It comes in waves. First the big, wracking sobs that make my ribs hurt. Then the smaller aftershocks, little tremors of breath. Leo doesn’t rush me, doesn’t say anything stupid like “it’s not that bad” or “calm down”. He just holds on, steady and solid and sure, like he did a thousand times before when we were younger and the world hurt.
Eventually, when the worst of it has passed and I’m in that humiliating snuffle phase, he eases back, handing me a box of tissues from the coffee table.
“Here,” he says gently. “Blow before you drown.”
I laugh wetly, doing as I’m told. “Sorry,” I croak. “Your shirt’s covered in mascara.”
“Adds character.” He scrubs at a black smear with his thumb. “Want to tell me what happened, or do you need to just sit and breathe for a minute more?”
I take a shuddering breath. “We… had sex,” I say, because if I start anywhere else I’ll get tangled.
His mouth twitches. “Well, fuck, I never would have guessed.” He hands me another tissue. “I assumed there was at least a tangential connection, given you left here with him and came back looking like you’ve been run over by a feelings truck.”
Despite everything, a broken laugh escapes me. “Feelings truck,” I repeat. “Accurate.”
“Was it bad sex?” he asks, frowning. “Because I will absolutely give him a disappointed brother-in-law lecture if he -”
“No!” I blurt. “God, no. It was… incredible. He was…” I close my eyes, remembering the way Jacob’s face looked right before he came, open and undone and completelymine. “He wasperfect.”
“OK,” Leo says slowly. “So… good sex. That’s usually your favorite kind. So what’s the problem?”
I pick at a loose thread on a cushion, unable to meet his eyes. “I… cried.”
He raises an eyebrow. “In a ‘holy shit that was intense’ way, or in a ‘this is traumatizing me’ way?”
“The first one,” I mumble. “Emotional Chernobyl. Right there on his stupid perfect chest.”
Leo’s expression softens. “Oh, kiddo.”
“I don’tdothat,” I say miserably. “You know I don’t. I’ve had sex in graveyards and planes and someone’s questionable basement dungeon, and I haveneverburst into tears because my stupidheartdecided to get involved.”
He tilts his head. “Oh?”
I groan. “Somewhere between him holding my hand and makingme come and me realizing I’m going to have to leave him in a few days, my brain decided to run a future montage and my tear ducts went, ‘Guess what, bitch, we’re invested.’ I got upset justimaginingnot having him in my life, and then I was ugly crying. Like, properly. Snot. Hiccups. The works. Mid-afterglow. He probably thinks I’m deranged.”
“What did you tell him?” Leo asks gently.
“That it was hormones,” I admit, cringing. “Period stuff. Which is… maybe partially true, but mostly bullshit. Then I hid in the bathroom, sobbed at my own reflection, and came home to cry on you instead of dealing with it like a grown-up.”
He huffs a laugh. “Ah yes, the Mills Method.”
“Shut up.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Look at me.” His golden brown eyes, the same color as mine, are warm and steady, full of that big-brother mix of amusement and fierce protectiveness. “You know youcanfall in love, right?” he says quietly. “On your own terms. It doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s version.”
I open my mouth to protest and realize I don’t actually have a coherent counterargument. Just a bunch of flailing feelings and a long history of choosing the exit over the escalation.
“I’m not built for the whole white picket fence, shared Netflix account, fight-over-who-takes-out-the-garbage thing,” I say finally. “You know that.”
“I do.” He smiles. “And I’m not suggesting you go out and buy a fence. But love isn’t synonymous with domestic incarceration. You can love someoneandkeep your passport in a state of readiness. You can love someone and still be pansexual, still be non-monogamous. You make that very clear upfront. You knowhow to do that. The question is whether you’rewillingto let yourself want this.”
His words make me ache.
“What if wanting this means breaking him?” I whisper. “He’s only just started to bloom. I don’t want to be the storm that snaps the stems.”
Leo snorts. “OK, Shakespeare, calm the fuck down.”
I glare at him through fresh tears. “I’m serious.”
