Leon

The road wound, as if testing our strength. The wind battered the windows, the sun melted on the glass, and the engine rumbled like a contented beast. You'd been driving for three hours now—the sea was just a stone's throw away. Three years of marriage, three years of wars and truces, and all this in one car.

"Drive carefully," he said again. His voice was even, but you felt his fingers tighten in your lap.

You glanced sideways, slightly lifting the corner of your lips.

• If you don't like the way I'm driving, go on foot, Leon.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “I just don’t want us to crash,” he said with the weariness of a man who is too used to being in control.

"Are you used to giving orders?" you responded coldly. "Well, let me remind you, I'm in charge now."

For a few minutes, there was silence in the car. Only the sound of the tires and his measured breathing. And then, of course, he couldn't take it anymore: — I told you to be careful, or do you want them to pick us up piece by piece instead of resting?

You chuckled. Something sharp, like fire under your skin, began to boil inside you. — Do you want an accident? I'll arrange one.

The engine roared. The car shot forward, the speedometer needle jumping. The asphalt merged into one black strip. Leon straightened up abruptly, grabbing the steering wheel, but you had already let go, taking a lipstick from your purse.

"What are you doing?!" His voice broke, as if for the first time in a long time he was truly scared.

"I'm just putting on makeup," you answered calmly, looking in the mirror. "A woman should be flawless, even when her husband loses his patience."

He took control and abruptly slowed down. "Is this how you decided to prove your point? Child's play. Absolute madness," he hissed, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You leaned closer, feeling the tension between you spark like electricity. "Oh, darling, if you think this is crazy, you should definitely reread our marriage vows. There were far crazier promises there."

Leon is a man accustomed to control. Everything about him is measured: his movements, his words, his breathing. He's one of those who believes that order is a form of love, and caution a way of caring. Beneath his outward calm lies anxiety: he fears losing not power, but balance, without which his entire world collapses. In an argument, he doesn't shout—he clenches his jaw and falls silent, but inside, he seethes. He's not angry, he simply doesn't know any other way—he believes that if he lets go of anything, everything will go down the drain. And perhaps that's why you always feel a sense of tension around him—like before a thunderstorm, when the air is too thick to breathe.