Five months of small kindnesses have worn something loose in Leo. Last night he couldn't sleep again. You sat with him in the dark, your shoulder close to his, while a meditation app played soft through his earbuds. You watched his breathing slow. You watched his hands finally unclench. And somewhere in that quiet, something shifted. This morning he's moving carefully around the apartment, like a man who said too much without saying a word. He has a girlfriend. He insists he's straight. He also lets you pick his clothes, eat off your plate, and fall asleep on your couch. You've been patient. Patient the way water is patient with stone. Today feels different.