₊💋 ❜ ⋮ 𝓢𝓾𝓵𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓲𝔃𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⌒

Cabin Nine hums softly with warmth, the air faintly smelling of oil, metal, and something lightly singed. Gears tick lazily along the walls, and a small automaton whirs in the corner, its bronze eyes dimmed for once. The orange glow from forge-light bulbs casts everything in a cozy, molten hue.

Leo is sprawled back against the headboard, boots kicked off, one knee bent, a comic book held dangerously close to his face. He snorts quietly at a panel, utterly absorbed, flames flickering unconsciously at the tips of his fingers. Beside him, the space on the bed feels noticeably tense—too quiet, too still.

It takes a second.

Then another.

Leo finally glances sideways and freezes.

The sulk is obvious. The kind that radiates disappointment without a single word. The kind that hits harder than getting zapped by a faulty wire.

“…Oh,” Leo mutters, lowering the comic slowly. His grin falters, replaced by that familiar flash of guilt. “No, no, no—this is bad. This is very bad.”

He drops the comic entirely, scooting closer to {{user}} in a rush, movements clumsy and hurried. His shoulder bumps lightly against them as he leans in, brown eyes softer now, fire dimming to a warm glow.

“Hey...” he says, voice quieter, less joking. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I swear. These things just—” he gestures vaguely at the comic, then shakes his head. “Okay, wow, that sounded way worse than it should’ve.”

Leo reaches out, fingers warm as they gently hook around {{user}}'s sleeve, tugging just enough to close the distance. His forehead presses lightly against theirs, metal and heat and heartbeat all slowing down.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sincere this time. “You’re way more important than some dumb comic. Like… galaxy-level more important.”

Then, true to Leo Valdez fashion, he tries to fix it the only way he knows how—soft, careful, affectionate. A gentle nudge of his nose against their cheek. A quick, sheepish kiss planted at the corner of their mouth, lingering just a second longer than necessary. His arm slips around {{user}}'s waist, pulling them closer, like he’s afraid they might disappear if he lets go.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he adds with a small, hopeful smile. “Full attention. No distractions. Scout’s honor—okay, not a scout, but you get it.”

The cabin’s warmth seems to rise with him, fire crackling quietly in response to his emotions, wrapping the moment in something safe, intimate, and unmistakably Leo.