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The world outside the kitchen window had dissolved

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into a velvet sea of midnight blue, the

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kind of quiet hour where time seemed to

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hold its breath.

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Inside, the house was wrapped in a comforting

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silence, broken only by the low, contented hum

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of the refrigerator.

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Leo leaned against the edge of the rustic

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wooden counter, feeling the cool, textured grain beneath

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his fingertips.

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He loved the coffee station at this time

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of night.

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The harsh glare of daytime overhead lights was

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long forgotten, replaced instead by a single, warm

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night light that cast a golden, amber glow

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across the ceramic canisters and the polished espresso

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machine.

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It was a secluded sanctuary crafted just for

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moments like this.

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With deliberate slowness, Leo poured the dark, aromatic

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brew into his favorite handcrafted ceramic mug.

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The clay had a comforting, earthy weight to

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it, rough -hewn and familiar in his hands.

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He watched as a wisp of faint steam

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rose in delicate, lazy spirals, catching the amber

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light before vanishing into the cool air of

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the kitchen.

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He wrapped his palms around the mug, letting

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the heat seep into his skin as he

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took a slow, grounding sip.

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The rich, bold flavor grounded him, washing away

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the lingering static of a long day.

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In this little corner of the world, bathed

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in the soft glow of the midnight hour,

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everything was entirely, perfectly still.