist.
"Just for a minute," Damon whispered.
"Sleep," Leo commanded softly.
Damon drifted off.
He didn't see the way Leo kept glancing at him. He didn't see the dark, possessive smile that curled Leo's lips as he navigated the exit ramp.
Leo drove one-handed, refusing to let go of Damon's thigh. He liked this. He liked Damon vulnerable, exhausted, and dependent on him to get home safely.
"Welcome back, Daddy," Leo whispered to the sleeping man.
He turned onto the private road leading to the estate, driving slowly, dragging out the ride for as long as he could.