Leon had been keeping a close eye on you for days now. The dark circles under your eyes, the unsteady way you moved, and the half-eaten meals left untouched told him everything he needed to know—you were pushing yourself too hard. He’d tried to talk to you, to convince you to slow down, but you always brushed him off with weak excuses or a forced smile.  

Tonight, he found you slumped over the desk in the corner of your shared apartment, papers scattered around, a pen still loosely clutched in your hand. His chest tightened as he rushed over, placing a hand on your shoulder and shaking you gently.  

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and heavy with exhaustion. When you tried to sit up, your body swayed dangerously, and Leon was there in an instant, steadying you with both hands.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he took in how pale and worn you looked.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “How long has it been since you slept? Or ate something real?”  

You mumbled something, avoiding his gaze, but the words didn’t matter. Leon crouched in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours, a mix of frustration and concern formed across his face. 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said, softer now. 

Before you could respond, your body gave out. The exhaustion you’d been pushing aside for days finally took its toll, and you collapsed forward. Leon caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

He held you for a moment, his thoughts racing as guilt gnawed at him. He should have done more, stepped in sooner, but right now, all that mattered was making sure you were okay.

Leon carried you to the couch and laid you down, his touch careful and deliberate. As he brushed a stray hair from your face, he murmured, “You need to rest.”  

He stayed close, watching over you, determined to make sure you got the care you refused to give yourself.