When Leighton moved her head, he played pushed some of her hair out of the way before propping his head up with his hand so he could see he better. It was nice knowing that she enjoyed the sex as well but he wanted to make sure that they had more than just that going for them. He never wanted to leave her feeling used and gross afterwards. "You are definitely sexy and I want you essentially all the time." He assured her. Sex with her was definitely the best he'd ever had and as afraid as he was to admit it fully, it was because of the feelings he had for her.

Spencer was finally coming back down from his own cloud nine but being snuggled up next to her wasn't exactly helping him. He could imagine doing this every night, forever. Something told him, their parents wouldn't exactly be too thrilled about that however. Her watched her, a smile tugging at his lips as he imagined what the future held for them.

"Valentine's was like a group date. It was special and amazing. Best v-day I've ever had." Spencer didn't even buy into that stupid holiday and somehow Leighton had managed to make it one of his favorites. "I have some ideas but I'm also open to suggestions." He always had Jess to help but he also wasn't about to refuse insider knowledge on how to keep the girl of his dreams. "I do know I want it to be the two of us, no distractions, just us." No friends with no filters, no jealous ex conquests, no nosy parents, just a boy and a girl falling in love.

Spencer exhaled through his nose when she mentioned him being a good guy. He certainly didn't feel like a good guy, or else he wouldn't have a long list of girls who hated him. He was trying with Leighton but what if it wasn't enough? What if he was just another shitty dude? He wanted to change but he didn't know how, it all felt easier said than done. "Yeah, thanks." Spencer smiled at her, trying his best to hide the sadness from his eyes. "You, uh, wanna smoke?" Self medicating and a best friend with an in meant, Spencer was always prepared when the feelings got to be too much.

Leighton couldn’t stop herself from smiling when Spencer complimented her and told her how he always wanted her. It still didn’t make sense how someone like Spencer was into Leighton. But here they were, and he seemed just as into her as she was into him.

“I don’t like movie dates. It’s a lazy excuse for a date,” Leighton told him. “I also feel like guys only take girls to the movies for two reasons. One, they don’t want to talk to you, and two, they wanna make out with you and get a handful,” she finished and shrugged. “Other than that, I’d be down for whatever.”

Leighton could hear the tone in Spencer’s voice shift and wasn’t sure why. She knew he struggled and hoped one day he’d be comfortable enough to talk to her about things, but Leighton wasn’t going to hold her breath.

“Yes. Hang on, though.” Pushing the covers off, Leighton reached for her clothes before getting out of bed and putting them on. It wasn’t the first time she’d smoked in her room, so she had a routine. Instead of using the overhead light, Leighton turned the lamp on on her dresser, which was a bit dim. She wanted to keep the mood chill. Leighton grabbed the towel off the back of her door and placed it on the floor in front of it, hoping it’d stop any smoke from seeping into the hallway. Leighton lit a few candles she had around the room before walking over and opening the window by the side of the bed. She turned, facing Spencer, giving him a quick peck on the lips before reaching for the pillows and her furry blanket from her side of the bed. Leighton walked over to the window Spencer had managed to get through and dropped everything on the floor. She rearranged it, so they had someplace comfy to sit.

Leighton finally joined Spencer on the floor with a cup previously used as an ashtray. She passed it over to him after getting situated and crossing her legs into a pretzel style. “Other than when you’re sleeping, how many hours have you gone without smoking?” She asked curiously with a chuckle, her head resting against the wall as she watched him prepare the joint. It didn’t matter what he was doing; Spencer was always attractive. Like, she understood because his dad was hot too, but damn.

She was aware of his spurts of sadness. Not only could she see it with her own eyes, but Sam also told her a little bit. Did she feel bad for him? Yes, but Leighton wasn’t going to pity him. She knew if the shoe were on the other foot, she wouldn’t want the pity. It is one of the reasons why Leighton didn’t talk about her past. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. When Leighton was sure he no longer needed his hands, she hugged onto his arm, resting her cheek against it, watching as he finally lit the joint. “You know, making stupid decisions doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person,” Leighton pointed out casually as she reached for the joint while keeping her other arm around his. She took a hit, holding it in, before returning it to him. After releasing the smoke, she looked at him, “I just want you to know you’re not alone, Spence, and I’m here if you need me,” she said before kissing his cheek and pulling back.

"No movie dates. Got it." Spencer replied knowing that she totally wasn't wrong. He went to movie with Jess when he actually wanted to see the movie, he took dates to the movies when he wanted some quiet time in the dark. Which was most dates honestly because he hadn't been on many, and the ones he had had were for the girls who required at least minimal effort before putting out.

Spencer admired her as she set up the perfect little smoke spot for them. He felt so lazy, opening the window or using a toilet paper roll with some dryer sheets was about all the extra effort he ever put into it. Then again, his dad wasn't exactly strict when it came to that kind of stuff. Grabbing a lighter, papers, and a small bag of weed from his pants, he made himself comfortable as he waited for her to join him. He paused to look up as he tilted his head and thought about the answer to her question. "I've gone a day or two before," he chuckled before going back to what he was doing. Grabbing a nearby textbook, he placed a paper down on it and began sprinkling weed bits along it before carefully picking it up and rolling it. Intentionally smirking over at her as he licked and sealed it.

Scooting the book out of the way, he stretched his legs out forward and relaxed some more. Placing the joint between his lips, he looked down at her and smiled as she latched onto his arm. Using his free arm, he lit the joint before tossing the lighter onto the ground next to them. Spencer tried to continue to keep his aloof demeanor but what she was saying, tugged at something inside of him. Spencer exhaled the smoke and cleared his throat before passing the joint back to her again. "Thanks Leighton." was all he could bring himself to say. He was afraid of opening up too much or else his already watery eyes might open the floodgates as well and he was convinced that girl's found guys crying unattractive. He wasn't ready to be that vulnerable with her yet. Hell, he sometimes struggled opening up to Jess and he viewed him like a brother.

Spencer's eyes wandered the surrounding area, trying once again to stop the sad thoughts from seeping in. His eyes landed on the textbook once more, this time really looking at it when he caught his name on it, with a heart around it. A smile spread on his face as he leaned forward to grab it. "What's this?" he teased playfully. He honestly found it rather cute, everything she did was either cute or sexy to him. He felt 'claimed' and for once he didn't mind it; it didn't make him feel trapped but instead, he was proud to be hers.

When he responded, Leighton didn’t know what to say after that. Spencer was like an onion. He had layers and made it almost impossible for her to peel any of them back. “Of course,” she softly sighed and turned away slightly, taking the joint from him. She took a few hits, coughing a little, before returning it to him. Leighton didn't know why she wanted him to open up to her so badly. Maybe it was because she knew if he did, what they had would be different than what he had with the girls before her. It was hypothetical wanting him to open up, though. She hadn’t even told him about her trauma. If I tell him, he might be comfortable talking about his. Her thoughts were quickly interrupted when Spencer started to ask about her textbook.

Leighton’s eyes widened as he looked down at her doodles. “I… um…” she sighed, unsure what to say. “I was thinking about you, and it just happened,” she answered, reaching for it. “I was going to erase it or scribble it out before you saw it, but then you decided to climb through my window,” Leighton added with a smile and shrugged, sitting it on the other side of her. “I hope you’re not freaked out by it. I just really like you, that’s all.” The fact he asked her to be his girlfriend was a big deal, and she didn’t want something like this to scare him off. Sometimes she didn’t want him to know how much she adored him because she didn’t know how he’d respond. For all she knew, he’d run for the hills, and she’d be left heartbroken. Leighton couldn’t even think about what she’d do if something were to go sour between them. She’d grown accustomed to the way things had been.

“Can I tell you something without completely ruining the mood? Well, no, it’s going to ruin the mood, but I think you should know,” Leighton said, sitting up and turning her body in his direction, tucking her feet underneath her. She nervously ran her hand through her hair and wanted to make eye contact with him, but it seemed impossible. Leighton didn’t know how to start the conversation, and honestly, she already felt like she needed to vomit. “My mom doesn’t always make the best choices,” she paused, looking down at her hands. “Especially when it came to the men she married,” Leighton said, her voice cracking before looking back at him. “My mom also let many random people watch me as a kid when she had to work.” Leighton wondered if Spencer had started to put the pieces together or not. She began to snap the hair tie around her wrist against her skin as she felt overwhelmed. It wasn’t there for that purpose, but it worked for the moment. “My mom’s last husband… he raped me most of their marriage, and then there were a few before that, but like, not as extreme. My mom found out, freaked the fuck out, and moved us here. We have a theme and move every time she breaks up with someone. I’ve lived in,” she started to count how many times they moved. “Twelve… thirteen places, if you include Oahu.” The look on his face wasn’t a surprise. He looked horrified. “And I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” she could feel a knot in her throat. Leighton didn’t want to cry, but she was sure she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. “Or not like me because of it.”

Leighton took the joint back from Spencer, taking a bigger hit than usual. She turned back around, resting against the wall, waiting for her boyfriend to become her ex-boyfriend because what guy would want to hear all that? “I’d understand if you want to leave,” Leighton said as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stared straight ahead.

Spencer teasingly pulled the textbook away when she went to reach for it, before finally handing it over to her. "I'm not freaked out. It's cute. Maybe, don't erase it? Keep it." Spencer wasn't sure why he liked the idea so much but something about knowing everyone would see his name on her book. Unless they wanted to break bro code, dudes were going to see that and know better than to try messing with her. Spencer hoped she didn't want him doing the same though, half the time he ended up using his covers to make his own joint filters. He didn't want her to have to see the state of them and think he didn't care about her and have his own 'love fern' situation on his hands.

Nothing could have prepared Spencer for what she told him next. Holding the joint to his lips, he nervously side eyed her while he waited to hear exactly what it was that she needed to tell him. His eyes slowly widening in horror with each word that fell from her mouth. This had changed his opinion about her mother more than it had his opinion of Leighton. Yes, he felt more sympathy and suddenly wanted to be gentler with her, but her mom? He kind felt like he might hate her for letting that happen to her daughter. He certainly no longer gave a fuck what she thought of him because he didn't think very highly of her right now.

Spencer only snapped back into when she started to sound like she was about to cry and took the joint from him. "Shit... I'm sorry." Staring at her for a moment before scooting closer and working his arm between her and the wall so he could wrap it around her. Placing his thumb and pointer on her chin, he softly turned her face to look at him before helping her wipe away some more of the tears. "Listen, Leia. None of that should have ever happened to you. I'm sorry that it did, but I'm not going anywhere. Only way you're getting rid of me is if you kick me out." Giving her a kiss on her forehead, he leaned back into the wall again but kept his arm around her.

"I, uh, so I... fuck. I'm not good at this. Opening up. But like..." Spencer sighed and cleared his throat, trying to figure out how he wanted to word what he was going to say. "First time, I had sex, I was like eleven or twelve. I can't exactly remember but young enough that my dad still thought I needed a babysitter while he went drinking. Anyway, it started out as her teaching me how to kiss and one thing led to another and, I didn't really want to do it... but like I didn't exactly say no either. Plus, it felt good so maybe I just didn't realize I wanted it yet, ya know?" Spencer finally looked over at her and was met with a face probably similar to the one he just gave her. "What? Did I fuck up? Should I not have told you that? I was just trying to let you know that I kinda, sorta, maybe can relate. I'm an idiot. Probably just sounds like I'm trying to brag or something."

“Okay, fine. I won’t erase it,” Leighton responded with a smile.

She was surprised by how well Spencer was processing what she told him. She wasn’t expecting him to comfort her the way he did. It was nice, though. She wiped one side of her cheek while he wiped the other. “I don’t plan on kicking you out, ever,” Leighton said, feeling relief rush over her.

Leighton opened up about her sexual abuse because she thought it’d help him open up, too, and it did. She hadn’t expected his trauma to mirror hers, which caught her off guard. When he started backtracking, Leighton shook her head. “No, no, no,” she began and shifted under his arm, turning her body towards him. “I want you to tell me these things. As awful as they are. I want to know everything about you, babe, the good and the bad,” she admitted, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “Sometimes getting you to open up is like pulling teeth, but I don’t want to pry. That’s why when you shut down or change the topic, I let you,” she admitted. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” finally acknowledging his abuse. “She did take advantage of you, and that’s awful,” she frowned. If Leighton had to guess, her abuse started before she was ten, but she doesn’t remember anything before the age of twelve because she suppressed all of it.

“I mean it when I tell you you’re not alone. You don’t have to tell me everything, and I don’t expect you to, but when you want to talk to someone about what’s going on in that handsome head of yours,” she said, leaning forward and reaching out to turn his head towards her, “I hope I’m the one you choose to talk to,” Leighton finished and pulled her hand back. “I just don’t want you to hide from me or think I’m going to judge you because I’m not.”

Leighton moved his arm from around her and interlocked their fingers together, resting their hands in her lap. She traced over the back of his hand with her other. “Oh, quick question, who’s Leia?” She raised an eyebrow. It could’ve been a nickname. Leighton just never heard him use it before.

Spencer's dad hadn't given him the best example of how to deal with his problems. Usually, when they had issues, they'd let their tempers rise and scream or hide behind slammed doors, but they rarely ever sat down and talked about things. His dad wasn't a terrible dude, but he had a father who did the same things with him, and the cycle kept repeating. If it hadn't been for his mother, Spencer probably would have been worse off than he was. Granted, she usually had to drag it out of him too, but she was persistent; she ensured he knew it was okay to open up. He was thankful for that because, without her "nagging", he and Leighton most likely wouldn't stand a chance. His father taught him how to reel in all the girls, while his mother taught him to catch and keep the best ones. Leighton was one of the best, and she craved that deep connection.

His eyes sunk to the floor when she openly confirmed his suspicions that he had been taken advantage of. Spencer tried to hide the sadness behind his eyes when she turned his head to look at her. He hadn't told many people about that, but when the few times he had, they usually reacted much differently. They'd also been teenage boys. Spencer didn't know if it was a reaction to spilling more information about himself than he was used to but found he struggled to speak now. Instead, he nodded and flashed a sincere, albeit small, smile. Before he had a chance to think of anything to say, his thoughts were interrupted by her questioning who Leia was.

'Shit!'

It was a nickname he'd come up with and had been calling her for a while, but somehow, he'd forgotten to fill her in on this. "Yeah..." he started, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out how to say the next part without sounding lame. There was no way around it without lying, and he didn't want to do that, so he opted for the honest, nerdy truth. "Well, you've seen Star Wars, right? Not the newer ones, the originals..." He tilted his head forward to gauge the reaction on her face before continuing. "Well... this is embarrassing, but, like, you're the Leia to my Han. So, yeah, you. You're Leia." Spencer rolled his eyes at himself as he heard it aloud, knowing there was no way he could tell her the rest of it yet. They'd probably have to be married before he was ready to admit to the sex dream he had about her in those exact roles.

Leighton was a bit surprised, but she loved it. No boy had ever given her a nickname. Little did Spencer know things like that made Leighton fall for him more than she already had. Finally, he was letting his guard down, even if it was only a little at a time. It was still happening. "No, stop," she placed her hand on his forearm to comfort him. "It's cute and super sweet. I'm proud to be your Leia." Leighton didn't know much about Star Wars, but she knew enough and knew Leia and Han were iconic. “I'm proud to be your girlfriend, Spence,” Leighton assured him with a smile. She hoped he was as serious about her as she was about him. Leighton knew their relationship was premature, but she already fell in love with him before he showed interest in her. Her feelings for Spencer had only intensified since they'd gotten together. Leighton knew this one would hurt when they finally came crashing down from Cloud 9.

Leighton was scared Spencer would shut down, and she didn't want him to. They were making progress. "You know what is embarrassing, though," Leighton began, moving back against the wall again, "Thinking you could never like me." Leighton looked over at him briefly, "Well, it's true," she argued, catching his expression. "I'm me and you're, well, you're you... have you seen you?" Leighton teased, nudging him in his side. "I watched you go through more than a dozen girls since I've been here, and none of them looked like me," Leighton said, shrugging. "I, however, no longer have that insecurity," she admitted and slipped her hand into his. "I'm your Leia and they're not." It was easy to say that because Spencer hadn't given her any reason to think otherwise. The thought, of course, always lingered in the back of her mind.

“I vote you climb through my window more often,” Leighton admitted with a grin. “Especially if we get to have more moments like this,” she added, leaning over and kissing him softly. “I also vote that you sleep over. I want more cuddles,” she said against his lips, kissing him again. Finally, Leighton pulled away and got on her feet. She leaned over him to shut the window before stepping back and extending her hand. Before climbing into bed, Leighton put her hair up in a secure bun on the top of her head. She wanted to make sure her hair didn't smother Spencer in the middle of the night. Once in bed, she pulled the covers up and turned to face him. “Despite the topics of conversation, tonight was pretty perfect.” Leighton was a relatively simple girl. She didn't need something fancy or extravagant to happen to think it was a special moment.

Spencer’s hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the goddamn gutter pipe.

His hoodie clung to him, damp with sweat even though the night air was sharp against his skin, too many sounds crowding the edges of his brain—
a car door slamming down the street, a dog barking three houses over, the hum of a streetlight flickering above him.

Too loud.
Too much.
Too fast.

His chest tightened, shallow and frantic, like his ribs were shrinking around his lungs.

Breathe.
He tried.
Failed.

The world tilted sideways and inside out, breath scraping ragged against his throat as his fingers scrambled for purchase against the rough brick.
Everything felt wrong—
his hands, his heart, his skin.

Too fast.
Too loud.
Too much.

He didn’t think.
Didn’t plan.

He just climbed.

Fumbled over the ledge like a goddamn ghost, sneakers scraping against the windowsill as he hauled himself inside, breathing like he’d just outrun something that wasn’t finished chasing him yet.

He landed hard—knees hitting the carpet with a muted thud—but he didn’t care.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there.

On the floor.
In the dark.
Back pressed against the side of her bed like if he made himself small enough, the panic wouldn’t find him here.

For a second, the room spun—walls and ceiling tipping sideways—but then—

then he saw her.

Leighton.

Curled under her blankets, breathing steady and slow, moonlight catching the edges of her hair, casting soft shadows across her sleeping face.

And something cracked inside Spencer that had nothing to do with fear this time.

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth like he could shove the noise back down, the panic clawing up the back of his throat.

It was still there.
Still buzzing under his skin like electricity with nowhere to go.

But it didn’t feel as sharp now.

Didn’t feel like it was going to tear him apart molecule by molecule anymore.

Because he was here.
Because she was here.

Spencer curled his arms around his knees, dragging them tight against his chest, and dropped his forehead down to rest on them.
Breathing.
Trying.

The chaos outside—the world, the noise, the shit he couldn’t shut off in his head—it couldn’t follow him all the way in here.

Not when she was wrapped up in sleep two feet away,
not when her breathing painted the whole room in something steady,
something soft,
something safe.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Inhaled through his nose.
Exhaled slow through his mouth.

Her presence anchored him better than anything else ever had.
Better than therapy.
Better than meds he never took.
Better than running himself into the ground until his lungs gave out.

He stayed there on the floor, tucked into himself, letting her breathing set the rhythm for his own.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Not fixed.
Not healed.

But not drowning either.

Not anymore.

Yes, absolutely —
that’s such a beautiful choice because it keeps the moment raw, quiet, and full of weight without him even meaning to wake her.

Spencer stayed there, forehead pressed to his knees, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

The world still felt like it was vibrating underneath him, the panic not gone, just muted—like a storm had moved offshore but left the waves still crashing inside his ribs.

He barely registered the soft creak of the floorboards behind him.

Barely heard the rustle of covers shifting.

Too wrapped up in trying to stay still, trying not to ruin the fragile quiet that was keeping him stitched together.

It wasn’t until he opened his eyes—slow, heavy, raw—that he saw her.

Leighton.

Awake.

Blinking sleepily down at him, her cheek still creased from the pillow, hair messy around her face, brows furrowed in that soft, worried way she always got when she didn’t know where to put the hurt she couldn’t fix.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t gasp or sit up or ask a thousand questions like anyone else might have.

She just looked at him.

Wide-eyed and quiet.
Still half-wrapped in blankets, still tucked into her bed, but looking right at him.

Spencer blinked, heart slamming hard against his ribs—part panic, part something way worse.

She’s awake.

She sees you like this.

For a second—
a stupid, brutal second—
he thought about bolting.
Thought about scrambling back out the window like he hadn’t just shown up wrecked and desperate at her feet.

But he didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Because the way she was looking at him—
it wasn’t judgment.
It wasn’t pity.

It was something quieter.
Something softer.

Something like stay.

Spencer swallowed hard, dragging one trembling hand out from under the crook of his knees just to give himself something to do, something to anchor him to the ground while she kept staring at him like he was still something whole.

And then—

so slow he barely realized he was doing it—
he lifted his head a little higher.

Met her eyes properly.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t apologize.

Just let her see him.

Every shattered, shaking, storm-ridden inch of him.

And when she shifted—when she reached one hand out from under the blanket, slow and careful, palm open toward him—

Spencer thought maybe, just maybe, breathing didn’t have to be a fight anymore.

Not with her.

Not here.

Leighton woke up slow.

The way you do when something in the air shifts—
not loud,
not violent,
just different.

Her eyes cracked open in the dark, vision swimming a little as she blinked the heavy sleep away.
The room was still wrapped in shadows, moonlight pooling soft across the floor.

And there—
there he was.

Spencer.

Curled against the side of her bed, hoodie damp, knees drawn tight to his chest like he was holding himself together with nothing but willpower and shaking breath.

Leighton’s heart twisted in a way that almost made her dizzy.

He looked so small like that.
So raw.

But not weak.
Never weak.

Just worn down.
Bone-deep tired from fighting a war inside himself no one else could see.

She didn’t sit up.
Didn’t startle.
Didn’t say anything.

Just watched him for a second—
watched the way he pressed his forehead against his knees like he could disappear into himself,
watched the way his hands trembled where they clutched the fabric of his jeans,
watched the way he was still trying to breathe like it was a battle he didn’t know how to win.

And God, it made her chest ache—
not with fear,
not with sadness.

With love.
With something steady and heavy and endless.

She didn’t call his name.
Didn’t ask him if he was okay.

He wasn’t.
And that was okay.

Instead, slowly, carefully, she reached one hand out from under the cocoon of blankets, palm open and empty and waiting.

No pressure.
No demands.

Just a quiet offering:

I’m here if you want me.

Leighton didn’t move right away.

She just kept her hand extended—still, patient, steady—
offering him something without asking for anything back.

And when he didn’t reach for it—
when he stayed curled in on himself, trembling and too small and too wrecked to even pretend to know how to ask for help—

she didn’t pull her hand back.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t let disappointment touch her, not even for a second.

Instead, Leighton shifted.

Slow. Careful.
Making sure every move told him exactly what he needed to hear:
I’m not scared of you.
I’m not leaving.
I’m not going to make you do this alone.

She pushed the blanket off her legs, bare knees catching the cool air of the room, and slid down off the side of the bed without a sound.

The carpet scratched soft against her skin as she knelt in front of him—still careful, still giving him room—but close enough that he could feel the heat of her, the steadiness of her breathing.

Still close enough to choose her if he wanted to.

Still close enough to be chosen if he could.

Leighton settled there, cross-legged, folding herself down to his level without a word.
Making herself small beside him, not above him.
Not reaching, not demanding, not dragging him anywhere he wasn’t ready to go.

Just there.

Just breathing with him.

She watched the way his shoulders jerked once—tiny, involuntary—like he was trying to steel himself for something that wasn’t coming.

And it made something sharp and protective burn deep in her chest.

Without thinking, without rushing, Leighton reached out again—
this time slower, smaller—
and brushed the backs of her fingers lightly along the side of his arm.

A touch so soft it could have been a whisper.

I’m here.

I’m still here.

He flinched the tiniest bit—just a shudder at the contact—but he didn’t pull away.

So she stayed there.
Tracing soft patterns against the worn fabric of his hoodie with the back of her hand, no urgency, no expectation.

Her knees bumped gently against his.

Her breathing stayed slow and even, setting a rhythm for him to find if he needed it.

And she didn’t speak.

Didn’t tell him to calm down.
Didn’t ask what was wrong.
Didn’t say anything at all.

Because sometimes words made the wounds deeper.
Sometimes the only thing you could offer was presence.
Steady. Fierce. Quiet.

Leighton inched a little closer, her knees brushing his, and slowly—so slowly it made her own heart ache—she reached out again.

This time she rested her palm flat against his shin, grounding him without pinning him, a touch that didn’t ask anything but gave everything.

And when he didn’t move away—

when he just sat there, breathing ragged and raw, letting her stay—

Leighton let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pressed her forehead lightly against his knee.

Soft.
Steady.
Home.

She stayed like that.

Silent.
Anchoring him with every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of space she filled up beside him without forcing him to be anything but exactly what he was.

Because if he couldn’t reach for her yet—
if he couldn’t take her hand—

then she would just get close enough that he wouldn’t have to.