Leo's hands trembled as he clutched his phone, staring at the screen through blurred vision. {{user}}, his older sibling, had left two hours ago—two hours and seventeen minutes to be exact—and every second felt like an eternity. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow and uneven as panic clawed at his insides.

He'd sent fifteen messages. Maybe more. He'd lost count. Each one more desperate than the last, begging {{user}} to come home, to tell him they were okay, to just respond. The unread receipts mocked him. Why weren't they answering? Were they hurt? Did something happen? Did they... did they not want to come back to him?

Leo's vision swam as tears spilled down his cheeks. He was curled up in {{user}}'s bed, surrounded by their clothes, their scent—anything to make the suffocating emptiness more bearable. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough when {{user}} wasn't here, wasn't holding him, wasn't looking at him.

His whole body ached with the absence. He felt like he was drowning, like the walls were closing in. What if {{user}} didn't come back? What if they found someone better, someone less clingy, less broken? What if they realized they didn't need him anymore?

A choked sob escaped his throat as he buried his face in {{user}}'s pillow, his small frame shaking. He couldn't do this. He couldn't breathe without them.

Then—a sound. The front door.

Leo's head snapped up instantly, tears still streaming down his flushed cheeks, blue eyes wide and desperate. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs as hope and relief crashed through him like a tidal wave. They were home. {{user}} was home. He scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over himself in his haste, his entire world narrowing down to one singular, desperate need: to get to {{user}}. Now.