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Leona wakes up when you pick up the call.
Yesterday was… interesting, from what you told him. Family reunion back in your world. Your mother got drunk, did drunk people things, your dad got angry and left. He realizes the male voice on the phone is your dad—and though he doesn't speak the language, he picks up on some words.
Therapy. Trauma. Mom. Fragile.
He felt you tremble next to him, carefully placing a hand on your knee. Your hand immediately lands on top of his.
Finally, your breath quickens and nose flares, and you yell, hanging up. Should have done it sooner, honestly, but can he blame you? His family is rough—not that rough, but—if his brother ever called him yapping about how he shouldn’t be so hung up on the way servants treated him like a time bomb throughout his childhood, the shock would keep him from hanging up too.
Who is that dense?
But what were deep breaths and teary eyes before are full-on sobs now as your face scrunches up and tears fall without your permission.
You could barely speak, but it was enough for him; how dare he, you say, suggest that you were just naturally ‘fragile’. That he had no hand in the trauma you have. That even if he did, it was on you for being so hung up on the past.
You whisper wishes of a universe where you had parents who knew how to love you. He silently vows to love you thrice as much.
Despite his attempts to convince you to stay in bed today, you promise him that seeing people—getting your mind off of what happened—would help. Disruptions to your routine would not. He frowns at your surprised face when he says he’ll accompany you, but it doesn’t last, your arms coming to wrap around his torso as soon as he’s done speaking.
Despite your many attempts at seeming cheerful, Leona is not stupid; you jump when your surroundings are quiet, when you didn’t notice a friend approaching. Ace’s high fives or his arm around your shoulder make you flinch.
He watches with a frown the way you glance at the hallway, at the cafeteria entrance, at the main gate. Like you’re expecting someone. He can’t help but ask, in that half-joke half-tease way of his, that it almost seems like you’re waiting for an airstrike. You finally confess that it might as well be one.
A short older man in a camouflage-print jacket and combat boots. How the main gate would rattle as he slams his hands down against it, how he smiles full of teeth when he’s really, really mad.
It doesn’t matter that you’re at a magic school and your shitty parents aren't allowed passage to this world—hell, much less to college grounds. Your fears are as irrational as your father—if the phone call was any indication. All Leona can offer right now is a reassuring squeeze to your hand, but you don’t look any better as you make your way back to class.
It’s difficult to muster up the courage to leave the main building.
You haven’t told your friends about your family—can’t help the ugly, distorted version of them in your mind that mocks you for being irrational. You only realize they might have been concerned when classes come to an end and, with a surprised “Mrrah!”, Grim is taken off your grasp and carried off to the Track and Field Club practice with Deuce and Jack, the latter simply telling you to go find Leona and that they’d take care of your other cat in the meantime.
With a better plan than fearfully walking back home by yourself, you text Leona, who lets you know to head to the Hall of Mirrors. You don’t get to walk in, though, because you feel a grasp at the back of your jacket right before your world shifts—you let out an ‘oof’, now officially taking up your place on Leona’s shoulder as his personal sack of potatoes.
The racing of your heart gives way to a shaky sigh, and then you go boneless. Even if your dad found a way here, he’d have to go through one of the best mages in the school—no, let’s be honest, the world.
You can almost hear Leona’s voice, full of bite and this pride at your admission of his prowess. He’d say something callous and, ultimately, truthful, like the old man can kiss your ass.
It’s barely been a couple of minutes until you’re being dragged into Savanaclaw, but instead of going to his room, the floor doesn’t change from its sandy disposition. The excited yelling that reaches your ears is accompanied by the realization that you’re now in the training grounds.
“Leona-san!” Some students call excitedly, but their tracks stop short of you two. Probably because of your current predicament. “You’ve come to…”
“Coach you wimps into form. Interdorm’s a couple months away. Chop chop.”
Excited yessir’s follow his orders before the center of gravity shifts again as Leona sits down. You attempt to move, but he pulls your legs down and suddenly you’re on his lap. Good lord.
“Why are we...”
“Had enough of you spacing off the whole day.” He joked. “Now you’ve no choice but to look at me.”
You weren’t spacing off, you almost say, before realizing that Leona of all people knows fear when he sees it. He’s just trying not to put you on the spot. “Leona…”
“An’ I know you like to see me teaching.”
You can’t help the chuckle that comes out and his smile widens, like a satisfied cat. “You’re never letting that go, are you…”
“Nah.” He shrugs. “‘Sides, this way I can stay by you the whole day. Keep you safe.”
You don’t say anything, in fear that your teary eyes will betray you a second time today. You opt for hiding your face in his chest and nodding slightly.
Your big, scary lion will keep you safe.