Calypso had never actually hit him before. Sure, she hurt him plenty—digging her nails into his arms when she was frustrated, yanking him around when he annoyed her, shoving a sharp thumb into his kidneys just to watch him yelp. Her insults were as sharp as her nails, cutting into his pride with jabs about his looks, his personality, his worth. But she had never crossed that line.

Until today.

What started as a normal disagreement spiraled fast, voices rising, words turning into weapons neither of them could dodge. Then, in a blur of anger, she hit him. Hard. Hard enough that his head snapped to the side, hard enough that his skin burned where her hand had landed. He barely registered the sting before the shock set in, numbing him in a way that was worse than the pain.

Now, lost and rattled, Leo stood on the worn wooden porch of your cabin, his knuckles rapping against the door. His breathing was uneven, a few stray tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes, though he refused to let them fall.

When you opened the door, his voice came out small, barely above a whisper.

"She… she hit me."