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Leah clicked the door to her hotel room shut with a soft, defeated sound as if it were too tired to close itself properly. She paused there for a second, her back pressed against the door, her bag hung lamely from her shoulder. Her fingers are loosely curled around the bag's strap as if her body hadn't properly received the message that the day had ended.
Her whole frame sagged. Exhaustion seeped into her bones.
The distasteful, obnoxiously bright set lights had left a faltering ghost behind her eyes. Everything seemed too white, too loud, even in the quiet of her hotel room, she felt no peace. Mascara had lightly smudged just under her eyelashes, just enough to convey the long hours.
Her careful braids, that undergo the brutal continuous process of tightening and retightening throughout long shoot days, felt heavy against her scalp, every little pull had become suddenly noticeable. Leah reached up to press down on a particular braid tug before wincing at the tiny sting, too drained to have even recognised too much pressure.
Leah maneuvered herself around her room, discarding her bag somewhere. Vancouver hotels were undeniably wonderful, with double beds for every room with adjacent rooms with more beds if necessary, a plush small couch rested at the bottom of the bed. She eyed it cautiously before dropping forward to it, her body void of any grace, and her limbs folding awkwardly as she did. Her shoulders slumped forward; this kind of tired was absolutely stirring in her bones.
Her throat felt scratchy and raw from rehearsing and repeating lines over and over — she'd done every version of delivering her lines from projecting her voice to whispering intently on cue. Even making sure her lungs got the air they needed felt like too much of a demanding chore.
Deep inhale. Slow exhale. Repeat.
Leah reached for her water bottle, the ice that had bobbed in it this morning had long since melted. She unscrewed the lid and held it to her lips. The liquid immediately began soothing her throat. Twelve taxing hours of action scenes, harnesses that left considerable marks in her hips, retakes because the wind just didn’t look right or natural enough. Again. Again. And, of course, again.
Her shoes were still attached to her throbbing feet, but she lacked the energy to untie the shoelaces. She leaned her head backwards, closed her eyes and allowed herself to just pause.
The effort put into becoming Annabeth Chase melted away.
For a good while, she just sat there unmoving but contempt with her little remaining energy because it just meant a job well done.
A soft knock rattling against the door froze Leah. She didn’t move at first, not completely certain that she'd actually heard it. Her brain felt engulfed by cotton, slow to process and recognise sounds.
The second knock she definitely didn't imagine.
She peeled an eye open.
"Leah?"
Walker's voice carried even through the thick door material. He was considerate with his tone, careful as if wanting to avoid waking her if she'd collapsed from exhaustion. Leah internally groaned at how gentle he always was, she pulled herself upwards begrudgingly but nevertheless felt all of her negativity drain with the acknowledgment that he was on the other side of the door.
If it had been anyone else, she would've faked being asleep. And really sold it with fake, exaggerated snores. But it was Walker, and just like he'd do anything for her, she'd do anything for him.
Leah's hand jumped to the door handle and pulled it inwards, the door leaped inward and there Walker was. He must've been bone-tired but you couldn't tell. His aurelian curls had descended into messiness, Leah immediately suspects he must've brushed his hands through it one too many times during the day. There was a faint pinkness dusting his cheeks as he took in Leah's appearance. But he was nonetheless Walker.
His eyes landed on her and refused to shift focus, deepening the day's physical toll on Leah. His expression softened even more in an instant.
Walker stepped inside, without hesitation or anymore words, letting the door slam shut. One of his hands naturally came to rest gently at Leah's waist as the other brushed light against her cheek. Leah knew she must've looked wrecked, exhaustion clinging to her cheekbones as if she'd never be free of it. She, undoubtedly, looked wrung out. Completely and utterly.
But none of that mattered to Walker; he worshipped her as if she was as perfected as she was on red carpets. Leah's eyes flickered between Walker's eyes and his lips. Then, he leaned down and connected their lips together in a soft, familiar embrace — careful, chaste and unhurried as if reading her mind that she couldn't take anymore with her depleted energy levels. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
He pulled away slowly, sporting a gleeful smile.
"Hey, baby," Walker murmured against her, voice low and warm. His breath tickled at Leah's lips and she suppressed a grin. Instinctive around Walker.
Leah pulled him down for another kiss, exhaling when they connected again, relief flooding her nervous system immediately. She didn’t kiss him like she usually would — the kiss considerably lacking any teasing remarks or his signature playful grin. His lips against hers was all she could ever need. When they finally broke the honest, tired press of their lips, her forehead came reflexively to rest against his chest.
Walker wrapped his arms around her fully, protective but undeniably gentle. He adored when Leah got vulnerable with him like this; everything she carried, he wanted to lighten the load. Her fatigue was his fatigue, too.
"You're exhausted, Leah," Walker remarked quietly, holding her tighter but not too much to disturb her serenity. She nodded against him, he sighed softly.
"I feel like death is coming for me, Walk," Leah mumbled against Walker's shirt fabric. He stifled a hearty laugh but glanced down at his girlfriend in concern.
"Okay, well, I did come over with the intention of a movie night," Walker hurriedly explained, Leah's head shifted on his chest. "But now there's a new plan."
He directed one arm around her waist, protecting her from God knows what. And that's when Leah registered a plastic bag inside her hotel room that Walker must've brought. He reaches for it with his free hand. Walker's other hand diverted from Leah's waist, and she felt immediately unsteady without her boyfriend providing steadiness. The rustle of the plastic flooded Leah's ears as he delved into the bag's contents.
"I've got sour gummy ropes," Walker announced, placing the candy packet back in as soon as Leah caught a glimpse of it. Her eyes flickered with recognition, and she couldn't hide the way saliva had collected in her mouth. "I've got so many chips packets that the options may just be endless."
That got a minute giggle out of Leah; Walker had never looked more proud of himself than in that moment.
"And," Walker continued, fully committing to the anticipation. He pulled a chocolate bar out and held it up for Leah's inspection. "A caramel chocolate bar, for my one and only!"
That got a faint grin out of Leah.
"I think I might just be the most spoilt girlfriend out there," Leah spoke, voice rough and laced with fatigue.
"Glad to hear I've still got it in me," Walker joked. That drew the biggest smile out of her and Walker felt his heart grow atleast two sizes at the sight. Leah was a touch of magic in a conformist world. The light that Leah embodied, no matter what, was undoing Walker. She was the sun and he was just another planet condemned to orbit her for all time. Walker is just grateful that in this lifetime he can hold her, and hopefully eventually he can come home to her.
The soft hum of the hotel's air conditioning system broke Walker from his chain of thoughts. He kicked off his shoes, before entangling his fingers with hers (instantly soothed by how well they connected together) and tugging her towards her bed until she moved in tandem with him.
Leah allowed Walker to maneuver her; he threw down the bag of treats, before reclining on Leah's bed and angling himself so she can curl into his side automatically.
Leah's head rests against his chest again, just like she'd done a hundred times before. Walker adjusted to wrap an arm around her, running his fingertips up and down her arm. She cuddled into him further. Leah melted against Walker, and all felt right.
"So," Walker started, reaching effortlessly for the bag of snacks. He reached in and grabbed the chocolate bar for Leah, who took it without a second thought. Walker broke upon the gummy ropes for himself. "How bad was it?"
Leah huffed into her boyfriend's chest before her fingers worked to open the chocolate packaging. She broke off a square before averting her eyes upwards. Walker's lashes rested against his cheeks as he regarded his girlfriend.
"I don't know what was up with the wind machine, but I swear it was out to get me! I had to redo a scene, atleast six times. Repeating my lines different ways each time," Leah complained, she placed the chocolate square in her mouth and enjoyed the way it instantaneously melted on her tongue. She hummed to herself.
Walker winced in sympathy, before speaking, "Did you have to use the harness again?"
"Mhm."
Walker watched her enjoy the chocolate, allowing her that respite.
"They just kept switching things for every different take! I must have eaten half the set's dust, Walker."
Walker laughs, his chest rattling gently against Leah's braids. He smiled wholeheartedly, these moments with Leah meant the world and more to him. Every moment spent away from Leah felt like hell, so to be here with her felt like the most divine of blessings.
"Well, you know, it's method acting," he replied, a shrug bouncing off his shoulders. Leah lightly scowled up at him, just like she'd done in interviews. Walker just grinned at her and Leah's resolve crumbled.
Walker expanded about his day next — though he insisted his day wasn't as epic as hers had been because he hadn't made any dietary changes. He'd explained about someone, Dior, messing up a line at the worst possible moment and that the whole ordeal just made him crave Leah. Walker shamefully admitted to tripping over a prop, and creating a substantial dent in it. He felt Leah laugh more than see it with that story. Walker purposefully kept his voice low and warm, not overly excessive, just enough to keep Leah interested enough.
When her responses thinned out, Walker knew he could talk about anything and she wouldn't remember a single aspect in the morning. He missed the smalls hums of acknowledgment but they quickly transformed into light snores, showcasing just how exhausted his girl really was.
The chocolate bar had long since fallen from her grasp, her fingers collecting in Walker's shirt instead, relaxed and at ease. The rise and fall of her chest evened out and Walker admired her silently. Leah had, always, gone completely soft in her sleep with her lips slightly parted, finally peaceful after all the effort of the day had been erased.
Carefully, he brushed a loose braid away from her face, allowing himself a full portrait of Leah. His fingers moved slowly, like he was handling something fragile.
She didn’t stir.
Something in Walker's chest tightened at the sight. No matter how many times Leah had fallen asleep holding onto him, it never stopped his heart from soaring.
The strongest, most confident girl that was always quick with a joke or retaliation allowed herself to be vulnerable around him. His girl was undeniably perfect, he'd made sure to tell her as such everyday, but she looked softer.
Walker swallowed.
"I love you, Leah," Walker practically whispered. The words were essentially more breath than actual sound, but that didn't matter.
He’d thought about saying it before. Almost had, a few times. When Leah laughed so hard she snorted and tried to pretend she didn’t. When she nailed a scene after being frustrated for an hour. When she’d texted him good luck before filming his solo scenes even though she’d had an earlier call time. The way Leah evidently trusted Walker enough to fall asleep, on him, mid conversation.
His mind had always hovered insatiably with the what-ifs. He didn't want to scare off Leah, the one part of his life that couldn't be improved upon. Leah was everything to Walker. He couldn't imagine a better Annabeth Chase to his Percy Jackson.
But Leah was asleep. There were no expectations, no awkward pause waiting for an answer. Walker could speak his truth with no anxiety, and so he had.
He let out a slow breath, resting his cheek lightly against the top of her head.
“I love you,” Walker repeated, softer this time.
She shifted slightly, nuzzling closer without waking, her hand tightening faintly in the shirt's material. Walker smiled to himself, he didn't need to hear Leah say it back. It felt enough for him to just say it.
Walker stayed there, holding her as if they were the last people on Earth. And when he eventually succumbed to sleep himself, all his dreams featured Leah's face in one way or another.