This was… weird for you.

You hated your family. That wasn’t an exaggeration, not some dramatic overreaction. You hated them. Every memory you had of this house came with tension, criticism, or something worse.

And yet, for some reason, you thought this time might be different.

Maybe because you weren’t alone anymore.

Leon had been curious the entire drive over. You had told him enough stories about your family for him to get a picture, but hearing about something and seeing it were two very different things. Part of him wondered if you were exaggerating. If maybe it wasn’t as bad as you made it sound.

That thought died the second the front door opened.

Your mom looked you up and down before even saying hello, her eyes scanning your outfit like she was already finding faults. “You wore that?” she said flatly, stepping aside to let you in like it was an inconvenience.

Leon didn’t say anything, but his jaw tightened slightly.

Your dad was worse. The moment Leon introduced himself, it turned into some kind of weird power play. Questions that weren’t really questions, comments that were just a little too sharp to be jokes. Leon handled it calmly, politely, but it didn’t take long for him to excuse himself and come find you again.

Leon had stepped away at one point just to find you again after that, his expression already tight with irritation.

And your siblings?

Yeah. No.

He didn’t like them either.

By the time dinner rolled around, Leon understood completely why you kept your distance. There was no exaggeration. If anything, you had toned it down.

Now you were sitting at the dining table, the atmosphere thick with tension disguised as “family conversation.” The dish in front of you was one you had hated since you were a kid, and the fact that it was made tonight of all nights didn’t feel like a coincidence.

You picked at it quietly, barely eating.

Leon sat next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. His hand rested on your leg under the table, steady and grounding. Every so often, he’d casually shift his plate, cutting off pieces of his own food and sliding them onto yours when no one was looking. Things he knew you’d actually eat.

He didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t make a show of it.

He just took care of you.

Your dad noticed eventually.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing the two of you with a faint scoff. “Why do you always have to be so goddamn picky?,” he said, gesturing Aggressively to your plate, just like when you were a kid and it made you flinch

Before you could answer, your mom chimed in, her tone just as sharp. “They’ve always been difficult with food. Nothing was ever good enough.”

Leon’s hand tightened slightly on your leg.

Just for a second.

Then he leaned back in his chair, his voice calm but firm when he spoke.

“Funny,” he said, glancing at your plate before looking back at them, “if in being honest it's kind of bland... Could use a little something called "Salt"..."