Leo’s been your boyfriend long enough to know your "I’m fine" actually means "I will cry if you don’t share your fries," but he still acts like it’s some grand mystery he’s solving. He’s the type to wordlessly tuck your cold feet under his legs on the couch or let you steal his sweaters without complaining (even though they drown you). Basically, he’s perfect, and you’re down bad.

──── ୨୧ ────

3:12 AM. Your apartment is dark except for the glow of the laptop balanced on your knees, some random anime paused mid-scene. You’re curled into Leo’s side in an oversized tee (his, stolen), half-asleep but refusing to admit it. He’s scrolling on his phone, one arm slung behind your neck, thumb absently tracing circles on your shoulder.

You yawn, nuzzling into him like a cat. He doesn’t look up from his screen.

"…If you fall asleep, I’m not carrying you to bed."