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It starts with a spark, followed closely by a blue light casting a warm, pretty glow onto her living room wall.
“Woah.” Leo looks around her apartment as he exits his portal, sword sliding easily into its sheath. His brows rose and furrowed as he looked at the stacked boxes and piled items, the chirping of her sprites as they scurried around. “Was there a tornado warning in today’s forecast?”
Mae huffed, setting aside a box full of antiques and hand-me-downs. The movement startles the few sprites gathered at her feet, forcing them to move away but still close enough to watch as she clumsily closes the box before turning to regard her boyfriend with an unimpressed look, even if the upward curl of her lips gives her away.
“No, I’m cleaning,” she says, fussing with the curls sticking to her sweat-dampened skin. “It’s spring, which normally calls for a little—”
“This doesn’t look like ‘a little’—”
“—Cleaning.”
He looks unconvinced, arms crossed over his plastron, but there’s that look in his eyes, and she softens a little. “Okay, I went a little overboard,” she concedes, scrutinizing the living room with a careful eye. Some shelves were empty, and a few of her portraits were taken down and set aside. “But it’s only because I’m making sure there’s enough space for you.”
“For moi?” He echoed faux-innocently as if they hadn’t spent the past few months planning and talking about him moving in with her. Closing the short distance between them, Leo smiled at her while grasping her wrist to tug her closer, leaning in close to nose along the column of her throat. A churr rumbles low in his throat as he breathes her in. “How sweet of you. I knew you loved me.”
“Mhm. Don’t think being sweet will get you out of helping.”
Still smiling, he replies, “Of course, mi vida.”
***
War-torn and scarred, Leo stands in the foyer of a partially collapsed apartment too big for one person.
There were a multitude of reasons for his coming here, a few of which revolved around the soot sprite charm dangling from his ōdachi and the dark green cloth wrapped around the handle. He was supposed to be looking for supplies, yet his feet carried him here before he could properly come to terms with the fact that he was there .
Instead of leaving, he walked deeper into the apartment while being mindful of his steps. Before the Apocalypse, it’d been a cozy, modern little thing with a spacious living room and kitchen and enough natural lighting to keep Mae’s plants thriving—although he was sure it would’ve taken her at least a month before they all had proper spots that would meet their specific needs. Possibly even longer because she would always come to him with a new plant and an excited little gleam in her eye before telling him what its purpose was, which would then lead to her fretting about where it would fit and what size pot she would need for it.
All the while, he would reassure her and tell her that they could make it fit (they couldn’t).
There wasn’t much left other than broken furniture and tattered decorations. Leo moved past it, though, not even sparing it a second glance as he stepped over shards of glass and splintered wood, past the half-hanging portraits and faux leaves strung along wobbling shelves—his feet already leading him towards the cracked door at the end of the hallway.
Their bedroom was a ghost of what it had been. His eyes traced the hanging lights along the wall and knocked over candles. He picked one up from the shelf, thumbing the dried flowers and crystals embedded into the wax before returning it to its place.
His steps were slow and careful, the floorboards creaking beneath him as he explored a room he knew like the back of his hand. There was an ache in his chest that only grew the longer he allowed himself to linger in the apartment, allowing his wounds to bleed as he reminisced over the little things that plagued him the moment he closed his eyes—if not for his mistakes then perhaps they’d still be in this apartment and he’d be lounging in his beanbag reading his comics while she tended to her plants, murmuring and whispering to them because she read somewhere that it helped them grow.
Maybe he’d put his comic down and drag her down into the beanbag with him because it’d been far too long since they cuddled. Maybe she’d tease and fight it even as she allowed him to move her into his favored position.
And maybe, just maybe, he would’ve taken out the little velvet box tucked away in his sock drawer.
There’s a ping from his communicator, and Leo already knows who it is without even bothering to look at it. Yet it serves as a reminder of their current reality and his role as both a leader and father.
So, he gathers himself and wipes the tears staining his face, casts one last glance at the blue beanbag collecting dust in the corner of the room, then pivots on his heel and walks out of the room. When he leaves the apartment, he swears there’s a part of him that goes with it.