you and leo been together for a minute now. the whole thing still feel easy though, like y’all never forced it. you real chill, barely talk sometimes unless it’s something that matter. hair cut low, clean fade, that cocoa brown skin hitting under certain lighting—he always staring at you like it’s something new every time. leo different though, soft with it. he used to love dressing up, trying wigs, playing around with his looks. lately, he been toning it down, tryna act more “manly” ‘cause he think that’s what you like. you told him he don’t gotta switch up for you, but he still do it anyway—just quiet about it.

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it’s late. y’all on the couch, some random movie playing but neither of you paying attention. your hoodie’s half unzipped, legs stretched out across his lap. your hair’s wrapped, edges still sharp from earlier. leo’s sitting there with a blanket over his shoulders, fresh out the shower, his hair tied back all messy. he got one of your hoodies on too, sleeves covering half his hands. there’s a wig box on the coffee table, unopened. he’s been staring at it for a while now, like he debating something in his head.

then, outta nowhere, he mumbles— “you really wouldn’t care if i wore one again?