It’d been one week.

One week since things ended. One week of complete regret.

Leon had regretted it the moment he did it. He never wanted to, but he did it for you— you weren’t safe with him, that’s how he saw it.

He hoped you wouldn’t be home when he came for his things. But, you were. Upon entering, he heard coughing from your room, that he couldn’t ignore. He entered wearily, finding you sick as a dog in bed— his heart sunk.

“{{user}},” he called out, “Baby, are you sick?”